When they had gone the Cid struck his camp and galloped through the night to the monastery of San Pedro de Cardena, where his lady, Donna Ximena, and his two young daughters lay. He found them deeply engaged in prayer for his welfare, and they received him with heartfelt expressions of joy. Taking the Abbot aside, the Cid explained to him that he was about to fare forth on adventure in the country of the Moors, and tendered him such a sum as would provide for the maintenance of Donna Ximena and her daughters until his return, as well as a goodly bounty for the convent's sake.

By this time tidings of the Cid's banishment had gone through the land broadcast, and so great was the fame of his prowess that cavaliers from near and far flocked to his banner. When he put foot in stirrup at the bridge of Arlanza a hundred and fifty gentlemen had a.s.sembled to follow his fortunes. The parting with his wife and daughters presents a poignant picture of leave-taking:

Sharp as the pain when finger-nails are wrenched from off the hand, So felt the Cid this agony, but turned him to his band, And vaulted in the saddle, and forth led his menie, But ever and anon he turned his streaming eyes to see Dear faces he might see no more, till blunt Minaya, irked To see the yearning and regret that on his heartstrings worked, Cried out, "O born in happy hour, [30] let not thy soul be sad: The heart of knight on venture bound should never but be glad.

The heavy sorrow of to-day will prove to-morrow's joy.

What grief can bide the trumpets' sound, what woe the battle's ploy?"

Giving rein to their steeds, they galloped forth of the bounds of Christian Spain and, crossing the river Duero on rafts, stood upon Moorish soil. Far to the west they could see the slender minarets of the Saracen city of Ahilon glittering in the high sun of noon, emblematic of the rich treasure they had come to win in the land of the paynim. At Higeruela still more good lances rallied to the Cid's banners, border men to whom the foray was a holiday and the breaking of spears the sweetest music. As he slept that night the Cid dreamed that the Archangel Gabriel appeared to him and said: "Mount, O Cid Campeador, mount and ride. Thy cause is just. Whilst thou livest thou shalt prosper!"

With three hundred lances behind him, the Cid rode into the land of the Moors. He lay in ambush while Alvar Fanez and other knights made a foray toward Alcala. In their absence the Cid observed that the men of Castijon, a Moorish town hard by, came out of the place to work in the fields, leaving the gates open. He and his men made a dash at the gates, slew the handful of heathens who guarded them, and took the town without striking a score of blows. The men were well content at the treasure of gold and silver they found in the quaint Moorish houses. But they were merciful to the inhabitants, of whom they made servitors rather than slaves.

The Taking of Alcocer

After they had rested at Castijon, the Cid and his array rode down the valley of the Henares, pa.s.sing by way of Alhamia to Bubierca and Ateca, and as he was in unknown country, and environed round by hosts of enemies, he took up a position upon a "round hill" near the strong Saracen city of Alcocer, to which he set siege. But the place was well guarded, and he saw that if he were to penetrate its defences it must be by stratagem and not by fighting alone. So one morning, after he had beleaguered Alcocer for full fifteen weeks, he withdrew his men as if retreating in disgust, leaving but one pavilion behind him. When the Moors beheld his withdrawal they exulted, and in their eagerness to see what spoil the solitary tent might contain they rushed out of the town, leaving the gates open and unguarded. Now when the Cid saw that there was a wide s.p.a.ce between the Moors and the gates of Alcocer, he ordered his men to turn and fall upon the excited rabble of Saracens. Small need had he to ask them to smite the paynim. Dashing among the dense crowd with levelled lances, the cavaliers of Castile did fearful execution. The wretched Moors, taken completely by surprise, fled wildly in all directions, and soon the plain was littered with white-robed corpses. Meanwhile the Cid himself, with a few trusted followers, galloped to the gates and secured them, so that with, much triumph the Spaniards entered Alcocer. As before, the Campeador was merciful to such of the Moors as made full surrender, saying: "We cannot sell them, and we shall gain nothing by cutting off their heads. Let us make them rather serve us."

The Saracens of the neighbouring towns of Ateca and Zerrel were aghast at the manner in which Alcocer had been taken, and sent word to the Moorish King of Valencia how one called Roderigo Diaz of Bivar, a Castilian outlaw, had come into their land to spoil it, and had already taken the strong city of Alcocer. When King Tamin of Valencia heard these tidings he was greatly wroth, and sent an army of three thousand well-appointed men against the Campeador. In his anger he charged his captains that they should take this Spanish renegade alive, and bring him where justice might be done upon him.

The Cid knew nothing of the coming of this host, and one morning his sentinels, pacing the walls of Alcocer, were surprised to see the surrounding country alive with Moorish scouts, flitting from point to point upon their active jennets, and shaking their scimitars in menace. His own outposts soon brought in word that he was surrounded, and his knights and men-at-arms clamoured to be led forth to do battle with the infidels. But the Cid was old in Moorish warfare, and denied them for the moment. For days the enemy paraded around the walls of Alcocer. But the Cid, with three hundred men, knew well the folly of attacking three thousand, and bided his time.

The Combat with the Moorish King

At last the Moors succeeded in cutting off the water-supply of Alcocer. Provisions, too, were running low, and the Cid saw clearly that such a desperate situation demanded a desperate remedy. Alvar Fanez, ever panting for the fight like a war-horse that hears the trumpet, urged an immediate sally in force, and the Cid, knowing the high spirit of his men, consented. First he sent all the Moors out of the city and looked to its defences. Then, leaving but two men to guard the gate, he marshalled his array and issued forth from Alcocer with dressed ranks and in strict order of battle. And here prose must once more give place to verse. [31]

Huzza! huzza! the Moorman mounts and waves his crescent blade Hark to the thunder of the drums, the trump's fanfaronade!

Around two glittering gonfanons the paynim take their stand, Beneath each waving banner's folds is ma.s.sed a swarthy band.

The turbaned sons of Termagaunt sweep onward like the sea; So trust they to engulf and drown the Christian chivalry.

"Now gentles, keep ye fast your seats," cries the Campeador, "And hold your ranks, for such a charge saw never knight before."

But the fierce heart of Bermuez that echoed to the drum, Cried, "Santiago, shall I stay the while these heathen come?

With this bold banner shall I pierce yon pride of paynimrie.

So follow, follow, cavaliers, for Spain and Christendie!"

"Nay, comrade, stay!" implored the Cid, but Pero shook his head.

His hand was loose upon the rein. "It may not be," he said; Then in his destrier's flank he drove the bright speed-making spur: Like a spray-scattering ship he clove the sands of Alcocer.

Lost in a sea of Saracens, whose turbans surge as foam, He stands unshaken as a cliff when on its bosom come Madness of ocean and the wrath of seas that overwhelm.

So rain the hounds of Mahomet fierce blows on shield and helm.

"A rescue, rescue," cries the Cid, "and strike for Holy Rood!

Up, gentlemen of Old Castile, and charge the heathen brood!"

As forth the hound when from the leash the hunter's hand is ta'en, As the unhooded falcon bounds, her jesses cast amain, But fiercer far than falcon or the hound's unleashed zeal Comes crashing down upon the foe the fury of Castile.

Now rally, rally, to the flash of Roderigo's blade, The champion of Bivar is here who never was gainsaid.

Three hundred levelled lances strike as one upon the foe.

Down, down in death upon the sand three hundred heathen go.

The lances rise, the lances fall, how fast the deadly play!

Ah, G.o.d! the sundered shields that lie in dreadful disarray.

The snow-white bannerets are dyed with blood of Moorish slain, And chargers rush all masterless across the littered plain.

As lightning circles Roderick's sword above the huddled foe, With Alvar Fanez, Gustioz, and half a hundred moe He reaps right bloodily. But stay, the Saracens have slain Bold Alvar Fanez' destrier; to aid him comes amain The Cid Campeador, for sore the brave Minaya's need.

His way is barred, his stride is marred by a tall emir's steed.

His falchion swoops, his falchion stoops, down sinks the turbaned lord.

"Mount in his place, Minaya, mount! I need thy trenchant sword.

The phalanx of the foe is firm, unbroken still they stand."

The stout Minaya leaps in selle, and falchion in hand Strews death to left and right, his trust to rout the Moor right soon.

But see, the Cid hath fiercely rid with blood-embroidered shoon Upon the Moorish capitan, he cleaves his shining shield: The haughty Moslem turns to fly--that blow hath won the field.

Bold Martin Antolinez aims a stroke at Galve's head; The jewelled casque it cracks in twain, the infidel hath fled Rather than bide its fellow; he and Fariz make retreat: They caracoled to victory, they gallop from defeat.

Ne'er was a field so worthy sung since first men sang of war.

Its laurels unto thee belong, O Cid Campeador!

Fierce and sanguinary was the pursuit. The Moorish rout was complete, and the little Castilian band had lost but fifteen men. Five hundred Arab horses, heavily caparisoned, each with a splendid sword at the saddle-bow, fell into the hands of the Cid, who kept a fifth share for himself, as was the way with the commanders of such free companies as he led. But greatly desiring to make his peace with King Alfonso of Castile, he sent the trusty Alvar Fanez to Court with thirty steeds saddled and bridled in the Moorish fashion.

But the Moors, even with the dust of defeat in their mouths, were not minded to leave the Cid the freedom of their borders, and seeing that he would not be able to hold Alcocer for long against their numbers, he bargained with the Saracens of the neighbouring cities for the ransom of Alcocer. This they gladly agreed to for three thousand marks of gold and silver, so, quitting the place, the Campeador pushed southward, and took up a position on a hill above the district of Mont'real. He laid all the Moorish towns in the neighbourhood under tribute, remaining in his new encampment full fifteen weeks.

Meanwhile Alvar Fanez had journeyed to the Court and had presented the King with the thirty good steeds taken in battle. "It is yet too soon to take the Cid back into favour," said Alfonso, "but since these horses come from the infidel, I scruple not to receive them. I pardon thee, Alvar Fanez, and withdraw my banishment from thee. But as to the Cid, I say no more than that any good lance who cares to join him may do so without hindrance from me."

The War with Raymond Berenger

Now the Count of Barcelona, Raymond Berenger, a haughty and arrogant lord, conceived the presence of the Cid in a territory so near his own dominions to be an insult to himself, and in a high pa.s.sion he mustered all his forces, Moorish as well as Christian, so that he might drive the Cid from the lands he held in tribute. The Campeador, hearing of the advance of this host, sent a courteous message to Count Raymond, a.s.suring him of pacific intentions toward himself. But the Count felt that his personal dignity had been offended, and refused to receive the messenger.

When the Cid beheld the army of Raymond marching against his position on the heights of Mont'real, he knew that his overtures for peace had been in vain, and, dressing his ranks for the fierce combat that he knew must follow, took up a position upon the plain suitable for cavalry. The lightly armed Moorish hors.e.m.e.n of Berenger's host rushed precipitately to the attack, but were easily routed by the Castilian cavaliers. The Count's Frankish men-at-arms, a band of skilful and warlike mercenaries, then thundered down-hill upon the lances of the Cid. The shock was terrific, but brief was the combat, for the knights of Castile, hardened by constant warfare, speedily overthrew the Frankish hors.e.m.e.n. The Cid himself attacked Count Berenger, took him prisoner, and forced him to deliver up his famous sword Colada, which figures so prominently in the mighty deeds which follow. A falchion which tradition states is none other than this celebrated blade, the Spanish Excalibur, is still shown at the Armeria at Madrid, and all pious lovers of chivalry will gladly believe that it is the sword taken by the Campeador from the haughty Berenger, even though the profane point out that its hilt is obviously of the fifteenth century!

Greatly content were they of the Cid's company with the victory no less than with the spoil, and a feast worthy of princes was prepared to celebrate the occasion.

In courtesy the Cid invited the defeated Count Raymond to feast with him, but he refused the invitation with hauteur, saying that his capture by outlaws had taken away his appet.i.te. Nettled at this display of rudeness, the Cid told him that he would not see his realms again until he broke bread and drank wine with him. Three whole days did the Count refuse to touch all provender, and on the third day the Cid promised him immediate freedom if he would break his fast. This was too much for the haughty Berenger, whose hunger now outmatched his scruples. "Powers above!" exclaims the poet, "with what gust did he eat! His hands plied so quickly that my Cid [32] might not see their play." The Cid then gave him his liberty, and they parted on good terms.

"Ride on, ride on, my n.o.ble Count, a free Frank as thou art; For all the spoil thou leavest me I thank thee from my heart.

And if to turn the chance of fate against me thou shalt come, Right gladly shall I listen for the echoes of thy drum."

"Nay, Roderick, I leave in peace and peace I shall maintain; From me thou sure hast spoil enow to count a twelvemonth's gain."

He drove the spur, but backward glanced, he feared for treachery; So black a thought the Cid had harboured not for Christendie.

No, not for all the wealthy world, who kept his soul in light.

Whose heart as his so free from guile, the very perfect knight?

The Cid Makes War Seaward

Turning from Huesca and Montalvan, the Cid began to make war toward the salt sea. His eastward march struck terror to the hearts of the Moors of Valencia. They took counsel together, and resolved to send such a host against him as they thought he might not withstand. But he routed them with such a slaughter that they dared face him no more. Three years did the Cid war in that country, and his many conquests there were long to tell. He and his men sat themselves down in the land as kings, reaped its corn, and ate its bread. And a great famine came upon the Moors, so that thousands perished.