IN WHICH THE PROVERB, "LET THE MIRACLE BE WROUGHT, EVEN THOUGH THE DEVIL DOES IT," IS JUSTIFIED

The Cid was burning with impatience to overtake the Moors, who were ravaging Estremadura. They were committing more outrages than ever before, for they had not invaded the states of Don Fernando on any former occasion with so much impetuosity and ferocity. Rodrigo saw with the eyes of his soul all their barbarities; he saw the harvests cut down and burned, the flocks stolen, churches and private dwellings sacked, some of the inhabitants inhumanly butchered, and others, even more unfortunate, taken captive and savagely maltreated; he saw those who were still free raising their hands to heaven and imploring God for mercy, beseeching Him to send a warrior who might chastise those savage invaders; an angel who, with his flaming sword, might exterminate those barbarous and impious men, who looked on nothing as sacred. And the brave and noble heart of the Castilian leader bled for the sufferings of those unfortunate people. The Cid crossed the frontier of Estremadura, at the head of his valorous army, filled with joy as if he were entering the Promised Land. On all sides his eyes saw the marks of fire and blood which the infidels had left on their track. Rapidly, however, as the Castilian army marched on, they could not discover the infidels, and Rodrigo and his men were filled with fury, seeing that all their diligence was in vain.

The Moors had learned that the invincible Christian army was advancing on them; to return to Portugal was the same as to go straight to meet them; to proceed towards the kingdom of Toledo was to expose themselves to be driven back from the frontier, for they knew that Almenon would not wish to lose the friendship of Don Fernando by admitting them into his dominions. The only thing that was open to them was to proceed straight on, pass through the centre of Castile and cross the Moncayo, with the object of taking refuge in some one of the many small Moorish states into which Aragon was then divided; they adopted, therefore, that latter course, and continued their march into the interior of Castile, increasing on their way the stores of rich booty which they had taken in Estremadura. As they were, however, a day's march in advance of the Cid, it was not possible for him to overtake them as soon as he desired. Both armies, however, were now in Castile; and Rodrigo, fearing that the Moors might be able to carry out their intention of getting into Aragon before he could overtake them, determined to make a final effort, an almost superhuman one, in order to fall on them and wrench from them the numerous captives whom they were carrying off, and punish their audacity and their cruelties. At last he overtook them, between Atienza and San Esteban de Gormaz, and a battle commenced, furious on both sides.

The army of the Cid, though having the advantage in valour, was less numerous than that of the enemy; however, the circumstance of their being on their native soil, and their courage, which had been increased by their efforts for so long a time to attack the invaders, were elements which were much in their favour. The Moors resolved to defend their booty at all costs, for it was so valuable that they would leave nothing undone in order to retain it. The Castilian squadrons threw themselves several times against the infidels, but were each time repulsed, with heavy loss on both sides. The Cid was always in the very front, spurring on his steed to close with his adversaries, and at his side could be seen Fernan, although to keep up with Babieca, which flew at the slightest touch of the spur, he had almost to flay the sides of Overo.

"On, on! St. James of Compostela!" cried the Cid, burning with anger at seeing the impotence of all his efforts, and preparing for a fresh charge. "We shall all die on those fields of our native land rather than lose the name of Invincibles which Castile has given us, for it is better to die fighting than to live flying. Do you not hear, cavaliers, those lamentations which rise from the enemies' camp? They come from the unhappy Christians whom those infidels drag on with them, loaded with chains and trampled under the hoofs of their chargers. We are their only hope; they trust in us, they call down on our heads the blessing of God, as we have come to fight bravely for them in order to save them from captivity, and they should justly curse us if they saw us turning back like cowards. We conquered in Portugal, shall we be defeated in Castile—in Castile, where the ashes of our brave forefathers repose, where the eyes of a mother, of a wife, or of a beloved maiden look upon our deeds? Onward, cavaliers! follow me, conquer or die with me; for I will conquer, or die as a brave man!"

When he had pronounced those last words the Cid rushed on the enemy, and with him all his cavaliers, shouting enthusiastically, proving the influence which the words and the example of their brave leader exercised on those sturdy warriors.

The hostile army was divided into two bodies, stationed within ten crossbow-shots of each other. At the same time both were attacked by the Christians, whose squadrons got separated when the charge was made; the Cid closing with the Moors to the right, whilst Martin Antolinez, to whom he had confided his standard, attacked those on the left. Both bodies received the Christians with the points of their lances and the keen edges of their cimeters; the division attacked by the Cid was not able to resist the charge, and took to flight in the greatest disorder, followed and cut down by the Castilians.

The Cid and his followers had already disappeared in the distance, pursuing the enemy, blinded by fury and desirous of exterminating them, and as yet Martin Antolinez had not succeeded in breaking the Moorish squadron, which was stationed to the left. The fight was becoming every moment more obstinate and bloody, and its result was becoming more and more doubtful. The soldiers of Antolinez, instead of gaining ground were rather losing it, as the Moors, seeing themselves deprived of all chance of aid, were now fighting with the desperation of those who, having lost all hope of saving themselves, desire to savour death with the pleasure of vengeance. The Christians, rendered more courageous by that strenuous resistance, broke at last into the midst of their enemies, without thinking of the risk of such an undertaking, and then the Moors, availing themselves of a rapid and skilful piece of strategy, surrounded them on all sides, and the conflict became still more furious. The Christians were horribly cut up by the sword strokes, and all their strength was vainly expended against that circle of hostile lances which encircled them, and which was closing round them closer and closer each moment; hope of escape was scarcely left to them, and the green standard of the Cid would soon be in the hands of his foes, although Martin Antolinez, who held it aloft in one hand, whilst he brandished his sword with the other, cutting down an enemy at each stroke, was resolved to save it or to die under its shadow. Fatigue and want of breath was beginning to tell on the Christian cavaliers. Antolinez cast from time to time a rapid glance across the plain to see if assistance of any kind was coming to them; the plain, however, was deserted, and he only could see the line of corpses which the Moors, pursued by the Cid, were leaving behind them, and several captives who had succeeded in escaping from their captors during the battle. Those were wandering about, still manacled and uncertain as to the fate which might befall them. A multitude of his enemies composed the circle around Antolinez, attacking him with fury, endeavouring to capture the standard. The brave man of Burgos defended himself with the most stubborn courage, but his blood was staining the equipments of his horse; Alvar, FaÑez Minaya, and other cavaliers were fighting vainly to free him from his enemies.

"Cowards!" cried out Antolinez to the Moors. "A brave deed, forsooth, is yours—twenty of you to attack one cavalier! Fight with me, not one against one, but four against one, and you will see whether my sword pierce not your hearts, e'er you shall drag from my hand the standard of my Cid!"

Thus speaking, he showered furious blows on his enemies, the number of whom was increasing every moment. At last a cimeter struck the arm which held up the standard, and it fell from his hand notwithstanding all the efforts he made to retain it, for the cut was terrible. The despair of Antolinez then reached its height: the good cavalier, rendered incapable of guiding his steed, spurred it on furiously and dashed into the midst of the enemy, making a bloody opening through them.

But behold, when the Castilians were almost completely vanquished, a loud cry was heard in the distance, and about fifty horsemen were seen rushing towards the combat with the fleetness of the wind.

"St. James! St. James!" they shouted, and that cry was full of terror for the Moors, and full of hope for Martin Antolinez and his men.

Who are those who thus come to the aid of the Christians? They cannot be the squadron of the Campeador, for it is pursuing the Moors in the direction opposite to that from which those horsemen appear. Behold them, behold them already at the place of combat: two handsome youths and a man of colossal stature, and evidently of great strength, lead the band.

Justice of God! with what fury they rush into the midst of the Moors, throw them into confusion, and scatter them in all directions! What fierce cuts and thrusts they give! How the dead bodies of the Moslems roll upon the ground!

"Cavaliers, whoever you are, to me, to me! Rescue the standard of the Campeador, which these cowards have torn from my grasp!" cried Martin Antolinez, addressing the leaders of the newly-arrived combatants.

"We will all die or save it," cried Guillen, for it was he, with Martin, Rui-Venablos, and all the bandits who composed the band of the Vengador, that had arrived fortunately before it was too late, to the aid of Martin Antolinez and his soldiers.

And whilst Martin and Rui-Venablos continued to fight like lions in the thick of the hostile force, Guillen rushed like lightning against the Moorish horseman who had succeeded in capturing the green standard of the Cid, and who was holding and defending it tenaciously. His lance caused great slaughter amongst the enemy, who endeavoured to avoid his thrusts, and soon were thrown into disorder: the Moor, however, who had wounded Antolinez and taken the standard from him, would not yield up that inestimable prize, the acquiring of which had been so difficult; he fought front to front with Guillen, and to judge by the fury of the combat, one or other must soon cease to exist. Blow followed blow with fearful rapidity, and both combatants were wounded more or less severely.

"St. James! St. James to my aid!" shouted Guillen, grasping his lance with desperate force, and making so furious a thrust at his enemy that he fell from his horse pierced through the breast. The youth dragged from him the standard which, even when falling dead, he still held convulsively clutched in his hand, and, raising it aloft and waving it gallantly above his head, cried—

"Victory! victory! St. James!"

When they saw the standard rescued, the Castilian soldiers felt their strength redoubled, and in a few minutes the Moslem squadron was flying before them.

However, as it was numerous, some hundreds of horse soldiers succeeded in escaping from the field of battle, abandoning what remained to them of the rich booty which they had seized on their long march.

The Christians dashed on in their pursuit, guided by the standard of the Cid which Guillen waved in the van, and as the Moors fled they left behind a very large number of their dead, for the Castilians came up with them from time to time and cut them down without mercy.

The soldiers of Martin Antolinez had pursued the Moors for about half an hour, when they perceived in the distance the Cid, who was returning to the assistance of his men, when he had finished with that division of the enemy in pursuit of which he had gone. All the Castilian forces were soon reunited, and the entire army continued the pursuit for more than seven leagues, until the Moorish army was completely destroyed.

Scarcely a Moor escaped the Castilian steel; that formidable Moslem army which, haughty and devastating, had penetrated into Estremadura and overrun all Castile, ceased to exist before they could reach Aragon, and the Cid and his cavaliers made themselves masters of the very rich spoils which they were bearing away with them.

Scarcely had Rodrigo rejoined the division commanded by Martin Antolinez when his attention was called to the band of the Vengador, and especially to the youth who was bearing his standard; but as it was then incumbent on him to continue the pursuit of the Moors, he postponed, till that was ended, the obtaining of information as to what had happened, and as to who those soldiers were who had exhibited such bravery in the fight.

Therefore, as soon as the Castilian army had finished with the Moors and collected the spoils together, he sat down to take the rest of which he was so much in need, and Martin Antolinez and other cavaliers, who were in his company at the commencement of the combat, related to the Cid all that had taken place. Martin Antolinez, who cared only for his wound because it prevented him from using his sword, told his leader that his soldiers were on the point of yielding and abandoning the standard when the unknown band arrived to their aid; he narrated to him the valour and the dexterity with which those men, especially their captains, had fought, and finally the heroic efforts by which that youth, whose name he was ignorant of, had rescued the standard.

Rodrigo advanced towards Guillen, the Vengador, and Rui-Venablos, and opened his arms to them, filled with enthusiasm and gratitude.

"You have saved my standard," he said to the former, "and all the treasures of the world would appear too small a recompense for so great a service."

"My lord," answered Guillen, much moved, and feeling his heart throb with joy, for he was beginning to realise the hopes of glory of which he had dreamed for so long a time, "the service you mention merits no reward, for every soldier should do his duty, and I have done no more than accomplish mine. For good men it is a sufficient recompense to know that they have served God and their native land; but if the rescue from the infidels of your glorious standard merits a greater reward than that which I have mentioned, pay it to me by granting me the honour of being one of your soldiers, to fight in your army and by your side against the Moorish power."

"I shall consider myself much honoured if you and your companions will aid me in this war. You shall be my friends, my brothers-in-arms. In my heart, which the sanguinary scenes of battlefields cannot move, there is a space, by no means small, destined for gratitude and sweet friendship; in that space you will always occupy one of the chief positions."

Guillen, Martin, and Rui-Venablos listened with moist eyes to that noble cavalier, to that valiant leader, who won hearts with a single word, for in that word was manifested the most generous and best soul that could animate a man.

Guillen, Martin, and Rui-Venablos felt it their duty not to conceal their antecedents from Rodrigo Diaz, for he was sufficiently just to do justice to those who had it on their side, sufficiently sensible not to let himself be borne away by vulgar prejudices, and sufficiently clear-sighted to understand the motives by which men were animated. For these reasons it appeared to them a treason, which their consciences could not tolerate, were they to present themselves to that cavalier, so loyal, so kind, and so sincere, otherwise than as they had really been.

A curious observer could not fail to have taken note of an animated discussion which took place on the following day amongst Fernan CardeÑa, Alvar, Lope, and other pages and squires, whilst the army of the Cid was marching towards Burgos, in the midst of the noisiest and most enthusiastic ovations of the Castilian people; these were more ardent even than those of which they were the objects on their return from the battle of the mountains of Oca. That discussion was very curious and so connected with the objects we have in view that we think it well to insert it on our pages.

"I say to you, Fernan," said Alvar, "that if I were as old as you are, if I had the prizes you have won in this campaign, and a wife to marry as good and loving as Mayorica is, I vow to God that I would wed her as soon as I got back to Burgos, and give up at once the profession of arms."

"I swear, by the soul of Beelzebub, that you deserve a gag in your mouth, to keep you from talking such nonsense. Give up at once the profession of arms? Is it not an honourable one, perchance?"

"Honourable, I admit, but thankless and severe."

"It may be so for those who possess your mean disposition, but not for those who love glory and advancement."

"And what do you understand by glory, Fernan?"

"I vow by Judas Iscariot that the question of this fool pleases me. What do I understand by glory? I understand by it, sleeping in camps; awaking to the noise of the trumpets and drums which sound the alarm; listening to the neighing of the chargers, impatient to rush on the enemy; giving sword slashes to the Moors; and seeing the heads of foemen fall about, as ripe fruit falls from the trees when a brisk breeze blows. That, and nothing else, is real glory, brother, and the son of my mother would not exchange it for all other kinds of glory in the world, even that of marrying girls as handsome and loving as Mayorica."

"However, comrade," said Lope, the discreet squire, who on another occasion gave two salutary pieces of advice to Fernan on the subject of love, "one could continue to exercise the honourable profession of arms, and still have a wife and children; I have such myself, and nevertheless have not abandoned arms, as you see. Alvar is right in recommending you to marry Mayor, now that you have means enough to support her."

"Whether I marry or don't marry, as long as there remain Moors for my master Don Rodrigo to fight against, I will not give up my lance."

"But don't you love Mayorica?"

"I love her, and will continue to love her with all my soul. Oh, how I long to arrive at Burgos, to see her after so long a separation!"

"Now I see," replied Lope, "that you are begging the question as to whether you will marry her or not."

"I am indeed thinking of marrying, but it is an unfair thing to have to bind oneself before God to love only one woman, considering that there are two or even more for every man."

"Leave aside all that nonsense, comrade, for it sounds badly coming from a man so ripe in years as you are. To think as you think should be only for beardless youths, such as he who yesterday rescued the standard of Don Rodrigo, and I am of opinion that even he would not talk of love with as little sense as you display in the matter."

"Do you know," said Alvar, "that I look on the friendship and honours which Don Rodrigo confers on that youth as signs of mere craziness."

"Craziness?" cried Fernan, whose anger was aroused on hearing the page find fault with his master. "The craziness, which deserves more stripes than you have hairs on your head, is your own, you confounded fool and chatterbox. All that Don Rodrigo does is well done."

"I only meant to say that nobody knows in the least who that young man is; and as to his companions, everybody knows, for they tell it themselves, that they are the band of the Vengador."

"'Let the miracle be wrought, even though the devil does it.' The certain thing is, that only for that youth and those who accompanied him to aid us, the squadron of Martin Antolinez would have been completely routed, and the standard of Don Rodrigo would be now in the hands of the infidels. I swear by Judas Iscariot, that if the Cid, my master, had lost his standard, he would have either died of grief and despair, or else have pursued the infidels to the ends of the world in order to recapture it."

"How much soever they may have extolled to you the valour of that Guillen, whoever he may be, of that Martin, and of that giant who bears the name of Rui-Venablos, and of all their men," said Lope, "it is nothing to what they deserve. I happened to be amongst the soldiers of Martin Antolinez, and thanks to that, I know exactly to what extent those men deserve the recompenses which the Campeador has bestowed on them, and promised to bestow on them."

"Well, tell us, then, what recompenses they have received?" asked Alvar.

"He has given," answered Fernan, "double as much of the spoils to each of them as to the other men in the army; and he has promised Guillen, who is of peasant origin, like Martin and Rui, that he will be knighted in Burgos. You need not imagine, moreover, that Don Rodrigo will allow these men-at-arms to leave his side, for he has taken them into his pay."

"Anger of God!" exclaimed Alvar, "with what a lucky foot this Guillen has walked into the profession of arms!"

"And I have heard that our master, who never makes a mistake, has said that Guillen will be in a short time one of his best captains."

"He will be an emperor if our master goes on thus lavishing favours on him, for some men are born feet foremost and others head foremost, and he must be of the former."

"Oh, you cursed charlatan, how envious you are!" said Fernan. "The good fortune of another man enrages you, no matter how well merited it may be. I suppose you would like to be made a knight? I tell you, Alvar, that if I ever hear you say a word against Guillen, or any of those who have joined the army with him, I'll break your ribs with a cudgel. It is my duty to defend that youth; only for him the son of my mother would be now lying, food for wild beasts, on the field of battle where we defeated the Moors yesterday."

"Relate to us, Fernan, what happened to you," said Alvar; "for I should like to go slow for a while, as my horse is very much fatigued."

"Don't lay the blame of your falling back on your horse, as it is the fault of your own cowardly heart," replied Don Rodrigo's squire. "There is no chance of your scarifying very seriously the flanks of your charger whenever you shall be required to rush on the enemy."

"Comrade, I say of myself what you said of Overo a short time before you sallied forth from Burgos to proceed to Compostela, 'everyone is just as God made him, and faults should not be punished which one brings from the womb of his mother.' But won't you recount to us what happened to you yesterday?"

"I shall do so at once. Don Rodrigo, Guillen, and I were fighting, with more than usual fury, against five Moorish cavaliers, who formed an impenetrable wall before us. At last we succeeded in breaking through them and throwing them into disorder. Don Rodrigo rushed in pursuit of three of them who had fled, and who appeared to be men of rank, whilst Guillen and I remained fighting with the others, who, to give them their due, were much braver than their companions, as they did not seek safety in flight. He who was fighting with me gave so fierce a lance thrust that, striking the pommel of the saddle, the shock threw down Overo, and I found myself on the ground, incapable of defending myself. The Moor was already aiming his lance at me, to fix me to the earth, when Guillen, who saw what was going on, rushed to my aid, overthrew the Moor, my antagonist, with his lance, and returning to him whom he had just left, and who was taking to flight, he pierced him through the breast. Now you see that, were it not for that brave youth, the weakness of my horse would have cost me my life."

"Oh, what triumphs you achieve with that high-spirited Overo!" said Alvar, laughing, which made Fernan very angry.

"By the soul of Beelzebub, if you laugh at my mishaps, it will cost you dear, Alvar. As to my horse, I swear that if he ever again treats me so, he shall atone for his fault where he commits it, by being left there as the prey of wild beasts."

"You always say that, Fernan; if I were your horse I would laugh at your threats."

"You will see if he laughs the next time he acts in such a manner."

Just as Fernan thus spoke, a bull ran from a herd which was grazing in a field beside the road, and rushed on the pages and squires with a fury such as is seldom seen. All were trying to get out of his way, surprised by such a sudden attack, except Fernan, who, pulling at the reins of Overo, and preparing his lance, exclaimed—

"Cowards! Do you fly from this miserable beast? You will see, I vow to Judas Iscariot, that my lance shall soon bring down his pride."

And thus speaking, he directed his steed in the direction of the bull.

The latter gave a furious bellow, and rushed on him who had thus challenged him. The lance of Fernan struck one of the flanks of the bull, but glanced off it; the animal charged Overo fiercely, and he fell, together with his rider, rolling down a very steep declivity, so that all believed that both of them were killed.

The bull continued to do considerable damage to the squires, none of whom were able to restrain him, although they did their best, having recovered from the confusion which his first charge had caused amongst them.

Rodrigo Diaz, as well as the cavaliers who were conversing with him, noticed the tumult which had just arisen, and, as soon as he learned the cause of it, seized his lance, and turning back, guided Babieca towards the bull. The first victory won by the animal seemed to have increased his ferocity. He rushed madly at the cavalier who was approaching him, but the lance of the Cid buried itself in his head, as deep as its steel head was long.

The bull gave a terrible roar, and fell lifeless on the ground. In the meantime, Fernan and his steed were brought up from the hollow into which they had fallen, without more damage than a few, not very serious, bruises.

"Are you much injured, Fernan?" hastened to ask all his companions.

"No," answered Fernan; "only bruised, but no bones broken. Leave me, by the soul of Beelzebub! leave me, and go see if Overo has a wound on his head."

When he was told that Overo had received no hurt of any consequence, joy appeared on his countenance, and he hastened to mount him again, saying—

"I am always unlucky with that horse. Many, many indeed, Overo, are the mishaps thou hast caused me, but if thou actest so again thou shalt pay for it with thy skin."