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Post by oznerol on Oct 7, 2020 14:20:23 GMT -5
LEÓN. Tertia (third hour of the day).
The woman was dressed like a nun, holding a crucifix between her hands. A flock of priests and nuns surrounded the bed, while a physician, dressed in Oriental robes and clad in a turban, examined the urine in a bronze vessel with careful eye; it had traces of blood. The room was ample, the chamber of the seglar abbess of Saint Isidorus: the holiest temple in the city of León, house to the relics of the said holy man and sepulchre of the royal family. The agonizing woman, at times in pain, at times at peace, was mother to three kings, all of whom awaited outside. The smell of dead was palpable, thick like butter, leaving the room through every gap. The burning incense wasn't enough to cover it up completely.
"They can do nothing!"
Said a man, dressed in embroidered tunic, with only a bonet over his curled hair.
"I brought that man from Sevilla! All he babbled about unbalanced humors and a malignant growth in her uterus! How dared he to talk about her... womanly parts?!"
He was walking up and down the aisle, while his rant was punctuated by the chant of priests.
"She's my mother, by the nails of Christ! For... Forgive my blasphemy father, I will pray seven hailmarys!"
Said the bearded tall man firmly, without room for doubt, grabbing the arm of a priest who had arched an eyebrow slightly. A priest who was handsomely dressed in purple and had the looks of a prince, the city's bishop -he made the sign of the cross and nodded, forgiving the dying woman's son. The man in a bonet kept walking, talking to himself and to everyone else present, including his swordbearer and a score of women and men that looked strangely out of place in the elderly woman's bedside. But, she was none other but Sancha, daughter, sister, wife and mother to kings and they were the realm's peerage, gathered to acompany the queen mother on her last voyage. And the man was their liege, Alfonso, king of León, who anxiously waited his mother's demise, grieving over her sickness and fate.
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Post by Gandalf on Oct 8, 2020 11:53:26 GMT -5
A man stood near the king; stout and well built, still blessed with the slender strength and fortunate looks of youth. A thin cloak of scarlet was fastened over his left shoulder, clasped with a patterned silver brooch. ”We will all pray, Lord King.” He offered an assuring nod and a signum crucis in deference to the soon to be deceased. Sancha was the last obstacle between her brooding sons and war, the once formidable mother of kings now a shadow of herself, pale and wan as a ghost. It hurt the king deeply to see his mother so, as it would any man - but instead of being united by grief the brothers were divided by it. Each had come with their own retinue of nobles and prelates, a comfortable shield separating them from their enemies. Pedro knew that despite the love they held for their mother, she would scarce be cold before swords were drawn and blood spilled.
—-
Garcia had galloped down from his mountain kingdom with whatever men he could spare, when the word came from Palencia of their mother’s illness. It did not please him to see his brothers again, and he expected insult or slights from them both during his time there. Whilst Alfonso bustled and paced, the youngest of the brothers remained a silent as the grave, quietly choking on the thick smell of death in the air as their mother slipped beyond the walls of life into the kingdom of God. It was difficult to accept that she was truly gone, no longer there to mend father’s failures.
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Post by oznerol on Oct 8, 2020 16:21:22 GMT -5
A man stood near the king; stout and well built, still blessed with the slender strength and fortunate looks of youth. A thin cloak of scarlet was fastened over his left shoulder, clasped with a patterned silver brooch. ”We will all pray, Lord King.” He offered an assuring nod and a signum crucis in deference to the soon to be deceased. Sancha was the last obstacle between her brooding sons and war, the once formidable mother of kings now a shadow of herself, pale and wan as a ghost. It hurt the king deeply to see his mother so, as it would any man - but instead of being united by grief the brothers were divided by it. Each had come with their own retinue of nobles and prelates, a comfortable shield separating them from their enemies. Pedro knew that despite the love they held for their mother, she would scarce be cold before swords were drawn and blood spilled. —- Garcia had galloped down from his mountain kingdom with whatever men he could spare, when the word came from Palencia of their mother’s illness. It did not please him to see his brothers again, and he expected insult or slights from them both during his time there. Whilst Alfonso bustled and paced, the youngest of the brothers remained a silent as the grave, quietly choking on the thick smell of death in the air as their mother slipped beyond the walls of life into the kingdom of God. It was difficult to accept that she was truly gone, no longer there to mend father’s failures. He yelled. "The consumption and rot in her entrails is too far rooted, her soul will soon be delivered to the Maker"Alfonso stood, brooding. He looked at the nobleman, with a frown. "And those bastards I call brothers... they'll soon be at my throat, they want my kingdom, my mother's share. My land"He bares his teeth and snarls. "Only she kept them from raising their lances against me!"Hissed the king with anger.
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Post by sforza on Oct 10, 2020 10:59:31 GMT -5
"Oh dear God"
Elvia quietly muttered against herself. In many ways she represented her mother in appearance.
"May God rest her soul" Elvira said, making the sign off the cross. She could not surpress a tear for the loss of her mother. they had been very always very close to each other. More so than her siblings.
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Post by ironaquilifer on Oct 10, 2020 18:19:13 GMT -5
Pelayo stood quietly by the door to the bedchamber, though looking for all the world more furniture piece than guardian. He listened to the cries of King Alfonso with weary pity. The man was still young in truth, even though he had often managed to create an air of easy wisdom. Death was not well received by the young, who knew only of the energy of life. And the coming loss of his mother, of the woman who birthed him, must indeed weigh twice as heavy.
When the man's words turned to war, to conflict between kin, the troubles that were yet to pass, the bishop of Leon remained silent. It was not in his manner to speak of such ill tidings, not when his duty lay in administering what comfort could be plucked from a dark day such as this one. However the bishop's words were surely not going to serve as poultice, not as they sat upon the door of death and disease.
----
Gonzalo Nunez was not pleased with the words of King Alfonso. Talking of war, within earshot of his dying mother. The conduct of monarchy was mysterious to the most base of men, but he was no unread sheepherd to accept the comments as natural. As such, Gonzalo made it a point of keeping his eyes focused upon the grieving king, who seemed eager for the very war that he claimed to fear. He covets more than a king's share. Such men were common no matter the material of their hat, and if allowed to nurse their grievances then great calamity was sure enough to befall innocent and guilty in equal measure.
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Post by oznerol on Oct 12, 2020 8:05:32 GMT -5
Alfonso walked by Elvira. Noticing her grief he talked to her.
"Pray sister, she's releasing her soul to the Maker today"
He stood, hands on hips, then made the sign of the cross over his ample chest, hair covered the part that was to be seen, from the tunic's neck.
"A sad day for our house and family. And our brothers show no face"
The king looked around, with booming voice saying:
"Where are they, Garcia and Sancho? My kin! Do they refuse to set foot on my seat?"
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Post by Gandalf on Oct 12, 2020 10:54:12 GMT -5
”Here, brother. I pray your eyes do not yet fail you.” Retorted the youngest of Fernando’s sons as he stepped out from amidst the entourage of clerics and petty nobles that had galloped with him from Santiago de Compostela. They were holding mass there for his mother at this very instant, in accordance with his wishes. Their prayers would speed her on her path into the arms of the angels. He was shorter and slighter than both his brothers, angular and stern like a hawk or eagle. A golden circlet nestled in the thicket of his darkened curls, the emblem of his status as equal to his brothers and father. ”Forgive me if I do not step closer, for me the grief is still too near.” It would not do for them to come to blows at their mother’s bedside, in the Lord’s own house. And so Garcia would keep his distance for the time being, and pay his respects alone.
——
”Aye, Lord king, but know that all true men will raise their swords to defend you and your rights.” Replied Pedro, remaining firm but dignified. To lose composure here would be a victory for Sancho and his ilk, which would be cheaply won when the King of Castilla was so easy to rile. ”Your mother and father both knew you to be the wisest and noblest of your brothers. I am confident it shall be proven so.”
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Post by Royal Joker on Oct 12, 2020 15:33:10 GMT -5
Nuno Mendes, Count of Portugal, stood among the followers of King Garcia of Galicia, though at the moment he wished to be elsewhere. The squabbles between the sons of King Ferdinand would surely cause him a headache before the day was done. Truly, he had only come to pay his respect to her Highness. With his lands so close to the borders, you always had to be vigilant of marauding bands of Moors from the south. The sooner they were done here, the better. The ravings of the fool of a king Alfonso did not aid in tempering the growing pain above his temple.
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Post by oznerol on Oct 13, 2020 8:32:14 GMT -5
”Here, brother. I pray your eyes do not yet fail you.” Retorted the youngest of Fernando’s sons as he stepped out from amidst the entourage of clerics and petty nobles that had galloped with him from Santiago de Compostela. They were holding mass there for his mother at this very instant, in accordance with his wishes. Their prayers would speed her on her path into the arms of the angels. He was shorter and slighter than both his brothers, angular and stern like a hawk or eagle. A golden circlet nestled in the thicket of his darkened curls, the emblem of his status as equal to his brothers and father. ”Forgive me if I do not step closer, for me the grief is still too near.” It would not do for them to come to blows at their mother’s bedside, in the Lord’s own house. And so Garcia would keep his distance for the time being, and pay his respects alone. —— ”Aye, Lord king, but know that all true men will raise their swords to defend you and your rights.” Replied Pedro, remaining firm but dignified. To lose composure here would be a victory for Sancho and his ilk, which would be cheaply won when the King of Castilla was so easy to rile. ”Your mother and father both knew you to be the wisest and noblest of your brothers. I am confident it shall be proven so.”
Said Alfonso, arms akimbo. "Mother shall be grieved. A thousand masses in her honor! All the nuns and monks in every monastery in León shall be on their knees praying for her soul"
He added. "You may pay your respects. Ibn Hasiz says she's soon to yield her last breath. God forgive her"King Alfonso had connections with the Moor kings of the South, including the king of Sevilla, who had sent one of his own physicians to try to heal the Leonese ruler's ailing mother. --- "Undoubtedly, I'm king of León, mine is the Empire of all Spains! I was raised in this land, educated like my good uncle Bermudo and my grandsire Alfonso, God have mercy of their souls"He said, with a pouty mouth, framed by the curly beard. "My brothers are little rascals. Sancho is by far the worst, never managed to hold his temper. And Garcia should barely be a count, least so a king"He hissed in a whisper to his trusty right hand. "The only good news that reached me of late is that my father's old steward died a week ago, soon I shall be able to raise you to that office"
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Post by Politburo Barry on Oct 26, 2020 15:07:13 GMT -5
Salvador Gonzalez and his children, chief among them the eldest who bore his grandfather's name, arrived among the retinue of Sancho, King of Castile and eldest of the royal brothers who had divided Christian Spain. The former, a grey-haired and bearded man, looked on uncertainly as his liege's middle and youngest brothers locked horns, even while their mother died. He threw a furtive glance at his own master, awaiting the inevitable entry of the oldest, strongest and most warlike of Ferdinand the Great's male offspring into the verbal clash. His own son and heir was either genuinely ignorant of what was going on or trying very hard to pretend to be, wordlessly looking up into the ceiling.
-------
Bishop Cresconio had come with King Garcia of Galicia, the aged warrior-bishop and veteran of campaigns against Moor and pagan Norseman both striking a hugely contrasting posture to the younger Bishop of Leon. He struggled to maintain a calm and impassive expression as his own liege and said liege's brother butted heads with one another, though he knew not how to continue once their eldest brother Sancho joined the fray. A slight twitch of his left eyebrow at Alfonso's mention of one of the Saracen princelings to the south of all their kingdoms was the sole betrayal of his annoyance - the late queen or her son, perhaps all her sons, may have felt differently, but as for himself, old Cresconio would rather drop dead than accept the aid or comfort of a heathen.
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