Rodrigo was loth to part from Xiména without a sign of reconciliation; but his father urged his immediate departure, and his filial piety again prevailed. “I hear and obey,” he meekly answered, and so he went to fight the Moors.
A year and a day had passed away, and Count Lozano was quite forgotten, when all Burgos was set rejoicing at the deliverance which a young knight had effected over the Moors.
The king was keeping high court, when one day the venerable Don Diego came before him, bringing the standards which the young knight, his son Rodrigo, had taken. He told of how he had overcome hardship and peril, had cleared the roads of marauders, had fought his way up to Celin, the Moorish King of Mérida, had called him to meet him in single combat, had overcome him, and set free five Christian kings whom he held in cruel chains.
The narrative was received with joyful acclamations, the trumpets sounded, and, at a sign from the king, admission was given to the youthful hero, who threw himself at the monarch’s feet. Fernando raised him in his arms, and presented him with honour to his court. His pardon was assured, and old Don Diego was radiant with joy.
Suddenly, however, there was a commotion in the assembly; Xiména demanded audience of the king. She had come to ask whether any amount of honourable service could neutralize a sentence of death incurred—and if not, why was Rodrigo treated with honour, instead of being imprisoned as a criminal?
Now, Fernando could have explained to her the motives on which he had acted—could have bid her remember how it was Conde Lozano who had called down on himself the retribution he had suffered—could have pointed out the dangers that surrounded the kingdom, and the need in which it stood of men of fearless mind, such as Rodrigo; but, with the wisdom of a Solomon, he took a line which was better than argument. “If such is your will, maiden,” he replied, “I have nothing to say. You are the only living representative of the deceased Conde: if you maintain your charge against him, it is not for me to withstand it. Guards, lead Don Rodrigo to prison!”
Don Diego, with all his fortitude, could not keep himself from falling on his son’s neck in an agony of despair. Rodrigo himself was shaken by his father’s grief. And all the nobles gave signs of compassion at the misfortune of one so young and brave.
Xiména had kept herself proud and erect while the gladsome welcome had sounded in her ears as an injury to Conde Lozano’s memory. But when she saw the scene of mourning around her, despair took possession of her too, and she fell into Urraca the Infanta’s arms.
“It is because you would not take my advice, and look at him,” whispered Urraca. “Had you looked on his noble face, you never could have done it.”