King Alfonso VI El Jabalí
King Alfonso the sixth of Castilla,
Feared in Portucale and south of Sebilla,
And beloved by every guerrilla,
Who fought against the Moor.
Leon disunited in chaos,
And Sancho thought fit to betray us,
And we all ready to repay thus,
He reminded us then of God's law.
He went to Leon, to Raimundo,
Who governed the province there then,
And gave young Blanca to this man though,
He demanded a levy of men.
For Leon bred the famous Jinete,
Certainly, admirably skilled,
And the dread of all Moors who had met a,
Similar man on the field.
And Sancho the first we discovered,
To be clement for previous wrongs,
When he allied with our beloved,
Our king and the heart of my songs.
Leon remained loyal to none,
Who to Leon did not belong,
And despite what Alfonso had done,
The peace was yet uneasy.
Funds were not forthcoming,
Whilst this rebelliousness was humming,
And without a source of money,
No smith in Castile was busy.
Yusuf the son marched through Cordoba,
When Alfonso the son was maturing,
And the king made known his thought over,
How best God's might to Yusuf bring.
Levies of sturdy militia,
Had he made with intent to war,
Though hardly did these men relish a,
Clash with the embittered Moor.
The herald of many a court,
Came west to enjoin on the king,
He answered they'd see no support,
While he fevered of the Moorish sting.
Now with men who numbered nine hundred,
Despite the plights at home,
South into Cordoba he thundered,
In spite of Sancho's gnome.
To the port of Granada he chased them,
And they fled like ravens away,
And except in the forts he erased them,
Their soldiers filled with dismay.
When Sancho the son was ridden,
From Castilla to join with his father,
The design was no longer hidden,
The idea to pursue Yusuf farther.
Then across Gibraltar we came,
To an arid and unfriendly shore,
Where prince Ali defended the same,
As we had defended before.
Alfonso the boar then led us,
With raised hackles against the crescent,
Which flew above all those who met us,
The body of all we resent.
Then at his command we attacked,
And pushed up against the African,
Who with spears were hard barracked,
And prepared to force us back again.
Then Alfonso our liege and comrade,
Tipped his lance against the Moor,
With odds against which none had stayed,
He charged stubbornly forth like the boar.
But many Leonese who had tired,
Long since of leaving their land,
Found but one zeal in battle fired,
The zeal to flee and not stand.
And for a moment it seemed we had lost,
When most all were sounding retreat,
We broke our hearts and thought of the cost,
Then brought victory out of defeat.
For regrouped on the left we collapsed,
The battered right flank of the blacks,
And ere a moment elapsed,
Every one of them yielded their backs.
Then to a man we hunted Yusuf,
With Alfonso already beside,
That dogged wretch who, fleet of hoof,
Left all of his men in his stride.
And when the fighting was ended,
And we felt of fight bereft,
We returned to the field extended,
And found nary a man to be left.
For we'd killed nearly every last Moor,
And even the prisoners in store,
But when we'd retired from gore,
Very few were still bearing the banners.
And we hadn't the strength then to face,
The Khaliph, and more of his race,
So we returned to Spain in disgrace,
To hear of still worsening manners.
Alfonso had lost old Leon,
To the force of de la Agreda,
Who from Portucale came to stay on,
As governor there to dictate her.
Sebilla was finally won,
And Castilla was still Castillan,
Though could Iberia be overrun,
By a western army of over a million?
Alfonso then turned to faith,
To assist us in defending the realm,
To carry us fast like a wraith,
As we fought foes with Christ at the helm.
With what meagre masonry afforded,
He set us to raising up walls,
In Castilla and Cordoba we hoarded,
What produce would fit in the stalls.
And all money he spent on churches,
With sponsoring Orders of knights,
While our children were raised as urchins,
That he might lead us to bloodier fights.
His sons Fernando and Garc,
Had hardly reached mature age,
And the realm brought out of the dark,
When his life wrote then its last page.
His hope to crusade was crushed,
And Castilla perhaps left in peril,
Yet his army lived and flushed,
Out all trace of the muslim feral.
With Leon safely returned,
And his mind firmly on heaven,
His body was mournfully burned,
In eleven hundred and eleven.
Memorabiliae Regnorum Caravelis
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It's lyric!
Originally Posted by huth
Thank you again.
The Caravel Mod: a (very much) improved
vanilla MTW/VI v2.1 early campaign
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