"Never give up." ~ A review of Pelayo: King of Asturias by James Fitzhenry

Detail from a 19th century engraving of Pelayo, king of Asturias.

Almost exactly 15 years ago, I received a book in the mail entitled El Cid: God's Own Champion. When first flipping through this book, I remember thinking to myself, "This probably won't be very good." After all, it was a work by an unknown author, meant for young readers, and self-published to boot. But as it turned out, I loved it. My kids have read it—even the one with dyslexia read and enjoyed it. Since I wrote the above-linked review in 2008, I have recommended El Cid to hundreds of people.

A few years later, Mr. Fitzhenry published another equally admirable book—Saint Fernando III: A Kingdom for Christ. Much like his first book, Fitzhenry's second endeavor delved into the epic life of a Spanish hero that almost no one knows about today. Again, I found myself enchanted with the book and have recommended it numerous times. 

Shortly thereafter followed Defenders of Christendom, offering a collection of excellent capsule biographies of forgotten Catholic heroes from the crusading period. 

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By this time, I have come to have very high expectations for Mr. Fitzhenry's work, so when I received a copy of Pelayo: King of Asturias, I was ready to tear into it straight away. 

And Pelayo did not disappoint. 

Much like Fitzhenry's previous books, Pelayo tells an ancient story that is rarely heard today. It is the sobering tale of the end of Visigothic Spain—a state whose leaders had become corrupt, corpulent and cowardly. They had largely abandoned their Christian ethic and had little remaining loyalty to God or man. When confronted with a zealous, powerful enemy who wished to impose an alien culture upon them, their internal dissensions proved stronger than their desire to preserve their heritage.

Fitzhenry does a brilliant job setting the stage for Pelayo's heroism. Starting with the collapse of Visigothic Spain under the beleaguered King Roderick, Fitzhenry emphasizes the treason of those closest to the king as a contrast to the steadfast loyalty of Pelayo. At the Battle of Guadalete, the Visigoths are catastrophically defeated when part of their army commanded by renegade nobles and an apostate bishop turn on their own Christian countrymen. Following the battle, the Muslim emir, Tariq, overruns the whole kingdom. Pelayo and a remnant of loyal Visigoths retreat into the mountains of northern Spain. There, he begins his exploits—escaping from an assassination attempt, rescuing his kidnapped sister, and building up the solid core of a Christian army to resist Islam.

After finishing Pelayo: King of Asturias, I immediately began searching for the ancient sources underpinning Fitzhenry's inspiring biography. I quickly discovered that Pelayo is the hispanicized version of the name Pelagius. He is considered a Visigothic noble, but given that Pelagius is not a typical Gothic name, he likely had a Greco-Roman strain somewhere in his lineage. This makes sense given that the Spanish Visigothic kingdom was built upon the foundation of the Roman provinces of Hispania. My search eventually led to a 10th century source called The Chronicle of Alfonso III. While reading it, I discovered that Fitzhenry stayed true to the history. His description of the events surrounding the history-changing Battle of Covadonga was drawn faithfully from this ancient historical work. 

Fitzhenry's Pelayo joins El Cid and Saint Fernando III among the growing list of exceptional historical books meant to educate young Catholic men about their heritage. Angels in Iron and Crown of the World are two other examples of this counter-cultural trend—portraying distinctly Catholic heroes as what the world desperately needs. I hope that my own books about the late Roman general Belisarius are serving a similar function. 

Toward the end of the book, the author lays out the message of Pelayo's life for those of us today: 

"Never give up. Even if it seems that you struggle in complete isolation, know that you are not alone....Follow closely in the footsteps of Christ. There are many who have trod the narrow path before you, and for those who do not give up the fight, eternal glory awaits in a kingdom that is not of this world!"

During a time when many Catholic institutions have failed and our leaders seem content to bury their talents in the ground, such a message is badly needed.

"For many a year they will remember the two stout galleons of Manila." ~ The victory of the Spanish over the Dutch at the Battle of Naval de Manila, AD 1646

Illustration showing the Battle of Naval de Manila to appear in The Story of the Philippines. 

The more one delves into history, the more one is humbled by what one doesn’t know. Case in point...

March 15 is the anniversary of the beginning of a naval campaign fought between two colonial powers in the year 1646 half-a-world away from Europe. 

Having grown up in an English-speaking country, I often catch myself adopting the conventional historical view of the British navy as presented in literature and film as an unconquerable force. Their most common foes—the Spanish and the French—are normally presented as formidable but hapless. They are numerous enough to appear to be a challenge, but ineptitude, laziness and cowardice always lead to their undoing. This perspective creates an impoverished knowledge of naval history which tends to ignore instances where the naval arms of nations not Britain achieve great victories.

One such victory which I have only encountered very recently (while editing a forthcoming book entitled The Story of the Philippines by Phillip Campbell) is La Naval de Manila—a series of naval battles between the Spanish and Dutch in the Philippine archipelago that decided which European power would rule the Philippines for the next 250 years. Featuring an earthquake, desperate acts of courage, five against-all-odds battles, and a healthy amount of divine intervention, La Naval de Manila has all the elements of a fine epic novel, let alone a thrilling action-adventure movie.

The battle pitted a fleet of eighteen well-armed Dutch corsairs against the scanty forces that the Spanish could assemble to meet the threat. The aim of the Dutch was nothing less than to wrest the Philippines from the Spanish and capture their treasure fleet from New Spain (Mexico). To accomplish this feat, the Dutch organized their ships into three squadrons. These were meant to coordinate their attacks at separate points and thereby spread thin what little defense the Spanish could muster.

Further hampering the Spanish, the capital city of their Philippine possessions—Manila—was a wreck, literally. The city had been rocked four months before by a tremendous earthquake as well as several aftershocks. Describing the magnitude of the quake, Fr. Joseph Fayol, an eyewitness, wrote:

In the first shock, one hundred and fifty of the finest buildings, which in other cities would be called palaces, were totally destroyed; all the other houses were so damaged and dangerous that it has been necessary to demolish them completely. It may be said with truth that only a semblance of Manila remains....Whole Indian villages were overthrown, as their huts are built of so light materials, bamboos and palm-leaves; and hills were leveled. Rivers were dried, which afterward flowed again; others leaving their beds, inundated the villages; great fissures and even chasms, appeared in the open fields. In the Manila River, the disturbance and commotion in its waves was so great that it seemed as if they would flood all the country. [Fayol, Relation of the events on sea and land in the Filipinas Islands...]

To meet the Dutch threat, the Spanish pressed two huge galleons into service, the Encarnación and the Rosario. These already ancient vessels had recently arrived from the arduous journey from Nueva España and were in rough shape. Though ponderous, these great ships possessed a powerful array of weaponry, which was further augmented by guns stripped from forts on land, as described by Fr. Fayol:

In [the Encarnación] were mounted thirty-four pieces of artillery, all of bronze and of the reinforced class, which variously carried balls of thirty, twenty-five, and eighteen pounds. The [Rosario] was equipped with as many as thirty pieces, of the same capacity—although on account of the deficiency in this sort of artillery, it was necessary to dismantle some posts in the fortifications of this city and of Cavite.

The governor-general of the Philippines, Don Diego Fajardo, chose General Lorenzo de Orella as commander and chief of the Spanish squadron. Fr. Fayol offers this heroic description of Don Orella:

...General Lorenzo de Orella y Ugalde, a Biscayan, under whose charge the vessels had sailed from Acapulco [was chosen] not only because of his proved bravery, his experience in the art of war, and his services and commands in both the Northern and Southern Seas, as well as in these islands (particularly in Mindanao, where he fought hand-to-hand with a gigantic Moro and killed him), but because of his well-known Christian spirit of modesty—which, for success, are no less important than valor.

Not trusting to mere earthly power, however, Don Fajardo agreed to allow four priests to accompany the flotilla, two in each ship. As both ships bore religious names, they were sent forth under the protection of Our Lady, the Virgin Mary. Fr. Fayol explains:

As a result of excellent teaching and the fervor of these fathers, arrangements were made that all of the men should, in the first place, purify their consciences with the holy sacraments of penance and communion; that they should take as their special patron saint the Virgin of the Rosary; that in order to bind her further, they should vow to her a feast-day in thanksgiving for the victories which they expected to receive through her agency; and that every day all should recite their prayers aloud, on their knees, and in two choirs—the prayers of the rosary before our Lady's image, the litanies of the most holy name of Mary, and finally an act of contrition.

Beyond these acts of piety, Don Fajardo caused the Blessed Sacrament to be exposed in several churches throughout Manila from the time of the departure of the galleons until their expected return. 

When all was made as ready as temporal and spiritual efforts would allow, the Spanish ships boldly sallied forth to meet the more numerous Dutch in what should have been a very lop-sided affair. However, as Fr. Fayol admits, the Spanish had one thing going in their favor. The hoped-for coordination of the Dutch fleets failed and each one arrived on station at different times, allowing the Spanish the opportunity to fight each of them in detail. The first fleet arrived in Spanish waters in early March and were detected by the Spanish on March 15. Fr. Fayol provides an excellent account of the battle which followed, and I am only too happy to allow his voice to describe the proceedings:  

On arriving at the entrances of Mariveles, the [Spanish] ships were placed in battle array, the artillery loaded, the matches lighted and the linstocks ready, the rigging free, and other preparations made. This was done because the sentinels [on Mariveles Island] warned our men that the enemy were, with their squadron, not far from that place; and that they might expect at any moment to encounter the Dutch—although in fact the latter were not descried until the fifteenth of the said month of March. At nine o'clock in the morning of that day, our almiranta [the Rosario] which had pushed ahead of the flagship perhaps half a league, and was sailing with a northwest wind—fired two cannon-shots and lowered the maintop-sail as a signal that it descried the enemy. The flagship put about, and followed her, and from the maintop they soon saw a sail in the distance, but it was impossible to overtake it; and it soon disappeared, because it was favored by a fresher wind than our ships had.

After that, our galleons were left becalmed until one o'clock; and at that hour were descried from the flagship four hostile sails, which were sailing toward her aft, with an east wind. It was two hours before they reached the flagship, and in that space of time the men were stationed, the ships cleared, the posts reconnoitered, and all other arrangements made, both spiritual and temporal, required by the occasion. The almiranta fell two ship-lengths astern of the flagship, and in this position the ships awaited the enemy, in order to fight them.

As soon as the enemy came near, they extended all their ships, and without attempting to give a broadside to our flagship, passed, in line to larboard, and the enemy's flagship began the battle by firing a cannon. Our commander immediately commanded that response be made with two shots—one with a thirty-pound ball and a cylinder of the same weight, which tore open all their cutwater at the bow. The enemy's ship went on in this condition, and the others continued to exchange shots with our flagship. Recognizing their own strength, the enemy tried to approach the almiranta, which they supposed was not so well armed, being a smaller ship. But they were received with equal valor and spirit on our side, our vessels firing so often and throwing so many balls that they could not be counted.

The fight lasted about five hours, and the mortality and damage were so great that all the anxiety that the heretics had felt to reach our ships when they thought to conquer us was now directed to separating themselves from us. They anxiously awaited the night, which was now approaching, to make their cowardly escape, which they did with lights extinguished. But the enemy's almiranta did not succeed in doing this in safety. It had been the most persistent in the attack upon our flagship, and remained to our leeward. It was so badly damaged that its cannon could not be fired, and hardly could it flee. Our ship was so near it that our commander had the men ready at the bow to board the Dutch ship, but the darkness of night forced us to abandon the chase, on account of the danger from the shoals which the pilots declared were in that place. It was noticed that the enemy did not use lanterns as they had formerly done, seeking protection for their armada. Our commander ordered that they be used in our ships, and that the lights be allowed to shine very brightly, in order that the enemy might come to look for us.

Our people fully intended to renew the pursuit at daybreak, to finish their defeat, but when day came our two galleons found themselves alone, and did not know what course the enemy had taken. They followed the Dutch, in the direction which they thought most probable, as far as Cape Bojeador, which is at the farthest end of this island of Manila. From there our ships returned, as the coasts were now secure, to the port of Bolinao, in order to send to this city dispatches announcing the result of the battle.

This was regarded as a brilliant victory, not only because of the disparity in the number of ships, but because of the little damage our side had sustained. In that battle not a man was killed, and comparatively few were wounded. It was evident that the enemy's loss was great, although we could not then ascertain it correctly. But afterwards we learned that many had been killed and wounded, and that two of their vessels were rendered useless. 

This Spanish victory was only the first in a series of battles which would take place over the next seven months. In each, the elderly Spanish galleons would prove too much for their nimble Dutch adversaries, continuously repulsing their attacks but proving too slow and poorly manned to capture them. 

After the third battle, Don Orella retired and was replaced by Don Sebastian Lopez who was in command of the Spanish ships when the Dutch made their final effort in October of 1646. This battle again ended in failure for the Dutch whose flagship was barely able to escape after a severe mauling. This repulse effectively ended Dutch pretensions in the Philippines. Fr. Fayol concludes his accounts of the battles, saying: 

All these exploits are worthy of great praise...According to the estimate made by well-informed persons, although we fired, in these battles, over 2,000 cannon-shots, and the enemy over five thousand, we had only fourteen killed, and comparatively few wounded. While the enemy, besides the vessels which we sank, arrived at their forts so damaged, and had lost so many men, that for many a year they will remember the two stout galleons of Manila....

Thanksgiving was celebrated by a solemn fiesta, a procession, divine worship, and [a parade of] the squadron, with other demonstrations in fulfillment of the vow made to the Virgin of the Rosary, the city making a new vow to continue this anniversary every year.

[All of the above quotes are taken from Fray Joseph Fayol's Relation of the events on sea and land in the Filipinas Islands during the recent years, until the earthquake and destruction on the feast of St. Andrews in 1645; and the battles and naval victories over the Dutch in 1646. The English translation of this work is taken from The Philippine Islands, 1493-1898, Volumes 34-35, edited by Emma Helen Blair, James Alexander Robertson, 1906.]

The image of Our Lady of La Naval de Manila.

And indeed, this the Fiesta of La Naval de Manila continues to be celebrated in the Philippines to this day. The feast includes a procession of the statue of Our Lady of the Most Holy Rosary of La Naval de Manila, a life-sized figure of the Blessed Virgin that predates the battles, having been carved from elephant ivory in AD 1593. A look at the historical celebration of this feast and the statue of our Lady may be found here. 

Given the circumstances of the battles, the victories were declared miraculous in nature by the Archdiocese of Manila in 1662. Pope St. Pius X bestowed a canonical crown upon the image in 1907, while Ven. Pius XII recognized the image in an Apostolic letter sent on the 300th anniversary of the victories in 1946. Pope St. John Paul II blessed the statue at a public Mass during his visit to the Philippines in 1981.

The Rebel Usurper who Became a Saint ~ Saint Hermengild, prince of Visigothic Spain

Saint Hermengild with the angels in Heaven, by Corrado Giaquinto , AD 1757

On April 13, AD 585, the Visigothic prince, Hermengild, was slain while in prison. His crimes were multitudinous. To begin with, he had rebelled against his father, King Leovigild. He made alliances with his father’s enemies, the Seuvi and the Byzantines, both of whom had strong presences on the Iberian peninsula and sought gains at the expense of King Leovigild. Hermengild was subsequently betrayed by the Byzantines who made a separate peace with Leovigild in exchange for a tribute in gold. The young prince and his remaining forces were soon defeated by the king and he was made prisoner. His father forgave him, but within a year of his pardon, Hermengild rebelled again, calling forth the neighboring Franks to come to his aid against his father. This enterprise was no more successful than the first attempt, and Hermengild was again thrown into prison, this time to be killed at his father’s order.

Given this wretched story of intra-familial intrigue and political double-dealing, how did someone like Hermengild come to be recognized as a Saint of the Catholic Church? Of course, there is a religious aspect to the story that makes it even more fascinating, pathetic, and ultimately heroic. 

Similar to all of his predecessors in Visigothic Spain, King Leovigild was an Arian ruling over a predominantly Catholic kingdom. Upon taking the throne in AD 569, he also found himself surrounded by powerful potential enemies. The Byzantines and Suevi have already been mentioned above. But the most dangerous of Leovigild’s enemies was the nearby Catholic kingdom of the Merovingian Franks. In order to neutralize this threat, Leovigild did what monarchs have done throughout the centuries—he sought a matrimonial alliance, marrying his son, Hermengild, to the Catholic Frankish princess, Ingundis. This was no novel idea as Leovigild himself had been married to a Catholic princess named Theodosia. Theodosia became the mother of Hermengild and his brother Reccared, both of whom were raised as Arians but, no doubt, with strong Catholic sympathies. Theodosia later perished, and was replaced as queen by a woman named Goswintha. Unlike her predecessor, however, Goswintha was a fanatical Arian who soon came into conflict with her step-daughter-in-law, Ingundis, who utterly and steadfastly refused to abandon her Catholic faith.

The intensity of this feminine conflict eventually led to both Ingundis and Hermengild leaving the Visigothic capital of Toledo at the contrivance of King Leovigild who empowered his son as viceroy of Baetica with a court at Seville. 

There was one problem with this move, which effectively cemented Hermengild’s position as crown prince of Visigothic Spain—Seville was the see of the Leander, a zealous, brilliant and powerful Catholic bishop. Leander was also, apparently, the brother of the deceased queen Theodosia and therefore the uncle of Hermengild [See Dialogues of St. Gregory the Great, Book III, Note 32). Within a short time, Hermengild publicly abandoned the Arianism of his youth and embraced the Catholicism of his wife and uncle.

When King Leovigild heard of his son’s conversion, he immediately summoned him back to Toledo. Fearing his step-mother’s fanaticism and his father’s history of severe treatment of Catholics, Hermengild refused the summons and decided to take up arms instead. In this effort, he was encouraged by Leovigild’s enemies on the Iberian peninsula who soon joined his banner. However, as mentioned above, these allies were neither trustworthy nor militarily able to resist the capable martial efforts of Leovigild who put down the rebellion in short order, besieging Hermengild in Seville for two years. When the city finally fell, Hermengild fled to Cordoba and sought sanctuary in a church. He was eventually drawn forth with promises of forgiveness from the king, transmitted to him by his own brother, Reccared.

Once in the king’s power, however, Hermengild was stripped of his royal robes and sent into banishment at Valencia. His wife Ingunthis, meanwhile, escaped to Roman Africa along with her son, Athanagild. She attempted to reach Constantinople, but perished on the journey, her young son arriving alone to be cared for by the court of the emperor Maurice. It is said that Hermengild again tried to raise a rebellion from his place of exile but was again thwarted by forces loyal to his father.

After this second attempt, it seems that Leovigild decided that his son would have to renounce his conversion to orthodox Catholicism and again become Arian. Writing in his Dialogues, Saint Gregory the Great relates the rest of the story which he likely heard from the lips of Leander himself while the two men were together in Constantinople some years later:

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The young Prince [Hermengild], upon his conversion, his father [Leovigild], being an Arian, labored both by large promises and terrible threats to draw again to his former error. But when most constantly his son answered, that he would never forsake the true faith which he had once embraced, his father in great anger took away his kingdom, and besides deprived him of all wealth and riches. And perceiving that, with all this, his mind was nothing moved, he committed him to straight prison, laying irons both upon his neck and hands. 

Upon this, the young king Hermengild began now to contemn his earthly kingdom, and to seek with great desire after the kingdom of heaven: and lying in prison fast bound, he prayed to almighty God in hair-cloth to send him heavenly comfort. And so much the more did he despise the glory of this transitory world, by how much he knew himself in that case that he had now nothing that could be taken from him.

When the solemn feast of Easter was come, his wicked father sent unto him in the dead of the night an Arian bishop, to give him the communion of a sacrilegious consecration, that he might thereby again recover his father's grace and favor. But the man of God, as he ought, sharply reprehended that Arian bishop which came unto him, and giving him such entertainment as his deserts required, utterly rejected him. For albeit outwardly he lay there in bands, yet inwardly to himself he stood secure in the height of his own soul. 

The father, at the return of the Arian prelate, understanding these news, fell into such a rage that forthwith he sent his officers of execution to put to death that most constant confessor, in the very prison where he lay. And the unnatural and bloody commandment was performed accordingly, for so soon as they came into the prison, they clave his brains with an hatchet, and so bereaved him of mortal life, having only power to take that from him which the holy martyr made small account of. 

Afterward, for the publishing of his true glory to the world, there wanted not miracles from heaven: for in the night time singing was heard at his body. Some also report that, in the night, burning lamps were seen in that place, by reason whereof his body, as of him that was a martyr, was worthily worshipped of all Christian people. But the wicked father and murderer of his own son, albeit he was sorry that he had put him to death, yet was not his grief of that quality that it brought him to the state of salvation. For although he knew very well that the Catholic faith was the truth, yet, for fear of his people, he never deserved to be a professor thereof. [Taken from, The Dialogues of Saint Gregory the Great, Book III, Chapter 31]

So it seems that the execution of Hermengild affected his father to the extent that he later regretted it. Some sources, such as Gregory the Great above, claim that though he mourned his son, Leovigild did not convert to Catholicism before his death. Others, including Gregory of Tours, maintain that he did finally renounce Arianism.

Saint Leander by Corrado Giaquinto, AD 1757

The death of Hermengild in AD 585 ended up bearing good fruit for the Catholics in Visigothic Spain. Following the death of King Leovigild the next year, Hermengild’s brother Reccared became king. Under the auspices of Bishop Leander, King Reccared accepted the Catholic faith and formally abandoned Arianism. Most of the Visigothic nobility followed his example and thus Spain became a Catholic kingdom for the next century until the arrival of the Moors.

As for Hermengild, he would be formally recognized as a saint of the Catholic Church 1,000 years after his death, canonized by Pope Sixtus V in AD 1585. A hymn to Saint Hermengild written in verse by Pope Urban VIII reads in part:

By no blandishments could thy father seduce thee
Nor wert thou captivated by the leisure of a life of affluence,
Nor by the sparkling of gems,
Nor by the desire of reigning.

The sharp edge of the sword, with dire threats,
Did not terrify thee, nor did the destructive rage of the executioner
For thou didst prefer the abiding joys
Of the Blessed to transitory ones.

[Taken from: Hymns of the Breviary and Missal, edited by Matthew Britt, 1922]

Saint Fernando III ~ Spain's great Catholic king

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"Christ redeemed us on the hard arms of the Cross, and His knight will not serve Him in any other way." 

 ~Saint Fernando III, King of Castile and Leon

Few saints embody the three pillars of Lent as well as Saint Fernando III. In fact, it may be accurately said that he lived via prayer, fasting and almsgiving all year long, not just during the holy season.

Though little remembered today, Saint Fernando III (1198-1252) was perhaps the greatest king of Castile and Leon. Via his military prowess, he recovered large territories in Spain from Islam, while remaining personally pious and just toward the citizens of his kingdom. He made it an especial goal to keep taxes as low as possible and is credited by the Catholic Encyclopedia as saying that he had greater fear of the curses of one old woman than of a whole army of Saracens.

Saint Fernando was the father of seven children--six sons and a daughter--and was personally virtuous. He fasted regularly, did penance for his sins and spent nights in prayer before battle. He also insisted that his soldiers be virtuous, and had a deep personal devotion to the Blessed Virgin.

His incorrupt remains may be seen to this day on display in the Cathedral of Seville in Spain.

We are fortunate that an outstanding modern biography of this saint is available: Saint Fernando III: A Kingdom for Christ by James Fitzhenry. Here is a snippet of a review I wrote some years ago for this book:

"Everything he did, he offered to God without reservation. In his willingness to suffer personal hardships, unfailing mercy toward his enemies, love for his wife and children, and care for the poor and afflicted, St. Fernando was a model of Christian virtue. In his everyday life, and especially when he faced a crisis, he turned to the Virgin and believed to the depths of his soul that she would intercede for him. And based on the magnificent achievements of his life, who can doubt that she did?... in short, this book is a gem. St. Fernando III is a Catholic hero who deserves to be more widely known."

If you would like to purchase a copy of this book, you can get it at The Young Catholic's Bookshelf.