Chapter 2: A Hard Road
When King Salamon left Hungary in the early Summer of 1069, every contemporary source agrees he believed himself to be on something of a divine mission. There is little wonder why: only 16, he had been given a holy mission by God’s direct representative on earth. He had rallied a divided country, nobles and commoners alike. He rode at the head of the greatest Magyar army in living memory. In this type of mood, it is a wonder he did not march his army straight at the northern spur of the Adriatic and expect God to roll back the seas in his path.
That certainty was not to last. Salamon had expected that all Christendom would ease his passage; instead he found hostility and impediments. In Salzburg at the border they had no love for the Magyars; generations of raiding had not been forgotten so quickly. But at least Salzburg would sell them food and supplies. As they passed farther into the Holy Roman Empire, a wave of obstructionism seemed to spread before them. This Count was expecting a poor harvest and could spare nothing; the next simply shook his head with a slight air of regret; a merchant somehow could not be made to understand their request in any of a half-dozen languages. As they travelled on through Northern Italy, the shrugs of Salamon’s commanders turned to worried looks. Rations were reduced. The men, still full of holy fervor, did not complain…yet.
As the army neared the great trading port of Genoa, the generals were nearing desperation. Only the young king’s determined refusal to rob his fellow men of God had stopped them from turning bandit long before.
In Genoa, everything changed. For the better, but also for the worst. The Genoese merchants happily took their coin and filled their wagons and packs with supplies. They also shared information. Salamon discovered that the church’s enemies were not confined to the small realm of Aragon. The Genoese merchants had heard rumors of a major falling out between the emperor and the Pope. The details were unclear, but what was sure was that the Polish mission would find no support anywhere in the lands that swore fealty to Heinrich IV.
As the army continued, so did the hostility. France and the independent Duke of Barcelona owed no allegiance to the emperor, but nor did they appreciate a large and – to their eyes – barbarous army appearing on their doorstep. The first few times, Salamon tried earnestly to explain their holy mission through an interpreter, but the suspicion clouding the eyes of the local nobles did not dissipate. The Hungarians were able to buy a little food here and there, enough to see them on their way. But rations were tight, and the men were growing restive. Salamon may not have known it himself, but looting and theft had begun as hunger gnawed and contempt grew for these so-called Christians who turned their backs on God’s army.
[The Hungarians' route from Genoa to the borders of Aragon]
Finally, local guides they had hired told them they were nearing the border of Aragon, and their leader, who had learned a bit of Hungarian, casually asked Salamon
“Which Aragon?”
For a moment, the boy was frozen with utter, terrifying confusion. The thoughts were plain on his face: There were more than one? How many? Had he led an army halfway around the known world only to find he did not know who his enemy was? But then he thought of the Pope’s letter and calmed a bit. He pulled it out and carefully unfolded it. He scanned it and turned back with a name.
“Sancho!”
He tried to pronounce the foreign name confidently, desperately hoping it would be recognized.
“Sancho!” The guide seemed amused. “Are you certain you brought enough men?”
He spoke quickly to the rest of the Spanish guides, and most of them broke out laughing. A few looked angry, shocked, even afraid.
It required some back and forth with various interpreters, but Salamon eventually learned that the Pope’s great enemy was “King” of a few small farm villages and a single old castle high in the Pyrenees. Only that remoteness had kept the headstrong young man’s crown safe from the much more powerful Emir of Aragon (or, as the Muslims named it, Zaragosa). Most of the guides had assumed the Hungarians’ holy war was directed at the Muslims occupying most of the Kingdom.
That night, several of the guides slipped out of the camp. The next day, the army began the long climb up into the mountains. They had crossed the Albera Massif near the coast and many of the men who had come with Salamon’s uncles were familiar with the mountains the bounded the northern reaches of the Carpathia basin. But this was a different type of mountain range than anything they had seen. As they marched higher day by grueling day, the air began to grow chill. The Hungarians were no strangers to cold winters, but here they had no snug homes and warm hearths. Their supplies were nearly gone, they had no friends in this strange land, and with every step they walked higher and higher into the dry, dusty mountains. Finally, Sancho’s castle loomed before them.
[Sancho's castle in modern times]