Men and women seemed destined to clash, of this I am certain. Whereas peasants and the like shout at one another over topics such as crops in the field, the price of an ox, and indiscreet encounters with other peasants, Miraglia and I raise our voices over greater things. Chief among these is my pursuit of a ducal crown, a goal which is all the more clearly defined as a result of my encounter with the king of France. Philippe Capet began his crusade against Rosselló for two reasons, only one of which was my religion; the other was to restore the Spanish Marche, using the lack of one as a pretext. Surely, Miraglia can see that it is more important than ever to send an emissary to Rome? And yet she continues to insist that she loves me for who I am and does not want me to change. This is not what she said during our unusual courtship, and I cannot believe that she has changed so dramatically. Honesty requires that I consider my motives in constantly broaching the subject, for our marriage and reconcilliation have tamed Miraglia, and it is only when we discuss the possibility of advancing our station that the tempestuous storm with golden hair reappears. It is then that I love her most, and fear losing her most. She must still want me to become a man worthy of her, and although a desire for peace compelled me to promise that I would abandon this goal, I fear it is a promise I will not be able to keep. I love her, and would do anything for the merest glimpse of one of her Apollonian smiles. For now, that means saying things I do not believe and doing things I think she does not want. And, like the peasants, we make our peace with one another in the way that men and women have ended their disputes since time began. S.
Dec. 2nd, 1074
Ruth passed away quietly last night. She was only thirty-six, and yet I could not defeat the illness before it took her. For all my skills as a physician, I fail time and time again. Have I saved many people? It is certain, but it is the people I lose that stain my memories. The ability God has given me is not a blessing. It is a curse. Better to be unskilled and never try, than to be renowned for talent and still fail. S.
Guillem de Barcelona-Urgell received his spurs from King Sancho during the year's Christmas celebrations. The boy has turned out well, and I am proud of him. Perhaps he will serve me well as a marshal or a chancellor. Perhaps he will serve his king as a valiant knight. The master-at-arms tells me Guillem is a good soldier, and that pleases me. But I am pleased even more that he is a good man. My duty is discharged. S.
Mar. 1st, 1075
Raimunda, Miraglia and I surveyed the completion of our forestry project in Urgell. Less than ten years after we were forced to burn the plague out, the woodlands throughout our county have been rebuilt. And yet I feel a seed of discontentment growing in my breast, for I could have surveyed these forests as duke with a delay of less than a year. Raimunda obeyed Miraglia and not me when she financed this project. The two women have become fast friends, and I am pleased to see someone warming to the admittedly difficult Miraglia. Even so, I am ashamed to have felt resentment to see my elderly steward and my beautiful wife talking and laughing together. These thoughts could not be pushed from my mind; the vibrant image of youthful vigor conveyed by my wife called to the imagination the sight of golden ducats cascading through sparkling water, and the thought of ducats drew me immediately and painfully back to the one hundred ducats that financed this project. The one hundred ducats that could have made my wife a duchess and brought her entrancing beauty to the attention of the world. Still, I pledged to abandon this quest, and so today I feigned satisfaction at seeing the trees. S.
Although Huddan is a strong and bright infant, he has been slow to learn to talk and this troubles me. Perhaps I have been too distant a father? Perhaps I have been too preoccupied with war and politics, and the demands of being a vassal to my friend Ramon? Could I not have been here more? For her own part, Miraglia spends what time she can with the children as well, but her responsibility as the master of spies often calls her away for days or weeks. A word about that - being witness to the workings of my spymaster is a gift to the eyes. Men cannot look away, and gaze at her with naked envy when the arm of another rests on hers. And then she moves across the room like a ghost of summer, replacing with lust the jealousy felt by the target of her special diplomacy. Even the strongest of lords, nobles who would not fold even before my formidable diplomatic skill, say anything to please her. As do I. As do we all. And all I can do is watch with the barest of smiles on my face, and know that I would love her too, even if I were her victim instead of her husband. However, it remains her responsibility, and the job of ruling my own, and so we seldom have time to raise our eldest son. With the passing of Ruth, there are even fewer people to share the burden, and as a result I am told the boy is having trouble learning to speak. Even taking time away from my duties at the villa Perpinyà or at the court of my lord Ramon to teach the boy by example has not contributed to his vocabulary or verbal ability. I fear he is developing a speech impediment that will follow him his entire life. S.
Sep. 9th, 1075
I have had little time of late to engage in frivolties such as my journals, but there are things I feel I must document. On the ides of August, my son Alfons was born. It is a Catalonian name and a good one, conveying both nobility and readiness. And my beloved Miraglia is once again with child. God blesses us in many ways; the birth of our son has brought us closer, and we do not speak of things that distress us. S.
The new year brings news. As Raimduna and I were plotting out the creation of a court of justice in Urgell, a messenger approached. He spoke of reports that the emir of Badajoz had sent raiders into Alcántara. The Roman bridge has been seized and the raiders are demanding that the local lord surrender his tiny villa. Over such a small hamlet, a war will be fought, of this I am certain. This time, I will endeavor to keep Rosselló out. S.