“It pleases me well,” is the king’s answer. “I will give them a guard through Castile. When they have passed it, the Cid Campeador will look after them himself. Moreover, I grant him Valencia and all that he has won as his own, to be held under me, who am his liege lord and suzerain.”
Great joy was there at San Pedro de Cardeña when the knights appeared, Doña Ximena and her daughters running out on foot to meet them, and weeping plenteously for joy.
“And how does my dear lord fare?” asks the gentle Doña Ximena, wiping her eyes. “In all all these years I have had no news of him.”
“Well, and safe and sound,” answers Alvar Fañez, saluting her. “Be of good cheer, my cousin, for the great city of Valencia is his, and his heart’s desire is to see you and have you with him there.”
“Alas! what am I,” cries poor Ximena, ever humble in her mind, “that he could show me this favour after so many years! God and the Virgin be thanked for his constancy.”
When they were within three miles of Valencia, under the thick shade of the orange woods of the Huerta, word of their coming was brought to the Cid, who ordered that Babieca should be saddled, and girt on his sword.
He was much changed. He had the same commanding aspect and far-seeing eyes, but his white beard was so long and flowing, it was a wonder to behold. No man ever put his hand on it in life but himself, or touched it with a razor, and when he fought it was screwed up like a curl under his chin. Every gesture was imperious, as of a king. At that time, indeed, no king in Spain could compare with the Cid in power.
“Dear and honoured wife,” he exclaimed, as he embraces Doña Ximena, who received him on her knees, “and you, my daughters, come with me into Valencia, the inheritance I have won for you.”
He leads them through the gate called “of the Snake,” then mounts into the famous tower of the Miguelete, now the Campanile of the Cathedral,—and in the clear transparent air shows them the city which lies at their feet, the green Huerta, thick with shade, and the blue ocean beyond, on which ride the ships of the King of Morocco, come to besiege the city, a sight which made poor Ximena tremble.
But the Cid comforted her.