Reconquista: A Romance of Spain

By John Cowart

In this story, John Cowart explores the complex social, political and religious forces that dominated Medieval Spain during the Reconquista. Jews were caught in the middle of this titanic struggle between Christian and Muslim. The Moors drive Hernan from his castle, and he flees to Leon. There, he meets Rachel, the daughter of Abraham Ben Kohen, the king's chancellor. Their love grows in spite of their religious differences. She is a Jew, and he a Christian. When Ben Kohen is killed, the king blames Hernan and promises Rachel to another in marriage. Forced into exile, Hernan has lost everything. He must overcome his prejudices and reconcile with his worst enemy to regain his fortune and win the hand of the one he loves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Sep 30, 2011
• ISBN: 9781329943735

Book preview

Anita

Chapter 1

Hernan slept uneasily. His flaxen hair lay across his pillow as he tossed on the bed. Though naked from the waist up, sweat drenched his short beard as he lay in the hot summer air. It was August, in the year 944. The tower room was the coolest place in the castle. His mother, sister, and the other members of his household slept in bedrooms and dormitories in the great hall below. His father had built the castle. It nestled in the valley of the River Duero near the town of Zamora, in north central Spain. At his father's death, he inherited his title, and at twenty-two he was master of all his estate.

Already the dawn was breaking, and a rooster crowed. The sun glared bronze as it rose above the horizon and cast its shafts of hot light across the tower parapet and through the open door. A clamor of voices rose from the courtyard below and a gong began to sound its alarm. Hernan opened his eyes and listened. Then he sprang from the bed and raced to the edge of the parapet to stare at the scene below.

Villagers were crying and clamoring noisily from their houses. Their huts were mostly of sticks with packed mud for walls. Their thatched roofs shown white in the early sun. The village had grown from the often-muddy plain that surrounded the castle walls. Now men, women, and children fled their homes and scrambled to cross the drawbridge to safety. Many carried treasured possessions, while others herded livestock. Hernan lifted his gaze to the horizon. Riders under a black banner with a golden crescent bore down upon the fortress through the dusty Castilian haze.

"Allahu Akubar, God is great!" they shouted as they rode toward the village.

Hernan's men hurried to the parapets and trained their arrows upon the approaching foe. When the last of the villagers and most of their livestock were safely across the bridge, the iron gate dropped, and the bridge rose.

Hernan's squire appeared in the doorway and hurried to his side. May I help with your armor, my lord?

Hernan returned to his bedroom, took a linen shirt from a chest, and pulled it over his muscular frame. His squire brought Hernan's breeches and boots. In his haste, the chore of dressing became more difficult. He buckled his leather corset around his chest and covered himself with a coat of chain mail. Finally, he strapped his broadsword to his side and placed a helmet on his head. Hernan glanced toward his squire between the plates of metal that protected his nose and cheeks.

Bring Captain Rodriguez, he ordered. Then he returned to the parapet.

The Moors skirted the perimeter of the village and set fire to the cottages while the defenders tried to shoot them with arrows. The fire spread quickly from one straw rooftop to another. Soon the entire village was an inferno that sent up a stench that irritated the eyes of those who held the walls.

Hernan heard the rattle of armor and turned to see his captain approach through the open door. Carlos Rodriguez was tall and slender, his beard and temples streaked with gray, and his face was like leather, weathered by the sun.

What are our chances of withstanding a siege? asked Hernan.

Not very good Rodriguez answered. The harvest is still in the fields, and the rain has been scarce so the cisterns are nearly dry.

Hernan watched the enemy ravage the village. Then we have only one chance. Have the men prepare for a sortie.

We are out numbered, Rodriguez replied.

I know, said Hernan. He returned to his bedroom, descended the stairs, and went out to the courtyard below. Saddle my horse, he commanded, and shortly his great black horse was led snorting and prancing into the yard.

Let me go with you, Rodriguez pleaded.

No. Remain here and guard the gate until I return.

Rodriguez bowed. Hernan mounted, and his squire handed him a lance and shield. He looked around. Peasants pressed terrified against the walls, and their livestock milled in the yard. His knights had mounted, and their armor glinted in the morning sun.

Open the gate, he shouted.

Foot soldiers turned the handles on the winch to wind the cables that raised the gate and lowered the drawbridge. Hernan waited impatiently for the gate to open and for the bridge to be lowered. At last, the bridge was down.

Forward, Hernan shouted and spurred his horse to a gallop.

Hernan and his knights clattered from the courtyard and thundered across the drawbridge. They formed a ragged column of twos and threes and charged through the ruins of the blackened village that lay beyond. The fires still burned in many places and only the smoldering posts that supported the walls and roofs remained. The blowing smoke burned his eyes and dimmed his vision. Through the eye slits in his helmet, he could see the marauders waiting on a hilltop some distance beyond the village. Then he sighted their leader. He was dressed in white. His tunic was trimmed with gold and his kerchief, bound to the top of his head by a golden cord, billowed in the breeze. He rode on a white stallion. He held aloft a sword with his right hand, and on his left arm was a shield.

Hernan glanced behind him. Forward, he shouted to his men as he adjusted his shield. Forward.

He spurred his horse, lowered his lance, and raced toward his foe. The knights cleared the village and spread out to form a line. Over the rocky ground they charged, while the coarse yellow grass whipped about their horses' legs. Then the leader of the Moors cried out and brought down his sword.

The Moors answered his call and charged from their hilltop. God is Great, they shouted. Death to the Infidels.

For Jesus and Saint James, Hernan shouted, and his men echoed his cry.

For Jesus and Saint James, they cried. Their lances were ready, and they rushed to engage the Moors.

The ground thundered beneath the pounding hooves. Yard by yard, the opponents raced to their deadly embrace. Hernan sought the leader. He leaned over his horse's neck and crouched behind his shield. He held his lance steady and aimed toward his opponent's breast.

They were out numbered. There were at least two Moors for each of his men. Their only chance at victory rested in this first moment of battle. He and his knights had to inflict a heavy blow on this pass or lose it all.

Sweat streamed from Hernan's brow, and dust caked his face and arms. His horse was breathing heavily, and his flanks gleamed in the morning sun. An eternity of time was passing as the moment of impact drew near. The Moor held his shield across his chest and raised his sword for the kill. Hernan held steady, and his knights did the same.

With a crash, they met the foe. Hernan's lance broke when it struck the Moor. He felt the blow from the sword that struck against his shield. Reeling, and his horse staggering from the impact, Hernan rode past. He fought to steady his horse and struggled to stay in the saddle. He gained control and turned about. The Moor was not injured, but several of his men were, and they bled freely from the wounds they had received. Three of Hernan's men lay upon the ground. One did not move, and the others seemed to be dying. Those who had been unhorsed fought in single combat. Sword clashed against sword. Those on horseback had drawn their swords and fought in a general melee. Riderless horses ran aimlessly and added to the confusion. Hernan's men fought two or three opponents at a time. They slashed and hacked at each other. Steel struck against steel and sword hammered against shield.

One knight, who was on horseback, strove with three Moors who fought on the ground. They jabbed and stabbed at him with their swords, and he furiously swung his sword from right to left to parry their blows. His frightened horse pranced and stamped his hooves while he tried to free himself from his tormentors. One Moor took hold of the bridle, and the horse reared on his hind legs and cried out with a loud and plaintiff whinny. His rider lost his balance, fell to the ground, and was pummeled by his foes.

Hernan drew his sword, spurred his horse, and galloped to aid the fallen man. He ran down one assailant and, with a wide swing of his sword, removed the head of another. The third turned in startled amazement and cried out as one of Hernan’s knights ran him through. The knight pulled his sword from the fallen Moor and saluted Hernan with the bloody blade. The knight had lost his helmet, and his face was bloodied and bruised. He caught the reins of his horse, threw himself into the saddle, and went to assist his comrades.

Hernan searched the field. The leader of Moors had engaged a Christian knight and was giving him the worst of the exchange. Hernan charged again and slashed with his sword, but the Moor had seen him and turned to fend the blow with his shield. Hernan turned his horse and slashed again. The Moor fought back, blow for blow. The horses danced and circled each other as their masters strove in mortal combat.

Hernan studied the eyes of his enemy, dark behind black brows and close-cropped beard. They squinted from the bright morning sun. The man seemed to sneer through clenched teeth as he strove to land a fatal blow. Hernan's comrade recovered his strength and entered the fray, hacking and slashing at the Moor who parried the blows with his shield while he continued to strike at Hernan.

I can deal with him, cried Hernan. Go help our brethren.

The other knight turned to assist his comrades in arms, but the Moor seized the opening and thrust at his armpit, and blood ran down the knight's side. He slumped forward and fell to the earth. Then the Moor renewed his fury against Hernan and hammered blows against his shield. Hernan tried to respond, but found that he was spending his effort just to defend himself. His shield splintered and fell to pieces, and with only his sword, Hernan withstood the attack. He managed to make a thrust, but this offered the Moor an opening, and he landed a blow across Hernan's chest with the flat of his sword. Pain seared him. He gasped for breath and almost lost his grip on his sword. The Moor struck again and caught Hernan on his left shoulder. The blade did not penetrate the chain mail, but blood began to seep from the wound and trickle down his arm. His horse reared in fright, and Hernan almost lost control. He struggled to steady the beast with his wounded arm while he defended himself with his sword. The Moor pressed the attack, and Hernan began to yield ground. He quickly surveyed the battlefield. Most of his men were in a similar situation. He sought to put more space between him and the Moor and backed away more quickly.

Retreat, he called. Retreat. Back to the castle.

One of his men fought on foot, harried by a mounted warrior. Hernan turned and raced to his assistance.

Quickly, he called. Climb on behind me.

Hernan fought with the Moors around him while the man caught hold of the saddle and climbed onto the back of the horse behind him. Then Hernan turned and raced toward the drawbridge. The enemy pursued them, and Hernan and his comrade became engaged in a running fight as each swung their swords against their foes. Some of the knights tried to assist their wounded comrades, but they left behind most of the wounded and those who fought on foot. The enemy pursued them to the edge of the village but stopped when they came within bowshot from the castle walls. When he reached the drawbridge, Hernan reined his horse and turned. His passenger jumped to the ground and stood beside him.

Go inside, Hernan ordered. Every man inside. He gestured with his sword for his men to continue the retreat.

The man left him, and Hernan stood his ground before the bridge until his men were safely inside. When the last had crossed the bridge, he turned and rode through the gate. Timothy, his squire, met him and held the reins of his horse.

Close the gate, Hernan ordered. Raise the bridge.

Chapter 2

The gatekeeper struck the pin that held the gate, and the winch spun as the heavy iron portcullis dropped to the ground. Others turned winches that pulled on the heavy wooden beams and stone counter weights to raise the bridge. Hernan dismounted and took a step. He was breathing heavily. Sweat covered his brow. Blood ran down his arm. He staggered and almost fell.

Timothy caught him. You're hurt, he cried. Look, you are bleeding.

I'll be all right, Hernan snapped. He stubbornly pushed the young man away and struggled to stand upright. Many of our men are worse than I. He took another step, and the pain in his chest caused him to wince and catch his breath. He planted his sword on the ground and leaned against it. Help me to the ladder, he ordered. He leaned on Timothy's shoulder, and with his help, he reached the ladder and struggled to climb to the top of the wall.

Rodriguez stood there and peered out through an archer's slit in the parapet. I thought they had you, he said. I should have come with you.

Hernan gasped from the pain in his chest. And what would you have done? Gotten yourself killed, I suppose.

Rodriguez only shrugged his shoulders. What are your plans now? We can't withstand a siege for long.

How long? asked Hernan.

Three weeks. Perhaps a month. Two months if we put everyone on starvation rations.

We could get help from the king in that time. Tonight we could slip someone out of the castle. He could climb over the walls and slip through the Moor's lines in the dark.

He could, said Rodriguez. But he'd never get to the king in time on foot, and if we open the gate to allow him to get out on horseback, the Moors would spot him and ride him down before he got five miles.

Hernan stared out through the opening in the wall. Anger filled him, and he clenched his fist as he watched the Moors range over the battlefield. They went among the dead and wounded, stripping the Christians of their armor and weapons. They rounded up those who were still alive and placed them under guard.

I wish we could help them, he said.

Only Jesus can help them now, said Rodriguez. Poor fellows will probably be on the auction block in Córdoba at the end of the month. If they are lucky, they will be put to work tending grapes or fig trees, but most likely they will be rowing a galley for the remainder of their days. He paused. Riders approached the castle. Their black banner with the golden crescent fluttered in the breeze. An archer who stood next to Rodriguez placed an arrow in his bow. Hold, Rodriguez ordered. Let's see what they have to say.

Look, said Hernan. They have one of our men with them.

The knight rode on the back of a mule. He was barefoot and stripped to his waist. The Moors stopped their advance. Several dismounted and dragged the man from the mule. He shouted curses at his captors as they forced him off the road and tied him to a post, the remains of one of the houses. When they had tied the man securely, their leader advanced with two of his men. His white kerchief and flowing tunic billowed in the breeze. They stopped at the edge of the moat in front of the drawbridge.

Hernan stood so that he could be seen and spoke in broken Arabic. Accursed heathen, what do you want?

Infidel. The Moor spoke in the common language of the north that was no longer Latin but had not yet become Spanish. I come in the name of his most serene majesty, Abdal Rahman, the Caliph of Andalusia. You are trespassing on his realm, and we have come to negotiate your surrender.

Surrender? Never. The crows will be eating our rotting bodies before we surrender to you swine.

Rodriguez took Hernan by the shoulder and turned him. What are you saying? Let's hear his terms.

You are saying we should surrender and give up what we have worked so hard to attain? I'll die first.

Are you so eager to die? I'm not. I want to hear what he has to say.

Are you asking me to disgrace the name of my father? A simple yeoman, the king made him a knight when he led a body of men to this place and settled here. He became a baron when he built this castle, and he died defending it. Do you want me to give it up?

What good will all of this be, if you are dead? I have served you and your father longer than you have been alive. I don't want you to lose what you have gained, but I also promised your father to protect your life. Rodriguez turned to the opening in the parapet and shouted to the men below. Moor, what are your terms?

The Moor began to speak. Infidel, we are prepared to be most generous.

Hernan cut him off. He shouted down to him. You can eat the rotting flesh of a pig before we surrender to you.

Very well, said the Moor. You will see what happens to those who defy his majesty, Abdal Rahman. The Moor turned and rode back to the place where the knight was bound. The knight continued to resist and shouted insults at his captors. The Moor stopped and faced the castle. Then he nodded his head.

One of the men who guarded the knight drew his sword and slashed the knight across the chest. The man cried out, and even from such a distance, Hernan could see the blood that ran down his chest. The man with the sword slashed again and again while the knight screamed for mercy.

Hernan felt the man's pain. Despair gripped him. God, he shouted. Is there nothing we can do?

Rodriguez called to one of the archers. You are the best shot. He pointed in the direction the tormented knight. Can you hit such a target from this distance?

I don't know, sir. I'll try.

The archer removed his helmet and armor. Unobserved by Hernan, the Moors had piled wood at the feet of their captive. The man with the sword had stepped aside, and another set the wood alight. Flames began to rise, and the man howled in agony.

Quickly, called Hernan. Do what you have to do.

The archer placed an arrow in his bow, drew it back, and took careful aim. Sweat beaded upon his brow.

The man at the stake screamed.

Hurry. Hernan spoke under his breath.

With a snap, the archer released the arrow, and they watched anxiously as it flew toward its mark. The captive cried out one last time, and the rising smoke obscured him from view. Then the wind blew, and the smoke cleared. The man remained tied to