HOW RODRIGO FOUGHT WITH THE COUNT OF GORMAZ
The principal gate of the Alcazar led out on a broad square, bounded on
all sides by the magnificent mansions of the noblest families of the
city. Amongst them was that of the Count of Gormaz, who, although he had
a very large and strong castle in the country, with appointments worthy
of a king, resided usually in the Court city, since death had deprived
him of his wife at Gormaz.
Don Gome had loved his wife as Diego Lainez did his, for she had been
equally worthy of being loved. Whilst he enjoyed her affection and
caresses, ambition had never come to disturb his happiness, and he cared
but little for the Court, at which he was scarcely ever seen. However,
from the time he fixed his residence in Leon, whether it was that the
death of his dear companion had left a void in his soul, which had to be
filled up in some way, or whether it was that the glitter of a Court
life had deteriorated and darkened his heart, formerly free from evil
passions, it is certain that he became entirely changed. Envy
overmastered him, as a consequence of a boundless ambition for honours
and riches, which indeed he had no need of, for the count was of very
noble origin, and his family one of the richest of Castile. He certainly
loved his daughter, and was loved by her; it is also certain that Ximena
had united in herself sufficient beauty, discretion, and other good
qualities to make her the pride and glory of her father; all this,
however, was not sufficient for Don Gome, and his daughter filled but a
small portion of the void left in his heart by the death of his wife.
There are in men certain physiological phenomena which do not admit of
satisfactory explanation; in the case of the Count of Gormaz these were
very numerous.
Let us leave, however, this digression, and see what was taking place in
the palace of the count. In one of the apartments, which overlooked the
square of the Alcazar, was the sweet, the beautiful, the loving Ximena,
reclining on a couch, and drying up with her handkerchief the abundant
tears which flowed from her eyes. She was thinking deeply, and her
meditations must have been tortures to her soul, to judge from the agony
which could easily be seen on her countenance. Not far from her, Lambra
was occupied, much less with the work which lay upon her lap, than with
drying up the tears which the grief of her mistress caused her to shed.
The honoured dueña deserves that we should say a few words about her,
for the part which a dueña performed with regard to a young girl was not
an insignificant one, especially when the maiden is in love and has lost
her mother. Lambra was one of those women whose case would almost give
one a right to speak strongly against nature, if nature were not the
work of God--of God who has a heaven, with which to compensate people
for the privations which they have to bear on earth. She was one of
those women to whom nature had given a superabundance of love and, at
the same time, had denied them the privilege of lavishing it on men,
for, as far as she was concerned, her countenance was cast in such a
mould that the more she might desire to approach men, the more would
they fly from her. Women of this kind devote their love to the first
being that crosses their path, for if they did not do so their hearts
would burst with the affection which fills them. In this condition was
Lambra: Ximena was the being who had crossed her path and on whom she
had poured out all the love of her heart; she was present at her birth,
and had witnessed her physical and moral development from day to day
without ever losing sight of her, thus filling up her soul with her, if
we may so express ourselves; and it may be said indeed that the maiden
formed part of her being. Thus it was that she wept or smiled when
Ximena wept or smiled, and almost hated or loved according as Ximena did
the one or the other.
"Do not weep, my darling," she said to the young girl, affecting a
calmness which she did not feel; "do not think any more of your
unfortunate love affairs, for if you keep brooding over them you will be
in your grave before three days are past, and that would be neither good
nor Christian on your part. Let God, who created us, kill us, and let us
not kill ourselves."
"But of what use is life to me?" replied Ximena, rousing herself from
her meditations.
"Ave Maria! what a mad question! For what do we preserve our lives but
to be happy?"
"Alas, Lambra, you cannot understand that my happiness is now impossible
in this world. How can I be happy without Rodrigo?"
"Have you then lost him?"
"I have lost him, Lambra. If I feared that I had lost his love, when no
really serious matter justified the hostility between my father and his,
how much stronger are now my reasons for fearing it, when my father, the
Count of Gormaz, has imprinted on the face of his father a stain which
only can be washed off with blood? The hand of my father has opened an
abyss between both our houses."
Lambra knew that what Ximena said was only too true, and felt almost
dismayed by the task that was imposed on her--that of consoling and
cheering up the maiden; notwithstanding, she did her best to conceal her
inquietude, and asked--
"Do you feel confident that Rodrigo loves you?"
"I have never doubted it."
"And have you not often heard it said that love conquers all things?"
"Yes, Lambra."
"Then do not be disquieted, and trust that the love of Rodrigo may be
able to throw a bridge over the abyss of which you have just spoken, in
order that your house and his may be reconciled and form again but one
family."
This reflection, although it was rather sophistical, shed a drop of
balsam on the wound which was torturing the soul of Ximena, into whose
mind flashed, at that moment, a ray of light: "I shall throw myself on
my knees at the feet of my father," thought to herself the daughter of
Don Gome, "and I shall beseech him to repair the offence which he has
committed against Rodrigo, and if he loves me, he will comply with my
wish."
Whilst Ximena was still formulating this request, her father entered the
chamber. By the appearance of his daughter, whose face was still stained
by tears, Don Gome divined her feelings. Such were the marks that grief
had imprinted, in two days, on the visage of Ximena, that the count
could not prevent himself from being deeply moved; for he loved his
child very much, notwithstanding the fact that the evil passions which
had taken possession of his heart were causing her the deepest misery.
"My daughter!" he exclaimed, pressing her tenderly in his arms, "you
weep, and do not try to find consolation and alleviation of your
troubles in me. Do you perchance doubt of the love of your father?"
"Ah no, my father!" answered Ximena, bathed in tears.
"Do you not know," continued the count, with endearing accents,--"do you
not know, daughter, that, from the time I lost your mother, you have
been the sole being in this world that I have loved? Do you think that I
have no care for your happiness because I have sworn that you never
shall be the bride of the son of De Vivar?"
"But, father," said the young girl timidly, "you know that such an oath
destroys my happiness during my entire life."
"It will destroy it, if you do not forget Rodrigo."
"And do you believe that I can forget him? Do you believe that a love
can be forgotten that had its birth almost at the same time that we had
ours? Do you believe that it is possible for a woman to forget a man
like Rodrigo?"
"Nothing resists time and injuries received. Those which Diego Lainez
has inflicted on your father are such that your union with his son would
be an unbearable humiliation, not alone to a race like that of De
Gormaz, but even to that of a low-born peasant. He who has so vilely
calumniated me at the Court; he who, for his own aggrandisement, has
lowered me so much in the eyes of the king; he who has robbed me of the
favour of Don Fernando; he who has been so treacherous to his most loyal
friend, deserved that your father should refuse to his son your hand,
and even should strike him in the face before those in whose eyes he had
so humiliated me."
"Consider, my father, that a fatal error may have blinded you. If you do
not wish to commit an unjust act, if you do not desire to enter into a
contest in which both of us may die, you by a lance or sword wound, and
I by the grief which your loss would cause me, make good the insult
which you offered to Diego Lainez in the saloons of the Alcazar, and
forget for ever those which you imagine that you have received from
him"--
"Ximena!" exclaimed the count in a severe tone, "what advice is this you
dare to give me? If it were another who so counselled me, I would tear
out his tongue. Do you value so little the honour of your father, and do
you consider him such a coward, as to think that he should ask pardon of
him in whose face he would rather spit?"
The anger which the count exhibited whilst speaking those words
discouraged Ximena, and deprived her of her last hope. The daughter of
Don Gome answered her father with tears alone. He, feeling compassion
for her grief, repented of his sudden burst of indignation, and clasped
her again to his heart, pressing with his lips her pale brow. He felt,
doubtless, that his pride was yielding in presence of his child's grief,
and in order not to desist from his intention of responding with fresh
insults to the reparation which he felt would soon be demanded from him
by De Vivar, he went off from Ximena, who followed him with her eyes to
the door of the chamber as sadly as if it were the last time she should
ever see him.
The king, who desired to bring about the reconciliation of the count
with Diego Lainez, fearful of the fierce strife which otherwise would
blaze up between the partisans of the two noble families, summoned Don
Gome to the Alcazar. At the moment when the count left his house in
order to obey the order of the king, there rode into the square a body
of knights who, apparently, were also proceeding to the Alcazar. Amongst
them was Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar, who, as soon as he perceived the count,
separated himself from his companions, and made his way hastily towards
him.
"Listen, traitrous count, ignoble cavalier!" he said to him. "I, Rodrigo
Diaz de Vivar, son of Diego Lainez, whom you wounded on the face, as he
is old and cannot wash away with your blood the stain you put on his
honour, do now challenge you to single combat, in which you will fight
against me; and five knights from amongst my friends shall sustain my
rights against five chosen from your friends, in case either you or I
should fall in the battle. I am about to demand permission for this from
the king."
"Be off, then," answered the count, turning his shoulder on the young
man with haughty disdain; "the Count of Gormaz fights with giants, and
not with boys like you."
"Infamous count! boys have conquered giants," responded Rodrigo, with
much difficulty keeping down his anger. "Remember that David was very
young when he overcame Goliath. If I am a youth in years, I am a giant
in the valour which my outraged honour and your cowardice instil into
me."
The count gazed on him with contempt, and proceeded a few steps on his
way. The youth, however, intercepted him, becoming more and more
enraged.
"Leave me," exclaimed at last Don Gome, also filled with anger, "leave
me at once; for if I wounded your father's face with a blow of my hand,
I shall chastise your insolence with kicks."
Those words, and the tone in which they were spoken, exasperated
Rodrigo to the highest pitch, and he exclaimed, placing his hand on his
sword--
"Defend yourself, villain, defend yourself, or I shall kill you behind
your back, like a traitor and coward as you are!"
"You shall not do so, but you shall pay dearly for your audacity,"
replied the count, unsheathing his sword, and rushing on Rodrigo with
such fury that the young man had scarcely time to place himself on his
guard.
The count was robust and of enormous strength, so great that on account
of it he had gained the name of _Lozano_,[1] by which he was commonly
known, and which both history and tradition have brought down to us.
Rodrigo was of high stature, but very thin, and his strength was not yet
developed. Thus it was that, the physical powers of the two combatants
not being equalised by defensive and offensive arms,--as was usual in
solemn combats, when there was great disproportion in the strength of
the two parties,--the spectators considered the victory of the count as
certain. Those present consisted not only of the retinue which had
accompanied Rodrigo, but also of a large number of persons whom the
clashing of the swords had attracted to the windows and balconies of the
buildings which surrounded the square, or who had flowed in through the
streets that led to it. Amongst those spectators was the king, Don
Fernando himself, who appeared on a balcony of the Alcazar just as the
fate of the combatants was about to be decided. They were fighting with
a fury not often seen; the strokes of the count were terrible from the
force with which they were dealt, but Rodrigo avoided them with an
agility and dexterity that could scarcely be expected from him,
considering the limited practice he had had in warlike exercises, which
only consisted in his having broken a few lances at tournaments;
moreover, he did not for an instant lose the calmness and presence of
mind so necessary in a fight. At last Don Gome aimed a terrible blow at
his adversary, which the sword of Rodrigo did not altogether succeed in
warding off, and he felt the blood running down his face. This advantage
gained by his enemy, far from discouraging him, only inflamed his anger
more and more, and lent new strength to his arm, new breath to his
lungs, and increased agility to his limbs.
[1] Strong, lusty.
At that moment a cry of agony was heard from the mansion of the count, a
cry which the clashings of the steels, increasing in rapidity and
force, fortunately prevented Rodrigo from hearing. We say fortunately,
for if he had heard it, his heart would have become so troubled, that
the good sword, which he had consecrated by a reverent kiss when he
received it from his father, might have fallen from his hand. Yes; such
would likely have happened to Rodrigo, for it was Ximena who had uttered
that agonised exclamation, when, having gone to the window of her
chamber, she saw her father and her lover fighting so fiercely; when she
saw the visage of Rodrigo bathed in blood, and perceived with the eyes
of her soul that her hopes of happiness had now indeed vanished for
ever; for her misery was certain whichever succumbed--her father or
Rodrigo. Of what use would life be to her without the latter? And if her
father fell, how could she marry his slayer? Not in vain had she said,
but a short time before, that an almost impassable abyss had opened
between her house and that of Diego Lainez.
The combat, in the meantime, was raging even more fiercely than before,
and its end was evidently approaching, as the combatants, panting and
covered with blood, instead now of defending themselves, were
endeavouring, to their very utmost, to kill each other. Don Gome then
suddenly drew his dagger, and with it in one hand, and his sword in the
other, blind with rage and desperation, rushed on Rodrigo, parrying with
his sword the strokes of his adversary, and doing his best at the same
time to pierce him with the dagger.
"Back, felon, traitor, back!" exclaimed Rodrigo, indignant at the
perfidy of the count. He, however, neither heard the words nor listened
to the voice of honour, which reprobates every cavalier who has recourse
to a vile stratagem in order to conquer his enemy; Rodrigo fell back a
step, and received on the point of his sword Don Gome, who fell, pierced
through, to the ground, uttering a cry of rage and agony.
Loud applause resounded on all sides; cavaliers and citizens rushed
towards Rodrigo to carry him in triumph to where his wounds could be
dressed, for abundant blood was streaming from them. Numerous flowers,
which had adorned the windows and balconies, fell at the feet of the
brave youth, and formed the victor's crown.