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.