National Epics by Kate Milner Rabb

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He went forth on the good Babieca; four thousand less thirty followed him
to attack the fifty thousand Moors. The Cid's arms dripped with blood to
the elbow; the Moors he slew could not be counted. King Yucef himself he
smote three times, and only the swiftness of the horse he rode saved the
king from death. All fled who were not slain, leaving the spoil behind.
Three thousand marks of gold and silver were found there, and the other
spoil was countless. Then my Cid ordered Minaya and Pero Bermuez to take
to Alfonso the great tent of the King of Morocco, and two hundred horses.
And the king was greatly pleased, and the Infantes of Carrion, counselling
together, said, "The fame of the Cid grows greater; let us ask his
daughters in marriage." And the king gave their request to Minaya and
Bermuez, who were to bear it to the Cid.

Said my Cid, when he heard the proposal: "The Infantes of Carrion are
haughty, and have a faction in court. I have no taste for the match; but
since my king desires it, I will be silent."

When the king heard his answer, he appointed a meeting, and when he that
in a good hour was born saw his king, he fell at his feet to pay him
homage. But the king said: "Here do I pardon you, and grant you my love
from this day forth."

The next day when the king presented to the Cid the offer of the Infantes,
my Cid replied: "My daughters are not of marriageable age, but I and they
are in your hands. Give them as it pleases you." Then the king
commissioned Alvar Fanez to act for him and give the daughters of my Cid
to the Infantes.

The Cid hastened home to prepare for the wedding. The palace was
beautifully decorated with hangings of purple and samite. Rich were the
garments of the Infantes, and meek their behavior in the presence of my
Cid. The couples were wedded by the Bishop Don Jerome, and the wedding
festivities lasted for fifteen days. And for wellnigh two years the Cid
and his sons-in-law abode happily in Valencia.

One day while my Cid was lying asleep in his palace, a lion broke loose
from its cage, and all the court were sore afraid. The Cid's followers
gathered around his couch to protect him; but Ferran Gonzalez crept
beneath the couch, crying from fear, and Diego ran into the court and
threw himself across a wine-press beam, so that he soiled his mantle. The
Cid, awakened by the noise, arose, took the lion by the mane, and dragged
him to his cage, to the astonishment of all present. Then my Cid asked for
his sons-in-law, and when they were found, pale and frightened, the whole
court laughed at them until my Cid bade them cease. And the Infantes were
deeply insulted.

While they were still sulking over their injuries, King Bucar of Morocco
beleagured Valencia with fifty thousand tents. The Cid and his barons
rejoiced at the thought of battle; but the Infantes were sore afraid, for
they were cowards, and feared to be slain in battle. The Cid told them to
remain in Valencia; but stung by shame they went forth with Bermuez, who
reported that both had fleshed their swords in battle with the Moor.

Great was the slaughter of the Moors on that field. Alvar Fanez, Minaya,
and the fighting bishop came back dripping with gore, and as for my Cid,
he slew King Bucar himself, and brought home the famous sword, Tizon,
worth full a thousand marks in gold.

The Infantes, still wrathful at their humiliation, talked apart: "Let us
take our wealth and our wives and return to Carrion. Once away from the
Campeador, we will punish his daughters, so that we shall hear no more of
the affair of the lion. With the wealth we have gained from the Cid we can
now wed whom we please."

Sore was the heart of the Cid when he heard of their determination; but he
gave them rich gifts, and also the priceless swords Colada and Tizon. "I
won them in knightly fashion," said he, "and I give them to you, for ye
are my sons, since I gave you my daughters; in them ye take the core of my
heart." He ordered Feliz Munoz, his nephew, to accompany them as an
escort, and sent them by way of Molina to salute his friend, Abengalvon
the Moor.

The Moor received them in great state, and escorted them as far as the
Salon; but when he overheard the Infantes plotting to destroy him, and
seize his substance, he left them in anger. At night the Infantes pitched
their tents in an oak forest full of tall trees, among which roamed fierce
beasts. During the night they made a great show of love to their wives,
and the next morning ordered the escort to go on, saying that they would
follow alone. As soon as they were alone they stripped the daughters of
the Cid of their garments, beat them with their saddle-girths and spurs,
and left them for dead in the wild forest. "Now we are avenged for the
dishonor of the lion," said they, as they departed for Carrion. But Feliz
Munoz, who had suspected the Infantes, had gone forward but a little way,
and then crept back, so that from a thicket he perceived the sufferings of
his cousins. Straightway he went to their rescue, found them clothes, and
helped them home again.

When the Cid heard of this insult to himself and his daughters, he grasped
his beard and swore a mighty oath that the Infantes would rue the day when
they had thus offended him. All of the Cid's friends strove to comfort the
ladies Elvira and Sol, and Abengalvon the Moor made them a rich supper for
love of the Cid.

At the request of my Cid, King Alfonso summoned a Cortes at Toledo, to try
the cause of the Cid and the Infantes. Thither went the Cid, richly clad,
so that all men wondered at his rich garments, his long hair in a scarlet
and gold coif, and his uncut beard bound up with cords. He and his hundred
men wore bright hauberks under their ermines, and trenchant swords under
their mantles, for they feared treachery.

The king appointed some of his counts as judges, and announced that he
held this, the third Cortes of his reign, for the love of the Cid. Then my
Cid stood forth.

"I am not dishonored because the Infantes deserted my daughters," said the
Cid, "for the king gave them away, not I; but I demand my swords, Colada
and Tizon. When my lords of Carrion gave up my daughters they relinquished
all claims to my property."

The Infantes, well pleased that he demanded no more, returned the swords;
and when the blades were unsheathed and placed in the hands of the king,
the eyes of the court were dazzled by their brightness.

The Cid presented Tizon to his nephew and Colada to Martin Antolinez.
"Now, my king, I have another grievance. I now demand that the Infantes
restore the three thousand marks in gold and silver they carried from
Valencia. When they ceased to be my sons-in-law they ceased to own my
gold." Then the Infantes were troubled, for they had spent the money; but
the judges gave them no relief, and they were forced to pay it out of
their heritage of Carrion.

"So please your grace," said the Cid, "still another grievance, the
greatest of all, I have yet to state. I hold myself dishonored by the
Infantes. Redress by combat they must yield, for I will take no other."

The Count Garcia ridiculed the Cid's claim. "The noble lords of Carrion
are of princely birth; your daughters are not fitting mates for them."
Then, while his enemies were taunting him and the court broke into an
uproar, the Cid called on Pero Bermuez, "Dumb Peter," to speak.

When Pero spoke he made himself clear. For the first time he told how like
a craven Ferrando had demeaned himself in battle, and how he himself had
slain the Moor on whom the prince had turned his back. He also reminded
Ferrando of the affair of the lion. When Diego attempted to speak, he was
silenced by Martin Antolinez, who told of the figure he cut when he clung
to the wine-press beam in an agony of fear, on the day the lion came forth
from its cage. Then the king, commanding silence, gave them permission to
fight. Martin Antolinez engaged to meet Diego, Pero Bermuez was to combat
with Ferrando, and Muno Gustioz challenged the brawler, Assur Gonzalez. It
was agreed that the combat should be held at the end of three weeks in the
vega of Carrion.

When all had been arranged to his satisfaction, the Cid took off his coif,
and released his beard, and all the court wondered at him. Then he offered
some of his wealth to all present, and, kissing the king's hand, besought
him to take Babieca. But this the king refused to do: "Babieca is for the
like of you to keep the Moors off with. If I took him he would not have so
good a lord."

When the day for the combat arrived, the king himself went to Carrion to
see that no treachery was used, and he said to the Infantes: "Ye have need
to fight like men. If ye come out successful, ye will receive great honor.
If ye are vanquished, the fault will be on your own heads. Seek to do no
wrong; woe betide him who attempts it!"

Then the marshals placed the contestants in the lists and left them face
to face. Each with his gaze fixed on the other, they rushed together and
met midway of the lists.

At the thrust of Pero's Lance, Ferrando fell from his horse and yielded,
as he saw the dread Tizon held over him. At the same time Diego fled from
the sword of Martin Antolinez, and Muno Gustioz's lance pierced Assur
Gonzalez, who begged him to hold his hand, since the Infantes were
vanquished.

Thus the battle was won, and Don Roderick's champions gained the victory.
Great was the sorrow in the house of Carrion; but he who wrongs a noble
lady deserves such suffering.

Rejoiced were they of Valencia when the champions brought home these
tidings, and ere long, favored by Alfonso himself, the princes of Navarre
and Aragon wooed my Cid's daughters, and were married to them with the
most splendid nuptials. Now was the Cid happy, and happier still he grew
as his honor increased, until upon the feast of Pentecost he passed away.
The grace of Christ be upon him!

SELECTIONS FROM THE POEM OF THE CID.

COUNT RAYMOND AND MY CID.

After one of the victories over the Moors won by the Cid after his
banishment by King Alfonso, he despatched a messenger to the king with a
gift of thirty horses, and while awaiting his return, encamped in the
Pine-wood of Tebar and levied tribute on the surrounding country. This
information was conveyed to the Count of Barcelona, Raymond Berenger, who
prepared to march against the intruder.

Great mustering there is of Moors and Christians through the land,
A mighty host of men-at-arms he hath at his command.
Two days, three nights, they march to seek the Good One of Bivar,
To snare him where he harbors in the Pine-wood of Tebar;
And such the speed of their advance, that, cumbered with his spoils,
And unaware, my Cid wellnigh was taken in the toils.
The tidings reached my Cid as down the sierra side he went,
Then straightway to Count Raymond be a friendly message sent:
"Say to the count that he, meseems, to me no grudge doth owe:
Of him I take no spoil, with him in peace I fain would go."
"Nay," said the count, "for all his deeds he hath to make amends:
This outlaw must be made to know whose honor he offends."
With utmost speed the messenger Count Raymond's answer brought;
Then of a surety knew my Cid a battle must be fought.
"Now, cavaliers," quoth he, "make safe the booty we have won.
Look to your weapons, gentlemen; with speed your armor don.
On battle bent Count Raymond comes; a mighty host hath he
Of Moors and Christians; fight we must if hence we would go free.
Here let us fight our battle out, since fight we must perforce.
On with your harness, cavaliers, quick saddle, and to horse!
Yonder they come, the linen breeks, all down the mountain side,
For saddles they have Moorish pads, with slackened girths they ride:
Our saddles are Galician make, our leggings tough and stout:
A hundred of us gentlemen should scatter such a rout.
Before they gain the level plain, home with the lance charge we,
And then, for every blow we strike, we empty saddles three.
Count Raymond Berenger shall know with whom he has to do;
And dearly in Tebar to-day his raid on me shall rue."
In serried squadron while he speaks they form around my Cid.
Each grasps his lance, and firm and square each sits upon his steed.
Over against them down the hill they watch the Franks descend,
On to the level ground below, where plain and mountain blend.
Then gives my Cid the word to charge--with a good will they go:
Fast ply the lances; some they pierce, and some they overthrow.
And he that in a good hour was born soon hath he won the field;
And the Count Raymond Berenger he hath compelled to yield;
And reaping honor for his beard a noble prize hath made:
A thousand marks of silver worth, the great Colada blade.

Unto his quarters under guard the captive count he sent,
While his men haste to gather in their spoils in high content.
Then for my Cid Don Roderick a banquet they prepare;
But little doth Count Raymond now for feast or banquet care.
They bring him meat and drink, but he repels them with disdain.
"No morsel will I touch," said he, "for all the wealth of Spain.
Let soul and body perish now; life why should I prolong,
Conquered and captive at the hands of such an ill-breeched throng?"
"Nay," said my Cid; "take bread and wine; eat, and thou goest free;
If not, thy realms in Christendom thou never more shalt see."
"Go thou, Don Roderick," said the Count, "eat if thou wilt, but I
Have no more lust for meat and drink: I only crave to die."
Three days, while they the booty share, for all that they entreat,
The Count his purpose holds unchanged, refusing still to eat.
Then said my Cid, "I pray thee, Count, take food and trust to me;
Thyself and two knights of thy train I promise to set free."
Glad was Count Raymond in his heart when he the promise heard--
"A marvel that will be, my Cid, if thou dost keep thy word."
"Then, Count, take food, and when I see thy hunger satisfied,
My word is pledged to let thee go, thyself and two beside.
But understand, one farthing's worth I render not again
Of what has been in battle lost and won on yonder plain.
I give not back the lawful spoils I fairly win in fight;
But for mine own and vassals' wants I hold them as my right.
My followers are needy men; I cannot if I would;
For spoil from thee and others won is all our livelihood.
And such, while God's good will it is, must be our daily life,
As outcasts forced to wander, with an angry king at strife."
With lighter heart Count Raymond called for water for his hands,
And then with his two gentlemen, sent by the Cid's commands,
He blithely sat him down to meat: God! with what gust ate he!
And glad was the Campeador such heartiness to see.
Quoth he, "Until thou eat thy fill we part not, Count, to-day."
"Nor loth am I," Count Raymond said, "such bidding to obey."
So he and his two cavaliers a hearty meal they made:
It pleased my Cid to watch his hands, how lustily they played.
"Now if thou wilt," Count Raymond said, "that we are satisfied,
Bid them to lead the horses forth, that we may mount and ride.
Never since I have been a Count have I yet broken fast
With such a relish; long shall I remember this repast."
Three palfreys with caparisons of costly sort they bring,
And on the saddles robes of fur and mantles rich they fling.
Thus, with a knight on either hand, away Count Raymond rides;
While to the outposts of the camp his guests the Champion guides.
"Now speed thee, Count; ride on," quoth he, "a free Frank as thou art.
For the brave spoil thou leavest me I thank thee from my heart;
And if to win it back again perchance thou hast a mind,
Come thou and seek me when thou wilt; I am not far to find.
But if it be not to thy taste to try another day,
Still, somewhat, be it mine or thine, thou carriest away."
"Nay! go in peace for me, my Cid: no more I seek of thee;
And thou, I think, for one year's space hast won enough of me."
He spurred his steed, but, as he rode, a backward glance he bent,
Still fearing to the last my Cid his promise would repent:
A thing, the world itself to win, my Cid would not have done:
No perfidy was ever found in him, the Perfect One.
_Ormsby's Translation._

MY CID'S TRIUMPH.

In the Cortes called by the King of Spain to hear the cause of the Cid,
whose daughters had been shamefully treated and deserted by their
husbands, the Infantes of Carrion, Ferran and Diego Gonzalez, the Cid
demanded the restitution of his swords and of three thousand marks of gold
and silver he had given the Infantes. These being granted, the Cid spoke
again:--

"So please your grace! once more upon your clemency I call;
A grievance yet remains untold, the greatest grief of all.
And let the court give ear, and weigh the wrong that hath been done.
I hold myself dishonored by the lords of Carrion.
Redress by combat they must yield; none other will I take.
How now, Infantes! what excuse, what answer do ye make?
Why have ye laid my heartstrings bare? In jest or earnest, say,
Have I offended you? and I will make amends to-day.
My daughters in your hands I placed the day that forth ye went,
And rich in wealth and honors from Valencia were you sent.
Why did you carry with you brides ye loved not, treacherous curs?
Why tear their flesh in Corpes wood with saddle-girths and spurs,
And leave them to the beasts of prey? Villains throughout were ye!
What answer ye can make to this 't is for the court to see."
The Count Garcia was the first that rose to make reply.
"So please ye, gracious king, of all the kings of Spain most high;
Strange is the guise in which my Cid before you hath appeared;
To grace your summoned court he comes, with that long straggling beard;
With awe struck dumb, methinks, are some; some look as though they
feared.
The noble lords of Carrion of princely race are born;
To take the daughters of my Cid for lemans they should scorn;
Much more for brides of equal birth: in casting them aside--
We care not for his blustering talk--we hold them justified."
Upstood the Champion, stroked his beard, and grasped it in his hands.
"Thanks be to God above," he cried, "who heaven and earth commands,
A long and lordly growth it is, my pleasure and my pride;
In this my beard, Garcia, say, what find you to deride?
Its nurture since it graced my chin hath ever been my care;
No son of woman born hath dared to lay a finger there;
No son of Christian or of Moor hath ever plucked a hair.
Remember Cabra, Count! of thine the same thou canst not say:
On both thy castle and thy beard I laid my hand that day:
Nay! not a groom was there but he his handful plucked away.
Look, where my hand hath been, my lords, all ragged yet it grows!"
With noisy protest breaking in Ferran Gonzalez rose:
"Cid, let there be an end of this; your gifts you have again,
And now no pretext for dispute between us doth remain.
Princes of Carrion are we, with fitting brides we mate;
Daughters of emperors or kings, not squires of low estate:
We brook not such alliances, and yours we rightly spurned."
My Cid, Ruy Diaz, at the word, quick to Bermuez turned.
"Now is the time, Dumb Peter, speak, O man that sittest mute!
My daughters' and thy cousins' name and fame are in dispute;
To me they speak, to thee they look to answer every word.
If I am left to answer now, thou canst not draw thy sword."
Tongue-tied Bermuez stood, awhile he strove for words in vain,
But, look you, when he once began he made his meaning plain.
"Cid, first I have a word for you: you always are the same,
In Cortes ever jibing me, 'Dumb Peter' is the name:
It never was a gift of mine, and that long since you knew;
But have you found me fail in aught that fell to me to do?
You lie, Ferrando; lie in all you say upon that score.
The honor was to you, not him, the Cid Campeador;
For I know something of your worth, and somewhat I can tell.
That day beneath Valencia wall--you recollect it well--
You prayed the Cid to place you in the forefront of the fray;
You spied a Moor, and valiantly you went that Moor to slay;
And then you turned and fled--for his approach, you would not stay.
Right soon he would have taught you 't was a sorry game to play,
Had I not been in battle there to take your place that day.
I slew him at the first onfall; I gave his steed to you;
To no man have I told the tale from that hour hitherto.
Before the Cid and all his men you got yourself a name,
How you in single combat slew a Moor--a deed of fame;
And all believed in your exploit; they wist not of your shame.
You are a craven at the core; tall, handsome, as you stand:
How dare you talk as now you talk, you tongue without a hand?
Again, Ferrando, call to mind--another tale for you--
That matter of the lion; it was at Valencia too.
My Cid lay sleeping when you saw the unchained lion near;
What did you do, Ferrando, then, in your agony of fear?
Low did you crouch behind the couch whereon the Champion lay:
You did, Ferrando, and by that we rate your worth to-day.
We gathered round to guard our lord, Valencia's conqueror.
He rose, and to the lion went, the brave Campeador;
The lion fawned before his feet and let him grasp its mane;
He thrust it back into its cage; he turned to us again:
His trusty vassals to a man he saw around him there;
Where were his sons-in-law? he asked, and none could tell him where.
Now take thou my defiance as a traitor, trothless knight:
Upon this plea before our King Alfonso will I fight;
The daughters of my lord are wronged, their wrong is mine to right.
That ye those ladies did desert, the baser are ye then;
For what are they?--weak women; and what are ye?--strong men.
On every count I deem their cause to be the holier,
And I will make thee own it when we meet in battle here.
Traitor thou shalt confess thyself, so help me God on high,
And all that I have said to-day my sword shall verify."

Thus far these two. Diego rose, and spoke as ye shall hear:
"Counts by our birth are we, of stain our lineage is clear.
In this alliance with my Cid there was no parity.
If we his daughters cast aside, no cause for shame we see.
And little need we care if they in mourning pass their lives,
Enduring the reproach that clings to scorned rejected wives.
In leaving them we but upheld our honor and our right,
And ready to the death am I, maintaining this, to fight."
Here Martin Antolinez sprang upon his feet: "False hound!
Will you not silent keep that mouth where truth was never found?
For you to boast! the lion scare have you forgotten too?
How through the open door you rushed, across the court-yard flew;
How sprawling in your terror on the wine-press beam you lay?
Ay! never more, I trow, you wore the mantle of that day.
There is no choice; the issue now the sword alone can try;
The daughters of my Cid ye spurned; that must ye justify.
On every count I here declare their cause the cause of right,
And thou shall own the treachery the day we join in fight."
He ceased, and striding up the hall Assur Gonzalez passed;
His cheek was flushed with wine, for he had stayed to break his fast;
Ungirt his robe, and trailing low his ermine mantle hung;
Rude was his bearing to the court, and reckless was his tongue.
"What a to-do is here, my lords! was the like ever seen?
What talk is this about my Cid--him of Bivar, I mean?
To Riodouirna let him go to take his millers' rent,
And keep his mills agoing there, as once he was content.
He, forsooth, mate his daughters with the Counts of Carrion!"
Up started Muno Gustioz: "False, foul-mouthed knave, have done!
Thou glutton, wont to break thy fast without a thought of prayer,
Whose heart is plotting mischief when thy lips are speaking fair;
Whose plighted word to friend or lord hath ever proved a lie;
False always to thy fellow-man, falser to God on high.
No share in thy good will I seek; one only boon I pray,
The chance to make thee own thyself the villain that I say."
Then spoke the king: "Enough of words: ye have my leave to fight,
The challenged and the challengers; and God defend the right."

* * * * *

The marshals leave them face to face and from the lists are gone;
Here stand the champions of my Cid, there those of Carrion;
Each with his gaze intent and fixed upon his chosen foe,
Their bucklers braced before their breasts, their lances pointing low,
Their heads bent down, as each man leans above his saddle-bow.
Then with one impulse every spur is in the charger's side,
And earth itself is felt to shake beneath their furious stride;
Till, midway meeting, three with three, in struggle fierce they lock,
While all account them dead who hear the echo of the shock.
Ferrando and his challenger, Pero Bermuez, close;
Firm are the lances held, and fair the shields receive the blows.
Through Pero's shield Ferrando drove his lance, a bloodless stroke;
The point stopped short in empty space, the shaft in splinters broke.
But on Bermuez, firm of seat, the shock fell all in vain;
And while he took Ferrando's thrust he paid it back again.
The armored buckler shattering, right home his lance he pressed,
Driving the point through boss and plate against his foeman's breast.
Three folds of mail Ferrando wore, they stood him in good stead;
Two yielded to the lance's point, the third held fast the head.
But forced into the flesh it sank a hand's breadth deep or more,
Till bursting from the gasping lips in torrents gushed the gore.
Then, the girths breaking, o'er the croup borne rudely to the ground,
He lay, a dying man it seemed to all who stood around.
Bermuez cast his lance aside, and sword in hand came on;
Ferrando saw the blade he bore, he knew it was Tizon:
Quick ere the dreaded brand could fall, "I yield me," came the cry.
Vanquished the marshals granted him, and Pero let him lie.

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