Pedro the Cruel

By Toni Cor

On a pleasant autumn day in the year 1357, Pedro, King of Portugal, sets out on a hunt, accompanied by a group of his companions. He soon discovers that wild boar are not his only quarry for they find a body in a field, face disfigured, clothes stained and tattered. Was this unfortunate a pilgrim or a beggar? Was he the victim of robbers or did he provoke the anger of a fellow traveler? Because a king owes justice to all his subjects, no matter their station, King Pedro has the body taken to Santarém, where the court is in residence, in hopes it will be identified. He sends a group of men out to learn if there are any robbers in the area and capture them if possible. He instructs another man to question the inhabitants of the area where the body was found.
However, it soon becomes clear that the matter is more complicated than was originally thought. Far from being a beggar, it appears that the dead man was a prosperous goldsmith. He was also a Jew. New evidence suggests that the death cannot be conveniently blamed on a band of robbers but is instead the work of members of the court, perhaps even close associates of the king himself. Soon Pedro must ask himself what he will do if forced to choose between justice for an outsider and friendship for a member of his court.
This story is based on an incident recounted in the Chronicles of King Pedro, written by Fernao Lopes, who served at the court of Pedro's grandson, King Duarte of Portugal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 2, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483512624

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Prologue

March, 1434

Lisbon, Portugal

But a short while before the bells rang for None I received an unexpected guest who, to my great amazement, imparted to me information that will aid me greatly in carrying out the task His Majesty has recently entrusted to me. Should I receive more such assistance, what I thought would prove to be a pleasant excursion along established, familiar paths may well transform into a voyage of discovery where I must often explore uncharted waters.

But I see I have started in advance of my tale which by rights begins on the nineteenth day of this month. By good fortune, I was wearing the garments that my good wife Mor, a most accomplished seamstress had but lately finished for the feast of Easter: a shirt of the finest linen; a robe of rich, dark fabric; and a high, circular dark cap made in the latest fashion. It is true that the king himself judges men not by how they dress but by how they perform their tasks and as long as my work pleases him, I need not fear for my position. But I confess to my share of vanity and would not be disdained for a shabby appearance. There is also this: my dress reflects on the image others have of my family. There is in particular Martinh, my son, a physician in the royal household and I would not have my shabby appearance bring shame upon him.

No matter the reason, I was suitably attired when, shortly before the midday meal, a page arrived, summoning me to the royal presence. For almost a score of years, as curator of the Torre do Tombo it has been my task to manage the royal archives. It is therefore not uncommon for me to be in the presence of the king. But it is rare indeed for me to be granted an audience in the throne room.

King Duarte and Queen Leonore were seated on thrones placed on a dais at one end of the audience hall. The king is still a handsome man: taller than most with the golden hair of his mother, Philippa of Lancaster. The queen is most worthy of him: still slender, despite the children she has born, with fair hair surrounding a lovely face. I waited near the door, awaiting my turn, admiring the many great and noble men and women present, resplendent in their elegant robes, and the vast chamber itself. When my name was at last called, I approached the king and bowed low. Not with the grace of a courtier born, it is true, but well enough for one of common birth. His nod to me was as gracious as always. Fernão, you have served me well in the Archives. I have an additional task that I would set before you.

I bowed again, Which I will perform to the best of my ability, Majesty.

You will be working, the king warned, not only for me but also for my beloved wife, whose idea this is. He nodded to her to continue and I bowed to her in turn.

In the evenings, the queen’s voice still held a faint trace of the Catalan spoken in her native Aragon, we often amuse ourselves by telling tales and legends of those who have gone before us. I was not surprised as among all ranks the ability to tell a story skillfully is highly prized. "Stories such as the unhappy love of King Pedro, His Majesty’s grandfather, for the beautiful and ill-fated Inès de Castro. It occurs to me that it would be fitting for our children to learn not merely the legends, but above all the true history of their country, the noble and valiant deeds of their ancestors."

It is therefore our desire, the king continued, that you put into chronicles the stories of the kings of old as well as the great and lofty actions of the most virtuous king my lord and father, João, first of that name.

That was some days in the past. This morning I had spent some time searching through the archives in search of documents that might prove of use in my new task. Near midday, I proceeded to a chamber, not far from the Archives, once used for storage that, given my new title and duties, I had recently claimed as