THE CID CAMPEADOR

THE

CID CAMPEADOR
A HISTORICAL ROMANCE

BY

D. ANTONIO DE TRUEBA Y LA QUINTANA

Translated from the Spanish

BY

HENRY J. GILL, M.A., T.C.D.

LONDON
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
AND NEW YORK
1895

[All rights reserved]

[Pg v]

PREFACE

The “Cid Campeador” has been for centuries the great
popular hero of Spain. He takes the same place in that
country as King Arthur does in England, Roland, or Rolando,
in France, and William Tell in Switzerland; and, like them,
his life and exploits are, to a great extent, founded on popular
traditions. In English-speaking countries there is very little
known respecting him, and the translator ventures to place
before the public a work which is considered by Spaniards to
be one of the best historical romances in their literature. It
is founded on a large number of ballads and other poetical
pieces, extant in Spain for centuries, and on a very old work
named “The Chronicle of the Cid.”

The Author writes in his Introduction: “The Cid is the
most popular of the Castilian heroes, and not without reason,
for in him are personified all the virtues of the citizen and of
the soldier. A good son, he avenges the insults offered to his
father by bravely fighting with the Count of Gormaz: a good
cavalier and faithful lover, he gives his hand and heart to the
daughter of the man whom he had slain in fair combat: a good
monarchist, he risks the anger of King Alfonzo by compelling
him to take an oath that he was not guilty of a crime which
would stain the throne of Fernando the Great: a good soldier
and a good vassal, he conquers, with his invincible sword,
hostile realms and Moorish kings, and lays at the feet of his
[Pg vi]
sovereign, who had unjustly banished him, the spoils which
he had won and the countries of which he had made himself
master: a good patrician, loving the glory and the preponderance
of his native land, he proceeds to Rome, enters the Church
of St. Peter, and seeing in the place of honour the seat of the
representative of France, he breaks it in pieces, filled with
indignation, and puts in its place that of the representative of
Spain: and finally, a good Christian, a good husband, and a
good father; before entering into the combats, when calling
upon God, he also uses the names of his wife and children,
over whom he had wept when parting from them,—he who,
in battle, showed a heart more hard than the armour which
covered it.”

[Pg vii]

CONTENTS

[Pg 1]

THE CID CAMPEADOR

CHAPTER I

WHICH TREATS OF SOME LOVE AFFAIRS WHICH COMMENCED
ALMOST WHEN OTHERS END

Joyous festivities were being celebrated at the Court of
Leon in the spring of A.D. 1053. Don Fernando I.,
King of Castile and Leon, had journeyed to Najera to
visit his brother Don Garcia, King of Navarre, who was
sojourning, in bad health, in that town; but, having learned
that Don Garcia desired to take him prisoner, on account of
certain matters which were pending between them, regarding
the partition of their late father’s kingdom, he quickly withdrew
to a place of safety. Don Garcia having gone, in his
turn, to visit his brother, was incarcerated in the Castle of Cea.
However, having succeeded in escaping from it, he summoned
the Moors to his aid, and entered Castile, determined on
revenge, and committed horrible atrocities. Don Fernando
sallied forth to meet him, engaged with him at Atapuerca, not
far from Burgos, and the invading army was completely routed.
Don Garcia was killed by a lance-wound inflicted on him by a
soldier named Sancho Fortun, who had gone over to the
service of Don Fernando.

This, then, was the occasion of the festivities to which we
have alluded, festivities which had attracted to the Court great
numbers of ladies and cavaliers, not alone from Castile and
Leon, but also from the other kingdoms, into which, at that
time, Spain was divided. There had been various games, and
a splendid tournament had taken place, in which Don Fernando
had broken lances with the bravest and most polished cavaliers[Pg 2]
of the period—a period so celebrated for skilful jousters and
valiant warriors.

Night having come on, the dances, games, and jousts
ceased, and great bonfires were lighted up in the open places
of the town and in the surrounding fields, where the people
continued the rejoicings until the approach of morning. They
mingled their songs and acclamations with the continuous
clanging of the bells and the sounds of the rustic musical
instruments used in those times, until the ladies and cavaliers
filled up the halls of the royal Alcazar. In them was to be
celebrated a ball well worthy of the festivities that had taken
place on that memorable day, the remembrance of which both
Castilians and Leonese preserved for long years after, on
account of the favours which their king dealt out to them
with a generous hand.

If we were to paint with rich and vivid colours the halls in
which was assembled the Court of Don Fernando, we should
perchance please readers fond of the marvellous and magnificent.
The picture would indeed be very effective, but we
should fail in strict adherence to truth, and in our intention to
sacrifice everything for its sake, during the long course of events
which we are about to describe. The spirit of independence
which reigned at that period in Castile had driven out the
Eastern luxury which the Moslims were in the habit of displaying,
during four centuries, in the southern parts of Spain. The
contemporaries of the Cid were as brave and manly as the
heroes of Covadonga, but also as rude and simple-minded as
the first champions of the Holy Crusade, who had succeeded
in driving back into the African deserts the impious followers
of the Crescent. Light and flowers were the riches which
abounded in the halls of the Alcazar of Leon—light and flowers
which are the riches of the fields, the luxury of nature. However,
if any discontented person found those decorations too
insignificant, he must have found compensation in the beauteous
dames and brave knights who moved about in all directions,
evidently well pleased and content. All were impatiently
awaiting the arrival of the king, which was to be the prelude
to the dancing and to the other amusements proper to the
occasion and to the period, when the voice of a page was
heard above the buzz of the crowd, announcing the approach
of Don Fernando and his family. A profound silence reigned
throughout the saloons, and all looks were fixed on the door
which communicated with the royal apartments. And, indeed,[Pg 3]
Don Fernando immediately appeared, accompanied by his
queen Doña Sancha, by his daughters Elvira and Urraca, by
his sons, Sancho, Alfonso, and Garcia, and by some grandees
who, during the day, had had the honour of accompanying
him, and whom the king had invited to his table. Amongst
these last universal attention was centred on an old man of
noble appearance, to whom Don Fernando directed his conversation
frequently and with great kindness. That old
grandee was the noble Diego Lainez, lord of Vivar.

We have said that all looks were fixed on the royal family,
but for our credit sake, as true and accurate narrators, we
must make an exception. At one end of the principal hall a
gentle maiden, who might count perhaps twenty summers,
was conversing, without paying attention to their arrival, with
a handsome youth not much more advanced in years. The
importunities of a rather ancient dueña, who evidently feared
that they might be noticed, judging from the terrified way in
which she frequently gazed around, did not succeed in interrupting
their confidential chat, which to all appearance was
of an amatory character. The two young persons were Ximena,
daughter of the Count de Gormaz, and Rodrigo, son of Diego
Lainez; the elderly lady, who showed herself so uneasy, was
Lambra, the dueña of the young girl.

The conversation between them was indeed of the nature
mentioned above, for Rodrigo and Ximena loved each other
from the years of their childhood, and love was always the
subject of their conversations. Let us tell how the son of
Diego Lainez and the daughter of Don Gome de Gormaz first
became lovers. Bonds of friendship and relationship—the
latter, however, rather distant—had united for very many years
the two families. On the occasion of the celebration of certain
famous tournaments at Vivar, Don Gome and his family
repaired thither, and were hospitably lodged in the house of
Diego Lainez. Rodrigo at that time was four years old, and
Ximena, whose parents had brought her with them to Vivar,
but little younger. Diego Lainez, to do honour to his friends,
gave a banquet sufficiently splendid and abundant, when the
traditional frugality in his household is taken into consideration.
On this occasion the two gentlemen renewed their
pledges of friendship.

Teresa Nuña, the noble wife of Diego, loved her son with a
tenderness only to be compared with that with which the wife
of De Gormaz loved her daughter. The children rivalled[Pg 4]
each other in beauty and grace, and the two mothers started a
friendly and praiseworthy discussion on that subject, after the
termination of the banquet. We call it praiseworthy, because
maternal pride is noble and holy, although it may appear
unreasonable to those who judge it dispassionately. That
controversy ended by all those present, including the fathers
of the children, agreeing that they were equal in beauty and
grace, as they were almost equal in age.

“They seem made for each other,” said Teresa Nuña. And
from that opinion a thought took birth which was received
with enthusiasm by both families—to enlace more and more
their interests and friendship by the union of Rodrigo and
Ximena. The realisation of this project was arranged for the
time when the two fair scions of those noble families would
have completed their twentieth years; for in that iron age all
the risks to life and health attending the too early marriages
of young girls were, with good reason, avoided.

Love, and above all the love of a mother, is the source of
the most beautiful and poetic thoughts; thus it was that
Teresa was inspired with a very beautiful idea. It was, that
the children should consecrate this arrangement for their future
union with a kiss, which also should be the pledge of a love
that commenced on that day. Teresa Nuña, therefore, took
Rodrigo by the hand and led him up to Ximena; he then
sealed with his pure lips the blushing cheek of the girl, who,
in her turn, kissed that of Rodrigo.

This compact was a bond which made the intercourse of
the two families more close than it had been before, and the
two children grew up like two flowers on one stem—brother
and sister in their education as they were also in their
souls.

Many years passed, and nothing had disturbed the warm
friendship of the two noble families; however, some special
privileges conferred on Diego Lainez at the Court of King
Fernando, with whom the two grandees had enjoyed much
favour, irritated De Gormaz, whose nature, to judge by some
circumstances which had arisen anterior to those which afterwards
took place, was widely different, in nobleness and
generosity, from that of Diego. Indeed, thanks to the
prudence of the latter, a complete estrangement had been
avoided until a short time before the events which we have
narrated at the beginning of this chapter; but at last De
Gormaz took the initiative by ordering his daughter to have[Pg 5]
no communication whatever with Rodrigo, threatening Lambra
to expel her from his household if she permitted such.

On the day of which we are now treating the exasperation
and the anger of De Gormaz rose to their highest point, on
account of the kindness shown by the king to Diego, and, on
the other hand, by the coldness with which he himself had
been received, and above all, by the slight which he considered
had been cast on him, by his not having been invited to the
royal table, as had been Diego Lainez, to whom he attributed
his disgrace with the king. Certainly Diego was very far indeed
from meriting such an accusation on the part of his former
friend, for on that very day he had done his utmost to
rehabilitate him in the eyes of Don Fernando; the king, however,
had just motives for complaint against the count, and
the good offices of De Vivar had been unavailing.

At the moment when the entry of the royal family into the
saloons of the Alcazar was announced, Don Gome was passing
through them, accompanied by his daughter. Although
feeling much resentment, on account of the coldness of the
king, he did not wish to renounce all chance of recovering
the favour of Don Fernando, provoking afresh his resentment
by abstaining from joining his suite, and thus acting differently
from all the other cavaliers who were passing through the
saloons. It so happened that, charging Lambra with the care
of his daughter, he advanced towards the royal family.
Rodrigo, who was watching for an opportunity to speak to the
young girl, saw heaven opened when he perceived that she
was free from the presence of her father, and flew to her side
despite the anxiety which he knew it would cause the
dueña.

Many days had passed since Ximena had seen him, and it
is easy to imagine what was her pleasure, taking into account
the tender and old love which united them.

“Ximena!” murmured Rodrigo in a low voice, trembling
with emotion.

“Rodrigo!” whispered the girl, without being able to add
another word.

“By all the saints of the heavenly court,” said the terrified
dueña, directing an entreating gesture to Rodrigo, “I ask you
to depart hence, for if the count sees you it will go ill with
my lady and with me. You doubtless do not know that he
has threatened to cut my skirts short, in order to disgrace me,
if I allow my lady to hold any converse with you. I beseech[Pg 6]
you to do nothing to increase his anger, as things have not
gone well with him to-day.”

“Fear nothing, honoured dueña,” replied Rodrigo, “for if
the count cuts your skirts short I shall give you others made
of the richest cloth.”

“I know well that you are a cavalier, and it is the prerogative
of cavaliers to be generous. Speak with my lady;
but be brief. I shall meantime keep watch, and say my beads
that my lord may not see ye.”

Rodrigo and Ximena were already conversing, not paying
the slightest attention to the words of Lambra.

“Rodrigo,” said Ximena, “whither have gone those happy
times when the houses of De Vivar and De Gormaz were as
one trunk with two branches; when no cloud obscured the
bright sky of our loves; when we saw the distant horizon rosy
and beautiful before us; when I found in your parents the
love which you found in mine? Vain have been your efforts,
vain have been mine, and vain also have been those of your
friends and mine, to appease the enmity which now separates
our noble parents.”

“That time, Ximena, has not, perhaps, passed away never
to return. My father, the son of Lain Calvo, although old,
preserves, in youthful luxuriance, the noble pride of ancestry,
and it would not correspond with such dignity if he were to
bear with patience the unjust suspicions with which your father
has responded to his friendship. For a long time he has
borne them, Ximena. I indeed might humiliate myself
before your father, without such humiliation casting a stain on
me, for I would do it for your sake, and no reproach could be
directed against him who humiliates himself for a lady. What
does your father desire? Honours; riches; a kingdom; a
throne for his daughter? You shall have all that, Ximena, I
swear it by our love and by the honour of my ancestors. My
arm is strong and my heart full of courage. Even to-morrow
I shall set out for the country of our enemies. I shall enter
the territory of the Moors, I shall fight as Bernardo fought at
Roncesvalles, and I shall be victorious; for that love, which I
have cherished for you during so many years, will make me
invincible; and I shall lay all at the feet of your father,
demanding, as a recompense, your hand and the return of
the friendship which, at one time, was equal to ours for him.”

“Good heavens!” said Doña Lambra, “my lord is just
coming, and you, Don Rodrigo, will be the victim of his[Pg 7]
anger; and if he cuts my skirts short, good-bye to those of
rich cloth!”

The two lovers paid little attention to the inquietude and
the ridiculous words of the dueña.

“I know well, Ximena,” continued Rodrigo, “that your
father will use every means in order to avenge his supposed
injuries on mine, and perchance I, the idol of Diego Lainez,
shall be the first victim of his attempts; for, in order to wound
the heart of the father, he will wound that of the son, by
taking from me the hope of gaining the sole object of my
ambition, which is yourself, Ximena. However, if the love
which you often have sworn to me is real, if you hold in any
account the happiness, the hopes, the life of the companion of
your childhood, of him who has dreamed of such felicity with
you, you will know how to resist his endeavours until the day
shall come when Rodrigo will return to Castile, worthy of the
daughter of a king. Then pride will compel him to grant that
which his ambition, thwarted in its hopes, now denies to me.”

“I swear to you,” answered Ximena, in one of those bursts
of enthusiasm in which, without taking reason into account,
all things appear possible to us,—”I swear to you that nothing
in this world shall be able to conquer my resolve,—I shall be
the wife of Rodrigo or of none other. My father may be able
to extinguish the breath of my lungs, but never the love of my
heart.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Rodrigo, “blessed was the day when my
eyes first looked on you! Perhaps, without the love of
Ximena, Rodrigo Diaz would be one of those plants which
spring up, live, and die, without having borne any fruit; one
of those men who pass through the world without leaving a
trace which might point out his path to those who come after
him; your love, however, will immortalise his name; by him
the plains of Castile will be stained by Moslim blood; through
him the standard of Mahomet will be trampled under foot by
the Christian kingdoms; in him the weak and the oppressed
shall have an arm to sustain and defend them; and through
him the race of the Counts of Castile shall wear the royal
purple.”

Whilst thus speaking, forgetting where he was, the cheeks of
Rodrigo flushed, his broad and noble brow lit up, and his eyes
sparkled, as if all the fire that inflamed his heart flew to his
head. The eyes of Ximena shone also with joy, and her heart
beat with violence, agitated by love and pride,—by pride, for[Pg 8]
the daughter of a king would have felt it, knowing she was
loved by such a generous and brave youth, to whom she
desired to return, in her ardent glances, all the treasures of
love which were shut up in her soul.

The anxiety of Lambra was increasing every moment, and
not without cause; for the crowd which had collected around
the royal family, curiosity being satisfied, was moving off and
distributing itself through the saloons; and the honoured
dueña feared the return of her master, or that someone might
notice her complacency and report it to him.

“Ah! my skirts!” she said, moving in between Ximena
and Rodrigo, “my master is coming, and he will cut them
short without remedy!”

A group of cavaliers came from the farthest end of the hall,
and Rodrigo thought he saw amongst them Don Gome.

“Adieu, Ximena,” the young man hastened to say; “either
everything or nothing, either death or Ximena!”

“Either Rodrigo or nothing!” replied the young girl,
following with her glances her lover, who was just issuing from
the halls of the Alcazar at the instant that the count was
returning to the side of his daughter.

An unusual joyous expression could be noticed on the
visage of Don Gome, which but shortly before was gloomy,
and frequently contracted by anger. The cause of this was,
that the Count de Gormaz, far from receiving, as he feared, a
fresh slight from the king, had met with a kind reception,
which, as he had not anticipated it, doubly pleased him. To
what was due this sudden change in the feelings of the
monarch? It was caused by the endeavours which Diego
Lainez, taking advantage of the mood in which the king was
on that day to grant favours, had used, with the object of
restoring his former friend to the royal favour. The monarch
ultimately had yielded to his solicitations, promising to show
marks of kindness to the grandee De Gormaz, in the presence
of the entire Court. And indeed the king had done so; when
Don Gome had approached him in the saloons of the Alcazar.
Don Fernando had succeeded in concealing his resentment,
and received him with the same kindness which he exhibited
towards Diego Lainez himself.

“Ximena, my daughter!” exclaimed the count, pressing
her in his arms, for he required some means of showing his
content, “the king, despite my calumniators, has remembered
my services, and restored me to his favour. Don Fernando,[Pg 9]
who knows how much I love you,—that you are the dearest
thing that your father possesses, and that honouring you he
honours me,—desires to see you, and has commanded me to
lead you to him.”

Pleasure, in turn, shone on the countenance of Ximena; it
was not, however, the same kind of pleasure which her father
experienced; it was not that joy which proceeds from satisfied
vanity. The reason for it was, that Ximena loved her father,
although she was well acquainted with his defects, and desired
his happiness, whatever might be the occasion of it. A ray of
hope now brightened up her heart—the hope that the old
friendly relations between the two families might be renewed,
the consequence of which would be the return of those happy
times when no obstacle was interposed between her and her
lover. Pure and loving souls are as much inclined towards
hope as towards despair; Ximena, therefore, ran over in her
mind, in a brief space of time, those conflicting sentiments,
and passed from darkness to light, from death to life.

Her father then led her into the presence of the king, from
whom, as well as from the queen and the royal children, she
received a most kind reception. The many different experiences,
which she had passed through on that day, had in
no way rendered her less beautiful than usual, and a murmur
of admiration arose amongst the ladies and cavaliers who
were accompanying the royal family when Ximena approached.
De Gormaz smiled with satisfaction and pride; and Diego
Lainez, contemplating for the thousandth time so much
beauty and nobleness of expression, could not help thinking,
“My Rodrigo will be a hero if she commands it; he will gain
a throne if she asks him for one!” And a similar thought
most likely came into the minds of many others, for no one
connected with the Court was ignorant of the old love that
united Ximena and Rodrigo, nor of the influence that the
maiden exercised on the soul of the valiant youth who was
the pride of the family of De Vivar, and the hope of the good
Castilians and Leonese.

[Pg 10]

CHAPTER II

IN WHICH CERTAIN FESTIVITIES ARE DESCRIBED, WHICH
ENDED WITH A BLOW ON A FACE

The numerous guests who occupied the saloons of the
Alcazar were devoting themselves, joyously and noisily, to
the various amusements which the magnificent festival provided;
whilst the king and the royal princes were familiarly
conversing with the group of cavaliers that surrounded them;
and the queen and princesses, amidst another group composed
of beautiful women, were amusing themselves also with
pleasant conversation. It could be easily seen, however,
that if the queen devoted most attention to Ximena, the
father of the latter was not obtaining similar favour from the
king, notwithstanding the apparent kindness with which he
had been received only a very short time before. Affection
which does not proceed from the heart cannot long sustain
its fictitious semblance, and, in a moment of forgetfulness, the
mask which conceals it falls off, and the cold visage of indifference
appears. Such was the case with regard to Don
Gome, and, on the other hand, the sincere and wise monarch
was openly showing the real affection which he felt for De
Vivar.

“Gentlemen,” said the king, addressing the cavaliers who
surrounded him, “as a brother I have lamented the death of
Don Garcia, but as a king, obliged to sacrifice the warmest
affections of my heart to the good of the kingdom, which God
has entrusted to me to rule over and govern, I must rejoice
at the victory obtained by the Castilian and Leonese arms at
Atapuerca. In celebrating that glorious triumph I have
given proofs of my munificence to the commoners, my vassals.
It would not be well that the cavaliers who assist at my Court
should be debarred from participating in my favours, according
to their merits. You, noble and loyal Peranzures, I
appoint major-domo of my Alcazar; as you have served my
State so well, with your sword in battle and with your wisdom
at the Court and in the councils, I know you will also faithfully
serve my household. To you, honoured Arias Gonzalo,
I entrust my treasures, feeling sure that they will increase
under your supervision. To you, noble and prudent Diego
Lainez, I confide the care and education of my sons, as I feel[Pg 11]
sure that, having instructed your own son so well, you will act
similarly with regard to mine. You well know how I love the
princes; placing them in your charge is the greatest proof of
friendship and confidence that a king can give to a subject,
and I now tell you that if I could give you a greater proof I
would heartily do so. You, the most faultless cavalier and
the most honoured and prudent of the grandees of Castile,
will cultivate the talents of my sons, so that the crowns which
one day shall encircle their brows may sit well on them.
God gave me three kingdoms, and I shall leave one to each of
them. You, brave Count de Gormaz, shall be, from to-day,
the General of the Leonese and Castilian troops, in the place
of Diego Lainez and Peranzures, whose arms have been
weakened by age and by the constant wielding of the sword
and lance. You have given me proofs of your courage, fighting
against the Moorish power, and I doubt not but that you, and
the cavaliers who surround you, will serve me well, some by
their valour in battle, and others by their loyalty and wisdom.”

Peranzures, Arias Gonzalo, and Diego Lainez bent their
knees and kissed the hand of the king, in order to thank him
for the great favours which he had conferred on them, as was
their duty as good and grateful subjects; De Gormaz, however,
when his turn came, gave loose reins to the anger which
had been accumulating in his heart whilst the other cavaliers
were being thus addressed, especially De Vivar, who appeared
to him to have been unjustly favoured by the king, whose
coldness towards himself he attributed to the evil counsels of
the honoured old man, who indeed was far from deserving
such a suspicion.

“Sire,” he said to the king, directing his glances from time
to time towards Diego Lainez, “the Count de Gormaz would
be a fawning courtier, and not an honourable cavalier, if he
were to thank the king for favours which he does not receive.
If flatterers alone please you, do not hope to find one in me.”

Another monarch, less prudent than Don Fernando, would
have punished the audacity and ingratitude of Don Gome,
and would have put a bridle on the tongue which had so
rashly spoken; Don Fernando, however, restrained his vexation,
and allowed De Gormaz to express his resentment, even
though it were unjust, and even though he did it in terms
unfitting a subject in the presence of his king.

“You entrust, sire,” continued Don Gome, “the education
of your sons to a feeble old man, as if they should be[Pg 12]
reared up to be monks, or as if you should desire them to be
as effeminate as women; and, to favour a debilitated flatterer,
you forget, sire, my services and the valour with which I have
always served you! If you desire that the princes should be
good cavaliers, skilful in breaking a lance in a joust, and
daring and prudent in attacking a squadron of Moors, to
whom should you confide their training? Is it to an old man,
whose hand can scarce hold the staff which supports him, or
to me, who have valour in my heart and strength in my arm
to brandish a sword, not only against the infidel, but against
all who dare to doubt the truth of what I say? If there is
any such, I stand prepared to meet him!”

Speaking thus, Don Gome advanced insultingly towards
Diego Lainez, provoking him by his look as well as by his
words.

The old man looked towards the king and curbed his
righteous indignation, which, if it had not been restrained by
the presence of his sovereign, would have burst forth in rage;
if not indeed with the aid of the sword, which his aged hands
could not wield, yet with the voice which could be still
energetic and terrible in defence of an honour which nobody
but the Count de Gormaz had ever dared to cast a slur on;
he then said—

“Sire, pardon me if in defending my outraged honour I
pass beyond the limits of the moderation which I should
adhere to in the presence of my lord and king.” And he
continued, fixing his gaze on De Gormaz: “Don Gome, you
are unjust in the highest degree if you think that I am a
flatterer and calumniator. Diego Lainez is grateful for the
favours which he receives from his king, but he never tries to
win them, much less by means of flattery and calumny. If
the reasons which you have brought forward, in order to prove
that the king should have entrusted to you, instead of to me,
the education of the princes, have convinced him, to whom I
owe this mark of confidence, I shall renounce in your favour
so great an honour, although I consider it the most signal one
which has been conferred on me during my long life, consecrated
almost entirely to the service of my country. However,
I do not think that those reasons weigh much with the
king. That weakness which you see in my hand, those grey
hairs which you see on my head, and those scars on my face,
only prove that I have lived longer than you, and that I have
not spent my life entirely in the saloons of the Court. If I[Pg 13]
can no longer break a lance at a tournament, or enter into
close quarters with a hostile army, I can teach how to do both
one and the other; you, who learned those things from me,
should be able to certify to that, and respect me, if no longer
as an old man, at least as your instructor.”

The king recognised the unreasonableness of the count
and the prudence and moderation of De Vivar; he did not
wish, however, to decide publicly in favour of the one or of the
other, for he knew the evils which a complete rupture between
those two noble families would cause to the State, as both of
them were powerful on account of their wealth and the number
of their partisans; therefore, to make the Count de Gormaz an
enemy was a thing which even a monarch might shrink from.
Thus it was that he thought it best to use his influence with a
view to reconciling both opponents, and thus continue in
friendly relations with them.

“Leave aside,” he therefore said to them, “those sad contentions,
and think only of renewing the friendship which, in
times not far remote, united you, and of serving your country
and the religion of your forefathers, now continually menaced
by the Moors, for by no other means can good Christian
cavaliers give proof of their loyalty. Both of you are strong
pillars, to support our faith and my throne, and it would never
enter my mind to favour one of you to the prejudice of the
other; indeed, in order to recompense your merits I have
desired that each of you should fill the position which circumstances
necessitate. When De Vivar was robust and
strong enough to wield a lance, he commanded the Christian
armies, and now that he can only serve me by his wisdom and
experience I confide to him a task for which those very qualities
are most necessary. You, Don Gome, are the most
capable of commanding my troops, and therefore I make you
their leader. Some future day you will be old, as Lainez now
is, and then the king will utilise your wisdom and loyalty in
his household. Knowing that you are valiant and take pleasure
in the chances of war, I believed that it would not be
pleasing to you if I appointed you to a position in my Alcazar
which only old men, as Arias, Peranzures, and Lainez are, can
properly fill; or, if not they, only those cavaliers who, on
account of a peaceful nature, are ill suited for battlefields.
Lainez, stretch forth your hand to Don Gome and he will
willingly clasp it.”

The old man then held out his feeble hand, as if to seek that[Pg 14]
of the count, desirous of pleasing the king, and of sacrificing
his just resentment for the sake of a reconciliation which might
prevent many evils to the State, and which might restore tranquillity
to his household. Perhaps, at that moment, he was
also thinking of Rodrigo, whose happiness depended on the
renewal of friendly relations with De Gormaz. Judge, however,
of his surprise and indignation when he saw the count draw
his hand away, and heard him say in accents full of disdain—

“The hand of the Count of Gormaz never has clasped and
never shall clasp that of a culumniator.”

“Don Gome!” exclaimed the honoured old man, assuming
the haughtiness of a cavalier deeply outraged, “before extending
my hand again to you I would cut it off. You—you are
the culumniator, whose hand would have stained mine if it
touched it!”

“If it has not stained your hand,” exclaimed the count,
“take this, old dotard; it will stain for ever your visage.”

And with a blow on the face of the venerable old man he
drew blood—the blood of Diego Lainez, of him who in former
times was the terror of the Moors, the bravest cavalier of Castile,
the son of Lain Calvo!

“Justice of God!” cried the outraged old man, vainly endeavouring,
such was his weakness, to return the blow of the
coward and avenge the insult which he had received; anger,
however, stopped his voice, clouded his visage, and made his
head so dazed that he fell to the floor.

“Traitor! unworthy knight and bad subject!” exclaimed
the king. “In my presence you dared to raise your hand
against an aged cavalier, who, old as he is, is worth more than
your entire race! As God lives, my executioner shall cut off,
to-morrow, in the public place of Leon, the hand which has
acted in so dastardly and cowardly a manner! My guard
here! My guard here!”

The voice of Don Fernando, however, was lost in the noise
and uproar which arose throughout the saloon. The ladies
uttered terrified cries and fled precipitately into the inner apartments
of the Alcazar, believing that they would find in them a
refuge from the tumult; and the cavaliers, divided into two
parties, one in favour of Don Gome and the other for Diego
Lainez, placed their hands on their swords and broke out into
loud imprecations and threats, without paying any attention to
the presence, to the words, or to the authority of the king
or of the princes. At last Don Fernando succeeded in allay[Pg 15]ing
the tumult just at the moment when the old man was
rising from the ground. He then clasped him in his arms
and pressed his lips on his cheek, as if to remove from it the
stain which the blow of De Gormaz had imprinted thereon.
His anger being calmed for the time, he was able to reflect,
and the prudent monarch thought that, if he insisted on arresting
De Gormaz then and there, torrents of blood would flow
in the Alcazar and that inextinguishable feuds would blaze up
amongst the flower of the chivalry of Leon and Castile. He
remembered that the grandee De Vivar had numerous champions,
on whom he could rely to avenge such an affront, and
he considered it more prudent to defer the punishment of the
count to a later time. The voice of Diego was then heard in
support of such a decision.

“To Vivar, to my castle!” exclaimed the old man, tearing
his hair, and shedding the first tears which came from his eyes
since he had girded on the sword and buckled on the spurs of
a knight. The outrage inflicted on him had not disturbed his
mind so much that he could not remember what was due to
the dwelling-place of the king, in whose presence no honourable
cavalier could draw his sword to avenge personal insults.

Diego Lainez was obeyed: a few minutes later he was
journeying, in a litter, on the road that led to Vivar, accompanied
by many followers, both on foot and on horseback;
and the halls of the Alcazar became deserted.

The Count de Gormaz had many partisans in Leon, as was
proved by the large number of cavaliers who thronged to his
side when the friends of De Vivar grasped the hilts of their
swords, enraged by the vile offence inflicted on the old man.
However, when the tumult had been appeased, when reflection
forced them to realise on whose side was right, Don Gome
could scarcely have found a cavalier to draw sword in his
defence. It might be said on the following day that, in a few
hours, the count had lost all his friends, for those who had
been hitherto firmly attached to him were now content to
remain neutral with regard to the matter of which everyone
was speaking.

[Pg 16]

CHAPTER III

IN WHICH THE READER WILL SEE WHAT HAPPENED TO
RODRIGO AND HIS SQUIRE BETWEEN LEON AND VIVAR.

We have seen Rodrigo quitting the Alcazar precisely at
the time when the pleasures of the ball and the fact of
finding himself amongst the most beautiful women of Leon
and Castile should have made his remaining there exceedingly
agreeable. And whither was he going? What was his
object in departing from the centre of joyousness and pleasure?
The chronicles do not give much information on this occasion,
as on many others, as to the actions of our hero.

The tumult and bustle of the Court were insupportable
to him; his uneasy soul required calm and solitude; he
desired to concentrate his thoughts on one subject alone,
on the love which, the more it was thwarted, the more it
became strong and burning in his heart. What were all those
beautiful women to him, all those elegant and noble cavaliers,
all that delicious music, all those amusements and dances, all
that animation, that life, that gaiety of the Court, if he could
not continue his sweet converse and his love-whisperings with
Ximena—his love-dreams of love and happiness of a former
time? He had reflected that if he had gone to take leave of
his father, he could not do so without also taking leave of
the king and of the cavaliers who surrounded him, and in that
case they would all have endeavoured to prevent his abandoning
the pleasures of the ball, as it would be impossible for
them to understand his desire and the necessity he felt to be
alone. He therefore returned to the house in which he had
apartments, and mounting a spirited steed, he rode out from
Leon, followed by Fernan Cardeña, a squire, who had formerly
been that of his father and now was his, for the prudent Diego
had transferred him to his son on the eve of the battle of
Atapuerca, in which Rodrigo fought for the first time. He
knew that Fernan, on account of his valour, his joyous and
sprightly disposition, his experience, and above all, his loyalty,
was, amongst all his vassals, the most fitted to accompany and
serve the youth. Speaking strictly, the name of squire could
scarcely be given to Fernan, considering the functions he
performed with regard to Rodrigo, and the duties which were
usually fulfilled by those that bore that name. Fernan was in[Pg 17]
reality a companion to Rodrigo; he might be considered as
his military tutor rather than as his squire; and judging by the
arms, both offensive and defensive, which he carried, he might
almost have been mistaken for a cavalier.

The night was calm and beautiful, and a brilliant moon
illumined the country lying around Leon, which was also
enlivened by the shouts of the peasants, still engaged in their
dances, and by their songs and acclamations. Some excited
by the light of the bonfires, some by that of the moon, and
some indeed by the abundant draughts of the juice of the
grape, which they had indulged in, drinking to the health of
Don Fernando, who had shown himself so liberal to everyone
on that memorable day.

“By Judas Iscariot!” said Fernan to himself, “it appears to
me as if they were a band of witches, celebrating their Sabbath
around those bonfires, having bewitched my lord and master.
He, who was always in good humour and fond of conversing
with me on assaults and battles, and of the Moorish dogs
spitted on my lance, does not now seem to care a pin where he
goes or what he sees, and rides on as silent as the dead.
However, it is my opinion that it is that Ximena who has
bewitched him, she whom he intended to marry before the
falling out of Don Gormaz—may God confound him!—with
De Vivar, whom I pray God may bless. Certainly that
maiden is a dainty bit, not alone for a hidalgo, but for an
emperor; notwithstanding, I don’t see why my master should
so put himself about for any woman, be she noble or simple.
There are many more women than men, for, whilst we go to
the wars and half of us are left there, they, the minxes, remain
peaceably in their homes, waiting till God, who created them,
takes their lives, and the numbers that there are of them everywhere
is becoming a regular plague. Then, if there are two
women for every man, is it not simple nonsense and foolery to
make such a fuss about losing one of them. Oh, how little
would the son of my mother be troubled if he were to lose the
two that fall to his share, for neither of them will let him
enjoy her love, with their jealousies and quarrellings. We
shall arrive at Vivar to-morrow morning, if the pace at which
we are going does not kill our horses, and I swear by the name
I bear, that I will not let Mayorica, the maid of my lady
Doña Teresa, ill-treat and persecute me by her jealousies. For,
if two women fall to the lot of each man, why must one of
them get enraged if he should love the other? By the soul of[Pg 18]
Beelzebub, why should I get out of temper on account of such
unreasonable conduct on the part of women? But the selfishness
of my master gives me much pain, and I feel it on my
conscience to divert him a little, for the mind must be distracted
if this tedious journey is to be made any way bearable.
These roads are rougher than those of glory, and this continuous
trot does not conduce to bodily comfort.”

Thus reflecting, Fernan applied his long rowelled spurs to
his horse and soon joined his master.

“We have a fine night, sir,” he said to him; but Rodrigo
still continued pensive, urged on his steed without intermission,
and did not make any reply.

“We have not yet heard the cock crow at the inns we are
leaving behind us, and our journey is half over; it appears to
me that we might somewhat slacken our pace, for, without
killing ourselves or our horses, we can easily arrive at Vivar
before midday.”

Rodrigo did not seem to hear, and Fernan continued—

“This night reminds me of one on which, being in the
service of your father, we gave good account of a squadron of
Moors who were about setting fire to the harvests in the
country of the Christians.”

Rodrigo still continued absorbed in his meditations, but
Fernan was not yet vanquished. He had just touched, without
effect, one of the chords which most easily vibrated in the
heart of his master—that of war; he now made up his mind
to touch the other—that of love.

“We shall spend much less time to-night in the journey from
Leon to Vivar, than when you, your father, and I journeyed
from Vivar to Leon, accompanying Doña Ximena.”

Rodrigo started on hearing the name of his beloved; and
Fernan, whom the movement did not escape, said to himself—

“It is certainly Ximena who has bewitched him with those
eyes of hers, which are bright as the morning star. May
Mayorica tear out my eyes when we arrive at Vivar, if it is not
of that maiden he is thinking!”

The good squire was not wrong; the enamoured youth was
thinking of his Ximena, was reflecting on the happiness which
he had enjoyed when at her side, and was considering what
were the probabilities of its being renewed, and of his securing
her for himself.

“How happy,” he reflected, “were the days which we passed
near each other, sometimes in my father’s mansion at Vivar,[Pg 19]
sometimes in that of her father at Gormaz! When we were
children we believed that a tightly tied knot bound us together,
although we were ignorant of its nature; we only knew that we
loved each other and could not cease from loving each
other; we grew up, and with our growth our love increased,
and then we began to feel that we knew the names we
should have to call each other by on some future day.
Who could have told us then that a day would come, when the
union which our dearest hopes and those of our parents looked
forward to, should become little less than impossible? We
were at a tournament once, and when a knight splintered the
lances which he had to break, in order to be proclaimed victor,
Ximena said to me, ‘Rodrigo, when you bind on the sword
of a knight, you will combat thus, you will conquer thus; and
thus shall you receive the prize,—then your glory shall be
mine!’ And when the queen of the tournament, seated on a
throne, gilt and adorned with garlands of flowers, presented the
prize to the victor, who knelt at the feet of her whose beauty
was extolled by the noblest and bravest cavaliers, I said to my
Ximena, ‘Some day you will be the queen of the tournament
and I the victor, to whom you will hand the prize; all will
applaud you and admire your beauty, and your glory will
increase that which the victory shall bring to me.’ At other
times, swift as the butterflies and joyous as the birds, running
through the gardens which surrounded the castle of your father
or of mine, or seated under the shade of the trees in the woods,
casting flowers into the stream which rushed by them in its
rapid course, or standing together on the ramparts of the
castle, gazing on the clear azure of the sky, and breathing the
perfume of the fields which the fresh breezes of the night bore
towards us, we dreamt of a life of love, of glory, and of almost
heavenly happiness.”

At this point of his reflections Rodrigo Diaz had arrived,
when Fernan interrupted him, pronouncing the name of
Ximena. They spoke for some moments of the day to which
the squire referred; however, as the youth did not consider it
prudent to give him any explications regarding his love affairs,
and as he could not well talk of matters therewith connected,
without having to refer to them, he changed the conversation.
Finding that he had to talk of something, as he saw that the
squire was resolved not to remain silent, he reverted to the
subject which he thought would please him, and began to talk
of the wars.

[Pg 20]

Fernan, who of the six-and-thirty years which he counted
had passed twenty on fields of battle, distracted the attention
of his master completely from his amorous meditations. He
related to him many wonderful events, which the chronicler, to
whom we owe much of what we are relating, considered, for
the most part, pure fables, but which Rodrigo evidently believed,
becoming at times very enthusiastic, and breaking out into
such exclamations as—”Ah! Moorish dogs!… By St.
James! that lance thrust was worth a king’s treasure!…
God’s anger! what a caitiff was that knight!—Oh that someone
had been there to cut off the wretch’s head!”—and
others of a similar kind.

About this time morning began to dawn, and the birds to
sing in the trees which overhung the road. Our travellers
arrived at an inn, called the Sign of the Moor. Fernan
advised his master to dismount there, with a view to strengthening
a little the stomachs of both riders and horses. Rodrigo
assented, as he considered that, if love had taken away his
appetite, the case was different with regard to his squire and
the tired beasts.

They were just dismounting when they heard a noise, as of
horses, in a dark grove which was opposite the inn, and almost
at the same time they heard a voice which called out to
them—

“To my rescue, cavaliers!”

“Halt, villains! for such ye are!” cried Rodrigo, grasping
his sword and preparing to attack the strangers.

“By the soul of Beelzebub!” shouted Fernan, “do not
touch them; your sword should not be used against this crew
of bandits, for such they must be, and moreover rustics from
this neighbourhood. You shall see what my lance can do
with them.”

Saying this, Fernan rushed on the men who were in the
wood. His master did not accompany him, as he felt that he
should not use a knight’s sword, for the first time, in a fight
with miserable highway robbers—the sword with which he had
been girt, only the day before, by the King of Castile and Leon.

Whilst Fernan was fighting in the wood with those whom
he considered bandits, overthrowing each with a thrust of his
strong lance, one of them separated himself from his companions
and rode rapidly to the inn. When he reached it he
dismounted hastily, gave a terrible blow to the door, which
caused it to fly into fragments, and entered, issuing forth, an[Pg 21]
instant after, carrying another person, who appeared to be a
woman. He leaped on his horse with her, spurred it violently,
and just then, Rodrigo, who stood observing the scene, heard
a voice which cried out—

“For the sake of God, sir knight, save a maiden who has
been torn away from her parents by those miserable ruffians!”

Rodrigo believed now that the occasion had arrived,
when he could fulfil one of the duties imposed on him by the
oath he had sworn when he was made a knight, which was to
defend the weak and oppressed; and, placing his hand on his
sword, he closed with the abductor, who, in his turn, drew his
weapon, holding with his left hand both the bridle of his horse
and the young girl. The combat was fierce and obstinate;
the disadvantage caused to the unknown by having to hold
his prey was equalised by the caution which Rodrigo had to
use, in order not to wound her whom he was endeavouring to
save; and, moreover, the leafy trees dulled the early morning’s
light. The gallop of a horse was then heard, which was
coming in the direction of the combatants; the bandit turned
his head by an instinctive movement, doubtless to see if it
were one of his companions coming to his aid, and just at
that moment the brave youth thrust his sword through the
neck-piece of his armour, causing him to fall to the ground,
pouring forth a stream of blood, and dragging down with him
the maiden, who had just fainted.

At that moment Fernan arrived, brandishing his heavy
lance.

“Well done, sir! well done, I swear!” exclaimed the valiant
squire, when he saw that his master had triumphed over his
adversary. “You are worthy of your father, and have given
good handsel to your sword; for, as far as I can see, those
traitors were abductors of women. Be off to hell, villain,” he
continued, turning towards the vanquished man; “in the wood
two of your comrades lie biting the dust, and you will be able
to make the journey in love and good fellowship.”

Thus speaking, both the knight and the squire dismounted,
in order to aid the girl. She was, to judge by her dress, a
country maiden, and very beautiful. They bore her to the inn,
the owners of which were much rejoiced to see her free from
her persecutors; for, even though they were not strong enough
to succour her, they knew that she must have been carried
away by force. Thanks, now, to the cares lavished on her by
the innkeeper and his wife, the knight, and the squire, she[Pg 22]
regained consciousness in a short time, and falling on her
knees before the brave youth who had rescued her, she
warmly expressed her gratitude, shedding tears all the time.
They did their utmost to console her, and, as it did not appear
prudent to Rodrigo to leave her in the inn, exposed to the
danger of again falling into the hands of those of her abductors
who had escaped the lance of Fernan, he made up his mind
to bring her to Vivar, where she might recruit her health,
which had been seriously impaired in a few hours. The
maiden willingly assented, and when the squire and the
horses had partaken of a hasty meal, they assisted her to
mount on the steed of the man who was lying there, apparently
dead, and they all set out on the road to Vivar, just as the sun
was rising in the east, and the labourers and muleteers, coming
from all quarters, were lending life and animation to the
country, solitary till then, with their joyous songs and friendly
talks.

CHAPTER IV

IN WHICH THE MAIDEN, IN ADDITION TO HER OWN STORY,
RELATES CERTAIN MATTERS, WHICH WILL ROUSE THE
ANGER OF THOSE WHO READ OF THEM

“My master will be glad to know how you happened to
fall into the power of those ruffians,” said Fernan to the
girl, when they had rode a short distance from the inn,
not being able to restrain the curiosity, which was also felt by
Rodrigo, although the image of Ximena was not for a moment
absent from his mind.

“I shall do so with much pleasure, courteous squire,”
replied the maiden; “for if the knowledge that I was
forcibly carried away has been sufficient to induce this good
knight to run to my succour, he will feel better pleased for
having performed that kind action when he shall have learned
more of my misfortunes.”

“Relate them to us, relate them to us,” said Rodrigo,
impatient to hear the adventures of his protégée, whose
gentleness and beauty had much struck him.

The young girl hastened to comply, saying, “God gave[Pg 23]
me very honourable parents, although their position was only
that of peasants, and I always dwelt with them at Carrion, in
this neighbourhood. They were vassals of Don Suero, and
although continually crushed down by the exactions of the
count, demanding constantly contributions from them, in which
went the greater part of the fruits of their toil, they nevertheless
lived contented; for the love which my parents had
for each other made all their troubles bearable, and even
sweet. I was born, the sole fruit of their marriage, and they
loved me with such tenderness that, if I were removed from
their side, life would have no charm left for them. To relate
all the care they lavished on me, until I completed my
fourteenth year, would be a never-ending story; I believe
that the poor love better than the rich, for, since love is one
of the pleasures, and perhaps the only one, which is not
forbidden them, they devote themselves to it with all the
strength of their souls. Poor as they were, my parents
managed to give me an education much better than is usually
received by girls of my position. Whether it was for that
reason, or on account of the great care with which my mother
guarded me, it is certain that I was always preferred to my
companions by the young men, when we danced on the
threshing-floors on Sunday evenings, when they sang in our
praise under the windows, and when they returned from the
woods with branches covered with May bloom, which they
stuck in the ground near the doors of the houses. Near our
house lived a young man, named Martin, who, amongst all
those of his age, distinguished himself by the affection which
he manifested for me, and by his many good qualities,
especially by his kindly disposition and his valour. For my
part, I grew to love him very much, as also did my parents;
having demanded from them my hand, as he knew that my
heart was his, they willingly assented, and the day of our
marriage was arranged. You cannot know how much Don
Suero was hated in the district, both by the nobles and by the
country-people, on account of his tyranny as well as of his
evil life, the report of which more than once reached the ears
of the king. He, however, had not found an opportunity to
punish him, as Don Suero is as powerful as he is cunning and
daring. Not far from Carrion, in a valley covered with
gloomy woods, there is a sanctuary to which, every year, the
inhabitants of the country, for twenty miles round, go on a
pilgrimage; and there they indulge in dances, banquets, and[Pg 24]
other amusements suitable for such festivals. This pilgrimage
takes place in the pleasantest part of spring, and the rustic
festivities render the joining in it very delightful. Early in
the morning my parents, Martin, his parents, and I set out
from Carrion, and, having arrived at the sanctuary and
visited it with devotion, we retired to refresh ourselves by
taking a meal and a rest under the shade of the trees, seated
on the grassy sod, that was sprinkled over with flowers, which
delighted us with their beauty and perfume. When our
frugal but savoury repast was finished, a poor blind man
approached us, playing a lute. We gave him what remained
of our meal, which he thankfully accepted, also a draught of
wine, which put him in good spirits. We then asked him to
play his instrument, in order that Martin and I might dance
to its music. The blind man did as we requested him,
and we danced with much pleasure both to ourselves and to
our parents, who warmly applauded us. Many persons
approached, forming a circle round us; but suddenly the
trampling of horses was heard, and all turned towards the
path from whence the sounds proceeded, and then we all
trembled when we saw the Count, Don Suero, who was riding
on, not far from us, with a brilliant company of pages and
cavaliers, and who kept his gaze riveted on me with an
attention which terrified me. The blind man let his instrument
fall on the ground when he heard the name of Don
Suero, and began to tremble in such a way that those who
were standing around felt compassion for him. He endeavoured
to conceal himself amongst them, as if the eyes of
the count were those of a basilisk, and he feared lest they
might gaze on him. The crowd dispersed as soon as the
music and the dancing, which had attracted them, ceased;
Don Suero and his attendants continued their way, and
shortly after our inquietude had almost disappeared. But
not so with the blind man, who remained there full of terror,
listening to the slightest noise which could be heard about us.
We asked him what was the cause of his inquietude, and
this is the lamentable story which he related to us, from
time to time shedding copious tears: ‘God, when He took
my wife from me, left me a daughter, and also my eyes, with
which I could gaze upon her beauty, for you cannot imagine
how beautiful my Sancha was! Poor and rich envied me my
treasure, for gold and silver and palaces could not be of so
much value to me as my daughter. “Father,” she used to[Pg 25]
say to me, “you are the centre of my affections on earth.”
“Daughter,” I used to say to her, “you will be my glory in
this world.” Such was I to her, and such was she to me.
One day we saw from our window a cavalier, who, riding
across the fields which I cultivated, was directing his way
towards our happy abode. He came up to the door and
asked for a drink of water, for it was the month of July and
the sun was so burning that Sancha and I had returned
home from our work, in order to escape his rays. My
daughter handed the water to him, and we invited him to rest
beneath our roof. The cavalier thanked us, but did not
accept our offer. “You have been hospitable to me,” he said,
“and I desire to show you that I am grateful; in exchange
for the kindness you offer me I ask another from you; if at
any time you should go to Carrion, where my estates are, come
to the castle which I have there, and I shall be well pleased
to see both of you and extend my hospitality to you; if you
do not so, I shall be much vexed, for it will prove that you
do not trust in my goodwill, as I do in yours.” We promised
to do as he requested, if the occasion should arise, and the
cavalier went off by the way he came, leaving us delighted
with his courtesy, and resolved to comply with his wishes,
if ever we should be in the vicinity of Carrion. The opportunity
came, and it appeared to us that it would be an act of
discourtesy if we were to return home without seeing the
count, for the offering of a favour is of more worth than the
acceptance of it. We proceeded to his castle, and Don Suero
received us and entertained us, not as peasants, which we are,
but as if we were kings. He showed us his magnificent
apartments, his richly-wrought furniture, brocades and
tapestries worthy of an emperor, gold and silver vessels, and
beds covered with silk and gold. My Sancha saw damsels
there clad like queens. None of them were as beautiful as
she was, but appeared so on account of the richness of their
apparel and the fairness of their faces, not browned, like hers,
by the rays of the sun in summer and the cold blasts of
winter. When so great riches and such luxuries had made
us lament secretly the misery in which we always had lived,
without noticing it until then, the count asked us if we
would like to remain in his palace, where a happy life would
await us, compared with that which we had experienced, and
which we should in future experience, working in the fields.
Little would have made us accept his proposal, but my Sancha[Pg 26]
and I had heard that ambition, flattery, and calumny, which
destroy both body and soul, reside in palaces, and we resisted
the temptation and the importunities of Don Suero. We took
leave of him, expressing our thanks; but, on reaching the
gate of the castle, we found it shut, and when we were
about to call out for someone to open it, two servants of
the count seized on me, and two men on my daughter, and
separated us, carrying us off with violence, Sancha I know
not whither, and me into a dark prison cell. In vain
I implored them, in vain I called the count by the
name of traitor, in vain I questioned my jailers, for I remained
many months in my cell, separated from the world,
and without a ray of light falling on my eyes. From time to
time I heard the bolts of my dungeon, and a person—I know
not whether it was a man or woman, for the darkness was
always complete, and no voice, except my own, ever sounded—brought
to me the meagre food which prolonged my sad life.
One day I took up the vessel in which water was left for me
and raised it to my lips; I found in it a sweetish liquor, which
I drank without distrust; in a short time I felt a great heaviness
coming over my entire body, my senses were numbed, my
eyelids closed, and in a few moments I fell into a heavy sleep.
That sleep must have lasted very long, or at least so it seemed
to me, on account of the torments I suffered during its continuance;
at first there was a horrible nightmare, during which,
at one time, my daughter appeared calling on me, in her
desolation, to deliver her from the count; at another, weeping,
in despair, over her lost honour; after that I felt an acute pain
in my head, as if my eyes were being torn out, and I thought
I heard footsteps of persons moving about me. At last I
shook off that infernal sleep; my senses recovered their
activity, and I only then felt a great weariness over my entire
body, and an agonising pain in my eyes. I raised my hand to
them and found my face bathed with a liquid, which I thought
was sweat. A terrible suspicion seized on me at that moment:
I feared that they had deprived me for ever of the light,
and the pain which I felt in my eyes for some days confirmed
that idea. From that time forth I desired more ardently than
ever to be able to leave my prison, in order to find out if my
suspicions were correct, if I were condemned to live for ever
in darkness; and I incessantly demanded my liberty from my
jailer, who at last, speaking to me for the first time, informed
me that I was about to receive my liberty. He then took me[Pg 27]
by the hand, and guiding me through some winding passages,
left me in a place, which appeared to me to be a field, for
the air was circulating freely; the rustling of the leaves,
moving over the ground, could be heard; my feet trod on
a soft substance, which I knew to be grass; and the murmurings
of the fountains and brooks arrived to my ears.
Then—ay, then! a despairing cry escaped my lips; there was
no longer any doubt, the Count of Carrion had condemned me
to perpetual darkness; the sun, the sky, the verdure of the
fields, and above all, the dangerous beauty with which God
had endowed my daughter—my beloved Sancha—could never
again be seen by me! “But what has become of her, my
God!” I exclaimed. “Where shall I find her? Where is she,
that she does not come to guide her poor blind father in the
darkness which will perpetually surround him?” And from
that time to this I seek my daughter everywhere, in the
villages and in the cities, in palaces and in cabins—and
nowhere can I find her. A hundred times have I gone to
Don Suero to demand of him where she is, and he has always
ordered his servants to drive me with blows from his palace,
and now I fear to go near him again, for he would kill me, and
I do not wish to die until I have clasped my daughter in my
arms, and found a cavalier who will avenge the terrible injuries
which have been inflicted on us.'”

“God’s anger! what a wretch that count is!” exclaimed
Rodrigo, when the girl had related thus far, and to whom he
had listened with visible emotion. “I would give my life,” he
continued, “to prove against him the temper of my sword;
and I pray God to grant me an opportunity of doing so.”

“In such a way did Martin cry out,” continued the maiden,
“when the blind man terminated his sad history. You could
have seen him, sir knight, clenching his strong hands, brandishing
the stout stick which he used as a staff, and following
with his eyes the road on which, but a few minutes before,
the count had disappeared, as if seeking that infamous
cavalier, in order to crush him with his righteous anger.”

“I vow by Judas Iscariot,” exclaimed Fernan, not less
indignant than his master, “that if I can get my lance near
that villainous wretch, I will spit him on it like a hen, not
alone in the presence of the King of Leon and Castile, but
even in that of the King of Heaven Himself. But continue
your narrative, fair maid, for both my master and I are most
anxious to hear the conclusion of your own adventure.”

[Pg 28]

The maiden then returned to what concerned herself, and
the knight and the squire approached their steeds as near hers
as they possibly could, so as not to miss a word of what she
might say.

“The sun was about to hide himself behind a distant hill;
and the birds were bidding him farewell, singing plaintively
in the trees which surrounded us; and the pilgrims were
beginning to leave the sanctuary, as their songs and their
joyous cries could be heard on the various roads which
branched off in all directions. We took the one which led to
Carrion, and the blind man with the lute was to get a night’s
lodging in the hermitage. His story had taken gladness from
our hearts, and we were walking on, silent and uneasy, as if
we foresaw some misfortune. Night had come on, and the
moon was alternately lighting up the landscape and hiding
herself behind the large black clouds which were moving
across the sky. On entering a narrow road, bordered by thick
trees, we perceived, in the obscurity, some dark objects which
appeared to us to be men on horseback, and we were not
wrong, for just then they advanced to meet us, calling out to
us, ‘Halt, ye rustics, or whoever ye are.’ Martin recognised
the voice as that of one of the servants of Don Suero, and told
me so, placing himself before me, as if to protect me from a
danger which he believed was threatening me. Two of the
horsemen dismounted and came towards me with drawn
swords; the moon then concealed herself behind a dark cloud,
and a terrific fight took place between the ruffians and Martin,
whose father, together with my father, ran to his aid, although
they were armed even worse than he was. At last, however,
the combat ceased; but the darkness prevented me from seeing
what had happened to Martin and our fathers. One of the
ruffians then lifted me up in his strong arms, without my being
able to resist him, as terror had deprived me of all strength,
and placed me in those of one of the men who had not dismounted;
he then, placing me before him on the horse, gave
it the spurs and galloped off, followed by his comrades, not, as
I judged, by the road towards Carrion, but to a castle situated
at the boundaries of the district.

“He who had carried me off was Don Suero, whom I afterwards
saw lying insensible before the Inn of the Moor. An
hour before your arrival we all dismounted at that hostelry, for
the ride had been rapid and long, and both riders and horses
were almost exhausted by hunger and fatigue. However,[Pg 29]
when they were about to resume their journey, the footsteps of
your steeds were heard, and Don Suero, shutting me up in a
room, sallied forth with his followers to meet you. You know
now, sir knight, how grateful I should be for the service you
have rendered me; but, even if saved from my abductor, I
cannot but weep for my father and for the brave youth to
whom I was to have been married, and of whose fate I am
ignorant, as they are of mine.”

Thus speaking, the girl gave vent to her tears, which even
the kind words of Rodrigo and his squire were unavailing to
restrain.

Not long after this the battlements of the Castle of Vivar were
seen in the distance, and when the sun had about half finished
his daily journey our travellers arrived at the end of theirs.

CHAPTER V

HOW RODRIGO AND HIS SQUIRE WERE RECEIVED
AT VIVAR

The first care of Rodrigo on entering his paternal mansion
was to entrust the young girl to the care of his
mother’s servant-women, and they, knowing how necessary
rest was for her, prepared a comfortable bed, in which we shall
leave her to her repose, in order to describe the reception
which his mother gave to the newly-made knight, and which
his sweetheart gave to Fernan.

Rodrigo had now been separated from his mother for many
months. Being ignorant of the customs of the Court—as he
had scarcely ever been absent from Vivar, except when visiting
the estates of Don Gome or attending some tournament in the
vicinity—his father brought him to it, in order that he might
become acquainted with its usages and learn all that a young
man, who would soon, most likely, be made a knight, should
know.

Teresa Nuña was a lady in whom were to be found all the
virtues and good qualities that one could desire in a woman.
The nobility of her race, and her prudence and beauty gave
her a right to shine in the royal Court, but her ambition from[Pg 30]
the time she was a child was of a different kind. All the
glory and all the delights of the world were, for her, only to be
found at the domestic hearth; to love her family, to be loved
in return, and to be the guardian angel of the weak and of the
poor—these were the objects of her ambition, these were her
greatest delights, these were her supreme desires. At the time
when she was born it was usual for girls who, like Teresa,
looked with disdain on worldly riches and the pleasures of
love, to bury themselves in a cloister; nevertheless, although
her faith was as pure and as holy as that which, five centuries
later, inflamed the soul of another Teresa, the singer of divine
love,—even though she may not have participated in the same
religious ecstasies as that saint,—Teresa Nuña entertained
different views. She considered that the cloister should be
the asylum of the unfortunate, a refuge for hearts which looked
for nothing but heaven, the dwelling of those who could do
but little for the cause of humanity. To make the happiness
of an honoured husband, to give to her country sons who
might be an honour to it and defend it, to cover with the
mantle of charity and mercy the nakedness and the misery of
the unfortunate—these things were in her mind the holiest
duties of a woman. For something more than singing to
heaven the psalms of the poet-king, through the bars placed
across the window of a cell, did God place the woman by the
side of the man,—woman, that weak, beautiful, sweet, persuasive
being, full of charity, all spirit, all poetry. God, who
causes sweet-smelling flowers to spring up in the midst of the
foul marshes, and the herbs to grow on the hard rock, in order
that the odour of their flowers may neutralise the fetid smell
of the marsh, and the soft leaves the asperity of the stone;
God, we repeat, has placed the woman at the side of the man
in order that the sweetness of the one nature may neutralise
the asperity of the other. When a woman’s heart is broken
by a man, or when he refuses her the shield which should
protect her weakness, let her seek in God that which he has
taken from her or refused to her, and woe to them that deny
to her such a refuge; however, where reasons for shutting
herself up in a cloister do not exist, let her fulfil in the world
her glorious destiny. Thus thought Teresa Nuña when the
brave and honoured Diego Lainez besought her hand; she
gave it to him with joy, for by doing so the honour of her
house would be increased, and, above all, her noble aspirations
would find their realisation. From that time forward she was,[Pg 31]
more than ever before, the mother of the unfortunate; and
when nature gave her another right to that sweet name, when
she was called such by the rosy lips of her child, she considered
herself the happiest woman in this world. It is easy,
then, to imagine the love she felt for Rodrigo, she whose heart
was a treasure of love and tenderness for all, and the pleasure
she would feel in again clasping to her heart that handsome
and gentle youth after some months of separation from him.
He had scarcely dismounted in the courtyard of the castle
when she ran to meet him, and both were reunited in a close
embrace.

“How is it, my son,” asked Teresa of the youth, “that your
father has not come with you, for had he done so my happiness
would be complete?”

“Do not be uneasy, dear mother,” replied Rodrigo; “last
night I left him well, and much honoured by the king, at Leon,
to which city Don Fernando has returned.”

“I am rejoiced, son of my soul, on account of the affection
which Don Fernando feels for your father, and the favours
which he confers on him; however, I would be more rejoiced
if I could have him always by my side, for if the love which I
always had for him made me weep during his absence when
he was still vigorous and young, it makes me doubly sad when
he is away from me now that he is feeble and old. I fear that
the disquietudes of a Court life may injure his health, or that he
may be injured by the plots which his rivals and enemies get
up against him.”

“As to that, have no fear, mother. Our rivals know that,
even if the hand of Diego Lainez is weak to avenge injuries, it
is not so with that of his son. Who will dare to insult Diego,
now that a knight’s sword has been girt on Rodrigo?”

“Oh, my son!” exclaimed Teresa, again embracing the
youth, full of delight, as much for the generous impulse which
the words of her son manifested as for the news that he had
been made a knight. “How is it that the eyes of your mother
did not sooner notice your sword-belt? When, my son, were
you so honoured?”

“Only yesterday, dear mother, and much honoured indeed,
for the king girt on my sword, the queen gave me my steed,
and the Infanta Doña Urraca buckled on my spurs.”

“Oh, how great an honour you will become to the order into
which you have been received!”

“Such, I trust, shall be soon, mother; for I only come to[Pg 32]
take leave of you before setting out for the frontiers to fight
against the Moorish power; for oh, my mother, I want riches,
I want a throne!”

“I well can understand those noble aspirations, as the blood
of the Counts of Castile flows in your veins. Proceed, then, to
the war, even though parting from you will make your mother’s
heart bleed, as I would wish to keep you always near me.
However, let no ambition dazzle you, beyond that of serving
your country and the faith of your forefathers. You say that
you desire riches, that you desire a throne. Why do you
desire a throne, my son?”

“I desire it, dear mother, in order to raise myself above
that ambitious count, who looks on me as one too poor and
humble to merit the hand of his daughter.”

“Ah, my son, you have then not yet conquered that love,
the realising of which has become almost an impossibility, and
which has caused such inquietudes both in your soul and in
those of your parents? You have not yet forgotten Ximena?”

“Forget her? forget her? Never, my mother! In vain
have I tried to do so; in vain have I sought to erase her
image from my heart; in vain have I tried to think that to love
Ximena was almost the same as to humble myself before her
father, a humiliation unworthy of the race of Vivar; but this
love still dominates me, stronger and more vigorous than ever.
Forget her? forget her? Had I but loved her a day, a
month, a year, and not almost during my whole life; were
Ximena and I the maiden and the youth, whose union might
appease paternal rancours or satisfy paternal ambitions, and in
which love had little part; were she less beautiful, less discreet,
less honoured than she is—then perhaps I could forget her; but
you, my mother, know how deep is the love which unites us;
for you, whose eyes were ever fixed on us, have seen it spring
up and increase, and you have even fanned its flame by
keeping us ever near each other, and by letting us see the
pleasure and the pride which a similar love caused you. I
promised you, indeed, when I left your arms to betake myself
to the Court, that I would endeavour to forget her, and I even
said to you that I had hopes that I might be able to do so;
but I was mistaken, dear mother. Many days passed without
my seeing her, but none that I did not think on her; and that
day on which my father brought me with him to the Court
was the happiest of my life, and proved to me that separation
had only made our love stronger. Had you seen her eclipsing[Pg 33]
with her beauty that of the fairest dames of Leon, and receiving
the homage of the bravest and best cavaliers, you could not
ask me, mother, Have you forgotten her?”

Teresa was now convinced, if indeed she had not already
been so, that the love of her son was above all reasonings, and
she did not try to overcome it with hers. She thought it better,
therefore, to endeavour to remove the pain from his burning
heart by pouring on it some drops of the balsam of hope.

“Do not forget her, then, my son,” she said to the excited
youth, caressing him with her hand, and with a look full of
love and tenderness. “This love will elevate your soul and
strengthen your heart. Summon our friends and vassals, and
go fight against the infidel, for the glory and the power which
you will achieve shall throw into the shade, as you have said,
the ambitious Don Gome, and Ximena will become your bride.
The contentions which separate her family and ours are not
of that kind which, between honourable rivals, cannot be terminated
without honour being stained. Go, my Rodrigo, go
to your repose, for indeed you require it after so long a
journey, and to-morrow we shall see what can be done to promote
your happiness; for your mother, more experienced than
you in the affairs of this world, will aid you with her love and
advice.”

Teresa and her son again lovingly embraced each other, and
the youth retired to take off his armour in order to seek repose;
not, however, without having related to her the adventure at
the Inn of the Moor, and having recommended to her care the
maiden who had sought the hospitality of the castle.

Having described the reception which was given to Rodrigo
at Vivar, we must also describe that which Fernan received.

Almost at the same time that our travellers rode into the
courtyard of the castle, there entered after them a large
number of girls and young men, vassals of the grandee of Vivar,
who, having seen Rodrigo arrive, and having recognised, by his
armour, that he was now a knight, came to welcome him and
offer him their congratulations on account of the order of
chivalry which he had received, playing rustic instruments and
singing joyous songs. As soon as Rodrigo dismounted he
ascended to the upper apartments, leaving the young girl, his
guest, with his squire, in order that he might place her under
the care of the servants of his mother, as we have already mentioned.
Fernan then proceeded to the stables, to see that the
horses were properly attended to. When he returned to the[Pg 34]
courtyard the male and female peasants began to pour in, and
amongst the latter he saw one so graceful and pretty that he
would have fallen in love with her at once, if his heart had not
been captured beforehand, by her charms. As it was a long
time since he had seen her, he forgot where he was, and running
up to her, gave her a warm embrace, which the girl did
not try to avoid, as she was rather fond of the brave squire,
and love, particularly amongst country-people, often goes
beyond the bounds of decorum. At that very moment
Mayorica heard the music and the cheering in the courtyard;
she ran to her window, which looked out on it, and was much
enraged, with good cause, when she saw Fernan so warmly
embracing the peasant girl. “Ah, traitor!” she exclaimed;
and when he heard that cry, the squire let go the girl, who,
uttering another cry, suddenly ran off from her companions and
from the castle, not without threatening both with her look and
hand the unlucky Fernan, who did not notice this, however,
on account of the perturbation of his mind.

The good squire remained as if thunderstruck for some
moments, but he soon recovered his habitual serenity, and
began to consider, whilst ascending the stairs, what he should
do to escape the strong language and, perhaps, the nails of
Mayorica.

“What a fool I am,” he said to himself, “not to be able to
restrain my impetuous feelings, when prudence should counsel
me to do so!” and he tugged at his hair out of pure vexation
with himself. “A fool, and ten times a fool,” he continued,
“not to remember the unreasonableness of women. O ye
women, cause of all my troubles! but it was I myself, donkey
that I am, that was the cause of the present one. Why do I
not cast both of you off, or turn Moor, so as to have three, and
none of them to tear my beard if I love the others. But I
am an old Christian, and have fought long years against the law
of Mahomet and must fight against it still; however, for all
that, I cannot deny that Mahomet was a wise man, in one
thing at least—permitting a man to have three wives. I would
not only allow three but three hundred, so that none of them
could claim more than the three-hundredth part of a man’s love.
A man returns home, after a long journey, sore and weary,
and instead of finding a woman to welcome him with open
arms, he finds a regular fury, who receives him with abuse
and with scratches enough to blind him.”

With these wise reflections Fernan ascended the stairs, and,[Pg 35]
entering the chamber of Mayorica, he found her, bathed in tears,
sitting on a chair, in such a condition that it awoke compassion
to see her. Such, then, did our squire feel, and as pity
is said to be akin to love, his returned in such a degree that
his angry thoughts were well-nigh forgotten.

“Who has offended you, Mayorica of my soul?” exclaimed
Fernan, approaching the damsel with open arms; but she
suddenly arose, and seizing, with great fury, the squire by the
neck, cried out—

“Ah, traitor, and worse than traitor! I will choke you, so
that you may never more deceive honourable girls who are
worth more than your whole race.”

“I vow by Judas Iscariot! by the soul of Beelzebub!”
muttered Fernan with stifled voice, struggling to get free from
his enraged sweetheart. “Let go, let go, you vixen, or I shall
make you do so, even if I have to strike you.”

And making a violent effort, he found himself free from the
young woman, whom he pushed from him across the floor,
though he did not do so before getting some scratches on his
face.

Mayorica, knowing that her nails were insufficient weapons to
fight against so robust a lover, had recourse to the usual one
of women, that is, to her tongue, and Fernan to a similar one, as
he considered it was not courteous and honourable to fight
with stronger weapons, especially when his adversary was a
woman.

“Woe is me! who, having refused the love even of hidalgos,
have kept my honour intact for the sake of such a low-born
squire, a greater traitor than Judas himself!” cried Mayorica,
bursting out again into torrents of tears, that would have
softened a stone.

Fernan laid aside his annoyance and endeavoured to conquer
the anger of his sweetheart with mild reasoning, for his
heart was as soft as wax when dealing with women, as it was
hard as flint before his enemies on the field of battle. And
besides, what should a man do but humble himself before a
woman who at thirty years of age—for Mayorica was not a day
younger—comes with unstained honour to a man, in order that
he may claim her as his own?

“Be quiet, be quiet, Mayorica of my soul! I always look
on you as my own, and I have always loved you, and ever will
love you,” he interrupted, with endearing accents and an
affectionate gaze.

[Pg 36]

“Ah, you villain!” replied the young woman, “it was not
enough for you to act the traitor but you must also come to
me with lies in your mouth. You then want to deny what my
very eyes have witnessed?”

“Let not that pain you, Mayorica; with my arms I did not
give my heart to that peasant girl, Aldonza; I keep it always
for you.”

“Be off, traitor! your ridiculous excuses enrage me more
than they appease me. Depart from me, and never, as long
as you live, dare to look on me again with eyes of affection.”

It appeared to Fernan that the anger of Mayorica was lasting
much too long; thus it was that, his patience failing him, he
determined to make use of his arithmetical argument, and if
he could not succeed in convincing her with it, to renounce
the attempt, and even, if necessary, his love itself.

“Well, then,” he said, “I am fond of Aldonza, but, I swear
to you, of no other but you and her. I have told you a
thousand times that, according to my calculations, there are
two women in Spain for every man. Is it not nonsense, then,
to blame me for only claiming what belongs to me, when I go
no farther?”

“Be off with you, shameless wretch!” exclaimed Mayorica, at
the height of her exasperation.

“Yes, and at once,” said Fernan; “for Aldonza is awaiting
me, in order to repay with interest the embrace I gave her.”

Saying this, he quitted the chamber of Mayorica and went off
to his own, muttering on his way—

“By the soul of Beelzebub, how this nonsense, this
obstinacy, this absurdity of women, makes my blood boil! I
will rest myself to-night, for I need to do so, and to-morrow I
will compensate myself with Aldonza for the ingratitude of
Mayorica. That girl is affectionate and not cross and quarrelsome,
like the vixen I have just left.”

[Pg 37]

CHAPTER VI

HOW FERNAN DESPAIRED OF GETTING WOMEN TO UNDERSTAND
REASON, AND HOW DIEGO LAINEZ HOPED THAT
HIS HONOUR WILL BE AVENGED

Morning began to break when a cross-bowman, who was
keeping watch on the battlements of the Castle of Vivar,
heard the trampling of horses at a short distance from
the fortifications, and a moment after he saw advancing a
body of horsemen and also men on foot, who seemed to
bear a litter. He put to his mouth the speaking-trumpet
which hung from his neck, and cried out, “Who goes there?”
Those who were approaching answered by a signal, which he
evidently understood, as the bridges and the portcullis were at
once lowered, and the cortège entered the courtyard.

A short time before Fernan had left the castle by an iron-bound
door, which led to the stables and which was used for
the egress and ingress of the servants of the lords of Vivar,
especially in the night-time, when the principal entrance was
defended by a double portcullis and a gate, too heavy to raise
frequently.

Whither was the squire going so early in the morning?
It is easy to guess, if we remember the last words he used
when retiring to rest a few hours before. Notwithstanding his
quarrel with Mayorica, he had slept that night like a dead man,
until an early hour of the morning, at which time he awoke,
as was his custom, and hastened off to the dwelling of Aldonza,
for she lived at some distance, and he had to be back in the
castle before his master arose, when he should have to be in
attendance on him. We must, however, tell who the girl was
whom he was about to visit, and also who the old woman was
with whom she lived. To do this it is only necessary to copy
literally the words of the chronicler, who writes: “The girl
was named Aldonza, and was very pretty and attractive, so that
there was none like her in those parts. Many gallants sought
her affection, but it was of no avail, as she was in love with a
gentle squire named Fernan, who belonged to the house of
the honoured Diego Lainez. There lived with her an old
witch, by name Mari-Perez, whom all the maidens and youths
that were in love went to consult.”

Far be it from us to question the text which we have just[Pg 38]
quoted: the reader can do it if he so desires. If the occupation
of Mari-Perez may not be considered a very honourable
one, let the blame rest with the chronicler, and let it be put
down to malice, for it looks as if he harboured such against
her, to judge by the way he expresses himself. All we shall
add is that Aldonza called the old woman with whom she
lived “mother,” but we are certain that she was not such, for if
she were so, that fact would have been mentioned in the
chronicle, which goes into much detail regarding the persons
who figure in it.

Aldonza and the woman she called her mother resided in a
cottage situated amongst the trees of a lonely glen, through
which rushed a torrent, whose roar contributed not a little to
increase the superstitious dread with which the inhabitants of
the country surrounding Vivar approached the dwelling-place
of the witch, for by that name Mari-Perez was commonly
known. Fernan, however, who did not trouble himself much
about witchcraft, knocked at the door of Aldonza, consoling
himself with the thoughts of the good reception he would
receive from Aldonza, compared with the scratches which
Mayorica had inflicted on him. The girl appeared at the small
window above the door and asked who was there.

“It’s me,” answered the squire; “open the door, for this
mist that’s rising from the brook is freezing me.”

“Wait,” said Aldonza, and taking up a jug of water, she
threw it out on the unfortunate Fernan, exclaiming—

“You will die here, traitor, villain, ruffian, blackguard!
Do you think you can deceive me any longer? It is you that
are tricked now!”

And not content with having wetted him to the skin with
the water and nearly broken his head with the jug, she began
to hurl down on him such a quantity of tiles, stones, and other
projectiles, that if he had not sheltered himself at once behind
the trunk of an oak tree, which luckily happened to be near,
she would have nearly killed him, considering her fury and
the accuracy with which she aimed.

“Halt, you minx!” exclaimed Fernan, soaked through not
only with water, but also with blood. “As sure as I catch you,
I’ll take every inch of skin off your back with lashes. Is it
thus, you vixen, that you treat so faithful a lover as I am?
Would that I had never set my eyes on a jade like you! May I
lose my strength if at this very moment I do not, with blows and
lashes, half kill both you and the witch who lives with you!”

[Pg 39]

Thus speaking, the squire rushed at the door and gave it a
furious kick, in order to break it in; but his own head narrowly
escaped being broken in by another jug and more tiles and
stones, which made him return to his tree more quickly than
he could have wished.

“What did I do to you? what did I do to you, that you
should attack me with such fury?”

“Be off, traitor!” replied the girl; “be off to the castle, and
tell her who awaits you there that from this day forward you
are hers alone.”

The enamoured Fernan came now to the conclusion that
Aldonza had discovered his love for Mayorica, and he began to
think of using his eternal arithmetical argument; he remembered,
however, the little good it had done him with Mayorica,
and recognised that Aldonza was not then in a condition to
listen to reason. He thought, therefore, that the best thing
he could do would be to return to the castle, which he did,
cursing the unreasonableness of women, and swearing by all
the saints in heaven that, in future, he would have nothing to
do with any of them as long as he lived, even if a war took
place in which so many men should be killed, that there would
be a hundred women left for every man that survived.

Let us return with him to the Castle of Vivar and discover
who were those that we saw arriving there, and what was taking
place in it, even though the reader has most likely guessed
that they were Diego Lainez and his friends and servants, who
had set out from Leon only a short time after Rodrigo.

It was pitiable to see the state of affliction into which Teresa
was thrown when she saw her husband, whom she, full of love
and tenderness, ran to receive and clasp in her arms. The
honoured Diego Lainez, though he knew his wife would be
deeply pained, did not conceal from her the affront he had
received, for it was a matter of necessity for him to unbosom
himself to some beloved being, who would help him to support
such a trial. Teresa Nuña, although the most tender and
sensible of women, was endowed with great strength of
character to bear tribulations; she was one of those beings
whose presence and words strengthen the weakest, and infuse
confidence and hope into those who have almost lost them.
Thus it was that she succeeded in consoling Diego to a considerable
extent, particularly when she repeated the words
which Rodrigo used when expressing his determination that
no insult to his house should go unavenged. At that moment[Pg 40]
Diego conceived the idea of finding out for himself what he
might hope for from his son.

Scarcely had Rodrigo risen from his bed, when he was
informed that his father had returned to the castle; he hurried
to visit him, and entered Diego’s chamber a very short time
after Teresa had quitted it.

“Father and lord, embrace me,” he said, without noticing the
affliction which was clearly stamped on the features of the old
man. His father clasped him to his breast, and taking his
hand, pressed it between his with such force that little more
would have disjointed the fingers, for it seemed that Diego,
with the strength of his will, had concentrated in the hand
with which he squeezed that of his son all the power that the
remainder of the muscles of his body retained.

The youth started back, trying to disengage his hand from
the grip of his father; pain coloured his cheeks and injected
his eyes with blood.

“Let go, father,” he cried out, “let go. Anger of God! if
you were not my father, you should pay for that squeeze you
have given me.”

The old man let loose the hand of the youth, and pressing
him again to his breast, said, weeping, not indeed with despair
but with joy—

“Son of my soul! that indignation was the comfort which
your father needed. Use that fiery spirit in avenging my
honour, which is lost if your arm does not save it.”

“Justice of God!” cried Rodrigo, rising erect like a viper
disturbed by a wayfarer. “Who is the traitor who has dared
to attack your honour—which is mine also? Tell me, father,
for neither you nor I can live, if the honour is dead, which no
person till now has ever dared to stain. Who, who is the
coward that has affronted you?”

“My son, the Count of Gormaz has struck me on the face
with his hand, has covered my cheek with blood in the sight
of the king and the grandees of Leon”—

And sobs smothered the voice of Diego.

“Anger of God!” exclaimed the brave youth, convulsed
with anger even greater than that which his father felt in his
grief and old age. “Do not weep, father; for I swear to you
that I shall cut off the hand which has stained your visage,
even though the cowardly felon should hide himself in the
bowels of the earth.”

“Go, my Rodrigo, go and challenge him to single combat.[Pg 41]
The king will oppose no obstacles to it, for God, who cannot
consent that an old man should be outraged, and an honour
thus stained which was gained by fighting for the faith during
four centuries, will put valour in your heart and strength in
your arm. Public was the offence, public also must be the
vengeance!”

Speaking thus, Diego Lainez went to a large press that stood
in the chamber in which they were, and contained various
kinds of arms. He took down a sword and handed it to
Rodrigo, with these words—

“Take and bind on, my son, the sword of Mudarra; go
and avenge with it your father.”

Rodrigo took the sword, kissed its cross-shaped hilt, and
exclaimed—

“Glorious sword, whose blade was tempered with the blood
of Ruiz Velasquez, be thou tempered again with that of the
cowardly Count of Gormaz, and bring honour to the arm of
the son of Diego Lainez, as the son of Gonzalo Gustios brought
honour to thee!”

The high price at which he valued his honour and the
magnitude of the insult he had received had caused the old
grandee to exaggerate his impotence to take vengeance on the
count; it is true that he had scarcely had an opportunity of
proving the bravery of his son; however, it was not so with
regard to many other cavaliers of his family and of his acquaintance.
Thus it happened that, on the same day that he
acquired the certainty that his son would proceed to fight for
the honour of their house, a great number of his friends and
retainers presented themselves, offering the aid of their arms,
of their riches, and of their men-at-arms, in order to wash out
the stain which he grieved over. When Rodrigo, therefore,
set out for Leon, having received the blessing of his parents,
he was followed by the good wishes of a multitude of lords
and cavaliers, and also by many of them in person, who
desired to be present at the reparation of the honour of De
Vivar, and even to defend it with the strength of their arms,
in case the youth should succumb in the combat.

[Pg 42]

CHAPTER VII

HOW RODRIGO FOUGHT WITH THE COUNT OF GORMAZ

The principal gate of the Alcazar led out on a broad
square, bounded on all sides by the magnificent mansions
of the noblest families of the city. Amongst them
was that of the Count of Gormaz, who, although he had a very
large and strong castle in the country, with appointments
worthy of a king, resided usually in the Court city, since death
had deprived him of his wife at Gormaz.

Don Gome had loved his wife as Diego Lainez did his, for
she had been equally worthy of being loved. Whilst he
enjoyed her affection and caresses, ambition had never come
to disturb his happiness, and he cared but little for the Court,
at which he was scarcely ever seen. However, from the time
he fixed his residence in Leon, whether it was that the death of
his dear companion had left a void in his soul, which had to
be filled up in some way, or whether it was that the glitter of a
Court life had deteriorated and darkened his heart, formerly
free from evil passions, it is certain that he became entirely
changed. Envy overmastered him, as a consequence of a
boundless ambition for honours and riches, which indeed he
had no need of, for the count was of very noble origin, and
his family one of the richest of Castile. He certainly loved
his daughter, and was loved by her; it is also certain that
Ximena had united in herself sufficient beauty, discretion, and
other good qualities to make her the pride and glory of her
father; all this, however, was not sufficient for Don Gome,
and his daughter filled but a small portion of the void left in
his heart by the death of his wife. There are in men certain
physiological phenomena which do not admit of satisfactory
explanation; in the case of the Count of Gormaz these were
very numerous.

Let us leave, however, this digression, and see what was
taking place in the palace of the count. In one of the apartments,
which overlooked the square of the Alcazar, was the
sweet, the beautiful, the loving Ximena, reclining on a couch,
and drying up with her handkerchief the abundant tears which
flowed from her eyes. She was thinking deeply, and her
meditations must have been tortures to her soul, to judge from
the agony which could easily be seen on her countenance.[Pg 43]
Not far from her, Lambra was occupied, much less with the
work which lay upon her lap, than with drying up the tears
which the grief of her mistress caused her to shed.

The honoured dueña deserves that we should say a few
words about her, for the part which a dueña performed with
regard to a young girl was not an insignificant one, especially
when the maiden is in love and has lost her mother. Lambra
was one of those women whose case would almost give one a
right to speak strongly against nature, if nature were not the
work of God—of God who has a heaven, with which to compensate
people for the privations which they have to bear on
earth. She was one of those women to whom nature had
given a superabundance of love and, at the same time, had
denied them the privilege of lavishing it on men, for, as far as
she was concerned, her countenance was cast in such a mould
that the more she might desire to approach men, the more
would they fly from her. Women of this kind devote their
love to the first being that crosses their path, for if they did
not do so their hearts would burst with the affection which
fills them. In this condition was Lambra: Ximena was the
being who had crossed her path and on whom she had poured
out all the love of her heart; she was present at her birth, and
had witnessed her physical and moral development from day
to day without ever losing sight of her, thus filling up her
soul with her, if we may so express ourselves; and it may be
said indeed that the maiden formed part of her being. Thus it
was that she wept or smiled when Ximena wept or smiled,
and almost hated or loved according as Ximena did the one
or the other.

“Do not weep, my darling,” she said to the young girl,
affecting a calmness which she did not feel; “do not think any
more of your unfortunate love affairs, for if you keep brooding
over them you will be in your grave before three days are past,
and that would be neither good nor Christian on your part.
Let God, who created us, kill us, and let us not kill ourselves.”

“But of what use is life to me?” replied Ximena, rousing
herself from her meditations.

“Ave Maria! what a mad question! For what do we preserve
our lives but to be happy?”

“Alas, Lambra, you cannot understand that my happiness
is now impossible in this world. How can I be happy without
Rodrigo?”

[Pg 44]

“Have you then lost him?”

“I have lost him, Lambra. If I feared that I had lost his
love, when no really serious matter justified the hostility
between my father and his, how much stronger are now my
reasons for fearing it, when my father, the Count of Gormaz,
has imprinted on the face of his father a stain which only can
be washed off with blood? The hand of my father has opened
an abyss between both our houses.”

Lambra knew that what Ximena said was only too true, and
felt almost dismayed by the task that was imposed on her—that
of consoling and cheering up the maiden; notwithstanding,
she did her best to conceal her inquietude, and asked—

“Do you feel confident that Rodrigo loves you?”

“I have never doubted it.”

“And have you not often heard it said that love conquers
all things?”

“Yes, Lambra.”

“Then do not be disquieted, and trust that the love of
Rodrigo may be able to throw a bridge over the abyss of which
you have just spoken, in order that your house and his may
be reconciled and form again but one family.”

This reflection, although it was rather sophistical, shed a drop
of balsam on the wound which was torturing the soul of
Ximena, into whose mind flashed, at that moment, a ray of
light: “I shall throw myself on my knees at the feet of my
father,” thought to herself the daughter of Don Gome, “and I
shall beseech him to repair the offence which he has committed
against Rodrigo, and if he loves me, he will comply with my
wish.”

Whilst Ximena was still formulating this request, her father
entered the chamber. By the appearance of his daughter,
whose face was still stained by tears, Don Gome divined her
feelings. Such were the marks that grief had imprinted, in
two days, on the visage of Ximena, that the count could not
prevent himself from being deeply moved; for he loved his
child very much, notwithstanding the fact that the evil passions
which had taken possession of his heart were causing her the
deepest misery.

“My daughter!” he exclaimed, pressing her tenderly in his
arms, “you weep, and do not try to find consolation and alleviation
of your troubles in me. Do you perchance doubt of the
love of your father?”

“Ah no, my father!” answered Ximena, bathed in tears.

[Pg 45]

“Do you not know,” continued the count, with endearing
accents,—”do you not know, daughter, that, from the time I
lost your mother, you have been the sole being in this world
that I have loved? Do you think that I have no care for your
happiness because I have sworn that you never shall be the
bride of the son of De Vivar?”

“But, father,” said the young girl timidly, “you know that
such an oath destroys my happiness during my entire life.”

“It will destroy it, if you do not forget Rodrigo.”

“And do you believe that I can forget him? Do you
believe that a love can be forgotten that had its birth almost
at the same time that we had ours? Do you believe that it is
possible for a woman to forget a man like Rodrigo?”

“Nothing resists time and injuries received. Those which
Diego Lainez has inflicted on your father are such that your
union with his son would be an unbearable humiliation, not
alone to a race like that of De Gormaz, but even to that of a
low-born peasant. He who has so vilely calumniated me at the
Court; he who, for his own aggrandisement, has lowered me
so much in the eyes of the king; he who has robbed me of
the favour of Don Fernando; he who has been so treacherous
to his most loyal friend, deserved that your father should refuse
to his son your hand, and even should strike him in the face
before those in whose eyes he had so humiliated me.”

“Consider, my father, that a fatal error may have blinded
you. If you do not wish to commit an unjust act, if you do
not desire to enter into a contest in which both of us may die,
you by a lance or sword wound, and I by the grief which your
loss would cause me, make good the insult which you offered
to Diego Lainez in the saloons of the Alcazar, and forget for
ever those which you imagine that you have received from
him”—

“Ximena!” exclaimed the count in a severe tone, “what
advice is this you dare to give me? If it were another who so
counselled me, I would tear out his tongue. Do you value so
little the honour of your father, and do you consider him such
a coward, as to think that he should ask pardon of him in
whose face he would rather spit?”

The anger which the count exhibited whilst speaking those
words discouraged Ximena, and deprived her of her last hope.
The daughter of Don Gome answered her father with tears
alone. He, feeling compassion for her grief, repented of his
sudden burst of indignation, and clasped her again to his heart,[Pg 46]
pressing with his lips her pale brow. He felt, doubtless, that
his pride was yielding in presence of his child’s grief, and in
order not to desist from his intention of responding with fresh
insults to the reparation which he felt would soon be demanded
from him by De Vivar, he went off from Ximena, who followed
him with her eyes to the door of the chamber as sadly as if it
were the last time she should ever see him.

The king, who desired to bring about the reconciliation of
the count with Diego Lainez, fearful of the fierce strife which
otherwise would blaze up between the partisans of the two
noble families, summoned Don Gome to the Alcazar. At
the moment when the count left his house in order to obey the
order of the king, there rode into the square a body of knights
who, apparently, were also proceeding to the Alcazar. Amongst
them was Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar, who, as soon as he perceived
the count, separated himself from his companions, and made
his way hastily towards him.

“Listen, traitrous count, ignoble cavalier!” he said to him.
“I, Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar, son of Diego Lainez, whom you
wounded on the face, as he is old and cannot wash away with
your blood the stain you put on his honour, do now challenge
you to single combat, in which you will fight against me; and
five knights from amongst my friends shall sustain my rights
against five chosen from your friends, in case either you
or I should fall in the battle. I am about to demand permission
for this from the king.”

“Be off, then,” answered the count, turning his shoulder on
the young man with haughty disdain; “the Count of Gormaz
fights with giants, and not with boys like you.”

“Infamous count! boys have conquered giants,” responded
Rodrigo, with much difficulty keeping down his anger.
“Remember that David was very young when he overcame
Goliath. If I am a youth in years, I am a giant in the valour
which my outraged honour and your cowardice instil into
me.”

The count gazed on him with contempt, and proceeded a few
steps on his way. The youth, however, intercepted him, becoming
more and more enraged.

“Leave me,” exclaimed at last Don Gome, also filled with
anger, “leave me at once; for if I wounded your father’s face
with a blow of my hand, I shall chastise your insolence with
kicks.”

Those words, and the tone in which they were spoken,[Pg 47]
exasperated Rodrigo to the highest pitch, and he exclaimed,
placing his hand on his sword—

“Defend yourself, villain, defend yourself, or I shall kill
you behind your back, like a traitor and coward as you are!”

“You shall not do so, but you shall pay dearly for your
audacity,” replied the count, unsheathing his sword, and
rushing on Rodrigo with such fury that the young man had
scarcely time to place himself on his guard.

The count was robust and of enormous strength, so great
that on account of it he had gained the name of Lozano,[1]
by which he was commonly known, and which both history
and tradition have brought down to us. Rodrigo was of high
stature, but very thin, and his strength was not yet developed.
Thus it was that, the physical powers of the two combatants
not being equalised by defensive and offensive arms,—as was
usual in solemn combats, when there was great disproportion
in the strength of the two parties,—the spectators considered
the victory of the count as certain. Those present consisted
not only of the retinue which had accompanied Rodrigo, but
also of a large number of persons whom the clashing of the
swords had attracted to the windows and balconies of the
buildings which surrounded the square, or who had flowed in
through the streets that led to it. Amongst those spectators
was the king, Don Fernando himself, who appeared on a
balcony of the Alcazar just as the fate of the combatants was
about to be decided. They were fighting with a fury not
often seen; the strokes of the count were terrible from the
force with which they were dealt, but Rodrigo avoided them
with an agility and dexterity that could scarcely be expected
from him, considering the limited practice he had had in
warlike exercises, which only consisted in his having broken
a few lances at tournaments; moreover, he did not for an
instant lose the calmness and presence of mind so necessary
in a fight. At last Don Gome aimed a terrible blow at his
adversary, which the sword of Rodrigo did not altogether
succeed in warding off, and he felt the blood running down
his face. This advantage gained by his enemy, far from
discouraging him, only inflamed his anger more and more,
and lent new strength to his arm, new breath to his lungs, and
increased agility to his limbs.

At that moment a cry of agony was heard from the mansion
of the count, a cry which the clashings of the steels, increasing
[Pg 48]in rapidity and force, fortunately prevented Rodrigo from
hearing. We say fortunately, for if he had heard it, his heart
would have become so troubled, that the good sword, which
he had consecrated by a reverent kiss when he received it
from his father, might have fallen from his hand. Yes; such
would likely have happened to Rodrigo, for it was Ximena
who had uttered that agonised exclamation, when, having gone
to the window of her chamber, she saw her father and her
lover fighting so fiercely; when she saw the visage of Rodrigo
bathed in blood, and perceived with the eyes of her soul that
her hopes of happiness had now indeed vanished for ever; for
her misery was certain whichever succumbed—her father or
Rodrigo. Of what use would life be to her without the
latter? And if her father fell, how could she marry his slayer?
Not in vain had she said, but a short time before, that an
almost impassable abyss had opened between her house and
that of Diego Lainez.

The combat, in the meantime, was raging even more fiercely
than before, and its end was evidently approaching, as the
combatants, panting and covered with blood, instead now of
defending themselves, were endeavouring, to their very utmost,
to kill each other. Don Gome then suddenly drew his dagger,
and with it in one hand, and his sword in the other, blind
with rage and desperation, rushed on Rodrigo, parrying with
his sword the strokes of his adversary, and doing his best at
the same time to pierce him with the dagger.

“Back, felon, traitor, back!” exclaimed Rodrigo, indignant
at the perfidy of the count. He, however, neither heard the
words nor listened to the voice of honour, which reprobates
every cavalier who has recourse to a vile stratagem in order
to conquer his enemy; Rodrigo fell back a step, and received
on the point of his sword Don Gome, who fell, pierced through,
to the ground, uttering a cry of rage and agony.

Loud applause resounded on all sides; cavaliers and citizens
rushed towards Rodrigo to carry him in triumph to where
his wounds could be dressed, for abundant blood was streaming
from them. Numerous flowers, which had adorned the
windows and balconies, fell at the feet of the brave youth,
and formed the victor’s crown.

[Pg 49]

CHAPTER VIII

HOW XIMENA DEMANDED JUSTICE FROM THE KING
AGAINST RODRIGO DIAZ

Some days have passed since Rodrigo avenged his father by
killing Don Gome, Count of Gormaz.

He had almost recovered from the wounds which he had
received in the combat; but there was another wound in his
soul which science could not cure. His sword had deprived
of life the father of his beloved: would she ever accept the
hand of him who had wounded her parent to the death?
Could the slayer of the Count of Gormaz hope for the love of
Ximena Gome? Nothing could console Rodrigo; no hope
of happiness remained to him. An invincible sadness overshadowed
him, which could not be driven away, either by the
joy of his parents when they saw the stain washed away which
had sullied their honour, or by the caresses and care which
they lavished on him; for Diego and Teresa had proceeded to
Leon immediately on learning the condition of their son, in
order that they might assist at the healing of his wounds.

One morning the king, Don Fernando, was amusing himself
in the company of his family, which he dearly loved. What
more pleasing sight than that of a powerful king, of a warrior,
as skilful as he was wise and brave, surrounded by his children
and his wife, forgetting the triumphs of his arms and the cares
of state, in order to give himself up completely to the joys of
the domestic hearth, with the same simplicity and effusion
which the humblest subject exhibits? At his side was his
wife, a noble and honoured matron, all the pleasures of whose
life were found where her husband and children were. Don
Fernando saw her, at the height of her contentment and
maternal pride, sharing with him the affection of their sons
and daughters, brave youths and beautiful maidens; his heart
participated in the satisfaction and pride of hers, and the
happy monarch considered as trifling the pleasures he enjoyed
surrounded by his courtiers, compared with those he tasted
surrounded by his family. There are in The Chronicle of the
Cid a few words which form the greatest eulogium on Don
Fernando as the head of a family. Those are: “He made
his sons read that they might be the better instructed; he
taught them the use of arms, how to fence and combat; also[Pg 50]
to be hunters. And his daughters he caused to pursue their
studies under dueñas, that they might be accustomed to, and
instructed in, all that was good.” If history had not distinctly
made known to us that Don Fernando I. was a tender and
affectionate father, as well as a faithful lover and husband,
the facts would be demonstrated to us by his having had no
illegitimate child, which was a very common thing amongst
the princes and lords of the period.

“Father,” said Don Sancho, who was the eldest of the
princes, “you have spent very much time in camps, you have
often exposed your life to the swords of your enemies; live
henceforth more for your family, and do not go away from my
mother and my brothers and sisters. I, although unworthy of
so great an honour, will take your place in war; if it is
necessary to fight against the infidels and the other enemies of
Castile and Leon, do not think, my father, that fear would
cause me to vacillate or draw back, for not in vain does your
blood flow in my veins.”

“O my son!” cried Don Fernando, feeling tears of joy
coming to his eyes, and clasping Don Sancho in his arms, “I
do not now fear death, for Leon and Castile will have in you
the best of kings! Secure of leaving behind me such a
successor, I shall care not should I lose my life in the wars.”

“Not care for your life?” exclaimed at the same time the
queen and his children.

“How would it be with us should you die, dear father?”
said Urraca, the eldest of the princesses. “Grief would kill us
also! Sad is the lot of daughters who love their father very
much and lose him!”

Just then it was announced to the king that Ximena Gome
requested an audience. Don Fernando, who never refused to
hear his subjects, now felt, more than ever, the desire of
consoling the afflicted, and believing that the daughter of the
late Count of Gormaz was very unhappy, he ordered that she
should be conducted before him.

“Justice, my lord, justice!” exclaimed Ximena, casting
herself at the feet of the king, and unable to articulate other
words, for sobs were almost choking her.

The noble maiden was completely changed, a fearful pallor
covered her emaciated face, which was wet with tears, and
even the disorder of her garments and hair showed her
grief.

“Justice, my lord, justice!” she repeated, as if she were[Pg 51]
about to lose her reason, and as if the idea which those
words conveyed was the last glimmering light of her mind.

The king, the queen, and the princesses endeavoured to
calm the excitement of her mind with affectionate words, and
their efforts were not unavailing, for in a short time she was
able to express the feelings which overmastered her, and the
desire which had led her thither.

“My lord, an audacious youth, the son of Diego Lainez,
slew my father, the Count of Gormaz, a few days ago, as you
already know. Grief has kept me prostrate on my bed until
to-day, when I come to demand justice from you. Grant it to
me, my lord, by punishing the slayer of my father, for if good
kings represent on earth the authority of God, you, my lord,
must punish a murderer, under pain of incurring the displeasure
both of God and of men. During the fever which
has been burning in my brain since the day on which the
hand of Rodrigo made me an orphan, I have seen the spirit
of my father, rising from his sepulchre and demanding
vengeance, and I promised it to him, counting on your
justice. If you do not grant it to me, my lord, cavaliers are
not wanting amongst my kinsmen who will respond to my
request; I shall go through your states of Leon and Castile,
demanding the aid of all good men, and both friends and
strangers will hearken to my call, and the horrors of war will
avenge your injustice and the perfidy of De Vivar.”

“Calm your grief and your resentment, Ximena,” answered
the king in a kind voice, “for I promise to do you justice. If
Rodrigo Diaz treacherously killed your father, justice shall
bring down her inexorable sword on his head, just as if he
were the humblest of my subjects.”

“My lord, I trust in your promise. Ask the princesses,
what they think is the grief of a daughter who loses her
father, and the anger she should feel against the man who
killed him. Those who love you as I loved my father can
well understand what I suffer, and will make you also, my
lord, understand it.”

“I have been informed that Rodrigo killed your father in
fair and honourable combat, and for my own part I can
assure you that your father had his sword, and also his dagger,
unsheathed. That he was not attacked unarmed is proved
by the dangerous wounds which he inflicted on Rodrigo.”

“Ah! dangerous wounds!” exclaimed Ximena, her face
again becoming pale, which had coloured up with excitement[Pg 52]
whilst she was addressing the king; and then she felt her
impotence in trying to conquer love with feelings of revenge.
What would she not have given, at that moment, to be able
to tear from her heart that undying affection which, in her
mind, was a crime against the dead body of her father, whose
wounds were still dropping blood and crying for vengeance!

That exclamation was also a revelation to the king, who,
not being ignorant of the love which had formerly united
Rodrigo and Ximena, doubted whether it could have been
completely extinguished in her, and changed to hatred, as the
demand she made of him seemed to testify. Don Fernando,
however, knew human hearts, especially the hearts of women,
too well, to openly oppose her feelings, especially when he felt
almost sure that they were but transitory; he knew very well
that when a sentiment is rooted in the core of the heart, it
goes on increasing, of itself, until it is powerful enough to
drive away all others which had been pressing it down, in
the same way that the sun drives off the clouds that for a time
obscure his brightness, showing himself soon again with the
glory of the conqueror. The wise monarch also knew that
the weakest and most superficial caprices change, when
strongly opposed, into strong and deep determinations, and
for that reason he resolved to temporise with Ximena,
trusting that time would make her desist from her complaints.
He knew the Count of Gormaz and Rodrigo well enough to
feel certain on whose side was the right, and he had not
forgotten the grave offence by which the former had given the
latter just excuse to kill him, even if the fight had been with
equal arms, much more so when perfidy was resorted to, for
Don Gome had acted in a perfidious manner, striking on the
face an honourable and feeble old man who had held out his
hand generously to him.

“Ximena,” he said to the maiden, “I repeat that you shall
receive justice from me; if Rodrigo acted treacherously he
shall be punished, and you know that in my realm there is
justice for all, and no one can escape it, be he ever so
powerful.”

Ximena returned to her dwelling. Notwithstanding the
promise that the king had given her to punish Rodrigo if he
were guilty, her inquietude, her grief, and her despair had
increased rather than diminished. That night her sleep was
a delirium in which was epitomised an eternity of torments;
a horrible nightmare pressed on her for long hours; she saw[Pg 53]
a man, exhaling his last breath, and calling out her name,
the name of Ximena.

And that man was not he whom she had seen during the
nightmares of preceding nights, that man was not her father.

He was Rodrigo Diaz!

When she awoke, when she succeeded in shaking off that
terrible nightmare, at the very instant in which she was
struggling to get near the dying man, in order to infuse new
life into him with her breath, calling him by the sweet names
which she had lavished on him in other times, when they
wandered through the fields of Gormaz, or those of Vivar,
happy and joyful as the birds and butterflies, then,—ah! then,
she became enraged with herself, tore her hair in terrible
despair, and rushed to the window of her chamber in order
to throw herself from it; and she would have done so, if
Lambra, who watched constantly by her side, disconsolate
and despairing like herself, had not pulled her back, despite
her struggles, which were but feeble, as her strength had been
much reduced by grief and by fever.

And when she recognised her impotence, not alone to crush
down her love, but also to find death as an end to her
sufferings, she fell on her knees, and, raising her eyes and
hands to heaven, she exclaimed—

“O my father, pardon, pardon! Mother, why did you
not smother me in your arms when you brought me into
the world?”

She then fell on the floor, like an inert mass, and the voice
of Lambra resounded through the mansion, summoning
assistance for her mistress.

On the following morning Ximena rose from her bed very
early, notwithstanding her strength being so reduced that she
could scarcely walk a step without stumbling, and began to
make preparations for a journey.

“But, my lady,” said Lambra, “would you not be better
at Gormaz, where all love you, and where you would have
your own house and the recollections of your childhood?”

“It is from those very recollections that I desire to fly,
for you well know that Rodrigo and I passed our childhood
partly at Gormaz and partly at Vivar.”

“You are right; I did not think of that; but, however it
may be, it would be a sad life in a desert like”—

“My life must be a sad one wherever I may be; and as[Pg 54]
my only hope is now of heaven, I desire to make myself
deserving of it whilst I live on earth. If the king will not
do me justice, the friends of my father will do so; but I
have not courage to hunt down him who shed my father’s
blood…. I will not persecute him, but I shall forget him
for ever.”

Ximena and Lambra continued to get together all the
articles necessary for a long journey.

“Do you intend to bring these trifles with you?” asked the
dueña, showing to her mistress a casket which, with other
things, she had taken from a drawer.

“Yes,” answered Ximena; “for that casket contains many
souvenirs of my mother…. But oh!” she added, “it also
contains some of Rodrigo. Give it to me, give it to me. I
will keep for ever those of my mother, but I shall burn
those of that traitor.”

And taking the case in her hand, she began to turn over the
things which it contained. They were, for the most part,
ribbons, flowers, rings, and children’s toys. The first she drew
out was a wreath of flowers. “Ah!” she said, “with this
wreath he adorned my brow on my fifteenth birthday!”

She was about to pull it to pieces with her hands, but she
feared to touch the flowers, as if they were covered with
thorns. She then drew forth a black curl bound with green
ribbon, and said, “Here is a lock of his hair which he gave
me the last time we were together at Gormaz, as a pledge of a
love which he himself has destroyed!” And she raised
her hand to cast it far from her; but she stopped, pensive,
and apparently struggling with opposing feelings. Suddenly
tears gushed from her eyes, and she cried out, placing the
wreath and the curl again in the casket, “Leave them there,
Lambra, leave them there; and let this wreath and this curl
be the haircloth to torture me in my solitude.”

The maiden remained motionless for a short time, during
which she ran over in her imagination the story of her love—the
story of her life—for they were both but one. The purest
love,—ardent, surrounded with heavenly illusions, with gilded
dreams, with light, with flowers,—the beauty of which can
only be understood by certain enamoured souls,—had entirely
made up the life of Ximena. And at seeing her hopes blasted,
at seeing parched up, never to sprout forth again, that flower
of paradise which perfumed and inebriated her soul, she felt
her heart torn with the profoundest sadness, with an immense[Pg 55]
despair, with an agony that cannot be described. The youth
or the maiden who has consecrated entire years to a love
which holds its mastery in dreams as well as in waking hours,
always sweet, always beautiful, always surrounded by an
enchantment superior to all other enchantments of this world,
and in a day, in a few hours, loses, without hope of recovering
it, the object of that love—such a youth or maiden only can
comprehend the grief of Ximena. In those moments of
terrible despair the sole comfort that can be found is to have
a mother, a father, a brother, a friend—some being sufficiently
good and sensible not to laugh at our tears, so that we may
cast ourselves into his arms and weep on his breast, saying,
“My heart is pierced; give me, for the sake of God, a little
love, with which I may calm my grief; fill up, as much as is
in your power, that deep void which is left in my soul; make
less bitter the transition state from hope to despair!”

And it was granted to Ximena to enjoy that comfort: she
had Lambra beside her, plain and homely, perhaps, but
affectionate and good, and she threw herself into her arms
and solaced herself with copious tears.

On that same day the disconsolate girl set out for Castile,
accompanied by the dueña and a few of her servants; and
tradition affirms that, after them, a youth went out from Leon,
who stopped on an eminence near the city, and followed with
his gaze the daughter of Don Gome, until a distant turn of
the road removed her from his view.

CHAPTER IX

HOW A MOORISH PRINCESS WAS CONVERTED, AND HOW
A SOLITARY CEASED TO BE SUCH

At that time the Moor Almenon was King of Toledo,
and with him Don Fernando the Great, King of Castile
and Leon, kept up a cordial friendship. This Moorish
monarch had a daughter, very beautiful and tender-hearted,
named Casilda.

In the vicinity of the gardens which surrounded the Alcazar
of Almenon, there were gloomy dungeons in which wept, half-starved
and loaded with chains, many Christian captives.

[Pg 56]

One day, when Casilda was walking in her father’s gardens,
she heard the sad wailings of those captives: her kind heart
caused her to weep for their sufferings, for she liked Christians
from the time when, in her girlhood, a Castilian female slave
told her that the Christians loved God, their king, and their
families; that amongst them the weak and oppressed were
protected; that they rewarded the good and punished evil-doers.

The princess then returned to the palace, with her heart full
of sadness, and knelt at the feet of her father, saying—

“My father, in the dungeons near your gardens a large
number of captives are suffering. Remove their chains from
them, open the doors of their prisons, and let them return to
their own country, where await them, sad and weeping, their
parents, their brethren, their wives, or their lovers.”

Almenon blessed his daughter in the depths of his heart, for
it was naturally good, and as Casilda was kind and beautiful,
and his only daughter, he loved her as the apple of his eye.
What loving father does not rejoice when he sees that his
children are good and tender-hearted?

The King of Toledo, however, far from complying with
Casilda’s request, considered that he was bound to punish her
rashness, for to compassionate Christian captives and plead for
their liberty was a crime, according to the traditional belief of
those of his race and religion.

For this reason he concealed the contentment of his soul;
for this reason he said to Casilda, with a stern look and
threatening voice—

“Depart, unbeliever! be silent, unworthy princess! Your
tongue shall be cut out, and your body cast into the flames,
for such is the punishment merited by the Moslim who pleads
for the Nazarenes.”

And he was about to summon his executioners, in order to
hand his daughter over to them.

Casilda, however, fell again at his feet, asking pardon from
him by the memory of her mother, the late queen, whose
death Almenon had now wept for a year.

And Almenon felt his eyes wet with tears, and he pressed
her against his breast and pardoned her, kissing her at the
same time; he said, however—

“Take care, my daughter, not to plead again for the
Christians, nor even to feel pity for them, for then I shall
have neither pardon nor compassion for you.”

[Pg 57]

The maiden, nevertheless, walked again in the gardens,
and the wailings of the captives came again to her ears;
charity strengthened her heart and illumined her soul.

The princess bribed with gold one of the guards of the
dungeons, and from that time she went every day, bringing
food and consolation to the poor captives.

One day she was carrying food concealed in the folds of her
garments, when she suddenly met her father on a winding
path, bordered by rose-bushes.

It was a morning in springtime; the roses were expanding
their blooms all around; the birds were singing in the
branches of the trees; the sun was just beginning to cast his
rays on the limpid jets of the fountains; and the air was
sweetened with the most delicious odours.

“What are you doing here so early?” asked Almenon of
the maiden.

“My father,” answered the princess, becoming as red as the
roses which the morning breeze was agitating by her side, “I
have come to gaze upon and enjoy the odour of those flowers, to
hear the carols of the birds, and to see the sun’s rays sparkling
in the fountains.”

“What are you carrying in the folds of your dress?” asked
the king in a stern voice.

“Roses which I have gathered from these bushes,” replied
Casilda, imploring from the bottom of her heart the aid of a
holy being named Mary, of whom, when she was a child, she
had heard the Christian slave speaking.

And Almenon, doubting her answer, opened the folds of
her dress, and a shower of roses fell upon the ground.

From that day the princess redoubled her assistance and
her consolations towards the captives; from that day she was
more loved by her father; from that day she adored, on the
altar of her heart, the Nazarene Divinity, and felt an ardent
desire to adore Him in the Christian temples. God, who
sometimes leads His creatures to their good by the strangest
paths, struck down the bodily health of Casilda by a disease,
which withered the roses on her cheeks and filled Almenon
and his Court with uneasiness and fear.

The most famous physicians of Seville and Cordova were
summoned to Toledo; but they exhausted their science, and
could not restore the princess to health.

Almenon then wrote to the King of Leon and Castile, asking
him to send the best physician at his Court, and Don[Pg 58]
Fernando hastened to comply with his request, for he also
had daughters whom he loved, as Almenon loved his.

The Leonese doctor came to the conclusion that the only
chance of saving the princess was by sending her to Castile,
in which there was a lake, the waters of which had great
curative virtues, especially regarding the disease from which
Casilda was suffering.

And she went to Castile, entrusted by her father to the care
of Don Fernando, and having bathed in the lake of San
Vicente, which is in the province of Briviesca, she recovered
her health, and the roses again bloomed on her cheeks.

However, when the waters of the lake of San Vicente had
healed her body, Casilda desired that the waters of the Jordan
should heal her soul, and she received baptism, her godfather
and godmother being the King and Queen of Castile and
Leon.

Her father learned soon that she had embraced the faith of
the Nazarene, and sent her word that he wished to see her no
more. Casilda wept, for she knew that her father also wept;
but Jesus, who had restored to health the daughter of Jairus,
who had suffered as she had done, said, “There is no man,
that hath left house, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother,
or wife, or children, or lands, for My sake, and the gospel’s,
but he shall receive an hundredfold now in this time, houses,
and brethren, and sisters, and mothers, and children, and
lands, with persecutions: and in the world to come eternal
life.” And Casilda desired to follow the Nazarene.

She then determined to consecrate her life to penitence,
where the tumult of worldly passions could not interrupt her
in her holy task, and where, at the same time, she could
practise charity towards all who might be in need of it.

The lake of San Vicente was situated in a lonely, rugged
country, and thus the poor invalids who went to seek health in
its waters could find no person to extend hospitality to them,
and very many died from the cold of the winter, or the heat
of the summer, both of which were excessive in that region.

Casilda erected there a hermitage, and resolved to pass her
life in it, dedicating herself to the service of God, and to the
care of suffering and despairing human beings.

One day she saw a number of persons, some riding and
some on foot, who were making their way towards her humble
abode, situated on the margin of the lake. A litter, drawn by
a horse, came on in the rear, in which she thought she per[Pg 59]ceived
two women. She believed that some invalids were
coming in search of health, as frequently happened, on account
of the beneficial qualities of the waters of the lake, and she
hastened to meet them, in order to offer them her charitable
care and the hospitality of her dwelling. Indeed, one at least
of the two women who occupied the litter appeared to be in
a very weakly state, to judge from the pallor and emaciation of
her face. Casilda had arrived within a short distance of the
litter, and seeing that its drivers were in doubt as to the way
they should go, for the ground was very rough and covered
with brambles, amongst which it was difficult to discern the
paths that led towards the lake and the hermitage of the
solitary, she said to the strangers—

“If you are coming to my dwelling-place, where I shall
willingly receive you, I shall guide you to it by the shortest
and easiest path.”

“Yes,” replied the pale woman in the litter, “we were proceeding
to your dwelling, and may God recompense you for
any kindness and hospitality you show us.”

Casilda then walked on towards her hermitage, and the litter
followed.

When all had arrived at the door, the women descended
from the vehicle, and Casilda recognised the younger of the
women, who also knew her. They embraced each other
warmly.

“Ximena!” exclaimed the daughter of Almenon, “you in
those solitudes! Why, notwithstanding the emaciation of
your face, did I not at once recognise you—you to whom I
was offering hospitality, as if to a stranger, rather than to one
whom I hold deep in my heart?”

“You see me here, Casilda,” said Ximena,—”you see me
here, seeking, not the health of my body in the waters of this
lake, but that of my soul in solitude, in mortification, in
prayer, and in charitable works; I therefore desire to be your
companion in this holy and peaceful retreat.”

“You are indeed welcome, friend of my soul! who thus
abandons the pleasures of the Court, in order to serve God
and humanity in this desert. Come into my dwelling, which
is yours also, and take some repose, for you have indeed need
of it, as has also this worthy lady, after the fatigues of your
journey.”

In truth, Ximena and Lambra, for now we know that they
were the travellers, were almost dead with weariness, for they[Pg 60]
had been obliged to go a considerable portion of the way on
foot, as some of the paths were so rugged and bad that it
would have been dangerous to remain in the litter.

Immediately afterwards, Ximena sent away the vassals and
servants who had accompanied her, and entered the hermitage
with Casilda, opening her heart to her, as she would have
opened it to her mother, if God had left her by her side to
strengthen her soul in the violent storm through which it was
passing.

We have seen that these two noble maidens knew each
other formerly. Ximena indeed had several opportunities of
meeting Casilda during the time she had spent at the Court of
Don Fernando, previous to her baptism, and two good and
generous souls need but a short time to understand each
other. They understood and loved each other in a few days.

Let us now leave them together in that solitude, which
worldly cares did not disturb, for other sad souls, like that of
Ximena, call upon us to reveal their griefs to the world.

CHAPTER X

HOW MARTIN SET OUT TO AVENGE HIS FATHER

Not far from the river Cea lived an old peasant named
Ivan, who had been a crossbow-man, in the time of the last
Count of Castile, afterwards lance-page, and finally squire.
Tired of the dangerous and agitated life which those of his
profession had to go through, and being the possessor of a
little money, which, by economy, he had saved during several
years, he bought a cottage, with a few acres of land, retired to
it with his wife and children, and had lived there for some time,
quite ignorant of what was passing in the world, for his dwelling-place
was in a lonely valley, the quietude of which was only
disturbed once a year by pilgrims who passed through it on
their way to the shrine which was near it.

On the night succeeding the day on which the annual
festival was held there, Ivan was sleeping tranquilly, for he
had taken part in the pilgrimage, when, at the first crow of the
cock, someone knocked and called out loudly at the door.[Pg 61]
The farmer awoke, went to his window, and asked, by no
means in a good temper—

“What drunken fellow is thumping at my door? By St.
James! this is a nice hour to disturb from their sleep people
who have to get up early to go to their field-work.”

“Anger of God! what a churl you are, Señor Ivan!” answered
the unknown person, who did not appear to be in better
humour than the farmer. “Open the door at once, and cease
your chattering, for there is no drunkard here, or anything like
one. Don’t you know me?”

“May God forsake me if it is not that fool Martin!”

“The very same, confound you! Open at once, if you
don’t want me to break in the door.”

The farmer hastened to light a candle, and to let the stranger
in. On seeing him he started back, horror-struck: everything
showed that the newly arrived had been engaged, a very short
time before, in a fierce fight; his hands, his face, and even his
clothes were covered with blood.

“Glorious St. Isadore!” exclaimed Ivan, “what is the matter?
You are wounded?”

“In the soul!” replied the young man. “The wounds on
my body matter little, for they are only scratches that can
easily be healed.”

“Let me examine them for you.”

“It is useless, Señor Ivan. Those which it is important for
me to heal are the wounds of my soul; the medicine you have
to supply me with is a lance, a crossbow, a sword, some arm
or other, for I come to ask nothing else of you.”

“I shall give you one with pleasure, for there are plenty of
arms in my house, thanks to my old profession, and also to the
need I have of them in this lonely place, where I have often
to defend myself against bandits.”

Ivan approached the light to one of the walls, on which
were hung various arms, and added—

“Take whichever you please, for the bravest knight of Leon
or Castile does not possess better tempered ones.”

The young man took down a lance and also a sword, which
he girt on with as much skill as the most experienced cavalier
could have used, and said:—

“Thanks, Señor Ivan. God be with you and do not tell
anyone that you have seen me to-night.”

“But, Martin, won’t you tell me what you are going to do?
What has happened to you?”

[Pg 62]

“Some day you shall know, Señor Ivan.”

“But where are you going, my son?”

“To avenge my father, who lies dead in the wood; and
Beatrice, who has already perhaps been dishonoured by Don
Suero—may God curse him, and may this lance soon pierce
him through!”

“May it be so!” replied the farmer, embracing the young
man, who, throwing the lance across his shoulder, went forth
from the house and disappeared in the darkness.

Martin walked a long distance through the dark woods,
until he came to another house, situated in the midst of large
and fertile meadows.

This house, or rather stable, belonged to Don Suero, and in
it was kept a magnificent stud of horses, the property of the
count, which also had the use of the meadows, and of which
a single groom had the care.

Martin struck a heavy blow on the door of the stable.

“Who is there?” called out the groom.

“Open, if you do not wish me to break in the door, and
your head as well.”

The groom considered himself too weak to resist a man who
spoke in such a way. He opened the door, trembling, and
said—

“Pardon, sir cavalier.”

“I am not a cavalier,” interrupted Martin; “but I want to
be one. Get out the best horse you have in the stables.”

“I would be delighted to please your honour, but”—

“‘Fore God! he addresses me with ‘buts’!” exclaimed
Martin, placing his hand on his sword.

“Pardon me, sir cavalier,” the groom said, terrified, going
into the stalls and unloosing one of the best horses; “I only
wished to tell you that my master will almost beat me to death
when he finds that I have let one of his best horses be sto—I
mean taken away. Does this one please your lordship?”

“Yes,” answered Martin; “put that saddle on it, which I see
hanging up there.”

“Sir knight, that saddle is the one which is used in trying
the paces of the horses when my master comes to select one,
and if you take it what will become of me?”

“Be quick, I tell you; it will be only a few blows more or
less,” said Martin in a threatening tone.

The groom saddled the horse without further reply. Martin
buckled on a pair of spurs, which he demanded from him, and,[Pg 63]
persuaded that the man had not recognised him, he thought it
most prudent to say no more. He then sprang upon the
horse, and giving the excellent steed a sharp stroke, he disappeared
through the adjacent fields.

Not far from the road which led from Burgos to Leon there
was a hill, situated so near it that its course could be seen
from it for a long distance; this hill was the resort of a band
of robbers who at that time were the terror of travellers who
journeyed through that district. Martin rode on to it, and
arrived there shortly after daybreak. He advanced a little into
a wood which grew on the hill, and cried out, making a kind
of speaking-trumpet of his hand—

“Hallo, bandits!”

The look-out, whom the robbers had stationed not far from
the place where Martin stopped, had perceived him a short
time before he spoke, and as he saw that he came alone he did
not think it necessary to give the signal of alarm to his
companions.

“Where is the cavalier going?” he cried out in his turn.

“To ask that I may be admitted into your honourable band.”

Martin knew that honour is such a fine thing that even
bandits like it to be attributed to them.

“If such is your intention,” said the look-out, “follow the
path you see then, and at the end of it you will find the entire
band, whose chief will, perchance, concede to you the honour
which you solicit.”

The young man then advanced, and in a short time
discovered the bandits, who were about twenty in number,
and who were lying under trees, to the trunks of which their
horses were fastened. Martin could scarcely forbear from
shuddering and feeling a sense of repugnance, when he saw
the ferocity which was stamped on their visages, and when he
heard the filthy language they were using. On perceiving him,
one of them arose, who was distinguished from the others by
his garb and by the large scars which were on his hands and
face. Martin began to make known to him the object which
led him thither, but the captain of the bandits, for it was no
other, interrupted him, saying—

“Brother, do you think we are deaf? We have heard you
and we now know for what you come. Tell me, however,
what is it that entitles you to be admitted into the band of the
Raposo,[1] for by that name the son of my mother is known?”

[Pg 64]

“Anger of God, Don Raposo, if it were any other but you
who asked me that question, you should soon pay a visit to
your friend Señor Lucifer. Do you not see, confound you,
the blood which I have on my hands and garments, and the
wounds on my face. This blood does not come from
slaughtering cattle, nor those scratches from a jealous sweetheart.
Go to the place I shall mention to you, and you will
find the body of the cavalier whose life I have taken, in order
to provide myself with these arms and this steed, and when
you are coming back fetch me the dagger which I forgot to
draw from his breast.”

“You don’t waste much respect on him who is to be your
captain,” said the Raposo; “but I desire to be indulgent
towards you as a reward for the good work you have done. I
believe what you say, for you could not have become
possessed in any other way of these arms and that splendid
horse, for your dress and your manner shows me that you are
just as much a cavalier as I am a bishop. However, if you
wish to become a member of our honourable brotherhood,
you must take the usual oath.”

“I will take a hundred of them if you like,” answered
Martin, dismounting.

The captain of the bandits walked over to a tree, at the foot
of which were heaped up a great number of sacred vessels and
ornaments, which they had stolen that night from a neighbouring
church, and taking up a crucifix of considerable value he
held it up before the youth, and said—

“Will you swear fidelity to your brethren? Will you swear
to carry off women, to enter and plunder houses and churches,
palaces and huts? Will you swear to rob and kill priests the
same as laymen, poor the same as rich, women the same as
men, children the same as grown-up people?”

“Yes, I swear!” replied Martin, firmly resolved, however,
not to keep so sacrilegious an oath, for he did not consider
himself bound to do so, taking it only with his lips and not
from his soul.

“Salute our new brother!” said the Raposo, turning
towards his companions. They went up to him and embraced
him one after the other.

“Brother,” continued the captain, “when this ceremony was
ended, you now must know that he who is honoured by being
received into our band, is obliged to celebrate his admission
by giving a skin of good wine to all the members of the[Pg 65]
confraternity. I suppose that the late owner of your arms and
steed had also a well-lined purse, full of gold coins, and
therefore, I expect that you will be generous towards us.”

Martin was rather perplexed at this requirement, for he had
no money whatever; knowing, however, that with such people
he must show himself a braggart in every way, he replied—

“If another had expressed a doubt of my generosity, he
would lose his tongue for it. I have not a single miserable
coin about me; what do I want with money? By all the
saints in heaven and all the demons in hell, do you imagine
that I am one of those honest peasants who only drink when
they can pay for it?”

All the bandits pulled out purses full of gold, and exclaimed—

“Brother, take as much money as you want; we will lend it
to you until we make our next haul; you can then pay us back
out of your share of it.”

“I thank you,” replied Martin; “but I won’t take it, for I
don’t want it. You will see, by Señor Noah, that I’ll manage
to get wine enough to make half Castile drunk, even if, to
procure it, I have to send to the devil all the innkeepers within
ten leagues round us.”

Thus speaking, he gave spurs to his horse, rode through the
thick wood, and disappeared, light as the wind, in the
direction of a lonely hostelry, which could scarcely be
distinguished on the distant horizon. He paid no attention
to the voices of his new comrades, who called after him,
cautioning him of the risk he ran of falling into the hands of a
patrol of the Salvadores,[2] bodies of armed horsemen who, by
command of the king, requested to give it by the Count of
Carrion and other grandees, wandered through that district for
the purpose of protecting travellers from the attacks of the
highwaymen.

We know not how Martin arranged matters with the
innkeeper, but two hours had scarcely passed when he returned,
bringing, thrown across his saddle-bow, a large leather wine-bag,
which contained fully twenty gallons, according to our
modern measures. Shouts of joy and loud applause received
him on his return.

“He is a good comrade, and will be the pride of the band
of the Raposo.”

“What an aroma that wine has! It is three years old, at
least.”

[Pg 66]

“I’d like to have some of those Moorish dogs here, to see
if they would turn up their noses at that gift of God.”

“The monks of Sahagun never taste better.”

“Thunder and lightning, what a night we’ll have with it!”

“I’d turn Moor at once if Mahomet were only as good as
it is.”

“The innkeeper was a heretic, and kept it without
baptizing it.”

“Yes, yes, the wine-bag is a Moor—it is a Moor!”

“Then let us attack him. To arms—to arms! War, war!”

“War to the Moor! Up for St. James and Spain!”

Such were some of the exclamations which followed the
arrival of Martin.

Having uttered these cries, the bandits took several sacred
vessels from the heap whence the Raposo took the crucifix
on which he had administered the oath to Martin, and the
sacrilegious ruffians filled them with wine and lifted them to
their impure lips.

Martin shuddered at the sight of this impious profanation
and did not take any part in it.

The Raposo noticed this, and said to him—

“Brother, you would make a bad priest if you can’t drink
out of a chalice. Is it because you have not taken orders?”

“By Lucifer!” exclaimed Martin, placing his hand on his
sword, feeling persuaded that he was lost if he did not put on
a bold face. “Know, Don Raposo, or Don Villain, that if
I have not orders I at least have a sword, and that if I do
not drink wine, I’ll drink the blood of anyone that insults me
as you do.”

“So, low peasant,” replied the Raposo, also placing his hand
on his steel, “you dare to speak thus to your captain! I’ll
resign my honourable position if my dagger does not teach you
to be respectful.”

The two opponents held their naked swords, and were about
to rush on each other; all the bandits, however, hastened to
make peace, trying to persuade the Raposo that their new
comrade, instead of meriting punishment, deserved praise, since
by his audacity he showed what might be expected from him
when occasion should arise. These reasonings appeared to be
satisfactory to the Raposo; he laid aside his vexation and
stretched out his hand to Martin, saying—

“Pardon, brother; I only wished to try your mettle, and I
am satisfied with it.”

[Pg 67]

“You, señor captain, must pardon me,” replied the young
man, clasping the rough hand of the bandit; “but know that I
cannot bear being calumniated, by being supposed incapable
of doing what my comrades do. Do you think that it is
scruples of conscience that prevent me from using these
vessels? I want a big draught of wine to satisfy my thirst,
and I shall not drink it from a nutshell, as you do.”

Thus speaking, Martin took the helmet from the head of one
of the robbers, poured wine into it and emptied it at a draught,
amid the applause and acclamations of the bandits.

They continued without ceasing their libations, the wine-bag
was getting emptier and emptier, and drunkenness was
overmastering all of them, including the captain. Notwithstanding,
Martin kept his head clear, whether it was that he
was more accustomed to wine, or, which is more probable, that
he drank very little, although he lifted the helmet often to his
mouth, taking advantage of the condition of his companions.

The state in which they then were was horrible to see; their
lips only uttered blasphemies, obscene expressions, and disconnected
phrases; and in the end sleep took possession of
the greater part of them. Even the look-out had abandoned
his post, seeing that his comrades did not come to relieve him,
and as he was desirous of participating in their libations and
uproarious merriment.

It appeared to Martin that he heard the sound of the footsteps
of horses in the direction of the main road, and, turning
in that direction, he cried out—

“The Salvadores! Up, comrades! the Salvadores!”

Five or six of the bandits arose on hearing that cry, and,
following the example of Martin, hastened to mount their
horses. Some of the others, including the Raposo, were fast
asleep, and the rest, having tried to rise, fell back again on the
ground.

The danger was imminent, the situation was desperate; the
hill extended in its entire length only about fifteen hundred
paces, and was surrounded on all sides by an extensive and
bare plain. The only exit from the wood was the path which
led to the road, for the roughness of the ground and the closeness
of the trees and bushes made it impossible for horses to
proceed in any other direction. If Martin and his companions
abandoned their steeds, and hid themselves in the brushwood,
they would be very soon discovered; if they tried to go on foot
across the plain, they could easily be overtaken by the Sal[Pg 68]vadores,
who were mounted on swift horses. What course
should then be adopted? This question was asked him by
the robbers, when the band of the Salvadores, only about
forty paces distant from them, was advancing in their direction
as quickly as the nature of the ground permitted.

“Companions,” said Martin, placing himself at their head,
“no other resource remains for us but to break through them,
sword in hand, and endeavour to reach the plain, whether we
are killed or not.”

“Yes, yes, forward!” they all cried out, knowing that Martin
had indicated the only means of escape left for them, and they
put spurs to their horses. As that of Martin was the best, the
least fatigued, and the lightest, the young man preceded his
comrades by a short distance, and rushing, with sword in hand,
into the midst of the Salvadores, he unhorsed one of them
with almost each stroke, and the others followed him, and broke
through their opponents, not less boldly and promptly. At
last they succeeded in gaining the main road, from whence they
heard the death-cries of those whom they had left in the wood,
struck down by the swords of the Salvadores; they then fled
across the plain in the direction of the mountains of Oca.

Martin had received several wounds, although none of them
were serious, and was losing much blood. After some time
they arrived at a small hill, surrounded by trees on all sides,
and from which the surrounding country could be seen for a
considerable distance.

“Brother, let us dismount here, that we may examine your
wounds,” said his companions to Martin.

They at once dismounted, and all the bandits embraced
Martin, calling him their deliverer.

“You shall be our captain,” said one of them, “for you are
worth more than a hundred like Raposo.”

“Yes, yes, you shall be our captain, brother. Long live our
captain!” they all cried out unanimously and with enthusiasm.

“I thank you, comrades,” replied Martin; “and I swear by
those dogs of Salvadores whom my good sword has sent to the
other world, that I shall prove myself worthy of the honour
you confer on me. You have heard the cries of agony of our
companions, who have been cowardly butchered by those
fellows?”

“Yes, yes, we have heard them! Poor Captain Raposo!”

“Well, then, it is for us to avenge them. You do not yet
know the name of your new captain. I call myself the[Pg 69]
Vengador,[3] brothers. Let the band, then, of the Vengador be
as much feared as was that of the Raposo; war to the death
against the grandees who urged on the king to institute the
brotherhood of the Salvadores. At present we are weak, but in
a short time we shall be strong; we are persecuted to-day, to-morrow
we shall be protected everywhere, if you will only obey
my orders and be guided by my advice.”

“We shall be your slaves, brother captain. You are skilful
and brave, we owe you our safety, and we trust in you to
avenge our comrades.”

“Now listen, brothers,” continued Martin; “I wish to explain
to you what our conduct is to be from this day.”

“But, captain,” interrupted one of the band, “let us first
bandage your wounds, for you will lose much blood if we don’t
do so.”

“No, by Beelzebub! My blood must run till the venom,
which the cowardly conduct of those vile Salvadores has put
into it, has all left it.”

This answer of their bold captain captivated more and more
the hearts of the bandits, to whose eyes tears came—tears
which they would not have shed on hearing the pitiful wailings
of poor peasants from whom they had stolen the small store
with which they had hoped to support their families; of unhappy
parents whose daughter was about to be their victim;
of the sad wife whom their swords had condemned to widowhood;
of the weak children whom they had made orphans,
without means of subsistence.

“Hear me, brothers,” continued the Vengador; “from to-day,
war to the strong and help to the weak! If we go near
the poor, it must be only for the purpose of alleviating their
misery with what we shall have taken from the powerful.
Have any of you daughters or a wife?”

“Yes,” replied one of the robbers; “I have a daughter who
is worth more than those of the king, and I love her more than
the apple of my eyes.”

“I have a wife,” answered another, “and, although a
peasant, she is of more value than the most noble dame in
Castile. For this I love her as well as people say the son of
the Grandee of Vivar loves the daughter of De Gormaz.”

“Well, then, what would you do if your daughter were torn
away from you?”

“Anger of God! If such were done, I would never rest till
[Pg 70]my dagger was buried in the heart of him who took her from
me, even were he hid in the bowels of the earth, even if he
fled to the ends of the world! Brother captain, say no more,
for God’s sake; thinking only of such a thing makes my blood
boil.”

“And you,” he said, turning to the other, “what would you
do if your wife were taken from you and dishonoured?”

“If such happened,” he exclaimed, placing his hand on his
dagger with an instinctive movement, and his eyes flashing
fire, “my sword would pierce a hundred hearts and then my
own! But for what reason do you ask us such questions,
captain?”

“Because I wish to put you on your guard,—you on account
of your wife, and you, of your daughter, if they live in this
district; for there is in it a ruffianly count, who carries
off wives from their husbands, and daughters from their
fathers.”

“Who, then, is that count?” asked all the bandits, full of
indignation.

“The Count of Carrion,” replied Martin, repressing with
difficulty the joy he felt on seeing how successfully he had
disposed his companions to aid him in his projects of vengeance.
“The Count of Carrion,” he continued, “is the most
cruel, the most treacherous, and the worst of men; when you
return home to clasp your daughters or your wives to your
hearts, perchance you will find that he has stolen them from
you.”

“May the earth open and may we sink into hell, if we
suffer such a wretch to live any longer!” exclaimed the robbers;
and Martin continued, more warmly and solemnly—

“Yes, yes, comrades, let the Count of Carrion die, if we
ourselves do not desire to die like the Raposo and the greater
part of his band. It is that count who has sacrificed our
brothers, for to him is due the creation of the brotherhood of
the Salvadores.”

“Let us attack his castle!” all exclaimed; “let us bury our
swords in the breast of that traitor count!”

“But Don Suero, for such is his name, will be able to say
to us, that if he carries off young girls and married women, we
also do the same; that if he attacks and wounds poor people,
and deprives them of their means of subsistence, we also do
the same.”

“But from this day forward we shall not do such things.[Pg 71]
Let us all now swear that we will plunge our daggers in the
breast of any comrade who dares to commit such crimes.”
Thus spoke the bandit who had a daughter.

Without the slightest hesitation, they all then took a solemn
oath, that in future they would not ill-treat women, or injure
and rob the poor and helpless.

Martin now began to feel weak on account of the quantity
of blood he had lost, and considered that he should not delay
any longer the binding of his wounds.

One of the bandits gathered some herbs that were abundant
in that country, and applied them to the wounds of his captain,
having first washed them in water brought in a helmet from
an adjacent spring. They were bound up with bandages,
made from a handkerchief which was torn up for that purpose.

The much reduced band of the Vengador rested under the
trees of the thick wood, where the horses found abundant
pasture; and when the vesper bells began to ring in the surrounding
villages, the bandits mounted their horses and,
according to the orders of their captain, continued their way
towards the Sierra de Oca.

CHAPTER XI

HOW THE DE VIVAR FAMILY RECEIVED LETTERS FROM
THE KING, DON FERNANDO

A few days after the events which we have related in preceding
chapters, Diego Lainez and his family, including Rodrigo,
were seated at table in the castle of Vivar. All were in good
spirits, all were eating with excellent appetites, except the last-mentioned,
who in vain endeavoured to take part in the general
joyousness; but the smile departed suddenly from his lips, as
if there came to drive it away some sad memories, which the
most trivial phrases of those present seemed to awake in his
soul.

Teresa, who was observing her son, saw his inquietude and
sadness, and from that moment she shared them with him;
for the feelings of a son reflect themselves in a mother,
especially when she is as good as the mother of Rodrigo was.

[Pg 72]

“My son,” she said to the youth, who was then buried in
thought, “why are you so sad when we all have such reason
to be joyous, especially you, who have washed off the blot that
stained our honour? What is the cause of your sadness?”

“Mother,” replied Rodrigo, “have you not heard that
Casilda, the solitary of the lake of San Vicente, shares her
home with a noble maiden who also has gone to bury herself
in that solitary place?”

“Yes.”

“That maiden is Ximena Gome.”

“Let her then, my son, weep in solitude over the perfidy of
her father, let her consecrate some of her days to God, and to
the care of the poor invalids who resort to the lake to seek
their health, for grief finds its first consolations in God and in
those who suffer. If she loves you still, of which I have no
doubt, her grief will pass away, and her love will remain; for
true love is eternal, and grief, no matter how deep, is
transitory.”

“Do you believe, my mother, that Ximena can love the
slayer of her father?”

“Yes, my son, for in killing her father you gave another
proof of your noble character, and Ximena herself would have
abhorred you if she saw you regard with indifference the stain
which her father had cast on the honour of yours.”

“Do you not know that, before she quitted the court, she
demanded vengeance against me from the king, supposing that
I had wrongfully killed her father?”

“Yes,” interposed Diego Lainez, who until then did not
wish to interrupt the conversation between his wife and son;
“and such is the duty of every daughter. The king, however,
is too wise and just to believe such a thing, and to punish one
who not only committed no offence, but rather added fresh
lustre to his honour.”

“Notwithstanding, my father, I fear that the king is much
displeased with us, for the question regarding Calahorra is now
the foremost one, and he has not asked your advice, as he
always was in the habit of doing in similar cases.”

Just as Rodrigo said this, a servant entered, announcing the
arrival of a messenger from the king, from whom he brought
letters for Diego Lainez and Rodrigo.

A perceptible uneasiness came upon the countenance of
Diego, as well as on those of his wife and son. A moment
afterwards the old man was reading a sheet of parchment,[Pg 73]
upon which was the royal seal, and the young man was reading
a similar one. This is what the first contained:—

“Much honoured Diego Lainez, the King of Leon and Castile salutes
you, whom he loves the most of all his subjects. Know that we await you
impatiently in our Alcazar, for it is our wish that you should devote your
wisdom and prudence to the education of the princes, our sons, as we informed
you but a short time ago, in the presence of the cavaliers of our
court. Pay attention to your health till it is quite restored from the injury
which the wounds made on your honour must have caused it, and as those
have been healed, receive the congratulations which, on that account, we
offer you.—The King.”

The second letter, directed to Rodrigo, was conceived in the
following terms:—

“To you, Rodrigo Diaz, a good son as well as a good knight, the king
sends his greetings; be it known to you that the King of Aragon disputes
with us the possession of Calahorra, alleging injustice on the part of the
king our father, who made it over to us of his own good will, when God
was pleased to call him to Himself. And as we have agreed to confide
the decision of the dispute to the valour of two cavaliers, one to be named
by us, and the other by the King of Aragon, it is our will that you shall be
he who is to defend our rights, combating with Martin Gonzalez, who has
been appointed to defend those which Don Ramiro claims to possess.
You have given proof of being an honourable and valiant knight, by slaying
De Gormaz to avenge the insult offered to your father’s and to your
honour, and we doubt not but that the enterprise, which we confide to you,
shall come to a successful issue.—The King.”

“Martin Gonzalez,” exclaimed Rodrigo, trembling with joy,
“is then the champion of Aragon! Father, Calahorra shall
remain to Don Fernando, and I shall have another claim on
Ximena for her love. Let God put me front to front with
Martin Gonzalez, in order that my sword may cause to bite
the dust the only man I hate in this world, now that De
Gormaz is dead—a man whom Ximena also abhors.”

“Yes, my son,” replied Diego, participating in the delight
of his son, both on account of the honours which both of them
had received from the king, and the enterprise which had been
entrusted to Rodrigo, in which he was likely to gain still
further glory. “Yes, you shall fight for your king and for
your love, and you shall conquer; do not doubt of it, Rodrigo.
To-morrow we shall return to the court, where happier days
await us than those which we recently experienced in it.”

Thus speaking, both parents embraced their son, for Teresa
also shared in the satisfaction of her husband and Rodrigo.[Pg 74]
The latter, indeed, was about to engage in a fight in which one
of the combatants was almost certain to lose his life, but
Teresa trusted in the valour of her son, and at that period the
sentiment of honour was superior to all affections, to all fears,
to all interests. Then the mother who most loved her son
was the very one who most ardently desired to see him
engaged in some honourable and hazardous enterprise, even
though the chances of gaining honour were less than those of
losing life.

The reader, who doubtless remembers the interview between
Ximena and Rodrigo in the halls of the Alcazar, will also
remember the fears which both of them entertained, that Don
Gome might bestow the hand of his daughter on another
man. Let us see if such fears were well founded.

Before the battle of Atapuerca, and when enmity was
commencing between Diego Lainez and Don Gome, the latter
was sent to the court of Aragon, in reality as the ambassador
of Don Fernando, but he imagined that it was a kind of exile,
brought about by the artifices of De Vivar. Martin Gonzalez,
who was one of the most powerful grandees of Aragon, gave
him hospitality in his mansion, and entertained him magnificently,
apparently for no reason but to return the marks of
friendship which he had received from the count, some time
before, at Gormaz, where he had been at the celebration of a
tournament, in which were engaged both Castilian and
Aragonian knights. Martin then saw Ximena, and was
charmed with her beauty and prudence; but he did not
demand her hand, believing that it would not be accorded to
him, as he was aware that it had been promised to Rodrigo.
However, whilst Don Gome was enjoying his hospitality,
Martin Gonzalez discovered the recent bitter feelings which he
entertained towards De Vivar, and he believed that the time
had arrived for winning what he so ardently desired. He
fanned the flames of discord between Diego Lainez and Don
Gome, strengthening by means of calumny the belief which
the latter entertained, that he owed his disfavour at the court
to the artifices of De Vivar. Then, when he had sufficiently
worked on the mind of Don Gome, he asked him for the
hand of Ximena, which was granted, on condition, however,
that she should be in no way forced to grant it against her
will, for, with all his faults, De Gormaz, as we have said before,
loved his daughter, and, although he had then resolved that
she should not marry Rodrigo, he did not intend that she[Pg 75]
should become the wife of another, except with her own free
consent. These infamous schemes, which were the principal
causes of the division between the two families, were known
to Ximena and to Rodrigo, and that is why they both entertained
a deep hatred towards Martin Gonzalez, and certainly
that hatred was legitimate and just.

We do not wish to leave the castle of Vivar without knowing
the condition of affairs between the squire and his two
sweethearts, for which reason we shall enter a chamber, which
must be that of Fernan, for he is in it, and a lance and other
instruments belonging to his profession are suspended on its
walls.

The valiant squire must be in very low spirits, for when he
is not so he talks, when in company, as much as four, or if
alone, sings ballads of love or chivalry; but now he is silent,
with his head bent down, as if buried in deep and disagreeable
thought. Another servitor, however, enters the apartment,
and from his words we shall perchance learn something of
that which we desire to know.

“On my soul,” said the page, for such he was, “you are
now just as much what you used to be as I am a bishop.
What are you doing with your head sunk on your breast, and
so miserable, when such glad news has come to our lords and
masters?”

“Tell me, then, Alvar, what news have come?”

“I will tell you willingly as much as I know. I swear that
the tidings must be good—and so good that my masters
gave the messengers who brought them presents so valuable,
that if they are not worth at least more than a hundred ounces
of good silver, may the saints forsake me at the hour of my
death!”

“But will you not tell me, accursed chatterer that you are,
what the news is which the messenger has brought?”

“Yes, Fernan, I will, and I am just coming to it. But
what good has it done you to visit so often the witch of the
torrent, if you have not yet learned to know things beforehand,
an art in which people say she excels?”

“I vow by Judas Iscariot that I’ll throw you out of the
window if you don’t cease talking such nonsense, and get out
of this at once.”

Alvar stepped backwards on seeing the threatening gesture
of the impatient squire, for he knew that it was the habit of
Fernan to accompany his words with acts, to which his ribs,[Pg 76]
almost broken more than once by the squire, could testify.
As the reader has already perceived, the page was one of those
young men who are so fond of circumlocutions that they go to
the grain, as sparrows, through the straw. We have corresponding
types in our own times, as may be often seen in meetings
of Parliament, in which is often heard the cry, “To the grain,
to the grain!” or “Question, question,” which is the same
thing.

Thanks, then, to the threats of Fernan, the page related,
without any more roundabout expressions, what had brought
the messenger of Don Fernando; adding, as we already know,
that both Diego and Rodrigo had decided to set out for the
court on the following day.

“I am much pleased to hear that,” said Fernan, “for my life
at Vivar is but a lingering death, since that ungrateful Mayorica
repays my love with scratches and insults, and that vixen of an
Aldonza shuts the door in my face.”

“Then you love them, Fernan?” said the page, much
surprised.

“And I must love them, I fear, in spite of the fact that they
treat me worse than a captive Moor.”

“By the soul of my grandfather, he who goes on in that way
deserves a hundred lashes. Oh, how vain are the intentions of
lovers! Why don’t you swear, you unfortunate man, that as
long as you live you’ll have nothing more to do with women?”

“What do you desire, Alvar? Man proposes and woman
disposes. I was born with such weaknesses, and I fear that I
shall die with them.”

“Conquer these inclinations of yours, Fernan.”

“It’s not easy to do that. However, I swear to you, friend
Alvar, that my eyes are opened with regard to the fair sex, and
I’ll do my best to be done with them from this time forward.”

“If you don’t do so soon, I tell you again, as I have
already said, that you will deserve a hundred good lashes.”

“It is easily seen, Alvar, that you have no heart. You
never knew, and don’t know now, what love is.”

“Alas!” said the page, heaving a deep sigh; “I know it but
too well, friend Fernan. If we carried our hearts on our
foreheads, you would see mine, and it would move you to
compassion.”

“By Judas Iscariot! what do you tell me, friend Alvar?
You in love?”

“Don’t be surprised, Fernan, for one should be made of[Pg 77]
stone not to fall in love with the tyrannical and gentle maiden
for whom I sigh.”

“Tell me, who is this sovereign beauty?”

“Yes, I will tell you, Fernan. You and your master
brought her to Vivar”—

“Explain quickly what you mean!” exclaimed the squire,
becoming suddenly very angry again.

“I tell you,” hastened to answer Alvar, fearing the look
of Fernan, “that Beatrice, the maiden whom you and Don
Rodrigo rescued at the inn, has me almost dead with love.”

“You will soon be dead by my hands!” cried the squire,
rushing at the page and furiously seizing him by the throat.
“What is that you dare to say, ill-born lout? You in love with
Beatrice! you dare to place your eyes where I have fixed
mine!”

“Fernan, Fernan, let me loose! you are choking me with
your hands of iron! If I had known that you were in love
with her, I should have had no more thought of loving her than
of turning Moor.”

Fernan let go the page, feeling convinced that he had set
his eyes on Beatrice, not knowing that doing so would offend
him.

“Yes, I love her,” said the squire; “and, except my master,
no one has any right to interfere with me, for my lance made
the fellows that were carrying her off bite the dust. Although
up to the present she has showed herself insensible to my
prayers, she shall learn how worthy I am of serving her, and
will yield to me, so that I may requite myself for the cruelty
of Mayorica.”

The page found it hard to give up the conquest of the
maiden who had been rescued from Don Suero, but he found
the hands of Fernan harder; for that reason he promised him
solemnly that he would not expose himself again to his anger
by paying attentions to Beatrice. The thrice enamoured
squire was satisfied with this, and both continued to converse
amiably, when they heard some persons exclaim in an
adjacent room—

“Father!”

“Daughter of my soul!”

To these exclamations followed sobs and repeated kisses.

The page and the squire proceeded thither, and found
Beatrice in the arms of a peasant, advanced in years.

It was the father of the maiden, who had been informed[Pg 78]
that she was in the castle of Vivar, and who had not come
sooner to clasp her in his arms for the reason which his own
words will explain.

“My daughter, how were you rescued from that accursed
Don Suero? How is it that I find you here?” asked the
elderly man; and she began immediately to inform him of
what had happened since she had been torn from his side.

The poor farmer shed tears of gratitude on learning the
protection that had been given to his child by Rodrigo and
the other inmates of the castle.

“Ah,” he exclaimed, “God will bless those who have
restored a daughter to her father; God will protect the good
cavalier who drew his sword in defence of the oppressed,
and for the punishment of a wicked tyrant.”

But as Beatrice was impatient to learn what had happened
to those who were her companions when returning from the
pilgrimage, and what had taken place afterwards at Carrion,
her father hastened to relieve her uneasiness and anxiety.

“The father of Martin,” he said, “was killed by a stab
which he received in the horrible fight from one of the
retainers of Don Suero. Martin embraced his dead body and
cried out, weeping—

“‘Father, father! your son will avenge you!’

“He then turned to your mother and to me, and added,
‘Your daughter shall also be avenged; I swear it by the love
I always had for her, and by the salvation of my father’s soul.’
He then disappeared, and no one since then has learned
where he is.”

“But was he wounded?” asked Beatrice anxiously.

“No, my daughter,” replied her father.

And the girl murmured in a low tone—

“I thank thee, O my God! I am still worthy of him—I
trust in his love.”

These words were a dagger-blow to Fernan, who doubtless
believed that the lover of Beatrice had fallen in the combat,
and that the maiden had already forgotten him. It was
little less for Alvar, who, although he had promised the squire
to renounce his pretensions to the love of Beatrice, still
nursed the idea of following them on, acting prudently behind
the back of the squire. Thus it was that they looked at
each other gloomily, and, with a certain kind of despair,
Fernan said to the page—

“It appears to me, friend Alvar, that we fail in courtesy[Pg 79]
and good manners, listening to conversations which do not
concern us.”

“Certainly,” replied Alvar.

And although Beatrice and her father told them that
they did not inconvenience them in the slightest, each one
retired in a different direction, Fernan muttering—

“Ungrateful, ungrateful women! The more one loves
them the worse is he treated. But I, curse me! am myself
the cause of the misfortunes which have come upon me,
for I have enraged Mayorica, looking out for too much love.
There are certainly more than two women in Spain for each
man, and I swear by the soul of Beelzebub that I am right
in my calculation; but as women are so stupid that they won’t
listen to reason, why should I not resign myself to their
foolishness, and enjoy the love of one of them. Well, then,
from this day forward I shall devote myself heart and soul to
Mayorica, and let the others see what a treasure of love they
have lost in me. Mayorica is fierce when I annoy her, but
kind and affectionate when I please her. Oh, Mayorica of
my eyes! you shall not have to complain again of your lover,
for if you guard your honour for him, he will do the same
for you.”

And Alvar—

“What a fool I was to fall in love, when I saw how things
were going with Fernan. It is a sad thing to find the position
occupied, when for the first time a man bestows his affections
on a woman. They seem to be born provided with lovers,
just as they are with arms and legs. O Lord, what a blessing
it would be to men if you had created them without hearts!”

The old man continued—

“We arrived at Carrion, and on the following day your
mother was stricken down with an illness which nearly cost
her her life. She called out for you in her delirium, and she
could not be consoled. Then the news of your safety arrived,
and her health improved so much that I was able to leave her
to come to you.”

“Let us set out at once, father, for I must return to my
mother. No danger threatens me at Carrion, for the sword
of my deliverer deprived the count of life.”

“It deprived him of his prey, my daughter, but not of his
life, for Don Suero returned to his castle the next day, and
has recovered from his wounds, which he says he received
fighting with a band of robbers.”

[Pg 80]

“Then what shall we do, father?” exclaimed Beatrice;
“what shall we do to protect you and my mother from his
anger, for having thwarted his criminal intentions, and to
protect me from a fresh attempt on his part? But, ah! do
not be uneasy, father, go and bring hither my mother; let us
fly from the estates of the count. I am certain that the
generous and noble family, to whom we owe our safety, will
give us a small piece of ground to farm, a humble refuge, in
which we shall be able to enjoy a tranquil life, and show our
gratitude to, and bless our benefactors every day.”

Beatrice was not wrong in trusting to the generosity of the
lord and lady of Vivar. A few days after, she and her parents
were installed, content and happy, in a small farmhouse,
situated at a short distance from the castle, surrounded by
fields which Pero Lopez, for such was the name of the girl’s
father, was ploughing with a pair of mules which, a short time
before, had been feeding in the stables of Diego Lainez.

CHAPTER XII

THE COMBAT BETWEEN RODRIGO AND MARTIN GONZALEZ

The cocks were crowing in Vivar, when Diego Lainez and
Rodrigo, accompanied by squires and pages, amongst whom
were Fernan and Alvar, started for Calahorra. All the roads
were alive with people, who were making their way towards
that town, desirous of being present at the combat between
Martin Gonzalez and the knight of Castile and Leon; for the
champion of the King of Aragon enjoyed the reputation of
being a doughty cavalier, and it was believed, not without
good reason, that, to confront him, Don Fernando would select
the bravest of his cavaliers. The morning was beautiful, the
road had been recently put into good condition by order of
the king, who had proceeded to Calahorra, and everything
contributed to make the journey pleasant, the district then
being as full of animation and life as it was dull and gloomy
during the greater part of the year. This conduced to the
fact that Diego and Rodrigo arrived at Calahorra, preserving
the pleasant feelings which the letters of the king had brought[Pg 81]
with them. More than once the brave youth heard the good
wishes which the passers-by expressed for the success of the
champion of Don Fernando, although they did not know who
he was; and, far from feeling any fear as to the result of the
contest, he became more and more confident, and felt sure
that he would be the victor, notwithstanding the fact that the
wounds which he had received from Don Gome were not yet
quite healed.

Diego and his son proceeded, immediately on their arrival
in Calahorra, to the temporary residence of the king. Don
Fernando received both of them most warmly, and Diego could
not forbear feeling, with great pleasure, how much brighter his
honour then shone than when he was last at the court.

“Sire,” said Rodrigo, as much moved as his father, “you
have conferred on me an honour which I do not deserve, and
which the best cavalier in the world might well envy. If I had
done anything to merit it, you would now only be paying me a
debt; but, not having done such, I owe you one, and I am
longing for the moment when I can repay it.”

“That moment, Rodrigo, is very near: this very day the
place for the combat shall be arranged and the conditions
settled, so that the fight may begin at sunrise, as you are so
anxious for it.

“Would to God, Rodrigo,” continued Don Fernando, throwing
his arms round the neck of the young man, “that I had a
son like you! I would give my crown to have one as brave
and good as the son of Diego Lainez.”

Diego raised his rugged and noble brow, with a movement
caused by paternal pride, and at that moment he would not
have exchanged his happiness for a king’s throne.

“You have such a son, sire,” replied Rodrigo, with much
modesty. “Don Sancho will be a brave cavalier and a prince
worthy to succeed his father on the throne of Castile and Leon.
Sire, ask the few Moors and Christians that were left alive at
Atapuerca, who the valiant cavalier was that struck terror into
the army of the King of Navarre, and they will tell you that he
was a beardless youth, as cool as he was daring, as fearless as
he was skilful in the use of his sword; they will also tell you that
he was Don Sancho, your son. The laws of the duel authorise
the champion to select a second according to his pleasure, and
I, using that right, select as my second the Infante Don Sancho
if such a choice does not displease you and your family.”

“The Infante will feel honoured by your selection, which I[Pg 82]
as his father, approve of. Go and take some repose, Rodrigo,
and prepare yourself for to-morrow’s combat. And you,
honoured Diego, from this day forward shall reside in my
Alcazar, for I desire to have you near me, so that you may
assist me with your advice, and also to have you near my sons,
that, from your experience and loyalty, they may become endowed
with all the good qualities which are so conspicuous in
your son.”

“Sire,” said Diego, “permit me to kiss your hand.”

“I give you, not alone my hand, but also my heart;” and
he embraced the old man affectionately.

The following day dawned, peaceful and beautiful as the one
which had preceded it, and an unusual animation could be
noticed in the town. Ladies and cavaliers, citizens and rustics,
all, indeed, were proceeding to a place at the junction of the
rivers Cidacos and Ebro, where, in a beautiful meadow, had
been erected the enclosure in which the combat was to take
place between Rodrigo Diaz and Martin Gonzalez. The circumstances
connected with the two champions, and the grave
question which was about to be decided, raised to the highest
degree the public curiosity: it was not a private affair, but a
matter that concerned two kings, and in which two powerful
kingdoms were interested. As to the knights selected to settle
it, Martin Gonzalez was one of the most valiant warriors of the
period; and the killing of Don Gome de Gormaz had given to
Rodrigo Diaz extraordinary celebrity, for the count had been
considered invincible, and he who conquered him had a just
right to be looked on as also invincible. The love affairs of
Rodrigo and Ximena had already become public property, and
also the pretensions of Martin Gonzalez to the hand of the
orphan; therefore it was believed that the Castilian champion
was about to fight, at the same time, against the sustainer of
the rights of the King of Aragon, and also against him who had
endeavoured to snatch from him the love of Ximena—the love
which was his glory, his hope, and his life.

In the following manner was arranged the place for the
combat: a quadrilateral enclosure had been formed by means
of stakes driven into the ground, and bound together by an
interlacing of branches, the verdure of which gave it the appearance
of a natural hedge. At both sides were placed, on
platforms erected for the purpose, long seats, or thrones; that
on the one side for the royal family, and that on the other for
the umpires of the combat; canvas tents had also been set up[Pg 83]
at the extreme ends of the enclosed ground, one for each
champion and his second and squires.

The sun had just risen in the east; the high and luxuriant
trees, which on that side hung over the arena, shaded it from
his rays, which were then very strong, as it was the warmest
season of the year. Multitudes of people pressed round the
enclosure, and spread out for a considerable distance into the
surrounding fields, like a sea, the waves of which were incessantly
agitated. The king occupied the throne arranged
for him, having at his side the queen, Doña Sancha, and his
son, Prince Alonzo; the umpires also occupied the place
allotted to them. They numbered four; two named by Don
Fernando, and two by Don Ramiro. The former were Peransurez
and Arias Gonzalo; and as to the others, history only
says that they were “two very noble and very accomplished
Aragonian cavaliers.” On the platform beside them stood
two heralds, with trumpets suspended from their girdles. A
prolonged murmur was heard throughout the multitudes: this
arose when the champions were making their way to the field
of battle. Rodrigo was mounted on a splendid sorrel charger,
with flowing mane and of noble appearance, which had been
presented to him, the day before, by Don Fernando; the
Infante, Don Sancho, accompanied him as his second, and
Fernan and Alvar preceded him, the first as his squire and the
second as his lance-page. If Ximena could have seen him at
that moment, poor maiden, how sad would have been the contest
in her heart between love and the memory of her father!
How brave and haughty stood the son of Diego Lainez, clad
in his strong and brilliant armour! How many fair ladies,
who had felt pity for the orphan, envied also the lot of her who
was loved by Rodrigo!

The horse mounted by Martin Gonzalez was black, and
more fiery even than that of Rodrigo, although not quite as
strongly built: the second of the Aragonian champion was
Don Suero, who, being a friend and relation, had repaired to
the court for that purpose, although he had not yet quite recovered
from the wounds, which, as it was spread abroad, he
had received whilst fighting with a band of robbers. Martin
Gonzalez was also accompanied by a squire and lance-page,
and his armour was white.

The heralds sounded their trumpets, and that loud murmur
which, by its increasing volume, showed that the numerous
spectators were at the height of their arguments regarding the[Pg 84]
combat about to commence, became silent, as if it were the
trumpet of the last judgment that was heard. Then a proclamation
was read, commanding all present to remain silent
and motionless until the termination of the combat, under
penalty of “losing their goods and the eyes from their faces,”
whether men or women, young men or old men, nobles or
peasants. When the reading of the proclamation had ended,
the two champions advanced until they nearly met, and Martin
Gonzalez called out three times—

“Calahorra for Don Ramiro!”

To which cry Rodrigo replied, also calling out three
times—

“Calahorra for Don Fernando!”

Having thus spoken, Martin Gonzalez threw a glove on the
ground, which Rodrigo took up, and then threw down another,
which, in his turn, his adversary hastened to pick up. The
two champions, with their squires and pages, then retired
to their respective tents, and the seconds only remained in
the enclosure, where they were sworn before the umpires to
loyally do their duty. This oath having been taken, Don
Sancho and the Count of Carrion proceeded successively to
the tents of Rodrigo and of Martin, in order to examine the
arms of the combatants, and to ratify the conditions of the
duel. When these matters were adjusted, the champions
again made their appearance on the arena, and they were
asked by the oldest of the umpires—

“Do ye swear to fight according to the laws of cavaliers,
using no foul play or witchcraft, either in blows or in
arms?”

“We swear it!” answered at the same time both Rodrigo
Diaz and Martin Gonzalez.

“If ye thus act, may God and His saints aid ye; if not, be
ye accursed as evil-doers and traitors, as ye would then be,
and descend to hell, where Judas the traitor is!”

When this had been spoken, the champions, who had
advanced to the middle of the arena, retired to the extreme
ends of it, and took their shields and lances, which their
respective squires and pages handed to them, placing themselves
in position to rush to the encounter, whilst the judges
were marking the ground.

“The Ave Maria, the Ave Maria!” cried out the
heralds.

And all the spectators uncovered their heads, and recited[Pg 85]
the Ave Maria. When it was finished, the blast of a trumpet
was heard, and the champions rushed onward.

The first assault was terrible. Both lances struck simultaneously
the shields of strong steel, and the violent impact
caused both horses and riders to reel, notwithstanding their
strength. Scarcely giving themselves time to recover from
this first shock, the combatants again rushed against each
other, and the lance of Rodrigo struck harmlessly the shield
of Martin, whilst that of the latter, glancing off from the
shield, broke the armour on his left arm, and wounded the
youth above the elbow. The Castilian champion had very
considerable advantage over the Aragonese in agility and
dexterity, but was much inferior to him in strength. The
blood of Rodrigo stained the accoutrements of his horse, and
dolorous cries, mingled with others of joy, were heard amid
the crowds that were spectators of the combat. The knight
of Vivar, however, far from being discouraged by this mischance,
became more and more excited with anger, and
endeavoured to have satisfaction by again rushing on Martin,
who, however, warded off the blow with his shield, for
Rodrigo had not only against him his own inferior strength,
but also that of his steed, which swerved to one side through
the impetus and force of the blow. The same tactics were
repeated several times, without any advantage to either combatant;
but it was evident that the contest could not last
very much longer, for both cavaliers were fighting rashly and
recklessly. They took their positions for another charge,
which all the spectators believed must be the final one, and,
burying their spurs in the sides of their horses, they rode on
at full speed, and the encounter was so violent that both lances
were broken into fragments, and the steed of Rodrigo was
thrown on his haunches. Then Martin Gonzalez drew his
sword and raised it above the head of his unarmed rival.
Another cry of horror arose amid the crowds around, notwithstanding
the severe penalties that had been proclaimed
against such manifestations, and all eyes turned, with pitying
glances, towards Diego Lainez, who, with other cavaliers,
occupied one of the platforms erected inside the palisade,
in order that noble dames and cavaliers might be able to
witness the combat. No one could accuse the champion of
Aragon of foul play or treachery for acting thus, for he was
only taking advantage of a favourable opportunity to strike
his opponent, and in such circumstances this was permitted.[Pg 86]
All, however, trembled, not so much for losing Calahorra as
for losing Rodrigo, who promised to be one of the bravest
cavaliers of Castile and Leon.

When Rodrigo saw the sword of Martin above his head,
he sprung to his feet with incredible rapidity, and avoiding
thus the stroke of his adversary, which wounded the horse,
as if chance thus punished it for its weakness, he quickly
drew his sword and plunged it into the breast of the charger
of Martin Gonzalez. He was then in a similar position to
that in which Rodrigo had been; but the youth, far from
imitating him, stopped and said—

“Arise, and let us fight on our feet, for our swords must
now do what our lances have not been able to accomplish.”

Thunders of applause were the recompense which the
spectators bestowed on Rodrigo for his generous conduct.
Both knights put themselves on their guard, and then attacked
each other with desperate fury. In vain did Martin endeavour
to render unavailing the defence which his shield afforded to
Rodrigo by trying to get at his sides; but the champion of
Don Fernando avoided all his strokes by his dexterity and
agility, in the same way that his opponent was taking advantage,
in every way in his power, of his superior strength.
Rodrigo took his sword in both his hands, notwithstanding
the embarrassment caused by his shield, and was about to
bring it down on the helmet of Martin Gonzalez, when he
held up his shield almost horizontally. The helmet remained
uninjured, but the shield was broken to pieces, and Martin
consequently remained without any protection except the coat
of mail with which he, as well as his opponent, was covered.

Martin Gonzalez believed himself lost, and all his friends
shared in this fear; Rodrigo, however, gave another proof
that the noblest blood of Castile ran in his veins.

“Let us fight with uncovered breasts!” he exclaimed; and
he threw his shield far from him.

If the face of the Aragonese knight had not been hidden
by his visor, the spectators of that sanguinary scene could
have seen it covered with the blush of shame.

The combat continued, ever more obstinate, more bloody,
more ferocious. Anger blinded Rodrigo, and gave advantage
to his adversary, who remained much cooler. Martin observed
this, and endeavoured to win the victory by enraging more
and more the young cavalier; and, according to the “Chronicle
of the Cid,” he said to him—

[Pg 87]

“It was an evil day for you when you entered into this
contest with me, for you shall never marry Doña Ximena
Gome, whom you love so much. You shall not return to
Castile alive.”

To which Rodrigo answered, according to the same
chronicle—

“Don Martin Gonzalez, you know, as a knight should, that
such words are not for an occasion like this; we are here to
fight with our swords and not with idle words.”

“Then let us finish quickly,” said Martin in a low voice,
“for Ximena awaits me with open arms.”

These words were scarcely uttered when the sword of
Rodrigo was darted at his visage, and, breaking the front part
of the helmet, it entered his mouth with such force that the
point came out through the back of his neck.

A providential chastisement. The calumniator, Martin
Gonzalez, was punished where he had most sinned.

Enthusiastic cries resounded on all sides.

“Calahorra for Don Fernando!” cried out the heralds three
times; and no one came forward to maintain the contrary.

The umpires then declared the result of the combat, and
adjudged to Don Fernando the disputed town.

The king descended at once to the arena, embraced
Rodrigo, took off his armour with his own hands, and led
him off.

A short time after, the brave youth entered the town, amid
the enthusiastic cheers of the multitude, and his father and
the king were seen to shed tears of joy.

CHAPTER XIII

OF AN UNEXPECTED VISIT WHICH XIMENA RECEIVED IN
HER RETREAT

For some time the king, Don Fernando, had been thinking
of changing his court to Burgos, partly in order to be nearer
to the frontiers which the Moors of Aragon were continually
devastating, and thus be able to keep them in check; and
partly in order that the Castilians might not think that he gave[Pg 88]
undue preference to the kingdom of Leon. He determined to
carry out this project as soon as the question regarding
Calahorra was decided by the single combat between Rodrigo
Diaz and Martin Gonzalez. The desire to extinguish at its
very commencement the enmity between the partisans of the
houses of Gormaz and Vivar, which he believed was about to
spring up in Castile, also induced him to hasten this change.
Don Fernando considered that the best way to cut short the
existence of those two bodies of partisans was to unite
Ximena with Rodrigo, but this presented serious difficulties
on the side of the maiden; he, however, proposed to himself
to overcome them, not alone actuated by the desire of seeing
his states in a condition of tranquillity, but also by that of
making Rodrigo happy, for he knew he could never be so
without Ximena.

We shall leave that wise and prudent monarch on his way
to Castile, and learn something concerning the solitaries of
the lake of San Vicente.

Ximena had believed that in solitude, in prayer, in
penitence, and in the service of her afflicted fellow-creatures,
she could forget Rodrigo, and find tranquillity and resignation,
of which she was so much in need; she had, however,
completely deceived herself, for when love has struck deep
roots in a heart, it resists all violence, it resists all waves, it
resists all storms. Can such a love die, unless those who
experience it also die?—a love which had its birth in the
cradles of two children, which grew up with their growth in
their paternal homes, amid the flowers and the butterflies of the
meadows, beneath the trees which shaded the avenues of
their native place, and under the eyes of devoted mothers?
How could this paradise, which loving souls dream of, be
renounced?

In vain had Ximena striven against her love for Rodrigo;
in vain had she invoked the terrible memory of her father in
order to give it the place in her soul which the remembrance
of Rodrigo occupied; in vain had she asked their assistance
from the holy maiden and from the affectionate and faithful
old woman who had accompanied her into that solitude, in
order to tear from her heart that enduring, deep, immense
love. On all sides she found incentives to that love, everything
seemed to conspire to strengthen in her the remembrance
of it. One day there arrived on the shores of the lake a
young invalid, accompanied by a youth who called her by the[Pg 89]
sweet name of wife, who lavished loving cares on her, who
became sad when he saw her sad, and joyful when she was
joyful; who surrounded her with an atmosphere of affection,
emanating from his words, from his looks, from his every
action, and Ximena remembered that such was the love she
had dreamed of, that such a husband she had seen in Rodrigo.
Ah! then she could realise how miserable is a woman who
has no husband to protect her weakness or to sustain her
when she is cast down by physical or mental pain! Another
day she was wandering through the shady groves that
bordered the lake, and this brought to her mind the time when
she and Rodrigo wandered through the woods which surrounded
the castle of Gormaz; and every fountain, brook, or
flower-covered meadow which she saw, reminded her of some
other fountain, brook, or meadow, with which were connected
memories of Rodrigo.

In this struggle between love and the blood-stained shade
of her father, the former was gaining the mastery more and
more as time went on. But if Rodrigo still loved her, as
once he did, how could he refrain from seeing her? how was
it that, in order to do so, he did not travel the short distance
which separated Vivar from the lake of San Vicente, as in
former days he had journeyed the long distance between Vivar
and San Estéban of Gormaz? All the projects of hatred, of
revenge, of oblivion; all the endeavours of Ximena to forget
him who had slain her father, had resulted in the girl becoming
wearied by her struggles against love. After a night during
which she was tortured by horrible dreams and nightmares,
she arose from her humble bed,—the bed in which she had
shed so many tears and abandoned herself to so many sad
reflections,—and knelt down before an image of the Virgin of
the Dolours, to address to heaven her morning prayer, as the
birds were doing, that sang in the trees which, with their aged
trunks and leafy boughs, protected the rustic hermitage.

“Mother of the unfortunate, consolation of afflicted souls!”
she cried, raising to the holy image her hands and her eyes wet
with tears, “console and sustain me, that I may not succumb
to the weight of my tribulations! Have pity on my tortures,
apply the balsam of thy grace to the wounds of my heart!
Pray to thy Son to have mercy on me!”

Ximena had scarcely finished her short prayer when Lambra—who
had gone to the door of the hermitage to see if Casilda,
who had set out at daybreak to console and succour the family[Pg 90]
of a poor and infirm shepherd, was returning—came hastily to
her mistress, and said to her—

“Look, my lady, see those cavaliers who are coming in this
direction.”

Ximena allowed herself to be led mechanically by Lambra,
who took her hand and conducted her to the door of their
dwelling-place. As she had said, about twenty well-accoutred
cavaliers were riding along the shore of the lake, on a path
that led to the hermitage, which was erected on the summit of
a hill and overlooked the country for some distance.

These cavaliers were not accompanying a lady. Who were
they, then? Why were they coming to the hermitage?
Ximena asked herself those questions, and her heart beat
quickly, although she did not know what caused it to do so.
The cavaliers were advancing nearer and nearer, and, with
unspeakable surprise, she recognised the king, Don Fernando,
who rode in front. He appeared astonished, in his turn, on
recognising Ximena, when he arrived at the hermitage.

“Ximena!” he exclaimed; “you here?”

And he hastened to dismount.

“You here?” he repeated; “when I believed that you were
in your castle at Gormaz.”

“Sire,” said the young girl, “I came here, desirous of
finding the tranquillity which was denied me at the court.
Shall I offend you by asking to what circumstance I owe
the happiness of seeing you in these solitudes.”

“To my desire of seeing Casilda, for you already know,
Ximena, that since she lost the affection of her father in
order to merit the love of God, she has no protection amongst
men but mine. I bless the moment in which I thought of
undertaking this journey, for at the end of it, instead of
meeting one, I meet two persons whom I love very much.”

Those who accompanied the king, as well as Lambra, had
moved away respectfully to some distance from the speakers.

“How is it that I do not find Casilda with you?” asked
Don Fernando.

“You will soon see her, sire,” replied the maiden, “for she
has gone to exercise her mission of mercy not far from here.”

“I am not alone delighted to see you on account of the
pleasure which your presence always causes me, but also for
the reason that I bring news which I feel sure will be
agreeable to you,” said the king, fixing his eyes on her at
the same time, in order to see the effect which his words[Pg 91]
might produce. “You remember that you demanded justice
from me on him who killed your father?”

“I have not forgotten it, sire.”

“I have done justice already, Ximena!”

“O my God!” exclaimed the young girl, full of anxiety
and fear. “Sire, explain.”

“Rodrigo has been punished as he deserved.”

A deadly pallor overspread the face of Ximena, and she
would have fallen on the ground if the king had not supported
her and made her sit down on a rustic bench which stood
near them.

“I engaged him in a single combat with Martin Gonzalez,
certain that it would be one to the death, and I was not
mistaken. The sword of Martin Gonzalez was stained with
the blood of him who shed that of your father.”

Ximena uttered a cry of agony, and fell back senseless
against the wall which served as a support for the bench.

“Dueña, dueña!” cried Don Fernando, “bring water
quickly. Your mistress has fainted on being reminded of
her father.”

“O my God! may the Mother of Dolours and all the
saints aid me!” cried Lambra, running to fetch what the
king had asked for. “He might have spoken of the living
instead of the dead, when he ought to have seen that it is
only a chance whether she is going to the angels or not.”

The dueña brought, in great haste, a vessel of water from a
spring which was very near the hermitage, and bathed the
face of Ximena, who was slowly regaining her senses, whilst
Lambra was saying to the king—

“By the glorious Saint Isidore, sire, you should be cautious
as to what you say to my mistress, for in one of those faints
she might fly from our hands like a bird. Do you not know,
sire, what ravages the death of her father has made in her
health? and at night she dreams of nothing else, and never
ceases calling out the name of that mad Rodrigo who killed
him.”

“Retire, honoured dueña, for she has returned to herself,”
said Don Fernando to Lambra, and she hastened to obey
him.

“He is dead! Rodrigo is dead!” murmured Ximena,
before opening her eyes and becoming aware that the king
stood at her side.

“Ximena,” said Don Fernando, “Rodrigo is not dead. It[Pg 92]
was he who killed Martin Gonzalez with the point of his
sword.”

Ximena could not repress a sudden rush of joy, and did
not even try to conceal her feelings from the king.

“Sire, have compassion on me!” she cried. “Tell me the
truth! Is it certain that Rodrigo is alive, or is it that you
fear to tell me again that he is dead, lest I might fall into
another swoon, such as that which your former words
caused?”

“Ximena, I swear to you that Rodrigo lives, to love you
ever. Are you not glad that he is alive? Are you not glad
that he loves you?”

“Sire, lay the blame of being an unnatural, ungrateful
daughter on me, of being a woman unworthy of the noble
blood that flows in my veins; but I cannot help it. His
life is my life, and without his love I am without hope in this
world. I demanded justice of you against Rodrigo, and I
was not deceiving you, for then it appeared to me that in
obtaining it my entire happiness consisted; but I soon knew
that I was only deceiving myself, that his punishment, which
I asked from you, would be the cause of the deepest misery
to me. My father demanded vengeance from the depths of
his sepulchre, but my love for Rodrigo asked pardon for
him from the bottom of my heart. Ah, sire! God alone and
myself know the terrible combat I have had to sustain, and
the anguish I have had to suffer.”

“Well, then, Ximena, that combat and that agony must now
cease. Rodrigo killed your father, but your father had
tarnished the honour of his; Rodrigo desired to fight loyally
and honourably with the Count of Gormaz, but the count
insulted him; then Rodrigo did not kill your father in any
unfair way, but whilst fighting with him, arm to arm and face
to face, as a good knight. This should be sufficient, Ximena,
to remove your scruples and quiet your conscience, so that
you may be the bride of Rodrigo.”

“It is impossible, sire, for ordinary people do not reason
thus; and it would be always said that I married the murderer
of my father.”

“Ximena, to the eyes of the world you will be the victim
of a tyrannical order—you will have given your hand to
Rodrigo in obedience to my command; and only you,
Rodrigo, and I shall know that you gave it to him in
accordance with the impulses of your heart.”

[Pg 93]

“Ah, sire! how shall he and I be ever able to pay you for
the happiness that we shall owe to you?”

“By choosing the queen and me as bride’s-lady and
groom’s-man at your wedding,” replied Don Fernando, with
a pleasant smile.

Ximena knew not how to express her gratitude to the king;
she threw herself on her knees before him and exclaimed—

“Sire, let me kiss your feet! let me even kiss the ground
where you have stood!”

“Arise, Ximena, for she who, like you, is worthy of
Rodrigo, should kneel only before God.”

Just as the king was raising Ximena affectionately from the
ground, Casilda approached, coming from beneath the trees
which grew nearest to the hermitage. Don Fernando, who
loved her as a daughter, and whose kindly feelings were then
much aroused, hastened forward to meet her. Casilda uttered
a cry of joy on seeing him.

“Casilda,” said Don Fernando to her, when both he and
the holy maiden had remained silent a short time, as those
who love and respect each other often do, when they meet
after a long absence, “Casilda, I bring you tidings of your
father.”

“Of my father?” exclaimed the girl in a joyful tone; and
at the same time a few tears trickled down from her beautiful
and calm eyes.

“Yes; your father has confided to me the hidden feelings
of his heart, in order that I may make them known to you.
Read this, and his words will tell you more than mine.”

“To you, who have children, whom you love as I do mine,”
wrote Almenon, having prefaced his letter with the usual
ceremonious phrases and salutations, “to you an unhappy
father appeals, certain that you will understand his feelings
and carry out his wishes. I have been informed that my
daughter did not embrace the religion of the Christians for the
purpose of enjoying the luxury and magnificence of your court,
but in order to live in solitude and poverty, and to consecrate
her life to the service of the poor and afflicted. If I formerly
cursed her, I now bless her from the bottom of my heart; if I
hated her before, I now love her: tell her this, and tell her,
moreover, not to abhor her father, believing that he is cruel
towards the poor captives, for he only is so because the creed
of the nation over which he reigns, and the desire to preserve
a crown for his son, compel him to act thus. A maiden[Pg 94]
reared in the shadow of a throne must suffer much and run
grave risks in a desert in a foreign land, amid pain and
poverty. Act as a father to Casilda, protect and watch over her,
and I swear that I shall act in a similar way to your children,
should fate bring them some day into the dominions of—Almenon.”

Sobs almost smothered Casilda when she finished the reading
of the letter; but her heart rejoiced because her father still
loved her, still blessed her, and no longer wept on her account.

“Casilda,” said Don Fernando to her, “it is not in vain that
your father appeals to my heart to satisfy the desires of his.
From this day forward you shall have a father in me; and as
it is your ambition to possess means wherewith to aid misfortune,
my treasury is open to you—avail yourself of it, and
let no one, who is really in want, apply in vain at your door.”

Some days after the visit of the king to the solitaries of the
lake, Ximena entered Burgos, accompanied by a brilliant
escort of cavaliers, belonging to the court of Don Fernando,
who had himself come to meet her, riding a considerable
distance on the road of Briviesca.

Some peasants, who were journeying at the same time to
the city, stopped to gaze on the young girl and her richly-dressed
companions, and as they were ignorant of the news of
the court, on account of the distance they lived from it, and
did not know Ximena, one of them went up to a workman who
was standing at the door of a house, and asked him—

“Do you know who that splendid girl is? On my soul,
she looks like a queen.”

“What? you don’t know her? She is Doña Ximena,
daughter of the Count of Gormaz, who is going to be married
to the son of the grandee of Vivar,” replied the man who had
been questioned.

“Nonsense! Is it not said that the youth killed the
count?”

“Certainly.”

“And he is going to be married to the daughter of the dead
man! Well, queer things happen now-a-days. One must be
badly off for a husband.”

“Be silent, you bumpkin, and don’t speak badly of a lady
who is more honourable than you and your whole clan.”

“Keep quiet yourself, you Burgos ruffian, for I swear I have
fists, and won’t listen to insults.”

[Pg 95]

“And do you imagine, you clown, that I haven’t got fists
also? I swear I’ll break every bone in your body.”

Saying this, the workman rushed on the peasant; the
spectators, however, got between them, and the man of Burgos
had to return to his post when only a few blows had been
exchanged.

“Do the rustics imagine that the townspeople are made of
sugar paste?” he said.

“And why do the townspeople insult us?”

“Why do you judge of things without understanding them?”

“Explain them, and I’ll understand them.”

“Then know that Doña Ximena, instead of being found
fault with, should be pitied, for they are marrying her to Don
Rodrigo much against her wish. She certainly was in love
with him one time, but she took a dislike to him when he
killed her father, and if she now marries him, it is in obedience
to the command of the king, who so arranges matters, for he
considers that the union of the houses of Vivar and of Gormaz
will prevent the formation of bodies of partisans who would
flood the kingdom with blood, and he says that public good
must be thought more of than private sentiment.”

“And the king is right.”

“Of course he is; and the more so, because Don Rodrigo
did not kill the father of Doña Ximena unfairly. Yes! Don
Fernando knows well what he is about, and does not fear
being accused of doing wrong. I hold, for my part, that there’s
not a better king in the world.”

“Do you know that the maiden is worth half Castile?”

“And the young cavalier knows it, too, and he is certainly
worthy of her.”

CHAPTER XIV

HOW RODRIGO AND XIMENA WERE MARRIED, AND HOW THE
DEVIL TERRIFIED THE PEOPLE OF BURGOS

The month of September was commencing, and it was the
early morning of a Sunday, calm and mild as a day in spring,
for the burning heats of summer had ceased, and were replaced
by the cool breezes which autumn brings with it,[Pg 96]
especially in the country about Burgos. There might have
been noticed in that city an unusual animation, and a
multitude of people were flocking towards it from the districts
all around; but where that throng and bustle was most perceptible
was in the immediate neighbourhood of the church of
Santa Gadea.

The reader will already have surmised what the circumstance
was which in this manner was disturbing the habitual
tranquillity of the capital of Castile and its suburbs; on that
day were to be celebrated the nuptials of Rodrigo Diaz and
Ximena Gome, and the king and queen were to give away the
bridegroom and the bride. In the streets which led from the
Alcazar to the church, all the balconies and windows were
magnificently adorned with flowers and rich hangings; the
ground was strewn with flowers and sweet-smelling herbs, and
at intervals beautiful arches, covered with foliage, had been
erected. These nuptials were the cause of great satisfaction,
not alone to the relations and friends of the bride and bridegroom,
but also to the good people of Castile, who now felt
sure that there would no longer be any danger of feuds and
bloodshed. For these reasons the citizens had done their
utmost to adorn and make gay the streets through which the
bridal procession was to pass.

The sun had not long risen, when the crowds which peopled
the streets began to move and direct their eyes towards the
Alcazar, for the chiming of the bells of Santa Gadea was
announcing that the wedding party had issued from its gate;
for, it may be mentioned, Don Fernando, desirous of doing
honour to Rodrigo and Ximena in every possible way, had
lodged them in his palace. A few moments afterwards the
brilliant cortège was in full view of the expectant multitude.

How beautiful was Ximena, and how high-spirited
Rodrigo! They walked between the king and queen, and
near them were Diego Lainez and Teresa Nuña, on whose
countenances beamed joy and parental pride. There accompanied
them also many of their relations, and the most distinguished
dames and cavaliers of the court. The crowds
pressed on to gaze at them, and the king’s guards found some
difficulty in keeping the way clear for the procession. At last
they arrived at the church, where the bishop, Don Ximeno,
awaited them, and then the multitudes began again by rough
shoving and pushing to endeavour to secure the best positions
for seeing them when they returned after the sacred ceremony.

[Pg 97]

The agitation and disorder which for a considerable time
had reigned in the crowd, packed tightly together opposite the
church of Santa Gadea, gradually ceased, and all were peacefully
expressing their opinions on the richness of the dresses, on the
beauty of the bride, on the brave appearance of the bridegroom,
and on the circumstances which had preceded these
famous nuptials.

“As God lives, that Ximena is of more value than all her
estates, and they are so large that the Moors could make four
kingdoms out of them, each of the size of those which they
rule over,” said a youth who seemed to be a page by his dress,
and who, with two companions, was mounted on the railings
which protected the porch of Santa Gadea.

“Rodrigo and his estates at Vivar are worth just as much,”
replied another of the youths.

“And I tell you,” added the third, “that Rodrigo Diaz will
soon be the ruler of an empire. Have you not heard of the
gifts which Don Fernando has given to the bride and bridegroom?”

“I know nothing of them, for my lord and master, the
Count of Carrion, hates the family of Vivar so much, that
nobody dares to mention their names in his castle.”

“Then you must know that he has given to them, and to
their heirs for ever, the seigniories of Valduerna, of Belorado,
and of Saldaña.”

“By the saints, how generous Don Fernando must be!”

“The king knows right well what he is doing, for he should
be generous to him who won Calahorra for him, which he had
lost if the knight of Vivar were not as valiant as he is. And
for my part, I believe that Don Rodrigo will win for Castile,
from the Moors, more castles than there are houses on the
estates which Don Fernando has given to him.”

“And it is certain that Don Rodrigo is valiant. My
master could tell a good deal about that, and the son of my
mother also, if the people round us were not making such a
noise.”

“I’d like to hear all about it, Guillen.”

“And I also.”

“Then you’ll have to be satisfied with the desire of hearing
it, for this is not the place to relate adventures in which my
lord came off very badly.”

This refusal of Guillen, as may be supposed, whetted the
curiosity of his companions, who, one on each side of him,[Pg 98]
edged themselves on, along the bar on which they sat, until
they were in contact with him.

“Relate the adventure to us, Guillen, for I bet it is worth
hearing,” said one of his friends.

“I shall tell it, just to please you; but if Don Suero, my
master, knew that I related this adventure, I should soon be
in a condition to relate no more of them, but like my companions,
the other servants of the count, who remained at the
Inn of the Moor with holes in their hearts, made by the lance
of that terrible squire of Don Rodrigo, named Fernan.”

“Cease your nonsense, friend Guillen, and go on with your
story.”

“I shall do so at once.”

And Guillen related to his friends the carrying off of Beatrice,
almost exactly as the reader already knows it.

“And is it possible that the Count of Carrion commits such
outrages?” asked one of the listeners.

“Very little surprises you, my friend,” replied Guillen, still
in a low voice, and looking about cautiously to see if he could
be overheard by any of those who were standing about, waiting
to see the wedding party come forth from the church. “Your
astonishment would be greater,” he continued, “if you only
knew the circumstances of the carrying off of another girl by
Don Suero, some time before his attempt on Beatrice.”

Illan and Garcia, for such were the names of the other
pages, squeezed themselves more closely, if such were possible,
against Guillen, bending their necks and bringing their ears
close to his mouth. Seeing, however, that the servant of Don
Suero did not satisfy their curiosity with the promptitude they
desired, they abandoned gestures in order to question him
with words.

“And how did this other outrage take place?” asked Illan,
who was the more curious of the two.

“It happened as you will soon hear, if those who related it
to me were not liars, for at that time I was not in the service
of Don Suero. There was in the neighbourhood of Carrion a
maiden—a peasant girl, indeed, but one of the handsomest
that could be found in Castile or Leon. Don Suero thought
little of taking her from her father, as he was smitten by her
beauty; and, using cunning devices, he succeeded in inducing
both father and daughter to go to the castle of Carrion, and
there he dishonoured the girl, and deprived the father of his
sight, so that he might not be able to find his daughter, or[Pg 99]
take vengeance on him for what he had done. The girl, who
was good and modest, resisted his wooing for a long time, but
the count had recourse to violence, and Sancha, for such was
the name of his victim, had to yield at last to the brutality of
her jailer. Days and months went on, and Don Suero, who
was much in love with the peasant girl, redoubled his caresses,
hoping to make her love him also. The girl was becoming, by
degrees, more yielding as time went on, softened by the
tenderness and by the gifts of Don Suero. But behold! an
old gipsy woman entered her apartment one day. This old
woman was in the habit of telling fortunes, and the count put
up with this, and with other queer things which she did. She
and the girl, however, disappeared from the castle, some say
by witchcraft, for they thought it could not be by any other
means, and it was well known that the old gipsy was an expert
in the black art, like all the rest of her race. It is easy for you
to imagine the despair and the rage of the count when he was
informed of the flight of Sancha. It is only necessary to say
that, in order to give vent to his anger, he nearly killed all his
servants and vassals with beatings, and, hoping to forget the
girl, he established in his castle a kind of harem, to which he
carries off the handsomest girls of the country, when he gets a
chance of doing so.”

“And have they never learned the abode of the unfortunate
Sancha?”

“No; all the efforts which Don Suero has used to find her
out have been in vain.”

“And those of her father to discover her?”

“Have been also unavailing.”

“What has become of him?”

“He seeks his daughter in every direction; but the unhappy
man cannot find her. He goes from town to town, weeping
over his loss, and earns something to live on by playing a lute.”

“Anger of God! and are you not ashamed to remain in the
service of such a wicked master?”

“I am ashamed, in truth, but you must know that I cannot
go away from his residence; for if I lived far from the castle
of Carrion, I should die of grief.”

“By the glorious St. Isidore, I do not understand you!”
exclaimed Illan.

“Guillen, you want to bewilder us with your mysteries,”
added Garcia. “Are there not plenty of masters who would
be only too glad to get a respectable page or squire?”

[Pg 100]

“Leave that wretch of a Don Suero immediately, for my
master, the Count of Cabra, wants at present an honourable
and brave page like you, and he would engage you at once.”

“I tell you that I cannot leave the service of the Count of
Carrion.”

“If the count were a lady, I should say you were in love
with him.”

“Then learn that I am in love, and very much in love, my
friends.”

Illan and Garcia broke into a loud laugh, caused not so
much by the words of Guillen, as by the sentimental tone in
which he pronounced them.

“By the saints! if you laugh at me, I will spit you on the
points of these bars!” exclaimed Guillen, made angry by the
laughter of his friends, which had caused the people standing
about to fix their attention on them.

Illan and Garcia felt that Guillen had just cause for his
annoyance, and ceased laughing.

“Don’t be vexed, Guillen,” said the former, “but explain
yourself to us.”

“I tell you that I am in love, and by confiding to you this
secret, for no one else must know it, I am proving to both of
you the warmth of my friendship.”

“But who are you in love with?”

Guillen looked around on all sides, and then replied in a
very low voice—

“With Doña Teresa, my mistress.”

Illan and Garcia found some difficulty to restrain themselves
from again bursting out into laughter. However, they checked
themselves when they noticed the angry gesture of Guillen
when he saw the fresh symptoms of hilarity.

“With Doña Teresa! with the sister of the count your
master!” exclaimed Illan. “Are you mad, Guillen, or are
you making fun of us?”

“I am not making fun of you; but I am mad—mad in love,
my friends.”

“But is it returned?”

“How could it be, when I have never dared to declare my
love to her who is the object of it?”

“But don’t you know, you fool, that if the noble Doña
Teresa, the sister of the Count of Carrion, happened to discover
that you were in love with her, she would laugh at you,
if indeed she did not get you driven with blows from the[Pg 101]
castle. Don’t you know that if Don Suero learned it, he would
get you flayed alive?”

“I know nothing, my friends,—I know nothing but that I
love her with all my heart and soul.”

“But what right has a poor page to love so great a lady?”

“It is easy to know, my friends that you are as low-minded
and ignorant as the bulk of pages. Tell me, however, is not
a lady a woman, no matter how rich and noble she may happen
to be?”

“Certainly.”

“And is not a page a man, no matter how poor and
obscure he may be?”

“Certainly, likewise.”

“Then, is it extraordinary that a man should love a woman,
and a woman a man?”

“No.”

“Then, you simpletons, don’t be astonished that I, a
poor and obscure page, love my lady Doña Teresa, and that
she, rich and noble as she is, may love me some day or other.”

“You argue, friend Guillen, as well as if you had attended
lectures in the School of Palencia; but I am quite certain that
neither your lady nor the count would see it in the same light
as you.”

“If my mistress were like the ordinary run of women,
or even like the generality of men, who think only as others
think, and not as they themselves should think, my love would
be certainly great folly; but I know well that Doña Teresa is
guided more by reason than by custom. Besides, who has
told you, ignoble as you are, that I may not be rich and noble
some day, if Doña Teresa desires that he who is to obtain her
hand and heart should be so? I am young, and, ‘fore God, I
am not wanting in courage. Only let the Moors get up a war
on the frontiers, and you will see how I can wield a lance,
and perchance return to Carrion as much a cavalier as the
count my master. You will see how, once dubbed a knight,
I shall collect together a hundred or so brave fellows, enter
the country of the Moors, and conquer it. Then I shall
become a lord over vassals, for, on my faith, it will not be the
first time that such things have happened. You can’t imagine,
my friend, how my love for Doña Teresa increases when I
think over those chances.”

“I hope in goodness that your love won’t bring you to
perdition!” said Garcia in a prophetic tone of voice.

[Pg 102]

“It is to glory that it shall lead me,” replied Guillen
enthusiastically. “This love which I feel, impossible as it
may seem to you, will exalt the humble page whom you see
here. The greater the prize is, for which the wrestler struggles,
so much the more bravely does he brace himself up for the
contest. Do you imagine that Rodrigo Diaz could have
fought so well if, in addition to conquering Martin Gonzalez,
he had not hoped for the embraces of Ximena?”

Illan and Garcia could not but feel that amid the wild fancies
of Guillen there might be well founded hopes. For that
reason they thought it best to leave him in the paradise of his
illusions. Just as in our times he who believes in nothing,
he who considers but vain words the faith of his ancestors,
the love of country, the love for a woman, is the man who
most probably will raise himself over others, so, in the times
when Guillen lived, that man had the best chance of elevating
himself who believed in all those things, and, exalted by such
sentiments, acted in accordance with his beliefs. Oh for
that age, when, in order to be honoured, the cavalier had
to consecrate his heart to God, to a king, and to a woman,—three
sovereigns, who had their thrones respectively in heaven,
on earth, and at the domestic hearth, and all of them in the
soul of a man. If amongst those who at the present day bear
the name of cavalier, there are any who do not wish to bear it
in vain, they must be cautious with regard to acknowledging
that they adore God, that they would die for the anointed of
the Lord, or that they love or are faithful to a woman; for
they would be laughed at and looked on as madmen, and
in vain would they argue that the idols are false and loathsome
which have usurped the altars on which these three divinities
were formerly enthroned.

Our three youths had arrived at that point in their conversation
at which we left them, in order to heave a sigh over
lost beliefs, which it would be very difficult to replace. The
bells of Santa Gadea announced, with a loud peal, that religion
had sanctified the union of the noble scions of the trees
of Vivar and of Gormaz. The crowds began to move, to
crush, to squeeze, if we may so express ourselves, and with
the sounds of the bells were mingled cries of pain, angry
exclamations, threats, supplications, weeping, curses,—all that
Babel of sounds which is usually heard amongst a great
multitude, when it is compressed into a space which cannot
well contain much more than half its numbers.

[Pg 103]

“The women ought to be at home spinning!”

“The men should be killing the Moors!”

“Your eyes are killing Christians, Moorish women!”

“Hi, hi, hi! Don’t be tickling me, dueña!”

“Is my face rosy, you bumpkin?”

“It smells of roses, by my faith!”

“Who is the jade that’s crushing me?”

“I swear it’s an old witch; has she come here to cast the
evil eye on the bride and bridegroom?”

“You brute, you are crushing in my breast with your
elbows.”

“A thousand legions of demons! my pocket-handkerchief
has been stolen.”

“Oh, my silk petticoat is falling off!”

“Confound those court festivals.”

“And also that Don Rodrigo and Doña Ximena.”

“I swear I’ll cut out your tongue if you say a word against
them.”

“Ay, ay, ay!”

“May the devil take the women!”

“I am coming for them, I am coming for them!“

This whirlwind of exclamations, which are only faint
samples of the hundred thousand which were heard every
minute, changed its character, when the one which we have
emphasised was heard.

“I am coming for them, I am coming for them!” repeated a
rough and terror-striking voice, which seemed to issue from a
dilapidated house, just beside the church of Santa Gadea, and
which, even before it had begun to fall into ruins, was uninhabited
for a long time; for it was said that whenever the devil
came to carry off an inhabitant of Burgos, he took lodgings
in it, for two reasons: firstly, that he might not have to pass
the night in the open air, as Burgos is rather cool and the
devil is accustomed to a warm climate; and secondly, to
terrify, with the infernal glitter of his eyes, the pious people
who were accustomed to pray at night-time before a holy
statue, which stood at the gate of the adjoining church, and
which was much venerated.

Loud cries of terror arose from the multitude; the children
took refuge under the petticoats of the women, like chickens
beneath the wings of a hen, and the women clung to the men,
as ivy does to the oak. A minute had scarcely passed, when a
terrible-looking figure emerged from the ruined house, a figure[Pg 104]
which made even some of the boldest tremble. It was the
devil, without doubt, if appearances could be trusted. It was
clad in a flame-coloured suit; it had a tail which moved from
side to side like a whip; its forehead was furnished with two
enormous horns, and through its large mouth smoke was issuing
as from a chimney.

“I am coming for them, I am coming for them!” he
roared again, as he came out of his hiding place, and rushed
towards the crowd.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” was exclaimed in all directions.
Not seeing, however, that the devil was stopped by the holy
invocation, everybody took to flight in the wildest disorder.
The children came forth from their hiding-places under the
petticoats, and in a few moments all the streets around the
church of Santa Gadea were empty, for even the men did
not wait for the devil, although he had declared that he only
came for the women.

We have said that no one remained in the immediate
neighbourhood of the church, but we have not been strictly
accurate. Illan and Garcia jumped down from the railing
as soon as the devil appeared, and fled like all the rest; but
Guillen thought that he who was not afraid of the Count of
Carrion need not be afraid of the devil, and he awaited him
without moving from his position.

“Sir Devil,” he said to him, seeing that he came in his
direction, “leave me in peace if you desire to have a good
friend in Carrion, should you ever go there.”

The devil looked round in all directions, and, seeing that
no person observed them, he pulled off his horns and his tail,
which he had been able to set in motion by a simple contrivance,
and took off a mask, under which was burning tow, from
which proceeded the smoke that had issued from the mouth.

“Pelayo!” exclaimed Guillen, on seeing the face of the
supposed devil; “what foolishness has put such a ridiculous
notion into your head?”

“On my soul,” replied Pelayo, “I see no foolishness in
clearing the road for the king and the wedding procession.
If I had not done so, twenty heads at least would be broken
during its return by the maces of the royal guards, to judge
by what I saw at its going. And look,” he continued, pointing
to the vestibule of the church, “the cortège is just coming
out; you will see how quietly and comfortably it will get to
the Alcazar.”

[Pg 105]

The bride and bridegroom, with their companions, were
indeed just issuing from the church. They proceeded along
the road to the Alcazar, the mace-bearers not having to clear
a way for them, as the spectators had ascended to the windows
and balconies, and even to the roofs of the houses, leaving
the streets almost empty.

On their arrival at the Alcazar, everyone inquired what
was the cause of this unusual condition of things, and, as
can be proved with certainty, Don Fernando called aside
Pelayo, who was one of his servants, and, according to tradition,
gave him sixteen maravedis, on account of his strange
enterprise, which was much spoken of and laughed over
during the banquet which the king gave in honour of the
newly-married couple.

CHAPTER XV

HOW RODRIGO BECAME THE POSSESSOR OF BABIECA, AND
WHAT HAPPENED WHILST HE WAS RIDING HIM

There is a place in Burgos known by the name of the “Solar[1]
del Cid,” and an inscription placed on it by the municipality
of the city shows that the famous cavalier, Rodrigo Diaz de
Vivar, was born there.

One of the ancestors of Diego Lainez, appointed governor
of the district of Castile, and obliged to fix his residence in
its chief city, had erected an unpretentious house in Burgos,
and his descendants preserved it and resided in it when their
duties at the Court obliged them to leave their ancestral home
at Vivar. Diego Lainez and his wife Teresa were residing
in it when Rodrigo came into the world, and quitted it shortly
afterwards, in order to make Vivar their permanent abode.
Now, however, as Don Fernando had changed the court to
Burgos, and as Diego was charged with the duty of watching
over the education of the princes, that old house, deserted
for so many years, was again inhabited by its noble owners.
They had entered it only a few days before the wedding of
Rodrigo.

Here are reunited all those whom we have seen in the castle
[Pg 106]of Vivar, and even some more. Here are Rodrigo, Ximena,
Diego, Teresa, the good Lambra, Mayor, Fernan, and Alvar;
all contented, all happy, contemplating the felicity of the two
first mentioned. Already were being realised the beautiful
dreams of Rodrigo and Ximena; already were being brought
to their fulfilment those golden hopes, so often combated
and opposed, so often dead and brought to life again! What
will Rodrigo now do? Will he consecrate his life exclusively
to love, to Ximena, to the pleasures of the domestic hearth,
and to the luxuries which his wealth can procure for him?
No, a hundred times no! Noble souls, generous hearts,
are never without honourable aspirations. Rodrigo, the noble
descendant of the Judges of Castile, of so many excellent
men, who had consecrated their lives to the glory of their
God and of their country, will not wear away his life devoted
to the effeminate pleasures of love and wealth. He feels that
man has come into the world for something more than to
pass through it like a shadow which leaves no trace behind
it; he knows well that the most just and most honourable
nation and the holiest religion have implacable enemies,
and require generous souls and brave hearts to come to their
defence; he knows that in Spain, as in all other places, there
are weak who require the aid of the strong, that there are
oppressors and oppressed. The contest which he had fought
with his heart being ended, he is about to sustain with his
arm another, not less difficult and arduous, certain that victory
would crown it, as it did the former. The sons of Mahomet
raise their impious standard at the frontiers of Castile and
Leon, and frequently invade the dominions of the king, Don
Fernando. To fight against them and conquer them is now
the ambition of Rodrigo. What strength will not the thought
of his Ximena lend to his arm, feeling that the aureole of his
triumphs will also shine around her head; certain that on his
return to Burgos she will receive him with open arms, and
with love in her heart, in her eyes, and on her lips,—that
beautiful woman of whom he had dreamed during so many
years, with whom he had shared the joys and sports of childhood,
and the hopes and illusions of youth! What joy will
it not be for him to pass from the arms of his wife to those
of his old and honoured father, and then to those of his
beloved mother! What recompense will it not be for his
prowess when he will see his parents and wife weep with joy,
tremble with pride; and hear them bless him, and bless God[Pg 107]
for having rewarded their love and their sufferings by giving
so good a son, so good a husband! Mean and vulgar souls
consider as worthless such triumphs, such joys, such raptures,
rich with holiness and with poetry; but souls like those of
Rodrigo know their full value. Happy art thou, Ximena,
having such a husband. How many maidens are there in
this fair Castile who look on thy triumph with envy, who
look angrily on thee for having taken from them the youth
of their dreams, the youth with the honourable soul, the
loving and ardent heart, the handsome and valiant mien,
of whom they had dreamed a thousand times, whilst the
guardian angel of maidens watched beside their beds under
the appearance of a mother.

It was an autumn morning, beautiful, peaceful, mild; the
sky was blue, and the birds were singing, as if mistaking the
season for springtime. Rodrigo impressed a sweet kiss on
the lips of Ximena, received a sweeter one from her in return,
and went forth from his paradise, accompanied by his good
squire Fernan. They issued from Burgos on foot, and, walking
along the bank of the Arlanzon, they proceeded in the
up-stream direction, not as master and servant, but as two
good friends. The meadows which they passed were very
beautiful, but they had never before appeared so fair to
Rodrigo, for love and happiness are prisms, which make all
things appear as if clothed in brilliant hues. Whither were
Rodrigo and his squire going on foot, and at so early an hour?
Let us listen to them.

“Sir,” says Fernan, “for a journey on foot we are going
rather far from Burgos, and my lady Ximena will be very
uneasy before we return, as we shall have to spend half a day
in a walk which she thinks will only take an hour. Besides,
sir, as you are not used to walking, you will be very much
fatigued.”

The reader will remember what we said on another
occasion, namely, that the slyness of the squire caused him
to attribute to others his own weaknesses. These traces of
hypocrisy must, however, be forgiven him, on account of the
sincerity which, in other respects, characterised him. The
fact of the matter is, that, having made his peace with Mayorica,
in honour of the marriage of his master, as farther on we shall
learn in more detail, it was the maid of Doña Teresa who
likely would be uneasy, for he had told her that he would be
back within an hour, as, going on foot, he believed they were[Pg 108]
only about to take a short walk, not far beyond the fortifications
of the city. For that reason Fernan had also postponed
his breakfast until his return. With regard to fatigue, he
was likewise thinking of himself, as he also was not much
accustomed to walking, and, being rather stout, would feel it
much more than his master.

“Indeed,” replied Rodrigo, with joyous familiarity, “the
beauty of the fields and thoughts on our approaching
adventures amongst the Moors have occupied my mind so
much, that I forgot to tell you where we are going. You
know already that, amongst the wedding gifts, my godfather
Don Peyre presented me with two horses, and he left it to
myself to take from his stables, which contain many, those
which might please me most. Well, then, we are now going to
select them—one for me and the other for you.”

“But, sir, you have been so generous to me at your
marriage”—

“I wish you to have this souvenir of it also. The steed on
which I was mounted when I fought against Martin Gonzalez
was handsome and high-spirited, but I would never ride again,
if I could avoid it, so weak an animal. I shall never again
trust to a horse by his appearance, as you shall see when we
are in the stables of Don Peyre.”

Master and squire continued conversing on this and other
subjects until they arrived near a village, in which arose a
tower with ramparts, and near it a low building, which, from
its appearance, must be the stable of which they were in
search.

Rodrigo and Fernan entered the tower, the occupant of
which was Don Peyre Pringos, and in a short time they came
forth again with him and proceeded towards the stables, much
against the will of Fernan, who, in order to accompany them,
had to leave an excellent breakfast, which on a slight hint
from him had been served up in the kitchen of Don Peyre.

The stables were divided into two compartments, one fitted
up for the horses and the other as a harness-room.

“Godson,” said Don Peyre, “stand near the stable door,
and, according as the horses are driven out, select those which
most please you.”

“Fernan,” said in his turn Rodrigo, “place yourself at the
other side of the door, and choose whichever horse you
like best.”

“I shall do so with very great pleasure,” replied Fernan,[Pg 109]
who was exceedingly well contented, notwithstanding the
slight annoyance he felt at having to leave the succulent
breakfast that had been prepared for him; for he saw in the
stables sufficient horses from which to choose not alone two,
but even two dozen.

The stable-boy then began to drive the animals out, and
they came on through the harness-room. Fernan placed his
hand on a white-and-red spotted horse, very high and of
handsome appearance, and said—

“If you don’t take him for yourself, sir, this one shall
be mine.”

“‘Fore God,” exclaimed Don Peyre, “the squire is not a fool!”

“Some day you will know, as Agrajes said,”[2] replied Rodrigo,
“that such horses are good for riding on festive occasions, but
for war I desire another kind, as you shall now see;” and as a
horse, black, slender, not very tall, and almost as gentle-looking
as an ass, came forth, he touched him with his hand
and said, according to the “Chronicle of the Cid”—

“This one do I like.”

“Babieca,[3] you have badly chosen,” said Don Peyre.

“This shall be my horse,” replied Rodrigo, “and his name
shall be Babieca. Have you not called me babieca? My
horse must be so called also, in order that both you and I
may remember this difference of opinion. I feel quite sure,
godfather Don Peyre, that it is you who shall have to change
your mind regarding battlehorses, and not I, should I be in
a fight with him.”

“I say to you, godson, as you remarked recently to your
squire, ‘you will know some day, as Agrajes said,'” replied
Don Peyre. He then ordered the stablemen to caparison the
two horses with handsome accoutrements.

Shortly after, Rodrigo and Fernan started on their return to
Burgos; the latter was particularly well pleased with the
fine-looking speckled horse which he bestrode, and which
attracted much attention on the part of those they met on the
road.

Having entered the city, and as they were passing the
mansion of the Count of Carrion, they saw at its door a
number of squires, pages, and other servitors of the count,
who were holding harnessed horses by the bridles, and were
apparently ready to set out at once. Guillen, who has already
been introduced to the reader, was amongst them. Certainly
[Pg 110]the steed of Rodrigo, which in future we shall call by the
name of Babieca, as such had been given to him by his master,
might be fairly considered a subject for the jokes of the wits
and loiterers in the streets. However, Rodrigo was so
respected and feared in Burgos, that no person had the
temerity to laugh at his steed, until he arrived at the place
where the house of Don Suero stood. When he and Fernan
had got thus far, the servants of the count began to make
observations to each other, and to laugh loudly, to which at
first the newly-arrived paid no attention; but soon they were
obliged to notice their insolence.

“Honoured squire,” said one of them, addressing Fernan,
“could you tell us whether the steed of this cavalier, your
master, belongs to the horse or to the ass species?”

“It is a horse,” replied Fernan, with difficulty restraining
his anger, “for if it were an ass, you certainly would recognise
your brother?”

“Then, brother, I thank you for your courtesy.”

“By the soul of Beelzebub, I shall mark the face of Don
Bellaco!”[4] exclaimed Fernan, directing his horse towards the
insolent fellow, and striking him across the face with the reins.

All the servants of Don Suero uttered a cry of indignation,
and were making ready to rush on the unarmed squire of
Rodrigo, although Guillen did his best to pacify them, trying
to prove to them that it was they who were in the wrong.
When Rodrigo, who had proceeded some distance onwards,
heard the uproar, he turned round, and, seeing what was taking
place, he turned back and hastened, with dagger in hand,
to defend his squire.

“Remain where you are, sir,” cried Fernan, “for I am well
able by myself to chastise these fellows, who have dared to
make fun of your horse.”

It almost seemed as if Babieca understood what Fernan
said, that is, that they had been speaking disrespectfully of him,
for, without his master having to touch him with the spurs, he
rushed upon the servants of the count, whom Rodrigo dispersed
in a moment, although, not having any weapon but his
dagger, he inflicted no wounds on them.

On hearing the noise of the quarrel, Don Suero came to a
window and cried out—

“Who is the coward that is trampling down my servants?”

“A cavalier who will forfeit the name of such if he does not
[Pg 111]prove to you this very day that it is you who are the coward,”
retorted Rodrigo, turning angrily towards Don Suero.

The count trembled on seeing that he whom he had insulted
was Rodrigo, the brave youth whose sword had left
indelible marks on his throat at the Inn of the Moor; but as
he was out of reach of his dagger, and in the presence of his
servants, he made a great effort to overcome his fear, and
replied—

“My sword, as God lives, shall prove to you that you are
an ill-born clown!”

“Then give me but time to fetch my sword, treacherous
count, and prepare yourself for the combat in the meantime,
which shall take place on this very spot, where you can await
me, as I shall be back immediately.”

Thus speaking, Rodrigo set spurs to Babieca, and rode on
to his residence, followed by Fernan. Having arrived there,
he put on his coat of mail, girt on his sword, and took his
lance and shield. The squire also got his heavy lance, and
both of them, again mounting their horses, returned to the
mansion of the count. The door and the street before
it were now, however, deserted; Rodrigo approached the
former and gave a heavy knock on it with the butt-end of his
lance, but as no one answered, he cried out, in a loud and
angry voice—

“Come forward, calumnious and insolent count, and abductor
of women!”

“Sir knight,” called out a woman from an upper window of
an adjacent house, “according to the description you give, it
must be the Count of Carrion you are seeking.”

“The very same, honoured dueña,” replied Rodrigo.

“Ah, sir knight, would to God I had never set foot in
Burgos, and my eyes would not be now two rivers of tears!
Hi, hi, hi!”

“Can you not tell me, woman, if”—

“Pardon me, sir knight, I am just going to do so; but you
must know that I had a daughter, more beautiful than a May
morning—Hi, hi, hi!—Daughter of my heart!”

“Anger of God, stop your weeping!” exclaimed Rodrigo,
impatient to procure information regarding the count.

“Why should I not weep, sir?” continued the old woman,
with a calmness sufficient to deprive Job himself of patience.
“Why should I not weep, when that accursed count has stolen
my daughter! Hi, hi, hi! Woe is me, I must now die of[Pg 112]
hunger, when I have no one to earn anything to keep me
alive.”

Rodrigo had let his impatience and annoyance give way to
compassion, and was about to alleviate the affliction of the old
woman. Fernan, however, whose heart was not so susceptible to
the misfortunes of others, now interfered, exclaiming angrily—

“By Judas Iscariot! if I were up there, I’d soon make that
old chatterbox hold her tongue.”

Her weeping and the excitement of her mind prevented her,
doubtless, from noticing that it was the squire who had spoken,
for she continued, as if it were Rodrigo himself who had addressed
her so roughly—

“Ah, sir knight, I am a respectable dueña, as you first
named me, and now you call me a chatterbox! Hi, hi, hi!
That is too bad, when I have lost my daughter, who was the
best girl in the world! Ah, woe is me! What will become
of me without my Aldonza!”

“Aldonza!” exclaimed Fernan, giving such a start that he
nearly fell from his saddle, and then added, turning to his
master—

“By the soul of Beelzebub, sir, this old procuress is making
fun of us to her heart’s content! The jade that she says has
been stolen from her by the count, is not a bit better than
herself.”

Rodrigo, whose patience had been almost exhausted by the
talkativeness and lamentations of the old woman, lost it entirely
when he heard what his squire said, and cried out—

“Let there be an end of this nonsense, whether you are respectable
or not! Where is the count?”

“Oh, if it’s that, sir knight—A short time before you
knocked at the door, he and all his attendants rode off very
rapidly.”

“Confound both him and you, old witch, who have delayed
us here for half an hour!” cried Rodrigo, driving the spurs into
the flanks of poor Babieca. “Let us follow him, even should
it be as far as Carrion!”

Babieca and Overo, the speckled horse, started as quick as
lightning on the road that led to Carrion.

“I promise that I will prove to him that he is a coward,”
said Rodrigo; “and even should he hide himself in his castle,
my lance shall there find his breast. Fly, fly, my good Babieca,
for thou also art interested in my vengeance!”

But at a short distance from Burgos, Rodrigo and his squire[Pg 113]
distinguished, in a south-easterly direction, a dense column of
smoke ascending towards the sky, and in succession farther
on they saw another in the same direction.

They were the smoke signals which were lit on the watch-towers,
in order to give warning whenever the Moors crossed
the frontiers.

“The Moors have crossed the Moncayo!” exclaimed Rodrigo.
“Before avenging injuries done to myself, I must avenge
those against God, the king, and my country. Fernan, let us
return to Burgos.”

“Yes, let us return,” replied Fernan, “and make preparations
for an expedition against the Moorish power. As God lives,
my heart is almost bursting my breast with joy. It is a long
time now, my beloved lance, since thy temper was restored by
the blood of those Moslem dogs. Ah, and what splendid
thrusts thou wilt give! And you, sir, will have splendid spoils
to lay at the feet of my lady Doña Ximena!”

“Fernan,” cried Rodrigo, with enthusiasm, “I must have a
throne, that Ximena may sit on it! I must have Moorish
queens to wait on her!”

And, guiding Babieca close to his squire’s horse, he held
forth his hand to Fernan, and said warmly—

“Fernan, this hand which clasps yours, and the heart
which I feel beating in my breast, shall win a throne and
subjugate Moorish queens!”

Fernan, on hearing the words of his master, and on receiving
the pressure of his hand, felt a tear trickle down his
rough and sunburned cheek.

CHAPTER XVI

HOW RODRIGO ROUSED UP THE COUNTRY, AND DEFEATED
THE MOORS IN THE MOUNTAINS OF OCA

“Up, up, cavaliers of Castile! cover yourselves with your
steel coats of mail, buckle on the golden spurs, bind on the
sword, grasp the knee and the shield, and mount your fiery
chargers, which neigh and paw in their stables, impatient to
career over the wide plains. Fly over them, and close with[Pg 114]
the Moors, until your battlehorses trample down the Moslem
standard, and the impious Crescent is made a pedestal for the
Cross!

“Up, up, cavaliers of Castile! Five Moorish kings have
crossed the Moncayo, and overrun with a large army the
dominions of Don Fernando: they now lay waste the fields;
burn the towns; steal and carry off property from palaces as
well as from huts; destroy churches; bear off women, both
single and married; and take prisoners and kill old people
and children, women and men!

“Up, up, knights and squires, those who pay taxes, and
those who do not! Hurry to Burgos, where the honoured
cavalier Rodrigo Diaz of Vivar has raised his green standard,—the
son of Diego Lainez, he who was born in a propitious
hour, he of the strong lance, he who fought at Atapuerca, he
who slew the Count of Gormaz, he who conquered Martin
Gonzalez of Aragon in single combat.”

Such was the war-cry that resounded throughout Castile,
almost immediately after its invasion by the Moors, on the
day when we have seen Rodrigo abandoning his pursuit of the
Count Don Suero, in order to return to Burgos with the
intention of raising an army to march against the Moorish
power. And that cry did not resound in vain; from all sides
armed men hastened to Burgos, and already the cavalier of
Vivar had collected together a number sufficient to instil
terror into the invaders, who, like a wild torrent, which in
its rapid and devastating course tears up everything that lies
in its way, had rushed on from the right bank of the Duero to
San Estéban of Gormaz, then to the mountain chain of Oca,
and by the Sierra de Urbiad to Bureva, which it desolated,
without finding any resistance worth speaking of.

Rodrigo was burning with impatience to proceed to the
camp; but, as his prudence was equal to his valour, he did not
wish to give any advantage to the Moslems by leaving their
audacity unpunished, and disappointing the country by marching
against them an army incapable, by its numbers, of conquering
the terrible hostile forces. More than two hundred
cavaliers, related to him by blood, had hastened to obey his
summons, and even his nephews, the sons of his natural
brother, Don Fernando, were preparing to set out, notwithstanding
that they were all younger than Rodrigo.

The army was complete, and the hour of departure was
approaching. Rodrigo asked for the blessing of his parents,[Pg 115]
who gave it to him both with their hearts and their lips, and,
embracing Ximena warmly, he mounted Babieca, at the same
time that Fernan went out to mount his steed, grumbling at
the cowardice and faint-heartedness of woman, for Mayorica had
not been able to restrain a flood of tears on seeing him set
out for the wars, for the young woman loved him more than
ever from the time that he had made peace with her.

The signal was given, and the brilliant army of the knight
of Vivar set out from Burgos in the direction of Bureva,
towards which the Moors were then advancing.

It was a beautiful morning, and as it had not rained for
some time, the road was in good condition. Thanks to this,
thanks to the desire that all had to attack the Moors, and
thanks, above all, to the fact that they had sallied forth from
Burgos before the sun had risen in the east, the troops arrived
at the mountains of Oca before midday, having been joined on
the way by additional large bodies of armed men. The
territory at the other side of the mountains had not yet come
in sight, when the scouts, whom Rodrigo had sent forward to
explore the country, returned to meet him, and informed him
that the Moors were beginning to ascend the opposite slopes
with great cheering, and other demonstrations of satisfaction,
doubtless on account of the booty they had seized on in
Najera, in Santo Domingo, and other districts of Rioja. On
learning that the enemy was approaching, all those who
composed the army uttered shouts of joy, and Rodrigo,
Fernan, and the sons of Fernando Diaz distinguished themselves
not the least in this show of enthusiasm and valour.

Rodrigo advanced the first, and on arriving on the highest
point of the mountain, he distinguished the vanguard of the
enemy, scarcely more distant than three shots of a crossbow.
As he had already given orders to his captains, as to the
manner in which the attack was to be commenced, he cried
out, putting his lance at rest and his shield in position—

“St James. St James!”

“St. James! onward, Spain!” was the cry which responded
to his,—a cry so resounding and so universal, that not alone
did the Moors hear it, but it even reached the level country.

Scarce was it given, than they rushed on the Moors, who
were broken up and thrown into disorder in a few minutes;
such being the terror that this unexpected and vigorous attack
caused them, that even the bravest warriors amongst them
thought at first of seeking safety in flight. However,[Pg 116]
Abengalvon, the King of Molina, who was one of the five
who commanded the Moors, raised his voice, loud as thunder,
and was the first to face the Christians; his example encouraged
his squadrons. The conflict then became bloody
and obstinate; but the Castilian hosts, although inferior in
numbers, were superior in valour, and were fighting for their
God, for their country, and for their brethren kept in irons
and ill-treated in the Moorish dungeons. Their enemies were
therefore in a short time defeated and routed on all sides, and
the field of battle was covered with Moorish corpses.

The victory was complete: not a Moor had been able to
escape from the onslaught of the Christians, as a very large
number were killed in the battle, and the remainder were taken
prisoners. Everything was in the power of the cavalier of
Vivar,—the Moors who had not fallen under the blows of the
Castilian steel, the captives whom they had taken, and the
flocks and herds which they had seized on during their
devastating march. The cries of joy of the rescued prisoners,
and the agonised cries of the dying, were mingled together in
one great volume of sound.

Rodrigo, followed by his nephews and by Fernan, all
covered with the blood of the enemy, were riding over the
fields of battle, when the fight was almost terminated. Some
wailings, which seemed to be those of a child or of a woman,
came to their ears. Rodrigo hastily went in the direction
from whence they proceeded, and the sight which presented
itself to him moved his heart, which until then had been of
stone, notwithstanding the carnage that had taken place all
around him. An old Moor was breathing his last, and a boy,
a Moor also, and very young, was embracing him, uttering
cries of despair, as if he thought he could preserve the vital
heat which was leaving the dying man, by the pressure
against him of his small body. Rodrigo believed that the old
man was already dead, and made a sign with his hand to the
boy to approach him; but the dying man opened his dim
eyes, and, seeing that the young Christian warrior was showing
signs of compassion for the disconsolate child, he made a last
effort, and murmured with his failing voice—

“You, Christian captain, who are brave, and must therefore
be generous and good, will protect this unfortunate little
creature,—the only flower of the garden of my love. Oh,
Christian, have pity on my son, aid the helpless orphan!”

“He need never call himself by that name,” answered[Pg 117]
Rodrigo, filled with emotion, “for if he loses a father in you, he
shall find one in me.”

“May Allah send a protector to your sons, if they should
ever be in need of one, and may the Prophet open to you the
gates of his holy paradise!” exclaimed the old man, and tears
of gratitude mingled in his eyes with those of death, which
oozed from them, as he fell back a corpse.

Rodrigo removed the unhappy child from the dead body of
his father, and ordered that he should be led to his tent,
lavishing on him all the consolations and endearments which
his condition required.

Some hours afterwards, the victorious army set out on its
return to Burgos, bringing with it the rich spoils which it had
taken from the enemy. The inhabitants of all the towns and
villages on the way crowded out to salute the conqueror, and
in many places there had been erected, as if by enchantment,
handsome triumphal arches of foliage, and the road had been
strewn with flowers, which perfumed the air. Enthusiastic
cheers arose as Rodrigo passed along, and the sounds of
drums and other instruments enlivened the country, mingling
with the fervent acclamations of the good Castilians.

What a happy day was that for Castile, for Rodrigo, for all
who loved him, and for all good people!

Before the squadrons rode the youthful commander, surrounded
by his relations and his captains; joy shone in his
countenance, and warlike enthusiasm sounded in his words.
Babieca moved on swiftly, but Rodrigo was wishing that he
had the wings of Pegasus, that he might arrive in Burgos
with the speed of lightning, for of what value were to the
son of Diego Lainez that victory, those triumphal arches,
those acclamations, those ovations of an enthusiastic and
grateful populace, compared with the triumph, with the
glory, with the love which awaited him in Burgos, beneath
the paternal roof? The happiness which filled his soul
made Rodrigo love all about him, and thus it was that
Babieca presented himself to his eyes from a point of view
different to that from which he might have seen him on any
other occasion.

“Yes,” cried Rodrigo, “this is not alone a day of triumph
for us men; but my good Babieca has gained glory also, and
I feel quite sure that his former master, my godfather Don
Peyre, will hold him in more esteem from this day forward.
With what intelligence he let himself be guided by my hand[Pg 118]
in the combat! With what ardour and vigour he rushed on
the enemy!”

And he added, giving the noble animal a slap on the neck
with his hand, which raised his head as if he understood the
praises which his master was so freely giving him, and was
filled with pride by them—

“Babieca, if you have taken part in the efforts we have
made to win the victory, you also shall have a share in the
spoils of it; I promise to give you the handsomest trappings
that we have captured. Many another day, like this, you
shall have to fight against the Moorish forces, and mingle
your sweat with infidel blood. You shall be my companion
in camps and in cities, on the roads and in combats; and if
you ever want food and shelter, it will be only for the reason
that my lance has not been able to procure them for you.”

If Rodrigo was well satisfied with the conduct of his steed
in the battle which he had just won, it was not so with Fernan
with regard to his.

“I vow by Judas Iscariot,” said Fernan to some squires, on
hearing Rodrigo praise Babieca, “that my master must have
taken lessons from Beelzebub himself, to judge by the knowledge
he has of everything. It seemed to me that it was an
ass and not a horse that he selected in the stables of Don
Peyre; but he took it into his head that he was a good one,
and, as it has turned out, knight or squire never bestrode a
better. Now look at mine, which looks as if he were fit for
an emperor, and with all that he nearly left me in the clutches
of four Moors, as big as four Goliaths.”

“Tell us all about it,” said one of the squires, “for I have
an idea myself of what would likely happen you when you
followed into the ravine those who fled from the main body
of the army.”

“I shall do so in a few words. I spurred on my horse after
four Moors, as tall as towers, and I continued the pursuit for
a considerable distance; I was nearly touching them with
my lance, when, just about jumping over a wide ditch, my
horse stopped; I spurred him violently, and he sprang forward,
but not far enough, and he went down into the ditch.
The Moors saw my mishap, and turned on me, crying out,
‘You shall die there, Christian dog!’ They had already raised
their powerful scimitars over my head, when Overo,[1] ashamed,
I suppose of his conduct, made an effort, raised himself, and
[Pg 119]got out of the ditch. ‘It is ye that shall die,’ I cried in my
turn; ‘I vow it by the bones of Mahomet!’ And closing
with the Moors, will ye, nill ye, two of them were transfixed
by my lance, and the others fled, without waiting to help
their companions.”

“And you complain of your horse?”

“I find fault with him for good cause; and I would have
thrown him over a precipice, only that in the end he
retrieved his character; but if he ever acts in that way again,
I swear by the soul of Beelzebub that he shall not do so a
third time. I am always unfortunate with regard to horses.”

“But you are very fortunate with regard to women, though
it is not quite the same thing,” said Alvar; and he added
with a malicious smile, “If I only had such a sweetheart as
Mayorica, I would be satisfied with a bad ass.”

Fernan heaved a deep sigh, drawn from him by the
remembrance of Mayorica, and also perhaps by that of
Beatrice and that of Aldonza.

“It is some time now since I saw scratches on your face,
Fernan,” said a squire. “I suppose you have been faithful
to Mayorica?”

“I have been always so,” replied Fernan, with much
seriousness, which caused his comrades to laugh maliciously.

“Aldonza would be able to testify to it; is not that so?”
retorted the inquisitive squire.

“And Beatrice also,” added Alvar.

“I vow by Judas Iscariot, that you, Alvar, are the most
confounded chatterer that ever was known. Had the son of
my mother ever love-affairs with Beatrice?”

“But it was not your fault that he had not.”

“By Beelzebub, I’ll break every bone in your body as
soon as we dismount.”

Alvar, who knew well the danger of offending the vanity of
Fernan, thought it best to retract what he had said; by that
he pacified the squire of Rodrigo.

Another, however, of the order of squires, named Lope,
a serious man, advanced in years, who had a wife and
children, and who some time before had been scandalised
by hearing of the liking of Fernan for plurality in love-affairs,
profited by the occasion to throw his weakness in
his face and to endeavour to convert the amorous squire.

“Brother,” he said to him, “in vain will you try to persuade
us that you have been discreet in your love affairs; your[Pg 120]
weaknesses have been notorious in Vivar, in Burgos, in Leon,
and in all places where you have resided even a few days.
That an inexperienced youth should have as little sense as
you have might be tolerated, but such cannot be excused in
a man of your age. This Mayorica, to whom you pay your
homage, and whom I scarcely know,—if she is not worthy of
your affection, well, then, leave her, and do not continue to
look on her with carnal eyes; she will soon find another that
suits her, and you also one who may please you better. On
the other hand, if she is worthy of your affection, then,
brother, serve her with your soul and with your life; but do
not serve more than her, for to be in love with two women at
the same time will neither be pleasing to God nor to the
women. If not, tell me on your honour what you would do
if Mayorica shared her love with you and with another man.”

“What I would do?” replied Fernan angrily. “I would
kill both Mayorica and the fellow that dared to look on her!”

“Well, then, brother, God has said, ‘Do unto others as you
would that others should do unto you.’ Love Mayorica faithfully,
if she is deserving of your love, and marry her if your
means permit it; for a woman without means to support herself
and the children that God may give her, is miserable in
her house.”

“I shall do so, as soon as I am a little better off, and I
trust that will be in a very short time; for you must know,
comrades, that since the marriage of my lord and master, Don
Rodrigo, I am most desirous of getting married also; and if I
can’t marry two, I must be satisfied with one. Besides, do
you think I would cease to love Mayorica if I took a fancy to
twenty or a hundred others? Your great simplicity astonishes
me, brothers. Does she who loves the child of her neighbour
love her own less? Certainly, since I fell in love with Mayorica,
I have also been in love with Leonora, Brianda, Sol, Alfonsa,
Ivana, Aldonza, Beatrice, and twenty more; but I only loved
them with my eyes, whilst I loved Mayorica with my heart,
and that is the only real love. Apart from that, I have got a
certain idea into my head, and all the preachers in the world
could not get it out of it, and that is: a man can safely be in
love with two women at the same time—provided that they do
not know of it.”

“On my conscience, comrade, you are either very simple or
very depraved. Did that old witch, Mari-Perez, whom you
used to visit near the torrent, teach you that? According to[Pg 121]
you, if to-morrow you marry Mayor, and your wife, whilst you
are away on a campaign, should be seduced by another man,
it would be no harm as long as you did not know of it. What
answer have you to that?”

Fernan bowed his head and remained silent in face of this
argument of Lope. The conviction, which he said all the
preachers in the land could not overcome, had just been
pulverised by that rough squire.

“Lope,” he said at last, “you have convinced me. I confess
to you that until to-day I have been blind, and have
understood love-affairs no better than my horse. I swear to
all of you, that even if Beelzebub himself should come to
tempt me in the shape of the best-looking girl in the world,
I would not let myself fall into temptation.”

“I hope in goodness,” Alvar ventured to say, “that the
witch, Mari-Perez, who has her power from Satan, will not
make you fall into temptation by presenting the devil to you
under the form of Aldonza.”

“Have no fear of that, Alvar, for if such a devil should
appear before my eyes, I would drive him away, not with holy
water, but with the reins of my horse. I’d like to confess one
thing, now that we’re speaking of Aldonza. You know, comrades,
that I was in love with her once; but I think only
through the witchcraft of her mother. Well, then, I took a
turn against her on account of a certain kind of caresses which
she lavished on me one morning, and I swore I’d never look
on her as long as I lived. But as time went on, I began to
think of her again, also, I believe, by reason of the incantations
of her mother; and I was almost tempted to hunt her up
once more, when I learned yesterday that Don Suero had
brought her off to his castle at Carrion; stolen, according to
what Mari-Perez says, but, as I believe, of her own free will.
My soul was fired by this act of Don Suero, whom I look on
as an enemy since the time when my master and I fought with
him and his followers in order to rescue Beatrice, whom they
were forcibly carrying off; and I thought of seeking out the
Count of Carrion, in order to take the girl away from him; but
I now swear that I shall do no such thing, and that from this
day forward I shall have nothing to do with any woman except
Mayorica.”

“I trust in God it may be so,” said Lope; “but he who has
bad habits”—

The worthy squire was interrupted by the exclamations of[Pg 122]
some of his companions, who, on seeing at the door of a house
near the road three or four maidens, as bright-looking as May
roses, commenced to address tender words to them, at which
they laughed and seemed much pleased.

“I vow by Judas Iscariot, that girls like these are enough
to make even a saint go wrong. What eyes, what complexions,
what figures, what sprightliness!”

And, thus speaking, Fernan stopped his horse to gaze on
the young girls, and seemed even inclined to ride towards
them. However, as his comrades, far from imitating him,
continued their onward course, laughing at him, he rode on
to overtake them, muttering rather angrily, and looking up
towards heaven—

“O Lord, you have created angels like those who stand at
the door of that house, only that fools like my companions
may pass them by without being thankful for such wonders.
What faint hearts the majority of men have!”

CHAPTER XVII

HOW THE ARMY OF RODRIGO MARCHED BACK TO BURGOS
WITHOUT BEING WEARIED, AS THE READER MAY BE

The conversation of the squires and pages was resumed when
Fernan overtook them.

“We were talking of the girls you were in love with,” said
Alvar, “but did you ever seek out Beatrice, to pay your
attentions to her again?”

“I have sought to soften her, but in vain,” replied Fernan.
“Every time I go to the castle of Vivar, I have to pass near
the farmhouse of Pero, and the devil sometimes tempts me to
go in; and I cannot look on Beatrice without burning myself
with her eyes. But she, the ungrateful hussy, always puts on
a most scornful look. But I am certainly astonished at such
constancy in a woman, who has not seen her betrothed since
she was near being carried off to Carrion, and which same
gentleman seems to have forgotten her, as he takes no trouble
to see her again.”

“But he has seen her, my friend,” replied Alvar, who, as[Pg 123]
the reader will remember, had been also in love with Beatrice,
and therefore had managed to keep an eye on her, and had
endeavoured to gain her affections with greater zeal even than
Fernan; taking good care, however, that the latter should
know nothing about it.

“What do you say, friend Alvar?” exclaimed Fernan, full
of curiosity, and also somewhat angrily.

“I tell you, brother, that Martin has been at Vivar, and in
the house of Pero. Mine own eyes have seen him, and mine
own ears have heard Beatrice speaking to him. Know, however,
comrade, that the young man is not a rustic, as people
think, but a cavalier armed at all points.”

“Alvar, you were always a simpleton, and imagined you
saw visions. When did you see and hear that? I suppose it
was after drinking too much wine in some inn.”

“The night I saw and heard it there was not a drop of wine
in my body.”

“What night was it?”

“I will tell you how it was. I am very fond of walking at
night through the fields; for when it is fine weather, and the
moon shines bright, and the day has been hot”—

“I swear by Judas Iscariot! Have done with your roundabouts!”
exclaimed Fernan, beginning to get impatient with
the circumlocutions of which Alvar was so fond.

“I wish to say,” he repeated, “that when the weather is
fine, and the moon shines, and the day has been hot”—

“I swear,” cried Fernan, again interrupting him, “that if
you don’t get quickly from the straw to the grain, you shall feel
the flat of my sword. Was there ever such a stupid bore as
this fellow is?”

“Pardon, friend Fernan, I shall not again abuse your
patience. Well, then, you must know that, wandering one
night over the fields which Pero cultivates, I heard the steps
of a horse on the road that leads from Carrion. I approached
it, and concealed myself behind a fence. Then I saw a horseman,
well armed, approaching, and, by my faith, his steed was
fit for a king—what fire, what a step! I’d swear he was of the
breed of Don Suero’s celebrated mare. One must be blind
and stupid not to know the horses of the Grandee of Carrion.”

“‘Fore God! I’ll break your bones if you don’t get on
quickly to the main point.”

“Then I shall, Fernan. The cavalier dismounted at the
door of Pero’s house and entered—”

[Pg 124]

“And then?” asked Fernan, with impatient curiosity.

“Nothing more. How could I hear what they were saying
inside?”

“I swear that the story of this fool is rather interesting,”
remarked Fernan.

“I could not hear what they were saying in the house, but
I remained concealed behind the fence fully an hour, to see
if the cavalier would come out, and if I could discover who
he was by what he might say before his departure. At last I
heard the door opening. Beatrice was holding a candle in the
porch, and, thanks to its light, I was enabled to see what took
place there. Pero and his wife embraced the cavalier, Beatrice
was weeping, and I distinctly heard the name of Martin pronounced.
The stranger crossed the threshold at last and
mounted his horse. The young girl gave the candle to her
mother, followed him a short distance from the house, and
said to him, ‘Martin, since you are resolved not to abandon
this vengeance, do not forget that if you die in carrying it out,
I also shall die of grief.’ ‘Trust to my love, Beatrice, and it
will bring you happiness,’ replied the cavalier, and he disappeared
like a flash of lightning.”

“And how long is it since that happened?” asked Fernan.

“I remember it as if it only happened yesterday, for I
have a good memory. Memory is a valuable”—

“Alvar! make use of your memory to remember how I
punish stupidities. Is it long since that happened?”

“I don’t remember the exact time; but I know it was
at the period when the band of the Vengador was proceeding
to Burgos.”

“And now that you mention the band of the Vengador,”
said one of the squires, “do you know the news that is going
about concerning it?”

On hearing these words, all tried to get their horses as near
as possible to him who pronounced them. This general
anxiety to learn something of the band of the Vengador,
showed that it had acquired such importance that public
attention in Castile was fixed on it.

“What news of it have you?” was asked with lively
curiosity.

“You must know, as has been related to me by men-at-arms
coming from the neighbourhood of Carrion, that the Vengador
has now got together more than three hundred bandits,
and with them he not only laughs at the Salvadores, but[Pg 125]
faces them, and has even defeated them in two skirmishes, so
that the Count of Carrion, seeing his district and even his
castle threatened, proceeded to it with the greatest speed,
having left Burgos, where he had recently fixed his
residence.”

“Perhaps,” observed Fernan, “the bandits caused the
count to leave Burgos; but the reason he went off with such
rapidity was because he was afraid that the lance of my
master might reach him. However, leaving that aside, for
it does not much matter, can’t you tell me who this Vengador
is, who has gained so much fame in so short a time, and who
has got together so numerous a following?”

“As to the Vengador, nobody knows who he is, as he
always conceals his face when he is in the presence of persons
who are not members of his band.”

“I am of opinion,” said Alvar, “that, as he conceals himself
in that way, he must be a grandee of Leon or Castile, who has
become a brigand in order to revenge himself on his enemies.”

“It is more probable that he is a civilian, for it is said
that he has a mortal hatred for all who call themselves noble,
and that he protects the peasantry, and even shares with them
what he takes from the grandees.”

“But how did he manage to get together such a numerous
band, when the Raposo, who is now in hell as he deserves,
was never able to get more than twenty to join him.”

“Well, then, the reason is—the Raposo was hated by the
country people, whilst the Vengador is loved by them.”

“May the devil take me if I understand you, comrade.
How is it possible that a captain of bandits can be loved
by either peasants or nobles?”

“It is possible, and that is proved by the fact that the
Vengador has succeeded in it. The Raposo carried off
women; murdered children and old people, from the peasant
to the count, from the curate to the bishop; he pillaged the
cabin of the labourer and the hut of the shepherd, as well
as churches and palaces. Therefore all hated him, and did
their utmost to deliver him up to the Salvadores, and plotted
his destruction in every way they could. Who, that had any
respect for his skin, would enlist under such a chief, for he
who did so was also abhorred and cursed by all, and ran
continual risk of his life? The Vengador acts in quite a
different way; his dagger is never stained by human blood,
except in self-defence, or fighting in the cause of the helpless,[Pg 126]
unjustly oppressed by the strong; the poor man can leave the
door of his cottage open; the muleteer can travel safely along
the loneliest roads, as there is no danger of the band of the
Vengador depriving him of his humble possessions. Inquire
how many women the band of the Vengador has carried
off, how many churches he has pillaged, and you will be told
that such outrages are unknown in the districts which it
frequents, since the time that the Salvadores destroyed the
band of the Raposo.”

“Then if the band of the Vengador does not commit
robberies,” observed Alvar, “I hold to my opinion, that its
captain is some rich grandee; how else could he have money
to support it?”

“He does commit robberies, brother; but he does not rob
poor people. The Vengador attacks the mansions of the rich
and takes from them all that he can. With that he maintains
his band, and when he has more than he wants for that purpose,
he relieves the necessities of the poor people in his
vicinity. That is why the peasants love and respect him; and
his band can encamp wherever he likes, without any risk of
falling into the hands of the Salvadores. And for the same
reasons the number of his followers increases from day to
day.”

They were still speaking of the band of the Vengador when
Alvar, who was fond of saying what he considered witty
things, but which were generally very foolish, took it into
his head to say something which he believed would create
a sensation amongst his companions.

“My friends,” he remarked to them, with much mystery,
“I desire to impart a piece of news which I believe won’t be
such for some of you.”

All the squires and pages stopped at once their sprightly
conversations, in order to listen to what Alvar had to reveal
to them.

“My mistress, the Senora Ximena, bears the reputation
of being an irreproachable lady throughout all Castile; is
not that so?”

“Certainly, and with good reason,” was the universal
answer; and Fernan added—

“And if any calumniator were to cast a doubt on the
honour of my lady, I have a lance here to convince him
of it.”

“It is not me who would calumniate her,” continued Alvar[Pg 127]
in the same mysterious manner; “but I must tell you that my
master, Don Rodrigo, although he has only just got married,
and never had any sweetheart but Doña Ximena, has a son,
a fine little chap.”

“I vow by Judas Iscariot!” exclaimed Fernan, seizing his
lance, fire flashing from his eyes. “What is that you dare
to say, you villain, you traitor? Does your scorpion tongue
dare to calumniate your mistress, the most honoured lady,
not alone of Spain, but of the entire world? For this ingratitude
to those who supply you with the bread you eat, you
shall die, traitor that you are!”

Saying this, he made a thrust of his lance at Alvar, forcible
enough to pierce a wall; but his anger blinded the squire,
and caused him to miss his aim; to this also contributed a
rapid movement of the page, who threw himself back on
his saddle-bow just as Fernan was giving the thrust.

All those who saw what had occurred hastened to pacify
the enraged squire, some with words and others by seizing his
arms from behind.

“Let me go, let me go!” cried Fernan, struggling to get
free, so that he might attack Alvar again, who hardly had
breath to excuse himself. At last they quieted him down
a little, and he said in threatening accents to the page—

“Speak, you rascally traitor, and retract the calumnies that
you have dared to utter against the most honoured of women.
If you don’t do so at once, I’ll spit you on my lance like a
sucking pig.”

“Calm your anger, Fernan,” murmured the page at last
“It was not in my mind to stain the characters of my lord
and lady, but to praise the compassionate and kind heart
of Don Rodrigo.”

“Confound you for a stupid chatterer: have I not told you
a hundred times that your roundabout way of stating the most
simple facts would certainly get you into trouble some day or
other?” said Fernan, understanding at last what the page
had intended to convey in his would-be witty style. “Speak
out, you fool, and tell us what son it is that our master has.”

“The little Moor that he picked up after the battle,
when you left us to run after the four big Moors to the ditch
into which your horse fell. That is what I was going to
speak about, and I was only having a little joke with you,
in order to excite your curiosity.”

“I swear to you, Alvar,” said Fernan, brandishing his lance,[Pg 128]
“that such jokes may cost you dear, if you persist in them.
A respectable page or squire can be pleasant without defaming
the honour of anyone, and least of all that of ladies, for even
the purest cannot escape calumny.”

“And I swear to you,” replied Alvar, “that from this day
forward I will cut out my tongue rather than say, even in
jest, a word against either my mistress or master. My discretion
with regard to speaking about people will increase, but
my affection for those we both serve can never be greater than
it is. But, returning to the little Moor, whom my master has
adopted, what has become of him, that we do not see him?”

“He is coming along amongst the captives,” answered
Fernan; “and, by my faith, neither he, nor the Moorish kings
who have been taken prisoners, can complain, for they are
carried in litters, as if they were going to the court as
conquerors.”

“God save us!” exclaimed Alvar; “my master does things,
and I am a Moor if I understand them. Some of the Christians
are jogging along on horseback, with sore bones, and others
are blistering their feet on these roads, hard as those of purgatory,
and the Moors are quite comfortable in soft litters.”

“You fool, and a hundred times more than a fool, who
has given you authority to find fault with what our master
does?” interrupted Fernan. “He is so good a subject that he
respects even Moors when they bear the name of king,—even
though they may be greater Moors than Mahomet himself.”

“However, if they were kings before they were conquered,
they are now no longer such.”

“Good cavaliers, like our master, have more respect for
a conquered enemy than for one whom they have still to
conquer. No doubt those kings entered our territories pillaging
and slaying, but they believed that they were right in
doing so, just as we would think the same if we invaded
their kingdoms. As to the Moorish child, would you yourself
like to see him painfully toiling on amid the legs of
our horses. The heart of our master is as tender towards
the weak as it is stern towards the strong, and he has thought
and acted in a different manner. That poor boy, who has
seen his father die before his eyes, and who is being brought
into a foreign country at the mercy of strangers, is very unfortunate.
On account of his grief and despair, Don Rodrigo
ordered that he should be carried in the litter of one of the
kings, as the company of one of his own race would naturally[Pg 129]
be more pleasing to him than that of a stranger. You will
see how our mistresses, Doña Teresa and Doña Ximena, will
console him when he arrives at Burgos, with those blessed
words which they have always ready, to give joy to the sad
and consolation to the wretched.”

With conversations such as these the squires and pages
were proceeding onward, when Rodrigo and those who accompanied
him stopped on an extensive plain, at a short distance
from Burgos, from which several roads branched off in various
directions. According as the different bodies of warriors
arrived, they halted in that place, and, when they were all
reunited, Rodrigo summoned together the leaders, in order
to proceed to the division of the spoils, according to the
rules which were observed on such occasions.

As the spoils were numerous and valuable, everyone got
a good share, which, with the fact that the division was fair
and equitable, contributed much to the satisfaction and pleasure
of all who participated in them.

After this the army broke up, each captain marching off
his men to his own district. All of them, when departing,
bade farewell to Rodrigo with loud and prolonged cheers.

It is almost unnecessary to add that, if the captains of the
various bands received such valuable shares of the spoils,
that portion which their general, Rodrigo, received was very
rich indeed. He then proceeded to Burgos with all that
had been allotted to him, bringing on amongst the captives
the five Moorish kings, who, according to the “Chronicle,”
on arriving at Burgos, knelt with great respect before Teresa
and Ximena, who were very pleased and contented therewith,
and praised the Lord God, weeping with joy on account of
the brave deeds which Rodrigo had performed.

CHAPTER XVIII

HOW THE VENGADOR AND RUI-VENABLOS, ALTHOUGH ONLY
BANDITS, THOUGHT AS CAVALIERS

Some days had passed and the district of Carrion had not experienced
any fresh outrages from bandits, when its honest and[Pg 130]
peaceful inhabitants heard the news of the destruction of the
band of the Raposo by the brotherhood of the Salvadores.
There was no doubt that the terrible band had been totally exterminated,
since its chief, who had often escaped even when
all his comrades perished, had been killed in the attack made
on them, which has already been described. It is easy, then, to
imagine the joy which all the inhabitants of that part of the
country experienced, and also that of all those who had to
travel through it.

But, when it was least expected, a rumour began to be
circulated from mouth to mouth that a portion of the criminals
had reorganised themselves in the Sierra de Oca, and had
already made forays into the level country. This new band
was at first composed of scarcely a dozen men, but on that
account it did not inspire the country people with less terror.
The band of the Raposo was not much larger, and, nevertheless,
it had spread mourning and desolation all over the
district. But it happened that the terror of the peasantry,
instead of increasing, began to diminish, as the bandits confined
their raids to the populous towns and most frequented
roads; and for that reason the fear of the wealthy classes
increased in proportion. It is not necessary to explain the
reason of this, as it has already been done in the remarks
of one of the pages in the army of Rodrigo, which have been
given in the preceding chapter. What he had told his companions
was quite accurate. The band of the Vengador had
indeed increased rapidly; it had faced the Salvadores, and
even defeated them in different encounters, provoked, as it
was said, by the bandits themselves, with the object of
avenging the death of the Raposo and the greater part of
his followers, who had been killed by them on the hill near
the Leon road. The Vengador, protecting, instead of doing
injury to the country people, carrying off the herds and crops
of the grandees, and even assaulting, sacking, and burning
their mansions, was by degrees getting to be loved by the
former and detested by the latter. Thus it happened that
the band, respected and protected by the poor, and attacking
with impunity wherever its leader thought fit, was joined, day
after day, by discontented people, adventurers, criminals, and
idlers; very many of whom hastened to enlist in it.

Don Suero had received notice of the outrages it had
committed in the country about Carrion, and had also learned
that the terrible band had just stolen the famous mare of[Pg 131]
which he was the owner. All this urged him to leave Burgos
and hasten on to defend his property, as his castle was situated
in the centre of the district, that is in the town which gave
it its name. It was now threatened by the bandits, and already
other castles less strong than his had been attacked, sacked,
and burned by the band.

The fears of the count were not unfounded, as we shall
soon see. On the day on which Don Suero hastened his
departure from Burgos, fearful also, as Fernan said, of the
lance of Rodrigo, the band of the Vengador was assembled
in a wood, a day’s journey distant from Carrion. That body
did not appear to be a band of bandits; judging by its
numbers, its arms, and by the orderly way in which it was
marshalled, it seemed rather a regiment of a regular army,
such a one as the best captain might wish to have under his
command in a campaign against the Moors. The bandits
were provided with excellent arms, both offensive and defensive,
had good horses, and obeyed the orders of their chief
like the best disciplined soldiers. He, the Vengador, or, if
the reader prefers it, Martin, had retained to himself the
chief command of the band, and had appointed to inferior
positions in it those amongst his followers whom he considered
most suited to fill them; to these he gave the title of captain,
calling himself the chief. Two had been appointed captains,
both having had considerable experience in military matters,
as they had served during several years, as men-at-arms, in
the pay of various masters; sometimes in the campaigns
against the Moors, and on other occasions in the civil strifes
which at that period were unfortunately but too frequent
amongst the grandees of Castile and Leon. The name of
one of these was Bellido Dolfos, that of the other Rui-Venablos;
the first was formidable on account of his vindictive
and cunning disposition, the second for his colossal strength,
his bravery, and his calmness in the greatest dangers.

The place in which the band was assembled had all the
appearance of a regular camp, as tents were set up here and
there, over which were fixed military trophies. The Vengador
had summoned the two captains to his tent, and was there
conversing with them in a very animated manner.

“I have summoned you,” he said, “as I desire to have
your advice. Do you think our forces are sufficient to attack
the Castle of Carrion?”

“Yes,” replied Rui-Venablos, “I answer for the success[Pg 132]
of the enterprise. What avail the fifty crossbow-men whom
the count retains for the defence of his castle, compared with
the three hundred brave fellows who compose our band? I am
rejoiced to see that you have decided to attack that traitor
count, for you must know that our men are beginning to
get dissatisfied with you, as you first stirred up their hatred
against him, and then prevented them from reducing his castle
to ashes.”

“I have waited for an opportune moment to undertake
that enterprise, so that my vengeance may be complete. The
count has not been at his castle since he went to Calahorra,
on the occasion of the combat between the cavalier of Vivar
and Martin Gonzalez, as he went direct from it to Burgos
with the Court. We should have found in the castle two
children, eight or ten years of age, and a lady, who is as good
as her brother is bad. The band of the Vengador does not
wreak vengeance on such weak beings. What advantage
could we then have gained by attacking the castle? Plunder
it and burn it? That would be but a small punishment in
comparison with that which Don Suero deserves. If he were
one of those poor grandees, whom the burning of his castle
would leave without a home, as he could not build another,
the blow would be a heavy one; but the Count of Carrion
is one of the wealthiest grandees in Spain. For something
more than the frightening of a lady and two children, the
plundering of a well-appointed mansion, and warming oneself
with the flames of a burning castle, have the men of the
band of the Vengador to risk their skins.”

“May the devil take us if we understand you!” said
Bellido and Rui-Venablos. “If that appears a small revenge
to you,” added the latter, “of what kind is that which you
desire to have?”

“The vengeance which I ardently desire, that which our
people are resolved on, and which is demanded by the
wickedness of the count, and by the slaughter of the band of
the Raposo by the Salvadores, chiefly founded by Don Suero,
is his death.”

“Certainly, certainly, that is the vengeance we should take,”
said Rui-Venablos. “But how will it be if the count is in
Burgos?”

“The count,” replied Martin, “is now in Carrion, and that
is why I believe that the opportune time has arrived to attack
the castle.”

[Pg 133]

“Let us lose no time, then,” exclaimed Rui-Venablos, much
excited; “let us hasten to the den of that accursed count; let
us break open its gates with our hatchets; and let us plunge
our swords into the heart of that murderer of peasants and
carrier-off of women.”

“We must have revenge on the Count of Carrion, but not
in the way you think,” said Bellido, who until then had
remained silent, and as if thinking over some important
project. “The Castle of Carrion is strongly fortified and has
brave men-at-arms to defend it. Do you consider it prudent
to expose our unprotected breasts to arrows and other
projectiles, whilst those who hurl them against us are protected
by the turrets and ramparts of the castle? To act so
would be excusable if there were not another plan more
certain and less dangerous.”

“And what is the plan you are thinking of?” asked, at the
same time, the Vengador and Rui-Venablos.

“It is this,” replied Bellido. “The count fears, no doubt,
that some day, when he is least expecting it, we shall make a
sudden attack on his castle, and for that reason he will lose no
opportunity of reinforcing its garrison. Well then, I will
present myself to Don Suero as a soldier who desires to enter
his service, and I am sure I shall be well received. Once
having gained entrance into the castle, our band shall approach
it during the night, and with all possible caution. On a signal,
arranged beforehand, I shall open the postern-gate, the band
will enter by it, we will surprise the garrison and its inhabitants,
and, without any risk, will make ourselves masters of the
fortress in a very short time, together with all it contains,
including the count.”

If Bellido had carefully observed the faces of the Vengador
and Rui-Venablos, he could have easily guessed the reception
which his proposition would receive. Indignation and contempt
were stamped on the countenances both of the chief
and of the captain, when Bellido Dolfos concluded the
description of his project.

“Brother,” Martin replied to him, with an ironical smile,
“do you propose this seriously to us, or do you only wish to
find out if we are as great cowards as the count whom we
intend to attack, for we should be even more cowardly and
treacherous than Don Suero himself were we to do what you
propose?”

“Yes,” said Rui-Venablos, “explain yourself; for if we[Pg 134]
have cowards and traitors here it is not necessary to go to
seek them at Carrion.”

Bellido could not conceal his vexation on hearing these
words, although he was a skilled master in the art of dissimulation,
when such was necessary for the accomplishment
of his ends.

“May hell take me if I do not punish your insults!” he
exclaimed, putting his hand on his dagger.

The Vengador and Rui-Venablos quickly unsheathed theirs,
and held them directed towards his breast.

“Traitor!” said the former, “if you move foot or hand, you
are dead.”

Bellido recovered very quickly the command which he
almost always exercised over himself, and said, smiling, in an
apparently frank and natural manner—

“I knew well that you would not approve of my proposal,
for you are loyal and brave, as I like men to be. Comrades,
do not condemn me without hearing me. If I said that I
made such a proposition in order to test your valour, I should
only lie, which I have never been in the habit of doing. I
acted in full seriousness, not because it would be pleasing to
me to make the attack unfairly, even if those whom we are
about to assail are traitors, but because I fear that our forces
will be of no avail against the strong walls of the Castle of
Carrion, and because I love so much the brave fellows, who
trust in our prudence, that I would prefer to shed all my blood,
rather than that a drop of theirs should be lost. You might
well consider me a coward if I proposed an enterprise to you
in which I myself would have little trouble or risk; but tell
me, whose will be greatest in carrying out the project which I
described? Do you not think that I shall run more danger
than any other member of the band, of being hung on the
battlements of the Castle of Carrion?”

The excuses of Bellido were not of much weight, to speak
the truth; his reasonings were those of one who does not
know what to say, and only says something because he must
do so; however, they sufficed to pacify the Vengador and Rui-Venablos,
as they, although exercising the by no means
honourable profession of bandits, were endowed with a
certain amount of good faith, and besides, they knew that
it was not a convenient time to do anything that might cause
division in the band. Martin therefore answered—

“Brother, let us forget this matter; I do not doubt your[Pg 135]
good intentions. But do not be astonished at our having
been filled with indignation and anger on hearing such a
proposal made to us, one unworthy of men who have hearts
and arms, and which would make us appear to the eyes of the
whole country cowards and traitors as vile as the Count of
Carrion. There are some who may say, ‘Set a traitor to punish
a traitor’; but I say, and also all those whose hearts are not
cowardly and base would say, that it is an honourable man
who should punish a traitor. If you fear to expose your
breast to the bolts which will be shot down on us from the
crossbows of Don Suero, you are at full liberty to leave the
band before it enters on this enterprise; but if not, prepare
your arms, inform your men, as we shall also do, that to-morrow
at nightfall they are to march upon Carrion; that the count
must die, and that his castle must be destroyed; or that we
ourselves must lose our lives in the attempt.”

“Anger of God!” exclaimed Bellido. “If another had
thrown any doubt on my courage, he should e’er this have felt
the point of my dagger. With you, comrades, I desire to
conquer or to die.”

“Right, brother, right!” said Martin and Rui-Venablos,
and they held out their hands to Bellido Dolfos, who pressed
them, with force perhaps, but we will not say with sincerity,
for Bellido was as treacherous as Judas, and sooner or later he
was sure to avenge himself, in some cowardly way, on anyone
from whom he believed he had received an insult.

A short time after he had left them, he was walking in a
solitary place, not far from the encampment, now and then
striking his forehead with his clenched hand and muttering a
blasphemy, as if vexed by his want of imagination; he
suddenly stopped, however, meditated for a moment, more
deeply than before, and then pleasure beamed in his eyes and
a smile came on his lips, whilst he exclaimed—

“Excellent thought, not one of them shall escape! Oh,
my cleverness is well worth the two hundred gold marks!
Night is now coming on; I must try to get, on some pretence,
to Carrion.”

He then proceeded to the tent of the Vengador, and said to
him—

“On the Burgos road lives a girl that I am in love with.
I should like to see her, in case I may be killed during to-morrow’s
attack.”

“You can go if you so desire, comrade,” replied Martin.

[Pg 136]

“Then I shall depart at once, as you give me permission,”
said Bellido.

He then went to his tent, as joyful and contented as
Rodrigo Diaz could have been when he was returning to
Burgos after the battle in the mountains of Oca.

When the night was well advanced he mounted his horse
and started for Carrion, although, when leaving the camp, he
rode in an opposite direction.

CHAPTER XIX

HOW THE SINGLE PAINT THE LIFE OF THE MARRIED

Some hours after the events which happened in the encampment
of the bandits, as we have just described, the scenes
which we are about to relate took place in the Castle of
Carrion.

Ten years before the period in which this history commenced,
Don Gonzalo, Count of Carrion, died, leaving two sons,
the elder named Gonzalo and the younger Suero, and also a
daughter named Teresa. Gonzalo inherited the title of count,
but also died in a short time, Suero succeeding him, to whom
Teresa should be heiress, and after her two boys, both very
young, Diego and Fernando, whom Gonzalo, the younger, had
left behind when he died.

The heirs presumptive, within a certain degree of relationship,
bore the name of Infantes, and that is the reason that
Teresa and her nephews, Diego and Fernando, appear with
that title in the “Chronicle.”

Teresa was scarcely eighteen years of age at the time of
which we are writing. God had endowed her soul with all the
perfections and virtues that an angel might desire, if he left
heaven in order to seek a mortal woman as his companion for
eternity, just as all those perfections had been denied to her
countenance, which are the only charms sought for by men,
when they look on a woman as a material being. Teresa, then,
was the reverse of her brother, both physically and morally;
her soul was all compassion, all love, all sadness. Her face
was as white and delicate as her soul, sad as her heart; and[Pg 137]
her entire physique was languid and infirm, by which the
graces she had received from nature were concealed. That
sweet and candid dove appeared always desirous of spreading
her wings to mount again to heaven. If God had placed a
lyre in the hands of Teresa, her soul would have exhaled itself
in holy and immortal harmonies. But, alas! the sweet dove
lived for ever trembling, threatened by the cruel falcon, and
her angelic spirit was suffocating within the gloomy walls of
the Castle of Carrion.

There was a narrow window in it, from which could be seen
an extensive tract of country, covered with hamlets, the situation
of each of which could be at once recognised by its belfry.
Teresa delighted in sitting at that window, in order to gaze on
the azure of the sky and the verdure of the fields; and to
breathe the air sweetened by the perfumes of the flowers. But
those were not the sole enticements which attracted her to that
window: there were in addition happy souvenirs of her childhood.
In the distance, on the slope of a hill, Teresa could see
a smiling village; when gazing on it she was reminded of her
mother, and tears trickled from her blue eyes; but to this
remembrance of the loss of her mother was also joined that
of the happiness which she had enjoyed by her side. She
recalled to mind the delicious spring and autumn evenings,
when her mother and she left the castle alone and went to
wander through the fields, for then the affection of their vassals
was to the lord and lady of Carrion as the wing of the guardian
angel which protects the forehead of the righteous, just as,
from the time that Suero inherited the title, the hatred of his
retainers was as the sword of the archangel which constantly
threatened the head of Luzbel. Teresa and her mother went
in those times as far as that village, which could be seen from
the castle window; visited, on their way, the cottages of their
vassals, one by one, in order to console the sad and succour
the needy; and when the sun was near setting behind the hill,
they left the village crowned with blessings, and their hearts
refreshed by tears of joy and gratitude, in order to return to
the castle where the peace and tranquillity of the good, and a
father and husband, as loving as he was honoured, were awaiting
them. Some of the villagers accompanied them, in order
to act as their protectors, till they were near the castle, and
there, on the summit of a hill, crowned with evergreen oaks
and sown with sweet-smelling herbs, from whence the eye
could embrace an extensive view, the mother and daughter[Pg 138]
seated themselves, to gaze on the plain, illumined by the first
rays of the moon, to listen to the songs of the shepherds who
led their flocks to the sheepfolds, or those of the villager who
was leaving the fields with his bullocks and plough, and proceeding
to his home where his wife was impatiently awaiting
him, or, if a youth, the loving maiden, who, pretending to her
mother that she was going to the fountain, had left her house
to meet him in the grove, through which ran the brook that
served as a mirror to the country damsels. There also they
could hear the toll of the vesper bell from all the church
towers which were visible from the castle, and could lend an
attentive ear to those numerous mysterious and confused
sounds, which arise through the fields even when men and
birds are silent.

At that window Teresa was standing, absorbed in her
memories of former times, when she heard behind her the pitiful
whining of a dog, which was running towards her, as if imploring
her aid, and also the laughter of two boys, eight and
ten years old, who were following it with much noisy hilarity.

“Poor Leal, what is the matter with you?” said Teresa,
going up to the dog, which continued its sad whine. On
caressing the poor animal, she hastily drew back her hand, feeling
a painful sensation.

At the same time the boys came up.

“Aunt,” said one of them, “give us some pins to stick in
Leal’s other ear.”

Teresa knew then why the dog was whining, and understood
the reason of the pain which she had felt in her hand when
stroking it. The boys had stuck pins in its ear.

“You cruel boys,” she said to them, “what has Leal done
to you, that you should torture him so?”

“It’s to make him sing,” replied the elder brother.

“Aunt,” said Fernando, the other boy, “give us pins to
stick them in his other ear, and you will hear him singing and
see him dancing.”

Teresa heaved a sigh on seeing such cruelty on the part of
the boys, and hastened to extract the pins from the ear of the
dog, which ceased its whining and showed its gratitude by
caressing her and licking the hand from which blood still
trickled, caused by punctures of the pins.

At the same time the bell of the town church tolled for
evening prayer. The children continued, with much noise, to
make fun of what they had done to the dog.

[Pg 139]

“Be silent!” said Teresa to them, in a severe tone of voice;
“kneel down and pray for your mother.”

“What’s the good when we won’t be heard?” replied Diego.
“Our uncle says that when one dies it is just the same as
when a dog dies.”

“Yes, aunt,” added Fernando; “our uncle says that, and
you know that he never says prayers.”

“Alas!” exclaimed Teresa, filled with grief, “cruel and
impious at the same time.” She then added, raising her eyes
towards heaven, “O my God! have pity on the house of
Carrion!”

She then knelt down, and directing her gaze on the blue and
star-covered firmament, which could be seen through the
window, she prayed fervently, moistening the floor with her
tears.

“Alas!” she murmured, shortly afterwards, again standing
at the window; “my heart is very sad! I fear and desire,
without knowing what! How sad and long the nights are, O
my God! Where can Guillen be? He has not come this
evening, as usual, to make more bearable, with his pleasant
conversation, this solitude which surrounds me. He is the
only one who feels compassion for me; he is the sole person
here who understands me, for his is the only generous and
good heart in the castle. What lofty feeling he has! With
what enthusiasm he speaks of everything that is good and noble!
The ambition which animates him is worthy of a cavalier. Son
of a poor commoner, he has a soul as noble as those of the
best grandees of Castile. Happy would be the maiden who
could gain his love!”

Teresa interrupted her meditations, as a soft and respectful
voice just then asked permission to appear in her presence.
The maiden willingly conceded it, and Guillen entered the
chamber.

“I thought you would not have come this evening, Guillen,
as it is now so late,” remarked Teresa in a tone of sweet
reproach.

“Pardon me, lady,” replied the page, with great sweetness;
“your brother, my master, has kept me occupied
till now”—

“Well, then,” interrupted the sad maiden, with one of her
melancholy smiles, “as a punishment for your delay, I desire
that you sit down in that chair, and here, near the window,
and by the light of the moon, converse with me for a short[Pg 140]
time, and relate to me the news of Burgos, for you have not
yet told it to me.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Guillen, moved by the kindness of
Teresa, “how generous and indulgent you are towards me, my
lady!”

He then seated himself opposite the young lady, near the
embrasure of the window; looking, however, at the face of
Teresa, he saw a tear still on her pale cheek, a tear which
sparkled in the rays of the moon, as the drop of dew suspended
on the leaf of a flower shines in the light of the rising sun.
Guillen was troubled, and said—

“Lady, have you been weeping? Who has offended you?
Tell me, tell me, as I, though a humble page, son of a poor
man, have an arm and a heart to chastise anyone who dares
to offend my mistress”—

And Guillen stopped, fearing that the sentiments of his
heart might tempt him to say something which his position
would not warrant.

“No one has offended me, Guillen,” replied Teresa, much
moved; “I thank you, however, for the interest you take in
me, for you are generous and good. I was thinking of my
mother, and that is why you have seen my cheek moist with
tears.”

These words tranquillised the page.

“Will you tell me the news from Burgos?” continued the
maiden. “Since the Court moved thither, many things must
have happened worthy of being related. I have been told
that splendid festivities were celebrated in that city, on the
occasion of the marriage of the son of Diego Lainez and the
daughter of the Count of Gormaz.”

“That, my lady, was the most notable event during our
stay in Burgos,” answered Guillen in a low voice; “but I cannot
venture to speak of it, for you know that your brother, my
master, has commanded that the name of any of the family of
Vivar should not be mentioned in his castle.”

“I know it,” said Teresa; “but do not fear, for the count
cannot hear you in this chamber. Has the marriage been
one of love, or only by order of the king, as some say, in
order to prevent feuds which might have arisen between the
two families? Do not be surprised at my curiosity, Guillen,
for, knowing that the daughter of Don Gome and the son of
Diego Lainez are honourable and good, their happiness
interests me.”

[Pg 141]

“Oh, they are completely happy, my lady,” exclaimed the
page. “You must know that Don Rodrigo and Doña Ximena
have loved each other since they were children, so you can
easily imagine how great their joy must be now that they are
united for ever! A garland of sweet flowers must be the
bonds of that marriage which joins those whose hearts were
already united by love.”

An involuntary sigh escaped from the breast of Teresa on
hearing Guillen utter these words. She had contemplated in
her parents the happiness which the page described in such
enthusiastic words, and even without an example like that, her
own heart revealed such felicity to her. But, alas! the only
thing that Teresa had to expect was that some day her
brother would say to her, “I wish you to marry such or such a
nobleman; the interests of our family demand it; prepare to
go to the altar.” And, miserable and resigned victim, she
would have to ascend the altar of sacrifice, to which fraternal
tyranny was leading her. And even if she had sufficient
courage to open her lips and say to her brother, “That which
you demand of me is the most barbarous of sacrifices; I do
not even know the man with whom you are about to unite
me with eternal bonds; the chains which are to bind me from
to-day are those of interest, are those of vanity, are those of
mean ambition, the tyranny of which may cause my soul to
rebel, and look with horror on her most sacred duties. The
nuptial blessing should only be the sanction of an agreement
arranged beforehand between two hearts. Permit that mine
may be united with another which throbs in unison with it,
and then I shall be a good wife, and a good mother, and will
bless the brother who left open for me the gates of Paradise.”
Yes, it would be indeed useless to say this to her brother, for
that man without God, without law, without pity, would put a
gag in her mouth before she had even finished her entreaties,
and drag her, mute and helpless, to the altar of the inhuman
sacrifice. How could Don Suero understand the yearnings
of a soul, tender, loving, and compassionate, as was that of his
sister? How could he understand it, who himself did not
comprehend what love and compassion were—he who found
in violence the only means of triumphing over women?

All these bitter reflections crowded into the mind of Teresa
when the page had spoken that beautiful panegyric of a
marriage contracted through love. The two young people
remained silent for some moments: the thoughts of Guillen[Pg 142]
were not less sad than those of Teresa: first he thought of
the happiness that would be his if Teresa loved him, and if
they could be united, and this dream lulled him for a moment;
he then awoke from it, and thought how difficult, if not impossible,
the realisation of it would be. Who was he, to aspire
to be the husband of the noble sister of the Count of Carrion,
of the Infanta Doña Teresa, whose hand would honour the
most noble of the Castilian lords? And if Teresa, the goodness
of whose soul was of far greater worth than her birth,
should ever love him, was she mistress of her own hand?
Would the count, full of ambition, of pride, of hatred for
common people, permit his sister to bestow her hand on a
poor page, the son of a humble man? Then, however, a ray of
hope shone upon his mind, for hope and gilded illusions are
the inheritance of hearts which are enthusiastic and in love,
generous and good. He repeated to himself what he said to
his friends in Burgos on the day of the wedding of Rodrigo
and Ximena: “I am young, and not wanting in courage; I
will take a lance and fight against the Moors; I shall be
armed a knight, and then a hundred brave men will follow
me; I shall enter the Moorish territories, shall conquer them,
and shall be a lord over vassals, and then Don Suero will not
refuse me the hand of his sister.” These foolish hopes, these
vain illusions, again strengthened his heart.

“The idea which you have conceived of those bonds is very
beautiful, Guillen!” said Teresa, abandoning her gloomy
reflections.

“Lady, is it not the same idea which you yourself have
formed?” replied the page.

“You will please me exceedingly if you explain yours to me
more fully, so that I may see if it corresponds with mine,” said
Teresa. “The watches in the castle are so long and gloomy that
it is necessary to endeavour to pass them some way or other.”

“I shall do so, my lady, if it pleases you,” replied Guillen
with delight; for Teresa had afforded him an opportunity of
unburdening his soul, of telling her indirectly how he would
love her, and what the happiness of both of them would be if
a day should ever arrive when they could become husband and
wife.

“Lady,” continued the page, “what great happiness it would
be if the soul could be shown on the palm of one’s hand, like
a material object! If it were so, I would say to you, ‘Gaze on
my thoughts, gaze on my soul, examine its deepest secrets.’[Pg 143]
And you would read it with one look, you would know it such
as it is, you would comprehend the idea which you ask me to
explain to you with my lips. In the lives of two married
persons, united by love, joy and sadness, pleasures and pains,
happiness and grief, are mingled together and become common
to both; all sentiments, all feelings are dual, for each thinks
and feels for both. The maiden and the youth who have
desired for a long time to belong to each other, body and soul,
considering such a union as the supreme felicity of this world,
and one to which they have been looking forward from day to
day, from year to year, and reflecting over its future, from the
happy day on which they will be united by the priest, to that
on which death must separate them. Both would thus say,
‘In the early days of our marriage we shall enjoy all the
illusions and joys of both lovers and spouses, and our hopes
will be even sweeter than now, for we shall have more confidence
in their realisation; new bonds will soon come to unite
us closer and closer, and those bonds will be beautiful little
creatures, whom we will love as parts of ourselves, and by whom
we shall be loved, not alone for the life which we have given
them, but also for the ceaseless care and affection which we
have lavished on them. We will not feel that our lives proceed
on towards the grave, for the plants which the sun of our love
has caused to spring up will remain beautiful and luxuriant,
above the tomb which shall cover our ashes, as the reproductions
of our beings.’ Will not the maiden and the youth who
have had such ambitions, who have so reflected and have so
spoken, consider themselves happy? will they not believe that
they shall find that supreme felicity on the day when their
hopes begin to be realised, the day on which they become
each other’s for ever? That, lady, is the way in which I look
on the happiness of those who are united to each other by
love. I do not even imagine them rich and surrounded by all
kinds of comforts and luxuries, although in that case the
picture would be still more enchanting, for misery and hard
work irritate the soul. I suppose them to be only poor
labourers, who by instinct alone preserve their souls pure and
open to good and elevated sentiments, for education and
intelligence have not perfected and developed their feelings.
They live in a rustic hut; the gardens which surround them
have been formed by nature, and it is nature that takes care of
them. In them grow the carnation, the mignonette, the
thyme, the sage, and a thousand other flowers and plants, the[Pg 144]
perfumes of which rival those of the gardens created and cared
for by the hands of man. There are no trees there planted in
rows to form beautiful and shady walks, no fountains of water
to sparkle in the sunshine; but there grow there, scattered and
without order, trees bearing cherries, pears, figs, apples, nuts,
and other fruits, which exhale rich perfumes, delight the eye,
and supply food for the frugal rustics; and near that poor
dwelling is a spring which bubbles from the rocks, and which
fertilises the fields and quenches the thirst of those simple
people. The sounds of music and the incessant noise of cities
do not awake those peasants, but the crow of the cock, and,
later on, the warbling of the birds, which salute the dawn from
the leafy trees, amid which the humble dwelling appears
like a white dove, half concealed in foliage. Then the labourer
leaves his bed, in which he has enjoyed sound sleep, caused
by a good conscience, wakes up his wife with a loving kiss,
and impresses another on the smiling cheek of his child, who
still sleeps on, and dreams, sometimes imagining he is with
his mother, and sometimes that he is with the angels, who, as
he has been told, come down every night to watch over him.
The father then proceeds to the adjoining field, just as the
east is beginning to be tinged with gold and purple, announcing
the rising of the sun. Whilst he is working he hears, coming
from his cottage, songs which rejoice his heart. His wife is
singing whilst she performs her household duties, and her
songs sound to the ears of her husband as pleasing as the most
perfect music, for they are the same which she sang for him in
her maiden days, when they lovingly wandered through the
woods and fields. The sun shines fiercely and the work is
hard, but the labourer is not discouraged, for hopes encourage
him. In that field which he moistens with his sweat will
grow up golden corn which will enrich his granary. Evening
comes on, and then he realises another of the sweet hopes
which animate him; he quits the field and returns to his
cottage, where he is welcomed with tenderness and delight
by his wife, who has looked forward to that moment as a rich
reward for the labours of the day. What a beautiful picture
is then presented by that family, reunited around their
hearth! Lady, my words are too poor to describe it; your
own heart can imagine it.”

Oh yes! the heart of Teresa pictured to itself that which the
page could not find words to describe, and understood the
scenes which Guillen had so imperfectly sketched.

[Pg 145]

“Guillen,” said Teresa, feeling her heart throb rapidly,
“you were right when you said that the idea you had conceived
of nuptial bonds sanctified by mutual love was the same
as that which I had formed of them. Alas! why were not my
parents poor peasants?”

“Why were not mine nobles?” exclaimed the page; and as
if frightened by his words, and fearful of revealing to that
noble maiden the love which burned in his heart for her, he
stood up from his seat, and said—

“Allow me to retire, my lady, for I am sure the count is
expecting me, and you know what punctuality he requires
from his attendants.”

Teresa made no objection, and the page departed.

Was that indifference?

But when Guillen left her side she felt sad and unhappy, in
her heart was a great void.

Was that love?

CHAPTER XX

HOW THE COUNT OF CARRION GAINED NOTHING BY
BULLYING

Just at the time when Guillen was describing to Doña Teresa
the idea which he had formed of marriage accompanied by
love, a very different scene was being performed in the lower
portion of the castle, in the room which had been occupied,
and was now occupied again, by Sancha, the peasant girl,
whose father Don Suero had deprived of his sight. The
reader will have suspected who the girl was that the count
had carried off from Burgos; it was she who had assumed the
name of Aldonza at the time of her flight with Mari-Perez.

The girl was standing at a barred window which looked
out on the open country, for the Castle of Carrion consisted
of a square turreted tower, without exterior fortifications. At
her side stood Don Suero, addressing to her bitter reproaches,
to which she was listening with apparent disdain, gazing
indifferently on the fields lit up by a very bright moon.

“Ungrateful one,” the count was saying, “did the love
which I felt for you deserve that you should fly from my[Pg 146]
side as you did? Were you not the only woman to whom
the Count of Carrion ever humbled himself? What was
ever wanting to you in my castle?”

“I wanted liberty, and I fled away to seek it; I wanted
a father, of whom you, cruel man, deprived me, and whom I
have not succeeded in finding.”

“And were not those privations easy to be borne, being
compensated by the comforts and luxuries which you enjoyed
in my castle, and more than all, by the love of the noble
Count of Carrion?”

The girl laughed, and replied disdainfully—

“More pleasant to me than the comforts and luxuries of
your castle have been the coarse apparel, the poor food, and
the wretched habitation of Mari-Perez, for they reminded me
of what I had in my childhood; and as to the love of the
noble Count of Carrion, that of a poor squire of the grandee
of Vivar was much more agreeable to me.”

“May you be confounded!” exclaimed Don Suero, scarcely
able to speak with rage, for that was the first time that a
woman dared to scoff at him, and that jealousy tortured
his perfidious heart. “With tears of blood you shall weep
over your ingratitude; you shall never again see your father,
nor rejoice in that liberty which you sigh for so ardently,
nor enjoy any other love but mine.”

The girl answered the threats of the count with another
loud burst of laughter, which caused his anger to rise to its
highest point. Don Suero then placed his hand on his
dagger, but the girl threw herself on his neck, changing
suddenly her sarcastic words and her disdainful smiles into
the sweetest and most caressing smiles and words that a
woman can assume, in order to disarm the anger of a
man.

“Thus do I like to see you, my love,” exclaimed Sancha,—”thus
do I like to see you, for you appear to me the
handsomest of men when anger animates your countenance.”

These words and the caresses of Sancha changed all at
once the tiger into a gentle lamb; that woman was beautiful,
but she was endowed with an animal and savage beauty, if
we may so express ourselves; for that reason did she exercise
such a powerful influence over the soul of the count, who set
no value on those quiet kinds of loveliness which are the
delight of cultivated and pure minds. Between the souls
of Don Suero and Sancha there was a marvellous affinity,[Pg 147]
just as there was one, of a vastly different description, between
the souls of Guillen and Teresa.

“Sancha, Sancha!” murmured Don Suero, intoxicated with
pleasure, and returning the caresses of the wily peasant girl.
“What pleasure can you take in showing alternatively to me
hell and heaven?”

“In order that heaven may appear fairer to you, having
looked into hell,” responded Sancha, redoubling her caresses.
“Oh, my love, what happiness awaits us in the Castle of
Carrion, if you do not force me to fly from it!”

“Fly from it?” cried the count, almost terrified; “no, no,
if you should do so again, this dagger will pierce my heart.”

“Let your heart be entirely mine, and then I will love you
more than myself and never leave you. You have called me
ungrateful just now. How unjust you are, my love! Learn,
then, that I did not fly from you to seek freedom, nor even
to search for my father: I fled because you bestowed on
others the love which I thought should be mine alone. Do
you swear to amend your faults, and never again to set eyes
on any woman but me?”

“Yes, Sancha, I swear it to you.”

“If you keep that promise, my sweet darling, how I shall
love you! But if not—I shall eternally hate you, and ever
despise you.”

A few minutes after Don Suero left the chamber of Sancha,
and he might be heard to murmur, “This, this is heaven.
They are fools who seek it beyond this life.”

Just at this time a voice was heard, calling out, “Hallo!
ye of the castle!”

The count heard it, and, as he recognised it, hastened to
order that the stranger should be admitted, impatience and
uncertainty exhibiting themselves on his visage and in his
words. The new-comer was at once introduced into his
presence, in one of the most private rooms of the castle.

“You are welcome,” Don Suero said to him; “I was
expecting you with impatience. What tidings do you bring?”

“Bad,” answered Bellido, for he was the man.

“May the wrath of God confound the bandits!” exclaimed
the count. “How is it that they can thus go on, mocking
the laws, with impunity? Why cannot some means be found
to exterminate them?”

“Calm your impatience, my lord, for you must not yet
abandon the hope, which my anxious desire to serve you has[Pg 148]
caused you to conceive. I have proposed to them what we
arranged, and they would not accept my plan; on the
contrary, they almost threatened my life for having believed
them capable of committing an act of treachery, for they look
upon the gaining entrance into the castle without fighting
as such.”

Don Suero broke into loud laughter.

“Since when,” he cried, “have bandits become so very
honourable? Perchance they have also converted you,
Bellido? So much the worse for you, however; for your
honour will cost you two hundred gold pieces, which I
promised you if you brought the Vengador and his band into
an ambush, in which they all might perish.”

“Who has told you,” replied Bellido, “that I have given
up the idea of earning the two hundred gold marks? Do
you imagine that Bellido Dolfos, when he undertakes an
enterprise, abandons it at the first check? Is it a small
matter to have enlisted in the band of the bandits; to have
borne hunger, cold, and fatigue; to have been at the very
head of the band whilst attacking the castles of twenty other
grandees—all to gain the confidence of the Vengador? After
all that, do you think I would renounce the fruit of my
labours because our plans have met with a slight check?
You know me but badly, count.”

“Pardon me, Bellido,” said Don Suero, recovering the
hope which he had almost completely lost “I am so unlucky
that I thought there was no further expedient.”

“We have still hopes.”

“Tell me, then, what they are.”

“I shall do so, if you listen to me without getting impatient.”

“Speak, then, for I am very desirous of hearing you.”

“The Vengador indeed spurned my proposal, but there is
another way to ensure the destruction of the band. We have
arranged that the castle shall be assaulted to-morrow night.
The plan adopted is to force the postern, to seize on the men-at-arms
who guard the castle; all this would be an easy
matter, as the Vengador has three hundred bandits, and the
garrison of the castle consists of only fifty crossbow-men.
Well, then, I have thought out a very simple plan to dispose
of the band: arrange the postern in such a way that there
will be but little difficulty in forcing it open; loosen the stones
of the arch which covers the first chamber inside that gate,[Pg 149]
so that, on letting a heavy stone fall violently on the upper
part of the arch, it may give way at the opportune moment;
and finally, secure well the door between the first and second
chambers. As soon as the brigands get in through the
postern, they will rush to the next door, and whilst they are
occupied in forcing it open, the arch will crush down upon
them, and they will almost all be annihilated beneath the
heavy stones, to the weight of which will be added that of
those which will cause the arches to give way.”

“Bellido,” exclaimed the count, filled with enthusiasm, and
extending his hand to the traitor, “I congratulate you, and
I am in thorough accord with your plan, which appears to me
to be an excellent one. What a joyous day it will be for me
when I succeed in exterminating that infernal band, which
is a perpetual nightmare to me! It is not two hundred
golden pieces that I will give you, but three hundred, as
soon as your scheme succeeds as well as we both hope it
shall.”

“I can rely upon you to carry out exactly the instructions
which I have given you. You will not forget that the attack
is to take place on tomorrow night?”

“I shall not forget it, Bellido; nor shall I forget either
to have the three hundred gold pieces ready counted for you.
Take care not to enter the postern at the head of the band,
for it would be very ungrateful of me to wish you ill, when
you are serving me so well.”

“You may be quite sure I shall not do so; I shall remain
outside, and if the door has not been closed after the bandits
enter, I shall take care to shut it and also to bolt it outside,
so that none of them may get out when the arched ceiling
is about to fall.”

A short time after, Bellido Dolfos returned to the camp
of the bandits.

As soon as he had sent the traitor away, and when almost
all were asleep in the castle, Don Suero summoned one of his
servants, who acted as architect whenever repairs had to
be carried out in the castle, and gave him instructions as
to what was necessary to be done to the arched ceiling of the
chamber which was to serve as the sepulchre of the bandits.
During what remained of the night heavy hammering could
be heard in the direction of the postern, and before morning
everything was arranged as Bellido had ordered; the keystones
of the arch had been loosened, two enormous stones[Pg 150]
had been suspended over it, by means of pulleys fastened
to the roof, and the postern had also been manipulated so
that it could be pushed open without much force, and afterwards
bolted outside.

Notwithstanding the certainty which the count felt of
destroying the bandits by the ingenious plan which Bellido
had devised, he was very uneasy, when he reflected on the
insult which he had offered to Rodrigo Diaz by calling him
a coward, and he doubted not but that De Vivar would
endeavour to take revenge on him. All this weighed heavily
on the mind of the count, as he feared the serious consequences
which it might bring upon him.

He was thinking on this, when he was informed that four
cavaliers had arrived at the castle from Burgos, and that they
were the bearers of a message for him. The greatest fear
seized on Don Suero when he received that announcement,
and, as he did not at once reply to the servant who was
awaiting an answer, the latter ventured to say to him—

“My lord, what reply shall I bring to the messengers?”

“May hell swallow me!” exclaimed Don Suero, violently
stamping on the floor. “I should like to have the entire
human race in my power, to destroy it with my hands!”

Thus speaking, he sought for a dagger in his girdle, and
not finding it, he took up a stout piece of wood, which lay
amongst those beside the fireplace, and gave several blows
to the unlucky servant, who bore them resignedly, persuaded
that submission was best when the count was in a passion.

When he had treated his servant in this unjust manner,
he sat down beside the fireplace and remained for some
instants buried in thought; he then suddenly exclaimed—

“No, I shall not fight with him; Martin Gonzalez was
stronger and more skilful than I…. Lucifer protects De
Vivar.”

Having said this, he raised his head, and seeing the servant,
who was still patiently awaiting his orders, he added—

“Are you still there, fellow?”

And he was about to take up again the piece of wood with
which he had belaboured his shoulders; suddenly, however,
abandoning his threatening attitude, he said—

“Pardon me, Gonzalo; I have beaten you, not knowing
what I was doing; introduce to my presence those cavaliers,
or whatever they are.”

The servant obeyed, and a minute after Antolin Antolinez,[Pg 151]
Alvar Fañez Minaya, and two other cavaliers, also of Burgos,
stood in the presence of Don Suero.

“To you, Don Suero Gonzalez, Count of Carrion,” said
Antolin, “Don Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar sends us,—he whom
you insulted in Burgos, by calling him coward and low-born”—

Don Suero interrupted Antolin Antolinez, saying humbly—

“Certainly, I called him coward, not knowing that it was
he; for my anger, at seeing my servitors ill-treated, blinded
me.”

“Don Suero, you must give this apology to the offended on
the field of battle, and not here,” replied Antolinez.

“For two cavaliers to engage in deadly strife,” answered
the count, still humbly, “it is necessary that they should
hate each other, and I have no rancour towards De Vivar, nor
do I consider him a coward or low-born; on the contrary
I acknowledge him to be one of the bravest and most
honourable cavaliers of Castile.”

“If, then, you believe that,” said Antolin Antolinez, “publish
it, and make it known in all parts. Thus only, except by
fighting face to face, can you satisfy the offended. The
honour of De Vivar is of such value that its master will
defend it with the greatest ardour.”

“Do you believe that the humiliation, which you propose to
me, should be inflicted on a good cavalier, such as I am?”

“And do you believe that a good cavalier, such as Don
Rodrigo is, should be called a coward with impunity? No,
no, as God lives! If Rodrigo Diaz is not himself able to
avenge the insult which you have cast on him, there are a
thousand cavaliers in Castile ready to unsheath their swords in
defence of his honour. Listen, mean and calumnious count!
Don Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar challenges you to single combat,
and tells you that, if you do not accept the challenge, he will
put up notices all through Castile and Leon, denouncing your
villainy and cowardice to the execration of the public.”

“Be silent, be silent! and do not force me to add fresh
insults to those which I addressed to De Vivar in Burgos,”
exclaimed Don Suero, abandoning the submissive tone which
he had hitherto used.

“In fine, what is your reply to him who has sent us?”

Don Suero stood up with haughty demeanour, and answered,
with supreme disdain—

“Tell De Vivar,—tell him that he may do what suits him[Pg 152]
best; tell him that the Count of Carrion does not choose to
fight with so base a cavalier.”

“We have delivered the message of Don Rodrigo, and we
shall carry back your reply to him,” answered Antolin
Antolinez; and he and his companions immediately set out on
their return journey to Burgos.

They had scarcely left the castle when Don Suero began to
meditate on the reply which he had just given; he thought on
the stain of cowardice which would be cast on him, broke out
into furious imprecations, and maltreated in a barbarous way
the first servants who presented themselves to his sight. Very
soon, however, his rage changed into discouragement and
terror, and he wept like a weak woman. But the hope of
destroying the bandits on that very night roused up his
spirits, and, full of that subject, he ceased to think on the
challenge of Rodrigo.

Two days after, Rodrigo Diaz caused proclamations to be
posted up throughout Castile and Leon, publishing the
cowardice of Don Suero, and returning, with interest and the
greatest justice, the insults which he had received; two days
after, the Count of Carrion, who before was well hated by
some, was now abhorred by all; two days after, the country
people were singing the ballads which the troubadours had
composed, setting forth, in the blackest form, against Don
Suero, the question between him and De Vivar.

CHAPTER XXI

HOW ONE MOOR REMAINED, AND FIVE WENT AWAY

Two days had passed from the time that Rodrigo entered
Burgos with the spoils which he had taken in the mountains of
Oca, and Teresa Nuña, Ximena, Lambra, and Mayor were
amusing themselves, talking to and caressing the Moorish
boy, saved by the kind-hearted Castilian general on the field of
battle. The boy was very handsome, and spoke the Romance
language with tolerable facility, as he had learned it from the
Christian captives who had always been servants in the house
of his father.

[Pg 153]

Those kind women had received him well, as Fernan
prophesied, and lavished on him all the caresses which a
tender mother has for her children when she sees them sad
and disconsolate. The poor little fellow, who, notwithstanding
the kind manner in which Rodrigo treated him, had been sad
and downcast, now recovered courage and joyousness; and
even tears of gratitude and pleasure sprang from his beautiful
and expressive eyes. Lambra was almost mad with delight
on account of the handsome boy; the honoured and faithful
dueña, who had envied a thousand times the happiness of
mothers who had children to caress and to be caressed by,
saw in anticipation the joy she would experience when her
mistress and Rodrigo would be married, a joy which was her
golden dream, and which would consist in having children by
her side, to whom she could be, in a certain sense, a mother.
Even Mayor participated in the contentment of her mistress
and of the dueña, for without doubt she saw in that pretty
child what she hoped the fruit of her love for Fernan
would be.

The tender sympathy which binds children to women
certainly moves and consoles the soul, whether those women
are mothers or those who have never experienced the pains
and delights of maternity. A poor, unprotected child often
appeals in vain to the heart of a man, but never to that of a
woman. When, covered with rags, shivering with cold, and
famished with hunger, it appeals to public charity in the
streets, let us count the men and the women who aid it, and
we will see that the number of the former is very much less
than of the latter. What consoling words often escape in such
cases from a woman’s lips!

“Have you no mother?”

“Poor little angel!”

“Alas for mothers who have given birth to children, to see
them thus!”

Such as these are the words which the lips of women
pronounce over the unhappy child.

Let us bring back our memory to the calm days of our
childhood, let us bring to mind what sex it was that dried our
tears, impressed kisses on our cheeks, lulled us to repose with
songs, watched over our sleep, took part in our games, divined
our wishes in order to satisfy them, wept when we were in
grief, and celebrated with deep contentment our good health
and joy. The name of a woman will be always bound up with[Pg 154]
those recollections, whether it be that of our mother or of
some other. God, who foresees everything, who never entirely
abandons the weak, has given the child a mother in almost
every woman.

Let us wander through the streets, let us go into villages,
let us enter the dwellings of the wealthy, and then let us
pass on to the cottages of the poor—wherever God has not
given a vulgar and stony heart, we shall find the essence
of poetry and of sentiment in the multitude of names
with which, everywhere, women express their tenderness for
children.

“My love!” “My delight!” “My treasure!” “My glory!”
they exclaim, kissing with rapture the rosy cheek of
an angel. And those names, not studied, but rushing
spontaneously from the heart, are they not of more
value than all the loving expressions that poets have ever
invented?

The sentiments with which children inspire women raise
them above vulgar surroundings, and purify their souls with
the holy fire of poetry. When we see women filled with such
feelings, let us ask them why they love children, and they will
reply to us with these words, or similar ones—

“Because, when we seek for angels on earth, we can only
find them in these little children.”

If for other qualities, for other virtues, for other attractions,
women do not merit the love and respect of all generous and
good souls, they deserve it for the sympathy which children
awaken in their hearts.

Let those be blessed and loved who understand and
experience the feeling which moved the lips of the divine
Nazarene when He said, “Suffer the little children to come
unto Me!”

“Ismael,” said Ximena to the Moorish boy, “did you ever
know your mother?”

“Yes, kind Christian; she was beautiful and good, and
loved me as you do; but Allah took her to Paradise just at
the end of the last Ramadan.”

“Son of my soul!” exclaimed Teresa Nuña, “and did you
love her much?”

“Ah yes,” replied the child, “and yet she did not take me
with her.”

His eyes overflowed with tears, and he continued—

“When holy Allah called her to Paradise, my father and I[Pg 155]
wept very much. A short time after the king was enrolling
people for the war, and my father asked me, ‘Would you
wish to go see your mother?’ ‘Oh yes,’ I answered.
On that very day he took me up behind him on his horse, and
we set out for the frontiers of Castile. ‘We are going to the
war, my son,’ said my father to me, on the road; ‘I trust that
we may be killed in it, for then we shall fly to Paradise, and
never again be separated from your mother, who is there.'”

The boy interrupted his story for a moment, bursting into
sobs, and then added—

“My father went to Paradise to see my mother, … and he
too did not take me with him.”

“Poor little fellow!” exclaimed the compassionate women,
who surrounded Ismael, caressing him and endeavouring to
console him, just as affected as he was.

“Unhappy child!” said Lambra; “what he wishes is to
return to his own country.”

“Would you like to go back to your native country, my
son?” asked Teresa. “Do you wish to return to Molina?”

“My parents are not there now,” answered the child in a
despairing tone. “I wish to remain with you, who are good
and loving like my mother.”

“Well, then, remain with us; for we will love you, as your
mother did, my son.”

“How good the Christians are, how good!” exclaimed the
child, not knowing how to show his gratitude to those who were
pitying and consoling him.

“And would you like to be a Christian?” asked Teresa Nuña.

“If you are to be my mothers, I will adore the Prophet
whom you adore. My mother used to say that children
should adore the God that their mother adored; and does not
the Nazarene, your Prophet, love children?”

“Yes, my son; children are the principal objects of His love:
He delighted, when He was on earth, to converse with them,
He was angry with those who ill-treated them and prevented
them from going to Him, and He leaves the gates of heaven
always open for them.”

“Oh, how good your Prophet is! I wish to adore the
Nazarene,” exclaimed the child enthusiastically.

Teresa Nuña and Ximena then left him for a short time,
feeling sure that Lambra and Mayor would take good care of
him while they were away.

Soon after Fernan came in, whilst the two women were[Pg 156]
questioning the child respecting his country and parents, and
the boy was replying to them with visible emotion.

“By the soul of Beelzebub,” exclaimed the squire, “they
are simply fools to torment this poor little chap by reminding
him of the good things he has lost, which is the saddest of
remembrances. That’s the way women always understand
tenderness; they kiss just as cruelly as they bite. I will ask
my mistresses, Doña Teresa and Doña Ximena, to entrust the
training of this little Moor to me; he is worth all the Moors
in the world. They will soon see how I shall make him a
perfect horseman, and also able to give lance thrusts, which
will be worth a king’s treasure.”

The tone of Fernan was rough enough, and his words
severe; but the face and manners of the squire were stamped
with such frankness and goodness of heart, that Ismael, far
from being frightened, ran to meet him, and clasped his legs
affectionately with his little arms.

“May I turn Moor,” said the soft-hearted squire, “if this
young chap isn’t worth all the spoils we took in the Oca
mountains! Every time I think of it, I feel more inclined to
give that fool of an Alvar a good cudgelling for finding fault
with Don Rodrigo because he put this splendid little fellow
into a litter.”

And Fernan took up Ismael in his herculean arms, and
kissed him with enthusiasm, saying—

“I would give you a thousand kisses, only that I am
afraid of rasping your rosy cheeks with my beard; but I will
shave, and then I can kiss you as much as I like. Are you
fond of arms and horses, my boy?”

“Oh yes!” cried the child, jumping with joy. “Have you
arms and a horse?”

“Of course I have,” answered the squire. “To-morrow
morning we will go to the stables, and there I will teach you
to ride, and to use a lance and sword. I swear by Beelzebub,
that when you grow up, you must come to the wars with Don
Rodrigo and me, and fight like Bernardo at Roncesvalles.”

“Bring me to the stables now,” said the child, “and show
me your horse and arms.”

“You are very impatient, little chap. But I suppose I
must humour you; and your vivacity pleases me.”

And thus speaking, Fernan took the little Moor by the hand,
who was jumping with pleasure and impatience to get to the
stables.

[Pg 157]

“Don’t take the child away, Fernan,” said Mayor, “for if
my mistresses ask for him, they will be annoyed with Lambra
and me for not having kept him with us.”

And she went to take Ismael by the hand which was free,
in order to remove him from Fernan; the squire, however,
pushed her away, and disappeared with the boy, saying—

“He will go wherever I please, and all the women in the
world shall not take him from me. By the soul of Beelzebub,
that is a nice way to train up children—keeping them always
tied to women’s petticoats! That’s the way hens bring up
their chickens—and they become hens.”

When the squire and the boy arrived at the stables,
Fernan showed the horses to Ismael, who was insisting on
being put on the backs of all of them. At last, to satisfy the
child, Fernan mounted him on Overo, which he saddled, and
the animal, with a patience comparable to that of his master,
yielded to all the caprices of the child; sometimes quickening
his pace, sometimes going slowly, now turning to the right,
now to the left. They then went to the harness-room,
and Fernan prepared to give Ismael his first lesson in the
use of the lance. He made him mount, in a saddle placed on
an arm-stand, put into his hand, to serve as a lance, a stick a
few feet long, made a mark on a post in front, and fastened a
strong piece of cord to the front of the arm-stand; he then
gave him, as a shield, the cover of a tin vessel used for carrying
water to the horses, through the handle of which he put
his arm; when he had thus accoutred him, he lectured him on
the proper way of holding both offensive and defensive arms.
Then the good Fernan ordered him to prepare to charge, and
to keep his feet well in, so that they might not be hurt; the
boy did this, and the squire, taking hold of the cord, dragged
on, by means of it, the arm-stand and him who was mounted
on it, very quickly. The boy made his thrust too soon, and
did not strike the mark.

“I vow to Judas Iscariot,” exclaimed Fernan, “that he will
spoil his best strokes by his impetuosity.”

“My horse did not gallop fast enough,” replied the child.

“Well, then,” said Fernan, “get ready for a second charge,
and take care not to miss your aim.”

“You will see, you will see how I shall hit the mark this
time.”

The little Moor got ready again, and Fernan pulled the cord
more rapidly than before; Ismael, however, made the thrust[Pg 158]
too soon, and went even farther from the mark than on the
first occasion.

“By the soul of Beelzebub,” cried the squire, stamping
fiercely on the ground, “that would put holy Job himself out
of patience. He thinks, I suppose, that he will do better by
making his thrusts too soon.”

“I won’t charge any more now,” said the boy, more vexed
by his own want of dexterity than by the annoyance of
Fernan. Then throwing away the tin cover and the stick, he
began to run back to the place from which the squire had
taken him.

“Come back, my son, come back,” cried Fernan; but it
was in vain, for Ismael was already with Lambra and Mayor.

“Curses on my impatience!” exclaimed Fernan, giving
himself a cuff on the side of his head. “What else could the
poor little fellow do but run away from me, when I treated
him worse than a slave?”

He then went off in search of the little Moor, and shortly
afterwards they were playing together as if both were children.

Whilst Fernan was thus amusing himself with Ismael,
another scene, not less interesting, was being performed in a
large apartment, in which the De Vivar family usually
assembled. Rodrigo was relating to his parents and to his
wife the innumerable brave deeds of his soldiers at the battle
of Oca, remaining silent as to his own, for the noble
cavalier was as modest as he was valiant. He spoke also of
the bravery of the enemy, for he was so just and honourable
that he could not refrain from praising merit wherever it
might be found.

“The hostile army,” he said, “was numerous; but there
were very many who fought for no other cause but that of
pillage, and it was those who first turned their backs on our
swords and lances. The Castilian troops fought with great
bravery; but the victory could not have been won so soon if
the enemy had had a few hundred men as brave as their leaders.
Those Moorish kings, whom I brought here as prisoners, in
order that they might do homage to my parents and to my
Ximena, for you are all worthy of it—those kings, I say, and
especially Abengalvon of Molina, fought as valiantly as the
most perfect cavaliers in the world.”

“Oh, how unfortunate they are, and how worthy of being
well treated!” exclaimed at the same time both Teresa and
Ximena, whose souls were always inclined to compassion.

[Pg 159]

“For that reason,” said Rodrigo, “I have treated them not
as wretched captives, who are generally loaded with chains,
but as kings, to whom those who receive them in their houses
allot the best apartments, believing themselves honoured by
having them under their roof; for that reason I intend to
restore them to liberty this very day, if you, my parents, and
you, Ximena, approve of my resolve.”

“Yes, Rodrigo, yes,” exclaimed all, with pleased accents.
“Sad captives!” added Teresa. “In their own land they
have, most likely, wives, children, or parents who weep over
their absence, believing them dead or lost to them for
ever.”

“My son,” said old Diego, giving his trembling hand to
Rodrigo, and visibly affected, “your heart is worthy of a
cavalier; not in vain was I the author of your being, not in
vain does my blood run in your veins, not in vain are you
descended from the noblest race of Castile. Oh, if Lain
Calvo, your grandfather, could raise his noble head from the
sepulchre! During my long life I have constantly laboured
for the cause of Castile—to make it greater and better—for the
honour of our house, and for the triumph of the faith; and
God has amply recompensed me by giving me a son as good
as you are. My strength is failing, my breathing is becoming
difficult, my term of life is but short; but what is death to a
cavalier when he dies honoured, as I am, and when he leaves a
successor as good as you are? Restore to freedom at once
those royal captives; in the eyes of your father, and in the
eyes of all that are good, such an act of generosity will
be one of your best triumphs.”

Yes, Diego was right; on that day Rodrigo achieved one of
his noblest triumphs, for to him, the most affectionate of sons
and the most loving of husbands, the greatest glory was the
words which he heard from his parents and from his wife, and
the pleasure which they experienced by his act.

“Dear parents and dear Ximena,” he said, as moved as
they were, “let us go now to set the captives free. If they
wish to acknowledge themselves our vassals, let them do so,
but if not, they shall be equally free.”

Rodrigo and his family then proceeded to the prison of the
Moorish kings. We have said to the prison, but the apartments
of Abengalvon and his companions did not deserve
such a name. They were situated in the ground floor of the
building, having an entrance into beautiful gardens, and were[Pg 160]
certainly in every respect suitable for kings. Rodrigo and his
family descended to them by a wide staircase, which placed in
communication the two habitable floors of which the building
consisted, and then requested permission of the Moors to be
permitted to present themselves to them. The royal captives
came forth to meet them with signs of respect and apprehension,
and were about to prostrate themselves before Rodrigo;
but he prevented them, with kind words, which filled the
hearts of the Moslems with confidence and gratitude.

“The chances of war,” he said to them, “placed your
destinies in my hands, and for that reason it is my right to
dispose of you as I may wish. Do you acknowledge that
right?”

“We are your slaves,” humbly answered Abengalvon, who
was more conversant than the others with the Castilian
language, and who was also the youngest of the five Moorish
kings, as he was only about five-and-twenty years of age.

“Well, then,” continued Rodrigo, “you were my enemies
when I conquered you on the field of battle, but you fought
with valour, and you bear the title of kings; for these reasons
I treated you all, not as slaves, but as friends.”

“Who would not be ambitious to be considered as such?”
exclaimed Abengalvon.

“My desire is to be your friend,” said Rodrigo. “Know,”
he continued, “that I consider myself so good a subject,
that I love and revere all who bear the name of king, and I
should consider myself dishonoured if I retained kings as
prisoners, even though they are Moors, enemies of my faith
and of my country. Return, then, to your kingdoms, and be,
according as your hearts may dictate, my friends or my enemies.
I comply with what my heart, and the hearts of my parents
and wife, whom you see here, dictate to us.”

“Oh, blessed Allah!” exclaimed the Moors, raising their
eyes, moist with tears, to heaven. “The prayers of our
children and wives have reached you and caused you to feel
compassion for love and misfortune. We shall sound the
praises, in the midst of our families, of the noble Christian
who to-day teaches us to be generous and good.”

And Abengalvon continued, addressing Rodrigo—

“No, we shall not be your enemies; we desire to become
your vassals, as such to respect you and to pay you tribute,
and also to become your friends, in order to love you. Let us
kiss your hand.”

[Pg 161]

“Come to my arms, if you believe me worthy of yours!”
exclaimed Rodrigo, as much moved as the Moors were.

They embraced him, weeping with joy, as did also the
honoured old Diego Lainez, Teresa, and Ximena, who were
looking on the scene with much emotion, and whose hands
the Moors then kissed, manifesting that they felt honoured by
being allowed to do so.

“Mother!—Ximena!” said Rodrigo a moment after, “open
the gates of their prison for those who have been our captives,
but who, from this day, shall be our friends.”

Teresa and Ximena then went to a door which gave egress
to the street, and pulled open the two wings of which it was
composed.

“The gate of your prison is open to you,” said Rodrigo to
the Moors. “Return to your homes, bring consolation to
your wives and to your children, and may God be with you,
my friends! Outside you will find good steeds to carry you,
and squires who will accompany you as far as the frontier,
bearing my green standard, so that neither nobles nor peasants
shall dare to molest you.”

“We are your vassals, and every year you shall receive
tribute from us,” said Abengalvon.

He and his companions then left the palace of De Vivar,
their eyes dimmed with tears, and blessing Rodrigo, Diego,
Teresa, and Ximena with all the fervour of which their souls
were capable.

CHAPTER XXII

HOW THE BAND OF THE VENGADOR ATTACKED THE CASTLE
OF CARRION

The band was advancing towards Carrion just at nightfall, in
order to make the attack on it at the hour arranged by the
leaders, of which attempt Don Suero had received notice,
thanks to the treachery of Bellido.

The Castle of Carrion was built on an eminence near the
town, beside a road, named at that period the Atalaya Road of
Villasirga. Before arriving at it there was found a very thick
wood. The night was dark, and for that reason the band[Pg 162]
could reach that wood without being seen by the sentinels.
Martin and his captains, Bellido and Rui-Venablos, ordered a
halt to be made in it, with the object of preparing for the attack
without being perceived, even though the clouds might clear
away and the moon shine forth.

The bandits, all on foot, were provided with steel hatchets,
iron-shod clubs, and pikes, with which they might force an
entrance into the castle. Martin had given orders to all not
to strike down the count, Don Suero, as he wished to reserve
to himself the consummation of the vengeance which he so
ardently longed for; he wished to bury his dagger in the heart
of the murderer of his father. The band was divided into
two well-ordered companies; one was to rush on in order to
force open the postern of the castle, and whilst this operation
was being carried out, the other was to protect the attacking
body, discharging their arrows against the loopholes and
battlements of the fortress, in order that the crossbow-men
who guarded them might be wounded, or, not seeing their
opponents, might shoot at random. Rui-Venablos, who always
considered the most dangerous position the best, asked permission
to lead the attacking body, and Martin went with him.
Bellido, therefore, commanded the other company.

Thus arranged, the bandits issued forth from the wood, and
immediately the cry of alarm was given in the castle, and the
defenders hastened to the combat.

Some of the bandits fell to the ground, pierced by the first
arrows discharged from the fortress, and this circumstance
increased the courage of the band. As the obscurity was very
great, and as the ground behind the castle—that is, where the
postern was situated—was covered with bushes, Bellido succeeded
in separating himself from the men whom he was
commanding, and in hiding behind some shrubs, where he
remained until his companions all passed forward, discharging
a cloud of arrows against the castle. Rui-Venablos, Martin,
and their company at last succeeded in reaching the postern.
This was strengthened outside with iron plates, on which the
bandits began to deal terrible blows with their iron-covered
clubs. It was not necessary to continue to do this long, as
the door soon gave way, the bolts which kept it shut having,
seemingly, been broken. Then the entire band rushed in,
uttering fierce cries of fury and wild joy. It was, however,
found necessary to force another door in order to get from the
place where they were into the interior of the castle, and that[Pg 163]
door was even stronger than the outer one. Martin was
furious when he met this new obstacle, just as he believed
the moment had come to avenge himself on the count.

“Break it, burst open the door quickly!” he roared to those
who were provided with clubs.

Those then began to discharge furious blows on the door,
which did not yield in the least, for it was also well strengthened
with iron outside, and securely fastened inside with thick bolts
of the same metal. Impatience became a torture to the heart
of the Vengador, and, taking a club from the hands of one of
his men, he began to wield it with the strength of a giant
against the door. At that moment a fearful blow was heard
above the arched ceiling of the apartment in which they were,
a blow which made the entire edifice tremble, a blow so
terrible that it almost seemed as if the whole castle had
crumbled down above their heads. All the bandits uttered
a cry of terror, except Martin, who continued his assault on
the door, for he only heard the voice of vengeance, which was
commanding him to execute his on Don Suero, so terrible
that he might expiate by it the innumerable crimes which he
had committed.

“Out, out! the arch is falling!” cried all the bandits, precipitating
themselves, in fearful disorder, towards the outer
gate, for indeed the roof was yielding, the stones, as we know,
having been loosened under the blow of the enormous weight
which had fallen on them. At the same moment some person
outside fastened strongly the postern-gate; but just then the
second door yielded to the blows of Martin, and he, with
Rui-Venablos, and about fifty of their men, rushed into the
interior of the castle. The others tried to imitate them when
they found that the postern-gate was closed against them,
but they had not time, for the arched ceiling came down
with a fearful noise, crushing the unfortunate bandits beneath
its ruins. A satanic burst of laughter resounded then in the
upper part of the castle, and a countenance, on which was
depicted savage content, appeared, to gloat over that horrible
butchery, at the hole which had been made in the upper
floor, in order to suspend through it the heavy blocks of stone
which were to fall on the top of the arch beneath.

The laughter had issued from the mouth of Don Suero,
and his was the hellish countenance.

The count and the traitor, who had aided him in his work
of extermination, did not know that several of the bandits[Pg 164]
had escaped without injury, and that the second door had
yielded and given entrance to them. Soon, however, was
this fact made known to Don Suero by the cries and the
tumult which he heard in the principal apartments; cries and
tumult which seemed to approach the chamber in which he
was. Indeed, the Vengador, Rui-Venablos, and their followers,
and almost all the armed men who guarded the castle, were
fighting furiously in the corridors which led to the rooms
usually occupied by Don Suero. Then the most abject terror
took possession of the count, for he was as cowardly as he
was tyrannical, cruel, and heartless; and running to a secret
staircase, he descended into the vaults of the castle, and
escaped from them, by a private door, into the open country.

The fight between the bandits and the defenders of the
castle was bloody and obstinate. The latter, collected in
one of the corridors which led to the apartments in which
the De Carrion family resided, resisted the attack with valour
equal to that of the bandits. The Vengador and Rui-Venablos,
however, filled with fury on account of the destruction of their
comrades, and of the resistance offered to them, resolved to
make a final attempt, for they must either fight their way
onward or die. They rushed, therefore, on their opponents,
striking down all who barred the way, and their companions
followed their example. Many remained dead or wounded
in this bold attack; the others broke through the living wall
which their enemies opposed to them, and dashed on, like
hungry lions, to the apartments in which they expected to
meet their prey. As they did not find him there, they uttered
furious maledictions, which terrified even the soldiers who
were defending the castle; they, wounded and discouraged,
had dropped their weapons, and only hoped to find safety
in flight. The bandits, having examined the apartments of
the count, left them, believing that he had sought refuge in
some other room, and they soon found one with the door
locked. This was the chamber of Teresa. They tried to open
it, but as it did not yield, the Vengador dealt it a terrible
blow with his club, which caused it to fall in fragments on
the floor. A young lady, the Infanta Doña Teresa, was
standing in a corner, almost dead with terror, and before
her stood Guillen, sword in hand, ready to defend the
maiden.

“Stop!” cried the page to the bandits. “Hold back, for
you shall only get near this lady when some of you have felt[Pg 165]
the edge of my sword, and when there will be no other shield
to defend my mistress but my dead body.”

Martin and Rui-Venablos halted; their companions, however,
were about to rush on Guillen, but the Vengador
prevented them, saying—

“Whichever of you advances a step to injure this young
man or this maiden will fall dead at my feet; we do not
desire to wreak our vengeance on a weak woman, or on him
who defends her.”

At the same time a great outcry was heard from the direction
of the town. The Vengador looked through the window,
which we have already described, and by the light of the
moon, from which the clouds that had covered it had just
passed away, he saw a numerous body of men approaching
the castle. At the same time he heard the voice of Don
Suero, who, seeing light in the window, was crying out—

“Defend yourselves, my crossbow-men; succour is coming.”

The count had gone to seek reinforcement in the town,
and his vassals hastened to give it, for he told them that Doña
Teresa’s life was in danger. More than two hundred men,
of all ages, were advancing with him, armed with the weapons
that first came to hand. The bandits were worn out with
fatigue, and their number was reduced to little more than
twenty. The Vengador knew that the death of all was certain
if they did not at once leave the castle. If he had avenged
his father he would have thought little of dying, but as he
had not yet done so, life was precious to him.

“Let us escape,” he cried, “or the count will succeed in
killing all of us, and our comrades shall never be avenged.
Do you hear those cries? Don Suero has managed to get
out of the castle, and he is now returning with such force
that his triumph is certain. Many of our comrades, who lie
wounded in the passages through which we have come, must
remain in his power, for we have not time to succour them
and bring them off with us. They will be sacrificed by the
barbarous count if we do not take hostages. We have this
maiden in our power, and Don Suero will respect the lives
of our comrades, in order that we may spare that of his sister.”

“The sister of the Count of Carrion,” said Guillen, continuing
in his threatening attitude, “shall not remain exposed
to your outrages whilst I am alive.”

“I swear to you that she shall be respected,” replied the
Vengador, “but I must take measures to save the lives of[Pg 166]
my comrades. Sheath your sword, and come with her and
with us, for if you seek to defend your mistress here you must
die, and she will have no one by her side to see that the
promise I make you will be kept.”

Guillen felt that it was best to follow the advice of the
leader of the bandits; he felt that it was necessary that Teresa
should have someone by her to assist her if her strength
failed, to console her when she wept, to guard her whilst she
slept, to protect her if her honour was threatened. He therefore
sheathed the sword which he had drawn to defend her,
and, sustaining the feeble footsteps of his mistress, he went
off with the bandits.

They all left the castle and penetrated into the adjacent
wood, just as Don Suero and his vassals entered the fortress,
which had been the theatre of such sanguinary scenes. They
walked on for some hours by rough and deserted paths, for
the bandits, now too few in number to face the Salvadores,
feared to meet them. At last they halted in the thicket,
which but a few hours before the band had left, full of strength,
hope, and valour. During that fatiguing journey the strength
of the unhappy Teresa had failed entirely several times, and
Guillen was obliged to carry her for considerable distances
in his arms, his love giving him force to bear that precious
burden, in truth not so heavy as would have been almost
any other woman, for Teresa was worn away by sadness and
grief.

There still remained there the tents and the other things,
which had been left to the care of a few of the bandits who
had not been able to go with the others. The Vengador
allotted one of those tents to the sole use of Teresa and the
brave youth who accompanied her, and he and his comrades
lay down in the others, half-dead with fatigue and discouragement,
first having placed sentinels in the best positions for
such, as they feared that Don Suero’s men might have followed
their tracks.

All the bandits were soon in a heavy sleep, except Martin
and Rui-Venablos, on whom fatigue and grief seemed to have
had an effect quite different from that which they exercised
on their companions.

“Ah, poor Bellido!” said the former, “he must have found
his tomb in the Castle of Carrion. We were fools not to
have followed his example; we desired to act as cavaliers,
forgetting that we were only bandits, and that we had to do[Pg 167]
with one of the most depraved and pitiless wretches that
was ever born of woman. It is we who should have found
our deaths in the castle, and not our loyal and brave comrades
who have been the innocent victims of our stupidity. What
have we to do now? Only to lament over our error, and the
mishap of our companions.”

“Anger of God!” exclaimed Rui-Venablos, irritated at the
discouragement of Martin. “Does the Vengador become
faint-hearted, and does he shed cowardly tears just when the
moment has arrived to work with more firmness, with more
bravery, and with less pity than ever? Can you avenge our
comrades with tears, which suit women well enough, but
which are quite out of place in a man; by killing the count
I have to avenge our comrades, and something more”—

“I have to avenge our comrades, and something more
also, by reducing to ashes the Castle of Carrion and plunging
my dagger into the heart of the count,” said Martin, excited
by the words of Rui-Venablos.

“Thus do I like to see my chief!” exclaimed Rui, filled
with savage joy.

“Do not call me by that name,” said Martin, clasping the
hand of his companion. “Call me brother, for from this day
we shall begin to reorganise the band, and it shall have two
chiefs. To prove to you how burning is the vengeance which
consumes me, and how great is my friendship for you, I will
confide a secret to you. Know, then, that I did not join
the band of the Raposo in order to exercise the calling of
a bandit, and that I did not continue such a life or take
the name of the Vengador in order to avenge those who were
slaughtered with the Raposo, but to avenge my father, who
was vilely assassinated by the count.”

Martin then related to Rui-Venablos all that had happened
as they were returning from the pilgrimage, when Beatrice was
carried off, adding—

“I have kept this secret from our comrades, in order that
they might not mistrust me, knowing that I was working for
an object different from theirs, and that I was only desirous of
avenging an offence solely connected with myself.”

“For the same reason,” said Rui-Venablos joyously, “I
have concealed the true cause of my rancour against Don
Suero. You must know, brother, that I also did not embrace
the life of a bandit through affection for it, for I always held a
more honourable position. I have been a soldier since the[Pg 168]
down was on my lip, and I have always fought in defence
of the faith, of my native land, and of the oppressed; and
have never entered into the pay of any but honourable gentlemen.
Being in the service of Don Ordoño de Lara, an
unfortunate old man, quite blind, came to me one day and
said, ‘For a long time I have sought a man of kindly heart
and with a strong arm, who might feel compassion for and
avenge a wretched father, whom the Count of Carrion has
deprived of his sight and of his honour.’ He then related to
me, with tears capable of softening stones, how Don Suero
had carried off from him a daughter, who was his sole happiness
in this world, depriving him at the same time of his eyesight,
in order that he might not be able to find her or avenge
so horrible a crime.

“‘I have been told,’ he added, ‘that your aid has never
been asked for in vain by those oppressed by the powerful,
and therefore I come to you full of confidence.’

“His words moved me; I pitied his grief and his misfortunes;
I was indignant at the baseness and cruelty of the
count, whom I already regarded as an enemy, on account
of other acts of a similar kind which had been related to me,
and I swore solemnly to the poor blind man to avenge his
wrongs. He then departed, full of satisfaction and of hope, to
seek his daily sustenance through the country by singing to
the accompaniment of his lute. When he had gone, I thought
over the best means of keeping my promise to him; I knew
that it would avail nothing to challenge Don Suero, as he
would treat such a proceeding with contempt, the challenger
being a poor and obscure soldier, and he one of the most
powerful grandees of Castile and Leon. Should I seek to
encounter him unexpectedly in some lonely place and force
him to fight with me? That also would be unavailing, as Don
Suero is always accompanied by armed men to defend him,
and my death would have been but a useless sacrifice. Allies
were necessary to me in order to attack the Castle of Carrion,
and put the count to death, and as, just then, I heard your
band talked of, it seemed to me that it would be the best
instrument for the revenge I longed for; I therefore went to
seek you, and I succeeded in gaining your confidence.”