headpiece to Don Suero the Proud
DON SUERO THE PROUD
Once there was, in very remote times, a knight named Don Suero de las Navas, feudal lord of a number of Spanish villages, with a quantity of titles sufficient to fill one of the biggest pages, so many and so long were they.
Now, this knight was so proud that he thought it was a great dishonour to learn how to read and write things which he considered not only useless for a man of his accomplishments, but even shameful for a noble so rich as he was, who could indulge in the luxury of a secretary. And so it was indeed, that a poor man, who on account of his humble condition was obliged to learn those trifling necessities, went, like a vagabond, behind his master, pen and ink in satchel, ready to put into good Castilian the thousand and one mistakes that Don Suero frequently made.
On a certain occasion the king summoned the powerful Don Suero to go with his soldiers to the war, and as it could not be otherwise, the poor secretary, carrying a pen instead of a sword and a horn inkstand instead of an arrow, was obliged to place himself at the side of his lord and to march to the war.
At the beginning all went well. The orders and the letters acquainting the king with the results of the struggle were written by the hand of the unfortunate secretary, who earned each month, if my particulars are not wrong, the enormous sum of two silver threepenny pieces. Enough to have a carriage and to build good castles—in the air!
But an arrow shot at hazard in the fury of the fight against the Moors put Don Lesmes, for so the secretary was called, out of action, and Don Suero was under the necessity of seeking a new dependant who knew how to read and write—not an easy matter at that time.
He could not find one, to his great unhappiness; and if he had not had that quantity of pride in his body, he would surely have felt his lack of education, which might place him in an awkward situation, which happened soon afterwards.
He was engaged in a campaign against the Moors, who occupied a great part of Spain, when he received a packet from the king. And here the difficulty began. What did he say in those pot-hooks written on an enclosed parchment? To advance? To retreat? It was difficult to guess. The messenger had confined himself to delivering the packet and, putting spurs to his horse, disappeared in a cloud of dust.
Don Suero, perplexed, found himself with the parchment in his hand, turning it round and round, without knowing what it said. He made a man of a neighbouring village come to him, a man who was an enemy of his because of a certain thrashing which he had ordered him to be given some days before, and said: