Evidently something was wrong in the
home stories.
As for little Pedro, he waxed more valiant as the danger
lessened. He whetted his toy sword against the granite rocks and
looked savagely at the old man.
"You have eaten all my bread, don Infidel," he said, "and now you
would lie about your people and your castles. You are no beggar;
you are the King of Cordova come here in this disguise to spy out
the Christian's land. I know all about you from my mother's
stories. So you must die. I shall send your head to our Emperor
by my sister here, and when he shall ask her who has done this
noble deed she will say, just as did Alvar Fanez to King Alfonso:
'My Cid Campeador, O king, it was who girded brand:
The Paynim king he hath o'ercome, the mightiest in the land
Plenteous and sovereign is the spoil he from the Moor hath
won;
This portion, honored king and lord, he sendeth to your
throne.'
"So, King of Cordova, bend down and let me cut off your head."
The "King of Cordova" made no movement of compliance to this
gentle invitation, and the head-strong Pedro, springing toward
him, would have caught him by the beard, had not his gentle
sister restrained him.
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