The Cid Campeador: A Historical Romance
by Antonio de Trueba · English · Gutenberg #41990 · 911,868 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The Cid Campeador: A Historical Romance
Author: Antonio de Trueba
Translator: Henry Joseph Gill
Release date: February 3, 2013 [eBook #41990]
Most recently updated: October 23, 2024
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CID CAMPEADOR: A HISTORICAL ROMANCE ***
Transcriber's note: Corrected obvious punctuation errors (e.g. " for ')
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_]
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 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."
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. WHICH TREATS OF SOME LOVE AFFAIRS WHICH COMMENCED
ALMOST WHEN OTHERS END . . . 1
II. IN WHICH CERTAIN FESTIVITIES ARE DESCRIBED, WHICH
ENDED WITH A BLOW ON A FACE . . 10
III. IN WHICH THE READER WILL SEE WHAT HAPPENED
TO RODRIGO AND HIS SQUIRE BETWEEN LEON AND
VIVAR. . . . . 16
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 . 22
V. HOW RODRIGO AND HIS SQUIRE WERE RECEIVED AT
VIVAR. . . . . 29
VI. HOW FERNAN DESPAIRED OF GETTING WOMEN TO
UNDERSTAND REASON, AND HOW DIEGO LAINEZ
HOPED THAT HIS HONOUR WOULD BE AVENGED . 37
VII. HOW RODRIGO FOUGHT WITH THE COUNT OF GORMAZ . 42
VIII. HOW XIMENA DEMANDED JUSTICE FROM THE KING
AGAINST RODRIGO DIAZ . . . 49
IX. HOW A MOORISH PRINCESS WAS CONVERTED, AND HOW
A SOLITARY CEASED TO BE SUCH . . 55
X. HOW MARTIN SET OUT TO AVENGE HIS FATHER . 60
XI. HOW THE DE VIVAR FAMILY RECEIVED LETTERS FROM
THE KING, DON FERNANDO . . . 71
XII. THE COMBAT BETWEEN RODRIGO AND MARTIN GONZALEZ . 80
XIII. OF AN UNEXPECTED VISIT WHICH XIMENA RECEIVED IN
HER RETREAT . . . . 87
XIV. HOW RODRIGO AND XIMENA WERE MARRIED, AND HOW
THE DEVIL TERRIFIED THE PEOPLE OF BURGOS . 95
XV. HOW RODRIGO BECAME THE POSSESSOR OF BABIECA,
AND WHAT HAPPENED WHILST HE WAS RIDING HIM . 105
XVI. HOW RODRIGO ROUSED UP THE COUNTRY, AND DEFEATED
THE MOORS IN THE MOUNTAINS OF OCA . . 113
XVII. HOW THE ARMY OF RODRIGO MARCHED BACK TO BURGOS
WITHOUT BEING WEARIED, AS THE READER MAY BE . 122
XVIII. HOW THE VENGADOR AND RUI-VENABLOS, ALTHOUGH
ONLY BANDITS, THOUGHT AS CAVALIERS . . 129
XIX. HOW THE SINGLE PAINT THE LIFE OF THE MARRIED . 136
XX. HOW THE COUNT OF CARRION GAINED NOTHING BY
BULLYING . . . . 145
XXI. HOW ONE MOOR REMAINED, AND FIVE WENT AWAY . 152
XXII. HOW THE BAND OF THE VENGADOR ATTACKED THE
CASTLE OF CARRION . . . 161
XXIII. IN WHICH IT IS PROVED THAT COLD AND LOVE
ARE NOT INCOMPATIBLE . . . 170
XXIV. HOW TWO WOMEN DISCUSSED THE MAKING OF THEIR
FORTUNES--HOW TWO CHILDREN DIVERTED
THEMSELVES--AND HOW TWO MEN PLOTTED TREASON . 178
XXV. WHAT HAPPENED TO RODRIGO ON THE ROAD TO
COMPOSTELA . . . . 187
XXVI. HOW THE VENGADOR AND RUI-VENABLOS CHANGED
THEIR OPINION REGARDING BELLIDO . . 198
XXVII. HOW TERESA AND GUILLEN BELIEVED THAT GOD HAD
TOUCHED THE HEART OF DON SUERO . . 206
XXVIII. HOW THE COUNT OF CABRA SANG A BALLAD FOR THE
COUNT OF CARRION . . . 217
XXIX. HOW THE KING AND RODRIGO, HAVING SAID GOOD
PRAYERS, GAVE GOOD SWORD STROKES . . 226
XXX. HOW ONE GOOD MAN CAN MAKE A HUNDRED GOOD ALSO . 233
XXXI. IN WHICH THE PROVERB, "LET THE MIRACLE BE
WROUGHT, EVEN THOUGH THE DEVIL DOES IT,"
IS JUSTIFIED . . . . 245
XXXII. IN WHICH IT IS PROVED THAT HE WHO SOWS REAPS,
AND IN WHICH IT IS SEEN THAT THEY WHO GIVE
RECEIVE . . . . 257
XXXIII. IN WHICH WE CONTINUE TO PROVE THAT THE CID
WAS A CID IN EVERY WAY . . . 266
XXXIV. WHICH TREATS OF CAVALIERS FREE WITH THE HAND
AND PEASANTS FREE WITH THE TONGUE . . 276
XXXV. OF THE SORROWS WHICH THE COWARDLY DON SUERO
CAUSED HIS SISTER . . . 283
XXXVI. THE KING IS DEAD--LONG LIVE THE KING . . 293
XXXVII. HOW CERTAIN CAVALIERS WENT FOR WOOL AND CAME
BACK SHORN . . . . 302
XXXVIII. HOW THE PEASANT OF BARBADILLO WENT TO BURGOS,
WITH OTHER THINGS WHICH THE READER WILL
LEARN. . . . . 310
XXXIX. HOW THE CID AVENGED HIMSELF ON THE COUNT OF
CABRA. . . . . 321
XL. HOW THE COUNT OF CARRION WOUND THE SKEIN AND
HOW OTHERS UNWOUND IT . . . 331
XLI. FROM BURGOS TO VIVAR . . . 337
XLII. FROM VIVAR TO CARRION . . . 344
XLIII. HOW A GOOD CAVALIER WAS CHARGED WITH AN EVIL
MESSAGE . . . . 350
XLIV. THE SIEGE OF ZAMORA. . . . 357
XLV. IN WHICH IT IS PROVED THAT ONE CAN FIGHT WITHOUT
CONQUERING OR BEING CONQUERED . . 365
XLVI. THE OATH IN SANTA GADEA . . . 372
XLVII. IN WHICH THIS BOOK ENDS, PROVING THAT GOD
GIVES IN THIS WORLD, BOTH TO THE GOOD AND
TO THE BAD, A SAMPLE OF THE CLOTH WHICH
THEY SHALL WEAR IN THE OTHER WORLD . . 379
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 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, 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 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 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 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 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 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, 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.
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 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 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 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 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 allaying 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.
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 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 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, 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.
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 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 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 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 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 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
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 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."
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, 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 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, 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 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 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 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, 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.
"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."
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 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!"
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 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. 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.
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. 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?"
"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.
"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, 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, 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.
[1] Strong, lusty.
At that moment a cry of agony was heard from the mansion of the count, a
cry which the clashings of the steels, increasing 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.
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 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 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 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 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 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 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.
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."
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 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 perceived 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 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. 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?"
"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, 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?"
[1] A fox.
"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 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,[1] 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.
[1] Saviours, deliverers.
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."
"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."
"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 Salvadores, 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 Vengador,[1] 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."
[1] Avenger.
"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 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. 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.
"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, 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. 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 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, 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 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 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 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."
"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 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 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
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 sp
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