Chapter XXIX: 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.