IN WHICH THIS BOOK ENDS, PROVING THAT GOD GIVES IN THIS WORLD, BOTH TO
THE GOOD AND TO THE BAD, A SAMPLE OF THE CLOTH WHICH THEY SHALL WEAR IN
THE OTHER WORLD
Some days have passed since the Castilian people raised their standards
for Don Alfonso VI.
It is the morning of St. John's Day. The sky is azure, and the stars
which sprinkled it are gradually disappearing, for the brightness which
precedes the rising sun is beginning to illumine the east; the breeze is
so gentle that the leaves of the trees, in which the birds sing,
scarcely stir, and the golden corn, amid which is heard the plaintive
cooing of the turtle-doves, is also motionless. That light breeze has,
however, sufficient force to extract the perfumes from the thyme and
hundreds of other herbs and flowers, and to bear them on its wings,
filling the air with sweetness. The white, misty clouds which veiled the
river Carrion, like a web of white and transparent gauze spread over the
plain, had entirely disappeared, and the morning light was reflected
from the tranquil surface of the stream, like the light of a lamp from a
string of diamonds. What a beautiful sight the banks of the Carrion
present! Here, the ripe corn, the colour of which shows that the golden
dreams of the labourers are realised; there, trees, the branches of
which are bent to the ground by the luscious fruits, as if they wished
to cheer the passer-by with their sweetness and perfume; farther on, a
meadow covered with flowers, the various colours of which are made still
more varied by the mild breeze, as it gently agitates them whilst
passing along; and finally, a hundred white villages scattered over the
plain, like flocks of pigeons which have alighted on the cornfields.
Singing is heard in all directions, and a thousand joyful cries fill the
air. Who are those that walk across the plain, singing and shouting? Are
they the young men and women of Carrion, going to gather vervain on the
banks of the river? How is it that, so early, white columns of smoke
arise from the houses scattered over the plain? How beautiful is St.
John's morning shortly after sunrise!
The sun ascends, shooting torrents of light upon the slopes and
inundating with splendour the plain of Carrion, already filled with
flowers and perfumes, and to the shouts and songs of the multitude are
united the peals of the bells of the town, in which some festival, much
above ordinary ones, is about to take place. But those bells which cheer
up the inhabitants of the town and of the plain are not those of the
Virgin of Belen, or those of Santa Maria del Camino; they are those of a
new church which rises to the east of the town, of a church which did
not exist on the night during which the count's castle was devoured by
the flames; the blackened walls of which, half-destroyed, rise on the
eminence which looks down on the town.
Immense crowds pour indeed across the plain from all quarters. Men and
women, people on foot and on horses, peasants and nobles. Let us listen
to the conversations of some of those who flock to that festival, the
object of which is still unknown to us.
"By the soul of Beelzebub, even at the battle of the Oca Mountains there
was not such a multitude as there is to-day on the plain of Carrion!"
exclaims a dark-complexioned man, who is amid a group of men and women,
standing on an eminence beside the Burgos road, looking down on the
plain.
By my life that man is Fernan, mounted on Overo, although just now he
does not carry the accoutrements of a squire! The woman who is at his
side, mounted on a donkey, is Mayor, and in the same group are other
persons, not unknown to us: for instance, Martin Vengador, Rui-Venablos,
and Beatrice, who are riding, the latter on an ass, like Mayor, and the
men on horses.
Let us listen to Fernan, who, to judge by the attention which the
bystanders are bestowing on him, must be intimately acquainted with
everything concerning those festivities.
"The tournament which is to take place on the plain of Carrion," he
says, "will be the most famous that has ever been seen or heard of in
Spain. They are going to celebrate, in magnificent style, the coronation
of Don Alfonso, as King of Castile and Leon."
"Can you tell me, friend," asked a bystander, "why Don Alfonso has taken
it into his head to have those famous festivities on the plain of
Carrion instead of in Leon or Burgos?"
"I will tell you, brother," replied Fernan; "as Carrion stands in the
centre of the two kingdoms, now united again, as in the time of Don
Fernando, and as the country is so beautiful and level, Don Alfonso has
desired to celebrate the festivities in a place to which it is an easy
journey for both Castilians and Leonese."
"And do you know who are to take part in the jousts?"
"The most noble cavaliers of Leon and Castile, and it is even said that
the king, Don Alfonso, will break a lance with De Lara, the Campeador,
and other distinguished cavaliers."
"Those festivities, then, will be worth seeing."
"Of course they will; there will be ring, wand, and other games, and
finally a passage-at-arms, which Guillen of the Standard will defend,
not alone to celebrate the coronation of Don Alfonso, but also to
celebrate his own marriage."
"And to whom is that youth going to be married?"
"This very day he marries the Infanta of Carrion, in the convent which
Doña Teresa built at her own expense for the nuns of San Zoil, who are
going to it to-day. She did that to repay the hospitality which she
received from them on the night that Guillen rescued her from the
burning castle. The Campeador and his wife, Doña Teresa, my lord and
lady, will give them away, and for that purpose they are in Carrion
since yesterday. Just listen how the bells of San Zoil are pealing! I
would lay a wager that at this very moment they are uniting for ever the
hero of the Standard with the Infanta."
"The marriage of Doña Teresa and Guillen must be great happiness for
them; people say that they love each other very much."
"Brother, there is one here--ay, more than one--who can speak with
certainty regarding such happiness. This honoured lady, who is beside me
on the donkey, and I have got married, for love only, a few days ago,
and also that brave youth and the young woman, over there, who are
talking so lovingly to each other."
"I wish joy to you all, for you must be happy when you love so
sincerely."
"We love each other, and are now well off, for the lords of Vivar, our
masters--may God bless and prosper them!--have given us very rich
gifts."
"It does not astonish me that the Campeador has been liberal to his
servitors, for Don Alfonso has given a good example to all. It is said
that the favours which the king has bestowed are enormous; and, being
so, I am surprised that he has not shown himself indulgent also towards
those lords whom Don Sancho exiled, by pardoning them and allowing them
to return."
"Far from doing that, he has taken their estates from them, in order to
bestow them on their next-of-kin; and he has imposed the penalty of
death on them if they should set foot in Castile or Leon. And, by my
soul, Don Alfonso has done well, for those counts deserve it richly. The
king has strong suspicions--and those also who are not kings--that those
accursed counts, and especially De Carrion, were the persons who paid
Bellido to assassinate the brave Don Sancho."
Those who were thus talking had now descended to the plain; they ceased
their conversation, for the crowds that were about them absorbed their
attention, presenting to them a thousand different scenes. A minute
afterwards they were amid the animated multitude, and joined in the
general rejoicings.
An hour after, King Alfonso, accompanied by Castilian and Leonese
nobles, arrived on the centre of the plain; the platforms which had been
erected, as if by magic, were occupied by a thousand noble and beautiful
women, and the games were commencing to the sounds of numerous musical
instruments, the sounds of which filled the air and increased the
enjoyment of all the spectators.
Whilst the plain, rich with light, harmony, flowers, and happiness,
offered such enchanting scenes to the sight, another scene, entirely
different, was being enacted in a wood filled with briars and ancient
chestnut trees, situated on the slope of one of the hills which bound
the plain, and at a short distance from the road.
About fifty men were in it, some tranquilly sleeping, stretched on the
grass, others viewing with delight the magnificent spectacle which was
offered by the plain, which from that point could be seen to its fullest
extent; and others still, under the spreading branches of the trees,
watching the approaches to the wood.
These men were bandits; they were Juan Centellos and his band, whom the
Salvadores were pursuing in vain; for they laughed at their efforts and
baffled them, sometimes by their cleverness and sometimes by means of
the money which they possessed, especially since they had sacked and
burned the Castle of Carrion.
Juan Centellos and another bandit, who seemed to be his second in
command, began to speak in a low voice, as soon as the former had sent
away a peasant, who, shortly before, had entered the wood and conversed
with Juan for a few minutes.
"Have we good news?" the lieutenant asked.
"The spy has indeed brought good news from Carrion," answered Centellos.
"The bird will soon fly into the net."
"How so, comrade? Tell me all about it."
"Don Suero has taken refuge in an ancient castle which he possesses in
Senra, a solitary valley in the Asturias, despairing of being able to
conquer his opponents there, and fearful of dying on the gallows if he
sets foot in Castile or Leon. It appears that, desirous of having
someone to amuse him in his solitude, he sent to seek out, by means of
Bellido, that wench whom we found in the castle, but did not kill, as we
did not wish to stain our hands with the blood of a woman; and this very
day Bellido is to pass along here with her."
"Anger of hell! what a fortunate day we shall have if that traitor, who
sold the band of the Vengador, falls into our hands! We also will
celebrate the coronation of Don Alfonso, and will not leave it
altogether to those down below on the plain."
"Bellido shall not escape us on this occasion, as he did on that night
some time ago. I once swore to hang him on the ramparts of the Castle of
Carrion, in which, through his vile treachery, so many of our comrades
perished; and if, as I hope, we capture him to-day, he shall appear
to-morrow as a scarecrow on the blackened walls of the burned edifice.
We must keep our eyes open, comrades, for I have been told that the
Salvadores are in this neighbourhood; doubtless to see to the safety of
all those who have come to take part in the festivities."
The officers of the band had got thus far in their conversation when
they were interrupted by a whistle, which was a perfect imitation of
that of a blackbird.
"People are approaching, and the lookouts are giving the signal," said
Juan Centellos; and he added, looking towards the road, "It is a man who
is carrying a woman behind him on his horse. May the demon carry me off
if it is not he of whom we are in search! To the road, to the road,
comrades!"
And Juan Centellos and some of his men took up their arms and hurried in
the direction of the road.
The man indeed whom they had seen was Bellido Dolfos and the woman he
was carrying behind him on the horse was Sancha, the daughter of the
blind lute-player, the mistress of Don Suero.
Bellido put spurs to his horse, but the bandits barred his way. He then
drew his sword, resolved to defend himself obstinately. Vain, however,
were all his endeavours, for in a few moments he was disarmed by the
bandits and dragged, together with Sancha, into the wood of chestnut
trees.
Bellido indeed deserved to suffer on earth all the tortures of hell, and
the wretched woman, who accompanied him, was not worthy of compassion,
for she had become degraded to that extent that she avoided her blind
father, who was seeking her all over the country; and it was she also
who had aided Don Suero and the Count of Cabra to allure the Cid and his
escort, when going to the Cortes of Leon, into the ambush, where, almost
by a miracle, their lives were preserved; notwithstanding all this, it
is repugnant to us to mention the cruelties of which they, especially
Bellido Dolfos, were the victims when they fell into the hands of the
bandits.
"Comrades," said Juan Centellos to the members of his band, "let this
woman go and bring the news to her noble lover; we shall take good care
of Bellido."
The bandits then seized on the traitor and dragged him to a very large
chestnut tree, the trunk of which was hollow, and into which a man could
enter through an aperture which was almost on a level with the ground.
They shoved him into the hollow trunk notwithstanding the furious
resistance which he made to avoid it; they then closed up the hole with
a large flat stone which they carried to it, and against this they
placed others, so that no man's strength, exerted from within, could
push them away.
It was but a short time since they had restored freedom to Sancha, when
the whistle of the blackbird was again heard, and those who were
watching the approaches to the wood, hastened to descend from the trees,
crying out--
"The Salvadores! the Salvadores are approaching!"
All the bandits made preparations to take to flight, for, indeed, a
large body of Salvadores was coming from the direction towards which
Sancha had gone.
"Let us kill Bellido before we go!" cried several, and they were about
to remove the stones which closed the entrance into the trunk of the
chestnut tree.
"Let no one touch those stones!" said Juan Centellos; and he added,
with a sinister smile, "I should like Bellido to get accustomed to fire
before he goes to hell."
He then applied a burning torch to the bushes and brambles which grew
round the chestnut tree, and cried--
"Now, comrades, let us get away!"
The bandits dispersed themselves through the wood, endeavouring to get
to the rear of the Salvadores, for in that direction the ground was more
broken and the trees closer together. The Salvadores were following the
principal body, composed of Juan Centellos and about twenty of his men.
"Comrades," said their chief to those bandits, halting on an eminence,
now almost safe from his pursuers, "through a foolish act we were near
falling into the hands of our enemies, for it was a great piece of
stupidity to let the companion of Bellido go free; it was she,
doubtless, who gave information to the Salvadores. But--justice of God!
Is it not she who is walking along the road down there?"
"Yes, yes, it is she!" cried all the bandits.
"My good crossbow," said Juan, descending towards the road, "aid my
revenge as thou hast always aided it!"
The leader of the bandits shot an arrow, and Sancha uttered a cry of
agony and fell, mortally wounded.
At the same time immense columns of smoke and flame arose from the wood,
and horrible cries, becoming weaker by degrees, were heard proceeding
from the place where the fire had commenced.
Those cries ceased altogether in a few minutes, and an hour after there
were neither chestnut trees, bushes, nor anything else left but heaps of
glowing ashes and a few calcined stones, where the bandits had enclosed
Bellido Dolfos in the hollow tree.
The following morning was as beautiful as that which had preceded it:
the sky was azure, the air was fall of perfumes, the birds were singing
in the trees, and everywhere were exhibited the animation and pleasure
of those who were returning from the festivities that had taken place at
Carrion.
The Cid, Ximena, the Infanta, Doña Teresa, Martin, Beatrice,
Rui-Venablos, Gonzalo, Alvar, and, last, Fernan and Mayor, were
travelling together along the road to Burgos; all joyful, all content,
all happy, except the two last-mentioned, who had had a serious
disagreement on that morning. Fernan, remembering the pretty girls whom
he had seen on the previous day at the festival, was bitterly lamenting
the tyranny of matrimony, which, among Christians, does not permit more
than one wife, when, according to his infallible calculations, two, at
least, should be allowed to each man. Those complaints and those
calculations naturally irritated Mayorica; Fernan cursed the
wrong-headedness and stupidity of women, of his wife especially, and the
quarrel ended in scratches and blows, Alvar receiving some of them as he
had endeavoured to pacify the combatants.
Some hours after they had left Carrion, on arriving at a cross-roads,
they heard the sounds of a lute, which an old man, seated by the
wayside, was playing, and, at the same time, was asking charity from the
passers-by.
The Cid and Ximena sent one of their servants to give alms to the
mendicant, and Guillen and Teresa did the same. The old man began, just
then, to sing a ballad which commenced thus--
"Cavaliers of Leon,
Castilian cavaliers!
Haughty with the strong,
But gentle with the weak."
"By St. James of Compostela!" exclaimed the Cid, pulling up Babieca when
he heard those lines. "It is the old man who, in the name of God, told
me on the road to Zamora that I should conquer in all my battles, and
that my honour and my prosperity would ever increase."
The blind man continued his ballad, calling for vengeance on him who had
stolen his daughter.
"You have already been avenged!" said solemnly some of the listeners,
amongst whom was Rui-Venablos, for all of them knew of the tragic end of
Sancha, and of the unhappy life to which Don Suero Gonzalez was
condemned.
The Cid approached the mendicant and said to him--
"Old man, if the sword of a cavalier has not struck the head of the
Count of Carrion, the justice of God has sentenced him to misery, to
infamy, to loneliness, and to despair, which are worse than death. Your
daughter disowned you, and ceased thinking of you almost as soon as she
was separated from you; but she also has suffered the chastisement which
her crimes deserved. Do not weep for her: she merits oblivion and not
your curse. Have you not a family which will console your grief and
support your old age? Yes, you will find such in my castle. Get into one
of the litters, and come to share the happiness which smiles on the
lords of Vivar."
The old man then got into a litter, weeping with gratitude and joy, and
the travellers continued their way, all joyous, contented, and happy,
for even Fernan and Mayor were beginning to make peace.
THE END.
M. H. GILL AND SON, DUBLIN.