(RFC) El Imperio de Oro

El Imperio de Oro (RFC)

Hey civ fans! I am freaking out that civ V is coming so soon, so to occupy my time I decided to write a story about Spain on Rhys and Fall of Civilization. In contrast to other stories, this is not going to be written like a long series of events, or from the point of view from an immortal king or leader. Just for the sake of being different, I am going to write the story not from the point of view from a few characters, but from an entire civilization: meaning I probably won’t use the same characters for more than one chapter. Much of the secondary characters I am going to use were actual Spaniards like Lope de Vega, Gracián, and Góngora, with maybe a small sample of their writings or descriptions of their art. By the way, I am not going to tell you explicitly what I am researching or what I am building. But if in the story one of my characters describes traveling down a road and it’s being remade by engineers so that people can travel on roads faster, and then he reaches the city to find walls and castles are being constructed, you can make the assumption that I just finished researching engineering.

For this story I am going to play on Monarch, without using world builder for anything (except to delete walls from my cities in the modern age. Who likes seeing walls around sky scrapers anyway? I hope you guys won’t consider that cheating….). I am going to try to win a historical victory, but if I win, I am going to keep playing. I have set three personal goals that I must succeed at before I can feel that I truly won.

1. Establish the historic Spanish Empire in America and the Philippines. I am not going to try and completely recreate the Hapsburg empire in Europe, but if an attack on the Netherlands and Italy presents itself, who am I to deny my soldiers the rush of battle?

2. I also want to make Christianity the dominant religion in the world (50% +1). By crusading against the Turks, Arabs, Aztecs, and Incas, I think I can achieve that.

3. Spain has more great artists and writers than well known generals, so I want to get three cities to 50,000 culture to “win” a culture victory (if I already won a historical victory, I’ll just end the game at the point that I would have won a cultural victory). I don’t necessarily care if these three cities are all in Spain or in the colonies.

I may also write in Spanish or Catalan at various points in the story (only phrases or brief sentence to highlight regional differences. If my writings are grammatically incorrect, spelled wrong, or don't make sense, by all means point that out to me and I’ll edit it), but everything will be followed by a translation. I really hope that this will add to the flavor of reading a story about the Spanish civilization. I expect this story will cure my summer boredom before college starts, and hopefully be enjoyable enough for the civ community. Now, without further adieu, May I present the first chapter of this epic story Quien dice España dice todo (who says Spain, says everything).

Sounds sweet, I'll definitely be following this (as I have followed all other RFC stories ).

Well, AFAIK most European cities simply outgrew their walls and didn't "delete" them.
And I was told that most historic cities have laws prohibiting the height of buildings (so that churches or city halls will still be overlooking the cities).
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Height_restriction_laws

Definitely seems interesting, and ill be sure to read this.

Also, I think you mean El imperio de oro.

Currently, its The Empire of the Gold.

mechaerik said:

Definitely seems interesting, and ill be sure to read this.

Also, I think you mean El imperio de oro.

Currently, its The Empire of the Gold.

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Thanks, I wasn't sure if the definate article was included because gold was abstract, but thanks, I'll change that. Well, I'll have the first part done by tonight.

AnotherPacifist said:

Well, AFAIK most European cities simply outgrew their walls and didn't "delete" them.
And I was told that most historic cities have laws prohibiting the height of buildings (so that churches or city halls will still be overlooking the cities)..

Click to expand...

I know some places have gotten rid of their walls. Madrid tore down its walls decades ago to allow further urban development, but left the old gates (like el puerto del sol) in place as a reminder that walls were once there. For me personally, I don't like seeing a size 20 city with these weird walls all around it. But it doesn't surprise me that many european countries have height laws. If I remember correctly, I think Toledo (at least the old part of the city) has tons of building restrictions, going so far as to say what style the new buildings must be built in.

(Who says Spain, says everything)

Fernán González stares out onto the vast plains as a stirring wind blows down from the nearby mountains. The wind brushes past his sinewy body forcing his crude shirt to flap against his chest. Fernán looks over his shoulder to the new capital. With only a few buildings, and the silhouette of a granary placed against the setting sun, the city resembled a hamlet dropped atop a stark brown hill rather than the seat of power for a great new nation.

With a scowl, Fernán rides down the lonely Castilian meseta to the new Spanish capital of Toledo. Trying to concentrate upon remaining atop his galloping stead, Fernán thought of the old inhabitants of the land. It was difficult to believe that the Romans had once lived here he thought. Old cobbled stones from a long distant era were the only reminder of this fact, and were the only way for Fernán to find his way back.



He had been sent on a scouting mission by the chieftain to look for nearby resources. He found flocks of sheep to the south, uncultivated grapes for wine, and herds of horses to the west. Galloping hard now, Fernán realized that the chief was looking to quickly expand into the rest of the peninsula, and that he was trying to size up the terrain to determine how to feed his large army and growing population. Passing a set of young workers constructing roads out of the city, Fernán crossed the river and rode directly to the chief's palace in the center of the city.

"Líder! The scouting you have requested has been completed." Fernán shouted at the top of his lungs as he plunged through the door to the chief's palace. The chief quickly walked down the long aisle of his palace to meet Fernán at the palace door.

"Well then quickly get over here! We have much to discuss," replied the light hearted chief. The chief had a scraggily beard running down the length of his old face, with deep laughter lines set against a strong face. Laughing, the king motioned for Fernán to make his way to the chief's study. Laying his report against the hard knobby table, the chief relaxed in a nearby chair as Fernán remained at attention beside him. The chief bent lazily over the report, smiling, he chuckled as exclaimed, "My, this land truly is a paradise of the Lord! When the people announced they wanted me, Alfonso X, to be the chief of this new state, I was rather surprised. Me, an old learned christian monk from bygone days? Yes, well, the Lord has given our people a great land to hold forever. Changes are coming to Castile, Fernán, even if no can see them yet. I can assure you of that."

Fernán looked out at the study through the periphery of his eyes, noting the illuminations of open bibles strewn next to his report on the table, the few books lining the sides of the tiny room. Why does he keep these old roman books, these scripts of Christianity, Fernán wondered? The nation had yet to fully embrace the ways of Christ; in fact no city had fully converted. It didn't matter anyways, Fernán was compelled to believe, surely God cared more about the great things done with my blade than the musings and posturing of chiefs and cities.

Alfonso X carefully lifted himself from the old chair and made his way to a nearby shelf. Pulling a long parchment from a stack of books, the chief staggered to the table and unceremoniously dropped the parchment over the table.



"I just received this report from a rider, days ago," exclaimed the over enthusiastic chief. "My scout tells me a band of settlers has just founded a great city, Santiago, on the sea to the northwest. Ahh, the land sounds incredible," remarked the Alfonso. “It says here that the land is covered in dense green plants, covered by thick mists that roll down las rías (the fjords). The nearby mountains to the north insulate the city. The new settlers have already given the region a new name, Galicia. Santiago in Galicia, Isn't it incredible how great our new nation is?! But even more important is this!" The chief pointed to another picture:



The map showed a new city, Barcelona rising up against the soft Mediterranean Sea. Fernán glanced at both reports, noting how completely different each of the terrains of the new cities were. How could such a state, with so many different lands, so many different peoples, form a powerful nation? These cities weren't even connected. The title above the map of Barcelona said Catalonya. The name didn't sound Castilian, but he easily recognized the name.

"This city's borders are being halted by a barbarian people to the north of it. I need you to ride to this new city and find out more about these new neighbors of ours. I don't need any surprises in the near future." Alfonso X winked as he quickly took his old seat and moved it right up to the table. Fernán moved to leave, but then Alfonso ordered for him to halt as he grabbed the rough coat sleeve of Fernán. " I know, you understand how little power I have right now. I am chief among a state of nobles. I have no true authority to do what is best for this state, either politically or religiously. Things are going to change soon, you'll see. Our new state must be wholly Christian and be lead by a powerful, God-appointed king. Even the wise old Seneca once said 'Spain was Christian before Christ'. Great things, great titles, great fortunes are in store for those who support such ideas. I need to know, are you for such an idea?" The old face appeared hard as the chief's usually smiling face sparkled and scowled.

Fernán replied dryly," I am always for my líder. If it's in your wishes I'll do whatever is asked of me." Fernán ripped his sleeve from the Alfonso's grasp as he quickly strode out the door, leaving the chief stunned into silence.

What does the old chief think of me, Fernán angrily thought. I don't need anything but myself. I am rich because of the things I don't need, I need only the shirt on my back and the daring of my heart to get through anything. By God, this man has insulted my very manhood, thinking he can tempt me with such petty belongings and honors. I'll follow my lídere, but I know I am not doing any duty to him. I live for myself; I have no other end but myself. These thoughts quickly rushed by in his mind as he traveled along the plains of Castile into the cool mountains of Catalonya.

Upon arriving in the new city, Fernán called an aide to his side. "Go north and find a representative of these northern neighbors. Make it quick, I have much to do outside of my official duties." Fernán stood out on the edge of the city along the cool Mediterranean, waiting for this representative to show. He stood with his back to the granary of Barcelona, staring out at the workers in front of him. They were a hearty bunch, these Catalonians. They were busily constructing a harbor to look out onto the sea. Their ingenuity and thrift were amazing, as they seemed to continue to work even without a steady supply of wood. The light small houses were tightly packed together around him, leaving him a small alley to look around in. The sun seemed scared as it slowly crept over the rooftops to flood the streets below.

The new representative arrived along the alley. He was dressed in a blue robe, with Fernán's aid leading him. Fernán motioned for him to enter the local inn, where he had hare stew placed in a great pot in the middle of a long wooden table. "I am a representative of the French," declared the man. Fernán sarcastically thought, thanks for the obvious, but quickly shook his hand and attempted to smile. “I am afraid that there really isn't much I can do for your Spain, sir. My sovereign is very cautious about new states, and doesn't feel as if there is much your state can offer the French people."



Fernán was about to come up with a retort, but a large man threw open the door to the tiny inn. "Hurry, come see! Barcelona is the first city to convert!" Quickly, Fernán threw his chair with a flick of his wrist as jumped to the door. “Something great is occurring, Frenchman, I'd come and see. It means either great things for France, or horrible misfortunes in the future for your nation, monsegnor" Fernán sarcastically said as performed an exaggerated bow at the entrance to the door. He quickly left and made his way to the street. The throng of people flooded the street as they all headed to the town square. It seemed as if the whole city was in anarchy, Fernán thought. He laughed as he saw the Frenchman trying to catch up with him, tripping over his robes as he struggled to hold them up with both hands.

At the town center, a man dressed in white with a bishop's hat on stood atop a wooden platform. He cleared his throat and addressed the crowd. "Catalonians, Barcelona is now a Christian city, and the rest of Spain has followed suit. Alfonso X has announced that Spain's official religion is Christianity!" The crowd roared in approval, forcing the bishop's face to turn purple as he tried to say something else. The crowd calmed down to let the man speak. “But there is more, my children! Alfonso X is no longer our great chief. HE has proclaimed himself King, and instituted a theocracy to make sure Christianity is forever the great religion of Spain! All who oppose the wishes of our Rey and the lord are henceforth to be sold into slavery!"



The stunned crowd looked at each other confused. King, theocracy, slavery, what is going on, many of them asked? "We wanted to profess our support of Christ openly, not receive a tyrant and a land of slaves!" yelled one man. The swelling crowd grew anxious and began to storm around the city causing further anarchy. Everyone was so occupied, only the Frenchman noticed Fernán smiling. When questioned, Fernán replied, “These fools don't realize, it is only through the king and the church that our nation shall be welded together. I may dislike our king, but he is right about that much. Everyone in Spain will follow the church, either with a candle or club, but they'll follow none the less. Oh, the world should beware, what things we have in store for it!"

You got some Spanish words wrong, it's Lídere instead of Líder and Río not Rió.

Otherwise, good story!

west india man said:

You got some Spanish words wrong, it's Lídere instead of Líder and Río not Rió.

Otherwise, good story!

Click to expand...

Thanks for the correction. I've edited it. I know only intermediate spanish, but I have pretty good passive listening and reading skills. So there is a great chance I'll make mistakes with the language, and I hope you guys will continue to point them out to me. Fortunately, I'll use spanish in regards to titles, geography and maybe a few sayings or proverbs, so it won't be too much. I'm going to study spanish in school this fall, so hopefully my spanish will improve and i'll make less mistakes.

Glad you enjoyed it too

While WIM is right about Río, it actually is Líder.

Damn it, I knew I should've rechecked before saying Lídere out of my knowledge in Portuguese! Still, it's probably Lídere in some form of Latin American Spanish.

Enjoying the story so far.

On gameplay: why did you forgo Vassalage? Paired with HR it is great for stability, and of course for experience for military units.

Danger Bird said:

Enjoying the story so far.

On gameplay: why did you forgo Vassalage? Paired with HR it is great for stability, and of course for experience for military units.

Click to expand...

I chose not to use it yet because of its high maintainence costs and because I don't have a very large army to begin with. Besides, I think it's much more useful later in the game when I have a large standing army, like when I gain so many units to conquer the americas. But maybe I should have used it; my stability usually drops when the arabs always invade.

It's better to switch to it now, since when you do get a large army they'll also enjoy the +2XP from vassalage (except for the spawning conquistadors), and you also don't have to have anarchy again which is far worse in RFC due to stability and everything.

The insects are roaring in the summer heat, with the sun pulsing in the sky. The dirt road stretches on in the distance in a long spidery pattern, flickering in the dry dusty plain. The young Don Juan Manuel is riding down the old road on his horse painfully slow. It’s true, sigh Don Juan, hay nueve meses de invierno y tres de infierno en Castilla (there are 9 months of winter and three months of hell in Castile). Upon reaching the top of a nearby hill, Don Juan peers out and spots two small figures in the distance on the road. Tiring of the loneliness of his journey, the Don rides out to meet these other travelers.

The searing heat burns the Don Juan as his hot armor pushes against his skin with each passing gallop of his horse. Don Juan inspects the slow moving figures as he approaches: one is a portly, jovial man covered in the robes of a priest, and beside astride a pitiful donkey is a beautiful maiden, wilting in the summer inferno like a bloody rose failing to keep itself upright beneath the burden of the heat.

“Padre, let us ride together. We can provide each other company in the dreadful heat,” Don Juan says as he pulls up to the priest.

“Yes, of course my son; three is always better than two,” replies the laughing priest, smirking at some joke only he and the girl understood. “But where are my manners? I am Father Juan Ruiz and this is my lovely niece, Mercedes Ruiz.”

“I am Don Juan Manuel of Burgos. It is nice to meet you both.” Don Juan smiled, but he knew this girl wasn’t who the priest claimed she was. She must be his Barragana.

“Well, we did things last night no uncle or niece should ever do…” commented the unintelligent Mercedes as she let out an obnoxious cackle.

“My child, I already absolved you of that transgression. You don’t need to bring it up in front of others!” whispered the flushing priest. Sighing and wiping the sweat from his brow, the priest asked, “well then Don Juan, on a brighter note, where are you traveling on this fine summer day?”

Don Juan took a moment to watch the swaggering priest trying to keep up on foot with the slow donkey. “I’m on way to Calatrava la vieja, what about you, Padre?”

“I am dropping off my niece, yes my niece. Stop laughing!” shouted the flustered priest. Don Juan quickly gathered himself and stopped laughing. “Yes, anyways, I am taking my niece to Toledo before I head off for the newly founded city of Cadiz to the south.” The priest pulled out a map and showed him what city he was going to.

“I was ordered to be a missionary there for the archbishop in Santiago,” continued the priest. “Why don’t you come with me to Toledo and then we can take the southern route together? Come on, I’ll even let you try this new wine I just had shipped to me from Toledo.” The priest grabs a bottle of red wine from a satchel on the donkey and jokingly sways it in the face of Don Juan.

Don Juan smiles as he rips the bottle from the priest’s grip. He uncorks the bottle and takes one long swig from the opening before wiping the red juices from his face with his sleeve. The priest grinned as he himself takes a long drink from the bottle next. They continued to drink and chat about the new wool trade with France and the new diplomacy of Spain as she contacted both England and the Holy Roman Empire. The priest and Don Juan grew angry at talking over the politics of the state, but with red haze of sleep and drink hanging beneath their eyes they just as quickly congratulated each other on making to Toledo in one peace and forgot their squabbling. They now stand beneath the statue of Alfonso X at the entrance of the city staring out at the empty streets.

They walk beneath the crowed winding streets that seem to be pulled sky ward by a hill only to fall precipitously down again. “Is anyone hear?!” shouted the priest. His own echo answered him, clanging beneath the city streets like a gong. Slogging their way through the human waste rising up the sides of the road, the two left the maiden at an inn as they made their way to the center of town. Suddenly, from a nearby window a woman appears and shouts “Agua Va!” as she lets a torrent of more waste pour from bucket to the streets below. Not hearing the lady, Don Juan only looks up to see waste fall from the sky onto his knightly armor and horse.

The Priest bursts out laughing as he steadies the Don’s horse. “Woman, Can you help us?” the priest calls up to the woman in the window. Startled she looks out at the filthy knight and priest. “Yes, I need to know where everyone is?” the priest yells up at her.

“Why Padre, the men and youngsters are all at La Feria just outside of town. You might want to take your friend there to the weekly market outside town to clean him up.” Thanking the woman, the priest hauled the stubborn horse and rider to the market place.

“Why did I come with you?” laments Don Juan. “Now I am all covered in sludge. I shouldn’t have ridden out to talk to you that was my greatest mistake.”

“Oh shush now, you’ve enjoyed it, regardless of what you say now. Now let’s get you cleaned up.” The priest sets the Don on a nearby stool and ties his horse to a fruit stall and began to push himself through the thick crowd of the market place. He soon returned with some old rough looking rags that almost passed as robes. “Look what I have for you. I just got this from an old man for almost nothing. It’s not your armor, but it will be dry. Don’t give me that look, this will feel like the softest cotton enwrapping your whole body after you’re forced to wear a hair shirt when you take your vows.”

Quickly changing into the rough course robes, Don Juan replies,” How did you know I was going to join a monk’s order?”

“Aw, son, why else would a noble ride down to a tiny city in the south in full battle armor? I may be old but I am not blind. Come, tell me. What order could you possible want to join that you can’t join in one of the monasteries in Santiago, Toledo, or Barcelona?”

“I am joining the order of Calatrava. They are monks who are ‘praying for god’s grace, and thumping with a mace’ (a dios rogando y con la maza dando). Diego Velázquez is my hero! He’s the master, a soldier turned abbot who took his monks to fight the infidels. I don’t want to be a diplomat like my ancestor Fernán González. I want to be a holy warrior in the name of God!”

“I wouldn’t mind the quiet life of a diplomat. How about this: You gain an extra 100 pounds, take my robes and go to Cadiz for me, and I’ll go back and be a diplomat for you.” The priest roars in laughter at his own joke.

Staring up at the priest, Don Juan frowns. “My dreams are nothing to laugh about old man. I’ll just make it there myself.” He gets up to the leave, but the priest pushes him back onto his stool.

“Oh sit down, my child. Let’s leave Toledo together, and to show you I have no hard feelings, I’ll read to you from my new book.”

Slightly flustered, Don Juan agrees and gets up. Don Juan piles his armor onto his stead, and then he grabs his horse by the reigns and pulls him out of the city as he and the priest walk on foot. A little ways out of the city, the priest pulls out his book: Book of Good Love.*

“I haven’t quite finished it yet, but I am sure you’ll enjoy this. This part starts at a monastery in Talavera. We are all sitting in prayer when the archbishop walks in and declares:


Well you can imagine, how that made us feel. We protested loudly, and my friend the treasurer stands and shouts at the archbishop:


That’s when after much talk the priests and monks decide upon this:


The monk was about to say more, but a man riding a dark horse road up quickly to the priest and Don Juan. Dressed in a turban and a long half tunic over his robes, he looked like a moor.

The man rode up to the pair and gave out his hand in a gesture of friendship. Stunned, the priest shook his hand. “I am a representative of Saladin. It is my great pleasure to meet you.” He pulled out some parchment and fumbled through a map. He showed it to Don Juan. “I am trying to find Toledo to bring a message to your king. Can you show me where it is on this map:”



“What message can you have for our king, mussleman?” Don Juan interjected.

The representative smiled a toothy grin. “That it’s my honor to tell you that this country is to be honored by my sovereign.” Don Juan and the priest both look confused at each other. “This godless land is too great to not be part of Dar-Al-Islam. Spain is to have the honor of being conquered by Saladin in the coming years.”

Great story. I'll be sure to follow along.

The fields of vineyards were a scarlet green ocean, with waves that seemed to lap right up onto the massive walls of Cadiz. The walls were a brilliant white that rose up unto the sky with such ferocity that they seemed to pull the heavens down to earth. The city precariously sat on the edge of long peninsula, with a thick castle obstinately standing in the view of the ocean just within the wall's limits. The sounds of hammers, usually the first thing heard in this bustling city, were eerily missing, as was the throng of the crowds that typically joined the exodus of fishermen each day to the nearby crab fishery just of the coast. Don Alvaro de Luna and a small host of men rode slowly up to the city from the new stone roads just outside.

It had been a long time since he had been here, Don Alvaro surmised. How it has changed. The horse's slow methodical walk clanged in his ears, bringing back memories of when his mother had brought him here for his apprenticeship to the blacksmith years ago. He had moved to Toledo for more work, as a blacksmith's skills were in high demand there for making breast plates for the new regiments of pikemen being raised there. It had taken him years of saving what earnings he could, but eventually he purchased a horse and a sword and shield so that he could make his fortune fighting the infidels alongside the regular army.

It had only been a few months ago, but Don Alvaro could clearly remember the king's messenger. The messenger stood upon the rampart of Toledo's walls shouting in a hoarse voice down to the gathered multitude of townsmen. The war drums were being beaten, very softly at first but its pace quickly took up speed as the rhythm and volume slowly grew like thunder. "Hear me now people of Toledo! El Rey has been issued a declaration of war by the Moors, those dirty infidels. These foul beasts have come to steal this land from us and force upon us the horrendous teachings of Islam. The priests have prayed to the Lord and have told us that this war will end in a Christian victory and that whoever undertakes an ordeal like war in the name of God will receive everlasting life in heaven." The war drums along the wall were being hit so hard that the people felt as if God himself were pounding the earth with his fists. "El Rey calls upon all people to commit themselves to joining him on the battlefield. Join us now, answer this call to arms, and let us fight back this threat!" The messenger had stood with his arms out pointing to the various places where men could sign up for the war.

He had joined up like the rest of them; he had trained outside the city like his compatriots, being schooled in the arts of war. His wife and son were enthusiastic that he had joined and would watch from the gates as he trained. He had always smiled at that thought as he worked and learned from the commanders. But eventually, after much training the troops realized that something was wrong. They weren't being sent to the south to meet the moors. In fact, every day, regiments from Cadiz had poured into Toledo, with no troops being sent back. He had brought this to the attention to his commander, but the commander only replied, "Toledo is considered more important to the king than Cadiz. He doesn't want to waste troops fighting for Cadiz, so he left only a small garrison there to keep order."

He had felt betrayed by his king, his countrymen. How could they believe that they could ever lose a battle to the moors? He had called a meeting with his regiment and had convinced many of the troops to follow him for a march to Cadiz. He lampooned the troops of their duty, calling into question their loyalty and their bravery and finally got them to agree to follow him. He and his small group of followers followed him out of the city the next night, with a train of supplies and the soldiers' families following behind.

Now after a long march, they had finally made it to Cadiz. Much like a funeral procession, they entered the city. The quiet could only mean one thing: everyone was at the church. Don Alvaro brought his men to the entrance of the Christian temple and threw open the doors to the large church. He marched right up to alter and called all the men to join him to fight this threat. The people stared at him with glassy eyes, red from crying. The great multitudes of Cadiz were on their knees swaying and praying beneath the heavy gaze of the priest who stood at the altar. The people refused to acknowledge Don Alvaro, with their hands clasped together they continued to mutter to floor as their heads fell limply over their shoulders in prayer. "Why won't anyone join me?! The moors are coming and none of you will join your fellow Spaniards in war to save yourselves?" The priest walked to Don Alvaro serenely, his robes rustling as glided to the young Don.

"These people will be saved through divine retribution, sir. They know if they pray long enough, God will save us from disaster. Why should anyone waste their lives in a bloody struggle when God will save us? Come kneel in front of the altar, and follow the way of the cross." The priest extended his hand to altar. Don Alvaro quietly went to altar and stood beneath the shadow of the large wooden cross towering over congregants. The large stained windows depicting the crucifixion hung just in the back of the altar, shooting out long bloody rays of red out onto the floor next to him.

Don Alvaro stood for a moment rigid beneath the gaze of Jesus up in the stained glass. His knees trembled, and he was just about to kneel when his hand traveled to his sword. He ripped his sword from his sheath and in one clean slice cut the cross across the side. The large wooden cross fell backward, smashing the altar, its fall suddenly causing everyone to stop praying and take a long silent look at Don Alvaro. Don Alvaro took his sword and thrust it into the ground to his side, leaving the handle swinging in thick air. The stained glass filled with sunlight, and drowned the sword in bloody light. "Father, this is the only cross I follow," he said as he pointed to his sword. He solemnly turned and walked out of the church with his men quickly filing by after him.

"Men, Grab your bows, and follow me to the walls. We are defending this place even if the king and people won't. We can't lose."

The sun fell upon the men in sheets of wet heat. They had left their supplies at the base of the walls, carrying long bows across their backs as they strode up the long stairs winding up to the ramparts. Don Alvaro had kept his shield and sword tied to his back, with his longbow falling across his shoulder. A chilling wind blew through the soldiers, howling in long gusts. Don Alvaro walked up to the edge of the wall and stared down. Gazing down beneath the cliff-like walls, Don Alvaro saw the fertile plain. Taking long breaths he squinted out into the distance, at the rising mound that was the Gibraltar.

The earth began to shake quietly, but grew with frightening intensity. The wind became drowned out by the fierce sirens of instruments screaming tear filled songs. Then it appeared. The Moorish army was marching, marching down the hill to plains outside the city. The camel archers appeared first, three entire regiments calmly walking in the front. Their horrible green banners whipped in the wind, cracking like whips forcing the rest of the army to follow. Then came the various archer companies, their bows sticking out from their sides like extra appendages. Finally, six large trebuchets were being rolled up to the sides of the hill, their engineers skillfully maneuvering them closer to the walls.



His men stood motionless along the walls, their mouths whispering prayers to themselves as their hands prepared their weapons. Don Alvaro screamed out to his men, "No manner of death is shameful if supported with courage! Be brave now, men!"

The Moors trebuchets began the siege first. Large mountains of rock fell from the sky onto the buildings inside the city. They plummeted into the walls with such force that the stones moaned under the blows. The swirls of green banners melted into each other as the Moorish army began to converge. The army appeared to be a pit of green flames that would reach up and lick the walls with its breath. Don Alvaro, stunned, was knocked back to reality by his aid, and ordered the men to open fire. Their arrows shrieked back in reply to the moors as the arrows sailed into their targets. Like a storm, a moorish contingent of macemen slammed into the gate of the city, crushing the wooden timbers of the doors beneath their fury. Don Alvaro ordered the boiling oil to be dropped unto the demons bellow. The searing hot black sludge was dropped from the ramparts onto the Moorish macemen, causing them look like fiery demons screaming and spitting in pain.

Another regiment of Moorish crossbowmen ran up and began firing long wooden darts at the Spaniards. They whistled by Don Alvaro, but many of them landed in the chests of the men beside him. Many of them staggered and fell off the walls onto the moors below. The trebuchets finally managed to break the gate, as the mighty mountain of stone crumbled beneath the force of these moors. The camel archers swept in the city like a wave, mercilessly killing all they encountered. Fires erupted along the buildings eventually reaching the base of the shattered walls. Don Alvaro called to the last remnants of his army but collapsed as a stray dart hit his helmet. The stone wall, cracked and broken gave one final piercing cry as it fell. Don Alvaro fell with all the rubble, cascading down the broken remnants of the wall to land with a dull thud on the ground. Don Alvaro laid there dead among the heap and the rubble. A Moorish Captain rode up quickly to the city center and placed the flag of the crescent ontop of the Christian church. The ciy had finally fallen.



So it began with the fall of Cadiz to the Moors: La Reconquista