The next point of interest with the students was the town hall, where they were permitted to look upon the bones of the Cid and his wife, which are kept in a box, with a wire screen over them to prevent any heathen from stealing them. The bones are all mixed up, and no one can tell which belong to the Cid and which to his wife.
At noon Dr. Winstock procured an antiquated carriage at the hotel stable, and took Sheridan and Murray out into the country. After a ride of a couple of miles they reached Miraflores, which is a convent founded by John II., and finished by Isabella I. Its church contains the royal tomb in which John II. is buried, and is one of the finest things of the kind in the world, the sculpture being of the most delicate character. Several other Castilian kings are buried in this place.
The little party took the carriage again, intending to visit the Monastery of San Pedro de Cardeña. There was no road, only an ill-defined track across the fields; and very rough fields they were, covered with rocks so thick that the vehicle often had to pass over many of them. The passengers were terribly shaken up. On the way they occasionally met a peasant riding on or leading a mule or donkey loaded with various commodities carried in panniers. They were interesting as a study.
San Pedro is nothing but a ruin. It was established in the fifth century; and in the ninth the Moors destroyed the edifice, and killed two hundred monks who lived in it. It was rebuilt; and, being the favorite convent of the Cid, he requested that he might be buried in it. The monument is in a side chapel, and looks as though it had been whitewashed at no very remote period. The doctor read the inscription on the empty tomb. A dirty peasant who joined the party as soon as they got out the carriage followed them at every step, almost looking into their mouths when they spoke.
When the party started to return, things began to be very lively with them. First Sheridan rubbed his legs; then Murray did so; and before long the doctor joined in the recreation.
“What’s the matter?” asked the surgeon, laughing.
“I don’t know; but my legs feel as though I had an attack of the seven-years’ itch,” replied the captain with a vigorous attempt to reach and conquer the difficulty.
“That’s just my case,” added Murray, with an equally violent demonstration.