950 Years Later, the Siege of Zamora

This mural by beloved Zamoran artist Antonio Pedrero
graphically represents the Siege of Zamora
at the Puerta de la Feria (not far from my house).

This year marks the 950th anniversary of Zamora's most famous moment in history, the Siege of Zamora. If you've seen the El Cid film, this story occupies the first part. That is by far not the only medium this epic story has found it way into, with plays, songs, poems, and visual art existing almost since the time of its occurrence in 1072. 

This weekend (the hottest on record), the city government sponsored the revival of a play by Agustin Garcia Calvo, just one of many events marking this anniversary. The production by contra-tiempo-teatro and many collaborators was brought to life with modern spectacle and a heavy dose of charm. I thought using photos from the event would be a great way to tell this story on my humble blog. 

The sun sets behind the castle, a very evocative setting for the story of the siege of Zamora. 

It was necessary to reserve tickets days in advance. These cultural events are very popular in Zamora. 

The actors and musicians arrive on the scene. The play was very medieval in that most of it was narrated by a pair of singers and a vihuela, a medieval stringed instrument. Both the sung lyrics and spoken parts were in medieval epic meters with rhyme. 

I often wonder why Spanish historical fiction feels no need to update the mode of delivery of the content. If I were writing a play about the Siege of Zamora, I would never think to use narrators, but would reveal all the complex story through action and dialogue with psychological development. But that's my Anglophone historical fiction perspective. This way of doing things pleases the audience because it's "more medieval," and that's what counts. 

The action begins with King Fernando I on his death bed, dividing up his kingdoms. To Sancho goes Castile, Alfonso receives Leon, and to Garcia goes Galicia. 

Fernando I's daughter Urraca arrives on the scene to say more or less, "What am I, chopped liver?" Of course she isn't. The king grants her the noble and strategic city of Zamora to govern. She becomes our "Queen." We love her even today. 

Fernando I is dead. Urraca is offered the throne in Zamora, but she says, "Why sit down? Sancho's just going to push me off again!" Indeed, Sancho, not satisfied with the biggest piece of the pie, Castile, wants his siblings' pieces, too. He's taken control of Galicia and Leon and imprisoned his brother, Alfonso. 

Sancho's forces set up tents in order to lay siege to Zamora. It was very cool to watch the actors actually put up the tents. 

Sancho asks his knight El Cid (yes, that one!) to ask Urraca to hand over Zamora so they don't have to start the siege. El Cid and Urraca know each other pretty well. If anyone can convince her, he can. 

El Cid arrives on his valiant steed (a terribly cute and expressive stuffed animal). In no version of this legend does Urraca ever simply hand over Zamora. Come on! 

In this version, she says, more or less, "You had your chance to marry me, and you didn't take it. You're not the boss of me, and I'll never surrender Zamora!"

El Cid tells Sancho's other knights, "I knew that wouldn't work. Let's start the siege." Zamora lasts for eight or nine months without budging. 

Vellido Dolfos, formerly a knight of King Alfonso, confers with Urraca without ever implicating her in his plans in this version. He then insinuates himself into Sancho's camp under false pretenses of bringing solid intelligence about where to attack Zamora's impenetrable walls. 

In short order, he assassinates King Sancho, bringing a quick end to the siege and the fratricidal war. Alfonso is now the only brother left. 

Another of Sancho's best knights, significantly more hotheaded than El Cid, accuses Zamora (in the person of Arias Gonzalo) of Sancho's death. And I mean he accuses all of Zamora, enumerating the women, children, dogs, and chickens as conspirators. 

Arias Gonzalo explains calmly that he cannot bring a formal complaint against every last living thing in Zamora. 

Consulting with Urraca, Arias Gonzalo sets up a trial by combat. If Sancho's knight beats each of five Zamoran knights in single combat, then his accusation is true, and Zamora must pay further. If Sancho's knight falls, however, his accusation is false. The five Zamoran knights are Arias Gonzalo's four sons and himself. 

These were some really cool action sequences I couldn't capture very well. 

Sancho's knight beats the first two sons of Arias Gonzalo. But then son number three defeats Sancho's knight by hook or by crook. The arbiters of the process, the Knights of Santiago, decide that this outcome leaves the trial inconclusive. So much like real life. 

The funeral procession for King Sancho is projected on the castle wall. 

The actors take their bows to thunderous applause. 

The last lines in the play are spoken by El Cid on his way to meet King Alfonso as he rides away from Zamora. He says some lovely things about how strong it is and wishes the city well, knowing that it will endure for many, many centuries. At first I thought the audience was clapping for what he said because they love Zamora, too. But no, the play was over at that point. The story stopped at a place ripe for more epic action, as we see in the El Cid film. But, since it was titled The Siege of Zamora, it delivered on its promise, and nothing more. 

This story certainly needs a good historical novel in the Anglophone tradition. I'm trying to start something else right now, so consider the gauntlet thrown. Alternatively, if one exists and I just haven't read it, feel free to let me know about it! 

The Exhibits I Waited 800 Years to See

Me and the most important men of letters of Spain

I wrote Our Lady's Troubadour for Alfonso X's 800th birthday. I was largely under the impression that most celebrations had been canceled or curtailed by the pandemic. But, wonder of wonders, the two most appropriate institutions in Spain recently had exhibits in honor of this grand anniversary. 

The exhibits were appropriate because Alfonso was the Learned King, and the exhibits were of his books: the books he had his scholars research, write, lay out, and decorate in his court, and which he would've inspected to make sure they were to his standard and then left for future generations in his testament. Those books. 

The places housing the exhibits were appropriate because they're the two most important libraries in Spain. Even the humblest of libraries is a temple of learning. These buildings, with their grandeur and special designs for preserving and honoring books, are cathedrals of learning. 

My new knight in shining armor and I have been crazy busy, but when I saw that these once-in-a-millennium exhibits were about to end, we made a special trip, right around Valentine's Day. Books = Love. 

First, "The Books of the Wise King" at the National Library of Spain in Madrid. 

That illuminated A... I would wear a shirt with that on it! 

The mask keeps the drool from hitting the glass cases. 😉 Yours truly with the To codex of the Cantigas de Santa Maria. 

Just flipping out with a display of the E codex Cantigas presentation miniature. I'm practically in Alfonso's colorful court! 

What we all came for right up front: the To codex of the Cantigas de Santa Maria, produced at the court of Alfonso X and personally approved by the king. With about 100 cantigas, it's considered to be the first part of a project that just kept growing. 

I can't emphasize enough that these books are deluxe and that it's a miracle we can decipher the musical notation today and enjoy these beautiful songs. The manuscript is open to Cantiga 37, a miracle about a man whose foot hurt so much he cut it off. The foot was replaced when he asked St. Mary for help.

The greatest law treatise of Alfonso's court, the Siete Partidas, this time in a copy for Queen Isabel I. I studied this and other law treatises for my doctoral dissertation. The confidence and clarity with which these scholars wrote in a language that had only been written down officially for about fifty years is stunning. 

The other great law treatise, the Especulo, predecessor of the Siete Partidas, in a copy from the fourteenth century, which is the only medieval copy the National Library has.

A beautiful codex of the Fuero Real, a royally sanctioned municipal law code. This one was granted to Valladolid in 1255, just three years into Alfonso's reign. 

Display of the presentation miniatures of a codex of the first Partida that is held in the British Library. I'd only ever seen black-and-white reproductions before. Unlike traditional medieval European presentation miniatures, instead of a scribe presenting a completed book to the person who asked for it to be copied (usually a king), here King Alfonso dictates the contents of the book and looks overhead at the book's inspiration and eventual recipient: God. 

Display of the presentation miniature from a History of Spain codex from about 1280. The king tells his historians what to write and points to his heir, Sancho, who will become Sancho IV. 

The General History was meant to be a history of the world from ancient times to the thirteenth century (their present day), but only made it to the first century AD before Alfonso's death cut the project short. This massive codex is from the royal scriptorium, about 1270, and is only the first part.

A closeup of the beautifully legible text (you can't become learned if you can't read the texts) about the lineages of Jacob, General History.

Display of the beautiful colophon of the Book of the Canons, an astronomy treatise. The red and blue part reads, "Here ends the book of the canons the most noble King Don Alfonso ordered to be written. May God grant him life and good health for a long time."

The Book of the Crosses, an astrology treatise from 1259, signed by its translators, Yehuda ben Mose ha-Kohen and Juan de Aspa.

The Complete Book on Scrutiny of the Stars, about 1254.

The Tablas Alfonsies were astronomical measurements taken at Toledo for Alfonso X between 1263 and 1274, and were used by scholars all over the known world for hundreds of years thereafter. This manuscript is from Paris, about 1320.

A History of Spain from the beginning of the fourteenth century (after Alfonso's death).

Finally, a feminine touch: Queen Isabel II, who helped found the National Library. 

Out front, twentieth-century statues of the greats of Spanish literature. Here, Vives (father of psychology) and Nebrija (who wrote the first Spanish dictionary, 1492). 

Lope de Vega and Miguel de Cervantes, who I suppose don't need further introduction. 

Isidore of Seville, a Visigoth (c. 560 - 636) who takes pride of place here because he wrote Latin Etymologies that have been an important reference ever since.

And the star of all learning, Alfonso X, el Sabio. 

This statue exercises a particular attraction on this book nerd. In his hand, he holds a sheet from the Siete Partidas. It was probably hard to decide which branch of learning to represent with this medieval  Renaissance man. 

Mario and I walked back to where we'd parked through most of monumental Madrid. It's such a wonderful place to visit! Here I am with another statue of Cervantes across from the congress building. 

The very next morning, we headed to El Escorial in the mountains around Madrid for "Codices of the Wise King."

The monastery of El Escorial was built for Felipe II according to Neo-Classical architectural principles of reason, proportion, and balance. It has the most important manuscript library in Spain. 

I liked that my mask had the same image on it! 

This exhibit was, if possible, even more mind-blowing because all the manuscripts were from the court of Alfonso X, books the king himself would have touched and marveled at (or possibly pointed out the flaws in), including the E and T codices of the Cantigas de Santa Maria, which obviously I have some affection for. 

In the beautiful library, a veritable temple of learning. Absolutely electrifying! But at the library of El Escorial, they never allow photos. So you'll have to take my word for it. 

This was as close as I got before they started yelling not to take photos. I really think it should be apparent that I am not there to harm the books in any way, shape, or form. 

I'd like to note that the ceiling of the library is painted with symbols of all the branches of learning. Alfonso X appears in the section for astronomy, with a tablet and an astrolabe. 

Mario and I spent a good hour and half poring over the exhibit of nine manuscripts, so we got our money's worth. 

The gift shop had many beautiful items with cantigas and Book of Chess designs on them, and of course I nabbed a few. 

Back in the car, we decided on a strategy for lunch, and suddenly the whole couple of days came crashing down, and I sobbed with the emotion. Yes, it meant that much to me to see these books in person. With someone who encouraged my passion, no less. 

I don't always weep with gratitude, but this occasion certainly merited it.