Thank you! Hopefully I can do him justice.
Thanks. I think everyone will be pleased.
I, Rodrigo: The Annals of the Orient
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I have good news and bad news. The good news is an update is in the works. The bad news it won't be completed until Sunday - I am headed out of town with my fiancée for the weekend and won't be back until Sunday evening.
Agreed. It really does make all the difference, in my opinion.
Chapter One: Lord and Conquerer
Entrenched
After Rodrigo's pledge of allegiance to Duke Ramon Berenguer, the new Marshall only had three months to prepare Barcelona's rag-tag soldiers and turn them into professional soldiers. While the definition of professional soldiers is much different in this era than it is in modern times - the notions of trained killers are the same. The Duke had requested that his soldiers meet as many standards as his Castillian allies had, and Rodrigo had been sure to do that. What culminated was a ducal army that could be effective in the field and not trampled over by the Taifas superior forces in the coming days. However, like all soldiers in training, there is no real way to test what everyone has learned until the battle lines are drawn. That test would come soon enough.
Albarracin, Aragon
June 6th, 1068
Standing atop a boulder, Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar and Duke Ramon Berenguer de Barcelona observed the happenings in their camp from their high, advantageous position. Amidst the parched, dry landscape were soldiers scurrying about, performing their various duties as they entrenched themselves around the palisade surrounding the now-besieged city of Albarracin. Groupings of tents were slowly being erected behind a series of earthworks - pointed logs facing the city to deter any sallies that wished to directly assault their position. Crude, but effective. The Duke merely stood in awe as what he believed to be a pathetic band of soldiers defied his knowledge.
After months of training, hardships, and toil – the Army of Barcelona had been committed to action against the Sheikdom of Albarracin. They eagerly accepted their first taste of combat as the Sheik's force accepted battle and stood in defiance against the conquering horde. The battle was a route - as Rodrigo marshaled his forces, enveloped, and utterly crushed the opposing force, nearly capturing the fleeing Sheik. In pursuit, they found themselves at the walls of Albarracin, excitedly setting up camp, extending Barcelona's stranglehold around the city. It would only be a matter of time before it would fall.
"It is amazing, Rodrigo. I never thought it would be possible," the Duke trailed off, too captivated by his surroundings to remember his Marshal was standing next to him.
"Your Highness?" Rodrigo inquired, turning to face his liege.
"All of this - I never thought I would see the day when I would led Barcelona against a Taifa. I never thought I would see the day where we were victorious on the battlefield, and I certainly never thought I would see my rag-tag army turned into something much greater than I could ever expect," the Duke smiled, clasping Rodrigo's chainmailed shoulder with his armored glove, a slight ringing bouncing into the Marshal's ear as metal connected with metal, "I am in your debt, Rodrigo."
"I am honored for you to say so, Your Highness. I do my best to serve you and honor the alliance between you and King Sancho," Rodrigo returned the smile, resting his hand on his sword - Tizona.
Hoping down from the boulder, Rodrigo extended his hand and assisted the Duke down with him. Their armor rattled as they walked toward the earthworks, causing any soldier taking note of their presence to immediately lower their heads in respect. Reaching the earthworks, the Duke hoisted his foot in front of him, his knew reaching his chest as he learned forward against a mound of dirt and dried mud. He surveyed the landscape, deep in thought, wondering what was transpiring behind the walls. Were the people inside frightened? Or did they have a plan?
"How long?" the Duke spoke in code, expecting Rodrigo to understand him.
"Four months maximum, Your Highness," Rodrigo noted, jumping atop the earthworks, extending his arm to point his finger at what lay before him, "with this cliff face behind them, they aren't going anywhere. No where to run. This city is probably well equipped enough with food and water, hence the wait. I believe starving them out is the best option."
"Then I must agree with you," the Duke said, raising himself to a standing position, "make the arrangements."
"Your Highness," Rodrigo bowed his head, and set off to perform his duties.
How did I ever pull this off, the Duke thought to himself, he too resting his hand on the hilt of his sword, marrying into House Jimenz was one thing, but securing his greatest general? Who ever thought Barcelona could be blessed with such luck?
Entrenched
The Spains in AD 1068. The Iberian peninsula has been a fractured placed since the death of Ferdinand Jimenz - his glorious realm divided up by his squabbling sons. To the south lies the Iberian Taifas, places far richer than their Christian counterparts in the north. What no one realizes is that a massive change in the balance of power is coming, and the powers that be might not be ready for it...
After Rodrigo's pledge of allegiance to Duke Ramon Berenguer, the new Marshall only had three months to prepare Barcelona's rag-tag soldiers and turn them into professional soldiers. While the definition of professional soldiers is much different in this era than it is in modern times - the notions of trained killers are the same. The Duke had requested that his soldiers meet as many standards as his Castillian allies had, and Rodrigo had been sure to do that. What culminated was a ducal army that could be effective in the field and not trampled over by the Taifas superior forces in the coming days. However, like all soldiers in training, there is no real way to test what everyone has learned until the battle lines are drawn. That test would come soon enough.
Albarracin, Aragon
June 6th, 1068
Standing atop a boulder, Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar and Duke Ramon Berenguer de Barcelona observed the happenings in their camp from their high, advantageous position. Amidst the parched, dry landscape were soldiers scurrying about, performing their various duties as they entrenched themselves around the palisade surrounding the now-besieged city of Albarracin. Groupings of tents were slowly being erected behind a series of earthworks - pointed logs facing the city to deter any sallies that wished to directly assault their position. Crude, but effective. The Duke merely stood in awe as what he believed to be a pathetic band of soldiers defied his knowledge.
After months of training, hardships, and toil – the Army of Barcelona had been committed to action against the Sheikdom of Albarracin. They eagerly accepted their first taste of combat as the Sheik's force accepted battle and stood in defiance against the conquering horde. The battle was a route - as Rodrigo marshaled his forces, enveloped, and utterly crushed the opposing force, nearly capturing the fleeing Sheik. In pursuit, they found themselves at the walls of Albarracin, excitedly setting up camp, extending Barcelona's stranglehold around the city. It would only be a matter of time before it would fall.
"It is amazing, Rodrigo. I never thought it would be possible," the Duke trailed off, too captivated by his surroundings to remember his Marshal was standing next to him.
"Your Highness?" Rodrigo inquired, turning to face his liege.
"All of this - I never thought I would see the day when I would led Barcelona against a Taifa. I never thought I would see the day where we were victorious on the battlefield, and I certainly never thought I would see my rag-tag army turned into something much greater than I could ever expect," the Duke smiled, clasping Rodrigo's chainmailed shoulder with his armored glove, a slight ringing bouncing into the Marshal's ear as metal connected with metal, "I am in your debt, Rodrigo."
"I am honored for you to say so, Your Highness. I do my best to serve you and honor the alliance between you and King Sancho," Rodrigo returned the smile, resting his hand on his sword - Tizona.
Hoping down from the boulder, Rodrigo extended his hand and assisted the Duke down with him. Their armor rattled as they walked toward the earthworks, causing any soldier taking note of their presence to immediately lower their heads in respect. Reaching the earthworks, the Duke hoisted his foot in front of him, his knew reaching his chest as he learned forward against a mound of dirt and dried mud. He surveyed the landscape, deep in thought, wondering what was transpiring behind the walls. Were the people inside frightened? Or did they have a plan?
"How long?" the Duke spoke in code, expecting Rodrigo to understand him.
"Four months maximum, Your Highness," Rodrigo noted, jumping atop the earthworks, extending his arm to point his finger at what lay before him, "with this cliff face behind them, they aren't going anywhere. No where to run. This city is probably well equipped enough with food and water, hence the wait. I believe starving them out is the best option."
"Then I must agree with you," the Duke said, raising himself to a standing position, "make the arrangements."
"Your Highness," Rodrigo bowed his head, and set off to perform his duties.
How did I ever pull this off, the Duke thought to himself, he too resting his hand on the hilt of his sword, marrying into House Jimenz was one thing, but securing his greatest general? Who ever thought Barcelona could be blessed with such luck?
Chapter One: Lord and Conquerer
Onward to Better Things
Albarracin, Aragon
September 27, 1068
A hundred men walked across the same parched landscape as they had when they arrived four months earlier. However, this time, the land was no longer parched – it was saturated with the blood from a thousand fallen soldiers of the Sheikdom of Albarracin. Rodrigo, at the head of the soldiers, shook his head in dismay as he plunged his sword into the heart of a dying man. How futile the sally really had been. The Sheik was nearly starved out of his own city, and rather than surrendering and letting his people live normally once again, he sent them into the field to attempt to break the siege. Unfortunately for nearly the majority of the populace – they were all sent into an early grave. And now after decisively destroying the peasant rabble of a stubborn Sheik – Rodrigo had the gruesome task of ending the lives of the wounded strewn across the battlefield.
“I think that is all of them!” a younger noble cried out, unable to bear the groans of the dying anymore. Rodrigo panned his eyes over the plains, seeing only a few twitches of limbs in a vast sea of stillness. With the stench of death becoming slightly overwhelming, he pointed his finger downfield at a collection of wounded, but moving, peasants.
“Collect them and take them back to the camp. I want them to be treated with the utmost respect,” Rodrigo delegated, waving his arm about in a series of visual commands.
“But our orders…” another soldier spoke up, to only be immediately interrupted by Rodrigo.
“The Duke will respect my decision. Enough people have died today,” Rodrigo commanded. Turning on his heel, he sheathed Tizona, offered a prayer for the wounded still alive, and shuffled off toward the open, wooden front gate.
Entering the city, it looked no better than the outside. For the first time in months, the people were allowed below average meals – much more than they were getting already. As the subjects of the now-dead Sheik scurried about, they looked almost as dead as their brethren beyond the city walls, and most of them were women a children. Rodrigo almost believed they were ghouls, as their skin was pale white and their faces and bodies sunken from their destitution. It was awful to behold, and Rodrigo was only glad it was over. He knew that, like the Duke, most found punishing Muslims this was God’s Will, but he knew in his heart that God would never want this. He would never ask his creation to bestow so much hatred on one another.
Reaching the courtyard of the Sheik’s now run-down palace, a grouping of soldiers who appeared to be gambling immediately stood up and acknowledged their Marshal’s presence. Rodrigo shook his head in disgust – the Duke had allowed the soldiers one day to sack Albarracin and already they were gambling their winnings. What they didn’t know was that they were gambling their pay – they had no idea that the Duke was nearly out of money. His small duchy was so ill-equipped that four months of campaign nearly bankrupted it. The Duke was desperate for funds, and allowing a sack was the only way to get it. The Sheik was decently rich, and the Duke had his soldiers immediately seal off the palace to stop his own soldiers from plundering it. Unfortunately, the money wouldn’t last long – with only several hundred denarii found in valuable goods.
“Rodrigo!” a familiar voice cried out, “we have done it! Albarracin is ours!”
Looking over toward the voice, Rodrigo spotted the Duke rushing toward him, wearing a golden bracelet in which he deduced was previously worn by the Sheik who resided here previously. Rodrigo’s visage erupted into an ear-to-ear grin, embracing his liege in utter happiness. The siege itself, and even the battles, were some of the easiest Rodrigo had ever faced. However, the morale gained from this victory was tremendous, and whatever Rodrigo had done to make the Duke feel this way, he knew that the soldiers all over Albarracin and back at the camp probably felt the same. They had gone from a rag-tag militia to a powerful force in mere months. No one in this room could fathom how influential this day really was.
“Your Highness,” Rodrigo bowed his head, “you are doing well?”
“I am Rodrigo, I am!” Duke Ramon announced, with Rodrigo noticing a golden goblet full of cheap wine in one of his hands, “it is not often that we get to celebrate like this! We are victorious!” the Duke then turned to a crowd of his personal guard picking through valuables. Drawing his sword and hoisting into the air, the Duke continued, “all hail Barcelona!”
“All hail Barcelona!” the soldiers yelled back, Rodrigo only laughing where he stood.
Breaking off from Duke Ramon Berenguer’s after-siege party, Rodrigo took to one of the Sheik’s day beds. Laying down in it, the weight of his armor was transferred from his shoulders to all over his body, easing the tension after months of wearing it from day break to sunset. Rodrigo sighed gently, attempting to relax with the noise of drunken foolery ringing in his ears. I will gladly take a break after all of these months of war, he thought to himself. Though, he knew in his heart that the job of a soldier was never done.
“Sir Rodrigo?” a sweet, yet unknown, female voice emanated from across the way, piercing the shrieks and shouts of looting and drinking. Immediately, Rodrigo stood up to greet the woman, bowing his head in respect as his code of honor demanded. Only then did he realize who she was.
“I am Agnes, daughter of Duke Ramon Berenguer – I believe we are acquainted?” Agnes smiled, her sweet voice picking at Rodrigo’s resolve as she fell into a curtsey.
“That is I,” Rodrigo bent over, kissing Agnes’ hand, “what brings you so far from Barcelona, m’lady?”
“I am intrigued by soldiers, Sir Rodrigo,” Agnes winked at the Marshal, Rodrigo only dumbfounded by her beauty. For someone who shut in his family as the Duke did, Agnes appeared to have nothing wrong with her. What was really wrong with the House of Sunifred?, “and I have always wanted to see this place. The Sheik had been our mortal enemy for years, and I never thought I would get the chance to walk through the hallways of his palace. It is quite a spectacular place, don’t you agree?”
“I could not agree more, m’lady,” Rodrigo lowered his head in respect, as any knight of the court would do. While most people would be thrilled to offer such respect, Agnes only shook her head, a smile creeping across her face.
“Are you always this formal? Is that why King Sancho sent you?” Agnes laughed, Rodrigo only shrugged.
“I don’t rightly know,” Rodrigo smiled in return, “I have been told I am an exceptional duelist.”
“Is that so?” Agnes continued laughing, “are you going to challenge each our of enemies to single combat?”
“Well, how do you think we won here at Albarracin?” Rodrigo joked, something he normally did not do, but a sense of comfort washed over him, and it felt right. Just as he was about to continue the conversation, a man burst through, nearly riding his horse into the palace proper. As he ran, he tripped over a fallen goblet, his face connecting with the floor. Letting out a wretched curse, he immediately stood up, eyed up Rodrigo and approached him kneeling. The messenger hardly looked older than fifteen, his hair mangled in girlish locks, but his frame was small which made Rodrigo believe he was the faster runner the author could muster. Whatever the news was it had to be important.
“What is it?” the Duke stumbled over, casting aside his cub in a near drunken stuper.
“Your Highness,” the messenger adjusted himself to face the Duke, “I bring news from Burgos.”
The Duke seemed to sober up as he heard the name of Castille’s capital. “What does King Sancho desire?”
“He desires for Barcelona to honor his alliance with his kingdom and join him in the war against the Emir of Zaragoza. His forces are marshaled and are en route to the capital. He eagerly requests for you to join him in the battle to take Zaragoza.” The runner handed the Duke a folded piece of parchment, sealed with wax and impressed with the signet ring of the King of Castille. It certainly was official.
“Tell him we march within the week,” the Duke responded, dropping a few coins into the boy’s still extended arm. The runner bowed his head, turned his heel, and made way for his horse.
“Take a fresh horse!” Rodrigo exclaimed, stepping forward, “you will ride that one to death!” The boy only turned his head and nodded half-heartedly. Such was the folly of youth.
End Chapter One
Well, chapter one is complete! What did everyone think? Do we have any questions, comments, or concerns? I would love to get some feedback.
Anywho, we shall break for a short interim - a run-down of the important characters introduced thus far - before proceeding to Chapter Two, which has been aptly named 'Affairs of the Heart'. Stay tuned!
Onward to Better Things
Albarracin, Aragon
September 27, 1068
A hundred men walked across the same parched landscape as they had when they arrived four months earlier. However, this time, the land was no longer parched – it was saturated with the blood from a thousand fallen soldiers of the Sheikdom of Albarracin. Rodrigo, at the head of the soldiers, shook his head in dismay as he plunged his sword into the heart of a dying man. How futile the sally really had been. The Sheik was nearly starved out of his own city, and rather than surrendering and letting his people live normally once again, he sent them into the field to attempt to break the siege. Unfortunately for nearly the majority of the populace – they were all sent into an early grave. And now after decisively destroying the peasant rabble of a stubborn Sheik – Rodrigo had the gruesome task of ending the lives of the wounded strewn across the battlefield.
“I think that is all of them!” a younger noble cried out, unable to bear the groans of the dying anymore. Rodrigo panned his eyes over the plains, seeing only a few twitches of limbs in a vast sea of stillness. With the stench of death becoming slightly overwhelming, he pointed his finger downfield at a collection of wounded, but moving, peasants.
“Collect them and take them back to the camp. I want them to be treated with the utmost respect,” Rodrigo delegated, waving his arm about in a series of visual commands.
“But our orders…” another soldier spoke up, to only be immediately interrupted by Rodrigo.
“The Duke will respect my decision. Enough people have died today,” Rodrigo commanded. Turning on his heel, he sheathed Tizona, offered a prayer for the wounded still alive, and shuffled off toward the open, wooden front gate.
Entering the city, it looked no better than the outside. For the first time in months, the people were allowed below average meals – much more than they were getting already. As the subjects of the now-dead Sheik scurried about, they looked almost as dead as their brethren beyond the city walls, and most of them were women a children. Rodrigo almost believed they were ghouls, as their skin was pale white and their faces and bodies sunken from their destitution. It was awful to behold, and Rodrigo was only glad it was over. He knew that, like the Duke, most found punishing Muslims this was God’s Will, but he knew in his heart that God would never want this. He would never ask his creation to bestow so much hatred on one another.
Reaching the courtyard of the Sheik’s now run-down palace, a grouping of soldiers who appeared to be gambling immediately stood up and acknowledged their Marshal’s presence. Rodrigo shook his head in disgust – the Duke had allowed the soldiers one day to sack Albarracin and already they were gambling their winnings. What they didn’t know was that they were gambling their pay – they had no idea that the Duke was nearly out of money. His small duchy was so ill-equipped that four months of campaign nearly bankrupted it. The Duke was desperate for funds, and allowing a sack was the only way to get it. The Sheik was decently rich, and the Duke had his soldiers immediately seal off the palace to stop his own soldiers from plundering it. Unfortunately, the money wouldn’t last long – with only several hundred denarii found in valuable goods.
“Rodrigo!” a familiar voice cried out, “we have done it! Albarracin is ours!”
Looking over toward the voice, Rodrigo spotted the Duke rushing toward him, wearing a golden bracelet in which he deduced was previously worn by the Sheik who resided here previously. Rodrigo’s visage erupted into an ear-to-ear grin, embracing his liege in utter happiness. The siege itself, and even the battles, were some of the easiest Rodrigo had ever faced. However, the morale gained from this victory was tremendous, and whatever Rodrigo had done to make the Duke feel this way, he knew that the soldiers all over Albarracin and back at the camp probably felt the same. They had gone from a rag-tag militia to a powerful force in mere months. No one in this room could fathom how influential this day really was.
“Your Highness,” Rodrigo bowed his head, “you are doing well?”
“I am Rodrigo, I am!” Duke Ramon announced, with Rodrigo noticing a golden goblet full of cheap wine in one of his hands, “it is not often that we get to celebrate like this! We are victorious!” the Duke then turned to a crowd of his personal guard picking through valuables. Drawing his sword and hoisting into the air, the Duke continued, “all hail Barcelona!”
“All hail Barcelona!” the soldiers yelled back, Rodrigo only laughing where he stood.
Breaking off from Duke Ramon Berenguer’s after-siege party, Rodrigo took to one of the Sheik’s day beds. Laying down in it, the weight of his armor was transferred from his shoulders to all over his body, easing the tension after months of wearing it from day break to sunset. Rodrigo sighed gently, attempting to relax with the noise of drunken foolery ringing in his ears. I will gladly take a break after all of these months of war, he thought to himself. Though, he knew in his heart that the job of a soldier was never done.
“Sir Rodrigo?” a sweet, yet unknown, female voice emanated from across the way, piercing the shrieks and shouts of looting and drinking. Immediately, Rodrigo stood up to greet the woman, bowing his head in respect as his code of honor demanded. Only then did he realize who she was.
“I am Agnes, daughter of Duke Ramon Berenguer – I believe we are acquainted?” Agnes smiled, her sweet voice picking at Rodrigo’s resolve as she fell into a curtsey.
“That is I,” Rodrigo bent over, kissing Agnes’ hand, “what brings you so far from Barcelona, m’lady?”
“I am intrigued by soldiers, Sir Rodrigo,” Agnes winked at the Marshal, Rodrigo only dumbfounded by her beauty. For someone who shut in his family as the Duke did, Agnes appeared to have nothing wrong with her. What was really wrong with the House of Sunifred?, “and I have always wanted to see this place. The Sheik had been our mortal enemy for years, and I never thought I would get the chance to walk through the hallways of his palace. It is quite a spectacular place, don’t you agree?”
“I could not agree more, m’lady,” Rodrigo lowered his head in respect, as any knight of the court would do. While most people would be thrilled to offer such respect, Agnes only shook her head, a smile creeping across her face.
“Are you always this formal? Is that why King Sancho sent you?” Agnes laughed, Rodrigo only shrugged.
“I don’t rightly know,” Rodrigo smiled in return, “I have been told I am an exceptional duelist.”
“Is that so?” Agnes continued laughing, “are you going to challenge each our of enemies to single combat?”
“Well, how do you think we won here at Albarracin?” Rodrigo joked, something he normally did not do, but a sense of comfort washed over him, and it felt right. Just as he was about to continue the conversation, a man burst through, nearly riding his horse into the palace proper. As he ran, he tripped over a fallen goblet, his face connecting with the floor. Letting out a wretched curse, he immediately stood up, eyed up Rodrigo and approached him kneeling. The messenger hardly looked older than fifteen, his hair mangled in girlish locks, but his frame was small which made Rodrigo believe he was the faster runner the author could muster. Whatever the news was it had to be important.
“What is it?” the Duke stumbled over, casting aside his cub in a near drunken stuper.
“Your Highness,” the messenger adjusted himself to face the Duke, “I bring news from Burgos.”
The Duke seemed to sober up as he heard the name of Castille’s capital. “What does King Sancho desire?”
“He desires for Barcelona to honor his alliance with his kingdom and join him in the war against the Emir of Zaragoza. His forces are marshaled and are en route to the capital. He eagerly requests for you to join him in the battle to take Zaragoza.” The runner handed the Duke a folded piece of parchment, sealed with wax and impressed with the signet ring of the King of Castille. It certainly was official.
“Tell him we march within the week,” the Duke responded, dropping a few coins into the boy’s still extended arm. The runner bowed his head, turned his heel, and made way for his horse.
“Take a fresh horse!” Rodrigo exclaimed, stepping forward, “you will ride that one to death!” The boy only turned his head and nodded half-heartedly. Such was the folly of youth.
End Chapter One
Anywho, we shall break for a short interim - a run-down of the important characters introduced thus far - before proceeding to Chapter Two, which has been aptly named 'Affairs of the Heart'. Stay tuned!
War excites the loins?Awesome update! And it seems Rodrigo is having as much luck as Ramon is.
A really nice update. You're doing a great job of bringing Ramon's humility and piety to the fore.
I've been keeping an eye on this since it first appeared, so I probably should have spoken up sooner. o
Quite a nice story you've got going there, with an intriguing foreshadowing to boot. I look forward to reading more of it. I've always thought of trying my luck with Rodrigo, but could never quite get much success out of it, so I wish you luck!
oQuite a nice story you've got going there, with an intriguing foreshadowing to boot. I look forward to reading more of it. I've always thought of trying my luck with Rodrigo, but could never quite get much success out of it, so I wish you luck!
Thank you, I appreciate your comment. I am glad you enjoyed the update! Ramon, however, will soon be putting that humility, at least, to the test...
Thank you! I am glad you like it. I will certainly keep it up!
No worries. I am just glad I have some reader interest. I have played plenty of CK games where Rodrigo's incredible martial skill was wasted. Though, I did play this game as England in 1066 where the Cid himself defected to my court. Now that was awesome.I've been keeping an eye on this since it first appeared, so I probably should have spoken up sooner.
Quite a nice story you've got going there, with an intriguing foreshadowing to boot. I look forward to reading more of it. I've always thought of trying my luck with Rodrigo, but could never quite get much success out of it, so I wish you luck!
Regardless, thank you for your support! I am glad you like the story thus far.
In other news, the interim update is in the works. It will just be an outline of the characters, but I figured it would be important enough to just keep everyone straight.
The Cast Thus Far
In order as they appeared.
Ramon Berenguer de Barcelona
Ramon Berenguer de Barcelona, Duke of Barcelona, is man most concerned about the health of his state. Taking the throne when he was 12, Duke Ramon is a man that has seen out the rise of his lands and the coming of age of his Catalan people. Early in his reign, after the end of the regency, he codified feudal law throughout his ducal lands which had been improperly executed by his father Berenguer Ramon the Crooked, which in history would be remembered as the first compliation of feudal law in Western Europe.
The Duke also is a man of God, often times described as a zealot in the face of his Moorish neighbors - seen in his recent push in Albarracin and the extraction of the cities monetary wealth. While his beliefs pushed him toward war, and the extraction of tributes, the Duke has found that easing the transition of his conquered Moorish cities into the Duchy's fold is vastly easier than immediately conquering and laying down new laws, new overlords, and a new way of life.
Pedro Ramon de Barcelona
The eldest son of Duke Ramon Berenguer, Pedro Ramon is by far a strict constrast to his illiustrious father. A lackadasical, indulgent womanizer, Pedro Ramon is everything the Duke didn't want in a son, especially a son that will be expected to secure and consolidate Ramon Berenguer's gains in the coming years. His sexual escapades are known far and wife throughout the Duchy, often causing the Duke's court much grief in embarassment and making amends. Many a Barcelonan dread the dead where the Duke falls and Pedro Ramon rides in the saddle of power.
Almodis de La Marche
Wife of Duke Ramon Berenguer, Almodis de La Marche entered into an arranged marriage with the Duke, securing the Duke's various estates that lied within the County of La Marche's territory. Bearing the Duke five children, rumors have circulated throughout the court that Almodis and three of her five children have been 'scourage by God', and have promptly been locked away in the confines of the Duke's residence, forever hidden from public eye. It is not known what this scourage is, or even if it is real, but such things cannot be hidden forever...
Ermesenda d'Empuries
The eldest daughter of Count Ponç d'Empuries, Ermesenda is a woman bent on gaining any sort of power over her peers. She is willing to achieve that goal through any means necessary, and is trailed by many different stories and scandals when she arrived at Barcelona's court in 1068. Her current relationship with Duke Ramon Berenguer is only one of many of her recent conquests, using his loose lips to gain any sort of knowledge, any sort of edge to further her own agenda. However, she is still a young girl, and with no real knowledge of politics, mistakes are bound to be made.
Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar
Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar, Marshall of the Army of Barcelona, arrived at the court of Duke Ramon Berenguer under the terms of the alliance between Barcelona and Castille after the marriage of Pedro Ramon and Urraca Jimenz. Born in the small town of Vivar a few kilometres outside of Burgos, Rodrigo is of humble origins, but has come very far during his service as King Sancho of Castille's personal champion. Armed with his Damascus steel, Cordoba forged sword Tizona and his Arabian warhorse Babieca, Rodrigo has carried his talent in all things military to Barcelona, offering his services as Western Europe's most talented general at the time.
Agnes de Barcelona
The eldest daughter of Duke Ramon Berenguer, Agnes is a curious woman bound by her own convictions and strives to understand much of the world around her as possible. That curiousity, however, has led her in conflict with her pious father, who believes in the sanctity of marriage and Agnes' staunch resistance against it. Regardless, her conviction in staying single is lessening against Rodrigo's military success, as all women of Barcelona are slowly growing found of the general as his popularity mounts. Surely, a future between Agnes and Rodrigo is unfolding.
In order as they appeared.
Ramon Berenguer de Barcelona
Ramon Berenguer de Barcelona, Duke of Barcelona, is man most concerned about the health of his state. Taking the throne when he was 12, Duke Ramon is a man that has seen out the rise of his lands and the coming of age of his Catalan people. Early in his reign, after the end of the regency, he codified feudal law throughout his ducal lands which had been improperly executed by his father Berenguer Ramon the Crooked, which in history would be remembered as the first compliation of feudal law in Western Europe.
The Duke also is a man of God, often times described as a zealot in the face of his Moorish neighbors - seen in his recent push in Albarracin and the extraction of the cities monetary wealth. While his beliefs pushed him toward war, and the extraction of tributes, the Duke has found that easing the transition of his conquered Moorish cities into the Duchy's fold is vastly easier than immediately conquering and laying down new laws, new overlords, and a new way of life.
Pedro Ramon de Barcelona
The eldest son of Duke Ramon Berenguer, Pedro Ramon is by far a strict constrast to his illiustrious father. A lackadasical, indulgent womanizer, Pedro Ramon is everything the Duke didn't want in a son, especially a son that will be expected to secure and consolidate Ramon Berenguer's gains in the coming years. His sexual escapades are known far and wife throughout the Duchy, often causing the Duke's court much grief in embarassment and making amends. Many a Barcelonan dread the dead where the Duke falls and Pedro Ramon rides in the saddle of power.
Almodis de La Marche
Wife of Duke Ramon Berenguer, Almodis de La Marche entered into an arranged marriage with the Duke, securing the Duke's various estates that lied within the County of La Marche's territory. Bearing the Duke five children, rumors have circulated throughout the court that Almodis and three of her five children have been 'scourage by God', and have promptly been locked away in the confines of the Duke's residence, forever hidden from public eye. It is not known what this scourage is, or even if it is real, but such things cannot be hidden forever...
Ermesenda d'Empuries
The eldest daughter of Count Ponç d'Empuries, Ermesenda is a woman bent on gaining any sort of power over her peers. She is willing to achieve that goal through any means necessary, and is trailed by many different stories and scandals when she arrived at Barcelona's court in 1068. Her current relationship with Duke Ramon Berenguer is only one of many of her recent conquests, using his loose lips to gain any sort of knowledge, any sort of edge to further her own agenda. However, she is still a young girl, and with no real knowledge of politics, mistakes are bound to be made.
Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar
Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar, Marshall of the Army of Barcelona, arrived at the court of Duke Ramon Berenguer under the terms of the alliance between Barcelona and Castille after the marriage of Pedro Ramon and Urraca Jimenz. Born in the small town of Vivar a few kilometres outside of Burgos, Rodrigo is of humble origins, but has come very far during his service as King Sancho of Castille's personal champion. Armed with his Damascus steel, Cordoba forged sword Tizona and his Arabian warhorse Babieca, Rodrigo has carried his talent in all things military to Barcelona, offering his services as Western Europe's most talented general at the time.
Agnes de Barcelona
The eldest daughter of Duke Ramon Berenguer, Agnes is a curious woman bound by her own convictions and strives to understand much of the world around her as possible. That curiousity, however, has led her in conflict with her pious father, who believes in the sanctity of marriage and Agnes' staunch resistance against it. Regardless, her conviction in staying single is lessening against Rodrigo's military success, as all women of Barcelona are slowly growing found of the general as his popularity mounts. Surely, a future between Agnes and Rodrigo is unfolding.
So, what is everyone's opinion of the 'Cast Thus Far'? Did anyone find it helpful? Annoying maybe? Pointless? I got the idea from my fiance who said she was having a hard time keeping some of the character's straight. I thought it would be a little interesting to give some insight into all of the major characters that will we be with for the next few chapters as the events surrounding the Duke and Rodrigo unfold.
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I, for one, found the update helpful, too. I think I can see some interesting times ahead, especially if the Rodrigo-Agnes romance continues to blossom.
Stay tuned, and I believe you will be surprised.
It's funny you say that...
Chapter Two: Affairs of the Heart
Chivalrous Gestures
Zaragoza, Aragon
October 25, 1068
As promised, Duke Ramon Berenguer de Barcelona set out within a week of receiving the word from King Sancho of Castille. With the smell of victory in their nostrils and the taste of blood in their mouth, the Army of Barcelona, leaving behind a small garrison of soldiers at Albarracin, departed with high hopes to Zaragoza. The army itself however, burgeoning at 5,000 men on paper, moved at a snail’s pace due to worsening weather and several violent rainstorms. Word began to circulate through the troops that God was giving them a sign of some sort, but the Duke immediately dismissed such thoughts as heresy. Regardless, morale remained high as the slow march to battle.
The Duke sat high atop his warhorse, a long column of men-at-arms stretched across the landscape, contouring their steady pace to the rolling hills behind him. As the winding trail of soldiers advanced, the deafening sounds of their march emanated throughout Zaragoza’s countryside. The rattle of sword, armor, and shield mixed with the whiny of the horses and the grunts of the pack mules drew the attention of residents as each footstep moved in rhythm like a healthy heart beat. It invoked fear into the hapless peasantry, but for the Duke, it was music to his ears. The noise of the march, the shuffle of logistics, and the headache of tactics all made the Duke feel alive.
In the continuous movement, a seemingly distant noise pricked the Duke’s ear, separating itself from the relaxing drone behind him. Twisting his neck, a dust cloud was forming from a cavalryman riding his horse quite hard. As the horseman drew nearer, he recognized the horse – it was Rodrigo. Leading the column of infantry, the Duke broke formation and trotted over to Rodrigo, who seeing the Duke coming to meet him half-way, slowed down considerably. The Marshall was oddly flushed considering the temperature outside, the Duke only cocking an eyebrow, wondering what the matter was.
“I have news, Highness!” Rodrigo exclaimed. The Duke gestures for him to continue, “The scouts have returned, and they said over the next five hills King Sancho and the Emir of Zaragoza are readying in battle formation! We should be able to make it if we hurry. We could crush the Emir’s army in a pincer - assuming he has no knowledge of our entry into his land.”
The Duke nodded as he usual did, deferring to Rodrigo’s tactical genius. “Double time!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. As the echo travelled down wind, the various commanders riding abreast with the column shouted the same thing. Immediately their orders were obeyed, the loudness of the march increasing dramatically as the soldiers broke out into a run. The column began to zoom past Rodrigo and the Duke, both men exchanging a nod before they too advanced, attempting to keep order in the ranks as they steadily charged forward.
An hour later, the Army of Barcelona had been marshaled into battle formation – a surprising feat in which only Rodrigo could have accomplished. Standing atop a hill looking in the valley below, the armies of the Emir and King Sancho could be seen marching toward one another, preparing to engage in preliminary skirmishes before battle was accepted. The Army of Barcelona, whilst the happenings below them were unfolding, was assembled in standard formation – archers in front, followed by light infantry, followed by heavy infantry, and cavalry covering the flanks. Rodrigo and the Duke, along with a collection of knights, stood behind the lines of infantry, holding the power of initiating the advance in their hands. With their diagonal position on the battlefield, the Emir, if engaged, would be forced to both be ensnared and destroyed, or attempt an escape mounting in heavy casualties as the Duke would be blocking their direct escape route to Zaragoza.
The vertical red and orange stripped vexilloid of Barcelona awoke the Duke from a daydream as his army gazed over the plain of the engaging forces of Castille and Zaragoza. While it was no question that King Sancho would win, as he had superior numbers and better equipped soldiers, it was up in the air what kind of victory he would win – especially without Rodrigo in command as per usual. Too many losses and settling in for a siege of Zaragoza would quickly become impractical as the threat of a successful sally would loom each night as the soldiers retired to their war tents. The Duke knew his entrance into the battle would be decisive, but it was an art to know when to strike.
“H-Highness?” a nameless noble stuttered, “w-what a-are y-your o-orders?”
“I believe Sir Rodrigo has the answer to that question,” the Duke smiled, turning his head and nodding to Rodrigo. The Marshal nodded in return.
“I am honored, Your Highness,” Rodrigo thanked the Duke. Drawing his sword, Tizona, he thrust it into the air, and lowered it so the tip faced forward, “advance!”
The standard of Barcelona lowered, pointing forward, only to then return to its upright position. A distant horn let out a triumphant burst of sound, signaling the men who could not see the standard to advance. Immediately the sound of stomping feet reverberated through the valley, the familiar rattle of arms descending down the hillside into the battle below. Rodrigo and the entourage of knights soon followed, beckoning their steeds forward after prodding them in the side. The archers, however, stood their ground. After the advancing line of soldiers passed and met a certain distance away from them, they knocked their arrows and let loose – gentle whistling sounds piercing the air as death met their targets below. Only then did Zaragoza know that they were doomed.
The rip and tear of flesh, the rivers of blood, and screams of pain – all gruesome realities of the chaos of conflict. The thick of battle was where the boys become men. What these soldiers experienced at Albarracin was nothing in comparison to what they were experiencing here. Soldiers lie dead all around – felled by the slash of a saber, the trample of a horse, or an arrow finding a new home – while others stepped over the fallen to find more targets. All you can do is sit and watch as it unfolds, however the Duke was not one normally to defer the outcome to chance. If he wasn’t in the thick of it, the day might as well be lost.
Ferran Certores, a knight in his mid thirties, was in the prime of his life. Owning a small fief in the County of Empuries, he eagerly accepted the call to arms in an attempt to better his position amongst Barcelona’s growing nobility. Decently equipped and well-trained, he was the token soldier in Rodrigo’s – just a nameless one. Little did he know the collision course he was headed for with fate, as events were set into motion that would propel him to achieve his dreams do things he never imagined he would do. Sword and shield in hand, he charged into the fray.
Ferran plunged the tip of his blade through belly of a Moor hugging him with one arm as steel sliced easily through padded leather and flesh. Unsheathing the blade from its corpse, he scanned the area for a new foe. His horse had been cut from underneath long ago, minutes after the initial charge a Moslem had took a swing at one of the horse’s legs and successfully rendered his expensive steed useless. In the distance, he could barely make out a figure – the Duke himself. Still atop his steed, waving his sword about in intricate patterns, several Moors were surrounding him. Ferran, immediately seeing the outcome of being in that situation, cast down his shield and broke out into a run to interrupt the kill.
“Highness!” Ferran screamed as he saw the Duke topple over off of his horse, hitting the ground with an obvious crash. The horse met a similar fate; after being stuck with several sabers, it collapsed from loss of blood and excruciating pain. The attackers immediately noticed the charging knight, and readied their ground.
Ferran, catching one soldiers flatfooted, stabbed and plunged his blade into his high, Ferran’s face catching a spatter of blood as the soldiers buckled over. At the death of their comrade, two Moors rushed Ferran, one of which tripped over a dead Castillian as he made way to intercept Ferran. Immediately taking action, Ferran swung his blade, his sword lodging part-way through the first soldier’s neck before stopping. Having no time to recover as the second soldier closed, Ferran reached down into his boot and drew a dagger, bringing it down into the meaty part of the soldier’s shoulder – he too falling to the earth, unable to take anymore.
The field clear of opposition, Ferran sheathed his knife and checked the Duke, kneeling beside him. He wasn’t moving, but he also did appear to have any obvious inflicted wounds.
Must be unconscious, Ferran thought, grabbing the Duke underneath his armpits and attempting to drag him to safety. The weight of the Duke’s chainmail seemed to be too much, but in a desperate act of bravery, no weight was too much right now. Ferran scanned the area as he retreated, finding that he was seeing more and more Castillians and Barcelonans than Moors – the battle was turning into a slaughter. Yet, victory was still victory.
The Duke opened his eyes after what seemed like seconds from when he fell from his horse. Getting a sense of where he was at, he found that he was lying down on what felt like a cot. His armor was stripped from him, and he only seemed to be wearing a loose-fitting tunic and a pair of pants. Attempting to move, he was stopped when a massive pang of pain rocked his head, forcing him back down on the bed.
“Your Highness?” a familiar voice spoke – it was Rodrigo.
“Where am… what hap… ugh,” the Duke attempted, but everything was difficult with the world seemed like it was spinning around him.
“We are back in your tent – we have won the battle,” Rodrigo spoke softly, not wanting to agitate the Duke’s mind splitting headache, “you were attacked by three soldiers. They surrounded you, cut down your horse, and were about to kill you if Sir Ferran Certores here didn’t save you.”
“Your Highness,” the knight bowed his head, even though the Duke’s eyes were sealed shut.
“Thank… you…” the Duke groaned, rolling over in his cot, shutting out the noise as he quickly fell into a most peaceful sleep. It would be a bit of recovery from the fall he had taken, given his age, but he would be back in the field in no time at all – and Zaragoza would rue the day they had not felled Ramon Berenguer de Barcelona.
Chivalrous Gestures
Zaragoza, Aragon
October 25, 1068
As promised, Duke Ramon Berenguer de Barcelona set out within a week of receiving the word from King Sancho of Castille. With the smell of victory in their nostrils and the taste of blood in their mouth, the Army of Barcelona, leaving behind a small garrison of soldiers at Albarracin, departed with high hopes to Zaragoza. The army itself however, burgeoning at 5,000 men on paper, moved at a snail’s pace due to worsening weather and several violent rainstorms. Word began to circulate through the troops that God was giving them a sign of some sort, but the Duke immediately dismissed such thoughts as heresy. Regardless, morale remained high as the slow march to battle.
The Duke sat high atop his warhorse, a long column of men-at-arms stretched across the landscape, contouring their steady pace to the rolling hills behind him. As the winding trail of soldiers advanced, the deafening sounds of their march emanated throughout Zaragoza’s countryside. The rattle of sword, armor, and shield mixed with the whiny of the horses and the grunts of the pack mules drew the attention of residents as each footstep moved in rhythm like a healthy heart beat. It invoked fear into the hapless peasantry, but for the Duke, it was music to his ears. The noise of the march, the shuffle of logistics, and the headache of tactics all made the Duke feel alive.
In the continuous movement, a seemingly distant noise pricked the Duke’s ear, separating itself from the relaxing drone behind him. Twisting his neck, a dust cloud was forming from a cavalryman riding his horse quite hard. As the horseman drew nearer, he recognized the horse – it was Rodrigo. Leading the column of infantry, the Duke broke formation and trotted over to Rodrigo, who seeing the Duke coming to meet him half-way, slowed down considerably. The Marshall was oddly flushed considering the temperature outside, the Duke only cocking an eyebrow, wondering what the matter was.
“I have news, Highness!” Rodrigo exclaimed. The Duke gestures for him to continue, “The scouts have returned, and they said over the next five hills King Sancho and the Emir of Zaragoza are readying in battle formation! We should be able to make it if we hurry. We could crush the Emir’s army in a pincer - assuming he has no knowledge of our entry into his land.”
The Duke nodded as he usual did, deferring to Rodrigo’s tactical genius. “Double time!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. As the echo travelled down wind, the various commanders riding abreast with the column shouted the same thing. Immediately their orders were obeyed, the loudness of the march increasing dramatically as the soldiers broke out into a run. The column began to zoom past Rodrigo and the Duke, both men exchanging a nod before they too advanced, attempting to keep order in the ranks as they steadily charged forward.
An hour later, the Army of Barcelona had been marshaled into battle formation – a surprising feat in which only Rodrigo could have accomplished. Standing atop a hill looking in the valley below, the armies of the Emir and King Sancho could be seen marching toward one another, preparing to engage in preliminary skirmishes before battle was accepted. The Army of Barcelona, whilst the happenings below them were unfolding, was assembled in standard formation – archers in front, followed by light infantry, followed by heavy infantry, and cavalry covering the flanks. Rodrigo and the Duke, along with a collection of knights, stood behind the lines of infantry, holding the power of initiating the advance in their hands. With their diagonal position on the battlefield, the Emir, if engaged, would be forced to both be ensnared and destroyed, or attempt an escape mounting in heavy casualties as the Duke would be blocking their direct escape route to Zaragoza.
The vertical red and orange stripped vexilloid of Barcelona awoke the Duke from a daydream as his army gazed over the plain of the engaging forces of Castille and Zaragoza. While it was no question that King Sancho would win, as he had superior numbers and better equipped soldiers, it was up in the air what kind of victory he would win – especially without Rodrigo in command as per usual. Too many losses and settling in for a siege of Zaragoza would quickly become impractical as the threat of a successful sally would loom each night as the soldiers retired to their war tents. The Duke knew his entrance into the battle would be decisive, but it was an art to know when to strike.
“H-Highness?” a nameless noble stuttered, “w-what a-are y-your o-orders?”
“I believe Sir Rodrigo has the answer to that question,” the Duke smiled, turning his head and nodding to Rodrigo. The Marshal nodded in return.
“I am honored, Your Highness,” Rodrigo thanked the Duke. Drawing his sword, Tizona, he thrust it into the air, and lowered it so the tip faced forward, “advance!”
The standard of Barcelona lowered, pointing forward, only to then return to its upright position. A distant horn let out a triumphant burst of sound, signaling the men who could not see the standard to advance. Immediately the sound of stomping feet reverberated through the valley, the familiar rattle of arms descending down the hillside into the battle below. Rodrigo and the entourage of knights soon followed, beckoning their steeds forward after prodding them in the side. The archers, however, stood their ground. After the advancing line of soldiers passed and met a certain distance away from them, they knocked their arrows and let loose – gentle whistling sounds piercing the air as death met their targets below. Only then did Zaragoza know that they were doomed.
The rip and tear of flesh, the rivers of blood, and screams of pain – all gruesome realities of the chaos of conflict. The thick of battle was where the boys become men. What these soldiers experienced at Albarracin was nothing in comparison to what they were experiencing here. Soldiers lie dead all around – felled by the slash of a saber, the trample of a horse, or an arrow finding a new home – while others stepped over the fallen to find more targets. All you can do is sit and watch as it unfolds, however the Duke was not one normally to defer the outcome to chance. If he wasn’t in the thick of it, the day might as well be lost.
Ferran Certores, a knight in his mid thirties, was in the prime of his life. Owning a small fief in the County of Empuries, he eagerly accepted the call to arms in an attempt to better his position amongst Barcelona’s growing nobility. Decently equipped and well-trained, he was the token soldier in Rodrigo’s – just a nameless one. Little did he know the collision course he was headed for with fate, as events were set into motion that would propel him to achieve his dreams do things he never imagined he would do. Sword and shield in hand, he charged into the fray.
Ferran plunged the tip of his blade through belly of a Moor hugging him with one arm as steel sliced easily through padded leather and flesh. Unsheathing the blade from its corpse, he scanned the area for a new foe. His horse had been cut from underneath long ago, minutes after the initial charge a Moslem had took a swing at one of the horse’s legs and successfully rendered his expensive steed useless. In the distance, he could barely make out a figure – the Duke himself. Still atop his steed, waving his sword about in intricate patterns, several Moors were surrounding him. Ferran, immediately seeing the outcome of being in that situation, cast down his shield and broke out into a run to interrupt the kill.
“Highness!” Ferran screamed as he saw the Duke topple over off of his horse, hitting the ground with an obvious crash. The horse met a similar fate; after being stuck with several sabers, it collapsed from loss of blood and excruciating pain. The attackers immediately noticed the charging knight, and readied their ground.
Ferran, catching one soldiers flatfooted, stabbed and plunged his blade into his high, Ferran’s face catching a spatter of blood as the soldiers buckled over. At the death of their comrade, two Moors rushed Ferran, one of which tripped over a dead Castillian as he made way to intercept Ferran. Immediately taking action, Ferran swung his blade, his sword lodging part-way through the first soldier’s neck before stopping. Having no time to recover as the second soldier closed, Ferran reached down into his boot and drew a dagger, bringing it down into the meaty part of the soldier’s shoulder – he too falling to the earth, unable to take anymore.
The field clear of opposition, Ferran sheathed his knife and checked the Duke, kneeling beside him. He wasn’t moving, but he also did appear to have any obvious inflicted wounds.
Must be unconscious, Ferran thought, grabbing the Duke underneath his armpits and attempting to drag him to safety. The weight of the Duke’s chainmail seemed to be too much, but in a desperate act of bravery, no weight was too much right now. Ferran scanned the area as he retreated, finding that he was seeing more and more Castillians and Barcelonans than Moors – the battle was turning into a slaughter. Yet, victory was still victory.
The Duke opened his eyes after what seemed like seconds from when he fell from his horse. Getting a sense of where he was at, he found that he was lying down on what felt like a cot. His armor was stripped from him, and he only seemed to be wearing a loose-fitting tunic and a pair of pants. Attempting to move, he was stopped when a massive pang of pain rocked his head, forcing him back down on the bed.
“Your Highness?” a familiar voice spoke – it was Rodrigo.
“Where am… what hap… ugh,” the Duke attempted, but everything was difficult with the world seemed like it was spinning around him.
“We are back in your tent – we have won the battle,” Rodrigo spoke softly, not wanting to agitate the Duke’s mind splitting headache, “you were attacked by three soldiers. They surrounded you, cut down your horse, and were about to kill you if Sir Ferran Certores here didn’t save you.”
“Your Highness,” the knight bowed his head, even though the Duke’s eyes were sealed shut.
“Thank… you…” the Duke groaned, rolling over in his cot, shutting out the noise as he quickly fell into a most peaceful sleep. It would be a bit of recovery from the fall he had taken, given his age, but he would be back in the field in no time at all – and Zaragoza would rue the day they had not felled Ramon Berenguer de Barcelona.