El Gallo de Santiago...

It's done!

Done, done DONE!

Three years of research and a little over one year of writing and St. James' Rooster is finally FINISHED!

I still have to proof-read it and do some final editing but to all intents and purposes that's another waystage in my life accomplished. Believe me there have been many times when I didn't think I would be writing these words.

It's a funny thing, writing a novel. One gives birth to a family and in some cases sees them grow up, fall in and out of love, learn about life, enjoy their golden years and finally pass on. But as with all your loved ones, they never pass out of your life. My main characters - both the fictional and the non-fictional ones - have become as real to me as my family, friends, students. When I had to break the heart of my favourite character, I cried, and when I had to say goodbye at the end of his life, I missed him so much for days that I couldn't write at all.

But that's in the past now.

I am going to take a bit of time off to update The Indalo Quest, my non-fiction book about mid-life changes, travel and the bond between father and daughter and mother and daughter. It is the type of book which will appeal to fans of books like Eat, Pray, Love and is due for re-printing after 15 years of retirement. It is also my tribute to my mother whom I nursed in her last weeks and whom I began to know only then. Every day I grow more like her. Readers of Pilgrimage to Heresy will recognise a bit of Miranda and Alex in the woman that was me just as I left Costa Rica and came to settle in Spain. It should become available in the late summer and perhaps before that on Kindle if I manage to get a roundtoit. They have been in short supply around here lately. Must be the Recession.

And then what? Well, I have already begun to research the next book in the Camino Chronicles Series. This third one will follow one of the characters from St. James' Rooster to the Languedoc area of southern France... Cathar country.

And that's all I am saying for now.

The story continues...Priscillian's book moves inexorably towards the present day.

A Revolting Tale Part 2

Having been promised safe conduct, Urraca was allowed to leave. But there’s no saying what will happen under mob rule. The queen was physically attacked, possibly even stripped of her clothes before being able to escape the city. Diego Gelmirez, who seems to have had more lives than a cat, somehow managed to escape the burning tower, we are told, through the mediation of the abbot of San Martín Pinario. But others were less fortunate. In the fracas, at least four people were killed, most likely including members of Diego’s cathedral chapter. The fire was so hot that the cathedral bells melted in the blaze. So says the HC.

Diego and Urraca escaped separately to the hills outside Compostela. Five armies converged upon the city, and the insurgents surrendered.

Not surprisingly, the queen wanted blood! (or large sums of money in lieu of, no doubt). Diego was more moderate. He knew that the point had been made, and more importantly, he was the one who had to put the city back together. Urraca could return to Leon or wherever she chose. The bishop had to stay and live with the aftermath.

A court was convened. The ringleaders were sent into exile and the remainder heavily fined. For a while at least, Diego could breathe easy.
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A Royal Tap on the Wrist...

Finally! I'm back with more stories to tell.

Urraca had enough on the royal plate with the Battler without that upstart in Compostela challenging her authority and so she sought to humble her bishop with a little warning. She needed to look no further than the brotherhood who were more than happy to oblige. Diego was suitably “embarrassed”: in fact he lost all control over the town, virtually besieged in is own Episcopal palace.

Of course, he threatened the wrath of God, but his excommunications remained unheeded. Eventually, with rental income from the suffragens effectively cut off, and having suffered continued attacks upon his palace which was badly damaged, Diego Gelmirez saw that discretion was indeed the better part of valour. After 6 months he gave in to the queen, and to Arias Perez who it shall be seen, let this momentary victory go to his head. He forgot the fact that his help had been enlisted by Urraca.

In order to re-ingratiate himself with the people of Compostela, Diego made a big show of translating new relics given to him by the queen as a peace offering. His congregation may have been impressed. But the Brotherhood were not about to give up so easily what they had gained.

(P.S. It's a pumpkin!!!)
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And more treachery...

Fletcher (St. James' Catapult) doesn't really know what to make of the coronation in Compostela of young Alfonso Raimundez. He suggests that he might have been elevated to the position of "joint ruler" with his mother. Whatever was the case, after Alfonso was made "king" he set out across Galicia with Diego Gelmirez and Pedro Froílez de Traba to meet his mother at Leon.

Along the way the group and their armies beseiged the city of Lugo which was loyal to The Battler. Lugo always seems to have gone its own way. This time it capitulated and it is likely that a garrison was left there while the bishop, the noble, and the young king made their way to Leon.

But they never got there. Along the way they ran in to a rather annoyed Battler who captured Pedro Froílez. Diego Gelmirez with Alfonso Raimundez escaped and fled back to the safety of Compostela. Pedro was eventually ransomed.

Thus begins six years of rather tedious and "labyrinthine" wrangling between all the parties we have so far met during which without a score card you haven't much hope of figuring out who is on the side of whom. Ariás Pérez who had been such an avid supporter of Urraca when there was a castle to be taken turned out to be a turncoat and he and his "Brotherhood" of thugs began to make a lot of trouble in Galicia for Urraca in general, and Diego Gelmirez in particular. At one time we learn that the queen asked Diego Gelmirez to round up Ariás Pérez and in return she made "a handsome grant of lands and privileges to the cathedral church" of Santiago de Compostela.

Urraca herself meantime was on a serious fund-raising mission in her kingdoms to provide the money and resources needed to make war on her husband who seemed to be unable to understand that his presence anywhere west of Burgos was not welcome. In order to convince him of the obvious, a Galician army pursued The Battler across the Galician mountains as far as Carrion de los Condes. While initially Diego had accompanied them, he was forced to turn back at Triacastela to deal with a revolt which had broken out in his absence in Compostela. This was unlikely to have been the first, and as we shall shortly see, it was far from the last. Our bishop was not overly popular with his flock...
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Things take an unexpected turn (as they do)...

(The photo is taken from the annual Festival of the Moros y Cristianos in Benamahoma, a village in Cadiz province which I love well and retreat to whenever I can. Pilgrimage to Heresy was edited there.)

In December of 1107 a council was convened in Leon. Urraca was confirmed as "Countess of Galicia" in her husband's place. Her father, Alfonso the king was still around but was bedridden and perhaps mentally impaired as well as physically incapacitated. This provided an excellent opportunity for the nobles with influence to exercise just that. Perhaps they reckoned without Urraca's strength (or should I say "womanly wiles?"), but I am getting ahead of myself.

Be that as it may, in the summer of 1108, events were about to endure a tragic turn of fate.

All hell broke loose on the frontier between the kingdoms and the increasing determination of the Moorish Almovarides. The Castillian army was despatched toute de suite to deal with this insurrection with the young Sancho - who was only 15 - at the head. And now the language must take a distinctly medieval turn because Sancho was "dealt a mortal blow".

Alfonso the king was devasted. The light of his aged eyes had been extinguished, perhaps because of a royal decision taken with overconfidence. The ailing king withdrew completely at a time when his kingdom had never needed him more. Clearly some decision had to be taken.

Duke Raimundo (whom Alfonso VI trusted) was dead. His cousin Henry (whom he did not and had reason not to) was married to Teresa, Urraca's illegitimate sister and both lorded it in Portugal. Between them they were a force of power and sedition to be reckoned with. Henry was treacherous. It seems that everyone in medieval times had their own agenda, and Henry and Teresa were no exception. Far from it.

Urraca the true heir (as we would see it today) was a woman, and well, no more need be said about that!

The Almoravides were pressing the frontier big time. The kingdom of Leon-Castilla needed a leader: a man of proven strength, military experience, and strategic capacity.

If the resumes were appearing on the desks of the royal counsellors, Alfonso I, the King of Aragon, called "El Batellador" must have swept all rival claimants into the wastebasket.

He was 36, never married (which in itself was unusual). Established as undisputed ruler of the kingdom of Aragon. He had a great reputation as a soldier and didn't seem to have a lot of time for women. There did not appear to be any illegitimate children scattered around Aragon. (I am tempted to come to a few conclusions here, especially in light of what follows, but I won't.)

Unfortunately, despite his immaculate CV, Alfonso the Battler wasn't well liked by the nobles of Leon, and especially Castilla.

Galicia, no doubt - and perhaps its bishop, Diego Gelmirez - trembled in its 12th century boots.
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P.S. Comments also taking unexpected turns - of phrase in this case. I am wondering whether they are evidence of alien contact. Do see...

The Boy who would be King?

Alfonso VI, king of Leon and Castilla, was growing old, and there was still no successor to the throne. Garcia, his youngest brother had died in prison in 1090 and his other brother, Sancho, was ancient history. His only legitimate child, with Constance of Burgundy, was the Infanta Urraca who as we have seen was married to Constance's relative Raimundo. He certainly would have had his eye on the throne.

Alfonso also had two illegitimate daughters, Teresa and Jimena, both by his mistress Jimena Muñoz. Teresa had married Raimundo's cousin, Henry of Burgundy who was recognised as "Count of Portugal" and the French contingent was well established. With them had come the influence of the Abbey of Cluny. But there was still no son to succeed Alfonso. Queens were not considered a viable option.

Raimundo's expectations were not without foundation. Alfonso had more or less promised him the kingship of Leon and Castilla with his bethrothal to the young Infanta. In fact, the Historia Compostelana - partisan as always - has the following to say:

"King Alfonso had caused him to come from Burgundy to Spain and had promised him all of his kingdom with a sworn oath."

Urraca had been so young at her marriage that there was no question here of a love match. The union was purely political.

Way back in 1091 - while Diego Gelmirez could only dream of greatness; and you can be sure he was - the city of Córdoba had fallen to the might of the conquering Moorish forces of the Almoravides. The widow of the governor, Zaida, took refuge first in Sevilla, but presumably didn't feel safe with her own people. She fled north and took refuge at the court of Alfonso. We learn that "her beauty and her plight softened the heart of the king, Alfonso", and we cannot discount that the promise of certain fortresses at the southern region of his kingdom would have also moved him in a more practical way. What is certain is that the elderly Alfonso's other southern regions were far from softened because in 1093, she gave birth to a son. He was called "Sancho".

This development changed everything. Sancho became the beloved of Alfonso's old eyes. The young prince was even given Toledo, now the capital in terms of centricity and power; and perhaps even more importantly, it was the site of the treasury.

This, not surprisingly put Count Raimundo's aristocratic nose more than a little out of joint!

Raimundo resented Alfonso's ambitions and Sancho's claims and he turned for assistance to the House of Cluny and in particular, Hugh, its very influential abbot.

Now having established such a firm hold in northern Spain, Cluny was not about to give it up to the fruits of a questionable Moorish liaison. The expansion of the Almoravide influence had cut off a good part of the kingdom's wealth and no longer could the king rely on the "Taifas": the tribute from the Moorish rulers of ther various disputed territories which before had been paid directly to the king.

Coffers which had previously subsidised the building of the vast Abbey of Cluny in France were now drying up and the Cluniac bishop must have had his concerns. What would become of his ambitious building programme? What would happen to the kingdom of Leon and Castille after Alfonso died? Would he partition his kingdom between Sancho, Raimundo and Henry of Portugal? Political instability would have meant disaster. Hugh was forced to take sides. Not surprisingly he went with the French contingent.

Raimundo had to do something to reclaim what he considered his "inheritance". Remember in these days women had little to say and Urraca would have been subject to Raimundo's - and naturally her father's - influence.

A secret agreement was made between the Burgundian cousins, Raimundo and Henry. A letter was sent to Hugh of Cluny which said that in gratitude of Henry's support for Raimundo, Henry would receive Portugal AND a share of the treasury of Toledo (remember - Sancho had been given this by his father). Raimundo in this way was clearly buying Henry off. No need to encourage more claimants than was necessary - cooperation was the best policy and allies were the best friends.

By 1107 - by which time Sancho was but 14 - it was very clear to all that he was Alfonso's heir.

But in the interim, Urraca had done something to gain the upper hand that was all women could do in those days: in the castle at Caldas del Rey in Galicia she gave birth to a son. His name was Alfonso. There was now a clear legitimate heir to the throne of Leon and Castille.

Whether Alfonso VI and Sancho liked it, or not, because of a male child clearly directly in the line of succession, things had become much more complicated than before!

What now?
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Winds of Change...

In order to understand the history of Galicia, we have to consider it from a geographical point of view. For centuries traffic between Galicia and the rest of the peninsula to the east was limited by the access afforded by the pass at Piedrafita. The south, of course, was still considered the Kingdom of Galicia and not the Portugal it was to become.

This had the impact of isolating it in many ways. It is highly unlikely, for example, that any of the bishops had any contact with the Pope. It would not be practical or appropriate. Galicia followed the Visigothic Rite in the Mass not the Roman one and there were subtle differences; differences that the Gallegos were rather fond of.

The structure of the Visigothic Church was disrupted by the short lived Islamic invasion of the north west, but not for long. The memories survived in Gallego hearts and the Rite was revived and followed by all bishops up until the time of Diego Pelaez. Including Diego Pelaez, and that is an important point for our story.

Pelaez you will remember was consecrated by Sancho II, the about to be deposed and disposed of brother of Alfonso VI of Leon and Castille with whom by now, if you are a regular reader, you will be be becoming familiar.

It was an earlier Sancho, “the Great” who invited monks of Cluny to establish a monastery at San Juan de la Peña near Jaca, in Aragon. Richard Fletcher writes in St. James' Catapult that the Cluny monks were “expert at prayer for sin laden kings, and Sancho’s dynasty was to become very rich”.

We are left to make of this what we will.

In this the Order of Cluny gained an ecclesiastic foothold on Spanish soil as early as the first quarter of the 11th century. Aragon, however, is a goodly hike from Galicia (as many of you who have walked the lovely Camino Aragones will know), and the people of Galicia remained firmly entrenched in their Visigothic ways, with a bit of left over Priscillianism and pagan ways mixed in for good measure.

In the face of the Roman Church's hegemony, it was only a matter of time.
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Diego Gelmirez, Bishop of Compostela...

...and a happy man!

But not just yet. Perhaps there was opposition to Diego becoming bishop. We don't know. If there was, the Historia Compostelana not surprisingly, chooses to miss that part out.

It is assumed that Diego was elected by the Chapter, but did his "unanimous approval" include that of the secular authorities? Fletcher in St. James' Catapult suggests that Diego's election was by no means a foregone conclusion. It might have been "more of a touch and go affair" that the Historia Compostelana - which we have to remember was commissioned by Gelmirez once bishop - allows us to see.

Nevertheless, Diego certainly had the approval of the royal family and that was all that mattered.

Normally, consecration was to take place at the hands of the Pope in Rome. Diego, however, didn't want to travel through Aragon where his old enemy King Pedro had given sanctuary to Diego Pelaez. Instead, he asked the king to write to Pope Paschal II to allow the consecration to take place nearer to home. This, in my opinion, is where things become rather intriguing...

A letter to this effect is written and conveyed along the Camino and on to Rome by two canons of Compostela: Hugo and Vincent. The Pontiff gave his ready agreement and the two set off for home. But they didn't get far.

Somewhere, presumably while overnighting in France and not far from the border between that country and Aragon, the two both became violently ill, so much so that Vincent succumbed to his illness and Hugo, while he survived, was presumably so sick that he was unable to send word to Galicia.

As a result, Diego remained a bishop without a bishopric. After a while, another deputation was dispatched, this time containing Munio one of his many brothers (Diego may have invented the word "nepotism") along with another Munio(or Muño)who was to become the earliest of the authors of the Historia Compostelana. Paschal renewed his permissions and the two returned home without incident. Meanwhile, Hugo who had recovered sufficiently to travel, made his own way home. It had been a long time since he had seen Galicia: five months in fact.

It had also been a long time since Diego had been elected as Bishop of Santiago de Compostela. But Diego was a patient man. Finally, with the expected pomp and circumstance no doubt, Diego Gelmirez, son of Gelmirio, aged approximately 36 years old - a man of humble birth but grand ambitions - was consecrated on April 21st,1101.

He was most likely the most self-satisfied man in all the kingdoms that day.
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Sneak Peak...!

If you would like a preview of the Prologue of my new book "Compostela" go to:
http://www.pilgrimagetoheresy.com/compostela_the_stages_of_a_book_in_progress
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Part Six...

According to the Historia Compostelana, Diego Pelaez was consecrated by Sancho II who was the King of Galicia at the time. The HC is notoriously self-serving and says very little about this, perhaps because Diego Gelmirez patron was Alfonso VI, not Sancho who was murdered not long after Diego Pelaez became, probably - though he took an oath to deny it - on the orders of Alfonso, his brother.

We know very little about Diego Pelaez. The authors of the HC managed to skirt very diplomatically around the subject. Perhaps that was because Diego Gelmirez, who was to follow Pelaez as bishop, knew more about the fate of his colleague in the church than was good for him. Conjecture? One certainly would question why Diego Gelmirez was so reluctant to travel anywhere near Aragon where Pelaez sought refuge in his later years, and after a lengthy imprisonment.

Diego Pelaez had been arrested and imprisoned by Alfonso VI (his brothers being conveniently removed by this time) on charges of treason. Perhaps he and the nobles whom he supported were endeavouring to re-instate King Garcia who was kicking his heels with the Moors in Sevilla at the time. There is even a story – suggested by the HC – that Pelaez et al planned to hand Galicia over to William of Normandy , lock stock and barrel and amazingly there may be some fire to this smoke!

Whatever the story, Pelaez was brought to trial in chains and stripped of his see and for 15 years afterwards, the bishopric of Compostela – with two very short exceptions – remained without a bishop while King and Pope laboured to end a disagreement.

The time was right for Diego Gelmirez to follow his ambitions. He became “Vicarius” of Compostela, administering the church’s property and income while he waited for the right time to remind the Pope that his flock in Compostela had no shepherd.
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Nostalgia ain't what it used to be...

Or is it?
It's the last day of the year and the last of a decade which for me has been full and satisfying. Amongst many other personal gifts, I have published Pilgrimage to Heresy in not one but two languages with Germany, Holland and even possibly Korea in the wings! As Peregrinos de la Herejía especially, Priscillian has gained a wide following and I am busy at work on Compostela, the next book in the Camino Chronicles.

And so like all of us, I am reflecting on the decade and what it has brought: for me - many good people into my life, work that I love doing (I am a psychotherapist and teacher of psychology), a home in which I have finally found the peace and beauty I have craved for many years, and the continued health to enjoy it. Material things, money? Enough to not have to worry most of the time; not enough to be completely free of anxiety about the future. But I am not complaining. My life is a good one: I am creative and fulfilled, and next year will bring me my first grandchild. If I could be happier it would be hubris to contemplate it.

Yesterday, after back treatment on Monday (not the same since the Camino in Portugal last year: not that it’ll stop me from walking again this year!) I decided to take it easy and finish the book I treated myself to for Christmas called The Story of Santiago de Compostela by Catherine Gasquoine Hartley. I didn’t realise it when I ordered in but it is a facsimile of the book written in 1910. Along with many cups of tea (and left over mince pies!), I read it in its entirety and transported myself back to the Galicia of 100 years ago. Not surprisingly, most of it I recognised as “my” Galicia, but there were some changes in names and details which made me think: “If these things have changed in 100 years, imagine the variation in 1000 years”. I realised how one person’s “facts” are another’s distant memory or not known at all.

The Alameda she describes as a grassy hill devoid of any buildings at all. And my favourite walk towards the "Seminario Belvis" is both recognisable and yet,not. As you may know, walk across the road from the Market and you will come to a valley area and from there the pathway climbs steeply up to the Seminario Menor, (now a semi-commercial enterprise). I have often wondered what may flow there, under the ground. In her chapter on the Colegiata de Santa Maria la Real de Sar (in which she gives some interesting theories about the “sloping columns”), Gasquioine Hartley writes the following:

“At the foot of the hill an old bridge crosses the narrow stream of the Sar. Here you will see the women washing their linen in the clear water; the clothes spread in the sun to form dry patches of bright colour upon the grass. Girls come to and fro with their pitchers to fill with water…It is the same scene, the same primitive work, that has lived on for centuries.”

Anyone familiar with Santiago and the cathedral might temporarily become a little lost when she mentions places such as the Coro, the Plaza de Alfonzo Doce, The “Royal Hospital”, and the Plaza de los Literarios (“re-named” from the Plaza de la Quintana, by which name we know it today). The Coro, which in Catherine's day would have blocked the complete view from the Portico, is gone, probably dismantled when the excavations took place in the 40's and 50's. Those of you who have visited the cathedral museum will have had the good fortune to have seen Master Matteo's beautiful stone Coro, though this, of course, is only a reconstruction of part of it. While you might recognise the Hospital Real as the Parador de los Reyes Catolicos (former pilgrims' hospital, now affordable only by rich Americans it would seem....!), you might wander for hours searching for the first only to return to the Obradoiro to ask directions. Were you to ask in 1910 you would be looked at askance: “¡Pues, tio, estas aqui!”. The plaza of your dreams was re-named after the west façade of the cathedral. Our author, of course, does not know when!

This struck me as I was reading: neither does she know of the First World War, nor the Spanish Civil War which split families and mobilised the International Brigades against Fascism. She knows nothing of Hitler, Pol Pot, Idi Amin; …George Bush (W). Neither does she know of penicillin, television, the Space Programme…the Internet. Certainly, while she writes eloquently and knowledgably about the Way of St. James and the Cathedral in “Compostela” (she only mentions Santiago de Compostela in terms of the cathedral), she could not envisage a time when, 100 years after she was writing, the Junta de Galicia was preparing for at least 350,000 pilgrims on a Camino which has become almost a household word.

Having walked the Camino Portuguese last year (see posts in July and August especially), I immediately recognised the view approaching the city when she writes:

“…its situation is entirely surrounded by hills, which are just near enough, but not too near, to form a charming background, is exceedingly impressive; a well chosen site has been made the most of by the happy skill of the men who have reared here the great mass of buildings, with the Apostol’s mighty cathedral in the centre, forming a charming skyline, and rendered doubly beautiful by the breaks in its outline, caused by the groups of towers and steeples that stand up so grandly from the old churches and convents. I have seen no city in Spain which is more impressive in the distance.”

Today, the cathedral is almost lost amongst the city, and the “churches and steeples” are dwarfed, but nevertheless the view she describes is the one I photographed from the bridge over the main highway south of the city (see above: "Spot the Cathedral!") last July 23rd, and just as impressive.

All in all, this is a book I recommend highly to anyone who wants to know more about the city of the past and can be ordered on Amazon…
oh, and speaking of the past: while you are there, you might want to check out Pilgrimage to Heresy where you can not only learn an alternative “history” of the origins of the Cult of St. James, but go on a Virtual Camino yourself!

We’ll talk some more in 2010. Coming up: further machinations of Diego Gelmirez, and an unholy theft...!

Happy New Year, Feliz Año Nuevo to all.