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Ouch >_<

Also, an interesting fact I gleaned from a book I recently bought: Apparently one of Ferdinand Magellan's backers was from Haro. The book had this to say about the place:

"Haro (the city) flourished as a center of winemaking, and it also sheltered a community of Jewish goldsmiths and bankers until a civil war broke out in the fourteenth century and drove the Jews from their homes."

--Laurence Bergreen, Over the Edge of the World, New York: Harper Perennial, 2003.
Click to expand...

Just happened to chance across it, and thought you might be interested :)
 
“...and then he—wait for it—'marched south to fight the Berbers!'” the mother said. “It really leaves you on edge, this one.”

“You are witnessing the rise of a great dynasty,” replied the grandfather.

“Again.”

“What happened next, then?” the girl asked.

The grandfather held up a finger but stopped himself.

He mumbled hastily, avoiding the eyes of the mother: “Lope goes to war...again.”


de Haro-ing Adventures
Chapter VI: 1202-1204
Wherein the godly land of Huelva is graced by chivalric deeds.​

Lope was enticed into another expedition by the arrival of a band of German mercenaries. Fifteen in total arrived at the court in Viscaya. They represented about 2000 others encamped in the Pyrenees lowlands, all from the region around Bavaria. After an assuring oath of loyalty from the Bavarians, Lope quickly alerted Alvar. The count gladly supplied Lope with about a third of the troops (out of total of 5000), though he did not join the actual march. Instead, raised an army in Seville and journeyed to meet it.

Initially bound for Caltrava, the army was diverted to drive off a band of raiders near Valencia. Using a lightly guarded series of wagons as bait, the Bavarians pounced on the pillagers as they came nearer. The raiders fled in such a frenzy that the dust left behind by their horses caused several of Lope's men to choke to death.

The army then made for the hinterlands, sweeping through Cordoba and obliterating a Berber force there.

cordobabattle.jpg

They then cut through Badajoz and brought Cáceres to siege. Alvar arrived just after it began and added to Lope's army. On February 20 of 1203, the Castilians and Bavarians managed to break through a gate left open by a tired and spiteful sentry. Leaving only a moderate garrison behind, Lope then led his army south to the region of Huelva. Here, the Almohad leadership struggled to establish an effective supply station. Attacking the late hours of the day, the Castilians harnessed total surprise. By nightfall, another mass of breathless and frightened Berber levies were retreating to the west. Almohad Amir Muhammad an-Nasir was among them.

nieblabattle.jpg

​
Lope cornered them at Faro on December 5, 1203.

farobttl1.jpg

[The portrait of Muhammad doesn't show there for some reason. In his place is one of his vassals.]
​

Relatively speaking, the amount of blood spilled at Faro was torrential. The battle lasted for two full days, with only sparse minutes of respite between engagements. As many fell from exhaustion as did from stabbings and trampling. The battle was a through and through battle to the death, with few tricks employed on either side. Coastal salt marshes were the scene of many skirmishes. Don—who had indeed been present since the death of Diego—found himself fighting in one of these swamps. The combatants were unaware as the tide rose, trapping and drowning many. Don, due to his great height, managed to stay above the surface and trudged to shallower waters, even as countless men choked and heaved around him. By the time he actually reached said shallows, several men clung dearly to his face and neck. Upon hearing of the misadventure, Lope is said to have congratulated Don on his first bath. Lope, for his part, had begun to crack down on his prisoners. After a series of escapes by men Lope knew to be archers (and of similar trades), Lope began to have the forefingers of captured soldiers hacked off. Deadly infections contributed a great deal to the Berber death toll.

farobttl2.jpg

The result of the victory was the complete destruction of the Almohad armies in Huelva, marking the battle as one of the most decisive of the long war, if not the entire Reconquest. Amir Muhammad an-Nasir* and a small force managed to evade destruction, sparing the Almohad dynasty for another time.





* Muhammad an-Nasir never recovered his reputation. One Moroccan legend tells that when his boat struck the shore of Africa, he disembarked only to be spat upon by a woman and her slave, who cursed him for his poor leadership. an-Nasir's reign was not long for its end.
 
Specialist290: As long as the numbers aren't wildly different, the army with the superior marshal or moral should win, and sometimes the one with better technology. I had them on the run this time, so I went for it.

Enewald: Yeah, it was a pretty good victory. :)

Teep: Bunch of courtiers and backwater sheiks fighting a battle couldn't end well, I suppose.
 
“Now we come to the next great man in the dynasty,” the grandfather said.

sanchodeharo.jpg

“He was not quite so short as his father; indeed, he was tall. Not so hairy either. Though I hear that a prevalent trait of the de Haro's was a patch of hair on the left buttocks, which is supposed to have been pronounced in the offspring of Sancho. Though I know not whether Sancho himself never exposed his buttocks to a passerby (allowing a proper account of said buttocks) or if...Let's get on with the story shall we?”


de Haro-ing Adventures
Chapter VII: 1204-1210
Wherein our hero selflessly serves the state.

​
The coming of age of Sancho, though perhaps an uncertain time, was nonetheless a prosperous era. On June 4, 1204 (several months before Lope returned), Sancho was recognized as a fully able warrior.

education1.jpg

He married the sister of the Duke of Barcelona, Guisla de Vilademuls, and was soon drowning in a cacophony of crying children.

Count Alvar de Lara had gifted Seville to his second son, known as Sancho, and the rest of his territory to his first, known as Aznar. When Alvar passed away in May of 1206, Aznar used his new authority to question Sancho de Haro's right to rule. He based his argument on the fact that the Court of the Infant King had instated guidelines to an election process for the next monarch*, whenever that day arrived. He dictated an appeal to other dukes and bishops within the kingdom but was woefully ignored. When his brother Sancho backed the Duke of Castile, he abandoned his more blatant attempts at rebellion. Regardless, the subtle hostility between the two never completely went away.

In the year of 1207, the Kingdom León was entering clear death throes as a political entity. Dukes and counts began to speak out against what was obviously a sham in the Court. Funds and resources were being sucked away to undeserving fiefs and the establishment of an electoral monarch (even if it was still a distant event) flew in the face of hundreds of years of tradition. A faction known as the Regla de Dios* supported the elimination of the new electoral laws and kicked off a rebellion within the Spanish hinterlands. As such instability threatened the success of the war against the Almohads, Sancho decided in favor of supporting the Court. Still unsure of his place in the field, Sancho allowed the royal advisors to dictate his movements.

Sancho learned quickly of their incompetence. Two years of fighting in the highlands of León proper led to little else but a temporary truce between the Regla de Dios and Court. Sancho was then sent south to fight renewed Almohad incursions, something he could not refuse. There were some victories and some defeats and despite an overall plague of malaise, Sancho's efforts were successful. While his forces secured supplies from a small village known as Barbaño, an angry collection of village leaders went to a nearby Almohad force for aid. The resulting surprise attack was driven off by Sancho but, as his first test under the conditions of battle, his abilities were shown to be sluggish.

ineptitude.jpg

In addition, Sancho suffered a peculiar wound in which an arrow pierced the front of his knuckles and ripped through his wrist. It was of some luck for him to receive this wound, as any questions of his abilities as a leader were forgotten in the face of such an injury. He eventually recovered.

Both Aznar and Sancho de Lara were eager to join the fight, but for differing reasons. Aznar sought to acquire prestige with which to confront the duke in the future. Sancho merely wanted to acquire wealth. Aznar, for his part, was killed. It is not known where or how, exactly. Indeed, it was only the discovery of his body several weeks postmortem that his fate was finally discerned. Sancho de Lara, in a move that mystified the Almohads, pushed so far beyond them that he was only stopped by the sea. With nowhere else to go, he besieged the prosperous and unawares Almeria, capturing it in December of 1213. Taking what booty he could, he willed the city to the duke before hastily making a retreat north. His army virtually buried in loot, Sancho and his forces could barely move more than five miles a day. He was an easy target for the mobile Berbers to catch up with and this is exactly what happened in March of 1214.

battlealmeria.jpg

He escaped back to Seville, his joy to be alive put off by empty pockets.

On January 15, 1215, the Almohads and King Garcia's court agreed to a two year truce. The war had raged for 14 years. Undoubtedly, it was the Almohads who needed the respite.

1215.jpg





*The Cortes Generales (General Court) was a fairly new monarchical advisory committee within León. It was this body that was set to be transformed into the new elective seat, wherein a limited number of well connected dukes and counts would receive representation. As a condition for the truce between the Regla de Dios and Court of the Infant King, the Generales was opened to any vassal of the king and was no longer a closed institution or, in other words, an extra arm of the Court.

*The Regla de Dios was spearheaded by the Duchies of Toledo and León, two wealthy and central sovereignties. Others tagged along, such as the Duke of Asturias, but he was separated from his comrades and his position ultimately proved hopeless. At first mocked for ironically submitting leadership authority to a jointly appointed assembly, the Regla de Dios were soon to act as a simple, loose alliance of nobles. This aspect of the faction ended up weakening it ever more, as some withdrew their protests and rejoined the kingdom. But as the crisis over the laws of succession wore on, more discontent nobles would join the ranks of the rebels.
 
Enewald: They have a stake in it.

Teep: That's good you think that because I tried to pick something weird and gruesome.

Specialist290: They are dukes after all, so of course.
 
The grandfather was interrupted by a a few knocks at the door. The home was still dark, and the silence of the three was all the more suspicious. Without waiting the visitor made his way in.

The grandfather stood up. “Robert?,” he wondered aloud. “Robert Pitcox!”

“Aye it's me,” the man replied. Robert was fairly old, just as the grandfather was, though he still had some youthful color to his beard. He was also very clearly in good shape, standing tall and moving without the impediment of aching joints.

“Got trapped in the town did you?” the grandfather asked.

“Yeah, actually,” Robert grinned and took a seat. The grandfather slapped his knee in laughter.

The grandfather said: “I told you to stay away from the business! Now look at where you are.”

“Well,” Robert replied. “We end up where we're going.” He noticed the girl and the mother, nodding. “Evening!” They tried to reply in kind but their despair and hunger shown through in their greetings. The grandfather was reminded of reality and sighed.

“I've been trying to tell my granddaughter a dynastic story or two,” he said.

“Ah! You've got a few alright. Which ones?”

The grandfather held up a finger. “The de Haros.”

“Oh,” Robert said, glancing away. He shrugged. “Not bad, I mean – why?”

The grandfather's looked up in thought. “You know, I forgot. I'll get there when I get there.”

“Like I said! Anyway, where are you so far?”

“The part after the end of the 14-Year War.”

“Ah, that's a good one.”

“You tell it” the grandfather asked. “My chords are getting bent out of shape.”

“I could,” Robert replied. “Let's see...”

...thus ends Book One. So begins Book Two: Robert's Testimony, by Robert Pitcox​
 
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de Haro-ing Adventures
Chapter VIII: 1215-1222
Music.​
The truce between León and the Almohads, kept by the mere words of ambassadors, was left to die in the winter of 1216. The Infant King, now the resolute and handsome Garcia II, organized the greatest offensive yet seen against the Muslims. Thousands marched southward, over hills and through plains, to their deaths and conquest. The Court stood over the king as he saw through every preparation, had read to him every missive and debated every strategy. Yet they recoiled each time they were brought into his view, and he eyed them with contempt, even as their oily faces faded into the shadows. They had failed to make him a pawn, yet he dared not tread into their realm of black and treachery. Only the prestige of the Reconquista could serve as his light in the darkness, and with it he would break the backs of the slithering slavers.

“The Reconquista is nigh!” croaked a royal messenger. “The Great War is at hand!”

portraitofSancho.png

Duke Sancho de Haro
​
Lope had died not too long after Sancho left, given a niche for burial in some coastal monastery. Without his battle-scared uncle, the duke could only rely on his convictions. He dearly clutched a crucifix as he made his way to the blood soaked borderlands. The horizon was pierced by pillars of bitter smoke, the remnants of pitiless pillaging. The Castilians trudged by bustling Valencia and then passed through the lands of La Mancha. They waited in the hinterlands for Count Sancho de Lara to draw upon his fiefdom in the south. On the 15th of November, 9000 Castilians and Sevillian levies encamped outside Cordoba. Their arrival was greeted with a knowing silence on behalf of the defenders, and the city grew quiet for lack of trade and joy.

A tenacious undermining effort was undertaken. Counterminers carefully found their prey and tore into their tunnels. Creeping fires, sparked by the careless on both sides, enveloped the screaming belligerents before collapse buried and silenced them all.

One tunnel reached the western wall undetected and, when all was ready, it was set ablaze. Foot by foot, the supports of the tunnel burned away, leaving behind an ever elongating depression. When the winding tongue licked the walls, the foundations gave way and the loose assortment of bricks and stones tumbled to the earth.

The Castilians rushed to the gap. Dust and soot blinded them to the arrows and sabers that found their mark in skulls and necks. Several hours of battle left the city in Castilian hands. On January 10 of 1218, Sancho took the title “Lord of Cordoba” within the halls of the Mezquita.

The northerners in the army marveled at the ever-turning waterwheels of the palace—which creaked and moaned with every turn—and the stripped halls of the Mezquita; the smooth and tight cobblestones of the streets and the order of the people, though they looked upon the conquerors with dark and loathsome faces. The taxes were lowered to entice fleeing merchants to return, and Sancho left for Viscaya. He rested there in silence, brooding over each bit of news that reached him.

King Garcia had led crushing victories over the Almohads and for the first time, the end of the Muslim tenure seemed within sight. In one battle Garcia raised his sword to rally his retinue, only for his hand to be lopped off. As their king clutched the spewing limb, his retainers were shamed back into the fold and cut down his attackers mercilessly. At first the wound healed with miraculous speed, but then began to degenerate into gangrene and uncontrollable bleeding. He suffered for several years—waking in the night screaming and writhing in pain—but never once abandoned the war or the field.

On May 4, 1222, the Generales was summoned to a dusty chamber within the damp and savage city of León.

cityofleon.jpg
 
Enewald: He dead.

Teep: I'm glad :)


This next update is kind of silly, since it's really long and can be summed up in one sentence anyway (the last sentence of the chapter). It's got a few things for later though. Meh.
 
de Haroing Adventures
Chapter IX: May 4, 1222
Music.
​

A gray cloud hung over León, suffocating the little light from above. Sancho's ears were tickled by a drizzle as he made his way to the Generales. Suspicious folk watched him pass by their windows. Some turned their heads, while others withdrew into the dark of their shops and homes. The guards of the chamber of the Generales saw his face and bowed. They threw open a pair of massive oaken doors.

The air was warmer inside but motionless as a sty, made uncomfortable by desperate coughs and hacks. Sancho took his seat and the judge of the Generales—a man whose voice beat on Sancho's chest as well as his ears—announced his arrival.

There were 21 electors on the stage. There were the eight lords of the realm in the back, situated on a prominent rise. The row before them was occupied by the eight representatives of the church. The front was reserved for five members of the current dynasty, in this case the Borgoña, the House of Burgundy. The judge occupied the highest seat in forefront. An audience—made up of barons, gentry, and royal family—occupied the shaded fringes and recesses of the hall.

A monk arrived and blessed the congress. His meek and feeble voice was all that sounded. Finally he took a seat in a secluded corner.

The judge said: “We now begin the First Cortes Generales. Let it be known that I have authority during this proceeding, and that none are above me, and that all are equal below me.

“The eminent Borgoña, in their wisdom, have prepared a list of successors which they desire to nominate, as is their right as kin to the last king. They may render these unto the electors.”

A man stood and took the attention of the Generales. He paused and keeled over, coughing violently. One of the others came to aid him. After he had regained his bearings, he shrugged off the help and held up a hand.

“The ruling house—born of the noble rulers Urraca and Raymond—has served the Lord and this land without fail for a century. It can only be concluded that the will of God is with this house. And though the family has grown sparse over the decades...”

He glanced at his comrades in the front row.

“...the intentions of that will are clear -- Jimeno Borgoña.”

The electors and audience remained unmoved.

“Rise if you support the ascendancy of Jimeno Borgoña,” the judge said. “If you reject him or abstain, then do nothing.”

Sancho rose amidst the shuffle.

The judge meticulously counted, mouthing the numbers as his gaze fell from elector to elector.

He grunted quietly and stood.

“One clergy, two lords, and five of the dynasty have supported Jimeno. Thirteen have rejected him. By the rules of the Generales, the nomination is rejected.”

The audience began to chatter and mumble; some wailed and others gasped.

The other lord to vote for Jimeno, the Grandmaster of Caltrava—distinguished by the glowing Santiago cross upon his tunic—raised a furious voice. The creases of his face were bottomless and his glaring brows masked accusing eyes.

knightofsantiago.jpg
“Fools! This is madness. Did you not hear the case of the man just now? Ingrates! None of you can usurp the will of God, who has for so long chosen the Borgoñans. What do you think will happen now, save damnation for us all?”

The judge frowned and pounded his desk with a thud. His voice easily conquered that of the grandmaster's. “The electors are free at any time to abstain permanently. Leave or be silent!”

The grandmaster took a step forward and held his ground, but after several moments he simply scoffed and left, and was not seen in the city of León again. The judge eased back into place.

“The royal representatives may now render their next nomination.”

The Borgoñans argued in shrill and threatening whispers.

The judge slowly rose and leaned over his desk. “It was demanded that you prepare your nominations in advance. If all you can muster is the eleven year old Jimeno, then your right is forfeit.”

The Borgoñans quieted. Two of them gestured to another with points and flicks of the hand. Finally the nagged person rose.

“The Borgoñan tenure is at and end, it seems, but we would choose he who has most served the people and church. Most of all the Reconquest, to which dear Garcia and his ancestors had shown such devotion. The first in this line is Sancho de Haro, Duke of Castile and conqueror of Cordoba.”

Sancho remained still and did not lean in to whisper to his neighbors as the other electors did. As a duke with considerable wealth and power—in addition to success against the Moors, he was not surprised. Despite, his palms became damp.

“Rise if you support the ascendancy of Sancho de Haro, Duke of Castile. If not, do nothing.”

The electors cast their votes. The judge rested his chin on a fat, gray hand as he once again scoured the chamber.

He rose and placed a hand over his chest. “Six lords, two clergy and three of the Borgoña have supported the Duke of Castile, who has humbly remained at rest. Eight others remain. The duke has received a majority, meaning the nomination is accepted by the lords of the realm and the church. I will inform the Basilica.”

The judged signaled to the monk, who rose and began a prayer for the good of the north, the king and the people.

Sancho, as was to be custom, was first of the remaining electors to step out of the chamber. Thick raindrops slammed into the streets and the drone of heralding church bells was drowned out.

That evening, he became king of León within the cathedral.
 
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