Dungeons Along the Camino

Francisco de Quevedo wearing the Cross of Santiago

Writers are keenly aware that their words, when used without restraint, can create trouble. That's why most writers censor themselves. It is a key exercise when navigating through troubled waters.

Some writers, however, exhibit little fear of upsetting readers. In fact, dueling by way of the written word seems to be the stimulus they need to fuel their genius.

Francisco de Quevedo was one such writer.

Born in Madrid in 1580, Francisco de Quevedo, along with his archrival Luis de Góngora, are considered the greatest poets of Spain's Golden Age of literature. Nevertheless, while Góngora, the elder of the two, was a somber person who took his craft seriously, Quevedo, for his entire life, behaved as an enfant terrible. Although he wrote well in every genre, he also produced a vast amount of satirical pieces aimed directly at anyone he considered a rival, such as Góngora, or an inferior, such as the dramatist Juan Ruiz de Alarcón. Because of his propensity toward publicly ridiculing others, even Quevedo's closest friends remained on guard.

Yet his talent was undeniable. Lope de Vega and Miguel de Cervantes, the two most highly regarded writers of Spain's Golden Age, befriended Quevedo and praised his intellect. What's more, because Quevedo was of noble birth, he had received the best education possible. Thanks to his superb intelligence and quick mind, the royal court repeatedly gave him special assignments. With time, to reward his services, Quevedo was made a Knight of the Order of Santiago--an organization akin to the Templars but exclusively devoted to defending the Catholic faith as well as pilgrims who traveled along the Camino de Santiago.

Still, Quevedo's biting wit and his irascible nature kept getting him into trouble. He was exiled from the royal court twice, but was eventually welcomed back. The third time, however, proved disastrous for him.

Because of a note Quevedo wrote against the Count of Olivares, he was sentenced to five years in prison. Quevedo invoked his right as a knight to be confined in a monastery of the Order of Santiago. His proposal was accepted on the condition that he remain locked in the dungeon of the San Marcos monastery, located on the outskirts of the city of Leon.

The section of the Monastery of San Marcos 

where Quevedo was held. 

The Camino passes directly in front of the former monastery, which now houses a museum and the five-star Parador de San Marcos, which appears in the film "The Way." 

The former monastery and Spanish Civil War prison 

is now a luxury hotel. 

Quevedo spent three years there before being pardoned. While imprisoned, he wrote three studies on theology, a subject dear to him. But by the time of his release, his once indomitable spirit had been broken, and his body was also failing due to the harsh conditions he faced while in the dungeon. He died less than two years later.

The monastery where Quevedo was held prisoner, (the dungeon no longer exists), was used once again as a prison--this time as a concentration camp where Francisco Franco held opponents of his regime.

And so it is that one also encounters heartbreaking tales while walking the Camino de Santiago.

The author and Quevedo hanging out in the 

Barrio de los Literatos in Madrid.

In the Shadow of El Cid

Burgos' regal character becomes evident the moment a pilgrim sees its medieval entryway. Indeed, Burgos is the historic capital of Castilla and, as such, it occupies a position of power in the soul of Spain.

Portrait of El Cid in Burgos museum

In the heart of this position resides Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar, better known as El Cid, meaning The Lord, a moniker given to him by the Moors because of his prowess leading armies in the open battlefield.

El Cid, who lived between 1040 and 1099, is the hero of the first epic poem written in Spanish, El poema del Mio Cid. This work, of author unknown, is part of every curriculum in the Spanish speaking world. Because of this, El Cid's shadow looms large not only over Spain, but also over Latin America. In reading the poem, students come to view Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar as a courageous, moral leader who respects the law and remains loyal to his king, even under trying circumstances. Moreover, through the glorifying treatment El Cid receives in the poem, he becomes the symbol of La Reconquista, the taking back of the Iberian peninsula from Muslim occupiers, as well as the subsequent unification of Spain.

El Cid and his wife Ximena are buried in the Burgos Cathedral

As a result of the milenial propagation of El Cid's legend, Spaniards have been expected throughout the centuries to cherish the values he espoused. During my pilgrimage, however, I've been witness to a large fissure in the idea of a unified Spain. 

On September 27, as I sat in a restaurant, I observed the concerned faces of the patrons as they watched the results of elections in Catalonia where a pro-secession party won the majority of seats in the region's parliament. This now sets up a showdown between Spain's central government and Catalans who want to create an independent nation. If they should succeed, the Basque people will follow suit and Spain as we have known it for centuries will cease to exist.

And so, as the question of a divided Spain looms large in Europe's future, the heroic figure of El Cid holding his sword while charging on his trusted horse Babieca seems, at present, to be facing his most challenging battle: to hold this precious nation together.

Stepping on History.

Along the Camino de Santiago, in the heart of the lovely walled city of Viana, is the Iglesia de Santa María de la Asunción. On the church premises, inside the gate but right before the entrance to the building, is a marble marker. 

The uninformed pilgrim will walk over the plaque in a rush to view the church's beautiful baroque interior, never suspecting that their feet are stepping on the tomb of one of the most notorious figures in European history.
The man buried there, who was born in September 1475, was power-hungry and ruthless. He was capable of bribery, deceit, murder and, if one is to believe the rumors that circulated in his lifetime, incest. He had a close relationship with Nicholo Machiavelli and provided the main source of inspiration for The Prince. He was named a cardinal in the Catholic Church at age 19. He was Pope Alexander VI's main advisor, as well as his son. He resigned the cardinalcy at age 21 to become one of Europe's most successful military commanders. His exploits, as well as those of his family, have inspired novels, films, and television series. What's more, in a theory that scholars are increasingly embracing, when Pope Alexander VI decided that portraits of Jesus needed to make him look more Caucasian, as opposed to Semitic, his son, then considered the most handsome man in Italy, became the model for the image of the Nazarene we're familiar with today.

The question then becomes, why is Cesare Borgia buried outside of a church in a small town along the Camino de Santiago?

After his father's death from malaria, Cesare's fortunes fell on hard times. Although Machiavelli considered him a superb statesman, the former cardinal had trouble holding on to his considerable domains without papal patronage. What added to Cesare's misfortunes was that the new pope, Giuliano Della Rovere, better known in history as Julius III, was the Borgias' most deadly enemy.

With the new pope leading the conspiracy against him, Cesare was imprisoned, exiled to Spain--the country of his father's origin--and the papacy took over his extensive land holdings.

Cesare managed to escape from prison, fled to Pamplona, and joined his brother-in-law, King John III of Navarra, who was in desperate need of a military commander to fight off an expected Castilian invasion.

At once, Cesare set off to recapture Viana, then in the hands of a Navarran ally of Ferdinand II of Aragon. Cesare's force of Basque soldiers captured the town without much resistance, but not the castle. He organized a siege, but when a mule convoy with provisions made it through during a severe storm, and then a party of knights escaped, Cesare became furious. He ordered his soldiers to pursue the knights, but since he was already mounted, he had a considerable headstart. When the knights realized that Cesare Borgia was on his own, they ambushed him, piercing his body 27 times with swords, lances, and knives.

King John III buried his brother-in-law and military leader in Viana's main church, behind the altar in an elaborate marble mausoleum. 

But the story doesn't end there.

The locals say that a bishop of Calahorra who hated the Borgias decided that such a "degenerate" was undeserving of a church tomb. He ordered the mausoleum dismantled and Cesare's remains to be buried in the middle of the street where everyone could trample on him.

It wasn't until 1953 that a group of historians succeeded in securing a more respectable site for Cesare's remains. Although he was not allowed inside of the building, he now rests on hallowed grounds. And so ends yet another of many stories one encounters along the Camino de Santiago.

A Camino Encounter

"You are what?!" I asked, not sure I had heard Pedro Pablo Pérez García correctly.

"I'm a Banderillero lidiador," he repeated.

His answer took me back to my adolescence in Nicaragua, when on Sunday afternoons during the siesta hour, and only a handful were watching, the lone television station in the nation broadcasted bullfights taped in Mexico. It was during those quiet weekends that I learned to appreciate bullfighting.

That's why, when Pedro repeated the answer, I knew at once that his job during a bullfight was to stab the bull with banderillas--decorated short lances--to help lower the animal's neck in order to give the matador a fighting chance during the faena and then the kill.

"How does one become banderillero?" I asked Pedro--a native of Mérida, in the region of Extremadura.

"My grandfather was a matador who fans knew as El Hueverito. And my father was a real aficionado who encouraged me to become a bullfighter. As a youth, I enjoyed success as a novillero--an apprentice who works with steers. I was good, but not good enough to become a matador. But more than anything I wanted to be part of this profession, so I became a banderillero, and this has given me my livelihood for almost thirty years. I've now been walking the Camino for four years straight during the off season to burn the excess adrenaline and stay in shape.

During my pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela, I've met pilgrims from a wide range of professions, but none as unique as Pedro's.

"Have you ever been gored?" I asked, somewhat hesitantly.

"Twice," he answered, with a hint of a grimace. "The first time was minor, in the left calf. The second time, however, it was another matter. Because of my carelessness, the bull caught me in the left thigh, but this time he lifted me in the air and caught me full force again on the right side of my chest."

Pedro then lifted his shirt to show me a horrifying scar that started below his ribcage and ended at his armpit.

"The goring punctured my lung and my liver. The doctor who operated on me didn't think I would survive. I spent a month recovering in the hospital before they allowed me to go home to my family." 

"Was it difficult to return to the bullring?" I asked.

"That is the moment of truth for any bullfighter. The slightest sign of fear and one's career is over. Fortunately, I passed the test with flying colors," he said with a smile.

I had one last question for Pedro, which I asked somewhat reluctantly because I knew he would react strongly.

"Pedro, outside of Spain, most people want bullfighting banned. They argue that it's an antiquated and cruel sport."

Pedro Pablo Pérez García waved his hand in exasperation and said, "There are far more important things for the world to worry about: famine, wars, the widespread availability of highly destructive weapons. Bullfighting is a spectacle that goes back long before recorded history. It's engrained in the soul of the people of Spain. It's not going away any time soon."