“Many a man was taken prisoner,” says Marineo, “whose relations ransomed him no less dearly than if he had been a captive of the Moors or of some other enemy of the Holy Catholic Faith.”
In a letter, written in the autumn of 1473, Hernando de Pulgar portrays no less clearly the absolute negation of government in Southern Spain. Andalusia is the prey of rival families; for the moment they have consented to a truce, but none knows whether the exhausted land will bear, nor who will reap the harvest. As to the neighbouring province of Murcia, “I dare swear, Señor,” adds Pulgar, “that we look on it as a country more alien than Navarre, seeing that it is now over five years since letter, messenger, procurador, or magistrate, either went or came from thence.”
Amid such scenes of anarchy, the mass of the people made what shift they could to protect their lives and goods. In their despair, “God,” in the words of the chronicler, “inspired them,” so that they endeavoured to take the justice that had been denied them into their own hands. Here and there throughout the country troops of armed men were raised who, under the title of “La Santa Hermandad,” or “Holy Brotherhood,” bound themselves to maintain the peace of their district and to punish evildoers.
The idea was not original. Introduced towards the end of the thirteenth century as a political expedient, the organization of local levies had developed as the years passed into a recognized means of providing armed police in times of danger or distress. Yet, in spite of charters and laws determining its functions and resources, the Holy Brotherhood had never hardened in practice into a permanent institution. It depended too largely for its upkeep on a class of men, whose sole interest was the preservation of the commerce and industry by which they earned their livelihood. Only the anxiety of the moment could persuade such peace-loving citizens either to take arms themselves, or to buy immunity by opening their shallow purses. Thus, when the crisis of any disturbance was over, enthusiasm for the scheme of protection would almost certainly wane; and the police-machinery either collapse or waste its energies in contentions with local magistrates.
Henry IV. had joyfully welcomed the reappearance of the “Santa Hermandad.” Here was an ally to whom he could leave the summary administration of justice that he found so irksome, and for whose maintenance he need not beggar his exchequer. When told of a brotherhood formed at Tordesillas, he exclaimed with his usual glib quotation of scripture: “This is God’s doing and it is marvellous in our eyes.” Acknowledging his own helplessness, he addressed the chief officials in terms of encouragement that for all their extravagance cost him little:
Go forth with your pennons! Display your banners! That ten may conquer a hundred, and that a hundred may be as a thousand, and that a thousand may quell all who come against you. For should you not go, Castile will cease to be. Should you not rouse yourselves her ruin is certain.
Whether the Hermandad, thus exhorted, found the praise satisfying chroniclers do not say. In the face of the almost universal anarchy, purely local efforts, whether inspired by panic or genuine patriotism, were doomed to failure: and when the horrors of a foreign invasion were added to domestic discord, the last feeble attempts at self-defence flickered out into helplessness.
In this extremity the new sovereigns, recognizing that the restoration of order must originate with them, consented in the Cortes of Madrigal of 1476 to a proposal that there should be a general Hermandad for the kingdoms of Castile, Leon, and Asturias. Two months later the deputies, assembled in Dueñas, discussed its organization and character, the authors of the suggested reform meeting at first with stormy opposition. Some present denounced the methods under question as entirely wrong, while others complained that the good to be reaped would not balance the necessary expenditure; but in the end all such arguments were overridden, and the Santa Hermandad was established for three years on its new basis.
The executive was to consist of some two thousand horsemen and a number of foot-soldiers to be held in perpetual readiness to pursue and punish evildoers. At the head of this force was placed Ferdinand’s illegitimate brother, Alfonso, Duke of Villahermosa; and below him captains for each locality, whose business it was to raise the hue and cry, as soon as a well-authenticated tale of crime came to their ears.
Wherever there was a case of burglary or rape; wherever, in the open country some assault or act of violence was perpetrated; or if the offender, having committed his crime within the precincts of a town, fled for safety to the woods and fields beyond the walls; or if, being charged with some offence, he resisted the summons, the matter fell within the jurisdiction of the local Hermandad.