This is a poem written about the final hours of El Cid (Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar (c. 1043 – 10 July 1099) who was a Castilian knight and ruler in medieval Spain. He became well known for his service in the armies of both Christian and Muslim rulers.
After years of successful campaigns, El Cid ended his life under siege in the city of Valencia. “The Master” as he was known remained undefeated right up to the time of his death. Legend has it that El Cid’s corpse was tied to his magnificent stallion, Bavieca, to bolster the morale of his troops.
Metallurgical analysis of a thousand year old sword, identified as the incredible ‘Tizona’, uconfirmed that the blade was made in Moorish Córdoba in the eleventh century and contained Damascus steel, much valued by top weapon makers of the time.
Onward Bavieca, there is much work to be done,
A king must be strong and be up with the sun.
For many years you’ve carried me my brave, loyal friend
And there’s no need to stop now I near the end.
Take me around the battlements yet one more time
Let me gather my troops, let them see that I’m fine.
For so long I’ve drunk deep of life’s magic chalice,
But weaker each day when I ride from my palace
I balance on sharpened blade between life and death
To travel this ground ‘till my last faltering breath.
For I must be seen to be protecting this city
And dying on my horse should earn me scant pity.
“El Cid! El Cid!” loud rings out the cry
When swordsmen and archers see The Master go by.
Hard earned from steel and from blood was this title
But Death is my Master and I his disciple.
A hundred battles I entered and did not fall
For five years of gentle peace behind this great wall.
My steed’s stately tread sounds in the damp morning light,
Muscled flanks and steamy breath a frightening sight.
Please God won’t somebody come and cut me down?
Release me, this weight, this burdensome crown?
See, it takes a war to make of man a poet,
Where fate reaps death from he who would sow it.
The veil of morning mist, raised up by climbing sun,
Reveals the ghosts of men at arms. Some fought, some run.
I know their frightened faces; pale, hacked and scarred
Watching me in stillness, their expressions dark and hard.
“Come with us. Come with us.” I can feel their eerie call.
But I’m tied on fast and Bavieca won’t let me fall.
Do I see them alive or from the realm of the dead?
Caught in a crossroads of movement in this siege of dread,
Where my horse pulls onward, though we both long to rest,
And my head rolls drunkenly on my armoured chest.
There is a path to Heaven and one that leads to Hell,
Mine ends still moving. So dear horse, judge well.
In another time Bavieca and another place,
We’ll fight once again and have new foes to face.
First will I swear on Tizona, my Moorish sword
As I bow to the judgement of my Christian Lord.
Though I might ply my warrior’s trade in any land
I’d sooner be God’s deadly angel than Devil’s hand.
