El Cid: The Myth, The Mercenary, The Man Who Would Be King

When Charles Heston and Sophia Loren‘s epic romantic tale El Cid captivated film fans around the world in 1961, they were treated to the life story of Spain’s greatest medieval national hero in a stunning cinematic spectacle. Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar, better known by his Moorish name El Cid, or lord, leader or commander, has always been for the Spanish the epitome of resistance against the Muslim invaders of the Iberian Peninsula. It took almost eight hundred years to bring the peninsula fully back into Christian hands, and it was El Cid who played an important role in the long struggle to regain the territories, or the Reconquista.

From the 8th century, when the recently Islamised Arabs ended their historic westward march of conquest in Iberia, until the fall of the last Islamic pocket in Granada in 1492, Christians of Latin and Muslims of Arab origin shared the territory. Although the inhabitants of different origins and religions coexisted peacefully for the most part, their masters were caught in a maelstrom of constant struggles for dominance.

However appealing and credible the version of history may sound, which one-sidedly paints El Cid as the epitome of a virtuous Christian fighter against the invaders, the truth is, as always when scratching the surface, much more multifaceted.

El Cid (c. 1043-1099), who rose from court noble to the very throne of one of Spain’s most important states, Valencia, was indeed a remarkable warrior, brave and uncompromising, but he was above all a man of his times. As a medieval knight, he made his living by waging war, serving where and for whom he could. Whether Christians or Muslims. Today, such a warrior would be pejoratively called a mercenary, but a thousand years ago, in the militarised Europe of the Middle Ages, a military profession was the only possible choice for many.

For the noble class in particular, warfare was an expected way of life on which their reputation depended. Strife, intrigue and exile were part and parcel of everyday life. If a knight fell out of favour with one ruler, he sought service with another. And principles did not play a big role.

Nor was El Cid the only knight to swing his sword boldly and relentlessly in the 11th century, striking fear into the bones of his opponents. He was undoubtedly one of the more successful, endowed with charisma and leadership skills and, as a result, with legions of followers. He also had a flair for diplomacy and, above all, an ability to judge perfectly the circumstances and the character, intentions and desires of rivals, supporters, superiors and subordinates alike.

But why did he end up in the Spanish pantheon of the greatest folk heroes of all time? Why his status as an immaculate fighter against Islam, when it is obvious from all historical sources that he was not?

After all, this was a man who served the Muslim rulers of Al-Andalus for many years and often fought against Christian armies. At the same time, he steadily amassed wealth at the expense of both, and even created a private army of as many as 7 000 soldiers.

El Cid was his own master, fighting first and foremost for himself and his own profit, but later in life he was driven by increasingly pronounced ambitions for power and authority. Thus, after a year of relentless siege and fighting, he was able to overthrow the weak ruler of Valencia and rule the country himself.

He was undoubtedly well-known and respected during his lifetime, but it was not until the modern era, when Spain’s global influence began to decline rapidly and it began to lose its overseas colonies, that his personality became truly mythologised.

Its national pride was hit hardest by its ignominious defeat by the rising power of the USA in 1898. To preserve it, the Spaniards then needed proof of their past greatness, and none was more apt to prove it than the unstoppable and unbeatable El Cid. As in the creation of all national myths, some unpleasant details of his life were deliberately omitted.

The Iberian Peninsula at a crossroads

The social and political environment into which Rodrigo Díaz was born began to take shape in the 8th century with the invasion of the Iberian Peninsula by the Arabs and Berbers. Until then, the most advanced, wealthy and Romanised successor to the western part of the former Roman Empire, the Germanic Visigothic kingdom, had prospered there. But the rise of Islam was a tsunami for the Mediterranean world, sweeping first the Middle East, then North Africa and finally the Iberian Peninsula.

The suddenness with which Muhammad‘s successors spread territory and a new religion immediately after the Prophet’s death was “one of the most misunderstood series of events in history”. The area was then dominated by two superpowers, the Persian and the East Roman or Byzantine empires – the former swiftly defeated by the Muslims and the latter thoroughly dismembered.

Mighty ancient cities such as Antioch and Alexandria fell to the followers of the new religion, but the most lasting impact on religious, political and military relations in the region and beyond was the loss of the holy city of Jerusalem and many Christian and Persian cities in Palestine and Syria.

In pushing westwards towards the frontiers of the known world, however, the Muslim Arabs have encountered greater obstacles than in the Middle East. In Tunisia and Algeria, they were met by the rebellious and warlike Berbers, another of the tribes named after the Roman name for a language unintelligible to them (they used the term ‘bar bar’ for such languages).

The Berbers did not let themselves be ‘civilised’ by either the Romans or the Arabs. Their conversion to Islam was slow and incomplete. However, because the Berbers also had territorial aspirations and looked across the Strait of Gibraltar, they joined the Arabs and together, with a sure victory over the Visigoths, they conquered most of Iberia.

Some 200 000 Moors, as the newcomers were henceforth called by the natives, populated mainly the southern and central part of the peninsula. But Christianity was not eradicated.

The natural border between the Muslim and Christian worlds was formed in the Douro basin. While south of it a peculiar Islamic society, Al-Andalus (the Arabic name for the part of Iberia under Muslim rule), slowly took shape, in the north strong Christian communities remained, increasingly committed to regaining their former territories. The border has been fluid and has changed frequently over the centuries, to the advantage of one or the other.

The most important Christian kingdoms in early medieval Spain were Leon in the north-west, Castile in the centre, Navarre in the western Pyrenees, Aragon, which split from Navarre in the 11th century, and a colourful mix of political districts, counties and principalities in the eastern Pyrenees, which eventually merged to form the single principality of Barcelona.

Castile gained independence from León in the 11th century, but its rulers retained a sense of superiority and primacy over the other Christian kingdoms. Relations between them were often at least as strained as with their Muslim rivals.

The Spain into which El Cid was born was divided. The greatest divide was, of course, the religious and socio-cultural divide between the Christian North and Al-Andalus, but even within both societies there were regular and sometimes intractable rivalries. These were far more often the result of personal ambition and greed for power than of ideological differences.

Spain in the 11th century

Al-Andalus was initially a unified caliphate with its capital in the magnificent city of Córdoba, which had a population of at least 100 000 and stood alongside such great cities as Baghdad, Constantinople, Cairo and Palermo. By comparison, London, the largest city in western and northern Europe, had five times fewer people. Other important Al-Andalusian cities were Seville, Toledo, Valencia, Granada, Malaga, Badajoz, Lisbon and Zaragoza.

Muslim influence spread steadily, mainly through slow and non-violent conversions. Around 950, half of the total population of Al-Andalus was Muslim, and at the height of the boom around 1000, about 75 % were Muslim.

Classical Islam has shown itself here in all its glory, not only through its remarkable civilisational, scientific and artistic progress, but also as a model of tolerance towards other religious denominations. The journey was made easy by the shared political and cultural space, and between Spain and Baghdad, in a vast area rich in diverse traditions, knowledge flowed, was built upon and shared.

Muslims, Christians and Jews lived side by side without fear of violent persecution. But the indigenous Christians, called Mozarabs, were often discriminated against, paid higher taxes and had fewer rights. Yet in many ways it was a complex hybrid society with a unique identity and a mix of Latin-Christian and Arab-Muslim elements.

The Caliphs of Córdoba were also diplomatically skilled, working not only with the Christian kingdoms of northern Iberia, but also with political and commercial contacts much further afield – with the Byzantine Empire, the kingdoms of France and Germany, and of course with a whole range of African kingdoms and tribes.

But within the Caliphate of Al-Andalus, at the turn of the first millennium, disagreements between the various factions soon escalated into a civil war which, in 1031, led to its disintegration into a number of smaller states, or so-called taifas. During El Cid’s reign, Seville in the south and Zaragoza in the north-east were the most important and powerful, followed by Toledo, Badajoz (now Portugal), Malaga, Granada and Córdoba. There were constant quarrels and clashes between them, which further crippled the power of Al-Andalus.

Such fragmentation was taking place at a time when Christian Europe was beginning to come together to participate in the Crusades, and the initial successes of the reconquest of cities in the Middle East were paralleled by the strengthening of the Reconquista in Spain and Portugal. The balance of power in the Iberian Peninsula therefore tipped in favour of the Christian kingdoms, especially Castile and Leon, until the militant Almoravid dynasty from North Africa came to the aid of the Taifas.

But the latter had no intention of sharing power and simply brutally subjugated the Taifas. In the struggle for supremacy, some Christian rulers were able to exploit the fighting between Muslim factions. The Taifas were manipulated into extorting astronomical sums and gold from them in return for military aid and a protectorate, for which Al-Andalus was known throughout Europe. King Fernando I of León and his son Alfonso VI in particular were shrewd negotiators.

It became a regular practice on both sides to hire mercenaries, tried and tested Christian fighters, who would join the highest bidder. Loyalty or ideology played only a minor role. One of the most successful mercenaries was Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar, best known as El Cid and also El Campeador.

The apprenticeship years of a young knight

He was born sometime between 1043 and 1046 in the village of Viva, near Burgos in northern Spain. Both his parents were members of the aristocracy, although legends later tried to portray him as a self-made hero of humble roots. From birth, he grew up in a spirit of chivalry, his upbringing shaped by the doctrine of militarism that pervaded the aristocratic world of the time. His family was on such good terms with the royal family that the young Rodrigo was accepted into the inner circle of confidants of Sancho, eldest son of the powerful King Ferdinand of Castile-Leon.

He learned to ride before he was of age, as excellent riding was the most basic and indispensable skill of a knight. Boys had to spend long hours in the saddle, overcoming fatigue, mastering the animal and its character, and being able to shoot a bow and arrow from the saddle.

Serious military training began at the age of 12, and as well as riding a horse, they also had to swing a sword and use a shield. The horse and the sword were the most indispensable and valuable pieces of a knight’s equipment. A warrior’s status was measured by the splendour of the ornaments on the hilt of the sword and on the sword belt, and by the number of horses he had for different purposes, as well as their saddles, bridles and spurs.

A good horse was a medieval status symbol, much like a car is today. El Cid’s famous horse Babieca, for example, was almost as famous as his master. Knights were also true adventurers, with an excellent knowledge of geography, the ability to navigate and find their way in any terrain, and a good tolerance of hunger, cold and insomnia.

Rodrigo Díaz became a knight in his teens and in 1063 he was already involved in his first major battle, against Sancho’s uncle, Ramir I of Aragon, who was attacking the Taifa of Zaragoza. Not liking his uncle’s attempt to expand his power, as it threatened his influence, Sancho sided with the weak Muslim Emir Al Muqtadir. Ramiro was killed and Zaragoza remained in Muslim hands, but as a Christian protectorate.

This battle illustrated well the complexity of an era in which it was perfectly acceptable for a Christian Castilian prince to defeat and kill his Aragonese uncle in order to preserve the territorial independence of a Muslim ally, and thus to clip the wings of his own kinsman.

Young Rodrigo thus learned the world of medieval diplomacy and the unwritten rules of war at an early age, and learned the most important lesson of his life – diplomatic and ostensibly friendly relations were not made on the basis of shared beliefs, values and religion, but purely out of calculating expediency. This became his guiding principle in life.

Ferdinand’s great mistake was to divide his kingdom between his three sons after his death, unintentionally severely loosening Christian unity and strength. His favourite son Alfonso was given Leon, the eldest Sancho Castilla and the youngest Garcia Galicia. He also divided among them the annual income from the taxes paid by the Taifas. A rivalry developed between the brothers, fuelled by jealousy, since Alfonso’s inheritance was supposed to be the most profitable and promising.

Sancho, now King of Castile, immediately elevated his childhood friend Rodrigo to the command of the king’s troops. He was barely a year over twenty.

Fraternal disputes

Sancho’s envy drove him into conflict with his brother Alfonso. The conflict culminated in a battle in 1068, in which Alfonso was defeated, but his Leonese kingdom remained intact. A fragile peace prevailed, but Sancho and Alfonso together attacked a third brother, Garcia, took over Galicia from him and ruled it together for a time.

But the ultimate goal of the two was to unite all three of their father’s kingdoms, and only one could succeed. At first it was Sancho. After years of war, Alfonso was driven out of Leon and Galicia by Sancho’s Castilians, and found refuge in Taifa Toledo at the court of Al Mamun.

Sancho thanked his loyal followers, including Rodrigo Díaz, profusely, although his triumph was short-lived. Nine months after the unification of the three kingdoms, he died mysteriously and, despite the lack of hard evidence, it is clear that his death was not accidental but the result of a dynastic intrigue in which Alfonso was joined by his sister Uruka. Since Sancho was childless, his crown very conveniently went to Alfonso, henceforth Alfonso VI, the newly crowned King of Castile and Leon.

He left his brother Garcia behind bars until his death, just in case, thus wiping out the most dangerous competition and devoting himself to the consolidation of the kingdom. During his 44-year reign, he became one of the most successful rulers of the Middle Ages. For Rodrigo, however, the new situation was delicate – how to win Alfonso’s trust, given that he had fought against him on the side of his brother Sancho?

But he already had such a reputation as a valiant fighter and military leader that Alfonso wanted him by his side. He was known as El Campeador (the master of the battlefield) among the Christians, and later, when he defected to the Moors, as El Cid among the Muslims.

To further endear him to the king, he gave him his niece Jimena, the daughter of a powerful count of an ancient royal dynasty, in marriage. The wedding, the main social event of the year, brought together two important noble families. Jimena proved to be a determined and loyal woman, accompanying her husband on his many exploits and exiles, even ending up in prison with their children, and, after El Cid’s death, consistently looking after his legacy and reputation. They had one son, who died in battle, and two daughters, whom El Cid later martyred in a calculating manner.

Alfonso’s power over a growing territory grew rapidly. After the murder of the King of Navarre, he reigned over more of his territory. He therefore directly controlled the territory from the Atlantic in the north of present-day Portugal and northern Spain with the Pyrenees, and he also had a number of important taifas, such as Toledo and Granada, subject to him and forced to pay taxes. On his victorious campaigns he was of course regularly accompanied by El Campeador as his faithful vassal and confidant.

But soon the first signs of distrust between the two men became apparent, and rumours and plots against El Campeador, out of envy and jealousy, were also afloat at court. His role at court was increasingly uncertain. Although later they wished to portray him as a victim of intrigue, he was prone to public shaming and insulting influential people with whom he disagreed. This was probably due to bitterness at the loss of privilege. Although he later distinguished himself for his diplomatic skills, he was clearly a hot-blooded man in his younger days.

He finally fell out of favour with the King when, as his envoy with the sole task of collecting taxes in Seville, he spontaneously became involved in the struggle between the Taifas of Seville and Granada. Unaware that Alfonso had sent a similar expedition to Granada, he fought for Seville. As always, El Cid’s side was victorious, but at the same time it was the beginning of his decline in Alfonso’s court.

But the real bone of contention was Taifa Toledo, which Alfonso had been eyeing ever since he had been there in exile. Toledo was a Christian protectorate which should have paid Alfonso the dues he had already paid his father Ferdinand, but his Muslim king, Al Mamun, had other plans.

Unlike many other weak Taif leaders, Al Mamun was trying his best to get rid of the Christian yoke and even to expand his territory. He succeeded in doing so by annexing Valencia.

Then he began to turn towards Granada, where the story intersected with that of Alfonso and El Cid. Alfonso supported the rulers of Granada against Al Mamun, who was dangerously building up his power. El Cid, on the other hand, supported Seville, that is to say, the side opposed to the king. The latter saw this as treason, especially when the Sevillians, with El Cid at their head, were victorious.

Alfonso was even more infuriated by the steady advance of Al Mamun, whose final destination was the magnificent Córdoba. He entered it at the zenith of his strength, despite similar efforts by his rival from Seville, Al Mutamid. But Al-Mamun’s triumph was short-lived, for he died four months after entering Córdoba, and his successor and grandson, Al-Qadir, was so weak and frightened that he again asked Alfonso for protection. He succeeded in reviving his father’s protectorate.

Alfonso’s next outpost was Toledo. After 370 years of Muslim rule, Toledo, the former Visigothic capital, finally passed back into Christian hands, an important turning point in the Reconquista. The Christians finally began to push the Moors firmly southwards.

Alfonso’s relations with the Taifas were not limited to Toledo, of course, as he also wanted to re-establish his father’s protectorate in the east, in Zaragoza, and over the kingdom of Badajoz. The alliances between the Taifas and the Christian rulers changed like clockwork, but the ambitions of strong rulers like Alfonso were a constant. His rise was fatal for the Arabs, as it marked a significant shift in the balance of power between them and the Spaniards.

But El Cid was too powerful and too influential for Alfonso. He saw him as a dangerous rival, and in 1081 he was excommunicated from the court.

El Cid spent the next five years in exile at the Muslim court of Zaragoza, taking up arms even more zealously than before and amassing even more wealth and territory as a mercenary soldier.

From battle to battle

And this was also the beginning of the most interesting and best documented period of his life. Around 1120, some twenty years after El Cid’s death, an extensive anonymous historical narrative and biography, the Historia Roderici, often referred to as the Latin Chronicle of El Cid, was written in Latin, providing an invaluable source of information on the period from his exile to his death.

Twenty years later, the first Spanish epic, the Song of the Cid, was written about him. Of course, many of the details in these literary works are fictional or mythologised, and not all the events described correspond to the actual years. The author of the Chronicle himself has even said that he undoubtedly did not write everything down and did not know it.

After his exile, El Cid left behind his wife and children and set out to find bread. Since Alfonso had united almost the whole Spanish territory, El Cid had little chance of finding a Christian patron. Barcelona and Aragon were the only ones left, but even there they did not want him, so he turned to the Muslims and offered them his precious services.

This was commonplace, and Christian refugees often sought refuge with Muslims, further enriching an already hybrid society. It should not be forgotten that even Alfonso himself, when persecuted by his brother Sancho, spent some time with Muslims in Toledo.

El Cid found a new home in Zaragoza, with the skilful, ambitious and knowledgeable diplomat Al Muktadir. He met him at a very young age, during his first battles, and there was a great deal of mutual respect between them. Al Muqtadir was an enlightened ruler, learned in astrology, geometry and philosophy, a patron of the arts and a benefactor of the poor. He was aware of the value of the presence of such a prestigious Christian fighter. But by the time the knight arrived at court, he was in such poor health that he died only four months later.

He passed power on to his two sons, Al Mutamin to the west and Al Mundir to the east, and the Muslim version of the rival brotherly story of Ferdinand’s successors Sancho, Alfonso and Garcia was born.

El Cid fought alongside Al Mutamin, protecting the kingdom of Zaragoza from Aragon in the north and Barcelona in the east, while also helping him in his disputes against his brother Al Mundir. He even captured the Prince of Barcelona and released him only after paying a huge ransom. This was sweet revenge for the Prince’s recent refusal of El Cid’s offer to serve him.

As usual, he was very lucky and won one victory after another, for which he was rewarded with more land, gold and money. This long experience also gave him an invaluable knowledge of the complexities of Spanish-Arab politics, Islamic law and customs, which was crucial in his conquest of Valencia a few years later.

His reputation grew steadily, and he slowly acquired the status of a legendary general who had never been defeated in battle. It was also at this time that he was to be regularly addressed as El Cid. He was described as riding into battle with dignity on his famous horse Babieca, wearing a golden helmet and a shield adorned with a golden dragon. He could already afford a private army of some 7000 soldiers.

Alfonso also reaped successes, which spurred him on to even more militant expansionism. He started attacking all the Taifas in turn. Given their geostrategic position and relations with their rulers, he offered them a protectorate or simply invaded them.

Thus, in 1086, he came to Zaragoza, which was defended, among others, by none other than Rodrigo Díaz, alias El Cid. At first it looked as if it would follow in Toledo’s footsteps, but it was not to be, and El Cid managed to defend it convincingly against his former patron and boss.

But it was then, in the run-up to the battle, that Alfonso received disturbing news. A huge army was pouring out of North Africa towards the Iberian Peninsula and had already landed in southern Spain. A new and even more turbulent chapter in the history of the Iberian Peninsula was about to unfold, and it caused real upheaval. At the same time, the fractured relations between El Cid and Alfonso were healing. It was the latter’s crushing defeat against his former general that made him realise once again how useful it is to have a famous warrior on your side. The two men reconciled and El Campeador returned to Alfonso’s court for a short time.

Who were the people who landed on the Spanish coast? They were called the Almoravids and many fables and rumours were spread about them and their remote kingdom in the southern Sahara.

Reconquista in stagnation

The Islamic-Berber dynasty of the Almoravids originated in the western Sahara and present-day Senegal, but rapidly expanded northwards into Africa in the early second millennium with an aggressive policy of conquest. There, they established their capital in Morocco, Marrakech, and soon a vast empire was established, including not only Morocco and the Western Sahara, but also Mauritania and Algeria.

The sudden rise of the Almoravids is shrouded in a haze very similar to that of the Arabs in the 8th century. Whatever the internal conflicts, they ensured the survival of Al-Andalus and helped to postpone the success of the Reconquista for another century or two. But their peak of power was short-lived and they were ousted by the Almohad dynasty in the mid-12th century.

The Almoravids are said to have been immensely rich in gold. Even the dogs that guarded their palaces wore gold collars, and important trade routes passed through their territory, where gold, ivory, ebony and even slaves were traded.

In Al-Andalus, however, they were always on the alert, and by the time of the Cordoban Caliphate, when the Muslim forces in Iberia were united, fear was unnecessary. But when the Caliphate broke up into small and often fragile, and above all rival, taifas, the Almoravids immediately seized the opportunity. They had no intention of stopping at the Strait of Gibraltar.

These militant Muslims were very different in religious fervour from the moderate Moors of the then Al-Andalus. Their guiding principle was holy war or jihad, that is to say, the spread of Islam into new lands without the intention of peaceful cohabitation and coexistence with existing religious communities.

Some Taif rulers, however, found themselves at a crossroads – should they ally themselves with Christians, with whom they had repeatedly collaborated, or with religio-cultural sympathisers who had very obvious appetites for their territory?

The Almoravids were considered primitive, uncouth and tribal among the cultivated Al-Andalusian nobles, but in the end the traditional and social affinity prevailed, best summed up in the words: “I’d rather be camel handlers in Morocco than pig herders in Castile”.

In 1086, therefore, the Almoravids, together with the Taifas of Al-Andalus, defeated Alfonso’s Castile and Leon in coalition with Aragon at the famous Battle of Sagrajas. The defeat threatened the existence of the whole of Christian Spain, but did not bring Alfonso to his knees. The distrust between the Al-Andalusians and the newcomers, despite the alliance, was also such that the latter temporarily retreated back to Morocco. Their return did not have to wait long.

El Cid did not take part in this battle because he and Alfonso had such an unstable relationship that they never lasted long together. Moreover, he was already hatching the plans that would one day see him ascend to the throne of Valencia. But after the Almoravid victory, Alfonso was in such dire straits that he again asked the legendary warrior for support, and he could afford to impose strict conditions on the king.

In the following, even more turbulent period between 1089 and 1092, both El Cid’s and Spain’s futures were written.

The Lord of Valencia

In 1089, El Cid, at the head of a large army, approached Valencia, ruled by the incompetent Al Qadir, in Alfonso’s name, to protect it from rival Muslim emirs. Valencia was one of the richer cities and many would have been happy to see it.

El Cid successfully collected taxes from Al Qadir and then stayed on for a while to deter potential attackers. But he soon received alarming news. The Almoravids were returning in all their glory. They were joined by the emirs of Seville, Granada and Almeria, and the united army went to meet Alfonso. El Cid was supposed to come to their aid, but the two Christian armies failed to unite and El Cid’s opponents had the perfect opportunity to accuse him of treachery.

Although the battle never took place, Alfonso believed the accusations and threw El Cid in prison. Even his wife and children were briefly imprisoned.

When the Almoravids returned for a third time, Alfonso and El Cid, as the offended lovers, reconciled. In 1090, the Almoravid leader Yusuf first unsuccessfully besieged Toledo, then camped outside Granada. His failure at Toledo made him vengeful, and this time many Taifas refused to take part in his exploits.

This was the last military campaign in which Alfonso and El Cid were united, but he was now distinguished by his considerable emaciation and sense of untouchability. For example, many of the dues that should have gone into the king’s coffers went into his pocket, and he made many allies for the king, cozied up to his opponents and generally did as he pleased in his own way.

But Alfonso wanted to show who was the true master of Spain, so he himself recruited allies to attack Valencia, and even allied himself with the northern Italian maritime cities of Genoa and Pisa, which contributed hundreds of ships in return for lucrative trading rights.

When Alfonso’s military campaign for Valencia began in 1092, El Cid attacked Castile in response. Leaving devastation in his wake, Alfonso quickly abandoned his ambush of Valencia. The following year, El Cid successfully set out to conquer it himself, with the intention of first wiping it out.

On the fifteenth of June 1094, he proudly entered it. He took up residence in the palace, which until recently had been the home of the emirs, and began to put the city in order in his own way. He transformed the city’s mosque into a magnificent cathedral that still reminds visitors of Al-Andalus’s mighty past. But more than civil administration, he immediately had to think about the defence of the city, which was already approached by the huge, by some accounts 150,000-strong army of Yusuf’s nephew Mohammed. He came with precise instructions to capture El Cid alive.

Whatever El Cid had been through so far, this was the worst crisis of his life. The Almoravids were implacable. They besieged the town every night, intimidating the inhabitants by shouting and shooting flaming arrows, but El Cid showed more than ever what he was made of.

He was a true leader. He calmed the people and prayed with them. At the same time, he devised a plan to defeat the besiegers. One day, quite unexpectedly, his army swept out of the city and drove away the enemy, who fled in an instant, leaving behind everything from weapons, mules and valuables. Word of this incredible victory spread far and wide, and it gave new hope to Christians.

But El Cid was not a benevolent ruler, he ruled with an iron hand. He did not trust the people very much, knowing that loyalty was elusive. So he kept them in fear and took much of their food and property to feed his many and starving troops. He imposed further payments on the rich. Those he did not trust, he expelled.

He further proved his worthiness as king by marrying off his two daughters – one to the powerful grandson of King Garcia of Navarre, the other to the ruler of Barcelona, thus strengthening important Christian alliances.

Five years later, much to the chagrin of Christians, he died in his bed in July 1099. His widow made a valiant attempt to defend the city against the Almoravids, who did not give up and occupied Valencia in 1102. It remained in Muslim hands until 1238. The success of the enterprise to which El Cid devoted so much of his life energy was short-lived.

Jimena left the city with dignity, accompanied by a large caravan and the corpse of her husband. According to legend, he was not buried, but placed on the ivory throne once seized by the Moors, dressed in sumptuous silks and holding a sword. After his wife’s death, she was to be buried at his feet while he was still seated on the throne. Only after ten years, when his nose fell off, was he finally to be buried.

This and many other half-true and untrue stories multiplied rapidly after El Cid’s death. A cult was built up around him and anyone who dared to question the image of his fake, immaculate personality was denounced and hated. For once El Cid had assumed the role of national hero, he had to stay that way.

He was resurrected, above all at the end of the 19th century, when the Spanish Empire suffered an ignominious defeat against the then second-rate USA. It was also appropriated by General Franco, who could not resist the temptation not to compare himself with it. Historical revisionism has always been one of the favourite means of dictators and autocrats to justify their own version of history.