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.