It was a vow most solemn that my lord the Cid had made. Now merry were the ladies and not so much afraid. Those Moors out of Morocco in mighty haste they sped, And on into the gardens they entered without dread. XCII. That thing beheld the outpost. He let the tocsin sound. Of the Cid Roy Diaz ready were the companies around. They sallied from the city with their arms appointed well. When they came on the Moriscos upon them swift they fell. They drove them from the gardens in exceeding sorry plight; Of the Moors a full five hundred they slaughtered in that fight. XCIII. Even to the pavilions the pursuers would not slack; They had done much and nobly when they thought of turning back. There Alvar Salvadórez a prisoner did remain. Then those that ate his bread returned to the lord Cid again. With his own eyes he beheld it, to his face they spake thereon; My lord the Cid was gladdened of the deeds that they had done. "My knights we cannot other. Then harken unto me: 'Tis a noble day, yet nobler will tomorrow's battle be. Arm you ere dawn. The Bishop don Jerome our souls will shrive, Saying mass for us ere at them we are ready to let drive. It shall be in no other fashion, we will go smite the foe, In God's name and his Apostle's the good Saint James also. For better fight than let them in the land devour our bread." "With a good will and gladly," in reply to him they said And then outspake Minaya, for nothing tarried he: "Since thou wishest this, give orders of another sort to me. For the sore need of battle grant me six score horse and ten; From the far flank, when thou charges will I fall on them then. On one side or the other the Lord will stand our stead." "With right good will," unto him answered the Cid and said. XCIV. And now broke forth the morning, and now drew back the night. Those bands of Christ delayed not to get ready for the fight. At the middle cocks ere morning, mass for them Jerome did chant, And mass said, absolution in full to them did grant: "Who face to face shall perish this day the fight within, May Christ receive his spirit, on my soul I take his sin. Cid, don Rodrigo, in good hour thou girdedst brand; to thee I sang the mass this morning. Grant then my boon to me: Give me to strike the foremost the first stroke of the war." "The thing to thee is granted," answered the Campeador.