The sturdy Toledans were attached, not only to their laws and customs, but (which was of more importance in those days) to their own Gothic or Mozarabic ritual. This differs in what are considered important particulars from the Roman. The host is divided into nine parts, representing the Incarnation, Epiphany, Circumcision, Passion, Death, Resurrection, Ascension, and Eternal Kingdom of Christ. Of these fragments, seven are arranged to form a cross. Because it is not Roman, English writers are fond of extolling the beauty and simplicity of this liturgy. It was a stumbling-block to Queen Constance and the zealous French bishop, who were anxious to reduce all things in Spain to Catholic uniformity. The King ordered the question to be decided by ordeal of single combat. The Mozarabic champion remained the victor. The bishop then demanded the ordeal of fire. The two missals were accordingly thrown into a great blazing pile, and the local favourite, having probably been saturated with some incombustible preparation, remained unconsumed. Another version has it that neither book was injured by the flames. Alfonso, after his fashion, clinched the controversy by ordering the Mozarabic ritual to be confined to the two parish churches allotted to the Christians by their Moorish rulers, whilst everywhere else Mass was to be celebrated according to the Roman office. Alfonso VI. had to fight hard to keep possession of Toledo. The Almoravide invasion had burst like a tidal wave over Southern Spain. Everywhere the Musulmans were recovering their spirits and their strength. The Castilian king fled, wounded, from the bloody field of Zalaca, with only five hundred followers, leaving behind him twenty thousand slain. Toledo could have had no pleasant associations for its latest conqueror. Here died three of his _six_ wives--Constancia of Burgundy, Isabel of France, and Zayda of Seville. At Ucles was slain his only son, while yet a mere child. “Where is your prince?” asked the unhappy father of the warriors escaped from the rout. “Where is the light of my eyes and the staff of my age?” All were silent. “He is dead and you live!” bitterly exclaimed the king. “Yes,” replied Alvar Fañez sternly, “we live to save the throne, the country, and the lands acquired with our blood and sweat.” But the Alcazar re-echoed to the mournful plaint, “Sancho! Sancho, my son!” till Alfonso VI. passed away in July 1109. The stones of which the church altars were built had miraculously distilled tears in token of his approaching death. Before a year had passed the Vega was blackened by the advancing hordes of Islam. The Castle of Azeca, the monastery of San Servando, fell into their hands; but the City of the Goths, thanks to the leadership of Archbishop Bernard and of Alvar Fañez, hurled back the hosts of Ali and was held fast for Spain.