HOW TWO WOMEN DISCUSSED THE MAKING OF THEIR FORTUNES—HOW TWO CHILDREN DIVERTED THEMSELVES—AND HOW TWO MEN PLOTTED TREASON
HOW TWO WOMEN DISCUSSED THE MAKING OF THEIR FORTUNES—HOW TWO CHILDREN DIVERTED THEMSELVES—AND HOW TWO MEN PLOTTED TREASON
It would be difficult to describe the feelings of Don Suero, and his rage, when he learned, on entering the castle with reinforcements, which he considered quite sufficient to destroy the bandits,—as he believed that but few were left alive after the falling of the arched roof,—that they had fled, carrying Teresa away with them. When he received this news regarding his sister, he at once thought of Sancha, and anxiously asked what had become of her. His retainers were not able to give him this information, as the confusion and terror, which reigned in the castle when the bandits abandoned it, had not permitted them to see whether they had carried off any others with the Infanta. He ran at once, filled with fear and uneasiness, to the chamber which Sancha occupied in the lower floor of the castle. The door was locked. Don Suero threw himself violently against it, and as it did not yield, he cried out—
"Sancha, Sancha! open the door; the bandits have fled."
Don Suero heard bolts drawn and articles of furniture pulled away, which evidently had been placed there to strengthen the door. It was then partially opened. Sancha stood there,trembling, and pale as a corpse. The count uttered a cry of joy on seeing her, and the girl threw herself into his arms, murmuring with difficulty—
"O my lord, can I believe my eyes? Is it indeed true that your life has not been taken by the daggers of the robbers; that a life more precious to me than my own has been preserved for me? During the fierce combat which has just taken place, I put my ear to the keyhole to try to hear your voice. I heard it at first, but then it ceased. I believed you were dead, and I searched for a knife or some other weapon with which to pierce my heart and breathe my last at the same time as you; but I could find nothing; I had no means of ending my life. The cries of 'Fire! the castle is on fire!' came at that moment to my ears, and I felt quite sure that the Castle of Carrion was about being reduced to ashes. I then bolted this door and heaped up the furniture against it, in order that no one could enter to save me from the flames, so that my ashes might be mingled with yours."
Sancha had in reality fastened and barricaded her door in order to protect herself against the fury of the bandits, and terror had changed her appearance; but she had learned to take advantage of all the different chances of life, and as an excellent opportunity presented itself of adorning herself with a fresh claim to the love of Don Suero, she profited by it. She felt fully persuaded that the count loved her, and as, from the first day she entered the Castle of Carrion, she had had numerous opportunities of studying lovers' ways, she knew that they are credulous in proportion to the love that dominates and blinds them.
"The count," she had said to herself, "will believe me madly in love with him, if I let him see that, without him, I look upon life as of no value."
And Sancha had not deceived herself, for Don Suero interrupted her, clasping her to his breast, and exclaiming in passionate accents—
"Sancha! my own Sancha! How stupid I have often been, doubting of your love! I will be your slave as long as I live, and if death should snatch you from my side—then Sancha, I shall cease to live also."
The girl abandoned the respectful tone and manners with which she had received the count, hanging from his neck and making use of her most winning caresses.
"O my love, my sweet charmer, my deity, my all! Shoulda day come when you would thrust me from your arms, cast me from your heart,—then plunge your dagger in my breast, and my death will not be so full of anguish."
"Throw you from my arms? Cast you from my heart? Never, Sancha, never! Bonds unite us which not even death can break."
"Ah!" exclaimed the young woman in a sad tone of voice, and as if suddenly all strength had left the arms which had clasped the neck of Don Suero, she let them fall down, as if she were overcome with fear. "The bonds of love unite us, it is true, and they are the only ones which establish the union between man and woman in private life; but can one always live shut up in a castle, or in a miserable cabin? What men and women are there who do not sometimes appear in public? To the eyes of the vulgar it is only permitted to them to present themselves in it with one name—with that of husband and wife. There will be tournaments and other festivals to which you must go; you will have to be present at the Court and assist at its entertainments. Will you have me then at your side, and will I be able to satisfy that desire, that imperious necessity, of hearing constantly your voice, and of warming myself in the fire of your eyes?"
Don Suero was fascinated by his love and by the words of that cunning and ambitious peasant girl; not so much, however, as to suddenly abandon his aristocratic feelings and his pride of birth. For Don Suero, although one of the vilest of men, believed himself to be one of the noblest cavaliers of Spain, not considering that nobility of birth is valueless when nobleness of heart is absent. Who was Sancha, that the Count of Carrion could bestow his hand on her? The count asked himself that question before replying to that of Sancha, and thus, doubtless, he answered it: "She is an obscure peasant girl; she is the daughter of a labourer, who has been well cudgelled more than once by not only grandees like me, but by miserable, beggarly hidalgos; she is the pupil of Mari-Perez; she is a woman whom I love only for her beauty." Yes, in that way the count must have answered himself, for he replied to Sancha, with marked disdain—
"You hold the love of the noble Count of Carrion of so little value that you ambition still more? Do you not consider yourself sufficiently honoured and happy with him as you are? Sancha, if you desire that my love should not change into hatred, if you desire to be the mistress of my riches and ofmy heart, if you desire, as you say, never to leave my side, be content to remain as you now are."
"My ambition is satisfied with being as I am," answered the girl; and she added, again throwing her arms round the neck of the count, "Pardon me, my sweet love, for my affection caused me to forget for the moment my humble extraction and the honour which I owe to you. I asked of public opinion what bonds were those which guaranteed to a woman the fidelity of a man, and I was told that they were those of marriage. My mind was confused by the joy of seeing you uninjured at my side, and I was guided by the views of ordinary people."
The count was calmed down by this apology. Sancha had learned much at the side of Mari-Perez, and felt that she could not then persist in urging her ambitious longings. The first step had been taken; there was time enough to continue the journey, and she would await an opportune time to do so. Cunning and perseverance were necessary, for she was playing for a very valuable stake—that of becoming Countess of Carrion.
The next day an old woman in ragged garments approached the castle. Her face was bandaged, as if it were wounded, and she leaned on a staff, asking charity from the passers-by. "That old woman," narrates the "Chronicle," "stopped under the window of the girl's room, and, weeping bitterly, asked for alms in the names of God and of the Holy Virgin; and when the girl heard her she went to the window, and they spoke for some time in secret." We, however, are more fully informed than the writer of these lines, and know what they were talking about.
The girl, indeed, went to the window, as soon as she heard the voice of the old woman, and said to her in a low voice—
"The count is mad in love with me."
"That is all right, my daughter," replied the old woman joyfully; "if he loves you, and if you profit by my lessons, we shall succeed in what we desire, and shall not have to live by amusing hidalgos, who must be flattered and made much of for their good looks. O my daughter, I was very uneasy respecting what took place last night in the castle, until I was informed in the town that the bandits only carried off the Infanta."
"Go away, mother Mari-Perez, for if the count shouldrecognise you and see you speaking to me, we might, perchance, lose all we gained up to the present."
"I will do so, daughter," said Mari-Perez, for we now know that it was she. "Please God, when I see you again you will be the wife of Don Suero."
"I hope so, mother."
And the old woman walked off from the castle, commending to God and all the saints the lady, from whom people thought she had received bounteous alms.
Let us now return to Don Suero. The reader can calculate how enamoured he was of Sancha, having seen him occupied with her for some minutes, just at a time that was the least suitable for love affairs. It is not easy to guess how long he would have remained by the side of the peasant girl, if his nephews, Diego and Fernando, had not arrived on the scene.
The two boys were looking for him in the vicinity of Sancha's chamber, calling out his name in loud voices. Don Suero heard them, and went out at once to meet them.
"O uncle," cried out Diego, on seeing him, "what a lot of dead men there are down below and in the passages! If you only knew how afraid we were when we heard the awful uproar throughout the castle! Fernando and I were in bed, and when some men came into our room we pretended to be asleep. Tell us, is it true that they have taken off our aunt?"
"Yes, my children," answered Don Suero, as he liked the boys very much, chiefly because he had noticed their evil dispositions.
"I am glad of it," said Fernando, "for she was always scolding us because we did not say our prayers, and because we stuck pins in the dogs and cats, and cut off the hens' feet, to see how they would walk lame."
Don Suero almost repented of his work, that is to say, of the bad education which he had given to his nephews, when he heard them speak in such a way of his sister, for he loved Teresa, although his affection was of that barbarous and tyrannical nature which tortures while it caresses.
"Be silent, and do not speak badly of your aunt," said the count; "go back to your beds."
"We want to see first the dead and the wounded men," replied Diego. "If you were only to see all the blood that is coming from their wounds, and the gestures they are making."
"And I want to see them too," said Fernando.
Don Suero did not hear these cruel words of the children, for he had hurriedly walked off towards the corridors where the fight had been the hottest.
His vassals, the peasants who had come with him, were busy in aiding the wounded of both sides.
"God's anger! what are you doing, fellows?" exclaimed the count, seeing that his vassals were attending to the wounded bandits. "Kill all those that belonged to that cursed band; let that be your first care."
"My lord, do you know what you order?" was said to him from all sides. "The Vengador has sent to tell us that the Infanta Doña Teresa is held as a hostage for the lives and liberty of all those of his band who are here, and that Guillen, who would not leave your sister, will also answer for them with his life."
"Oh!" exclaimed Don Suero, almost howling with rage, and stamping on the ground, "why does not the ground open and swallow up the castle and all in it? The bandits shall die, even though my sister dies also! My sister—poor Teresa! No, no, care for them and bind their wounds, let none of them die, for those ruffians—may God confound them!—would kill my sister without pity."
The count then took precautions for the proper guarding of the entrances into the castle, and sent off his vassals, except a few whom he retained to keep watch on the ramparts with the few crossbow-men who were still alive and uninjured after the fight.
When the townspeople left the castle, Bellido Dolfos entered it, and proceeded to the apartment of the count, who was preparing to take some rest. He was covered with blood, which was dropping from a wound in the front part of his head; his face was pallid and disfigured, his voice was feeble, and his legs bent under him at every step.
Bellido considered that he had a just right to treat Don Suero with familiarity, considering the services he had rendered him, and the pitiful condition in which he now was on account of those services; he therefore entered the chamber without any previous intimation, and before he was perceived he threw himself down on an arm-chair. It creaked with the weight of Bellido, and Don Suero then turned round, and seeing a wounded man whom he did not recognise, doubtless by reason of the blood which covered his countenance, he stepped backwards and exclaimed—
"May Lucifer confound anyone who dares to enter my chamber! Get out of this at once, fellow, whether you belong to my men, or to the band of the accursed Vengador! It was enough for me to give orders that the wounded should be cared for, without having to attend to them myself."
"Don't you know me, count?" said Bellido in a weak voice. "Don't you recognise your faithful servant, Bellido Dolfos?"
"Bellido!" exclaimed Don Suero, approaching the traitor quickly. "You are wounded, you are losing your blood. How did you get into such a state, tell me,—but no, it is necessary first to staunch your wounds."
The count summoned his domestics, and at once sent for one of the townsmen who practised the art of surgery, and who then happened to be in the castle, lending his aid to the wounded. A moment afterwards he arrived and bound up the wounds.
Bellido, whose wounds were not dangerous, according to the opinion of him who had attended to them, felt himself much relieved, and he and the count remained alone in the room.
"I was very uneasy regarding you, as I knew nothing as to what happened to you," said Don Suero. "I feared that some misfortune had come upon you."
"What troubles me most," replied Bellido, "is that the Vengador and Rui-Venablos have escaped from the trap we set for them, and even got away, carrying prisoners with them."
"Now, leaving that for the present, tell me how you received those wounds, and where you were from the time the attack commenced until you came here."
"I shall tell you all in a few words, for my head is not in a condition for much talking. I swear to you that I will go out of my mind altogether, or else exterminate the Vengador and his band. However, learn now how I received this cursed wound. The entire band entered by the postern, and I remained outside, having taken advantage of the darkness, of the tumult, and of the bushes which surround that part of the castle. When all were within, I approached the door, shut it, and fastened it as well as I could, taking advantage of the nails with large protruding heads, which are on its exterior, for the purpose of resisting blows from outside. When the arch began to bulge down just before falling, many of the bandits made a rush to the door, trying to escape through it; I did my utmost to keep it shut, using all my strength, but, notwithstanding, the bandits pushed it forward against me; suddenly the archfell in, and doubtless the block of stone, which had occasioned its fall, rolled towards the postern, and, striking violently against it, dashed it outwards, and I received such a blow on my head that I was thrown several feet away on the ground, deprived of my senses; and know not how the nails did not split my head open. When I regained consciousness, I found myself covered with blood and in very great pain; I tried to rise, but I fell again on the ground, and remained there for a long time, until, making a fresh effort, I was able to come here, having heard the bandits depart, and the townsmen return to their homes, talking together as they went."
"You shall be well rewarded for all you have suffered in serving me," said Don Suero, holding out his hand to Bellido. "I promised you three hundred gold marks if the Vengador and his band were destroyed, and I shall pay you the full amount. If they were not all killed by the falling of the arched roof, it was my fault, and not yours. But, as you know more of the constitution of the band than I do, think you that the Vengador will be able to get together again a band such as that which he has now lost?"
"I swear to you that he will not be able to do so, nor even keep with him the men that he now has," answered Bellido, in so confident a tone of voice that the count was agreeably surprised.
"And who will conquer him, when the brotherhood of the Salvadores, in whom all the grandees of the country have such confidence, has not succeeded, and probably will never succeed, in suppressing the bandits?"
"I alone."
"You?"
"Yes. Do you think that Bellido Dolfos will be discouraged because he stumbles at the beginning of a journey? Do you believe that it is the gold from your coffers that urges him to make short work of the Vengador and his band? If you so think, and so believe, you know me but little, count. In souls like mine there is no place for discouragement, nor for the forgetting of insults. The Vengador and Rui-Venablos dared to call me traitor and to point their daggers at my breast. I would lose a hundred lives rather than relinquish the chastisement of such audacity."
"You are wounded and weak from loss of blood. It will be some time before you can attack the Vengador; meanwhile, he will have time to reorganise his band."
"The wound which I have received will favour my projects."
"I do not understand you, Bellido."
"It is easy to understand me, my lord count. As soon as I can travel, which will be in a few days, I shall set out to rejoin the Vengador. The bandits will believe that I received the wound when the arch fell in, and I will tell them that I had a miraculous escape. I will relate to them a long story of the sufferings which I went through before I could get back to them, and if formerly they simply looked on me as a member of the band, they will in the future not alone consider me as such, but also as one who became a victim through my devotion to it, and through the cruelty of the Count of Carrion. At this moment I cannot tell you exactly to what plans I must resort in order to win the full confidence of the Vengador and his men, because my head is not capable of thinking them out, but you shall know them soon, and your desires and mine shall be fulfilled."
"Bellido, you are my best friend," said the count, again extending his hand to the traitor. "All the gold in the world would not be too much to reward your skill and the services which you are rendering me."
He then opened a strong chest and took money from it, which he handed to Bellido, saying—
"Here are the three hundred marks, which you have so well earned."
The eyes of Bellido shone as brightly as the gold which the count had placed in his hand.
"Look there," added Don Suero, pointing to the interior of the chest, which certainly contained a treasure; "see how much gold I have, wherewith to reward your services, should we succeed in exterminating the bandits."
The eyes of Bellido shone like burning coals, and seemed as if they wished to attract the gold, which they devoured, as the magnet attracts iron.
"You will return to the camp of the bandits," said Don Suero, "as soon as you are able, and—count on my gratitude. My sister is there, and I fear that they will take base advantage of her weakness. Watch over her, Bellido, for the noble family of the lords of Carrion must not have a fresh crime committed by the band of the Vengador to lament over."
"Trust in me," replied Bellido. "Permit me now to retire and seek some repose amid the wounded bandits, so that I may be still thought one of them, and then watchthem, should you intend to set them free to rejoin their companions when they are strong enough to do so."
"Such is my intention," said Don Suero, "and the sooner the better, for the Vengador will not give freedom to my sister until every man of his who is alive returns to him."
"You will often hear me protest against your bad treatment of the wounded, and even threaten you with the vengeance of the band. Pretend that what I do angers you, but bear with me, for all will turn out to your advantage."
"I shall do as you desire, Bellido."
Don Suero and Bellido Dolfos then separated, both content; the former with fresh hopes of destroying the bandits, and the latter confident of revenging himself and, at the same time, of making the count more and more his debtor.
WHAT HAPPENED TO RODRIGO ON THE ROAD TO COMPOSTELA
WHAT HAPPENED TO RODRIGO ON THE ROAD TO COMPOSTELA
There could be seen in the palace of the lords of Vivar, at Burgos, great commotion amongst knights, squires, and pages, as if preparations were being made for a journey which was to immediately commence. At the gate of the palace stood several horses fully caparisoned, the number of which was increasing every moment, according as fresh cavaliers arrived, dismounted, and proceeded into the apartments occupied by the noble family. Amongst the squires, who held the horses by their bridles, were Fernan and Alvar, who was trying to keep Babieca quiet, as his prancing and neighing were throwing the other horses into confusion. That noble animal seemed quite excited by the preparations for a campaign which were going on around him. He was no longer the poor-looking hack which Rodrigo had selected in the stables of Don Peyre, and which excited the laughter of the passers-by. His body had filled up, his coat had changed and acquired gloss, he carried his head well and bravely, and his entire appearance and movements were noble and free.
"By the soul of Beelzebub," Fernan was saying, "thisBabieca thinks that he will be soon in close quarters with the Moors, and he can't contain his delight. My lord and master is fortunate in everything. If the son of my mother had a horse like that, he would not exchange it for the steed of a king. And," he added, passing his hand over the sides of the intelligent animal, "my good Babieca, what you eat puts a shine on you. If you were mine it is not oats you would get, but the best bread."
Overo, which was also there, brilliantly caparisoned, approached his head to Fernan, rubbing it against him, as if jealous of the praises which were being lavished on Babieca. The squire turned towards him, stroking him also with his hand, and said—
"Hola, Overo! are you jealous, my son? If you were as brave as Babieca, I would caress and reward you in fine style. But do not let my praises of Babieca trouble you, for your well-filled sides witness that I treat you well. You are not very spirited, indeed; but everyone is as God made him, and it is not just to punish failings which come to one from his mother. Here are our masters, who treat Alvar as the very best of their servants, and for all that he has not even as much spunk in him as you have, Overo."
"By my soul, Fernan!" cried Alvar in a passion, "you must give up comparisons of that kind."
"If you only were braver, I would compare you to Babieca."
"It is my misfortune that this knave of a squire is always making fun of me!" muttered Alvar, still very angry, but fearing to irritate Fernan. "I wonder why you show such enmity towards me for some time back," he added, turning towards him. "Have I offended you in any way, Fernan?"
"And you dare ask me such a question, when the reins of Overo answered a similar one on your ribs yesterday? I swear to you, Alvar, by the soul of Beelzebub, that I will break every bone in your body if you don't treat the Moorish boy like the son of a prince."
"I certainly do scold him sometimes, but it is because his pranks, which you laugh at and applaud, irritate me."
"I applaud them because sprightliness in children should be applauded. Ismael, or rather Gil, for our masters have given him that name, is a little turbulent; but for that very reason I believe that he will grow up to be a brave youth, and a skilful and daring warrior. I have given him only about a dozen lessons in horsemanship and the use of arms,and he is now, as God hears me, almost as expert in such things as I am myself."
The squire and the page had got thus far in their conversation when they had to interrupt it, as they heard the cavaliers coming.
Rodrigo Diaz was indeed about to undertake a long journey, and his cousins and several knights of Burgos, who considered it a great honour to be permitted to do so, were to accompany him. He was going to Compostela, to visit the shrine of the apostle St. James, for the purpose of returning thanks to him for the victory of the mountains of Oca, and also to comply with the custom, which every good knight practised at least once in his life, of prostrating himself before the holy patron of Spain, on whose aid he counted in all his warlike deeds. At the same time Rodrigo desired to pay a visit to the king, Don Fernando, who at that time was personally superintending the reconstruction of Zamora, from whence he had sent him letters, congratulating him on the victory of Oca, and expressing an earnest desire to see him. Zamora the Beautiful, as our romance-writers call it, had been destroyed by the Moors in the time of Don Bermudo III., the last King of Leon, whom Don Fernando had defeated in a battle fought on the banks of the river Carrion, in which Don Bermudo lost his life; after this the King of Castile had joined the two crowns. Don Fernando had the intention of leaving it to his daughter Urraca as a legacy, and for that reason he was assisting in person at its reconstruction, endeavouring with much trouble to make the jewel, which he was preparing for his daughter, worthy of her who was to be the possessor of it.
Rodrigo Diaz, with the cavaliers, squires, and pages of his escort, mounted their steeds at the gate of the palace, and waving adieu to those who came to the windows to bid them farewell, they quitted Burgos and took the road to Zamora, all in excellent spirits, although Rodrigo felt that he was almost leaving his soul behind when he parted from Ximena and his parents. Fernan also felt rather sad on leaving Mayor, whom he had sworn would henceforth be his only love, even if there were wars, in which so many men should be killed, that there would be fully four women left for each of those who survived.
The name of Rodrigo Diaz resounded through all parts of the country; the son of the grandee of Vivar was an object of love and admiration to both Castilians and Leonese, for hisbrave deeds had reached the ears of all. For this reason, wherever he passed, the people crowded out to welcome him; and in the plains, where he halted to spend the night, there was warm rivalry as to who should have the honour of entertaining him in his house. This was naturally very pleasing to Rodrigo, but, in order to give offence to none, he arranged that he, and those who accompanied, should lodge in the public hostelries which were not wanting on that route.
The night was somewhat advanced when they came near to Medina de Riosico; it had rained so heavily during the day that the roads were almost impassable; it was, moreover, very cold, and the darkness was complete. Our cavaliers were crossing an extensive morass, when they thought they heard very doleful moans issuing from a thicket, which lay at the side of the road, and when they stopped their horses, in order to hear better, a weak voice became audible, which said—
"Help me, travellers, whoever you are; if not, I shall die in this thicket! Alas! I have lost my sight, and I cannot save myself with my feet and hands."
"Be not uneasy," replied Rodrigo in a loud voice; "you shall be succoured without delay." He then continued, addressing his companions: "It must be some unfortunate mendicant who has lost his way in the darkness and amongst the thick bushes which grow hereabout. Let us seek him out and bring him with us to Medina, which is near here, and where we are to halt for the night."
He then guided Babieca towards the spot from whence the groans proceeded, but the ground was so cut up, and the thicket so dense, that the horses were scarcely able to advance a dozen paces. Rodrigo therefore dismounted, and, giving the reins of Babieca to Fernan, advanced so rapidly into the thicket, that none of his companions were able to follow him. Guided by the voice of him who had lost his way, he came to where he was, and found an old man stretched on the ground, covered with mud, soaked with water, and his limbs paralysed by the cold, as well as by some nervous affection he had in them. He raised him from the ground, filled with compassion, and endeavoured to encourage and console him. When he asked him how he got into such a place, the old man replied—
"I lost my way in the evening, and tried for a long time to find it again, but without success, for the more I moved about in this thicket, the more did I become perplexed, until, mystrength having become exhausted, and my body benumbed with cold, I fell in the place where you found me. In vain did I call out for aid to those who passed by, but they either did not hear me, or did not want to give themselves trouble. I had then resigned myself to die, and become the food of the wild animals which frequent this thicket, when I heard you, and summoned up sufficient strength to call out. God will protect him who raised up the weak, and guided the blind!"
Rodrigo endeavoured to get the unfortunate man to walk out of the morass, but he was soon convinced that he could not move a step, and then, finding more strength in his kindly heart than even in his shoulders, he took him up on them, and, although he met with many obstacles, got back to the road, which he had left, in a very short time. The old man wept with gratitude and joy. Fernan wished to put him on his horse, and walk by its side to Medina, for he did not consider Overo strong enough to carry a double burden, especially as the road was so very bad. Rodrigo, however, did not wish to share the credit of saving the unfortunate old man.
"Babieca," he said, "is well able to carry two men, not alone to Medina, but even the entire distance to Zamora. You will see how easily and bravely he will continue his journey."
Thus speaking, Rodrigo mounted Babieca, and, with the assistance of Fernan, got up the old man on the saddle behind him. They all proceeded then towards Medina, where they arrived half an hour afterwards.
The table was ready laid, and knights and squires prepared for their supper. Rodrigo made the old man sit down beside him, to eat with them, notwithstanding that this determination displeased the other cavaliers, whom the dirt and the wounds of the mendicant disgusted. The supper, however, began, and as the hands of the old man were palsied, he let fall the food when carrying it to his mouth, which only moved Rodrigo to compassion for him. The other cavaliers could scarcely eat their meal on account of the repugnance which the old man caused them, and at last arose from the table, saying that they could not bear the sight any longer. Rodrigo rebuked them sharply, and obliged the mendicant to remain at the table in order to finish his supper, although he was desirous of leaving the room, so as not to trouble the companions of his generous benefactor.
When the supper was ended; when the blind man had somewhat recovered his strength; when the heat of the hearthhad taken the numbness from his limbs; when his heart, in fine, had been consoled by the kindness of Rodrigo, the young cavalier began to talk familiarly to that unfortunate man, and by degrees the other cavaliers, who had gone to sup in another apartment, returned, desirous of hearing the stories which doubtless the blind man would relate.
"Ah, sir knight," he then said to Rodrigo, "how much would I rejoice to be able to repay your kindness! But what remains to me in this world? Nothing but a sad heart to express its gratitude,—and this instrument, with which I earn a poor subsistence," he added, pointing to his lute.
One of the nephews of Rodrigo—the youngest and most cheerful of them—said, on hearing these words—
"If it will be pleasing to you, my uncle and lord, and to himself also, this old man can amuse us for a while by singing to the accompaniment of his lute some of the ballads which he doubtless knows."
"I shall do so with very great pleasure," answered the blind man.
And as he felt that Rodrigo was not opposed to the proposal, he took up his lute and began to touch its strings with considerable skill and lightness, notwithstanding the palsy with which he was afflicted. He then suddenly stopped and said—
"Listen, cavaliers and squires, listen to the true story of a peasant from whom a traitor count stole his daughter, in order to dishonour her, and whose eyes he put out in order that he might not be able to avenge himself."
He then sang, with the accompaniment of his lute—
"Cavaliers of Leon,Castilian cavaliers!Haughty with the strong,But gentle with the weak!Through Leon and Castilian lands,Wanders a poor old man,A count's foul crimes denouncing—For a vile wretch is that count.He cannot take revenge himself,For age his body bends,And his eyes now only serveTo weep o'er his sad fate.Come to the aid of that old man,In his most wretched plight,—Cavaliers of Leon,Castilian cavaliers!That vile count stole his daughter,—She was fair as a May rose,—And put him in a prison dark,Where the tyrant then did blindThat sad, ill-fated, wretched man.Who will dry his constant tears?Who will give him back his child?Cavaliers, if such ye are,Punish that accursed count,—Him who bears off maidens fair,Him who vilely blinds old men.Such is the duty of the good,Such is the mission of the greatCavaliers of Leon,Castilian cavaliers!"
"Cavaliers of Leon,Castilian cavaliers!Haughty with the strong,But gentle with the weak!Through Leon and Castilian lands,Wanders a poor old man,A count's foul crimes denouncing—For a vile wretch is that count.He cannot take revenge himself,For age his body bends,And his eyes now only serveTo weep o'er his sad fate.Come to the aid of that old man,In his most wretched plight,—Cavaliers of Leon,Castilian cavaliers!That vile count stole his daughter,—She was fair as a May rose,—And put him in a prison dark,Where the tyrant then did blindThat sad, ill-fated, wretched man.Who will dry his constant tears?Who will give him back his child?Cavaliers, if such ye are,Punish that accursed count,—Him who bears off maidens fair,Him who vilely blinds old men.Such is the duty of the good,Such is the mission of the greatCavaliers of Leon,Castilian cavaliers!"
The old man ceased his song, for he became almost suffocated with sobs and tears. Those who had been listening to him were also much moved, and their indignation was so great against the count, who had been alluded to, although they did not know who he was, that if he appeared in their presence at that moment, they would have rushed at him with their naked swords.
"Do you tell us that your story is true?" asked Rodrigo.
"Yes, it is true, sir knight, unfortunately for me," he replied.
"Unfortunately for you? As I hope to be saved," exclaimed Rodrigo, remembering the adventure which Beatrice had related to him and to Fernan, "that count is the Count of Carrion, and you are the old man whose daughter was stolen!"
"You are quite right, sir knight."
"I vow by Judas Iscariot, that I would willingly give ten years of my life to be able to put ten inches of my sword into the breast of that felon count!" exclaimed Fernan, giving vent to his indignation, which he could not restrain, although he knew it was contrary to his duty to interrupt the conversation of his master.
"And you know nothing of your daughter?" asked Rodrigo of the blind man.
"I do not know, sir knight, what has become of her, but I suppose the count keeps her shut up in his castle, for, if not, she would have endeavoured to find her unfortunate father, whom she loved so much, and loves still if she is alive."
The poor old man, as we see, was far from suspecting how different his daughter had become since the count had deprived her of her robe of innocence.
"And have you found no cavalier to take upon himself the carrying out of the revenge which you desire?" asked Rodrigo.
"I have found," replied the old man, "a soldier, as brave as he is kind-hearted; but up to the present he has not been able to do anything."
"Then we will assist him in his task, and, as God lives, it shall not avail the count to shut himself up in his castle and lend a deaf ear to every challenge, as is his custom," said Rodrigo.
"Yes, yes!" exclaimed all present; "we must punish that accursed count, who is a disgrace to the nobility of Leon and Castile."
"Oh," cried the unfortunate old man, filled with joy, "God will assist you in your noble enterprise. My journey to Medina has not been in vain, for if I have not met the valiant and noble cavalier whom I was in search of, I have found another, not less kind-hearted and compassionate."
"Who was the cavalier whom you were seeking?" asked Rodrigo.
"Don Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar, he who was expected to lodge here to-night," he replied.
"Then you find here him you were in search of."
"My God!" exclaimed the old man, scarcely able to speak, such was his surprise, kissing the hand which Rodrigo held out to him. "Can it be possible that he who carried me on his shoulders, and seated me at his table, is Don Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar, the conqueror in the mountains of Oca, the son of Diego Lainez, the descendant of the Judges of Castile, the most noble, honoured, powerful, and brave cavalier of Spain?"
"Rodrigo Diaz is he who took you on his shoulders, seated you at his table, and intends to share his bed with you," replied the son of Diego Lainez.
"Oh, my lord," cried the old man, not knowing how to express his gratitude, "your kindness to me has been too great; but to share your bed with me, a beggar, full of misery and dirt! No, no, that cannot be, my lord."
"You say that I am noble, honoured, and powerful. Who but the powerful, the honoured, and the noble should console and protect the afflicted, the sad, and the defenceless? Let us go to rest, for we all stand much in need of it, and particularly you, a feeble old man."
Rodrigo, his companions, and the blind man then retired,and in reality the former did share his bed with the mendicant. Divine rays of charity which would have adorned the noble brow of the cavalier with the aureole of the saints, if his brave deeds had not adorned it with the laurel crown of the hero; for charity modestly hides herself, whilst warlike heroism cannot do so.
It is impossible to describe the gratitude of the unhappy old man when, the following morning, he parted from the compassionate cavalier. It is impossible also to describe the inspired accents in which, shedding abundant tears, he said to Rodrigo—
"My lord, I feel confident that God has sent me to you to bring you glad tidings. You are loved by Him; you will conquer in all your battles; your honours and your prosperity will increase; you will be feared by the bad and loved by the good, and you will die happy, blessed by God and by men."
Rodrigo looked on these words as a divine prophecy. The accents in which they were pronounced made him believe that it was such.
At the rising of the sun, that bright and beautiful sun which follows a storm, Rodrigo and his companions departed from Medina de Rioseco, with the intention of reaching Zamora on that day; which they succeeded in doing.
Here, where but a short time before could be seen heaps of rubbish, between which nettles and brambles grew and reptiles hissed, where it might have been said, "Here was Zamora," using the expression applied in old times to the city of Æneas—here, we repeat, were springing up magnificent temples with high turrets, superb palaces, and strong fortifications; and bustle and animation had succeeded to the silence and solitude which had but recently reigned there.
The king, Don Fernando, was just going to dinner when he was informed that Rodrigo had arrived in the city. The joy of the wise and good monarch was very great; Don Fernando did not look upon the cavalier, whom he was about to see, as a vassal, but as the most beloved of his friends—even more than that, as one of his sons. Even the circumstance of being separated from his family, which had remained in Burgos and was so dear to him, had caused him to desire with greater eagerness the arrival of Rodrigo, for he had now passed a considerable time without being able to expand his heart in the calm pleasures of family life. He therefore longed to have at his side one, with whom he could feel himself joinedby closer and softer bonds than those which usually unite the lord to his vassal, in order that he might satisfy the most imperious necessity of his soul, that of living in the bosom of friendship. He had scarcely learned that Rodrigo had crossed the threshold of the palace when he went to meet him, like a father who goes out to meet a son after a long absence from the paternal dwelling. The brave and noble cavalier was about to prostrate himself at the feet of the king, like a good vassal as he was, but Don Fernando did not allow him to do so, for he opened his arms and pressed him in them, with an effusion of affection and esteem almost paternal, saying to him, "You are very welcome, Rodrigo, glory of Castile and strongest pillar of my throne."
"Oh, sire," exclaimed Rodrigo, much moved by so flattering a reception, "the strongest pillars of your throne are your own wisdom, your goodness, and the affection which your subjects feel for you. I am one of them, and I would not change my condition for yours, for the honours you confer on me are of more value in my eyes than a throne."
"I love you, Rodrigo, as the best of my vassals, and I repay but poorly all your services to me. I do not alone admire and respect you as the descendant of Lain Calvo, as the son of Diego Lainez, as the valiant youth who knew how to avenge the insult inflicted on his honour, as he who conquered the bravest of the Aragonian knights, and finally, as the hero who gained one of the most glorious triumphs over the Moorish power; but as the magnanimous and generous cavalier who restored to freedom Abengalvon and his companions in misfortune. How great loyalty must not the King of Castile and Leon expect from him who, having conquered them, respected even the enemies of his God and his country, because they bore the name of king."
All the cavaliers who were with Don Fernando were also much rejoiced at the arrival of Rodrigo, and felicitated him on his victory at Oca. Rodrigo was soon seated at the king's table, which honour he enjoyed during the few days he was obliged to spend in Zamora, for Don Fernando was unwilling that he should depart, and only consented at last on account of the sacred object of his journey.
The day at last arrived on which he had to resume it. Everything was ready for his departure, when a great commotion was noticed amongst the townspeople who were thronging towards the avenue which led to the royal Alcazar.The king, Rodrigo, and the courtiers went out on a balcony, and were much surprised at the strange spectacle which they saw. A large number of Moors, richly clad, were leading more than a hundred horses gorgeously caparisoned, and in addition several mules all heavily loaded.
When the Moors arrived at the gates of the Alcazar, they sent to ask Rodrigo's permission to appear in his presence. He conceded it, having obtained the assent of the king, and they entered the apartment in which the noble cavalier awaited them, seated beside the king, who thus honoured him in order that the Moslims might see in what estimation he was held.
"Cid," said to Rodrigo he who seemed to be the leader of the ambassadors, "Abengalvon, king of Molina, Mahomad, king of Huesca, Ali, king of Zaragoza, Osmin, king of Teruel, and Hamet, king of Calatayud, whom you took prisoners in the mountains of Oca, and to whom you generously restored their freedom, send you their tributes and pay you homage, as vassals who are pleased to do so. In addition, they send you, as marks of friendship and gratitude, thirty sorrel horses, thirty black horses, twenty white, and twenty dapple-grey, besides valuable ornaments and precious stones for your spouse, and rich cloths and good arms for yourself and your knights."
"You are mistaken in your errand," replied Rodrigo modestly and humbly; "you have called meCid, which in your language signifies 'a lord over vassals,' and I am not a lord where my king is, but only the least of his vassals. Here you see my king, and to him you must pay homage, and to him you must offer the tributes and the marks of friendship which Abengalvon and his friends have confided to your charge."
"Say to your masters," interrupted the king, exceedingly pleased by his humility, and addressing the Moors, "that although their lord is not a king himself, he is seated beside the King of Castile and Leon; tell them also that to him I owe a large portion of the territories which I possess, and that I consider it a greater glory to have him as my vassal than to be a king myself. As you have called him 'Cid,' it is my will that from this day he shall bear that name."
Rodrigo then received the tributes and gifts which the Moorish kings had sent to him, and wrote to each of them a letter, expressing his thanks, and promising to return their loyalty and friendship.
The ambassadors received from the hand of Rodrigo valuable presents, and departed, repeating the name of 'Cid,' which the son of Diego Lainez was henceforth to bear, and to which was soon addedCampeador,[1]which both Moors and Christians conferred on him, on account of his constant and glorious triumphs on the fields of battle.
A few hours after he had received this honourable embassy, Rodrigo left Zamora, with the friends and servants who accompanied him on his journey; all were in good spirits and desirous of arriving at Compostela, in order to fulfil the duties of Christian cavaliers before the altar of the holy apostle, and afterwards practise other duties in the districts which were frequently invaded by the Moors.