“Greetings, Cousin Alvar Fañez, we are exiles now,” he cried.
The sixty lances of the Cid rode clattering through the town;
From casement and from turret-top the burgher-folk looked down.
Sore were their hearts and salt their eyen as Roderick rode by;
“There goes a worthy vassal who has known bad mastery.”
And many a roof that night had sheltered Roderick and his band
But for the dread in Burgos of Alfonso’s heavy hand.
The missive broad with kingly seals had run throughout the town:
“Who aids the Cid in banishment, his house shall be cast down.”
So as the train rode through the streets each eye was turned aside,