Sunday, November 25, 1005.
The chapel bells began to ring, their echo resonating through the stone walls of the castle and reaching every corner like a celestial call.
In the kitchen, the servants who were in the midst of preparing the meal, left their utensils and hurried to finish their tasks. The still-steaming pots were removed from the fire, and the freshly baked breads were placed in wicker baskets, covered with white cloths to keep them warm.
Through the corridors, the sound of hurried footsteps filled the air as the servants made their way to their quarters. There was a shared urgency, a desire to present oneself before the Lord not just in spirit but also in attire appropriate for the occasion.
In their quarters, each shed their work clothes, worn and stained from the toil of day-to-day life, and dressed in their best finery.
The men donned linen shirts, wide breeches to the knee, a simple vest or doublet, and woolen stockings that covered the legs up to the knee, with simple leather shoes on their feet.
The women, meanwhile, dressed in long, loose gowns made of linen fabric, with long, tight sleeves. Over the dress, they wore an apron to protect it from stains and dirt. To cover their heads, they used a simple kerchief or coif. As for footwear, they wore simple leather shoes.
As the last notes of the bells faded into the air, a procession of servants, now transformed into devout congregants, began to form. Together, they headed towards the chapel with the promise of communion and spiritual reflection.
Arriving at the giant open wooden doors, everyone except Maria entered. Maria stayed outside waiting for the twins.
As the servants entered, what they saw was a chapel that inspired reverence and humility. The wooden pews, worn by use but solid, were arranged in two sections, one to the left and one to the right, with a carpet that stretched from the entrance to the altar, marking the central aisle. The carpet, though faded by time, still showed traces of its former splendor, with intricate patterns inviting one to follow its path to the sacred altar.
The chapel's ceiling was a canvas where frescoes of celestial scenes unfolded. Angels with outstretched wings and saints in attitudes of prayer were painted with such detail that they seemed ready to detach and ascend to heaven. These images, though somewhat faded by age, continued to tell their sacred stories to all who looked up.
The altarpiece behind the altar was a majestic piece, carved in dark wood and gilded at key points, depicting various scenes from the life of Christ. Each carved figure was a testament to the craftsmanship and religious devotion of the community that had contributed to its creation.
To one side of the altar, a wooden lectern held a large open book, its yellowed pages and worn edges showing the passage of years and constant use in each service. The lectern, carved with motifs echoing those of the altarpiece, was both a functional piece of furniture and a work of art.
The organ, located in a raised corner of the chapel, was an imposing instrument with pipes that rose towards the ceiling like silver columns. Although used only on special occasions, its presence added a sense of solemnity and grandeur to the room.
Daylight filtered through the stained glass windows, casting multicolored patches of light on the stone floor and the faces of the congregants. Despite the simplicity of its construction, the chapel was a place where the beauty of faith manifested in every detail, from the floor to the ceiling, creating a space where the spirit could rise in prayer and contemplation.
The servants instinctively began to divide according to established custom. The men headed towards the pews on the left, while the women took their seats on the right side.
The first two rows remained empty, reserved for the higher-ranking members.
As the servants settled in, the murmur of their voices gradually faded, and the chapel filled with silence. The light filtering through the painted windows bathed the space in soft colors, and the atmosphere was charged with the solemnity of the sacred moment about to begin.
Just as the last of the servants found their place and silence began to settle over the chapel, Urraca, accompanied by her daughter Sancha, advanced down the central carpet, their steps muffled by the rug covering the stone floor.
Upon reaching the first row on the right side, Urraca gave a slight nod to the altar before taking her seat, indicating to Sancha to do the same. The young woman complied, and both sat in the pews reserved for them.
The presence of Urraca and Sancha in the first row was a reminder of the social hierarchy that prevailed even in acts of faith.
The twins Emma and Agnes, with their identical dresses and eyes full of curiosity, approached Maria, who stood near the entrance, observing the congregation. With a mix of shyness and respect, Emma asked in a low voice, "Maria, where should we sit?"
Maria smiled kindly at them and explained, "The first two rows are reserved for the nobles. The third and fourth rows are for the main servants, and the remaining rows are for the other servants. You have to sit with me in the third row. Follow me."
With a gesture of her hand, Maria led them into the chapel. The twins followed her steps, passing by the wooden pews where the other servants had already settled, their faces reflecting the serenity of the sacred place.
Upon reaching the third row on the right side, Maria indicated to Emma and Agnes to take their seats next to her. The young women complied and slid into the pews, their movements graceful and silent. Once seated, the three women joined the rest of the crowd in reverent anticipation of the service's start, each immersed in their own thoughts and prayers.