Chapter XXXI: Don Alfonso Banishes the Cid

Don Sancho was young. He was arrogant. He had already crowned himself king of the three kingdoms, and believed he was invincible. As the Cid entered his tent and delivered Doña Urraca’s message, he turned upon him savagely.

“This is your counsel,” he cried. “Oh, Cid, such courage does not belong to a woman! My sister defies me because you were bred up with her, and because----”

What more Don Sancho might have said, remained unspoken, for the Cid broke in with a terrible oath:

“It is false. I have served you faithfully, according to my word. But I declare I will not take arms against the Infanta, nor against the city of Zamora, because of the days that are past.”

“Traitor!” shouted Don Sancho, incensed beyond all bounds. “If it were not for my father, I would order you this instant to be hanged!”

“It is not your father’s desires, but your own use for me which restrains you, Don Sancho. Have you not two brothers alive? And who shall gainsay me if I place one of them on the throne?”

Without another word the Cid turned and left the tent, and calling to him his kinsmen and friends, rode out of the camp towards Toledo.

King Don Sancho, greatly alarmed, sent after him and brought him back.

So hard-pressed was Zamora, that although Doña Urraca was of a stout heart, she determined, by the advice of her foster-father and her council, as she would not willingly see all her people die, to retreat with them to Toledo, to join her brother, Don Alfonso, who was with the Moors.

Now this was exactly what the traitor Dolfos was waiting for.

“Lady Doña Infanta,” he said, kissing her hand as she sat on an ancient seat in her retiring room debating what she was to do, signs of hunger and grief on her royal face, “I have served you long, and never had any reward, though I have seen you gracious to other men. But if you will look with favour on me, I will make Don Sancho raise the siege.”

Now this speech, which the chroniclers give us word for word, would seem to infer either that he was a villain, who took advantage of her strait, or that Doña Urraca was not that faultless dame we would fain believe her to be.

Her answer, too, was calm, as of one to whom the aspirations of love were no strange matter.

“Don Dolfos, I will answer you as the wise men did the fool. Bargains are made with the slothful, and with those in need. I am in sore need. I do not bid you to commit an evil deed, but I say there is _nothing_ I would not grant to the man who saves Zamora from the king.”

Again Dolfos kissed her hand.

Now it is well known that the king was treacherously slain by Dolfos, with his own gilded hunting-spear, outside the walls, believing that he had come to him secretly pretending to give Zamora up. The Cid, who was riding near, met him flying back towards the postern, and charged him with the deed, but he put spurs to his horse and got back within the walls. The Cid, eager to pursue him, took his lance from his esquire, but did not wait to buckle on his spurs, which was the only fault ever found with him in all his life.

Without spurs he could not urge his horse as swiftly as the other, and so he escaped.

Once inside the postern, Dolfos, in mortal fear of those within, rushed to the palace and flung himself at Doña Urraca’s feet, drawing her royal mantle over him for protection.

But when her foster-father, Don Arias, knew it, he went to her and spoke:

“My Infanta, you cannot harbour this traitor, otherwise all the Castilians outside will accuse you of murder.”

“What can I do?” she answers. “See how he clings to my robe.”

She knew she had encouraged him in what he had done, and in the letters she had written, and fain would she have saved him. But Don Arias would listen to nothing.

“Give Dolfos up to me;” and he drew him away by force, the poor wretch trembling all over, with no strength to stand. “Come, Dolfos,” says Don Arias, “be of good cheer; to please the Infanta, I will hide you three days in my house. If the Castilians impeach us, I must give you up. If they do not, you shall escape from the town. Here you cannot bide, for we are honourable men, and keep no company with traitors.”

After King Sancho’s death came Don Alfonso, to be known as _El Sabio_, to join his sister at Zamora, who had always loved him well.

A council was called in the palace. The Castilians, Navarrese, Leonese, and the Gallegos, being already his subjects, are ready to acknowledge him as king if he can clear himself of all knowledge of the murder of his brother.

The ricoshombres, counts and knights, the prelates and chief persons have already kissed his hand; but the Cid sits apart. The image of his dead master rises up between him and Alfonso. It was he who had found Don Sancho by the side of the Douro wounded to death by his own hunting-spear, which he dared not draw forth for fear of killing him outright.

“Now, how is this, Cid Campeador?” asks the new king, who, in majesty of person and speech and wisdom, was much more like his sister Doña Urraca than Don Sancho. “See you not that all have received me for their lord except you? Why have you not kissed my hand?”

“Sir,” answers the Cid, rising from where he sat, “the reason is this: all these present, as well as I, suspect you of having compassed your brother’s death. Unless you can clear yourself, I will never kiss your hand or acknowledge you as king.”

“Your words please me well,” is the king’s reply, spoken softly, but rage was in his heart. “I swear to God and St. Mary I never slew him or took counsel of his death, and I will clear myself of the charge by oath within the church of Sant’ Agueda at Burgos.”

The ancient church of St. Gaden or Sant’ Agueda, not far from the Suelos of the Cid, and where he was married, is filled with the noblest company in Castile; the Cid, towering over all, at the high altar, in chain armour from top to heel, his good sword Tizona at his side, and in his hand a cross-bow of wood and steel.

Face to face is King Alfonso in royal robes, his hand upon a painted missal beside the Host.

“King Don Alfonso,” says the Cid, in his terrible voice, so well known in the battle-field, “will you swear that you have not compassed the death of my king and master, your brother Don Sancho? If you swear falsely, may you die the death of a traitor and a slave.”

To which King Alfonso, joining his hands on the Cid’s answers, “Amen.”

_But he changed colour._

Then the Cid repeats a second time, “King Don Alfonso, will you further swear you neither counselled nor favoured the murder of the king, your brother, and my master? If you swear falsely, may you die the death of a traitor and a slave.”

Again the king presses his hand and answers, “Amen.”

_But he changed colour._

Then came forth twelve vassals who confirmed the king’s word, and the Cid was at last satisfied, and the knights also said, “Amen.” The Cid would have embraced the king, but he turned away, and though he had shown himself invincible, the king banished him (1081).

Then the Cid sent for all his kinsmen and vassals and asked who would follow him, and who remain at home?

“We will all go with you,” answers his cousin, Alvar Fañez, “and be your loyal friends.”

“I thank you,” replies the Cid. “The time will come when I shall reward you tenfold.”