1124.
The siege in Molina continues as my retinue watches from afar. Sancho III has still failed to notice that my troops are not actually engaging in battle. Perhaps his attentions are diverted elsewhere. Or perhaps he is just not a very good leader. You can guess what my opinion is.
And, curse and bedamned, Baron Guifre of Cerdanya – you remember, the one whose heir held titles outside the kingdom? The one who I married off in order to produce an heir to solve this problem? – has died of smallpox. The nerve of the man! And to make things worse, his wife had still not produced him an heir! Though she is currently pregnant…and seems to have also contracted smallpox. This will likely not end well. But no matter, it is none of my concern anymore. I must get the Barony of Cerdanya back from the usurper who now holds the title.
I decide to try diplomacy first. No one can ever say I don’t give people a chance. I offer the new Baron of Cerdanya a vassalship. He declines. I suggest that this will not go well for him, but he is unmoved.
So obviously I have him assassinated. I try again with his heir, offering the prospect of a vassalship. Again, unbelievably, he declines! Is he unaware of what happened to his predecessor?! Nonetheless, I cannot just murder my way through the entire empire. Clearly other tactics are in order. I call my retinue back from its observation post outside Molina. If it’s war the puling little Baron of Cerdanya wants, it is war he will get. I raise up 8,500 troops and send them to his barony. How do you like them apples?
More annoyances. Gartzia, my ward, refuses to react to any of my deliberate aggravations. How will the boy ever become a capable knight if he has no sense of aggression, no sense of injustice? He shrugs off slights that would have made me throw a punch when I was his age. Nothing I do breaches his wall of infinite patience! It is maddening.
As the year comes to a close, I receive news from Sancho III that “we” have lost Molina to the rebellion. Excellent news. Of course, the army is now occupied with the siege of Cerdanya, but surely that will not take much longer, and then we can make our move!
Perhaps it is just my age, or perhaps I grow tired of trying to provoke my ward, but I feel tired these days. Tired of rage, tired of anger. Is it possible to no longer want to summarily execute one’s enemies? It seems improbable, and yet here we are.
1125.
My niece Eulalia comes of age. She is unintelligent, tends to fat, and has a cruel streak. My wife reports that she saw Eulalia tormenting the geese in the pond last week. Who torments geese?! I marry her off to an 80-year-old German spymaster just to get her out of my kingdom and, more importantly, my dynastic line.
Welcome news from Cerdanya: The siege is successful and the barony is once again mine! I tell the armies to stand down and return home, and I send scouts to report on the situation in Molina. Perhaps now is our hour! But they return with unwelcome news: Molina is now revolting against the Emir of Dhunnunid. When did he even take control of Molina? Honestly, you get distracted by a stupid niece for five minutes and look what happens. I can’t go to war against the Emir for another 8 years unless I want the reputation of a trucebreaker. Perhaps this rebellion too will succeed, and then we can make our move. Otherwise I suppose we will just have to wait. I send my Chancellor out to see about fabricating some claims – er, I mean, checking on the status of some claims – in other counties in the meantime. No reason to keep all your eggs in one basket.
I take on my grandson Jaime as a ward. He seems extraordinarily bright and capable and I want to keep him close to hand. His newborn brother, arrived only last week, is also strong and healthy. It is unfortunate that my son Enrique, their father, is not my heir…although actually, that could change, couldn’t it? I must ponder this.
The Mayor of Logrono protests high city taxes. Instead of having him summarily executed, I instead soothe him with flattering words, and he leaves satisfied. What is happening to me?! I must be softening up in my old age.
1126.
For some time I have heard tales in the castle that the old tailor whose shop is just inside the keep was once a spymaster, and that his exploits are the stuff of legend. He moved by night, never seen, and could find out any piece of information from anyone at any time. He slipped in and out of even the most tightly-guarded castles and commanded the respect of every duke and baron in the land. I keep an eye on the old man; he is bent over and walks with a cane. But do I detect a certain spryness in his gait? Perhaps it is all an act…perhaps the stories are true. I could use someone like that to teach me the ways of intrigue.
I decide I shall seek him out.
When I arrive at his shop, disguised as a commoner, I make some polite inquiries; I tell him obliquely that I have heard tales of his younger days and am interested to hear those tales from “the horse’s mouth,” as it were. He smiles toothlessly and nods, stumping his way towards me with his gimpy leg and cane. I wonder if possibly the tales are wrong; surely this man could not –
But suddenly, moving so quickly that he is a blur on the edge of my vision, he drops his cane and has a knife to my throat! “Who sent you?” he hisses into my ear. “What is your business?”
With my life on the line, all I can produce is terrified stammers. Humiliating. After a moment, though, I manage to find my voice and I explain that I am merely a fellow traveler who wishes to learn a few things about the spying trade. I tell him that I am willing to pay him in gold coin if he will but share the smallest part of his knowledge with me. The blade of the knife is cold against my throat. I am perfectly still and motionless.
He thinks for a terribly long moment, and then relents. “Show me the coin,” he says, and with trembling hands I shake out the few coins I’d brought with me in my purse. He looks at the purse, then back to me, with a lifted eyebrow. I suspect he knows more about me than he lets on. But at last he says, “Yes. I will teach you a few things. Follow me.”
My training begins that day. I cannot reveal all of the details, but I can assure you that it has made me rather better at sniffing out plots among my courtesans, not to mention foiling the odd assassination attempt. (Part and parcel of being the king, I assure you.)
I now walk in the dark with no fear.
Meanwhile, I have news that the Baroness of Puigcerda, a charming 9-year-old girl, has been murdered in cold blood by her heir, the new Baron Vidal of Puigcerda. Nobody is killing 9-year-old girls in my kingdom! I find this an outrage and immediately summon several of my courtiers to formulate a plot against Vidal instead. Revenge will be cold but sweet.
My son Sancho hears me complaining about the incessant whining and demands from the priests – verminous creatures, wanting nothing more than power and money, neither of which they have earned – and suggests that I give them a small amount of alms whenever they come around. I dislike the idea of paying them off, but he points out that priests hate to appear greedy to their parishioners, and so giving them a small amount of money will stop them from asking for a greater sum of money. I suppose it makes sense. We will give it a try.
Still nothing from my chancellor on any claims that I may have been previously unaware of. I send him a message telling him to work harder, and that the assassins’ guild has a bumper crop of new acolytes this summer.
I become bored waiting for the situation in Molina to resolve, and for my chancellor to earn his keep. I decide to hold a summer fair. Everyone likes those. We set up jousting tournaments, hire musicians, and set up a few games. All is going well, when a traveling monk arrives and starts shouting about how the end of the world is upon us and we all must repent. The peasants seem to find him amusing. As, I admit, do I. A little end-of-the-world levity never hurt anyone. Bishop Ansur wants me to have him ejected from the fair, but I only laugh. Ansur can go and sulk if he likes. This is my fair, not his!
Then the Jumping Jews of Jerusalem try to form a human pyramid and instead fall all over the place, injuring a cat in the process. I demand my money back. Who invited those guys, anyway?
My daughter Margarita has a son with her husband Nigel. They name the child Sancho. Don’t we already have a few too many Sanchos around here? Nobody ever asks for my input on names. At least it is better than “Manrique.”
The plot against Baron Vidal of Puigcerda is taking forever. I am tempted to just have him summarily executed. It has been entirely too long since my last assassination and I am feeling a bit twitchy about it. Perhaps next year…
