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[Illustration: _"And thrusting his sword through its head, laid it
dead on the ground."--p. 4_]
THE BOY'S BOOK OF HEROES.
by
HELENA PEAKE.
With Original Illustrations.
London:
Frederick Warne and Co.,
Bedford Street, Covent Garden.
New York: Scribner, Welford, and Co.
London:
J. and W. Rider, Printers,
Bartholomew Close.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
HEREWARD--LAST OF THE SAXONS 1
THE CID 17
LOUIS IX., KING OF FRANCE 49
GUSTAVUS VASA, KING OF SWEDEN 82
BERTRAND DU GUESCLIN 110
CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS 144
THE CHEVALIER DE BAYARD 192
SIR MARTIN FROBISHER 225
SIR WALTER RALEIGH 242
SIR PHILIP SIDNEY 257
A LITTLE BOY'S BOOK OF HEROES.
HEREWARD.--LAST OF THE SAXONS.
In the days of Edward the Confessor there lived in Mercia a noble
Anglo-Saxon youth named Hereward. He was brave, stedfast, and spirited, but
so violent and overbearing, so ready to quarrel and to use his sword, if
everything he desired was not conceded to him at once that the youths he
played and wrestled with around his home at Bourne[1], resolved to make
complaint of him to his father, Leofric, the great Earl of Mercia.
Leofric was a very valiant man, and he had done King Edward good service at
the time of Earl Godwin's rebellion. He had three sons; of these Hereward
was the second; the eldest was Algar, whom the Confessor made lord over
East Anglia.
Leofric was very much grieved when he heard, day after day, of the unruly
deeds of his son, and found that he paid little heed to the reproofs he so
justly deserved. And if Leofric was grieved, far more so was his wife, the
saintly lady Godiva, who passed nearly the whole of her time in the
performance of good works, feeding and clothing the poor, nursing the sick,
and praying long hours for those she loved, and it may be most of all for
her wayward son, Hereward. Besides this, she gave large sums of money for
the support of religious houses, and founded the monastery at Coventry,
which is said to have contained greater treasure of gold, silver, and
jewels, than any other in England.
But father and mother at last were wearied out, and Leofric persuaded King
Edward to outlaw his turbulent son, as the only means of preserving peace
in the neighbourhood of his castle of Bourne.
The youth, not the least dismayed when sentence was passed upon him, set
out on his travels accompanied by one servant, named Martin, as brave and
as reckless as himself, and who followed him because he loved him. Perhaps
some of his relations were sorry after all to see him go, for they could
not help admiring his free, brave spirit, and amongst those who cared for
him was his uncle Brand, abbot of Peterborough, a very pious man, as the
chroniclers say, but haughty and unbending to the enemies of his land.
Let us glance at Hereward as he bade farewell for many a year to the home
of his youth. He was of middle height, broad shouldered, and sturdy limbed,
but active and graceful in all his movements. His features were handsome,
his golden hair fell in long curls over his shoulders, according to the
Saxon fashion; one of his large eyes being blue and the other grey, gave a
strange expression to his countenance.
It is supposed that he lived chiefly in the woods and forests during the
early days of his exile, but a few months after he quitted Bourne, we find
him "beyond Northumberland" with the Fleming, Gilbert of Ghent, who bore
him good-will, and had sent for him as soon as he heard that he was
outlawed. Hereward had not been long in his friend's house, which was in
some part of Scotland, when an event occurred which redounded very much to
his credit.
It was the custom then for rich men to have various kinds of sports at
Christmas, Easter, and Whitsuntide, and they used to keep a number of wild
beasts in enclosures, which were led forth at these seasons, that the noble
youths assembled might try their strength against them.
It was Christmas time when Hereward arrived "beyond Northumberland." He had
passed some joyous days hunting in the wintry forests, and had become a
great favourite with the company, because he excelled in all manly sports,
and could charm the ladies besides by singing sweetly, and playing on the
harp, in the long winter evenings. But when he looked at the wild beasts in
their cages, he only saw one that he thought he should like to fight with,
and that was a huge white bear, which was known to be exceedingly fierce.
And beyond this it was said that its parent was the famed Norwegian bear,
which lived far away in the pine woods of the north, and, according to the
fable believed in at the time, was endowed with human sense, and could
understand human speech.
Now it happened one day that the white bear broke the bars of its
enclosure, and rushed out, killing and tearing to pieces all the animals
that came in its path. This must have been very alarming, and worse still,
it was making its way towards a room, opening out of the court where the
women and children belonging to the house had taken refuge, and some
knights in their terror had followed them, instead of trying to drive back
the fierce creature with their lances. Hereward had just come in from
hunting, and saw at a glance what had happened; he went straight up to the
bear, and thrusting his sword through its head, he laid it dead on the
ground.
His praises after this were sung far and wide; but amidst all the joy there
was a secret plot made to destroy him by some of the knights who had shown
themselves to be cowards, and were jealous of the bold deed he had
performed. So one day they concealed themselves in the wood and tried to
kill him as he came slowly along the mossy paths followed by his servant
Martin. The story tells how Hereward slew two of these knights in
self-defence, and another crept away, or was carried wounded to the house.
Soon after this he bade Gilbert of Ghent farewell; he said that he could
not live happily where there were traitors, but those who loved him were
grieved when he rode away, and the women shed many tears, remembering how
he had saved them with his strong right arm from a cruel death.
From Scotland he went to Cornwall, and there we are told he performed some
brave deeds, and rescued a Cornish princess by slaying in combat a fierce
and cruel Pict, a giant in height, whom her father had commanded her to
marry against her own inclination.
Some time after he was heard of in Ireland, where he took part in the
warlike exploits of King Ranald. Whenever there was fighting he was sure to
be found where the danger was thickest, and the name of "The Wake" was
given to him because he was always on the watch for his enemies, and could
never be taken unawares.
But in Ireland he began to get homesick; he longed to see his brave father
once more, and his mother, the Lady of Bourne, sitting amongst her maidens,
or gliding amongst the sick like some comforting angel; he wanted to know
if his relations had any kindly feeling left towards him. This longing
became so strong that he asked the king to give him two ships, which Ranald
granted him readily in return for his services, and with these he set out
for England. But he had not sailors enough on board, and since he could get
no more to serve him in Ireland, he sailed up northwards towards the
Orkneys. When he reached these islands a storm arose and one of his ships
was wrecked on the shore of Hoy.
With the other vessel he hoped to get safe to England, but he had not been
long at sea when the winds blew furiously, the waves dashed and foamed, and
storm-tossed for many days he was at last driven on the shore of Flanders.
In this country he found a welcome, and married a noble Flemish lady named
Torfrida. No part of his life, perhaps, was more peaceful than that which
he spent in his new home: nevertheless, it appears that wherever he was, he
always engaged in the wars that were carried on around him, and never
failed to distinguish himself by his valour.
Whilst Hereward had been wandering about all this time an outlaw, great
changes had taken place in the affairs of England. On the death of Edward
the Confessor the English had welcomed Harold, son of Earl Godwin to the
throne, quietly setting aside Edgar Atheling, who was too weak-minded to
defend his right, or to have ruled had he been king. But Harold had
scarcely been crowned when William of Normandy began making his vast
preparations for the conquest of England. The terrible battle of Hastings
had been fought; Harold the Second was slain, and nearly all the bravest
warriors amongst the English had fallen on the battle-field. And with the
exception of a few valiant noblemen, it seemed as if the people of England
had lost all spirit and would bow quietly to the Norman yoke. Leofric of
Mercia was dead; Algar also had died, leaving two fair young sons, Edwin
and Morcar, who at the time of the conquest were accounted the most
powerful noblemen in the land, Edwin being Earl of Mercia, and Morcar, Earl
of Northumberland. It must be remembered that Mercia included all the
midland counties of England.
The brothers proclaimed Edgar Atheling king, and tried to persuade the
Londoners to rise; but their efforts were of no avail, and they were soon
obliged to retire to their own lands.
One day, some emigrants came to Flanders and told Hereward all that had
happened in England. Oh, how he wished he had been amongst the Saxons on
the day of battle! Surely, if there had been many as brave and stern as he,
the Normans would have been driven back. And when he learned that some
Frenchmen had taken possession of the estate of Bourne, which was now his
own, and that they were cruelly oppressing his widowed mother, he only
waited to bid Torfrida farewell, and then set out for England, followed by
Martin, with the intention of avenging his mother's wrongs.
It was late in the evening when he drew near the old house of Bourne. Some
of the companions of his boyhood recognised him, and told him that William
of Normandy had given his estate to a low-born foreigner, and that a party
of Normans had just taken up their abode in the house. So Hereward hastened
on towards Bourne, and sought out a house at the end of the long street
which belonged to one Percy where he thought he could lodge for the night.
Here he found a number of fighting men bewailing the misfortunes of
England, and heard from them how the Frenchmen had robbed his mother of all
her treasures, and how his youngest brother, a youth of sixteen, had been
slain defending her, and his head had been fastened up over the door of the
house. And one amongst the company of warriors said, that if Hereward, the
outlawed son of Leofric had been at home, this trouble would never have
come upon Bourne.
Now Hereward, having formed a plan in his mind, did not make himself known
yet: he only said that he had come from Flanders, but the men perceived by
the flash of his eye and his proud bearing that his spirit was kindled at
their wrongs, and their hearts leaned towards him because he looked so
brave and strong.
After a while, the warriors dropped off one by one to sleep as the night
wore on. Hereward heard in the silence around, the sound of harps and
joyful singing, and the clinking of goblets. He asked a boy what it was
that he heard, and the boy said it was the merry-making of the guests in
the lord's house above, where the youngest son had been killed only the day
before. Then Hereward beckoned Martin and Percy to him, and by their means
he covered his helmet and his shining coat of mail with some woman's robe
of black stuff, and went out with Martin, who was disguised in like manner,
to the house of Bourne. The first grievous sight that awaited him was the
head of his young brother fixed up above the door. He could see through the
windows the Normans sitting at their feast in noisy merriment: they boasted
loudly of their deeds, and spoke slightingly of Hereward, whom they
believed to be far away in Flanders, although one Flemish woman amongst the
guests declared that if he had been there he could have overthrown them
all.
Then Hereward, the Wake, the Terrible, waited to hear no more; he rushed
with Martin on those unprepared men; a fearful struggle began, and of all
the foreigners, it is said that not one was left there alive when the day
dawned. Such is the story told by the Monk of Ely, of the fierce and
relentless manner in which Bourne was rescued from the Normans.
The Lady Godiva was very thankful to know that she had yet a son to protect
her. After this night of horror she removed to the Abbey of Croyland, where
she lived praying and fasting, and tending the poor and sick until she
died.
In the year 1069 there was a rebellion throughout England. The English were
angry and indignant when they saw how the Conqueror bestowed all the high
offices in the land upon his Normans, whilst he trod their own liberties
under foot.
Several bands of patriots assembled in the marshy lands of Cambridgeshire,
and there in the island of Ely they formed entrenchments of earth and wood,
and lived in security, often completely hidden by the mists that rose up
from the stagnant waters. There, too, they were amongst friends; the Abbey
of Croyland was in the marshes; Peterborough was not far off northward, and
as yet the monastery was held by the Abbot Brand, who prided himself on
never having sought favour from the Conqueror.
Meanwhile, Hereward had returned to Flanders, but he did not remain there
long, and when he came back to England a second time, bringing with him his
wife Torfrida and his little daughter, his kinsmen welcomed him heartily,
and asked him to lead them in the battles they hoped to fight with the
Normans.
But notwithstanding the numerous warlike deeds he had performed, he was not
what was called a legitimate "miles" or knight, and to be this it was
requisite that he should receive knighthood according to the Anglo-Saxon
custom. It was a law that every man desiring to be a lawful knight should
go to some abbey, and the evening before the ceremony of knighthood was to
take place, should confess his sins in deep penitence, and pass the whole
night inside the church in prayer and mortification. The next morning he
was to hear mass, and then offer up his sword upon the altar; this being
done the Gospel would be read, and the priest, having consecrated the
sword, would place it on the neck of the warrior with his blessing.[2]
The Normans looked with much scorn on this manner of knighthood at the
hands of a priest, but it may have been, as a modern French historian
observes, that they did not like to see so many knights continually rising
up amongst a people they had conquered.
Hereward went to Peterborough,[3] with two of his band, Winter and Gwenoch,
and persuaded his uncle to knight them all. And he told him that William
had given the abbey to Thorold, called "the fighting monk," but that Brand
would not believe for a long time.
All the brave Anglo-Saxons rose up now to make a last effort to deliver
themselves from the Normans. The Danes came to help them under Objorn,
brother of Sweyn, King of Norway. Edgar Atheling appeared from Scotland
with a number of brave men. The people of York put their Norman governor to
death; the fiercest struggles were in the north of England. Hereward
established himself with his followers in the island of Ely, and had a
fortress of wood constructed which served them for shelter, and was a point
where other men of like mind could meet them from the forests and
fastnesses around. And here they remained for a long time to the great
annoyance of the Normans who could not reach them because their horses
constantly lost their footing in the marshes and bogs around.
Thorold set out for Peterborough, but Brand did not live to be despoiled
of his abbey. Hereward hearing that the fighting monk was coming, hastened
to Peterborough with some of his men, and when they found that the monks
were not at all inclined to bar the entrance of Thorold, they took all the
crosses, and golden cups, the sacred robes and staffs belonging to the
abbey, and carried them to their quarters in Ely. And soon after this the
monks of Peterborough opened the gates to the Normans.
The Danish warriors made their way to Ely, but William found means to
persuade Sweyn to recall them, and he bribed Objorn to retire by giving him
large presents and the liberty of plundering the sea coast. The departure
of the Danes caused great vexation to the people in Ely, because they
carried away with them all the sacred treasures of Peterborough.
Now Taillebois, the Angevin,[4] had many followers, and being a great
boaster, he swore that he would quickly drive the outlaws out of their
hiding places. The fighting monk was out in the marshes, and he told him
that he meant to attack the English. Hereward let him enter a forest of
willows which served to protect the patriots from their enemies, but as
Taillebois went in on one side of the forest, he came out on the other side
himself, and falling upon Thorold and his men, who had remained behind, he
took them all prisoners and kept them in the marshes, not releasing the
abbot until he had paid him three thousand marks of silver.
The young brothers, Edwin and Morcar, had not joined in this last
rebellion, but they were not at all happy at King William's court; their
hearts were with their brave kinsman and not with the conqueror of their
land. At last Edwin went to Northumberland to lay his plans for another
rising, and Morcar fled to the island of Ely, where Hereward was still
holding out bravely, although the Saxon nobles in other parts of England
had all given way.
William was very uneasy so long as he could not gain possession of Ely. In
the hope of preventing the Saxons from coming out of the island, he
surrounded it with flat-bottomed boats and made a causeway to the extent of
two miles. The workmen who were employed in constructing the causeway were
much harassed by Hereward and his men, and the king was persuaded by some
of his nobles to place an old woman, believed to be a witch, in a wooden
tower at the head of the works that she might use her spells against the
enemy. Hereward, on this, came out with his troop and set fire to the
willows that grew closely around the tower, and thus the poor old woman
perished in the flames. This seems to have been a very cruel act on the
part of our hero, although, unhappily, in those days, the burning of
witches was not considered a crime.
The island remained blockaded for several months. At last the inmates of a
monastery in the interior got very hungry because no provisions could be
brought in, and they sent word to the king that they would show him how his
troops might enter the island if he would promise not to deprive them of
their property. Two Norman knights, Gilbert de Clare, and Guillaume de
Larenne undertook to try the path; the king's troops poured in after them,
and it is said that they put a thousand Englishmen to the sword. All the
nobles now surrendered except Hereward, and William imprisoned Morcar, and
Egelwine, Bishop of Durham, who had taken refuge in Ely. Morcar died in his
prison,[5] and Egelwine went mad, and as for the others "they suffered so
much in their captivity that it had been better for them if they had been
put to death the day they were taken."[6]
Hereward, with a few of his men, fought his way through the enemy and
escaped from their pursuit by difficult paths to the lowlands of
Lincolnshire. There some Saxon fishermen who were in the habit of carrying
fish every day to the Norman stations, along the marshes, concealed them in
their boats by covering them up with straw. When the boats reached one of
these strongholds, the Normans little imagining that their greatest enemy
was so near, purchased their fish as usual, and when it was cooked, sat
down to dinner. They had scarcely begun to eat when Hereward and his men
rose up out of the straw, and with hatchets in their hands rushed suddenly
upon them. There was a fierce conflict, and many of the Normans were slain;
those who survived fled in great terror and left their horses behind them
ready saddled. Then Hereward, and the followers that remained to him, each
chose a good steed for himself and galloped away into the forests.
In the country around they found many friends, and before they came as far
as Huntingdon their company included a hundred well armed men, all of them
faithful subjects of Hereward and proud to share his exploits. Their
numbers increasing daily, they became so strong at last that Gaimar, the
French poet, says they might have assailed a city. And a very strong castle
they did take, and found in it quantities of gold, silver, and armour,
besides rich furs and stuffs. So for a while they went on fighting under
their brave leader with spirit unquenched; often one Englishman against
three of the enemy.
But hope died out even in the heart of Hereward when the power of the
Conqueror became fully established in the land. His friends were either
dead or in prison, or they had been sent blinded and maimed to their homes.
The persuasions of a Saxon lady, named Alfrueda, helped to induce him to
make peace, or rather a truce, with William, and he set out accordingly,
followed by three of his comrades, for Winchester, where the king was then
living. But when he drew near the gates of the city, he thought that this
manner of presenting himself before his sovereign was unworthy of his own
high rank, and he turned back in order to provide a more dignified escort.
The second time he approached Winchester he was at the head of forty men,
all clad in armour from head to foot, and mounted on handsomely accoutred
horses. The king had a great admiration for the valour and constancy of
Hereward; he welcomed him gladly to his court, and suffered him to retain
his estate at Bourne.
Notwithstanding this, the Normans were always trying to quarrel with the
brave Saxon, and one day Oger, the Breton, offended him so deeply that a
combat took place between them, in which Oger was wounded. Then the enemies
of Hereward told the king that he had spoken evil of him, and persuaded him
to arrest him for that and for having wounded Oger. William seems to have
been very ready to believe ill of his powerful subject, and ordered him to
be imprisoned in Bedford Castle, where he remained a whole year.
When Hereward was released he went to live in his house at Bourne, and was
known by the name of "the Lord of the Fens." The monk who wrote his life in
Latin, asserts that he died peacefully in his home, but other documents
have been found which prove that he did not meet his death in quiet, but in
fierce conflict with his enemies.
His house at Bourne was frequently attacked by the Normans. One day he was
sitting outside the door, the weather was sultry, and he had fallen asleep.
Suddenly, he was awakened by the clash of weapons and the tread of horses,
and found that he was surrounded by a party of Bretons. He was without his
coat of mail, and had only a sword and a short pike. Undaunted amongst so
many, he snatched up a shield that was lying near, and defended himself
"like a lion." Taillebois, his greatest enemy, was with the troop. When he
perceived him he cried out that they were all traitors because he had made
his peace with the king, and that if they sought his life or his goods they
should pay dearly for either. Terrible was the struggle that ensued; the
Normans fell around; Hereward himself received four sword thrusts at once;
it was Raoul de Dol, a Breton knight, who rushed forward to give him the
death blow; then, he made one last effort, and flinging his shield in the
face of his foe, he fell back dead.
The life of Hereward was marked by many fierce deeds, and would that all
anger and strife had been hushed before he died! His memory must be
cherished because he loved his country so well, and it was great and noble
of him, when all his partizans had laid down their arms in submission, to
stand up alone in her righteous cause, and to be the last man to yield to
the thraldom of a conqueror.
The daughter of Hereward was given in marriage by William to a valiant
knight named Hugh de Evermere, to whom she brought the lands of Bourne.
Torfrida ended her days in the Abbey of Croyland.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Bourne, then called Brun, in Lincolnshire.
[2] See Sharon Turner.
[3] Peterborough was formerly called Burgh.
[4] Angevin, a native of Anjou.
[5] See Gaimar.
[6] Edwin, the brother of Morcar, was slain by some of his own followers.
THE CID.
According to the Spanish chronicles the famous Rodrigo Diaz de Bivar, known
by the name of the Cid, was born about the year 1026, in the city of
Burgos, the capital of old Castille. His father, Diego Laynez, was
descended from Layn Calvo, one of two judges by whom the country was
governed after Ordono, its king, had behaved very treacherously. When we
first hear of Rodrigo as a youth of gentle manners, but of great courage
and bodily strength, Don Ferrando, a Christian king, who traced his descent
from the other judge, was ruling over Castille.
Spain was then composed of many different kingdoms; the Moors had been
steadily gaining ground ever since they first set foot in the land, more
than three hundred years before, whilst the Christians had been trying as
steadily to keep them back. Now they held sway over by far the larger
portion of Spain; several of the great-cities, especially those in the
south, were under the dominion of Moorish kings, and were filled with
beautiful buildings, many of which remain, to show what wonderful skill the
Arabian architects must have possessed. The Moors lived in great splendour;
their palaces and courts were paved with marble, and the walls were covered
with arabesques in brilliant colours, or fretwork in gold[7]; the ceilings
were often of cedar wood, inlaid with silver, ivory, or mother of pearl,
and the chambers were filled with the fragrance of costly spices, which
were kept always burning. Then they had beautiful gardens blooming with
roses and myrtles, where orange trees grew, and silvery fountains played
into basins of white marble. The outside of their buildings was also richly
ornamented, and sometimes with the strangest devices. The Alhambra, the
finest of all the Moorish palaces, which still remains in its ancient
splendour, was not built in the city of Granada until nearly two hundred
years after the death of the Cid.
The Spaniards themselves were very brave, and inherited their valour from
the Visigoths, who were in possession of Spain for a long time before the
Moors crossed over the sea from Africa. The middle ages were not as dark
for them as they were for the other nations of Europe, because their
Moorish invaders taught them many useful arts and sciences, and also
introduced into Spain various fruits and trees which had hitherto only
grown in the East, or in Africa. Amongst these was the pomegranate, with
its shining dark green leaves, its beautiful crimson blossom, and its red,
juicy fruit; then there was the palm-tree, which was cultivated in the
fertile soil of Valencia, until it reached the height of a hundred and
fifty feet; and the strange-looking carob-tree, with leaves gloomily dark,
and pods full of a sweet pulp, like manna in taste, which were given to the
horses and mules.
Some of the Moorish kings were merciful rulers, and rendered their subjects
happy; still, as they were strangers and infidels, it was very natural for
the Spaniards to wish to drive them out of the land, and Rodrigo de Bivar
is renowned for having regained more ground from them than any of the other
great Spanish captains.
Whilst Rodrigo was still a youth, a quarrel arose between his father and a
certain Count Gomez, during which the Count gave his adversary a blow.
Laynez was old and feeble, and could not lift his sword, and he grieved
over the insult with a Spaniard's sense of shame and thirst for revenge.
Rodrigo, indignant at seeing his father treated thus scornfully, went out
and defied the Count to a combat, and slew him in the struggle. And when he
came home and told his father how he had avenged the affront that had been
offered him, the old man decreed that he should be considered thenceforth
as the head of the house of Layn Calvo. Alas! those were terrible times
when men fired up at the slightest provocation, and thought their honour
was at stake if an offence were not wiped out with the shedding of blood,
and seldom or never gave the "soft answer that turneth away wrath."
A little while after this, the Moors, led by five of their kings, entered
Castille; they plundered the cities and carried away captive men, women,
and children, besides seizing the cows and the sheep that were feeding in
the pastures. They were going home in triumph when Rodrigo, young as he
was, came up with them in the mountains of Oca, and put them all to the
rout.
"He rode to the hills of Oca, where the Moormen lay,
He conquered all the Moors, and took from their prey."
His father being now dead, he went home to his mother, a noble lady, the
daughter of the Count of Asturias, and told her how he had won back all
that the Moors had taken, and had made their five kings captive. His mother
was very proud of his success, and rejoiced still more when she heard him
say that it would not be fair to keep the kings in prison, and that he
would send them all back to their own territory. And the Moors were so
touched by his generous conduct towards them that they resolved to pay
tribute and to remain subject to the king of Castille.
The next event recorded in his life is his marriage with Ximena, daughter
of Count Gomez, whom he had slain. It is said that Ximena, without any
regard for the memory of her father, went to the king, Don Ferrando, and
entreated him to allow her to be married to Rodrigo de Bivar, because she
thought that he would one day be the richest and most powerful man in the
realm.
The marriage took place, and a short time after, Don Ferrando, of Castille,
and Don Ramiero, of Arragon, had a quarrel about a city called Calahorra,
each laying claim to it as his rightful possession. As it seemed impossible
to find out which king had the right on his side, it was agreed to decide
the question by single combat, so Don Martin Gonzalez, accounted the
bravest knight in all Spain, was chosen to fight for Ramiero, and Rodrigo
de Bivar was to fight for Ferrando.
Before the day of the combat arrived, Rodrigo set out on a pilgrimage to
the holy shrine of St. James, at Compostella, accompanied by twenty
knights. The Spaniards have a curious legend in reference to this journey
which must not be passed over, although so many strange stories are told of
the Cid that it is difficult to discover how many of the events detailed in
his life are really true.
On the road to Compostella the pilgrims found a leper struggling in a
quagmire, and crying in vain for help. Rodrigo hastened to his relief and
dragged him out of the muddy water. Then he set him before him on his own
horse and continued his journey. When they arrived at the inn where they
were to pass the night, Rodrigo seated the leper at supper next himself,
and eat with him of all the viands that were served before them off the
same plate. The knights to show their disgust at this, rose with one accord
and left the supper room. Nevertheless, Rodrigo, feeling sure that no one
else in the inn would have pity upon the poor leper or give him shelter,
made him share his bed, but when he awoke at midnight he found him gone.
After a while a figure appeared before him, clad in shining white garments,
and a voice asked him if he were asleep or awake. "I am awake," replied
Rodrigo, "but who art thou, and whence is this fragrance and brightness?"
The strange visitant, answered, "I am Saint Lazarus, the leper whom thou
hast succoured and honoured for the love of God;" and he told him that when
he felt a breath near him, such as he had felt that night, before he
appeared, it would be a sign that he should succeed in whatever enterprise
he was engaged in at the time; and he told him also that he should be
feared both by Christians and Moors, and that his foes should never prevail
against him. Then the saint vanished, and Rodrigo, wondering at the
extraordinary vision, knelt down, and remained many hours in prayer, and at
daybreak he set out on his pilgrimage once more, doing all the good he
could along his journey.
On the day fixed for the combat, Rodrigo had not appeared at the spot where
it was to take place, and his cousin Alvar Fanez, was preparing to fight in
his stead. But at the very moment when the contest was to begin, he stepped
forward and took his stand against the champion of Arragon. They fought so
fiercely that their lances were broken, and they were both severely
wounded, and although Gonzalez taunted his opponent by saying that he
should never go back alive to his bride, Dona Ximena, Rodrigo was more
cruel to him than he need have been, and gave him his death wound as he
lay, faint from loss of blood, upon the ground. Then Don Ferrando came up
and embraced Rodrigo, and helped to unharm him himself; he was so glad that
he could take possession of Calahorra, but all the people of Arragon
sorrowed bitterly for the loss of Gonzalez, their bravest knight.
The Counts of Castille now grew jealous of Rodrigo's renown, and plotted
with the Moors that a battle should take place, in which they hoped he
might be killed and so stand no longer in their way. The affair was made
known to the Moors who were his vassals; they refused to share in the
treason, and revealed the whole plot to their lord. The king was very angry
when he heard of the treachery of his nobles, and to punish them, he
ordered all the traitors to quit the kingdom at once.
About this time Rodrigo was knighted in the great mosque of Coimbra, the
king giving him his sword, the queen his horse, and the infanta fastening
on his spurs. After this he was called Ruy Diaz, Ruy being short for
Rodrigo; and his Moorish vassals when they brought him tribute called him
"El Seid," the Arabic for "the lord," so that he was known thenceforth by
the name of the Cid.
Not long after this Don Ferrando died, leaving his dominions divided
amongst his five children. Sancho had Castille, Alonzo Leon, Garcia
Gallicia, and their two sisters, the cities of Tora and Zamora. The
brothers kept at peace for only two years, and then they went to war with
one another. The Cid remained faithful to the fortunes of Don Sancho, and
one day during the war, when the king was being carried away prisoner by
thirteen knights who were on the side of Alonzo, Ruy Diaz chanced to come
up with them in time, and being unarmed, he asked them to give him a lance.
The knights refused at first, but afterwards gave him one, laughing at the
idea that one man could hold out against so many. They soon found that they
were mistaken, for the Cid overthrew them one after another until only two
were left, and thus freed Don Sancho from the power of his enemies. The war
between the brothers unhappily lasted some years, and at last Alonzo was
defeated by Sancho, and shut up in prison, whence he contrived to escape to
the court of the Moorish kings. Sancho himself received a death blow from
an unknown hand at the siege of Zamora. Before he died he prayed that his
brother Alonzo might come from the land of the Moors and show favour to the
Cid, and that the hidalgos would entreat him to forgive whatever wrongs,
he, Don Sancho, had done to him.
Alonzo returned from the land of the Moors, and as soon as he arrived his
sister Urraca sent letters to all the nobles in the kingdom that they might
render him homage. Those of Leon and Gallicia were very glad to come and
receive him for their king; then the Castillians appeared, and they kissed
his hands, all except the Cid; but they were not all content, for Alonzo
had been suspected of having connived at the death of Don Sancho.
When the king saw that the Cid would not kiss his hand, he was vexed, and
he asked him why he held back. And the Cid replied that he would never
render him homage until he had sworn with twelve of his hidalgos who were
likewise suspected, that he had not connived at the death of Don Sancho.
The king consented to take the oath in the great church of Saint Gadea, in
Burgos, and went thither on the appointed day with his sisters and all his
court. The Cid made him stand with the hidalgos on a high stage so that
they might be seen by all the people in the church; then he took the book
of the holy gospels and laid it on the altar, and when Alonzo had placed
his hand upon it, he asked him in the most solemn manner if he had anything
to do with his brother's death. And he said that if it were so, and he
denied the crime, he should die a like death himself, at the hands of one
who was not a Castillian, but would come from a strange land.
At the end of every sentence the Cid spoke, the king and his hidalgos
answered, Amen.
It was an awful scene, and when Alonzo heard the doom pronounced upon him
if he did not speak the truth, he turned pale, and asked Ruy Diaz why he
pressed him so much, because he made him take the oath three times. When he
had sworn that he was innocent for the last time, the Cid kissed his hand
and acknowledged him for his king, and from thenceforth Alonzo reigned over
Castille, Leon, Gallicia, and Navarre, and was free from the attempts of
his brother Garcia since he had invited him to his court, and then shut him
up in a strong castle, where he remained to the end of his days. It was a
very long time, however, before he could look kindly on the Cid, for he
thought he had done him a great injury by making him take the oath so many
times before his people.
The first expedition of Ruy Diaz after this was against the kings of
Seville and Cordova, in which he won great honour, and afterwards returned
to Castille laden with spoils. Then he lay sick for a long time, and could
not go with Alonzo to fight the Moors in another part of Spain. And it
happened that when the king was far away, a vast company of Moors, thinking
that all was quiet, entered Castille and did great damage to the country.
The Cid, hearing of this, roused himself and gathered his strength and
pursued them as far as the city of Toledo. The Castillians around Toledo
were very jealous of his power, and they complained to Alonzo that Ruy Diaz
had driven the Moors into their territory on purpose to annoy them.
Alonzo flew into a great passion, and summoned the Cid to his presence, and
glad of an opportunity of vexing him, ordered him to leave the country of
Castille for ever, and all the fair domains he possessed.
When the sentence was passed the Cid's cousin, Alvar Fanez, and all his
friends, kinsmen, and vassals, declared that if he must needs quit the land
they would follow him into his exile and remain faithful to him all the
days of their life. This comforted Ruy Diaz, although he did not desire
that so many of those he loved should condemn themselves to wander in the
land of the Moors for his sake. He sent his wife Ximena, and his two little
daughters, Elvira and Sol,[8] to the convent of Saint Peter, of Cardena,
where they would be safe; and one sad day he bade farewell to his home in
Castille and set out on his wanderings, the king having granted him nine
days for his journey out of the country.
The costly furniture of his palace in Burgos had been all stored away;
there were no people coming and going; no voices of children gladdened the
empty halls; the birds were all gone from the perches, there would be no
more pleasant pastime of hawking, the whole place was silent and desolate.
When the Cid saw this he knelt down and turned towards the east, and prayed
that he might be victorious over the Moors, and gain enough to requite his
friends for their devotion. Then he turned to the whole company and cheered
them with the hope that he might yet be able to return to Castille in
honour. And an old woman, who stood by the door, repeated the Spanish
proverb, "Go in a lucky moment, and you shall make spoil of whatever you
desire."
The mausoleum of the Cid now occupies the spot where his palace stood, and
his statue ornaments the gate of Saint Maria, which is the principal
entrance into the city of Burgos, and opens on to one of the bridges
leading out into the suburb called Vega.
As Ruy Diaz came with his people through the streets of Burgos, the
citizens wept aloud; they were so grieved to see him depart, and to know
that no house might afford him shelter even for one night. So when the dark
came he was obliged to have a tent raised on the sandy plain and rest for a
while there.
At last he got to the convent of Cardena, and bade a long farewell to his
wife and daughters, giving them a hundred marks of gold for their
expenditure; and before he left he gave the Abbot fifty marks of silver,
and commended his family to his care, for he did not feel sure that he
should ever see them again. Then he pursued his journey, travelling all
night because he had a long and difficult way to go before he could get to
the land of the Moors. The next day but one they crossed the river Douro in
wooden boats, and rested at a place called Figueruela. And there in the
night he either dreamed or had a vision of an angel coming to him who said,
"Cid, be of good cheer, for it shall be well with thee all thy life long;
and thou shalt accomplish all that thou shalt undertake, and shalt become
rich and honoured." The Cid thought very much on what he had heard, and he
arose and gave thanks for the mercy that had befallen him. The following
day he reached the wild Sierra, of Miedes, and he said, "Friends, let us
mount our horses quickly, and cross the Sierra and go out of the kingdom of
Don Alonzo, for this is the ninth day, and it is time we were gone." So
they passed the Sierra in the dark night and then they were in the country
of the Moors. The whole company of the Cid amounted to 400 horsemen, and
3,000 foot. They travelled by night, and hid by day until they reached the
Castle of Castregon. Ruy Diaz concealed himself and his friends close by,
and in the morning the Moors, not knowing they were there, came out of the
Castle gates to go to their work; the Spaniards rushed suddenly upon them,
slaying some and dispersing the rest, and soon got possession of the castle
where they found a quantity of gold and silver. But they could not stay in
it because there was no water, and besides this, the Moors all around were
vassals of Don Alonzo. So the Cid left the Moors there whom he had taken
prisoner in the skirmish, and went further on his way to meet with fresh
adventures. During the whole time of his exile he remained loyal to the
king who had so unjustly treated him, and did him good service, for he took
many strong castles from the Moors, and either drove the invaders out of
the land or made them subject to Castille. He shared with his company all
the rich spoils he won, and after many brave exploits determined to send
his cousin Alvar to Alonzo with a present of thirty Arab horses, and a
message entreating him to restore him to his favour, and to give back to
his friends the estates they had lost by following him into his exile.
When the king saw the beautiful Arab horses, each with a fine sword mounted
in silver hanging from its saddle, his face brightened, and he could not
bring himself to refuse the gift. Still he thought it was too soon yet to
pardon the mighty Cid, and only restored to his friends and relations their
lands.
Ruy Diaz got as far as the district of Ternel in Arragon, and there he
settled himself in a fortress on a high rock which has been called ever
since "The Rock of the Cid." From this stronghold he sallied forth from
time to time against the Moors, and forced numbers of them to pay tribute.
And besides overcoming the Moors, he served the king by punishing some
great Spanish lords who had been guilty of treason, and Alonzo at last
desired him to return to the court. The Cid waited yet to take the strong
Castle of Rueda from the Moors, and then he came back to Castille in
honour, as he had hoped on the sorrowful day when he left Burgos. All the
king's displeasure passed away when Ruy Diaz came before him and delivered
into his hands the rich treasures he had captured, and Alonzo gave him many
castles, and the right of keeping in future all the places he should win
from the Moors for himself.
Ruy Diaz was chosen to lead the Spanish army against Toledo in the year
1032. This city was possessed by the Moorish king Yahia, and was considered
so important a place, that all the Christian sovereigns in Spain made up
their quarrels, and joined together to besiege it. Yahia held out for three
years, and then only yielded up the city on condition that he should reign
over Valencia instead. The first Christian banner that entered Toledo was
the banner of the Cid. A story is told by the Spaniards how, when the army
had to cross a ford of the Tagus, that they might get nearer the city, and
the river was so swollen that the horsemen feared to plunge into it, a monk
of the order of St. Benedict rode over first on an ass, after which the
whole army passed over in safety.
Later on, Castille was threatened by the Almoravides, a nation of African
Moors. The Moorish kings already settled in Spain had many bitter quarrels
amongst themselves; there was trouble and treason all over the land. Yahia,
who was protected by the Cid, and called himself his friend, was murdered
by a wicked alcayde named Abeniaf soon after he had joined with Ruy Diaz to
defend Spain against the Almoravides. Abeniaf buried the treasures of the
murdered king, and let some of the new invaders into Valencia, for which
service they made him Wali, or governor of the city.
The Cid came with a great army of Christians and Moors, and lay siege to
Valencia, so incensed was he at the cruel death of Yahia, and began by
attacking the suburbs, because by gaining them he could close all round the
city, and prevent the Moors from going in or coming out. That siege of
Valencia was very terrible, the people died daily of hunger; they eat
horses, dogs, cats, and mice, and when all the flesh was gone they had only
a little wheat and garlic, and a few raisins and figs.
In their sore need they implored some more of the Almoravides to come to
their aid, although a great quarrel had broken out between that people and
Abeniaf. The Almoravides set out for Valencia, but they were dismayed by a
violent tempest which arose and turned back. Then the besieged went almost
mad through hunger and misery, and the Cid came nearer its walls, thinking
that famine would force them to yield. The longer the siege lasted, the
more defiant did Abeniaf become; besides which he governed the people very
cruelly, and oppressed them in every way. The Cid was very cruel too
outside their walls, and showed them no mercy. He sent word to them that he
would burn all persons who should dare to come out of the city, and it is
said that several Moors who tried to escape were burned by his command.
Many men, women, and children, too, came out whenever the gates were
opened, and sold themselves to the Christians for food. The price of a Moor
was a loaf and a pitcher of wine.
At last Abeniaf agreed to deliver up the place if no succour came within
fifteen days, provided he might still continue in his office of Wali. The
people thought they might yet be saved, because they had entreated the King
of Saragossa to assist them, but no help came, and the gates were opened,
and the Christians poured in to the city.