"It is certainly Ximena who has bewitched him with those eyes of hers, which are bright as the morning star. May Mayorica tear out my eyes when we arrive at Vivar, if it is not of that maiden he is thinking!"
The good squire was not wrong; the enamoured youth was thinking of his Ximena, was reflecting on the happiness which he had enjoyed when at her side, and was considering what were the probabilities of its being renewed, and of his securing her for himself.
"How happy," he reflected, "were the days which we passed near each other, sometimes in my father's mansion at Vivar, sometimes in that of her father at Gormaz! When we were children we believed that a tightly tied knot bound us together, although we were ignorant of its nature; we only knew that we loved each other and could not cease from loving each other; we grew up, and with our growth our love increased, and then we began to feel that we knew the names we should have to call each other by on some future day. Who could have told us then that a day would come, when the union which our dearest hopes and those of our parents looked forward to, should become little less than impossible? We were at a tournament once, and when a knight splintered the lances which he had to break, in order to be proclaimed victor, Ximena said to me, 'Rodrigo, when you bind on the sword of a knight, you will combat thus, you will conquer thus; and thus shall you receive the prize,—then your glory shall be mine!' And when the queen of the tournament, seated on a throne, gilt and adorned with garlands of flowers, presented the prize to the victor, who knelt at the feet of her whose beauty was extolled by the noblest and bravest cavaliers, I said to my Ximena, 'Some day you will be the queen of the tournament and I the victor, to whom you will hand the prize; all will applaud you and admire your beauty, and your glory will increase that which the victory shall bring to me.' At other times, swift as the butterflies and joyous as the birds, running through the gardens which surrounded the castle of your father or of mine, or seated under the shade of the trees in the woods, casting flowers into the stream which rushed by them in its rapid course, or standing together on the ramparts of the castle, gazing on the clear azure of the sky, and breathing the perfume of the fields which the fresh breezes of the night bore towards us, we dreamt of a life of love, of glory, and of almost heavenly happiness."
At this point of his reflections Rodrigo Diaz had arrived, when Fernan interrupted him, pronouncing the name of Ximena. They spoke for some moments of the day to which the squire referred; however, as the youth did not consider it prudent to give him any explications regarding his love affairs, and as he could not well talk of matters therewith connected, without having to refer to them, he changed the conversation. Finding that he had to talk of something, as he saw that the squire was resolved not to remain silent, he reverted to the subject which he thought would please him, and began to talk of the wars.
Fernan, who of the six-and-thirty years which he counted had passed twenty on fields of battle, distracted the attention of his master completely from his amorous meditations. He related to him many wonderful events, which the chronicler, to whom we owe much of what we are relating, considered, for the most part, pure fables, but which Rodrigo evidently believed, becoming at times very enthusiastic, and breaking out into such exclamations as—"Ah! Moorish dogs!... By St. James! that lance thrust was worth a king's treasure!... God's anger! what a caitiff was that knight!—Oh that someone had been there to cut off the wretch's head!"—and others of a similar kind.
About this time morning began to dawn, and the birds to sing in the trees which overhung the road. Our travellers arrived at an inn, called the Sign of the Moor. Fernan advised his master to dismount there, with a view to strengthening a little the stomachs of both riders and horses. Rodrigo assented, as he considered that, if love had taken away his appetite, the case was different with regard to his squire and the tired beasts.
They were just dismounting when they heard a noise, as of horses, in a dark grove which was opposite the inn, and almost at the same time they heard a voice which called out to them—
"To my rescue, cavaliers!"
"Halt, villains! for such ye are!" cried Rodrigo, grasping his sword and preparing to attack the strangers.