El Campeador

by Griff Hosker

Until Rodrigo said that I had assumed that they would not come forth to fight us, but Rodrigo wanted the opportunity to fight. His mind worked on a totally different level to ours. We did not tell the King, but we warned our men not to interfere. It was hard for them for they were used to protecting us and the night before we would ride forth, I explained El Campeador’s reasoning. “He wishes to break the spirits of the defenders. He hopes they will send enough men out to defeat our champion and by using Don Álvar and myself he is putting within her grasp, Princess Urraca’s enemies. She hates Rodrigo and she hates me”

  “But, lord, what if one of you falls?”

  “That is why there will be three of us for we would then withdraw. Of course, our aim would have been thwarted for if Rodrigo’s plan is to succeed then we need to ride away victorious and leave the Zamorans in the dust!”

  The three of us prepared while it was still dark. I took special care with Hercules and ensured that the Tijfaf was fastened properly around my horse and his girths were well adjusted for I did not wish to lose him to a stray spear. Jorge and Abu saw to my preparations. I wore, not only a quilted kyrtle beneath my mail but also a jubbah on the top. Arrows might be a danger although we hoped it would be sword to sword that we fought. I now wore a well-padded arming cap beneath my coif and helmet. When I rode forth the ventail would be tied and closed. I had mail mittens for my hands although the palms and fingers were open for I liked the feel of my sword in my hand. That day was the first day that I tried a slightly more oval shield rather than the round one I normally used. Nor did I take my spear. I would use my sword and I had a second in a saddle scabbard. With a dagger in one boot and another in my belt then I was as prepared as any.

  My two companions took equally careful preparations and, as the sun came up, we rode to the gates. We halted just one hundred paces from the gates and that was dangerous for we were within crossbow and arrow range. Rodrigo hoped that there would be young bloods inside Zamora who wished to impress Princess Urraca enough to come forth and take us on.

  Rodrigo lowered his ventail and shouted, “I am Rodrigo de Vivar, El Campeador to King Sancho and with Don Álvar Fáñez and Will Redbeard we are here to challenge any in Zamora who wish to test their skills against the three best swords in Spain.”

  As I write down these words I am amazed at our arrogance and yet it was not arrogance for we were the best and had proved it when we had taken King Alfonso from his protectors. Rodrigo was attempting to spur the enemy into action for he wished the siege over so that King Sancho could unite Spain.

  We looked up and waited. That none replied did not surprise us. Any conversation would take place well away from the gatehouse and it would take time for men to prepare. As ridiculous as it sounds, the three of us chatted away quite happily as we waited without the gates of Zamora. Looking back, I realise this was one of the last times that the three of us did so. At the time we did not know that.

  “When this is over, William, will you find a bride?”

  I shook my head, “No, Don Álvar, I will return to Briviesca and enjoy my lands and a time of peace. I have new men to train.”

  “You should consider marriage; Rodrigo here will marry his Jimena as soon as there is peace and then there will be a land filled with young Rodrigos!”

  El Campeador shook his head, “Ignore him, William. A man must chart his own course through life. His poor wife rarely sees him because he is always at war. That is why I shall wait until war is over and King Sancho has won before I marry Jimena. She is patient and she will wait.”

  I envied Rodrigo more than he could know. Our conversation was ended when the gates swung open and a mob of horsemen rode at us. Had we been any closer then we might have been in trouble; as it was we managed to draw our swords and swing our shields around as what amounted to a Zamoran warband galloped at us. I do not know exactly what the other two thought but they had been trained by me and so I guessed they would be thinking the same and were assessing the threat. The men who came at us were not all knights. Some were young warriors who had yet to be knighted. Not all wore mail and I guessed that the wiser heads within the walls had decided to watch the young ones. They would be the ones who had seen the three of us fight.

  Fifteen of them went for El Campeador for he was the greatest prize. Ten went for Álvar and just six sought Redbeard. I was not a noble, but I also had a reputation and the six who came for me rode more cautiously than the ones who went for Rodrigo. Six to one were not good odds but I rode directly at the three who had mail. They tried to get around me, but Hercules was a big horse and he snapped and bit at them. Taking one blow on my shield I swung my sword hard at the chest of a second while Hercules cleared the third out of my way, barging like a charging bull. My sword broke mail links and must have broken a breastbone for the rider I struck fell. I wheeled Hercules and came behind a second mailed horseman and my sword hacked into his side. Bleeding, he headed back to the walls. I felt a blow to my own back, and I pirouetted Hercules so that his hooves clattered down on to the horse of the third mailed man who had attempted to get behind me. He fell from his horse and he ran back to the walls. The three men who had no mail thought better of attacking me and they hurried back to the gate. I smacked the riderless horse on the rump with the flat of my sword and sent it back to our lines and then rode to help the others.

  Rodrigo was the furthest away and so I went to Álvar’s aid first. Two of his attackers were down. One was clearly dead whilst a second was dragging his wounded body back to the gates. Although I had not gone berserk the blood of my ancestors meant that the joy of battle was coursing through my veins and I did not think that I could lose. My sword hacked through the mail and the spine of the knight whose shiny spurs showed that he was newly knighted. I punched a second from his horse with my shield and then reared Hercules so that his flailing hooves split the next two warriors apart. I smacked my sword into the shield of one man and the blow was so hard that he tumbled from his horse. Even as I wheeled to take the next one, he had turned and fled along with the rest of Álvar’s attackers.

  We both turned and faced Rodrigo and we were ready to go to his assistance, but he needed us not. Already six of the fifteen lay on the ground. Their weight of numbers had worked against them and they could not get enough men around El Campeador to harm him. Allied to that was the fact that Babieca, Rodrigo’s sword and his mail protected him too much.

  “Do we go to his aid, Will?”

  I lowered my ventail, “I do not think he will need us, and this story will be all the better for Rodrigo having done it on his own.” And so we watched. I had trained Rodrigo and yet he knew how to do things which I had not taught him. While the attackers, diminishing with each blow, seemed to struggle to land one on El Campeador, Rodrigo seemed to have all the time in the world and his blows appeared unhurried. They might have been almost lazy ones but they were well struck and accurate. The nine who attacked him became seven and when there were just five left, they turned and fled back to the safety of the gates. The wounded and dead lay on the ground. We took the reins of the three riderless horses and we headed back to our own lines. There were cheers and roars as we did so for not only our men had come to watch but half of the army.

  Rodrigo smiled, “That went better than I had hoped! But now, I fear, we face the wrath of King Sancho.”

  Álvar frowned, “Before the event I could understand that, but we won and have a moral victory! The Zamorans will be demoralised.”

  “And you do not know our King. He wishes all of the glory and the victory. He is not his father. Perhaps, in the fullness of time, he may grow into a great king but, for now, I fear that we will have to endure a storm.”

  We headed back to the camp and Rodrigo was proved right. King Sancho was apoplectic with rage. We were summoned into his tent. It was not for privacy for he ranted and he railed in a voice so loud that I have no doubt it could have been heard in Zamora itself.

  “Who commands here? Is it King Sancho o
r Rodrigo de Vivar? Did I sanction this challenge? No, I did not.” He jabbed an angry finger at me, “I can understand this peasant for all he cares about is coin and if it were not for the fact that he has uses I would dismiss him!” He turned his attention to Álvar, “And this one, I know, prefers the brother I have just defeated! I have little use for him!”

  I saw Álvar colour and knew that the King had gone too far.

  The King then turned his attention to Rodrigo, “But you! You were my Armiger Regis and my Campi Doctor! I trusted you and I rewarded you. I gave you great honours and this is my reward!” He was silent and then he said, his voice low and threatening so that only the three of us heard it, “Rodrigo de Vivar, you are no longer, Armiger Regis. You will quit the camp until I send for you. Don Álvar Fáñez, you will leave the camp along with Don Rodrigo.” He turned to me and almost snarled at me, “And you will await my orders. You have some use, at least. You and your band of cutthroats may be needed to scale the walls of Zamora! You are expendable! You are all dismissed for I am greatly displeased!”

  As I sit in my tower and my lady peers over my shoulder and tuts at my spidery scrawl, I am able to see with absolute clarity the effect of the events outside of Zamora. Álvar had been humiliated and would never again trust King Sancho but more importantly the King had managed to remove his own protection. Hindsight is wonderful but at the time Álvar and I left the tent both of us wishing to hurt King Sancho. I had saved the King’s life when still a prince and I had made sacrifices for him. I just wanted to slap him! Rodrigo, in contrast, was quite calm and, as we left said, “He will get over this and when the Zamorans surrender, as I am certain that they will, then we will be forgiven, and all will be well. We will return to fight alongside the King again!”

  “Cuz, I am not sure that I wish to be forgiven. Perhaps I followed the wrong brother. I will quit this camp and take my people home to my wife.”

  “You were ordered to go with me!”

  “And I am a lord in my own right. I choose to be here.” He turned to me, “Will, what about you? Will you also quit the camp even though you were ordered to stay?”

  I was considering it for I was a hired sword. I could leave, with my men, and just forego any pay which was coming my way and I might have done so had not Rodrigo said, “Will, I beg you, swallow your pride and stay close by the King. I am gone but he needs protection. For my sake, stay in the camp.”

  If any other had made the request, then I would have ignored it and left but this was El Campeador and I had sworn an oath. The blood of my ancestors who came from the icy north in their longboats made it quite clear that I would accede to his request. I nodded.

  Álvar shook his head, “Will, you are a fool, a loyal fool but a fool nonetheless and you, cuz, I have followed your banner since we were boys, but this is the parting of the ways. I cannot follow a tyrant and that is what King Sancho has become.” He clasped first my arm and then Rodrigo’s. “I will never draw sword against either of you, but I will not fight for King Sancho!”

  And that was the end of our triumvirate. The three of us had been a force to reckon with but King Sancho had managed to destroy it. Had he been a more reasonable king then he would have found a better way to impose his will. King Ferdinand had been called, ‘The Great’ with good cause. King Sancho was ‘The Strong’ and therein lay the difference between the two kings.

  As none had heard the King’s words but the four of us in the tent there was much speculation in the camp. Looking back we should have realised that there were spies who would report back to Urraca in Zamora but we were all too concerned with the disruption caused by the departure of Rodrigo to a small village just three miles away and Álvar and his men who headed home to Castile. I did not tell my men what had occurred for they would have been angry too. They knew that the King was angry but could not understand why.

  Jorge said, “But you defeated more than thirty men! The odds were ten to one and yet you emerged without a scratch and we have two good horses to show! Why is the King angry and why have Don Rodrigo and Don Álvar quit the camp?”

  “He is angry for he did not order the challenge and as for the two knights? That is their concern. We now have a duty to watch the King. From now until the siege is over one of you will be on watch and will place yourselves where you can keep an eye on the King’s tent. He has bodyguards but we are better. Jorge, arrange the rota!”

  What I feared was that the vindictive King Sancho would precipitate an attack on the gate using our ram. He might think it was a way of reasserting his authority as well as a way of punishing us. Perhaps he thought better of it or it might have been that uncouth though we were, we were a little too valuable to him.

  A week went by and winter was approaching rapidly with showers and cold wintery blasts of rain and sleet when Abu hurried to our camp where I was practising with Jorge. Abu, unusually for him, seemed to be animated and he said, “Lord, I have just seen something which disturbs me.”

  Abu was one of the calmest and most reliable men I had ever known, and I sheathed my sword, “Speak!”

  “I had just taken Luis his food and ale for he watches the King this day when a deserter from Zamora was brought to the King.”

  I nodded, “A deserter could bring valuable information about the conditions inside the castle and the town.”

  “Aye, lord but I recognised him from the time we went to Oviedo. He was a greasy looking man with a face like a rat.”

  I smacked one hand into the other, “Vellido Adolfo!”

  Understanding flooded his face for he was clever as well as reliable and he, too, remembered the knight. “Aye, lord, that is his name I…”

  He got no further, “Sebastian, ride to Don Rodrigo and tell him there is an assassin in our camp. The rest of you, arm, and follow Jorge and me.”

  We ran through the camp oblivious to the shouts and the calls which came our way. When we reached the King’s tent, I saw that the King’s guard lay dead as did my man, Luis. He had been speared. “Christos, find Don Iago of Astorga and tell him the King has been abducted and that I follow. The rest of you spread out. Abu and Geoffrey see to Luis.”

  With my sword in hand I ran towards the woods. The woods separated the town and castle from the river. I had no doubt that there was a sally port Vellido Adolfo had used. Perhaps Princess Urraca wanted her brother as a prisoner to bargain for Alfonso. The brother and sister were close or, and this was a more frightening thought, it was more likely that he wished to do him harm. I had little love for King Sancho, but I had not fought a war and lost men to have him murdered.

  It was Jorge who found the King. He had been stabbed with a spear which still lay in the body and had bled to death. From his mouth oozed a white frothy foam. “Two of you stay and guard the body. The rest of you keep looking.”

  It was I who spotted the tracks. The rain had made the path muddy and I saw the boot prints which led from the King’s corpse. I ran and I was ready to avenge the man who had spurned my help. Ahead of me I heard the clash of steel and wondered what was happening. As I struggled for breath, I realised I needed to do more running and less riding. I was becoming unfit. I came upon a clearing and the young assassin was fighting with Don Rodrigo. I shouted, “The King is dead!”

  Neither man had a shield, and both were using their swords two handed. The assassin had killed a king and regicide was a heinous sin. That El Campeador would win was never in doubt for I had never seen him defeated but Vellido Adolfo was a good swordsman and it would not be easy.

  “Who sent you?” Rodrigo wanted the man alive for we needed evidence.

  “I am a man of my word and you will never hear it from me!”

  Rodrigo was trying to wear the man down and to make a blow which would merely wound him. He knew that I had methods which would loosen even the tightest of tongues but first we had to subdue him. My men had arrived, and I waved them into a circle. Then I shouted, “You are surrounded, and you cannot escape.”

>   His next words chilled us all, “And I have a blade which is coated in wolf’s bane. One touch means death!”

  Don Rodrigo never faltered even though he knew the consequences of a single cut. Neither man wore helmets, nor did they have mittens. There was more flesh for a sword’s edge to find. I watched, mesmerized for Rodrigo had many opportunities to end the contest but it would have resulted in the death of the killer. He did draw blood when his sword sliced through the upper leg of Vellido Adolfo. It merely slowed him, and the poison encrusted blade flashed dangerously close to Rodrigo’s cheek. It was El Campeador’s incredible reactions which saved him and, unwittingly, ended the contest. Tizona flicked up and jarred against the assassin’s sword. Vellido was not expecting it and the edge of his own sword made a cut on his face. Had this been a normal battle nothing would have resulted, but the poison began to work, and the killer flailed his arms in an attempt to cut the flesh and to kill El Campeador before he could die. Rodrigo deftly deflected all of the blows with ease and suddenly Vellido Adolfo fell to the ground, his body twitching and a white liquid oozed from his mouth. I now saw how he had been able to kill the King and two guards so easily. He had used a poisoned blade. We carried the body back to the King’s tent where Don Iago of Astorga and the loyal knights were gathered. Already word had spread, and the camp was emptying. The King was dead and there would be a new one! Men looked out for themselves. The siege would end and, I had no doubt, either King Garcia or, more likely, King Alfonso, would be crowned the new King.

  Only we knew that King Sancho had removed Rodrigo’s title and so when El Campeador began to give orders then all men obeyed. “We will take the King home and escort him with honour!”

  It should have been that every Castilian knight followed the wagon with the corpse inside, but the only ones were those who followed Rodrigo and my men. The rest, and that included Don Diego went home for they wished to see who would arise to claim the crown now that the wifeless and childless King Sancho had died.