ALFONSO VI: A Modern Attempt of a Shakespearean Story

The city walls of Burgos were marked by the torches whose flames struggled to stay lit in the winds of early spring. Atop the wall in the sentry tower, Tiago wrapped his mantle more tightly about his shoulders and held his hands close to a torch's flame. He awaited the relief the next watch would bring, for the spring was uncommonly cold, and each guard along the city walls was expected to remain watchful despite the cold, and keep vigil even if the hour was late. He had not seen any activity outside the castle walls, just within the walls as he watched the new king, Alfonso, through the window. He was restless, and it was clear that the king fought sleep. The only one to keep the new king company was his sister, the princess Uracca. Since the bloody assassination of their brother, Sancho, a shadow of suspicion rested on the surviving and progressive siblings. 

Closing his eyes for but a moment's rest, Tiago began to feel sleep claim the moment. They were jolted open by the sounds of footsteps approaching his sentry tower.

"Keep a watchful eye sentry!" A voice uttered, but it did not belong to his replacement.

In a moment the guard shed his mantle and drew his sword and pointed the torch at the approaching stranger.

"How now! Who's there?" Tiago stood against him.

Raising his hands in the air, the stranger removed the hood from his mantle with one hand to reveal himself. This man was recognized as the Lord of Burgos, Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar.

"The same who posted you on this watch." Slowly the guard lowered his sword.

"Lord Vivar?" Tiago responded.

"The same,” said Rodriguez.

"You come most carefully upon the hour of my replacement. I hope he is not late in his arrival."

"I have taken his watch this night. Have you had a quiet watch Tiago?" asked Rodriguez.

Tiago opened his mouth to protest.

"I will take the watch, Sir Tiago. Sleep does not come easily tonight for me. How was your watch Sir Tiago?"

Tiago relented, "Nothing stirs beyond our walls, but within I fear that something festers, milord."

"Be there any danger to his Majesty, the King Alfonso?"

"I speak not of the danger against his majesty, rather the danger he brings to this realm," Tiago replied. "Did you not see how quickly he returned from exile upon his brother's death?"

"The funeral feasts did so boldly furnish the coronation banquet," Rodrigo replied.

"I would that their father could save us from the disease and rebellion he has let loose upon the state. Something festers in this Spanish state."

 "Heaven will direct it," Rodrigo pronounced. "Take your leave, Sir Tiago, and rest this night. I have the watch."

Tiago bowed, "It is cold this night, milord. Please take my mantle."

Rodrigo accepted the mantle, and returned his bow, as Tiago left him to the watch. 

The last of the candlelit windows within the city was extinguished but the abbey window where the new king was kept, for the king had not known sleep for many nights. He would not know it until he had his brother's nobles. Rodrigo suspected Alfonso's involvement in the late King Sancho's murder.

Alfonso's agents had dispersed upon his exile and sought refuge with Alfonso's beloved sister, Uracca. Even in her brother's absence of exile, she continued to resist Sancho's urge to conquer the empire that was once his father's, the great King Ferdinand. When Sancho had come with Rodrigo to the city of Zamora, a noble under pretensions of desertion came unto Sancho. As Sancho spoke with him, the noble removed the king's own sword and impaled him at its end. The coward ran into the night, with Rodrigo on his heels until he finally escaped into Zamora through the "Traitor's door".

Rodrigo sat on the bench shaking his head, "Damned traitor! What is to be done?"

Hearing another sentry of the watch approach the sentry tower, Rodrigo arose to greet the other man. Noting his slow walk toward him, and that the sentry was clad in full armor with his beaver up on the helm. Rodrigo raised the torch to see the eyes of the man that approached. His whole countenance shined blue with the stars and the crescent moon that was present with the night. Most constantly, his eyes and pale face were fixed upon Rodrigo. As he approached closer, Rodrigo could see that it was King Sancho's armor he wore. As they stared at one another, the apparition to walk toward the other direction. He could swear that he had seen the same man look at him with lifeless eyes a few short months ago in Zamora after he was assassinated by his own sword.

"Royal Spaniard! I pray you, speak!"

Rodrigo cautiously approached the apparition, and still, he continued to walk away from him. Rodrigo's blood chilled, and yet he was unaware of any cold that ruled the night. Rodrigo stopped as he remembered the sermons of witches and disembodied demons given by countless priests. He had faced Saracen and Christian armies in their vast dangers, but this spirit, even in its familiarity stopped the warrior in his tracks. In his twenty-nine years, he had never seen nor desired to see the visage that stood before him, and yet he beckoned Rodrigo to follow him.

Rodrigo cautiously followed knowing that his allegiance was still owed to the late King, even in death. The dead king continued to beckon Rodrigo until they both stood within view of King Alfonso's window.

"Hear me," the ghost said.

"I will hear and do your will, good king," Rodrigo said.

"I am your king's spirit, or rather thy friend's."

"I can see that you are no other, what would you have me do?"

"Avenge the foul crime done against me, and bring my brother to account for his foul and odious involvement."

"What involvement did your brother have, dear king?"

"Before the passing of our great father King Ferdinand, he divided his Spanish realm among my brothers and me, Sancho. Being the eldest and strongest, I ought to have inherited the entire kingdom, so I did lust after the lands he so graciously bequeathed unto my brothers and sister.  The largest of provinces known as Castile, I did inherit. My brother Alfonso, most wise and cunning was granted, León. The youngest of us brothers, García, both ambitious and naïve, was given Galicia and Portugal. My sister, the user and usurper of her sex, was given the great city of Zamora, where I met my end. As my father did wish, it should have been, until my brothers and I did divide the land further in civil war," the ghost said.

"I know this wretched spirit, what would you have me do?"

"There is no allowance, no land, and no position for extra princes in Hispania, only prisons and exile. Unto this end, I did banish my brothers as I most nobly won their lands, and unto such an end my brothers ought to have sent me, had they won. As victory was near at the gates of Zamora, I ought to have reunited my father's kingdom by fire and the sword. Until by most treacherous and foul hand I did meet my end by my own blade and was sent to this prison of purgatory to have my sins burned away by sulfurous and tormenting flames. I would send my brother Alfonso to this end by your hand if he does indeed prove guilty of these damnable sins."

"How shall I know if he is the guilty purchaser of your foul and damnable murder?"

Motioning to Alfonso's chamber, Rodrigo noted Alfonso on his knees in prayer, "Look how he does now pray and confess his sins to Holy God. If you should claim his life now, his soul would go straight to heaven and yours to Hell for killing an ordained king," Sancho said. "But if he should swear upon some holy relic or even holy writ that he was innocent of collaborative murder his soul would be fit and seasoned for Hell."

Rodrigo had known Sancho in his wrath during his natural life, and even he had suggested what Alfonso had committed. If not for the reason of Rodrigo, the king might have fallen to that level of sin. Though the shadow of guilt had fallen upon Alfonso, he knew not if the actual sin lay at his feet.

"What if your brother is innocent?"

The spirit looked to be in his worst wrath at these words, "Hear me, friend! Cause that he shall swear on the morrow that he is innocent. If he shall not, you shall know that he is, for you shall cause him to impale himself upon his own sharp and guilty soul, or send him to Hell by the road of your own, most just sword. Swear this to me!"

Rodrigo nodded and removed his sword, and swore the vow unto his old king.

As the sun began to rise, Sancho's ghost disappeared and faded away. His last words upon the wind were, "Avenge, avenge, avenge."

The light from Alfonso's room was extinguished.

* * * * *

It seemed as if the night would wane on forever for Alfonso, as he thought of the nobles he would answer too on the morrow.

"The act is done, Alfonso!" Uracca yelled.

Alfonso sulked as he sat in the corner staring at his hands as if they were covered in blood.

"He would have killed you eventually," Uracca reiterated. "Just wash your hands of this," Uracca through her hands into the air. “Confess it if you must, your confessor would not sell your secrets. Be free of this."

"I would befoul the holy water and even the seas if I attempted to clean this act from my hands." Alfonso looked out the window to see if the sun's light had yet crept in. It was still dark, but for the torchlight along the city walls. Even the sentry on duty appeared to be looking through the window on the distressed king.

 "You will go mad if you think further on these deeds, for our brother was not even killed by your hands."

"Did we not commission the assassin's hands to commit these deeds?"

            Uracca looked away and sighed in frustration, her involvement was coincidental, and her words were merely words in the face of the acts that men both denied her and committed in plenty.

"You lack the focus to do what is necessary, it was either Alfonso and Uracca or Sancho. Our brother did not have allowance of a world with extra princes, you know this."

Alfonso's solemn face turned into a menacing smile, and he chuckled in the tones of a coquettish child, as he recited the lines of his dead brother, "What shall we do with the extra prince?" as he made a chopping motion towards his neck. "How often did our brother sing you these lines?"

Uracca rolled her eyes and stomped to the door as if to leave the room.

"What will you tell the nobles tomorrow?"

Alfonso still sat in the corner with an intemperate smile.

"What I must," Alfonso replied. "What I must."

Uracca paced back to where Alfonso sat striking him in the face with the back of her hand. Alfonso winced and arose as if awoken, "If you confess, it will be fire and the sword. You must wash this filthy witness from your soul, for it will undo you, me, and the entire kingdom."

A drop of blood dripped from the middle of his cheek, now a crimson red. Alfonso towered over his short sister, and he sought to let her know this as he glared into her eyes. "You will go where the extra princesses must go, my dear sister. Mind your tongue and your hand's reach, for you will lose them both if I feel so inclined."

Uracca glared back at her brother, daring him to make his threat true.

Alfonso dropped to his knees as if to pray, "Awaken the priest,” he said in agony.

Just then Alfonso looked out the window to see the young lord of Burgos in the place of the watchman, Lord Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar. He was his brother Sancho's general and most loyal man, and on many occasions the victor over Alfonso as he fought Sancho's battles. He would be Alfonso's most ardent and worthy ally or his most formidable enemy.

As Alfonso's gaze broke away from Uracca, she backed away. "Call him in the morning before the ceremony, then you will be most worthy to present yourself before your subjects," Uracca said. "Bring the man I know to be my brother, and leave the boy."

Alfonso said nothing to his sister as she left his room, as his eyes were fixed upon Vivar who stood upon the city wall. Next to him in defiance of nature was a visage that appeared like unto his brother in full armor. It immediately disappeared.

Alfonso cupped his hand around the last remaining candle and extinguished the light as easily as he had ended his brother's life.

"I am tortured by stinging memories."

* * * * *

The nobleman and clergy of the unified León-Castile were called to recognize their new king at the church of Saint Agatha in Burgos. Looking down from the upper rooms of the church, Alfonso shook nervously as his brother's commanders and nobles arrived. Each of them followed the noble, known as Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar whose discontent was unconcealed.

"Inform me when each noble has arrived within the church," Alfonso said to his squire.

"Yes, milord."

"And bring my confessor."

The squire nodded hesitantly.

            Finally, he was left alone. His sister Uracca was nowhere in sight, but it was just as good, as he did not wish to be near her at this time

The nobles would want an answer for the Sancho’s death at this time and Alfonso knew that the truth would only reignite the cinders of war and divide the empire against itself, just as Uracca had said. The kingdoms of Hispania would be overrun by the tide of Moors in the south if it did not stand together as his father wished, and it could not survive if each brother stood against the other. Sancho's death was unavoidable, for to Alfonso and Sancho alike, it was either kill or be killed. In a land such as Hispania, and in a time such as this, there was no allowance for extra princes, as his brother Sancho had often said, in tormenting his siblings. The lands of his father ought to have never been divided amongst brothers.

Rodrigo Vivar glanced up into the window before entering the church and locked eyes with Alfonso. His gaze penetrated into the depths of Alfonso's soul, reigniting the same guilt that was first felt by Cain. Alfonso had heard that this same man had pursued Sancho’s assassin into the night.

"I am a king, an emperor even, unto God alone am I a vassal. I need not confess this deed unto those who owe their vassalage to me."

The church's bells began to ring in both ominous and soft tones, shaking Alfonso into the remembrance of his damnable sins. The squire returned with Alfonso's confessor dressed in black robes as he entered his presence.

"Boy, cover the window, and leave me with the priest," Alfonso said.

"Yes, milord. The nobles are nearly assembled."

Alfonso nodded as his squire bowed and left. The confessor took his spot at the confessional and waited for Alfonso to take his.

At midday outside the church, the sun was bright and blinding as it reflected off of the white stone buildings, but within the church at midday, the church was as dark as pitch. Alfonso hesitated before kneeling at the confessional altar. A voice from the distant past echoed in his mind, as he remembered the knighting ceremony that had taken place with his father and brother several years ago within this same church and the countless pilgrimages to Santiago de Compostela he had made as a boy, and even into manhood. The family bonds he had shared had always been with his father and sisters, and even his brothers at times. His knees were firmly rested on the cushion, but it seemed that they never would touch the ground as he struggled to begin. The words as true as utterance could amplify and they whispered forth the confession unto the ears of his confessor.

"I confess to Almighty God and your father that I have sinned," Alfonso began.

"Are your sins mortal, my son?" the confessor asked.

"They are."

"Continue."

"It was not my hand that took my brother's life, but rather my bidding."

"Did you hire the assassin?"

"I did, Father."

The confessor paused, "The act of contrition will be eternal, my son. Are these all of your sins?"

"No."

"Continue."

"I did, by lying promise, lure Prince García out of exile and into prison."

"Do you intend to release him?"

Alfonso was afraid this question would be asked, so he let his silence confirm what the priest already knew.

“Are you sorry for your sins?” the confessor asked.

“As sorry as I am joyful,” Alfonso replied.

“As I have said, my son, your act of contrition must be eternal, but in your pledge to repent, you are worthy to go to heaven if you should die in this moment or near to it. Do you make this pledge?”

“In this confession, I see that I am liberated, and I do now make this pledge.”

“Te, absolvo, In nomine Patris et fillii et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.”

“Amen,” Alfonso crossed himself and arose, absolved, guiltless, and still tormented.

*  *  *  *  *

Every noble stared at the new king, expressionless and fearless. Alfonso stared defiantly back. “Five years have come and gone since the passing of our father, and for five years we have been divided in war.” Looking at every face within the church, Alfonso paused to consider their faces. “Thinking our state to be disjoint and thinking our land to be theirs, the Moors have arisen to the south and come into our lands. What say you, my lords? Will you stand by, and fight each other when the greater enemy of God stands closer?” Alfonso said.

Some of the nobles broke eye contact with Alfonso in acknowledgment of his stance. Alfonso stood taller, and a smile even appeared on his lips.

"Is our land disjointed? I am not so ignorant as to think that this kingdom shall rise again without the help of God, and without my brothers’ nobles. For the cause of this empire, I will grant pardon unto all those who stood in battle against me or stood guard over me in banishment in the service of my brothers.”

“What was your part in the murder of your brother?” a deep voice bellowed.

Alfonso looked around to find the source of the voice until the man stood directly in front of him looking down into his eyes; he was none other than Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar. Up close, his amber eyes burned like torches and he wore a distinguished beard with a distinct scar that traveled from his left ear to his chin, his height and stature presented a formidable figure and often enough, he was even mistaken for a king. It did not matter that Alfonso was three years his senior.

“What part did you have in the murder of King Sancho?”

“Lord Vivar, I am guiltless,” Alfonso responded evenly and met Vivar’s eyes. “May I also remind you that I am your king by divine right?”

Rodrigo came closer, and the heat in his voice changed with the sneer of his lips “The only kings my men and I have served are your father and brother,” Rodrigo challenged. “Until we know what part you played in your brother’s murder, we will not swear any fealty, and you will not know peace.”

Enraged, Alfonso’s color changed to crimson. “I swear that I am guiltless!”

Rodrigo motioned for another man to come forward. He held the relics of Saint Agatha that were housed within the church in Burgos. “Swear upon these relics, that you had no part in your brother’s murder!”

Desperately, Alfonso looked to his confessor, who looked as appalled and afraid as Alfonso. Covering the relics with his left hand, Alfonso glared back into Rodrigo’s eyes and over to the priest who witnessed. The audience grew uneasy, as they stepped closer to look at the confrontation taking place. “I swear before God, these witnesses, and upon these holy relics that…”

“Place your other hand upon the Bible as well,” Rodrigo commanded. The horde of onlookers gasped, and the very air seemed as if it would ignite.

Alfonso slammed his hand down upon the massive Bible that covered the pulpit. “And this bible, that I am guiltless in the murder of my brother.”

The priest made the symbol of the cross, which the whole church followed. The acknowledgment of a holy vow was nearly concluded with the priest’s “amen,” when Rodrigo looked over to Alfonso challenging him almost to remove his hands and deny the vow he had made. Alfonso looked through the throngs of his potential subjects to see the eyes of a brother staring back into his. In grey robes, he walked amongst the subjects and challenged his brother to lie. Menacingly he took up the chant that had arisen among the throng.

"Swear it! Swear it, swear it!"

"You are dead dear brother, how do you stand here among us?"

Vivar, the nobles, the clergy, and even Princess Uracca stared in dreaded awe at the king as he uttered something into the air about the old king.

 A child yelled from the back of the church as loud as any other.

"SWEAR IT!"

Into the vaulted ceilings, he stared away from his brother's personage and echoed louder than any of the rest the word that acknowledged his holy vow, “AMEN!”

When his eyes returned to Rodrigo Vivar, the lord had removed his sword holding the tip to the ground, and grasping the hilt with his right hand, and his head bowed before the cross in the hilt unto Alfonso, swearing fealty. In a wave of sound from the swords being unsheathed, and in a wave of motion as every noblemen and clergy took a knee, his brothers’ subjects acknowledged him as the new king and emperor by divine right. He was humiliated.

Before disappearing, the ghost of his brother Sancho whispered the words toward Alfonso, "I will see you in Hell."

*  *  *  *  *

Having left the main chapel of the church before the ceremony could go on any longer, Alfonso leaped up the stairs two at a time, to the bell tower of Saint Agatha’s church. The bells would not ring for this moment. As he reached the top of the stairs, three monks stood as if awaiting his arrival. In their brown garb, they stood according to height and stared at Alfonso, archaically smiling.

“What benefit do you fulfill in standing here idly?”

“Your benefit, your majesty,” they replied in unison.

Alfonso stared back. “What benefit?”

The shortest monk spoke, “We have dreamed of the fates that await thee and thy kingdom, and we would have you know of the act of contrition you must make and pay in this life.”

“Contrition? I am guiltless!”

“You are guiltless through contrition, milord, or damned through your pride,” the monk responded. “We know of your past as clearly as we do your future.”

Alfonso shook his head in disbelief, “Continue then.”

Through the east window, the tallest monk gestured down toward Rodrigo Vivar astride his horse and followed loyally by his men, “As worthy as thee, shall you let this hero arise, and as great as thy father’s and brother’s, will your empire be.”

Looking through the west window, the second monk said, “As great as thy own, shall another kingdom arise from thy line.”

Standing in front of the emperor, with ghost grey eyes, the last and shortest monk said, “Your name is finished, but it is through thy daughters and ignoble birth, shall thy line and seed endure, and a new kingdom arise.”

Alfonso gasped.

“Look not to fulfill or resist these words, for in so doing thou shalt be unmade. This is the cost of your forgiveness, your honor, and your throne, your majesty.”

Without protest, Alfonso allowed the monks to ring the church bells. As he leaned on the wall and sank to the floor, the bells continued to ring, the church emptied, and the warm summer day cooled into the night.

*  *  *  *  *

Alfonso heeded the warning of the monks for seven years, until he lost faith in the loyalty of Lord Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar. Through fame and charity amongst his enemies, Rodrigo earned the name “El Cid”. To the Moors, this meant “The King.” Rodrigo bore this name proudly and even fought the battles of Moors against other Christians. The deeply jealous lord, by the name of García Ordóñez, was captured after one battle known as the Battle of Cabra. For this insult, the Leónese lord turned Alfonso by vicious and cunning words against Vivar, having him exiled to the Moorish lands in the south.

Once the kingdom began to fall again, Alfonso realized his mistake and called Vivar back from exile. In 1087, Vivar with Alfonso won the rich province of Valencia. The two had made the Spanish empire grow into an empire greater than that of Alfonso’s father and brother. Rodrigo Vivar would remain in Valencia until his death in 1099 when the Moors besieged the city again.

Rumor has it that in order to inspire the men, the wife of Vivar, allowed the body of her husband to be strapped to a horse in full armor to inspire the men.

Alfonso’s ignoble children, or bastard children, were many. It was Jumena Muñoz that Alfonso loved, and with whom he had two ignoble daughters, Teresa and Elvira. Alfonso had Teresa married to the newly appointed count of Portugal in the west, and Elvira was married to the Count of Toulouse. Their mother was given lands and wealth when he was forced to put her aside and marry again. When his only son was born unto him in 1093, Alfonso believed this child would be the heir of the monk’s prophecy. The mother was the Moor, Zaida of Seville, and the child was indeed born ignoble. Alfonso named him Sancho, in hopes that in naming his son after the brother, who had his kingdom taken away, his survival, and fulfillment of the monks’ prophecy, would come true.

In 1108, Alfonso sought to placate his many children by naming Sancho his heir, and in trusting him to lead the forces of León-Castile into battle against the Moor when the city near the monastery of Uclés was taken.

Sancho’s forces were surrounded, and the prince was beaten. As he fled the scene of slaughter where his tutor García Ordóñez and other nobles were also killed, the villagers of Belinchón rose against the boy and his retainers and had them killed.

*  *  *  *  *

Flames danced on the surface of a pile of glowing embers slowly eating away at the remnants of the last log. Without a cloud in the sky, the only things brighter were the stars and the crescent moon. This late May evening ushered in a season of war and desolation as both Moor and Christian fought for land and God throughout the lands, known unto the old Romans as Iberia and Lusitania. As the fire began to die down, throngs of the Leonese pilgrims gathered around to hear the well-known tales of their glorious dead.

"One last time, astride his great horse Babieca, Rodrigo Vivar rode into battle to once again defeat our Saracen Foes. Until the battle was won, neither Christian nor infidel knew that the great horse carried only his lifeless body," in even tones the minstrel finished the tale of The Cid. Nothing else needed to be said to those who would always remember a true Spanish hero.

To the Moors, a cid was a great king, which could even be recognized with honor among the enemy. Rodrigo Vivar was such a man, who was as much a king as the emperor, the sixth Alfonso to rule Leon, and all of Hispania. Though every man knew this to be true, none dared to say it in the presence of Alfonso's son and heir, Prince Sancho, nor the prince's tutor, the Lord Garcia Ordóñez who was also known to be the Vivar's sworn enemy. So instead they listened in revered silence.

A soft spring breeze lightly stoked the remaining flames breaking the silence. Prince Sancho had sat silently staring into the dancing flames wondering what it was he could say to inspire his men like their hero, the great Rodrigo Vivar. His youth proved to be a great disadvantage during moments such as this, and he usually allowed Lord Ordóñez to speak in his favor to inspire his men. Tomorrow would be different though, it had to be. Acting or speaking after the canto of the Cid would only be standing in the shadow of a greater man. Looking over at his tutor, he could see the heat rising to his cheeks and forehead. His hatred of Vivar only burned brighter as his legend grew, and his life celebrated. Tonight, Ordóñez would not say anything.

Sancho remained silent into the following day, and forever after.

*  *  *  *  *

In June of God’s year 1109, Alfonso sunk into despair at the death of his only son and died. He bequeathed his entire kingdom unto his daughter named for his fallen sister, Uracca. The shrewd daughter gave birth to the new line of kings to rule the fragmented Leon-Castile. The kingdom would not last another hundred years.

The news that arrived only hours after his death was the birth of his grandson through Teresa of Portugal. He bore the name Afonso Henriques, and became the first king of the new kingdom of Portugal which would last with dignity for nearly 1000 years.