Chapter CXVII

And don Jerome the Bishop went spurring thence away. 'Gainst the end of the encampment he guided forth the fray. By his good hap and God's mercy who ever loved him well, At the first stroke he delivered two Moors before him fell. When in twain his lance was broken, he set hand upon the blade. Well was he tried. And Name of God! what a fair fight he made! Two with the lance, and with the sword five of the foe he slew. The Moors are very many. Around him close they drew, They did not pierce his armour, though they laid on strokes of power.

His eyes beheld the Bishop, who was born in happy hour, He caught his shield, the battle-spear he laid it low along, He spurred Baviéca the well-paced steed and strong, He went to smite against them with all his soul and heart. The foremost ranks of battle did the lord Cid dispart: Of the Moors he struck down seven, and five of them hath slain. God was well pleased, the battle it was granted him to gain. My lord Cid and his henchmen in hot pursuit they went. There had you seen the stakes uptorn and may a tent-rope rent, And all the ten-poles falling that were wrought so rich and brave. From the tents, my lord Cid's vassals King Búcar's henchmen drave.