In the eighth century no bishop seems to have existed in Salamanca; in the tenth, date of a partial reëstablishment of the see, seven prelates are mentioned; these did not, however, risk their skins by taking possession of their chair, but lived quietly in the north, either in Santiago—farther north they could not go!—or else in Leon and Burgos. The eleventh century is again devoid of any ecclesiastical news connected with the see of Salamanca; what is more, the very name of the city is forgotten until Alfonso VI. crossed the Guaderrama and fixed his court in Toledo. This bold step, taken in a hostile country far from the centre of the kingdom and from his base of operations, obliged the monarch to erect with all speed a series of fortresses to the north; as a result, Salamanca, Segovia, and Avila, beyond the Guaderrama Mountains, and Madrid to the south, were quickly populated by Christians.[{254}]
This occurred in 1102; the first bishop de modernis was Jeronimo, a French warrior-monk, who had accompanied his bosom friend el Cid to Valencia, had fought beside him, and had been appointed bishop of the conquered see. Not for any length of time, however, for as soon as el Cid died, the Moors drove the Christians out of the new kingdom, and the bishop came to Leon with the Cristo de las Batallas,—a miraculous cross of old Byzantine workmanship, supposed to have aided the Cid in many a battle,—as the only souvenir of his stay in the Valencian see.
The next four or five bishops fought among themselves. At one time the city had no fewer than two, a usurper, and another who was not much better; the Pope deprived one of his dignity, the king another, the influential Archbishop of Santiago chose a third, who was also deposed—the good old times!—until at last one Berengario was appointed, and the ignominious conflict was peacefully settled.
The inhabitants of the city at the beginning were a strong, warlike medley of Jews (these were doubtless the least warlike!), Arabs, Aragonese, Castilian, French, and[{255}] Leonese. Bands of these without a commander invaded Moorish territory, sacking and pillaging where they could. On one occasion they were pursued by an Arab army, whose general asked to speak with the captain of the Salamantinos. The answer was, "Each of us is his own captain!" words that can be considered typical of the anarchy which reigned in Spain until the advent of Isabel and Ferdinand in the fifteenth century.
If the bishops fought among themselves, and if the low class people lived in a state of utter anarchy, the same spirit spread to—or emanated from—the nobility, of whom Salamanca had more than its share, especially as soon as the university was founded. The annals of no other city are so replete with family traditions and feuds, which were not only restricted to the original disputers, to their families and acquaintances, but became generalized among the inhabitants themselves, who took part in the feud. Thus it often happened that the city was divided into two camps, separated by an imaginary line, and woe betide the daring or careless individual who crossed it!
One of the most dramatic of these feuds—a [{256}]savage species of vendetta—was the following:
Doña Maria Perez, a Plasencian dame of noble birth, had married one of the most powerful noblemen in Salamanca, Monroy by name, and upon the latter's death remained a widowed mother of two sons. One of them asked and obtained in marriage the hand of a noble lady who had refused a similar proposition made by one Enriquez, son of a Sevillan aristocrat. The youth's jealousy and anger was therefore bitterly aroused, and he and his brother waited for a suitable opportunity in which to avenge themselves. It soon came: they were playing Spanish ball, pelota, one day with the accepted suitor, when a dispute arose as to who was the better player; the two brothers fell upon their victim and foully murdered him. But afraid lest his brother should venge the latter's death, they lay in wait for him behind a street corner, and as he came along they rapidly killed him as they had his brother. Then they fled across the frontier to Portugal.
The two corpses had in the meantime been carried on a bier by the crowds and laid down in front of Doña Maria's house; the latter[{257}] stepped out on the balcony, with dishevelled hair; an angry murmur went from one end of the crowd to the other, and a universal clamour arose: vengeance was on every one's lips. But Doña Maria commanded silence.
"Be calm," she said, "and take these bodies to the cathedral. Vengeance? Fear not, I shall venge myself."
An hour later she left the town with an escort, apparently with a view to retire to her estates near Plasencia. Once well away from the city, she divulged her plan to the escort and asked if they were willing to follow her. Receiving an affirmative reply, she tore off her woman's clothes and appeared dressed in full armour; placing a helmet on her head, she took the lead of her troops again, and set out for the Portuguese frontier.