“Go and take care of your new family. I’ll be along as soon as I take Don José home.”
With the king’s blessing, Don Fernando mounted his horse, took one last look at Don José, and galloped off at great speed.
Chapter II
From a distance, beyond the wooded area on the banks of the river Duero, Don Fernando saw the city of Segoia with its high towers and walls, seated on the edge of a cliff, overlooking the river. The city had been the capital of the Condado of Segoia for many centuries, and its high walls and towers were a blend of Visigothic, Roman, and Moorish architecture, as each culture expanded the walls and added their own motifs.
As the Conde of Segoia, he ruled over a vast area of cities, towns, and villages, but home was the city of his birth, the same as his father and his father’s father, which went back many centuries. Now, a new birth would someday add to his family’s legacy, which Don Fernando hoped beyond hope would be a male heir. Don Fernando galloped ardently down a slow rising incline and onto a wide wooden bridge and up another wooded hill that was on the city road that passed the family vineyard to his right and the peasant village across the road to the left. The village was complete with its own church and white adobe huts, which, like the city walls, glistened in the sun.
About a mile beyond the village, Don Fernando took a right turn and galloped up a hill that led to the city gates. After he waved to a guard on the gate tower, he entered the city, which bustled with its shops, taverns, and inns. The very people who manned those shops also lived in the city. The many narrow, winding side streets were filled with houses and balconies with flowers of all kinds, especially roses and lavender, which gave the city a colorful hue and a pleasant scent.
The pride of the city was its large city square, complete with its large fountain of spring water from the mountains beyond. It was originally constructed by the Romans, who once occupied the area and built the high walls of the city as a fortress to protect the Roman citizens against invaders and other miscreants. Across from the fountain to the right was the beautiful Catedral de la Santa María de La Montaña, originally built in the tenth century before Castile became a kingdom in its own right and was a county under the lordship of León.
It had been said that Fernán González, the first Count of Castile, had laid the cornerstone of the cathedral on the ruins of the old one. Over the two centuries, additions had been added onto the cathedral, which now stood as a beautiful tribute to the old Romanesque style, along with its two tall bell towers. Across from the cathedral was the bishop’s palace, complete with its rich gardens and elegance.
Don Fernando rode on through the tower gates of the enclosed palace, which was at the back of the city, and into the large stable. He had an attendant tend to his horse, which had had a tiring ride home. He climbed the narrow three-story winding staircase, which led to the living quarters, and when he entered the hallway outside the bedchamber, he was surprised to see Leonor, the queen of Castile, who appeared completely demoralized, with her hands rested on the back of a chair. Her complexion was flush, and her eyes were reddened by sadness. This was in contrast to the beauty and regality she was renowned for throughout the kingdom. She told Don Fernando that Lady Margaret, her sister, was near death and had been waiting to see him. He should hurry.
Don Fernando entered the bedchamber where Lady Margaret had given birth and was aghast at what he saw. Blood was all over the bed linen, on the curtain lining the bed, and on the canopy above.
“What butchery is this!” yelled Don Fernando. “I saw less blood on the battlefield from which I have just come.”
The physician, who had been on the other side of the curtain along with a nurse, had not been aware of Don Fernando’s entrance.
“Mi señor, please forgive me. I did not hear you enter.”
Don Fernando climbed the three steps of the platform, which led to the bed, where Lady Margaret lay near death. He sat down in a chair next to the bed and saw his young wife, all of fifteen years. Her face was pallid and virtually blended into her white pillow, and her eyes were closed. He happened to look on the wooden floor and saw a puddle of blood dripping from the mattress. She had been covered by a sheet, which was completely bloodstained. He uncovered the sheet, which revealed a sight that almost made him gag. He was a warrior who had seen some vile wounds on the battlefield, but this sight he had been completely unprepared to witness.
Lady Margaret was drifting in and out of consciousness, and her eyes were shut, as Don Fernando bristled with anger.
“Physician!” screamed Don Fernando. He hurried down the platform, took the physician by the neck, and held a dagger to his throat. “If you value your life, you had better have a good explanation to the butchery I just witnessed.”
“Please, mi señor,” said the physician, pleading for his life. “The baby was badly breached. It was either the baby’s life or Lady Margaret’s. I had to operate, but I did give her a choice. She realized the consequences of her decision, and she chose the life of the baby.”
Don Fernando released the physician, as Lady Margaret called for her husband.
“Fernando, are you there?” asked Lady Margaret in a very weak voice.
Upon hearing her voice, Don Fernando walked back up the steps of the platform, sat in the chair next to her bed, and took her delicate hand, which felt cold and limp.
“Sí, I am here,” said Don Fernando, whose anger now turned to sadness.
“Did we win the day?” asked Lady Margaret. It was a question she always asked her husband after a battle.
“Sí,” said Don Fernando, who tried desperately to hold back his emotions.
“Good. I had no doubt,” said Lady Margaret, whose voice was now practically a whisper.
At this point, the physician carried the newborn, wrapped in a small blanket, up the steps of the platform and placed it next to her.
“You have a beautiful healthy daughter, mi señora.”
Both Don Fernando and his wife carefully studied the child and commented on her long blondish-red hair and blue eyes, just like her mother.
“I’m sorry that I was not able to give you a son, Fernando.”
“It doesn’t matter. She is beautiful.”
There was a pause, as Lady Margaret winced in pain.
“It hurts me to see you in such distress,” said Don Fernando as he tried again to hold back his emotions.
Lady Margaret turned her head toward her husband in a serious demeanor. “Fernando, I have little time left, and I need for you to promise me something.”
“Of course, anything,” said Don Fernando with a forced smile.
“Promise me that you will name her Lucía, as she is the light of my life.”
“You have picked a beautiful name that describes her well, my dear.”
“Promise me that you will love her and not give her to the church.”
“How could I otherwise?”
“Promise me that she will receive a good education and inherit my wealth and titles.”
“Of course.”
Lady Margaret smiled and, with all her remaining strength, positioned herself on her elbow, bent over, and gave the baby a kiss.
Once again, Don Fernando took her wife’s hand as she lay back upon the pillow, and with a deep sigh, she took her last breath, her hand falling limp and motionless.
“Physician!” yelled Don Fernando.
The physician came immediately. Don Fernando put his wife’s hand carefully down at her side, sadly gave her a kiss on the lips, and arose from the chair. The physician examined Lady Margaret, turned