Chapter XXX: Death of King Fernando--Doña Urraca at Zamora

After this there was a great change. The good king Fernando fell ill with the malady of which he died. For three days he lay on his bed lamenting in pain; on the fourth, at the hour of _sexte_, he called to him his son Don Sancho, and recommended him to the Cid, to give him good counsel, and not to go against his will, which was to divide the kingdom into three parts, a most unaccountable act, seeing that all his life he had been fighting to maintain it united.

With Don Sancho came the other Infantes, Alfonso and Garcia, and stood round his bed--all three comely youths, and very expert in knightly exercises, but as yet too young to carry a beard. Alfonso and Garcia were well contented with their kingdom, but Don Sancho, the eldest, was wroth against his father, and already turned in his mind how he could overcome his brothers and possess Castile and Leon alone.

Fernando, suffering great anguish, had turned his face to the wall to die, when his daughter Doña Urraca came rushing in.

“Oh, father!” cries she, kissing his hand, “if God had not laid His hand upon you, and brought you to this death hour, I should reproach you bitterly. It is well known you have meted out your kingdom between my three brothers. To me alone you give nothing. Why should your daughter be left to be blown like a waif before the wind? Whither can I fly? Shall I address myself to the Moors for protection. A fine sight, indeed, will it be to see a king’s daughter brought to such a pass!”

Now Doña Urraca was a princess of great presence and power in her speech. Her words were cutting, and they roused even the dying king. Slowly he turned on his side to look at her, and though his lips were already livid his eyes showed he understood; thrice he essayed to speak; at last, between pangs of mortal pain, the words came forth:

“Cease, Urraca, cease; a noble mother bore you, but a churlish slave gave you milk. Take Zamora for your portion; may my curse fall on any of your brothers who take it from you.”

“Swear to me, my sons.”

“Amen,” answered Don Alfonso heartily, for he loved his sister. Don Garcia, the youngest, repeated the same; only Don Sancho moved his lips, but no word came.

* * * * *

Zamora _la ben cercada_, a Moorish fortress as the name indicates, lately conquered by Fernando, stands on the river Duero, which flows away to the west through a beautifully wooded valley, in the kingdom of Leon, between Valladolid and Medina. It was then surrounded by seven lines of walls, with deep moats between. From the bridge by the city walls is still to be seen the ruins of the palace of Doña Urraca, with her likeness, a mutilated head in a niche over the gateway, and the inscription, _Afuera Afuera Rodrigo el soberbio Castellano_.

Within her council chamber sits the Infanta, the white coif of a queen under a Gothic crown on her auburn head and long robes of black about her stately form. She is accustomed to the calm majesty of state, but her blue eyes shine with wonderful lustre, and, spite of herself, her fingers move nervously on the rich carving of her chair. The Cid Campeador is coming, sent by her brother Don Sancho, who is encamped outside, and has ridden three times round the walls to study the defences, attended by his knights.

For no sooner was the breath out of his father’s body than he attacked his brothers, and now he is come to take Zamora.

With Doña Urraca in the council chamber are Don Pero Anonras, Don Vellido, and Dolfos, a knight of no good fame, but devoted to her service.

The Cid enters in full armour, a green feather in his casque. His face has lost the sweetness of youth, and is hard and thin, the nose arched and prominent in advanced life, and his eyes of such searching fierceness that he terrifies his enemies before he draws his sword.

Not now; for as the Infanta hastens to the door to greet him, and he sinks on one knee to kiss her dimpled hand, his face melts into the most winning softness, and he smiles on her as she leads him to the _estrade_, enclosed by golden banisters, within which her chair of state is placed.

“Now, Cid,” says Doña Urraca, when they have seated themselves, “what is my brother about to do? All Spain is in arms. Is it against the Moors or the Christians?”

“Lady,” he answers--and the tone of his voice is wonderfully subdued--“the king your brother sends to greet you by me. He beseeches you to give up to him the fortress of Zamora; he will in return swear never to do you harm.”

“And you, Don Ruy Diaz de Bivar, bring me such a message!” she exclaims, half rising from her chair, a great reproach coming into her blue eyes; “you, who have been brought up with me in this very city of Zamora, which my father conquered!”

“I did not want to be the messenger,” replies the Cid, gazing into her comely face with a great freedom of admiration, “except that I might again see my Infanta, and give her some comfort. I strove with the king not to send me. How could I refuse him whom I have sworn to stand by? Better I than another man.”

“That is true,” she replies, “but I think before you swore to the king, my father, you had bound yourself to me.”

Now this speech put the Cid in a great strait. He and Doña Urraca had had love passages together as long as he could remember, yet he had wooed another and married her, and the Infanta was still alone. The Cid was great in battle, but he was simple in the language of love. All he could do was to hang his head and blush, which made Doña Urraca very angry.

“Wretch that I am!” cries she, clasping her hands, “what evil messages have I had since my father’s death? This is the worst of all. As for my brothers, Alfonso is among the Moors; Garcia imprisoned like a slave with an iron chain; I must give up Zamora; and Ruy Diaz, my playmate is come to tell me so! Now may the earth open and swallow me up that I may not suffer so many wrongs! Remember, I _am_ a woman!”

To all this the Cid answers nothing. He is bound by his oath to the king, but his darkened countenance shows how much he is moved as he sits straight upright on the _estrade_, contemplating the face of Doña Urraca.

Then her foster-father, Don Arias Gonzalo, stands out from the other counsellors, and says, “Lady Doña Urraca, prove the men of Zamora, whether they will cleave to you or to Don Sancho.” To which she agrees, and calling in her ladies to bring her mantilla and manto, she goes out through the broad corridor of the palace in which the banners and the armour are hung, by the gateway with her effigy over it, down to the church of San Salvador; the Cid, as her brother’s messenger, walking on her right hand.

The townsmen arrive, called by the voice of Don Miño, and thus they speak:

“We beseech you, Doña Lady Infanta, not to give up Zamora. We will spend all our money, and devour our mules and horses; nay, even feast on our own children, in your defence. If you cleave to us, we will cleave to you.”

Doña Urraca was well pleased. She had a bitter tongue but a warm heart, and now it was touched. The beauty returned to her countenance as she turned it on the Cid, the stately beauty of royalty to which no lower born can attain.

“See, Cid Campeador,” she says, proudly launching on him a look out of her glowing eyes, “many kings would have envied you, who were bred up with me, yet you hold me of little count. Go to my brother, and entreat him to leave me alone. I would rather die with these men in Zamora than live elsewhere. Tell him what you have seen and heard, and may God speed you on the way.” With which answer the Cid departs.