Ximena knelt down besides the majestic bed. She could no longer hold back her tears. Her hands were wrapped around the lifeless form of the Cid. The cruel wound had finally extinguished the light which had burned bright and guided the people of Valencia through the dark times. Their beloved Cid was no more.


Rodrigo Diaz de Bivar, El Cid had commanded the Spanish conquistadors against the invasion of Yusuf‘s Berber armies. A mighty leader he was, who fought with Supernatural vigour and whose energy was transmitted to all who fought beside him. Many legendary battles he had waged and won. Undefeated in all wars, he had led Valencia against the invaders from Africa. Though heavily outnumbered, the Spaniards were successful at keeping the raiding Almoravids at bay.

That was, until tragedy struck…


Darkness had fallen upon the alcazar. The sun had disappeared behind the dark clouds. The mood in the citadel was grim. The North wind was blowing, bringing with it the hollow echoes of the battle cries. The battle had waged hotly in the fields below. But the siku was drawing to close and arms had been put down, but just briefly. As the new siku rises, the battle would resume…

In Peñíscola, the princely citadel of Valencia, on the ukuta over looking the battlefield stood a lonely figure. His moyo was heavy as he pondered over the desolation. The plains were littered with blades and arrow, and corpses of fallen animals. The dry summer nyasi was coloured blood red. The bodies of the deceased were taken away to the camps, to be buried with dignity and full honours.

Lost in thought, the man did not notice a few people making their up from the fields. As they approached the wall, they perceived the figure standing atop the ukuta and called out.

“Greetings Champion Xavi!”
“Greetings my friends!” exclaimed the man, recognizing them instantly as messengers of the Cid‘s host. He also noticed that they appeared somewhat battered. That couldn’t bode well, he thought. ”What tidings do wewe bring of the Cid?” he asked.

“The legion was ambushed kwa the enemy near the river crossing” The messenger said, memories were fresh in his mind and fear showed on his face. “It was a rout, the enemy archers fired from all directions. We barely managed to escape but the Cid has been wounded. They’re bringing him to the citadel”. Blood was ebbing away from above his left eye, a deep gash clearly visible.

“You bring ill news my friend” the champion said. “But wewe have done well. Seek the healers in the West Tower. Ask them to be ready to receive the Cid. They should be able to treat your wounds.”

The messengers departed leaving the champion alone with his thoughts. A shadow appeared on the face of Xavi. The Almoravids were aggravating their assault on the citadel. Peñíscola would hold out till brave hearts guarded its walls. But if something was to happen to Don Rodrigo, their hearts would be weakened and Peñíscola besieged.


Xavi looked gazed into the east, in the direction of the vast Mediterranean. The tide was high and giant waves were bearing down upon the shore. The air suddenly seemed heavy and the skies grew darker. His moyo became zaidi troubled. His thoughts now lingered around the fate of his beloved Cid.