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  It was a typical fight, the kind couples have all the time. It quickly escalated into a shouting match that was more about the unspoken pressures between us than the supposed reason it had started in the first place.

  And then it happened.

  "Alfonso would be nothing without me." A vein throbbed in Rodrigo's temple as he shouted. "It is El Cid who brings him greatness! I am not his lackey or his lapdog, and my wife does not hold my leash!"

  "Who fields your armies and pays for your wars?" I said. "Perhaps it is you who would be nothing without him."

  Suddenly, Rodrigo's face filled with rage...true fury beyond the limits I'd seen in our fight so far. Eyes wide, nostrils flaring, teeth clenched, he stood and glared at me, heating to a boil.

  Even before he started to change, I took a step back. I sensed it.

  The face of the creature flowed over his features like the shadow of an eclipse crossing over the sun. His eyes blazed with red light, and his skin turned to deep green scales. The forked tongue slithered from his mouth like a millipede.

  Guerrito.

  "Come here, darling." The guerrito took a step toward me, leering, reaching. "It is time for us to make up."

  It was then that I ran.

  Heart hammering like a horse's hooves, I bolted from the bedroom and slammed the door after me. He hurled the door open and gave chase.

  The sound of his boots battering the floor behind me was enough to speed my flight downstairs. I flung myself into the chapel just a few steps ahead of him and barred the oak door.

  He pounded on the door for a while, laughing and cursing me the whole time...and then he gave up. I knew I was lucky, because he could have broken the door down at any time if he had chosen to. He could have hacked his way through it with Tizona. He had decided to spare me.

  Even so, I did not leave the chapel for a very long time. I did not come out until the next morning. By then, the guerrito was gone.

  But not for long.

  *****

  In the months and years to come, the guerrito appeared more often.

  Gone were the days when his visits had coincided only with battles. No time or place seemed to be off-limits to him anymore.

  Sometimes, I expected his arrival, as when Rodrigo lost his temper. Other times, the change seemed to come from out of the blue, shocking me with its suddenness and apparent senselessness.

  Always, when it happened, I was terrified. I ran and hid when I could, with the creature at my heels...but sometimes, when the change caught me unawares, I had nowhere to go. Scalded by the waves of rage and malice radiating from the guerrito, I would watch and wait, wondering when it was finally going to hurt me.

  "He is driving me mad," I told Tizona. "Have you thought of a way to get rid of him?"

  Tizona gleamed in the flickering candlelight. "I am sorry, but not yet."

  "Every day, I fear for my life," I said. "I wonder when the wrong word from my lips or look in my eyes will send me to my death bed."

  "I hate to say this, Doña Jimena," said Tizona, "but in that regard, among women, you are hardly alone."

  *****

  Things did not get better.

  The guerrito came more often and stayed longer. Soon, it was there half the time, exuding its hellish menace in the heart of my world.

  Its moods were uniformly dark, its tantrums epic. Whatever breakables there were in our home, the guerrito obliterated them in its fits of rage.

  And yet, it did not hurt me. For the time being, it seemed content with terrorizing me, holding me in constant suspense of my seemingly inevitable murder.

  Eventually, it wore me down. The relentless terror of my every waking moment. There came a point when I got used to it.

  I stopped running from the guerrito. No longer did I flee and hide every time it showed its horrible face.

  My fear was no less, but I learned to live with it. It was either that, or leave my beloved Rodgrigo.

  "There is always the convent," said Tizona. "You would be safe behind its walls."

  "I cannot leave him," I said. "No matter the danger."

  "But why?" said Tizona.

  "Because my husband is still in there," I said. "And I love him. I need him...and so does Spain."

  *****

  With each passing year, the guerrito's presence increased...and its influence grew. At first, this influence could be seen in little things—impulsive words and actions in social circles. Uncharacteristic decisions in business and politics. Arbitrary changes in the way Rodrigo conducted his life.

  Then, one day, he turned a corner. The guerrito's recklessness took over.

  And we were exiled because of it.

  *****

  It started with a victory.

  El Cid led a force into Granada to fight the Moors...and as usual, he triumphed. It was another grand step in the campaign to retake all of Spain from the Africans.

  Unfortunately, it was done without King Alfonso's permission.

  The next thing I knew, Rodrigo and the children and I were escorted out of Castille. We were thrown into exile because of my husband's recklessness...which I knew was the recklessness of the guerrito shining through.

  But the worst was yet to come.

  *****

  "You're working for the Moors now?" As much as I'd gotten used to surprises, my husband's latest shock struck me like a blast of lightning.

  "Alfonso thinks to crush me." Rodrigo stood in the hot sun and glowered. He had just returned from meeting with the Moorish Emir of Zaragosa. "But I will rise up again and claim what is mine."

  "But you have fought against the Moors your whole life," I said. "How can you even consider fighting for them?"

  As I watched, the guerrito's leering features replaced Rodrigo's. "I have no more loyalty to them than to the king who exiled me. I only want their treasure to pay for my wars."

  "We're talking about the Moors!" I said, though I knew my words fell on the guerrito's deaf ears. "Have you no loyalty to the people of Spain? Have you no loyalty to anyone?"

  The guerrito's forked tongue flickered, a glistening pink obscenity. "Only myself," he said.

  As I stood there, contemplating what until now had been an unimaginable future, I kept waiting for Rodrigo to reappear. Perhaps, if the guerrito stayed away long enough, I could get through to my husband. Maybe I could weaken the creature's influence and talk Rodrigo out of serving Moorish masters.

  But Rodrigo did not come back that day.

  *****

  "Have you thought of a way to get rid of the guerrito?" I asked Tizona. We were in a house in Zaragosa now, in a Muslim prayer chamber instead of a chapel.

  "I know things are bad now," said Tizona.

  "The guerrito is here all the time," I said. "It rarely lets me see Rodrigo at all."

  "Some guerritos are like that," said Tizona. "They must have everything. They must conquer."

  I wiped tears from my eyes with the back of my hand. "I just want my husband back. I want my Rodrigo."

  Tizona's polished blade shimmered in the candlelight. "I have been thinking about this for a very long time. Perhaps there is a way."

  I could not keep the flare of hope from my face and my voice. "What is it? Tell me!"

  "You must go to war with him," said Tizona. "You must wait on the sidelines of all his battles."

  "Wait for what?"

  "His death." The light swirled along Tizona's length like ripples on a lake. "When he dies, you must run to him."

  My skin turned to ice, and I felt sick in the pit of my stomach. "You're telling me...to wait for him to die?"

  "With the life he leads, it will happen sooner or later," said Tizona. "Or perhaps he will outlive you, and none of this will matter. It is impossible to say.

  "But if he does die in battle, you must be there. You must be ready."

  I could not look at him. "Ready for what?"

  "To do as I say, no matter how terrible it seems," said Tizona.

  A
rush of anger rose within me. "What exactly will you tell me to do?"

  Tizona sighed. "You have trusted me so far, milady. You must know I want only to help you."

  "So I have thought," I said. "But this..."

  "Doña Jimena." There was an edge to Tizona's voice. "Surely you have realized by now how I feel about you."

  I frowned. "How is that?"

  "I pledge my absolute fealty to you," said Tizona. "My undying love."

  I had nothing to say to that.

  "As a knight loves and serves his queen, so do I love and serve you," said Tizona. "And as a queen trusts her knight, so must you trust me. If you do this, I believe, you can have him back."

  "Dead," I said. "I can have him when he's dead."

  "Not at all, milady," said Tizona. "Now listen as I tell you my plan."

  *****

  Years passed in a haze of blood and fear.

  El Cid continued his wars, switching allegiances with the ease of flipping a coin. He fought for the Moors, then the Christians, then the Moors, then the Christians—and finally, out of truest loyalty to himself, conquered a kingdom to call his own: Valencia.

  Every step of the way, Tizona and I were by his side—Tizona in his fist and I in his entourage. Battle after battle, I waited on the sideline, watching as the guerrito who ruled my husband hacked his way through screaming enemies. Watching as all the guerritos struggled on the field, all the monsters who'd taken the places of men on all sides.

  If anyone else could see the wars as I saw them, would they ever let their men ride off to fight them again? Could they bear the thought of the sons and husbands and brothers they loved being transformed into such savage monstrosities, for the sake of this piece of land or that religion or this chest of gold?

  Or would they accept it as they always had, as a necessary evil? Would it make it even easier to swallow, knowing and seeing that the men themselves were not doing the actual fighting?

  For my part, I soon came to wish I would never have to watch another battle again. I wished I would never have to see another sword-thrust to the heart or club-smash to the skull or arrow through the eye.

  And I wished I would never have to see my guerrito striding toward me again, fresh from battle, soaked in blood and steaming with rancid demon sweat. I wished he would disappear forever, taking my constant fear with him—leaving only Rodrigo and life and hope. Gone like a fever or a fire, never ever to return.

  Would I be able to make it happen when the time came? With all in chaos around me, could I do as Tizona instructed?

  Just thinking about it made my hands tremble. Made my heart pound like the war drums beating in the mist as the guerritos tore each other to pieces.

  *****

  One day in July, the Moors invaded Valencia by sea. Scimitars swooping through the hot summer air, they poured from their ships and swarmed the streets of our kingdom.

  El Cid and his army raced to meet them. My bodyguards and I followed, as always.

  We reached the coast at the height of the fiercest fighting. El Cid's forces, in all their guerrito glory, mowed down the Moors like scythes sweeping through grain. From what I could see, the invaders did not stand a chance.

  Not that I felt any excitement at the thought of victory. Not that I craved anything but an ending to the violence, the terror, the sorrow. The nightmare my life had become.

  Suddenly, a jolt went through the battlefield. All the guerritos paused in their mayhem and turned as one, gaping at one end of the war zone. It was as if something had exploded over there, drawing everyone's attention at once.

  Drawing my attention, then, too.

  When I looked where everyone else was looking, I could not tell at first what had happened. Blood-drenched knights stood in a circle, staring down at something on the ground.

  Then, they lifted it up. Finally, I saw what they carried.

  Rodrigo.

  Not the guerrito anymore—just Rodrigo. And his body was limp. An arrow jutted from his bloody throat.

  My husband.

  As the battle resumed, the knights fought their way toward me, carrying Rodrigo between them. One of their number fell to a Moorish blade, but the other four kept coming, bringing their burden my way.

  When they reached me, they lowered him gently to the sun-baked sand. One of them handed me Tizona, wrapped in Rodrigo's coat of arms.

  Then, the knights charged back into battle, leaving me alone with Rodrigo and Tizona...exactly as I wanted to be.

  "He is dead." Tizona's tiny voice chimed like a bell, ringing in my ears above the clashing war swords on the field.

  "Yes." I ran my fingers over my beloved husband's face, feeling the lingering warmth in his murdered flesh.

  "You remember what I told you?" said Tizona. "You must trust me. You must do as I say."

  "I remember," I said.

  "Then let us begin," said Tizona.

  *****

  What I did next was not easy. After all, it was my husband's dead body. Whatever the guerrito had put me through, I still loved this man.

  Then there was the problem of physically doing as Tizona told me. I was simply not strong enough to do the work alone.

  But with my knightly bodyguards to help, I was able to raise Rodrigo onto his horse, Babieca. Together, we managed to lash him to the saddle and Babieca's neck.

  Then came the tricky part.

  As my knights held the reins, I huddled over Tizona. I turned my back to them, listening carefully to the sword's every word.

  "You and I, Jimena," said Tizona. "We will turn the tables."

  "Tell me what to do," I said.

  "Take me to El Cid," said Tizona.

  I did as he told me.

  "Place my blade against his back," said Tizona.

  I wrapped both hands around Tizona's hilt and raised him toward Rodrigo. My knights watched carefully, uncertain of what was to come next.

  Tizona gleamed as I laid him upon Rodrigo's back. "Years ago, a bruja gave me the power to restore this man's life!" said Tizona. "I use that power now!"

  Suddenly, Tizona flared with blinding light. His hilt became hot in my grip, but I refused to let go of it.

  "Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar! Return to us!" Tizona flared even brighter. "El Cid Campeador! You are called!"

  Before my very eyes, Rodrigo's back rose. And fell.

  It was a miracle.

  "Now, quickly!" said Tizona. "Place me against his heart!"

  The sword was heavy in my hands as I lifted it from Rodrigo's back. Clumsily, I swung it around in front of him.

  "Hurry!" said Tizona.

  Standing on tiptoes, I slid Tizona upward until his tip touched Rodrigo's chest.

  "Higher!" said Tizona.

  I stretched as far as I could, pushing the point of the blade further. I could not have moved it another inch beyond that if I had tried.

  "There!" said Tizona.

  With that, he flared so brightly, I lost my sight for a moment. Whatever was happening to Tizona and Rodrigo, I saw none of it.

  "Enough!" said Tizona. "Pull me away!"

  Still blinded, I pulled the sword down from Rodrigo. I moved slowly, hoping not to cut him or Babieca or my knights with the blade.

  "Now drive the horse into the battle!" said Tizona. "Do it now!"

  "Into the battle?" I said.

  "Yes!" said Tizona. "Before it's too late!"

  "What was that, milady?" said one of my knights.

  I took a deep breath and gathered myself, mustering the authority at my command. "Send Ed Cid back into the fight!"

  "Into the fight?" said one of the knights.

  "But he's dead," said the other.

  "And even in death, he shall inspire his men!" My sight was coming back, so I could see the looks of disbelief on the knights' faces. I tried even harder to sound commanding. "Now send him onto the battlefield!"

  The knights exchanged skeptical looks.

  "Without El Campeador, we shall lose this bat
tle and this kingdom!" I said. "Even in death, he is greater than any of us...and far greater than any Moorish enemy! Now do it! Send him into battle one last time!"

  With that, the knights nodded and turned. They struck Babieca's flanks hard with their metal gauntlets, sending it racing toward the fight.

  *****

  "We have done it," said Tizona. "You are free."

  As I watched Babieca gallop across the battlefield, the body on its back transformed. Instead of Rodrigo, the guerrito rode into the fight.

  "But the guerrito has returned," I said.

  "I knew it would," said Tizona. "As soon as I brought Rodrigo back to life and sent him into battle."

  I frowned. "But now the guerrito is in control again."

  "Not for long." Tizona chuckled. "Keep watching."

  I did as Tizona said...and then I understood. As Babieca rode across the field, El Cid's men rallied—and Moorish warriors ran to strike at the source of their inspiration.

  El Cid's knights fought to defend their leader, but they could not keep away all the Moors. One after another, the Moors slashed and battered the guerrito, hacking his exposed flesh and pounding him to a pulp inside his armor.

  The guerrito, strapped as he was to the back of the horse, could not defend himself. All he could do was scream as the enemy chopped and pulverized him.

  I watched for a moment, then turned away from the slaughter. "So this is how we get rid of him. By sacrificing my husband."

  "Yes," said Tizona. "That is part of it."