By Susan Grant-Suttie
“Romans 13:1-2 which reads, ‘Let everyone be subject to the governing authorities, for there is no authority except that which God has established. The authorities that exist have been established by God. Consequently, whoever rebels against the authority is rebelling against what God has instituted, and those who do so will bring judgement on themselves.’”
Gerberge, comtesse de Provence, slowly closed her leather dog eared bible. She was sitting at the table in her private chambers taking a pause after her morning bible reading. She ran one finger along the edge as she contemplated the phrasing of her next sentence. She leaned towards her husband to keep their conversation confidential. He walked to the bed paying half attention to his wife while looking for his shoes. Gerberge did not even trust the servants as she sometimes worried that their glib conversations repeated their private words so she kept her voice low. The servants were warned never to repeat their lord and lady’s conversations and were admonished that gossip was a sin. But, people will be people, and gossip was a currency – Gerberge’s voice was always more controlled when sensitive issues were discussed. She started with an idle comment before she began her priority topic just to be sure she had Gilbert’s attention. She motioned for him to return to the table, flickering her fingers towards herself. He turned and looked at his wife from the bed giving her a tolerant look for beckoning him as she did the dogs.
Gerberge was of medium height and of a thin build with light thin brown hair she kept swept back into her cap. As he looked at her, he saw a vision of his wife from her youth. He smiled with half a chuckle at her impatience, he was a much more imperturbable soul than most men. She cared little for fashions as some other comtesses in neighbouring lands flaunted. Gerberge was more of a practical woman. Her eyes were large and almond shaped but deep set with dark circles around them signalling a loss of restful sleep. Gilbert made a passing comment about her weary look as she offered him a bowl of nuts if he sat at the table, a little closer to her. She would not approach the bed again she signalled with one raised eyebrow. Gerberge was a woman in her early forties, her figure was not lost to bearing children or having the privilege of a hearty menu. From behind, many thought she had the carriage of a much younger woman but she thought about avoiding sweets for a while to keep her figure attractive. It was only when one faced her straight on that the wear lines in her face could be seen at the corner of her eyes and mouth.
Gerberge has been in extensive prayer the day before. She believed God had placed everyone in their position on this earth for a reason. She wondered if she and her husband’s status should change but would that be God’s will? She had the ability, she truly believed, to request an elevation but she kept debating the necessity of it. The Pope could do that, if it were part of God’s plan. Gerberge, comtesse de Provence, was a supporter of the Roman Empire and ever faithful to the Roman Catholic Church. She mentioned to Gilbert how grateful she was for what they had, how well their people were doing, then added they could lose it in a heartbeat if they were ever successfully attacked, something that had not happened – yet – and at times this fact was unsettling. She waited for a response from her husband and watched his eyes squeeze up as if his brain were constipated.
Her husband seemed to be in a conundrum, she observed, then continued her thoughts out loud on the potential change of their status catching his attention again. He tossed the blanket on the bed to make a comfortable seat in order to adjust his shoes. They forever bothered him, or more likely it was the seam on the stocking that bothered him. All of their children had the same affliction, sensitivity to stocking seams. Gerberge decided not to comment on the stocking and stuck to her topic. After a deep breath, she got up and stood before him with her hands on her hips frowning at his fussy stock attitude when he should have been paying attention to her.
She backed up her conversation to bring him up to speed knowing he wasn’t focused on her words as much as he should have been. “Although I am a woman, I am of the bloodline of Charlemagne, my great-grand sire may be the key to our succession. He was appointed by the Holy Roman Pope himself, he was the King of the Franks from 768, King of the Lombards from 774 and Emperor of the Romans from 800. Years gone by, admittedly, but still not that different from how we are now.”
Gilbert nodded his head, a few strands of long greasy hair fell into his eyes, he brushed them back. He now wanted to wash his face. He knew these facts and also knew he would have to listen to his wife recant these facts in order to get ahead in this conversation – if only his stockings would comply to give him some comfort.
She continued, “He united much of our world. He served the people. I think the key is not the title but the work and our blood line. We prove over and over again that we are of the same ilk. Are we needed now more as King and Queen than viscomte and comtesse?” She cocked her head to the side looking to see if he noted her words and yet wanted to appear a little softer in her approach. The issue had to be addressed, she believed.
Gilbert smiled at his wife as he finally slipped both feet into his shoes. “And so you do think it would be advantageous for the holy Pope to elevate us to King and Queen? Let us think about this Bergee.” This was a nickname he liked to use to assure her that he was approachable. At this time he was more than agreeable regarding the concept but he doubted the timing. Gilbert I, viscomte de Milay et Gevaudan debated the positions they both held within their country. His mind tossed with questions, would it be better to ask for holy ascent to king and queen or better to stay as viscomte and comtesse of their duchy? Considering the family connections to the Pope, plus the countless times they supported the Holy Roman Church publicly and privately on delicate issues, neither would be denied the request. They both felt united in this opinion. The conundrum was whether they should ask for a higher elevation in royal ranking or stay as they were. Neither thought they couldn’t but neither felt justified that they should. Gilbert wanted to make the first firm decision before going to the pope.
“Listen carefully, my wife. I am more convinced now we should not ask, if I were king and you queen, we would be expected to hand out duchies. Land is limited, unless we go and conquer. Is that what we want? Is that what our people want? Imagine this, we conquer, we win, we hand out another tract of land with a knighthood to control the area. Then when one of the nobility, whom we most likely handed a dutchie to, might very well rebel against us. We will have to continually put down rebellions. If we remain in charge without the title, that takes away part of the future problem. Let us assume this, there is more unrest with a king than a viscomte.” He raised his eyebrows and waited for a reply while scratching his arm, his wife knowing this was a sign of being soft and approachable. He always scratched his arm in this way, like he was being insipid.
She could tell she was not convincing him to go ahead with the request for elevation, he was more so on the fence regarding it. Gerberge was in favour of peace and controlled growth too – but more growth is what she thought they needed then again she wanted to explore the topic. She was uncomfortable with war and the potential for the loss of good men, good crops, and agitated serfs. She sat down again at the table in their private chambers and tapped her fingers on the table thinking over the situation again. Her nails sounded like rain on abandoned armour as she pondered the idea and stared at her weak beer on the table placed earlier by the maid servant.
She watched her husband adjust his tunic, then he sat opposite her. Gilbert’s bony hands clasped his own watered beer and he stalled drinking from his goblet just before his cup met his lips, a common gesture he made.
He asked, “Would we make more money do you think if we stayed comtesse and vicomte?” He drank the last sip and put down his drink. The pause, he thought, gave his wife enough time to answer his question with some forethought. “Bergee?” he encouraged her.
“Honestly, it is my opinion that we will have more money staying as we are than rising up,” she emphasised, “but only for a short time.” She leaned towards him now he was at the table and their conversation could be more discrete. “I would hate to wake up one morning with one of our children hanging over our bed with a sword at our throat unwilling to wait for their turn at the throne, not that I think that would happen with one of our own blood – but you never know their wives. Oh heaven’s listen to me talk!”
He shook his head as his wife continued.
“I still believe that the tanist method of inheritance is the best – but being a king and queen would force our hand at who inherits next. And, think of our people…” She trailed off for a moment distracted by distant sounds of cattle and sheep lowing. She knew this would mean more servants scurrying about the household as well.
Gilbert took this pause to insert his opinion, “I balance everything in my mind and still believe it is not the time to elevate above our station. We will receive the same reception whether we are king or viscount. Do you agree? What should be our greatest concern? Power? Position? Reception? Family planning as to who rules next? I still think the needs of our people should have the highest regard. What is more important for us – power or money? I say whatever serves the people. The people and their well being are to our advantage, therefore power is more important than money. Money is only a tool to enhance power. We have enough money and we have enough power.” He sat up straight as if a string from overhead pulled on this spine. 
“No, I don’t agree about the reception from our neighbours. Wait, wait, can’t we have both power and money?” She pushed her goblet away and hesitated again. “But I see your point. I am convinced it is not bad for our people if we remain as viscount and comtesse. Yet, I am not convinced it is the best for us, for our family – for the long term – we have to think generations ahead, not just here and now. Must we sacrifice the good of our family for the good of the people? Is there no way we can have it all – power, money, and our future children well positioned? Since it appears it cannot be separated, we shall do what is good for our people. That is my decision today, but I cannot say it will be my decision tomorrow. I will pray on this more. For now, nothing will change.” She always spent time in prayer in the morning, Gilbert was not surprised with her conclusion.
Gilbert patted his wife’s hand and pushed over her goblet of beer to encourage her to drink. The morning fire crackled in their bedroom. Gerberge was grateful for the beer on the table and the fire set every morning.
Gerberge did not intend to inherit this huge kingdom, it was thrust upon her when her father and brothers, the lot of them, disagreed, disappeared, and died. The issues of their demise was something she cared little to follow up on. God’s will, she told herself. The Pope commanded that she be in charge of her entire family’s land and citizens now, jointly with her husband. Gilbert knew he inherited this position through his wife’s family position. What they both thought would be a peaceful haven of marriage with small administrative duties of a rather small duchy had changed with this elevation to a much larger amalgamation of lands. No one denied the Pope in the Holy Roman Kingdom, except those who were not Catholic.
There was a constant threat to their lands on the south side of the Pyrenees Mountains. The Muslims were always at their door with violence, threats, infiltration, the suspicion of spies was ongoing, but the constant rumours of attacks affected the people in the most unsettling ways. Gerberge was known for her solemn and well thought out decisions but this new strategy of always thinking of ways to keep the people calm, especially when there were no attacks, made her think the people were hysterical and herself a little over protective. She introduced the idea of an annual wool festival one year, then the next year a monthly artisans market where the crafts of the local people were highlighted as opposed to their food markets held every weekend in the summer and fall. It was distracting, to say the least but still she doubted her methods of distraction. As her husband said, she was underestimating the potential of another raid. Gilbert instructed his knights to train their serfs for potential warfare. He commanded that they train every Sunday afternoon with the potential of more training days if he deemed it necessary. Either way, their kingdom was thriving. Both were regarded as excellent rulers.
Her husband was not always home, taking leave for crusades, at which time she was in charge. When he was away, there was no training. The uneasy tensions when her husband was away made the people act irrationally, she could see it in the people, in the markets, in the courts. Her reputation for assisting in her husband’s court, even controlling it during his absence, made her renowned as a wise woman throughout the Frankish countryside. Gerberge could sense the tension regardless of the respect she was given. Both her and her husband’s proclamations were always tempered with compassion. But, now this wisdom was to be put to a higher challenge with a larger amount of land and people before them to govern, again unified under one household. She did note that the people were much calmer when both were present, not just herself. She wished her children took more involvement in the running of the land, since one of her concerns were the future generations. She rolled her eyes at the entitlement her children displayed. She would address that eventually she told herself.
Some of the other nobles and royalty were not so pleased to see Gilbert and Gerberge increase their land and power. There were mutterings of nepotism whispered in their courts. Both Gilbert and Gerberga were aware of the rumours, it bothered them little but they were aware of the talk. They knew they would be taken advantage of by a few, ridiculed by others, and attacked by some. One man they knew who seemed the most disturbed by the news of their increase was Sancho. He was a man who was manipulative, raided, battled, and was known for his strategic techniques to gain personal advantages. Talk of his torturous techniques was consuming in some public houses. Gilbert had heard much, enough to turn his own stomach. This was one man Gilbert preferred to avoid both at court and on the battlefield. Gilbert made sure to be occupied by the crusades rather than focused on Sancho. As Gilbert would say, “Do not feed the dragon,” his way of saying ignore the bastard and let him die of disregard.
The very man whose name they both preferred not to mention let alone think about, thought of them daily. Gilbert and Gerberge and their current land increase was his new obsession.
A few days previously, Sancho sent a messenger who arrived that morning at their back courtyard. A kitchen wench brought in a small package, a sealed envelope addressed to both the comtesse and viscount. “For you sir. Just arrived.” The kitchen help described the sender, curtsied, and left.
The seal gave away the sender’s identity as it was handed over. His name just passed their lips not moments ago. Gilbert took the small package and threw it on the table in front of his wife. The crest on the front belonged to Sancho III, a man who raised himself to be the greatest king the Frank world had ever seen, as was self declared. Sancho was now demanding their attention through this letter. Both Gerberge and Gilbert scoffed when they recognized the wax imprint. The letter arrived by an older child on a pony, obviously someone no one expected who would brandish such an important document and someone who would go unnoticed within the city walls. Tricky, thought Gilbert, using a child. Unethical. Gilbert had a fleeting thought of the child’s mother being held in ransom until the child returned. That would be like Sancho. Gilbert insisted on leaving the letter on the table untouched until he decided he had the time. 
Sancho made Gilbert subject himself as a vassal to him, in earlier political manoeuvres, which to this day prickled Gilbert’s skin. Those days gone by, times had changed and now it appeared both Gilbert and the silver fox Sancho may be equal in status but executed completely different leadership. Gilbert dismissed the possibility of being summoned to Sancho’s court, or being required to pay taxes to Sancho’s treasury. No, Gilbert thought, this would most likely be something to do with blackmail. He stared at the document as if reading through the overlapping protection. If it were not for the family connections his wife had to the papacy, they would have been totally swallowed by the egocentric man that still dogged their lives. Gilbert could imagine Sancho at the feet of St. Peter at the pearly gates.
“But your holiness St. Peter, I made all the citizens Christian, does it matter how?”
‘A good outcome excuses all wrong doing.’ Sancho had been heard to say. Sancho may have had a utopian idea of an all Christian country, unified by religion, but Gilbert saw it as a way to inhibit trade with outsiders, increase their own prices and taxes, and then claim a righteous privilege to torture whenever and who ever he could to make a gain. Sancho was well known for his persuasive techniques that the Pope overlooked, as it was well known by both not to interfere with each other’s efficacious methods. Most likely Pope Honorius II did not want to inhibit the increase in Christians no matter how they arrived at the church doors, as they both benefited – and as it was pointed out, the souls were not worth saving and were damned to hell if they were not Christian.
There sat the letter on the table unopened. Gilbert would break his fast with his wife before reading the letter. One of his characteristics that complimented his wife’s personality was the fact that he preferred to do one thing at a time, complete that task, then continue to the next. He did not like multitasking, that included eating. So he took his wife’s hand and pulled her toward the door to go downstairs into the great room to have company as he ate something more substantial than a bowl of nuts and weak beer. The letter remained on the table for their return, to the dismay of Gerberge who wanted that small loose thread tended to. She resigned herself to leave the itch alone.
A few days earlier, Sancho the III sat down at his own table to break his fast at his castle. He pounded the table demanding more meat from his servant who was serving. A young dishevelled wiry man scurried out the door, almost slipping on the drops of pig fat on the floor from the earlier demands of the head of pig the night before. The man was a carnivore and not a meal went by without a plate of meat at his table at his demand. His most noteworthy knights were at the table with him, all discussing their last campaign. The sun was shining through the open windows, the sound of food being passed around made quite the clatter; drinks sloshed, grunts of eating, farting, what that household considered the cacophony of the first meal.
“I can’t think!” Sancho yelled. The men began to eat with their mouths closed and voices lowered. He kicked something underneath the table and a dog went yelping into another room.
“Before raiding, my lord, do you think it would be wise to pass an edict, make an example of our own good people that others should abide by? Something easy? Say, all people within our gates must be Christian, therefore only Christians are allowed to partake in market day, only Christians are allowed to work within the gates, only Christians get the advantages? Although, if you think further, we could say that those non Christians, like the Jews, are welcome to do their business outside the gates whereas anyone else is welcome.” Although Alfrick was a weasel like man always sitting to the right of Sancho, so as to get his good ear, Alfrick may have been a sycophant, but sometimes his ideas were worthy.
“So, Alfrick, tell me how I will make up the taxes that the merchants pay to enter my city if only Christians can enter. Jews make good money, and although those Muslims who do not make themselves too conspicuous, there are some wealthy Muslims who come to the market day and they too pay a handsome levy to pass through my gate to do business. How do I compensate for this loss?” He pinched out a small bone from his mouth, spitting it on his plate. Then he eyeballed Alfrick to get his answer which he presumed would not be forthcoming but still willing to be surprised.
“I am guessing it will be only a short, one time, dip in collected taxes, it will be enough to convince the others to become Christian to gain our privileges.” He smiled at his wisdom to convince some of those merchants to join the holy Roman Catholic Church and nestle tighter with the pope.
“You are not as smart as you think you are. These men will spend the first market day outside the gate peddling their wares, then they will travel to the next largest market which is ruled by Gilbert and his wife Gerberge. Do you think I am so stupid as to lose my valuable income – especially to those two?”
“Sir, they will be forced to make their people follow the holy Roman Catholic church as well. I have no idea how they will do it, but if our non-Christians go to them, we can point our finger at them and declare them as un-Catholic for allowing so many Jews, Muslims, and other heathens onto their land. With such a connection to the pope, do you not think it would look like betrayal? So what you lose in money you gain in political advantage.”
“That’s more like it.” Sancho was pleased, there was more satisfaction in his mind knowing he outmanoeuvred a man in political defeat than just slaying him with a sword. He pondered how to grab all the land and people belonging to Gerberge and Gilbert, making them all Christian would please the Pope and he would most likely, regardless of their family connection, be made king of a greater country than he had now. A gradual take over with a slow amusing compression of his opponent brought a growing smile to his face. They were not enemies, he justified to himself, as they were all Christian role models and he could not make such a duplicitous plan open for the Pope to discover, for the Pope may very well increase her holdings if he thought Gerberge and her husband were better overseers than himself. The Pope would have to look out for the best of all the people, not just one distant relative. He hoped the letter had reached its destination. Inviting both Gilbert and Gerberge to a royal visit and better still a tournament, had more possibilities than he originally planned.
Alfrick continued with a full mouth of chicken, “We could take all their knights, we could suck away all their warriors and use them ourselves, if we had something to lure them with.” He looked at Sancho waiting for his reward for being the idea-man. He kept looking at his liege as he munched on a bone.
Sancho had been thinking of a new type of warrior, something he planned to call the Order of Calatrava. He then began thinking that if he made their goal to have a perpetual war against the Muslims and all the rewards it brought, he may very well usurp their armoured men and please the Pope. A double win, he sat there smiling now. It was no longer just a jousting match at a tournament, that invitation would be the beginning of the downfall of the House of Provence. Maybe an elevation for himself from the Pope. Oh the rewards tumbled in his mind. Sancho imagined his letter being delivered by a cherub sheathing a plot of treachery, the letter being read and the challenge being grasped, and the reply Gilbert would hastily write in response. Sancho’s focus drifted as his men around the table continued their clamour. He smiled and laughed above the ruckus. Sanchos had already sent the letter and already set the date for the tournament. Alfrick just added the needed salt to his plan and he let the man prattle on. This was a good morning for Sanchos.
Gerberge was arranging her ride into town, it was market day and she wanted to see if there was anything new, interesting, news, to touch base with the people. She always went with a maid servant at her side and like the other days, she brought Giselle with her, a rather quiet woman of her own age, who rode a mule behind her. Giselle was a lean woman, and her father had encouraged Gilbert to take on his daughter as he was so far behind in his rent, he feared there was no way to catch up on the payments owed. Giselle appeared to be willing to undertake the new life of a manor maiden and within a few years she climbed out of the kitchen and became the maid dedicated to the lady of the house. It was Giselle who kept all things in order and transferred needed information to Gerberge. Gerberge also discovered one evening why Giselle was so willing to be an indentured servant for her life, her other choices were to join a nunnery or marry a man her father had chosen for her who was twice her age and a widower with six children, the youngest being two years old. For Giselle, life inside a castle was beyond luxury even if she did sleep on a wooden pallet covered in straw under the stairs. Giselle imagined herself living in one of the small huts shared with the other servants that surrounded the castle, but better still to her relief she had her own bed and a small area to place her personal items, a small corner under the stairs that led to the lord and lady’s private chambers. This was far better than sleeping on a cold dirt floor with a weak fire at her feet. She kept this in mind whenever she was asked to do something that she would have preferred to decline, but she was an indentured servant, a slave, there was no declining any request. Today, she rode the mule behind her lady and accompanied her to the market. She would have preferred to sleep a little longer but comtesse Gerberge was eager to set out and greet the merchants setting up their stalls. No doubt, thought Giselle, they would be collecting the market taxes from the gate man.
Gerberge told Giselle to go out and walk the marketplace and to linger especially by the public house, to pose as if she was considering purchasing but in fact to listen to the people. Gerberge would be doing the same, and of course making small talk with her own locals. Gerberge met the wool merchant who had bundles of pure white wool, coloured wool, and of course the usual brown and black. Unusually, it was always the wife that sold the wool and the husband remained behind at the home.
“Bah bah black sheep, have you any wool?” Gerberge humoured the lady with a witty opening.
“Yes, sir, yes, sir, three bags full.” The woman replied with a smile and chuckled back.
“This is many times in a row that your husband has not accompanied you?” Gerberge commented.
The leathered faced old woman nodded her head in agreement. “He is ill, and I am trying to raise enough money to hire a doctor. This has been an usually long illness. But, on the other hand the demand for wool is good and even men as far away as Italy have come to purchase all the wool. So I am caught, be with my husband and tend to him or raise more money for a doctor to help him.” She shrugged and smiled showing her toothless grin and a throaty laugh that turned into a cough. It was known that they were a childless couple and so with an illness in the household, they were far more destitute than other families. Gerberge gave the woman a coin and the old woman curtsied.
Gerberge walked on and noticed several men gambling with dice in a damp alley. They did not notice her, as they were wedged between two buildings hoping not to be seen or disturbed, but they were watched and even better for Gerberge, she had the ability to eavesdrop on their conversation. It was obvious they were merchants with their wives someplace close by as they were dressed well enough, obviously tended to, but their jokes of leaving their wives with the work was the butt of their jokes. The three men were discussing the death of an elderly neighbour who had no family present. At some point the dead man had a daughter, but she was married off to another in at least a week’s walk away and rumour had it she discovered her father’s death only a day ago. Two of the three men had made mention of how they helped themselves to the household items and the livestock. Someone had gathered up the dead man and brought him to the local church but that left the small freeholding of land and goods open for the taking. They were debating how to keep the house and land without too much notice and to do so before the daughter arrived. Gerberge had heard enough and continued her promenade through the marketplace. She wondered which of her town folk had recently passed and noted to herself to send the sheriff around.
Gerberge watched the dogs tussle over a rotted piece of meat. She walked on the opposite side of the path from where the tanner lived, the smell was beyond what she could tolerate. She covered her mouth while she gagged a little. She saw children teasing each other, teasing animals, and daring each other into the most riskiest of games. She saw women sharing their news over the well when fetching water. It was there she caught the eye of Giselle and she beckoned her over with a wave of her hand. Giselle trotted over.
On the way back Giselle sadly confided that she only heard one small bit of news. Her mule swayed back and forth and consistently walked slower than her lady’s horse. The frustration to share talk was intolerable so Gerberge dismounted and led her horse and requested Giselle do the same.
The two women no longer had the pretence of who was in what station but shared their information without censor. Giselle mentioned that some of the families had decided to leave the Catholic faith. They had heard in the village that Jews, although more transient, were able to accumulate more money and wealth overall than those who remained Catholic and tied to the lord and the land. Gerberge caught herself taking a deep gasp but pretended it was an uneven road that made her take the misstep. She encouraged Giselle to carry on. Giselle continued that some were planning on becoming Muslim so that when the attacks came, they thought they would be left alone as long as there was some kind of Muslim symbol on the door, like that of a crescent moon. There was also talk of a distant illness that was consuming villages in the far south. They worried about it coming north, but as the first market of the season was usually just their own town folk, there seemed to be little worry to come out today, but they mentioned they might not come to the next one. Giselle tittered when she spoke and made her news rather exaggerated to give it some credence. Her hands went up and down in animation, which bothered the poor mule at the other end of the reins. She often looked at comtesse Gerberge to see if anything she said was of value. She only saw her nodding her head. So today was not a tax collecting mission for comtesse Gerberge, but something else was gnawing at her, Giselle noticed.
When they arrived home Giselle noticed their bailiff had rode past them, he was most likely sent to collect the taxes. Giselle was dismissed and Gerberge left hastily to discuss what she had discovered in the marketplace with her husband. Giselle shrugged but with gratitude she returned to her little place beneath the stairs to rest. As always, the castle dog, a large Great Pyrenees, hustled in the door and knew he could curl up beside the maid. The dog’s habit was to be close to people, at the foot of the door or laying on the steps to follow the movement of the household. Giselle nestled into her comfortable spot and stroked the dog’s head.
Gerberge went immediately to her private chambers and picked up the opened letter and balanced it in her hand, reading it while Gilbert was writing in his accounting book.
“I replied.” Gilbert was calm and gave a deadpan look.
“What did he want?” Gerberge asked.
“A tournament, that is all.”
“And are we acquiescing?” She made sure her words were succinct.
“Yes, it will be more diplomatic to say yes than no. I have no reason to say no although I prefer not.” He took a deep breath and exhaled with puffed cheeks, obviously exacerbated before the tournament even began.
“You know this tournament is not ..a tournament. There is something else.” She put the envelope down.
“And we will find out when we are there.” He raised his eyes and opened his hands in a gesture of openness and thought. “It is meant to begin as of the first of next month. It will be for only a week. Two days travel there and back and three days in competition. Now, what is on your mind now that you have returned from the market.”
“I want to suggest a few new laws. I have heard and seen the most horrible things which we could prevent and protect. Listen to me.” She described the wool woman and her ill husband, the daughter who was not notified of her father’s death on a timely basis and how the men were pouncing on her inheritance. She spoke of the gambling in the alleys, and how some people were planning on changing their religion for reasons of convenience.
“Write it down how you want it proposed my dear.” He could think of better laws to introduce but he knew Gerberge was concerned more for welfare than criminal laws. He took it in stride and knew it could put it off for only so long. He watched his wife sit down at her table and begin to shape the laws.
Giselle popped in. “Countesse Gerberge, there is a young woman at the door wishing to see you.”
“About what?”
“About her father’s death and the robbery at his farm.”
“I will come down shortly, have her wait outside.” Gerberge turned to her husband with an ‘I-told-you-so’ look. Giselle turned and left briskly. Gerberge pressed her eyelids together and took a deep breath.
“It really should be you that she should come and see.” She paused waiting for his response. When there was none, she continued. “Robbery as well, and this will continue until we can give the power to our bailiff with the law entrenched.
“Don’t be ridiculous. She didn’t say murder, she said robbery. Combining a death and a robbery does not make murder.”
“I didn’t say it was murder, neither did she – it was an opportunity for theft.”
“Did you ever think that since her father died, had the thieves not taken the livestock, they probably would have died as well. That would have been a bigger mess to return to. She obviously lives far away if she could not prevent it, had she been closer to her father it would not have happened.”
“You know, I think you would have preferred if he had a son, someone to live close by but don’t you see the problem? The problem is that our women are sent away to marry and cannot be close to their family, unless there is a boy to take care of the farm, the women are married and join other families. That poor farmer had no choice but to agree for the future of his daughter. That left him alone. Furthermore, are you going to send the sheriff or the bailiff or whoever to deal with the thieves. The point is – they stole what did not belong to them. I know that family, they had only one daughter. The wife died years ago and so did their only son. Now the daughter returns to this.”
“Where is her husband if you know so much.” He was now irritated with this argument.
“I don’t know. But why can’t she return safely to her childhood village? She should be able to consider herself safe here.”
“And the roads? The highwaymen there?” He paused then noticed his wife’s veins beginning to rise. “We use Roman Law here. Are you suggesting we switch to Gothic Law? I am not changing the laws, especially for one woman.”
‘Well that one woman is here, now I have to go see her.” Gerberge whipped her skirt from around her knees and stomped towards the door towards an irresolvable situation. She planned to begin writing down all the laws that would be required to aid her people. Gerberge planned a long conversation with her husband at the next opportunity.
++
The end of the month pressed Gilbert and his men to travel to Sanchos’ land. They were prepared, they had practised every art of war they knew, they were travelling two by two down the path with a wagon in the back carrying their extra supplies, tools, and weapons for the contest. Gilbert was riding his dark horse at the front with his best men mingling next to him. Gerberge, and her handmaiden, Giselle, were being carried by horse and carriage a few yards behind. The clopping sounds of the horse were hypnotising on the open paths and when they passed the spinney vegetation which was usually the gateway into the forest, they could hear their sounds echo back in return. The birds screeched at their approach, twigs snapped as deer rushed off, squirrels chatted away sharing their annoyance at being disturbed. Gerberge watched the scenery drift by and wondered at which point their mostly pastoral but dry land ceased and the inclusion of this lush area began. She wondered if it would ever disappear, if at any time her people would take over the land to such a degree that no wildlife would be left to roam. She wanted to talk to her husband about setting up a protected land where only those with permission could hunt. Her husband, she noted, was becoming very adversarial in his interactions with her. Gerberge continued to watch the scenery drift along. She saw the bucks bounce off in the distance and admitted what a majestic steed that it was. Gerberge also thought of the hunger of her people and how many families that one buck could feed. She watched the sun’s rays ripple through the green leaves in the forest canopy. The beauty was mesmerising. Giselle, her maid, was trying to keep her head propped up but she obviously was in a light sleep as the carriage rocked back and forth with her bobble head repeating the movements of the wheels. Giselle was not the best conversationalist but was at least worth some service when she did attend.
The horses began to sniffle, then neighed raising their heads in rebellion. Their eyes twitched back and forth flaring their whites and widening their nostrils. They began to act skittish with the men wrestling the reins to keep control. The cracks of sticks and snapping of branches occurred at intervals that were not natural, some men noticed. The men began to look for moving shadows and shifting saplings. The shadows and light were twisting between every tree and it was hard to discern the body from the branch. They knew someone was out there, but some one or some group was the question. The irregular noises increased. Gilbert raised his hand to halt his team. Many horses began to walk backwards with unease.
One man stepped forward onto the path. He was bedraggled, a serf. Bad teeth, badly malnourished, and with a stern look of defiance he raised his hand and demanded everyone to stop. He may have been fifty years old, but the lack of health made him look closer to eighty than fifty.
“What is your business here?” He ordered.
“And who are you to give orders?” replied Viscount Gilbert. He was calculating the danger watching the man’s every movement to see if he flicked a finger or nodded or stepped to the side. There could be many more in the bushes and that’s where he expected his men to be eyeballing.
“We have been invited by Count Sanchos himself to a tournament. If one hair is touched on horse or head there will be a price to pay.” He measured his words preferring negotiation over combat. He had not heard that he wanted money or valuables. He had not yet seen a bow or arrow. He gave the man time to respond.
“Dismount.” The old man said.
“That would be foolish of us, you’ll steal our horses.”
“I give you my word if you give me yours.”
“And what do you want?” Something had to be at play here but Gilbert could not pin it down.
“Talk. We want to talk to you.” He took one step back, one step to allow the horses to shift back and forth as the men dismounted. Double the amount of men that Gilbert had with him stepped out from behind the trees with bows and arrows pointing towards the ground waiting for the old man to give his order.
“It appears I have little choice.” Gilbert knew with one flick of the old man’s finger his men wouldn’t even have time to pull a sword. He would lose his best men and his wife. He capitulated.
The old man had the team walk their horses to a denser part of the bush where a small clearing in the skinny part of the forest was cleared for their needs. Their horses were taken from them and the two women were placed in chairs while the men sat in a circle on fallen logs and cut wood. Gilbert watched every move wondering when their saddle bags would be searched for gold or other items of interest to them. Startled, he noticed no one was interested in his bags, but only him. The old man began to clear his throat and everyone sat down waiting for him to begin his speech. Gilbert knew he could command his men at this moment to counter attack and most likely win the skirmish or he could listen. He took the gamble and listened. If things went sideways, it was true he could say he was taken against his will.
“My daughter could not marry. The count forbade it.” He said. “She was needed inside to work for him, so he said. I think not. I think he wanted her for other reasons. So now she is bound to his service. That is not what I saw as the future for my daughter.” He squinted, weighing the weight of his words.
“How old is your daughter?” Gerberge asked, leaning forward.
“Twelve.” The man said, folding his arms. “My youngest.”
Gerberge swung her head to her husband and he knew he would be next to pass an opinion.
“This is none of my business and you would go to all this to recapture one girl?”
Another man stepped up. “All the hand mills were taken from our homes. That has forced us to use the castle’s mill and their prices are higher than we can afford. We only wanted to make flour for our own families. It is not like we ran a public house within every cottage.”
“Something must have happened to have your landlord take your hand mills. I am only hearing one side of the story.” He leaned back emphasising his decree.
Another man stood, another elderly man missing many teeth and a few fingers. His voice croaked with difficulty and he kept shifting from foot to foot as if his hips pained him. “He took our mills and crushed them. Then he used them to make a path to his stables for his horses with our hand mills.”
An elderly woman squeezed between two men and with as much puffing she could muster she began to talk, swinging her arms around explaining how her husband was made to walk down the main street naked for his resistance to the higher taxes. Her husband, she admitted, was a bit of a talker but nothing more than a grumbler. He was captured, jailed for two days, then made to walk through town naked from the town to his house. Another much younger teenager yelled out, “We looked away.” Gerberge didn’t want to say anything out loud but she did think most people would if an old man was seen without his clothes on, but she did note the respect the people had for this man. She figured he was the one whose head was down, the one who was missing his baby fingers on both hands and walked with a limp.
The crowd continued with stories of loss, of hardship, of unfair use of the taxes collected. They were very upset to know that if their taxes were increased for the sake of security and to pay for their knights, then why are they attacked on their own roads? There seemed to be some corruption in the administration of this land, because there were times when the taxman, two different men, would come collecting even though they could prove they paid with a receipt in hand.
The complaints continued until the night appeared to be coming on. No one lifted a finger of harm towards anyone in the party. The men were restless. Gerberge and Giselle sat the entire time without so much as a personal thought to their needs.
Gilbert asked, “Who is your leader?”
“We have none,” they all said at the same time. The old man continued to speak. “If we did have one he would be the one to be hanged. If none of us claim to be the one leader then the worst that can happen is that we go to jail for a while.”
“Why not send forth a representative and explain your situation?” Gilbert was anxious to leave now and not truly inclined to solve their problems.
“Because the last fellow who acted as our leader was hung and quartered. His head was put on a spike and no one was allowed to remove it until it fell off. We had to pass that head before we went into the village to do our market business. It tends to put you off your business if not your food, if you know what I mean.” The old fellow started wiggling his hands and placed them behind his back as if he was ashamed of his involuntary movements.
“What do you wish me to do with all this information?” Gilbert knew he was being held captive until he agreed to something, just what was the question?
“We want you to share this knowledge with Sanchos. We want him to know that his corrupt people and his vile rule is known throughout the land. We may not be able to outfight him, or take over his castle, but we can shame him. If this man is so rooted in his image and power, then shame is a mightier force than the sword. We want him to know that his wicked ways are known further than his land. Will you ask him to honour the people who live here – not terrorise them?”
“I don’t think I have a choice. But regardless if I say yes, and then I do not follow through, how will you know the difference?” Gilbert’s chin was pointed upwards to a man standing over him.
‘Because regardless of you following through, you know – now. And so does your wife and her servant. How can you look that man in the eye with respect from now on if you know what he does to his people, the young girls, the grandfathers, the poor, and the ill. How can you respect a man who is so unchristian, the devil would ban him from hell.” This time a young man was talking, a thin rail of a man much taller than most men, whose clothes hung on him like a blanket on a tree limb. “We will know because of how you talk to the man, how you look at him, and what you accept from him. We will know if you told him.”
Gilbert could do nothing but accept.
Dusk descended. Both Gilbert and Gerberge thought it quite ingenious that this community did not automatically turn to violent protest but rather resorted to shaming. Gilbert had heard rumours of the difficulties this particular realm was experiencing but now he was hearing it first hand. As the stories unfolded he thought often of the exaggeration that may very well go along with confessions but oddly, how can one say how horrible it was to walk naked down the street, or deny your young daughter, of fifteen years, the marriage she was destined to have – until the intervention of this lordship. He looked at this ragamuffin group and had to make his own decision on how to proceed with the information he was bestowed. It was obvious, they were no longer being held captive, if they ever were captive. It was obvious they were requesting some kind of intervention but how could he intervene? He was not certain. The fire died out and the younger men of the group offered to ride alongside the train going to Sanchos in order to get Gilbert and his men there safely and before the dead of night set in. Gilbert accepted. As they mounted and floated over to the path, one of the elder men said the tournament may be interrupted on the third and last day. It would be best to concede early, fain some kind of illness, allow the lord his dignity in forfeiting the contest so he may say that Sanchos won regardless of the advantage or otherwise Gilbert and his men may have at the time.
As they meandered up the path, Gilbert thought of the warning. He decided he would order his men to fake a stomach illness and leave early on the third day. The moon was bright and the stars illuminated the road up to the palace bridge. The women who rode with them left much earlier that evening. The men still riding with them halted at the edge of the forest and pointed at the manor house, large, imposing, and overly grandiose for a man of Sancho’s station. Gilbert could see small figures walking back and forth from parapet to parapet across the top of the wall. He tipped his head to one of the young men and he walked forward with his men, clip clopping along lazily. Just before the gates, he stopped. The evening breeze was cooling and the distance was close enough to be seen but far enough not to be heard. He turned to his men.
“We will say nothing of what transpired today. We will say nothing of our delay. Allow me in my way to talk and if anyone asks, you shrug your shoulders. If pressed you may say nothing more than a few men stopped and asked for directions for that is the truth. Then say they only spoke to me – but only if pressed. Am I understood?” He looked at each man, staring them in the eye until all heads nodded. Gerberge, whose ride walked ever so slowly ahead of her husband’s herd, stuck her head out of her coach and nodded as well with a certain look in her eye that meant they should reserve time to talk with each other later. Her privacy curtain slipped back and flapped into place while the coachman flicked the reins. Then Gilbert waved his hand and said, “Walk on!” The chinking sound of horse tack took a rhythmic pattern.
Later that night when Gilbert and Gerberge were alone they spoke of the day’s events. They sat at the end of their bed, hands resting on their knees and leaning forward gazing at the design of a creature’s fur on the floor.
“What kind of animal do you think it is? I have never seen this pattern on an animal.” Gerberge stretched her toe out feeling the short hairs spring back into place after being pushed.
“God’s bone wife, it comes from Alkebulan. I am sure it is another way of impressing us. He has unusual animal mounts on the wall in the eating hall, did you notice? He has a room full of swords at the front entrance, he has another huge building with rows and rows of beds for soldiers at his command, he told me.” He twisted his stocking off, always hating the line at the bottom which bothered him to no end. They were shown to their rooms so quickly when they arrived, that they only passed their host with nods to meet in the morning, and of course the quick exchange and to who sleeps where.
“Do you think about what the men in the forest said?” Sitting so close to him she leaned her chin on his shoulder and kissed his ear.
“Yes.”
“Have you said anything?”
“No.” He patted her knee in response. “But I have said to my men to fake their stomach ailments as of tonight and we leave tomorrow. The day after is when the attack will come and I want nothing to do with it. I want neither to defend the man nor support the townsfolk.” He took a deep breath and stood up taking the rest of his clothes off. He walked over to a table with a pitcher of water and hand bowl and began to clean himself up before bed.
“Will we do anything to help them?”
“No, I told them to petition the pope. And I made sure to advise them that if there was any talk of speaking to us, to say your name and mention that no harm came to anyone in our party.” He slipped under the covers, naked.
“Who do you think their leader is? Which one?” After disrobing, she preferred her small shift and wore it to bed. Smoothing out the blankets after she slipped in, she waited for his response.
“I was thinking of that today, and if one was identified, he would be hanged for treason. But as it is the whole town, what could happen – would everyone be hung? Not possible. His fields would not be sown, his taxes would not be collected, the man is dependent on his people. If he caught one or two, they might be flogged but somehow – I don’t think he is truly aware of his people’s concerns.”
“Are you not glad now that I clip into town and return with news from our townsfolk? I do listen, Gilbert, I do.” Her eyes were flared and she was insisting on some kind of recognition for her efforts of staying in touch with their people.
“Yes, yes.” He gave a half a smile and in response he put his arms behind his head sinking deeper in thought.
“Do you think today went well? I heard there was some cheating.”
“Would you expect anything less? One of my men actually saw Alfrick, some weasel of a man, place a bur underneath one of my men’s saddles. It was noticed and removed.”
“Horrible!” Gerberge exclaimed.
“Not surprising. Another dumped a bucket full of oats in one of the horse’s stalls. That was enough to give the poor beast a hot temper. Bad enough that horse was already known for its temperament, but today it was lightning in a bottle. My man Jules trained that horse and for the long distance race – we won, of course. He used that temper for speed. How stupid do you think we are?”
“I hope that was all.” Gerberge put her head on her husband’s chest.
“Oh no, the day was filled with childish pranks. Did you notice during the jousting that they preferred to use their poles? They also chose which poles they wanted to use first. I thought it odd at first that our poles were lighter, maybe to our advantage, then we understood that the poles were lighter because they were hollow, much easier to break. They were made of the weakest wood and slightly rotted inside. The entire tournament has been rigged. For us to pull out, whether they believe us or not regarding our ailment as of tomorrow, matters not to me. Sanchos will probably believe it true regardless and that his men went too far. His victory will be hollow.” He sat in thought for a moment longer. Both of them sat in silence. Then he continued, “Dear wife, I think Sanchos and his men might have something else planned for us tomorrow and I don’t think it’s good but I cannot put my finger on it. Sanchos kept speaking of the time we would be alone to talk but he made no opportunity as our host, surely during our dinner we could have at least mentioned his intentions. Something is amiss. Did you notice that the townsfolk were not present, well there was the thinnest crowd. Would you not think this would be an excellent opportunity to sell one’s wears? The market place and the public house should be brimming with people. Something is amiss.”
“He’s not good at spreading news.” Gerberge mumbled.
“Or someone else is better at it.” Gerbert replied in deep thought.
Gerberge’s eyes were closed now.
After checking on his men in the morning Gilbert went to Sanchos to declare a forfeit. Sanchos leaned across the table and offered a few of his men to replace the few that Gilbert was referring to who had chosen to eat some unfortunate old stew. Sanchos offered many solutions to entice Gilbert and his men to stay, but each solution was dismissed. Gilbert suspected something was required for his stay, most likely to occur either later that night or the next day. The frustration over the timing of Gilbert’s and his men leaving was disturbing to Sanchos. The man even offered to have a one on one jousting event between the two of them, later that afternoon. Sanchos was pressing on the point that he could supply entertainment, medical aid, companionship, and more. Something was amiss. Gilbert was certain.
“We are leaving after Sunday morning prayers.” Gilbert said firmly, and out of the corner of his he saw Alfrick standing and waiting for Sanchos attention. Alfrick appeared anxious, impatient.
Gilbert’s men lightly groaned as they mounted their horses to return home and some hesitated to leave so quickly running back and forth from the privy. The show was perfect. Sanchos’ men were scattered around making comments about how delicate Gilbert’s men were, ‘comparable to flowers’ was mermerred. Gilbert’s men did not appreciate the comparison but they were unified in their resolve.
“My five year old daughter has a stronger stomach!” Yelled one old soldier slapping his breaches joining the laughter with his men.
“Well we can see who has the better cook,” replied the knight rolling his eyes. He mounted and joined his men up ahead.
As they rambled for half an hour, Gilbert heard the same snapping and twisting of branches. A few of the men in the forest stepped out and waved at them. More and more men stepped out from behind the trees and knolls and rocks. They nodded and waved at Gilbert and continued their way towards the castle. Gilbert knew he left at the right time. He knew there would be a battle, one which he preferred not to be involved in. He nodded back and commanded that his men travel faster.
When they reached the top of Umberto Hill, Gilbert allowed everyone to stop for five minutes. He turned his horse around and gazed at the landscape. He could see the castle, the town, the farmers fields all surrounded by paths and woods. Horses looked like ants at such a distance. Then he noticed the movement of people. There was a small army that had approached the castle from behind. They were moving back and forth with Sanchos men going in and out of the field. They looked like an organised army, standing in line, not moving unless in unison. It clicked for Gilbert, Sanchos wanted him and his men to wait because he had another army joining them. Something did not go as planned and that was why Sanchos wanted them to stay. Gilbert figured they would have been massacred.
Then Gilbert noticed the trees moving. The front of the castle had the forest slowly advancing. Although he could not count the people, he could see the width of the woods moving and could judge that it was not just the people they encountered a few days earlier but a much greater population of people.
“My lord, do you see?” Another one of Gilbert’s men pranced up beside him on his chestnut horse. He pointed to the obvious.
‘Yes. The rebels are in the front, Sanchos men are in the middle, and there is an army coming up from behind. My guess is that there will be a bloodbath today.” The two men sat on their horses in dead silence.
Antonia, the knight, pulled at his ear lobe. “Do we go and help, Sir?”
“Who?” Gilbert looked over at him.
“Um, I see your point.” Antonio pulled on the reins of his horse and angled himself away from the view.
Gilbert walked over to the caravan and called out to his wife. “Wife!”
“Yes, my darling!” She pulled the curtain to the side.
“That book of laws you were writing, let us work on it together when we get home. You are right, it does have great value.”
Gerberge smiled and closed the curtain and continued to watch Giselle sleeping across from her. She thought to herself that although many of her people were asleep in life, they would be protected for it would be better to have a peaceful citizen than a rebellious crowd under their rule. She would continue to write the laws for her husband.
The mediaeval empire, 1035–1157
By extending his rule over all the Christian states except Catalonia, Sancho III made an apparent advance toward the unification of Christian Spain. By choosing to treat his dominions as a private patrimony to be divided among his sons, however, he turned away from the Leonese tradition of a united, indivisible kingdom. He assigned the kingdom of Navarre to García III (1035–54); Castile to Ferdinand I (1035–65); and Aragon to Ramiro I (1035–63), who annexed Sobrarbe and Ribagorza in 1045 after the murder of a fourth brother, Gonzalo. As each of the brothers assumed the title king, Castile and Aragon thenceforward were regarded as kingdoms. Bermudo III recovered León after Sancho III’s death, but Ferdinand I defeated and killed him in 1037. Taking possession of the kingdom of León, he also assumed the imperial title. During the ensuing 30 years Ferdinand sought hegemony over all of Spain, triumphing over his brothers on the battlefield, capturing Coimbra, and reducing the Muslim rulers (reyes de taifas) of Toledo (Ṭulayṭulah), Sevilla (Ishbīliya), and Badajoz (Baṭalyaws) to tributary status.
Meanwhile, Count Ramon Berenguer I of Barcelona (1035–76) was actively fostering Catalan interests and relationships among the lords of Languedoc in southern France. He also published the earliest legal texts included in the compilation of Catalan law later known as the Usatges de Barcelona (“Usages of Barcelona”).
Adhering to his father’s practice, just before his death Ferdinand I divided his realms between his sons: Sancho II (1065–72) received Castile, and Alfonso VI (1065–1109) obtained León. However, the two brothers quarreled, and, following Sancho’s murder in 1072, Alfonso VI assumed the kingship of both Castile and León. Before acknowledging him as their monarch, the Castilian nobility forced Alfonso to swear that he had not caused his brother’s death. Among Alfonso’s new Castilian vassals was Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar, known to history as El Cid Campeador (from the Arabic sīdī, meaning “lord”). Driven into exile by jealousies at court, he entered the service of the Muslim king of Zaragoza and later provided protection for the king of Valencia.
At first Alfonso VI took advantage of the disunity among the kingdoms of Islamic Spain to demand tribute from them, but he eventually determined to subjugate them. The surrender of Toledo in 1085 not only extended his frontiers to the Tagus River but also had great symbolic value. Possession of Toledo, the ancient seat of the Visigothic monarchy, enhanced Alfonso’s claims to peninsular supremacy, which he expressed when he styled himself “Emperor of Toledo” as well as “Emperor of Spain.” According to Muslim sources, he described himself as “Emperor of the Two Religions,” thus underscoring his dominion over both Christians and Muslims. Thousands of Muslims and Jews, who in earlier times usually had retreated southward rather than submit to Christian rule, elected to remain within his kingdom. Also living in Toledo and the vicinity were many Mozarabs, or Arabic-speaking Christians. In succeeding generations the interaction among these differing religious and cultural traditions became especially tense.
Frightened by the fall of Toledo, the other Muslim kings of Spain appealed for help to the Almoravids of Morocco, an ascetic Islamic sect of Amazigh (Berber) zealots. After routing Alfonso’s army at Zalacca (Al-Zallāqah) in 1086, the Almoravids also overran Islamic Spain’s petty kingdoms. By restoring Islamic Spain’s unity, the Almoravids halted any further progress in the Reconquista and forced Alfonso to remain on the defensive thereafter. Although El Cid successfully repulsed the Almoravid attack on Valencia, his followers had to abandon the city after his death in 1099. Subsequently all of eastern Spain as far north as Zaragoza came under Almoravid domination.
As Christians and Muslims contended for control of the peninsula, steadily increasing northern European influences emphasized the links of Christian Spain with the wider world of Christendom. The leading proponent of the general reform of the church, Pope Gregory VII (1073–85), demanded liturgical uniformity by requiring the acceptance of the Roman liturgy in place of the native Mozarabic rite that dated to earliest times. He also claimed papal sovereignty over Spain, but, when the Spanish rulers ignored him, he did not pursue the issue. While French monks and clerics found opportunities for ecclesiastical advancement in Spain, numerous French knights came to take part in the wars of the Reconquista. The most fortunate among them, the cousins Raymond and Henry of Burgundy, married Alfonso VI’s daughters, Urraca and Teresa, and thereby became the ancestors of the dynasties that governed León and Portugal until the late 14th century.
When Charlemagne was crowned king of the Franks, Emperor, as the title was bestowed upon him by the Holy Roman Pope, that is when the divine right of kings began. Free from earthly authority.
The counts of Barcelona consolidated their influence over Catalonia in the 10th and 11th centuries, and, after the union of Catalonia and Aragon in 1137, Barcelona grew into a major trading city.
just before his death Ferdinand I divided his realms between his sons: Sancho II (1065–72) received Castile, and Alfonso VI (1065–1109) obtained León. However, the two brothers quarreled, and, following Sancho’s murder in 1072, Alfonso VI assumed the kingship of both Castile and León. Before acknowledging him as their monarch, the Castilian nobility forced Alfonso to swear that he had not caused his brother’s death. Among Alfonso’s new Castilian vassals was Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar, known to history as El Cid Campeador (from the Arabic sīdī, meaning “lord”). Driven into exile by jealousies at court, he entered the service of the Muslim king of Zaragoza and later provided protection for the king of Valencia.
The treaty between Ramon Berenguer and his father-in-law, Ramiro II, stipulated that their descendants would rule jointly over both realms, and that even if Petronilla died before the marriage could be consummated, Berenguer’s heirs would still inherit the Kingdom of Aragon.[2] Both realms would preserve their laws, institutions and autonomy, remaining legally distinct but federated in a dynastic union under one ruling House. Historians consider this arrangement the political masterstroke of the Hispanic Middle Ages. Both realms gained greater strength and security and Aragon got its much needed outlet to the sea. On the other hand, formation of a new political entity in the north-east at the time when Portugal seceded from León in the west gave more balance to the Christian kingdoms of the peninsula. Ramon Berenguer successfully pulled Aragon out of its pledged submission to Castile, aided no doubt by his sister Berengaria, wife of Alfonso the Emperor, who was well known in her time for her beauty and charm.
Gerberga (1045/65–1115), also spelled Gerberge or Gerberge, was the Countess of Provence for more than a decade, until 1112. Provence is a region located in the southeastern part of modern-day France that did not become part of France until 1481 (well after Gerberge’s time).
Countess Gerberga was a daughter of Geoffrey I of Provence (who was jointly Count of Provence with his brothers) and his wife Etiennette.[1] However, Gerberga did not succeed her father immediately, but rather became Countess decades after his death, during which time other relatives filled that position. It is unclear exactly when she became countess; sources indicate it was no earlier than 1093 and no later than 1100.[1] [2]
She and her husband, Gilbert I of Gévaudan, were considered virtuous.[3] He participated in the Crusades, donating many relics from the Middle East to churches in Provence.[4] Gilbert later died in 1108. Gerberga then took control of the government, and is said to have ruled wisely.[5] In 1112, her eldest daughter Douce was married to Raymond Berengar III of Barcelona at which point Provence was ceded to him.[2] Her second daughter, Stephanie, would lay claim to the county and thus precipitate the Baussenque Wars in 1144.
https://www.revolvy.com/topic/Gerberga%20of%20Provence&item_type=topic – short clip of how Gerberge took over well after her father’s death.
https://www.revolvy.com/topic/List%20of%20rulers%20of%20Provence&item_type=topic – short clip on how Provence was ruled by dynasties.
https://www.britannica.com/place/Spain/The-Visigothic-kingdom#ref587148 – who ruled
laws were passed to regulate what could and could not be worn by members of https://www.thoughtco.com/medieval-clothing-and-fabrics-1788613 – different social classes. These laws, known as sumptuary laws,
Tanist inheritance style.
https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gerberge_de_Provence o- picture of Gerberge
https://forum.paradoxplaza.com/forum/index.php?threads/two-peas-in-a-pod-barcelona-and-provence.591891/ – game but based on history…could it be?
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ramon_Berenguer_IV,_Count_of_Barcelona – rule and usage book
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Usages_of_Barcelona – began constitution of rights
https://www.knigozal.com/store/gb/book/usages-of-barcelona/isbn/978-613-6-39170-0 – constitution. Conflict about which book of law to use Roman or English so they made their own, applied only in their area.
https://books.google.ca/books?id=DCN56fLxhHgC&pg=PA33&lpg=PA33&dq=Usages+of+Barcelona&source=bl&ots=x26EDa3WnM&sig=gFBs6wno9SL4a3HlWEs2GgFXZKQ&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwj12o6Q-rjUAhVTImMKHYRjC4oQ6AEIbDAP#v=onepage&q=Usages%20of%20Barcelona&f=false – book about the Usages. Used 19 August 1131. On 11 August 1137, by Ramon
https://www.britannica.com/place/Spain/The-Visigothic-kingdom#ref587148 – history.
http://www.mgh-bibliothek.de/dokumente/b/b045847.txt – text – Gerberge of Angevine not Province.
http://www.plefka.net/Family/Family9906.htm – Life story in points see 1127
https://www.wikitree.com/wiki/Provence-6#Biography – 27 degrees of separation – related to Queen II.
https://www.britannica.com/place/France/French-society-in-the-early-Middle-Ages – rulers
http://madefrom.com/history/medieval/100-facts-middle-ages/
http://www.historyonthenet.com/medieval-life-towns-and-villages/ details of villages, castles, etc.
http://www.knightstemplarorder.org/mary-magdalene/ – cult of Mary in the area.
http://www.lifeinriviera.com/guide/provence/history/ – area history
