Marriage of the Cid and Doña Ximena
Three years had passed when King Fernando solemnly knighted Rodrigo.
It was in this manner. The king girded on him his sword Tizona, to
become famous to all time, and gave him a kiss, but no blow; the queen
gave him a horse, perhaps Babieca; and the Infanta Doña Urraca stooped
to the earth and fastened on his spurs--an act of honour so exceptional
even in those days of chivalry she would not have performed it unless
Rodrigo was dearer to her than appeared. But if there was love on her
side or on his, or on both, is not known, except that some words in the
chronicles would lead one to suppose that the Cid honoured her beyond
all women, and that the lady herself would never marry a meaner man.
From that day he was called the Cid Campeador. It was the Moors who gave
him the title of “Said” (Cid) or “master,” so often had he beaten them,
and Campeador, or “champion” in single combat, such as was Roland the
Brave, slain by Bernardo del Carpio.
Especially he deserved these honours when he overcame five Moorish
kings, who had presumptuously crossed the mountain of Oca, and were
plundering the plains near Burgos. He took them captive, divided the
booty with his knights, and brought them to his mother in the Suelos on
the hill with great honour. “For it is not meet,” he said, “to keep
kings prisoners, but to let them go freely home.”
Like a practical man, however, as he was, he demanded a large ransom.
Fernando, who loved Rodrigo, endeavoured to end the feud between the
families of Gormez and Laynez. Nor was it difficult. Don Diego, full of
years, slept the sleep of death. The lord of Gormez was slain, and
Ximena was left, the youngest of three daughters.
The age was one of war, and knightly honour counted as the highest
virtue in a man.
So when the king called her to him in the castle, Ximena answered,
falling on her knees before him, according to the love she bore Rodrigo.
“Don King Fernando,” she said, “had you not sent for me, I would have
craved as a boon that you would give me Rodrigo to be my husband. With
him I shall hold myself well married, and greatly honoured. Certain I am
that he will one day be greater than any man in the kingdom of Castile,
and as his wife I truly pardon him for what he did.”
So King Fernando ordered letters to be sent to the Cid at Valencia,
commanding him at once to return to Burgos upon an affair greatly for
God’s service and his own.
He came mounted on his war-horse, attired in his fairest suit of chain
armour, wearing that high steel cap in which we see him now; his
rippling braids of hair hanging down on his shoulders in the ancient
fashion of the Goths, and in his company were many knights, both his own
and of his kindred and friends--in all two hundred peers--in festive
guise, streamers in various colours flying from their shields, and
scarfs upon their arms, each knight attended by a mounted squire bearing
his lance and cognisance.
In the courtyard of the castle beside the keep the king received them
sitting on his throne; the queen and her ladies and Doña Urraca, resting
on raised _estrades_ tented with silk, attired in brocade and tissue,
lined with rare fur.
As he entered the enclosure which was marked with gilded poles, the Cid
dismounted, as did the other knights, to do obeisance to the king and
queen, but he alone advanced to kiss the royal hand--a distinction which
greatly offended his fellows, who were further angered by being
dismissed while Rodrigo was invited to remain beside the king.
“I have called you, my good Rodrigo,” said King Fernando, with a voice
lowered to reach his ear alone, “to question you respecting Doña Ximena
de Gormez, whose sire you slew. She is too fair a flower to bloom
alone.”
At these words Don Rodrigo reddened like a boy and hung his head.
So greatly was he moved who had never known fear that the power of
speech left him suddenly, and for a time he stood like one distraught.
Whether the eyes of Doña Urraca being upon him he was confused, or that
the transport of love he felt for Ximena overcame him, who knows?
“Speak, noble Cid, I pray you,” said the king at last, weary of waiting.
“It is for you, my gracious lord and king, to question _me_,” was at
last his answer. “Alas! her blood is on my hand.”
“In fair fight,” was the rejoinder, “as becomes a belted knight. But the
lady already forgives you, and would rejoice to be your bride. I have it
from herself. Nor shall my favour be wanting to you both in lands and
gifts.”
Then Rodrigo raised his head proudly, and his face lit with joy.
Whatever tokens had passed between him and Doña Urraca, it was clear he
had not forgotten his love to Ximena, nor questioned the claim she had
upon him.
“In this, as in all else, I will obey my lord the king,” he said again,
making obeisance on bended knee. “Dear shall Ximena be to me as my own
life, and my honoured mother shall tend and keep her in our house while
I am away on my lord’s business against the Moors.”
King Don Fernando, greatly contented, rose from his throne, and bidding
Don Rodrigo follow him, he passed into the great court of the castle
followed by the queen and Doña Urraca, already of great courage, and
casting glances at the Cid from under the silken coil which bound her
head. Not so hidden but that some of the court observed her, and
remembered it later at Zamora, when the Cid refused to bear arms against
her.
Within the great hall of the castle the marriage feast is held. The
whole city is hung with garlands and tapestry, banners, flags, and
devices, as though each street is a separate tent; the people swarming
on balconies and roofs, and the sandy plain outside dark with the
companies of knights who come riding in. All the great names are
there--Ordoñez, Gonzalez, Peranzurez, Vellidas, on fleet Arab steeds;
some rich turbans also of the Moors to be distinguished in the crowd,
for the parties are so strangely mixed that the Cid has many close
friends among his enemies. Crowds of the common folk come, and retainers
from the castle of Bivar, each one with some story to tell about the
Cid. From Las Huelgas, the royal burying-ground and fortress, surrounded
by walls, a mile out of the city, arrives the abbess, who takes rank as
a Princess Palatine, attended by her female chapter, in the full dress
of the order, all mounted on mules; monks from the Church of San Pedro
de Cardeña, the burying place of the Laynez, and companies of the
Ricoshombres from the adjacent cities, trotting over the hills--all
disappearing into the huge gateway of Santa Maria to reach the Calle
Alta, where the procession is to be formed.
The first to appear is the Bishop of Valencia on a mule. He is followed
by the Cid, decked in his bridal state, under a trellis-work of green
branches, held up by the lances and scimitars he has taken from the
Moors, his own troop of true men with him, friends and kinsmen--all
dressed in one colour, and shining in new armour.
As he passes, olive branches and rushes are laid upon the streets,
ladies fling posies and wreaths, and bulls are led before with gilded
horns, covered with rich housings. The court fool follows in cap and
bells, his particoloured legs astride an ass. A harmless devil comes
after, horned and hoofed, hired to frighten the women, and crowds of
captive maidens dance to cymbals and flutes. The Queen Doña Sancha walks
next, wearing her crown and a “fur pall,” attended by her ladies and
dueñas, but the name of Doña Urraca nowhere occurs.
Then, hand in hand with the smiling king, comes Ximena; “the king always
talking,” as the ballad says, but Ximena holding down her head. “It is
better to be silent than meaningless,” she said.
Upon her fall showers of yellow wheat. Every shooter, young and old,
makes her his mark. From her white shoulders and breast the king picks
it off. “A fine thing to be a king,” laughs the fool, “but I would
rather be a grain.”
In the Gothic Church of Sant’ Agueda, close on the hill, the nuptial
knot is tied. After which the king does them great honour at the feast,
conferring on them many noble gifts and adding to the lands of the Cid
more than as much again.
To his own Suelos on the hill (for indeed all these great doings were
confined to a very narrow space), the Cid conducts his bride, to place
her under his mother’s keeping, and as his foot touches his own
threshold, under the escutcheon of his race, he pauses and kisses her on
the cheek. “By the love I bear you, dear Ximena, I swear that I will
never set eyes on you again until I have won five pitched battles
against the Moors.” Again he kisses her, drying her tears; then goes out
to the frontier of Aragon, taking with him his trusty knights.