Of Hearts and Heroes in Teba
by David Eugene Perry

The Scottish flag shares pride of place alongside that of Andalucía in the center of Teba

After our deep dive into the poetry and tragedy of Federico García Lorca in Granada and Fuentes Vaqueros, Alfredo and I drove homeward toward Grazalema — with a deliberate detour to the hilltop town of Teba.

It is a place where Scottish legend and Spanish history intertwine.

Next week marks the anniversary of the Battle of Teba (August 25, 1330), when the forces of King Alfonso XI of Castile clashed with the Moors of Granada. Among Alfonso’s allies was Sir James Douglas, the famed “Black Douglas” of Scotland, fulfilling the dying wish of his king, Robert the Bruce: to carry his embalmed heart to the Holy Land.

The story is as dramatic as any medieval ballad. Robert the Bruce had died in 1329, asking that his heart be placed in a silver reliquary and borne east in a final symbolic crusade. Douglas, his most trusted knight, set out with companions and joined Alfonso XI’s campaign against the Moors along the way. During a skirmish outside Teba, Douglas found himself surrounded. Legend says he hurled the casket forward, calling, “Go first as thou wert wont, noble heart, Douglas will follow thee or die!” He did, and so ended a knight’s vow.

The heart made it back to Scotland, buried at Melrose Abbey in the Borders, while Robert’s body rests at Dunfermline Abbey in Fife. Douglas’s body lies in St Bride’s Kirk, Lanarkshire.

Every August, Teba remembers this shared Scottish-Spanish moment with Douglas Days — medieval reenactments, music, parades, and tartan against the Andalusian sky. The festival begins next week, and if ever there was a place where history and pageantry meet, it is here.

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Other famous hearts that lie far from their bodies:

This tradition of separating heart from body — sometimes for political symbolism, sometimes for romance, sometimes for sheer practicality — is surprisingly common in history. Teba’s tale fits into a longer lineage:

Richard the Lionheart (1157–1199)

• Body: Fontevraud Abbey, Anjou, alongside his parents, Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine.

• Heart: Sealed in a lead casket and buried in Rouen Cathedral, capital of his Duchy of Normandy — a political gesture cementing his French holdings.

• Viscera: Buried at Châlus, where he died from an arrow wound.

Anne Boleyn (1501–1536) (legendary)

• Beheaded in 1536, she was buried in St Peter ad Vincula, Tower of London.

• Suffolk legend says her heart was secretly removed and interred at St Mary’s Church, Erwarton, near her family home. No proof survives, but local tradition holds fast to the tale.

Mary, Queen of Scots (1542–1587) (traditional account)

• Executed at Fotheringhay Castle; initially buried at Peterborough Cathedral, later reinterred in Westminster Abbey.

• Some traditions claim her embalmed heart was secretly buried in Haddington, East Lothian — an act of returning her heart to Scotland.

Voltaire (1694–1778)

• Body: Interred in the Panthéon, Paris, as a hero of the Enlightenment.

• Heart: Preserved in an urn at the Bibliothèque Nationale, inscribed, “His spirit is everywhere, and his heart is here.”

Frédéric Chopin (1810–1849)

• Body: Père Lachaise Cemetery, Paris.

• Heart: Smuggled by his sister Ludwika to Warsaw in a jar of cognac, fulfilling his wish to rest in his homeland. It lies in the Holy Cross Church, enshrined in a pillar.

Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792–1822)

• Drowned in the Gulf of Spezia, Italy.

• During the beach cremation, his heart — possibly calcified from tuberculosis — refused to burn. Mary Shelley kept it wrapped in silk until it was buried with their son in Bournemouth.

Lord Byron (1788–1824)

• Died in Missolonghi, Greece, during the War of Independence.

• His body was returned to England for burial, but his heart and viscera were interred in Greece. Alfredo and I visited the whitewashed monument there — a quiet testament to Byron’s devotion to Greek freedom.

Thomas Hardy (1840–1928)

• Ashes: Westminster Abbey’s Poets’ Corner.

• Heart: Buried in Stinsford, Dorset — though village lore says a cat made off with it before burial, prompting its replacement with a pig’s heart. Most historians call this a macabre rural myth.

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From Melrose to Missolonghi, Rouen to Warsaw, these divided burials tell a common truth: the heart — in life and legend — belongs where love, loyalty, and longing are strongest.

And here in Teba, that truth is told every August, when the banners fly, the bagpipes sound, and the streets remember the day a Scottish knight, far from home, kept his king’s last promise.

Rainbow Honor Walk honoree Gladys Bentley

Today on the anniversary of her birth, we celebrate the life and legacy of Rainbow Honor Walk honoree Gladys Bentley (August 12, 1907 – January 18, 1960). 

A trailblazing blues singer, pianist, and performer of the Harlem Renaissance, Bentley defied gender norms with her tuxedo-clad performances and unapologetic expression of her lesbian identity. Her powerful voice, bold stage presence, and barrier-breaking career made her a pioneer for both LGBTQ+ visibility and African American artistry in a time of profound discrimination.

Read Dr. Bill Lipsky’s tribute in the SF Bay Times at the link below.

https://sfbaytimes.com/7434-2/

Cádiz, Cristóbal y Colón
— David Eugene Perry

9 de agosto de 2025: Hoy, Alfredo, sus padres y yo nos hemos dado un paseo tranquilo en coche desde Grazalema hasta Cádiz para comer con unos amigos. Son apenas hora y media de viaje, y sería menos si no fuera por esas carreteras de la Sierra, tan bonitas como retorcidas.

Protegido por el trío seco y pedregoso de Reloj, Simancón y Torreón, nuestro pueblo parece que está a años luz del mar. Pero en realidad “La Mar” está ahí mismo, a tiro de piedra, y a la vista de la montaña de los marineros, San Cristóbal. Ya os contaré más sobre eso.

Aparcamos y, nada más bajar del coche, me llegó mi olor favorito: ese aroma salino que siempre me recuerda a mis dos años trabajando a bordo de un barco. Es el perfume de la aventura. El olor de los descubrimientos antiguos.

En Cádiz, el presente siempre va de la mano del pasado: esta es la ciudad más antigua de Europa occidental que sigue habitada. Fenicios, romanos, visigodos y exploradores españoles miraron hacia poniente con la misma vista tentadora que tuve yo hoy: llamando, llamando, llamando.

Me viene a la cabeza que estos puertos cercanos fueron el punto de partida de cuatro viajes que cambiaron la historia. Un poco más al norte, Palos de la Frontera despidió a Colón en su primer viaje en 1492. Sanlúcar de Barrameda, no muy lejos, fue la salida tanto de su segundo viaje en 1493 como del tercero en 1498. Y aquí mismo, en Cádiz, zarpó el cuarto y último viaje en 1502… del que Colón ya no volvió, al menos no con vida.

Estando tan cerca de las playas donde se reunieron aquellas naves, casi puedo oír el crujir de las cuerdas, los gritos de los marineros, esa mezcla de emoción y respeto antes de lanzarse a lo desconocido.

Investigando sobre esta época me he metido de lleno en esas escenas: los carpinteros de ribera en Galicia, Moguer y Cantabria que construyeron las naos y carabelas; los capitanes y tripulantes; y el joven Juan Ponce de León, que se embarcó por primera vez hacia el Nuevo Mundo sin imaginar lo que le esperaba, como parte de la segunda —y mayor— expedición de Colón: 17 barcos y 1.500 hombres. Ese segundo viaje siempre me ha llamado mucho la atención. Es la razón de que tengamos café en América y pimientos en Europa; naranjas en Florida y patatas en Irlanda. Los estudiosos lo llaman “El Intercambio Colombino”.

El joven Juan es uno de los personajes de mi nuevo libro, Thorns of the 15 Roses. La novela se inspira en nuestra casa de verano, Grazalema, cuyo escudo oficial lleva los símbolos de su familia, en concreto de Rodrigo Ponce de León, a quien los Reyes Católicos le concedieron la zona por su ayuda en el último capítulo de la Reconquista: la caída de Granada. Alfredo y yo volveremos por allí en unas semanas: más material para el libro.

Para mí, venir aquí no es solo por curiosidad histórica: es el viento que empuja mi escritura, que llena las velas de personajes y tramas. Ya sea mezclando hechos con ficción o imaginando un nuevo capítulo para Adriano y Lee en Thorns of the 15 Roses, el lugar nunca es solo un telón de fondo. Es un protagonista más.

Miré el mar y pensé en todas las partidas desde estas costas: algunas con destino a la gloria, otras al olvido; todas formando parte de las mareas de la memoria que siguen bañando Cádiz. También imaginé a los marineros que volvían —incluido Ponce de León en 1514, muchos años después de marcharse en 1493— y que veían aparecer en el horizonte ibérico la montaña de San Cristóbal diciendo: “estoy en casa”.

En sitios así, pasado y presente se dan la mano a la orilla del mar, y siempre me voy con la inspiración a tope… y con unas ganas tremendas de volver a sentarme a escribir. Tengo mi propio viaje que contar.

Cádiz, Cristóbal and Colón
— David Eugene Perry

9 August 2025: Today, Alfredo, his parents, and I took a leisurely drive from Grazalema to Cádiz to have lunch with friends. It’s only a 90 minute trip and would be far less save for the torturously atmospheric roads of the Sierra. 

Guarded by the dry, rocky trio of Reloj, Simancòn and Torreón, our little town seems far from The Sea. In reality, “La Mar” is very close and in sight of the sailor’s mountain, San Cristóbal. More on that anon.

We parked and immediately I breathed in my favorite scent: that salty aroma never fails to take me back to my two years working aboard ship. It is the perfume of adventure. The ancient cologne of discovery. 

In Cádiz, the present is always touched by the past: this the oldest continuously inhabited city in western Europe. Phoenicians, Romans, Visigoths and Spanish explorers looked Westward with the same Siren’s view that I had today: calling, calling, calling.

I am reminded that these nearby ports were once the launching points of four odysseys that transformed humanity. Just up the coast, Palos de la Frontera sent Columbus on his first journey in 1492. Sanlúcar de Barrameda, not far from here, was the nativity for both his second voyage in 1493 and his third in 1498. And right here in Cádiz itself, the fourth and final — from which Columbus never returned, at least not alive — set sail in 1502.

Standing so close to the very shores where those vessels gathered, I can almost hear the creak of their rigging, the calls of the sailors, the hum of anticipation—and perhaps apprehension—before heading into the unknown. 

The research I’ve been doing into this period has brought me deep into those moments: the shipwrights in Galicia, Moguer, and Cantabria who built those naos and caravels; the commanders and crews; the young Juan Ponce de León, embarking on his first venture into the New World without yet knowing what history had in store for him as part of Columbus’ second — and largest — fleet: 17 ships and 1500 men. That second excursion has always fascinated me. It’s why we have coffee in the Americas and peppers in Europe; oranges in Florida and potatoes in Ireland. “The Columbian Exchange” academics call it. 

The young Juan is a character in my new book, Thorns of the 15 Roses. The novel is inspired by our summer home, Grazalema, whose official crest bears the emblems of his family, specifically Rodrigo Ponce de Leon, granted the region by the grateful royal couple Isabella and Ferdinand for his heroic assistance in the final chapter of the Reconquista: the fall of Granada. Alfredo and I will again be visiting there in a few weeks: more inspiration for the book.

For me, being here isn’t just a matter of historical curiosity—it’s the wind pushing forth my writing, filling the sails of character and plot. Whether I’m weaving fact into fiction or imagining a new chapter for Adriano and Lee in Thorns of the 15 Roses, the setting is never just backdrop. It’s a living participant in the story. 

I looked out over the waves and thought of all the departures from these shores: some bound for fame, others for obscurity; all part of the tides of memory that wash across Cádiz today. I also imagined the sailors returning— including Juan Ponce de Leon in 1514, so many years after setting off in 1493 — and seeing that mariner’s touchstone, the mountain of San Cristóbal, looming up on the Iberian horizon saying “estoy en casa.” I am home. 

In places like this, past and present meet at the water’s edge, and I always leave feeling inspired—and a little restless to get back to the page. I have my own voyage to write.