Rodrigo, king of Spain, was the most learned of all monarchs in the art of varying his pleasures, and the least scrupulous in the way he obtained them. Believing that the throne was one of the safest places from which to enjoy them with impunity, he had been prepared to do anything to achieve it. Since he had only to remove one child’s head to achieve his goal, he condemned the child without a single twinge of remorse.

But Anagilde, mother of the unfortunate Sancho, the child in question whom Rodrigo, his uncle and guardian, was determined to kill, was fortunate enough to discover the conspiracy planned against her son, and clever enough to circumvent it. She fled to Africa, she offered to hand over to the Moors the legitimate heir to the throne of Spain, told them of the criminal plot which had cheated him of it, implored their protection, but died along with her unfortunate child at the moment just she was about to obtain all she had asked for.

Rodrigo, now King Rodrigo, entirely safe from anything that could threaten his happiness, now concerned himself solely with his pleasures. He devised a plan that would multiply the things that stimulated him. He would demand that all of the daughters of his subjects attend his court. The pretext he gave to disguise his malevolent scheme was that they were to pledge their loyalty to him. He would then hold them hostage. Did anyone resist? Did anyone demand that their daughter be returned? If any did, such acts of rebellion were quickly declared to be crimes against the state, and anyone found guilty of said crime would pay with his or her head. Under such a cruel reign, there is no middle ground to tread between cowardice and deceit.

Among the number of young females who in this manner embellished the King’s corrupt court, Florinde, aged about sixteen, stood out from her companions, like a rose among ordinary flowers. She was the daughter of Count Julien, whom Rodrigo had just employed in Africa to oppose Anagilde’s negotiations with the Moors. The death of Don Sancho and his mother had rendered the Count’s efforts pointless. He could have returned, undoubtedly, and would no doubt have done so if it had not been for the sheer beauty of Florinde. Rodrigo had no sooner noticed that enchanting creature than he felt that the Count’s return to the court would be an obstacle to his desires. He wrote, ordering him to remain in Africa, and then, eager to fully enjoy the delights of a treasure that the father’s absence seemed to guarantee, and indifferent as to the means by which he might obtain them, he ordered that Florinde be taken to the innermost court of his palace, and there, more eager to plunder her favors than to make himself worthy of them, Rodrigo took her. Once he had taken all he wanted, he turned his mind to new crimes to commit.

Those who commit outrages against others are often quick to forget what they have done, whereas the ones who have been made to suffer because of those outrages are justified in remembering the wrongs that have been done to them.

Florinde, in the depths of despair, and not knowing how she could inform her father of what had happened to her, used an ingenious allegory that historians have handed down to us. She wrote to the Count, saying that ‘the ring which you have instructed me to take the utmost care of has just been broken by the king himself; by throwing himself upon me with a dagger in his hand, he has broken that precious jewel, the loss of which I deplore. I wish to be avenged.’

However, she died before she received the Count’s reply.

However, the Count had fully understood his daughter’s meaning. He had returned to Spain and he recruited some local men, who promised to serve him. He then went back to Africa, and managed to persuade the Moors to support him in his revenge by telling them that a king capable of such a horrible act would surely be easy to defeat in battle.

He also gave them proof of Spain’s weakness, mentioning its depopulation, the hatred the country’s subjects for their king, and used all of the many persuasive arguments that his embittered heart could devise. After hearing him out, the Moors did not hesitate to offer their help.

Emperor Muza, who was the ruler of that region of Africa, first sent out a small secret group of troops in order to verify what the Count had stated. These troops joined forces with the men who had promised the Count their loyalty. When Muza learned of this, he believed that because the two groups were now twice as strong with their joined forces, the mission would be successful and victory was inevitable. Gradually, surreptitiously, Spain was filled with Africans. Rodrigo was still safe. But what could he have done? He had no soldiers, not one fortress had been left standing; they had all been pulled down in order to deprive the Spaniards of safe havens from which they could have protected themselves from the tyrannies of their king. To add insult to injury, there was no money left in the royal coffers.

However the danger increased and the hapless monarch was soon on the verge of being toppled from his throne. It was then that Rodrigo recalled an ancient monument in the region of Toledo, called the Enchanted Tower. The general belief was that it contained treasure. The king travelled there as quickly as he could, with the intention of taking the treasure for himself. On reaching it, he found that he could not get inside it. An iron gate secured with a thousand locks defended the entrance so well that no one could enter. Over the formidable door, written in Greek, were these words: If you are afraid to die, do not approach. Rodrigo was not afraid. For him it was simply a matter of his kingdom being in danger, and since he had no other way of raising money to save his kingdom, he had no choice but to break down the gate. And so he mounted the first step that led to the gate.

As he placed his foot on the second step, a ferocious-looking giant appeared in front of him, and raised the point of its sword until it was pointing directly at Rodrigo’s stomach.

“Halt!” the giant shouted. “If you wish to enter, you must enter alone. No one, no matter who they are, can accompany you.”

“That is something I care little about,” Rodrigo said, stepping forward as the gate opened and leaving his entourage behind. “I am here because I seek either help or death.”

“Perhaps you will find both here,” the giant replied, as the gate closed behind Rodrigo with a loud clang.

The king followed the giant, who strode up the flight of stone steps without saying another word to him. After they had climbed more than eight hundred steps, they finally reached a large room lit by an infinite number of torches. All the victims who had been sacrificed by Rodrigo were gathered in that room; everyone there was being subjected to the torture that he had originally condemned them to.

“Do you recognize these unfortunates?” the giant demanded. “This is how despots should be shown their crimes. Their most recent atrocities make them forget their old ones, and they only ever see one at a time . . . But when they’re presented together like this, perhaps it will be enough to make them shudder. Look at those rivers of blood, all caused by your hand, simply as a means of serving your passions. With one word, I can set all these unfortunate souls free. With one word, I could have them destroy you.”

“Do what you want,” the proud Rodrigo said. “I didn’t come this far to tremble with fear.”

“Follow me then,” the giant replied, “since your courage is equal to the audacity of your crimes.”

Rodrigo proceeded from there into a second room, where his conductor showed him all the young females who had been deflowered by him as he gratified his cowardly pleasures. Some were tearing at their hair, others were stabbing themselves, some who had already killed themselves lay in the pools of their own blood. From the midst of those unfortunate women, the king saw Florinde rise up, looking exactly as she had looked on the day he had violated her . . .

“Rodrigo!” she cried out. “It is your terrible crimes that have brought the enemy into your kingdom. My father has promised to avenge me, but he cannot give me back my honor or my life. I have lost both; you are the sole cause of this. You will see me once more, Rodrigo, but you should dread that fatal moment, for it will be your last. The honor of avenging all the unfortunate women you see here is reserved for me alone.”

The proud Spaniard turned away from her and followed his guide into a third room.

In the middle of the third room was an enormous statue of Time. It was armed with a club with which it struck the ground once every minute, with such a terrible noise that the whole tower shook.

“Wretched king!” the statue bellowed. “Your terrible fate has brought you to this place. You shall at last learn the truth. Know that you will soon be dethroned by foreign powers, after which you will be punished for your crimes.”

The scene changed instantly; the vaulted ceiling disappeared and Rodrigo rose through it. An invisible, airy power lifted him and his guide until they stood on the very top of the tallest tower in Toledo.

“Behold your fate,” the giant said.

The king immediately looked across the vista of his beloved country. He saw the Moors battling with his people, many of whom were so battered and defeated they barely had the strength to crawl from the battlefield.

“What have you decided now that you have seen this sight?” the giant demanded.

“I wish to return to the tower,” the proud Rodrigo answered. “I intend to ransack it and carry away all of the treasure it contains and then return to my court where I will put my trust in fate. Having seen what I’ve seen, I’m neither afraid of failure nor defeat.”

“To this I agree,” the giant said. “However, you should take time to reflect. You will undergo terrible ordeals and I will not be at your side to give you courage.”

“There is no ordeal I cannot face,” Rodrigo said.

“So be it,” the giant replied. “But remember that even if you succeed in carrying away all of the treasure from the tower, and even if you beat all of your enemies in battle . . . you can never be certain of your total victory.”

“It does not matter,” Rodrigo said.

“My victory will be even less certain if I cannot muster an army and I am then attacked without a means of defending myself.”

He had no sooner said those words than faster than a blink of an eye he found himself once more inside the tower with his guide, back in the room that contained the statue of Time.

“I have to leave you here,” the giant said. “Ask the statue where the treasure you are looking for is to be found and it will tell you.”

Having spoken, the giant disappeared.

Rodrigo looked at the statue.

“Where must I go?” Rodrigo asked it.

“Back to the place from which you came, to be a trial to all mankind,” the statue answered.

“I don’t understand you. Speak more clearly.”

“You must enter the underworld.”

“Show me the way and I’ll go there now.”

The earth trembled and split open. Unable to avoid the huge chasm, Rodrigo fell into it, dropping for more than ten thousand toises into its depths. He got to his feet, opened his eyes, and found himself standing on the bank of what looked like a burning lake. Horrible creatures sailed on it in iron boats.

One of the monsters called to him.

“Do you want to cross the river!”

“Must I?” Rodrigo asked.

“Yes, if you want to find the treasure. You’ll find it sixteen thousand leagues from here, beyond the deserts of Taenarus.”

“And where am I now?” the king asked.

“On the banks of the Agraformikubos, one of the eighteen thousand rivers of Hell.”

“Then ferry me across it,” Rodrigo demanded . . .

An iron sailing boat drew near and Rodrigo leapt aboard the burning vessel. As soon as he touched the glowing hot deck, he felt searing pain engulf his feet. In a moment he was transported to the other side. There was perpetual darkness everywhere. It was a savage land that had never known the beneficent rays of the sun.

Rodrigo, informed of the route he was to take by the boatman who had ferried him across, advanced across the burning sands, along trails that were bordered by eternally burning hedges, from out of which, every so often, sprang ferocious beasts that resembled no creature that lived on the earth.

The land gradually narrowed until all Rodrigo could see in front of him was a single curved iron strut which bridged a two-hundred-foot wide divide between where he stood and the other side. The ravine that he stood on the edge of was over six hundred toises deep, at the bottom of which various streams flowed from a river of fire, which seemed to be their source. Rodrigo contemplated the single iron arch for a while, aware that if he was even slightly careless in his crossing, he risked falling to his death. There was nothing on that iron arch to hold on to, no rail to use for support.

After all of the dangers I have already overcome, he thought, I would be a coward not to dare to go on . . . So I’ll go on. He put his foot on the iron span and began to cross the makeshift bridge, but he had barely taken a hundred steps across it when he began to feel dizzy. Instead of pausing for a moment and closing his eyes to the dangers that surrounded him, he continued to gaze at them in terror . . . and then the hapless king lost his balance and fell into the chasm that yawned open below him . . .

He lay at the bottom of the abyss, stunned from the fall. After a few minutes, he stood up. He could not understand how he had survived the fall, yet it seemed to him that somehow his fall had been so slow and his landing so gentle that it could only be attributed to the effect of some magical power. How could it be otherwise, since he was still alive? Once he had regained his senses, he looked around. The first thing he saw in the fearsome valley he had been transported into was a black marble column, on which he read these words:

Be courageous, Rodrigo. Your fall was necessary. The bridge that you just attempted to cross is the symbol of life. Isn’t life, just like that bridge, surrounded by a whole host of dangers? The virtuous reach the other side without mishap, but monsters such as you fall. However, as your courage urges you on, continue on your way; you are only fourteen thousand leagues from the treasure. Travel seven thousand of them with the Pleiades to your north, and the rest with Saturn ahead of you.

Rodrigo began to follow the bank of the river of fire. As he walked, he found that its course twisted and snaked in a thousand different ways through the valley. Eventually, one of its tortuous loops forced him to stop, for there seemed to be no path on which he could continue onwards.

And then, a ferocious lion appeared . . . Rodrigo stared at it.

“Let me cross this river on your back,” he said to the animal.

The monstrous creature immediately prostrated itself at the king’s feet. Rodrigo climbed on to its back, the lion plunged into the river, and carried the king to the other side.

“That is how I return good for evil,” the lion said, as it was about to walk away.

“What do you mean by that?” Rodrigo asked.

“I am the symbol of your deadliest enemy,” the lion replied. “You persecuted me in the world, and I do you service in hell . . . Rodrigo, if you are able to successfully defend your kingdom, remember that a sovereign is only worthy of the name when he makes all of his subjects happy. It is a sovereign’s role to improve the lot of men, not to use them to serve as instruments of his vices, and that is why heaven elevates him above others. Learn this lesson in benevolence from one of the creatures commonly considered to be the most ferocious on earth. Know then that I am much less ferocious than you, because hunger, that most pressing of needs, is the only reason for my cruelty, whereas yours were only ever inspired by the most execrable passions.”

“King of the beasts,” Rodrigo said, “although your maxims are pleasing to my ear, they do not find a response in my heart. I was born to be the plaything of the passions you reproach me for they are stronger than I am . . . They carry me along. I cannot defeat my own nature.”

“Then you will die.”

“That is the fate of all men. What made you think the prospect of my death would frighten me?”

“But do you know what awaits you in the next life?”

“Why would that matter to me? I have it within me to defy everything that opposes me.”

“Then proceed. But remember: your end is near.”

Rodrigo walked on. Soon he lost sight of the banks of the river of fire and came to a narrow path that led between sharp rocks, the tops of which touched the clouds. Every few seconds, huge pieces of those rocks broke away and fell with a loud crash onto the path, either nearly crushing the king, or blocking his way. Rodrigo managed to avoid the falling dangers, and continued onwards by either going around or over the fallen rock splinters. He finally reached an immense plain where there was no trail, no path, nothing to guide his steps. Too exhausted to go on, his throat parched by thirst and hunger, he threw himself down on a heap of sand. Abandoning his pride, he called upon the giant that he had encountered at the tower. Immediately, six human skulls materialized before his eyes and a stream of blood flowed at his feet.

“Tyrant!” a voice he did not recognize bellowed. He could not see from where the voice emanated. “This is what satisfied your passions when you lived in the world. Use more of the same to feed your needs now that you are in hell.”

And Rodrigo, proud Rodrigo, feeling disgust but not pity, got to his feet and continued on his way. The stream of blood flowed ahead of him and widened as the king advanced, and seemed to be acting as his guide through that savage landscape. It was not long before Rodrigo saw shadowy figures floating on the surface of the stream . . . He recognized them; they were the shades of the unfortunate women he had seen when he had entered the tower.

“This river is the result of your actions,” one of the women called out to him. “Rodrigo, do you see us floating on a tide of our own blood . . . on the wretched blood that was spilled by your hand? Why do you refuse to drink from it now, since it satisfied you when you were in the mortal world? Are you more squeamish here than in the gilded throne-room of your palace? Do not complain, Rodrigo, the spectacle of the tyrant’s crimes is the punishment meted out to him by the eternal one.”

Enormous serpents emerged from the bottom of the river, increasing the horror caused by the hideous shades which floated and bobbed on its surface.

For two whole days Rodrigo followed the banks of the blood-filled river, until finally, peering through the twilight gloom, he saw he was near the edge of the plain. The plain was bounded by an immense volcano and there seemed to be no way around it. As Rodrigo advanced, he was surrounded by streams of molten lava. He saw enormous quantities of it spewing out of the volcano’s crater, some of it soaring up into the clouds. He noticed that the blood-red river was no longer there; now his only guide was the flames that surrounded him . . . he is covered in ashes, he can barely walk.

Confronted by this new difficulty, Rodrigo again called for the giant’s help.

“Cross the mountain,” the same voice that had spoken to him before shouted. “On the other side of it you will find creatures to which you can speak.”

It was no simple task. The burning mountain, which seemed to be more than a thousand toises high, continually belched out rocks, lava and flames. Every trail or path ran along the edge of a sheer precipice, or else was filled with lava. Rodrigo steeled himself, his eye measured the distance to his goal, and he continued towards it driven by nothing more than the sheer power of his will.

Everything that the poets have said about Etna is as nothing compared to the horrors that Rodrigo witnessed. The mouth of that terrible abyss was three leagues in circumference. Rodrigo saw enormous masses of molten debris about to rain down on his head and annihilate him. He hurriedly skirted the lip of that fiery furnace and, on reaching the other side, found a gentle slope down which he carefully made his way. There, herds of beasts that were unknown to him and monstrous in size surrounded Rodrigo on all sides.

“What do you want of me?” the Spaniard asked. “Are you here to guide me, or to prevent me from going any further?”

“We are the symbols of your appetites,” an enormous leopard yelled. “They laid siege to you just as we have done, and just like us, they prevented you from seeing where and how your mortal life would end. Since you could never master them, how could you achieve victory over us? It is one of your passions that has led you to these infernal regions, a place where no mortal man has ever set foot. Follow wherever its impetuosity leads you and hurry to where fortune calls to you. It awaits your arrival, for it intends to reward you. But you will find other enemies far more dangerous than we are, and you may become their victim. So continue your journey, Rodrigo, keep moving forward, one foot in front of the other, for there are flowers under your feet. Follow this plain for another six hundred leagues, and you will see what lies at the end of it . . .”

“Your words make me uneasy,” Rodrigo said. “Those are the same words in the same language that my appetites used when they spoke to me in the mortal world. They used those words to flatter me and frighten me by turns, and I listened to their malignant exhortations, without ever understanding what they said.”

Rodrigo continued on his way, walking on ground that sloped gradually downwards and which led him imperceptibly to the entrance to an underground tunnel. Over its entrance was an inscription which invited him to enter. As he made his way along it, the passage became narrower, until it was no more than one foot wide. Its side bristled with daggers and there were more suspended above his head. He felt their points prick his skin and was aware that he was being cut, of being covered in his own blood. His courage was about to abandon him, when he heard a consoling voice urging him to continue.

“You are almost at the moment when you will discover the treasure,” the voice announced, “and the success of your venture is dependent entirely on you and you alone. If your conscience had stung you at any time when you listened to those flatterers who led you astray; if there had been one stab of remorse that had pricked you the way these daggers now cut into your flesh; if your finances had been in order, and your treasury filled, you would not be exposed to trials that you are now having to endure in order to make good the chaos you have created . . . So finish your quest, Rodrigo. Never let it be said that your resolve abandoned you and your courage betrayed you. They are the only virtues that you have left. Use them wisely. You are not far from the end.”

Rodrigo finally saw a glimmer of daylight. Almost imperceptibly, the passage widened and the daggers disappeared and he found himself at the entrance to the cave. There was a small boat moored next to a fast-flowing river. Rodrigo had no choice but to get into the boat and untether it. There was no other way to go. A moment of calm brought temporary relief to his trepidation. The river down which he was travelling was shaded by delightful, over-hanging fruit trees. Oranges, musk-pears, figs, peaches, coconuts, and pineapples all hung down before his eyes, tempting him with their rich, juice-filled nourishment. The king, hungry, did not hesitate to take advantage of their abundance, and as he ate, he enjoyed the beautiful songs of a thousand different birds which fluttered among the branches of those heavily laden trees. But those few pleasures he enjoyed were doomed to be combined with cruel pains, and nothing would happen to him that was not a reflection of his life. There are not adequate words to describe the speed of the boat which carried him along between the river’s divine banks. The further it travelled, the more its speed increased.

Before long, Rodrigo saw he was approaching waterfalls of prodigious height, and when he saw them he understood the reason the boat had been steadily accelerating. He saw that he was nothing more than a frail plaything on the torrent which was hurrying him onwards, and that he was about to be dragged down into the most terrifying abyss. He barely has time to register this when his boat plummeted down for more than five hundred toises and landed with a huge splash on the calmer waters of a river that flowed along a deserted valley.

Then he heard the voice that had spoken to him from time to time.

“Oh, Rodrigo,” it said, “you have just seen reflections of your former pleasures. They started as pleasant fruits which quenched your thirst for an instant. But where did these pleasures lead you? So you see, proud king, just like this boat, you have plunged into an abyss of suffering, from which you will very soon emerge, only to fall back into it again. Now you must follow that gloomy narrow path which leads between those two mountains that have their summits in the clouds. At the end of that path, after you have travelled two thousand leagues, you will find what you are looking for.”

“Oh, merciful heaven!” Rodrigo cried. “Am I to spend my entire life on this cruel search?”

It seemed to him that he had been travelling through the bowels of the earth for more than two years, although it had been less than a week since he had entered the tower. Meanwhile, the sky, which had been in constant view since he had left the underground tunnel, was gradually being covered by the darkest clouds which were being ripped apart by frightful bolts of lightning. Thunder roared, its rumbles resounding among the mountains which were on each side of the track that the king was following. It seemed that the elements were about to join forces.

Again and again the lightning struck the rocks that surrounded him, dislodging immense boulders which rolled down and rumbled to a halt at the feet of our unfortunate traveller, constantly putting new obstacles in his way. A storm of hailstones suddenly joined the other dangers and beat down on him so mercilessly that he was forced to stop. A thousand specters, each more horrific than the next, descended from the clouds and circled around him, each one of them presenting Rodrigo with an image of one of his victims.

“You will see us in many different forms,” one of them cried. “We will continue to come and tear at your heart until it becomes the prey of the Furies who are waiting to avenge the crimes you committed against us.”

Meanwhile, the storm doubled in intensity; bolts of fire continuously hurtled from the sky, and flashes of lightning flickered across the horizon in all directions. The earth itself spouted torrents of fire which rose more than two thousand toises into the air and fell back as burning rains. Never before had nature in all its wrath displayed such magnificent horrors.

Rodrigo took shelter beneath an overhanging rock. From his makeshift shelter, he cursed heaven, having no use for either prayer or repentance. Then he stood up and took a good look around, shuddering at the chaos going on all around him and regarding it as yet more fuel for his blasphemy.

“Inconsistent and cruel being!” he bellowed, staring directly up at the heavens. “Why do you judge us when all the examples of turmoil and disaster are given to us by your own hand?”

He paused, having seen that the path he was following had ended.

“Where am I?” he wondered aloud. “And what is to become of me now I’m in the midst of all this devastation?”

“Do you see that eagle perched on the rock under which you just sheltered?” someone asked. It was the disembodied voice he was now accustomed to hearing. “Go to it and sit on its back. It will carry you on its powerful wings to the place your steps have been leading you to.”

The monarch obeyed. Within three minutes he was being flown through the air.

After a while, the proud bird that carried him spoke.

“Rodrigo, consider your pride and see if it was unjust . . . Below is the earth, spread out at your feet. Take a look at the tiny corner of the globe that you were the king of. Does it make you feel pride in your rank and power? Reflect on that, for that is how those petty potentates who take on each other and the world must look in the eyes of the Lord, and remember that it is only He who can demand the homage of men.”

Still rising through the air, Rodrigo was eventually able to distinguish some of the planets which inhabit space. He saw that the Moon, Venus, Mercury, Mars, Saturn and Jupiter, which he passed very closely, were worlds like the Earth.

“Sublime bird,” he said. “Are those worlds inhabited in the same way that ours is?”

“They are inhabited by better beings,” the eagle replied. “Beings that are moderate in their passions, which they do not seek to satisfy by tearing each other to pieces. Only happy beings live there and there are no tyrants.”

“And who governs these beings?”

“They are governed by their own virtues. Those that have no vices need neither laws nor kings.”

“Does God love those beings more than he loves us humans?”

“All things are equal in the eyes of God. This multitude of worlds spread throughout space, which a single act of His benevolence created and which in a second could destroy, increases neither His glory nor His felicity. But if the conduct of those that inhabit them is a matter of indifference to Him, is it any less necessary for them to be just? Does not the honest man always find his reward in his own heart?”

Inexorably, our two travellers drew closer to the sun, and without the magical protection which surrounded the king, it would have become impossible for him to withstand the rays with which that huge orb bathed him.

“That luminous globe seems to be so much larger than the others,” Rodrigo said. “Monarch of the air, will you give me some information regarding that star you seem to be able to fly to whenever you wish?”

“That sublime furnace of light,” the eagle said, “is thirty million leagues from our planet, and we are now only one million leagues from its orbit. You see how high we have risen in such a short time. It is a million times larger than the Earth, and its rays reach it in eight minutes.1”

“Is that star, the proximity of which is beginning to concern me, always the same size?” the king asked. “Is it possible that it never varies at all?”

“It is never the same,” the eagle replied. “Comets often fly into it and are absorbed, thereby giving the sphere added power and strength.”

“Explain to me the celestial mechanics of everything that I see,” Rodrigo demanded. “My priests are superstitious and wicked priests and they taught me nothing but fables. They never told me the truth.”

“And what truth did you expect to hear from deceivers who live only through the lies they tell? Listen to me now,” the eagle continued as it flew on. “The common center towards which all the planets gravitate is almost exactly in the middle of the sun. This star gravitates towards the planets. The gravitational pull that the sun exerts on them is many times stronger than the force that they exert on it, as it exceeds them by volume of matter. This sublime star changes its position constantly, as it is more or less attracted by the planets, and as it draws slightly close to them, the sun is able to correct misalignment caused by the way that the planets act upon one another.”

“Therefore,” Rodrigo continued, “it is the continual deflection of this star’s course that maintains the order in nature. This means that disorder is necessary for the maintenance of all celestial things. If evil has its uses in the world, why do you wish to eradicate it? And who can affirm that the general order of things is not dependent on the disorder we encounter in our daily lives?”

“You are a weak monarch of the smallest portion of all these planets,” the eagle said. “It is not up to you to question the ways of the Eternal One, and still less to justify your crimes by invoking the incomprehensible laws of nature. What appears to be disorder to you is merely perhaps one of the means by which He achieves order. Do not draw any kind of moral consequence from this probability. Nothing proves that what shocks you in your observations of the workings of nature is really disorder, and your experience must convince you that the crimes of man only ever result in evil.”

“And are the stars also inhabited? How much have their spheres increased in size during our time approaching them?”

“Do not doubt that they too are worlds. Although those luminous globes are four hundred thousand times further from the Earth than the Sun is from us, there are still other suns above them, which are impossible for us to see, but which are inhabited like the stars and all the planets that you are now observing. But we are nearing the end of our journey and I shall not be flying any higher,” the eagle said, as it began its descent to earth. “May everything that you have seen, Rodrigo, give you an understanding of the greatness of the Creator. May you see what your crimes have caused you to lose, since they have deprived you forever of ever drawing close to him . . .”

As it uttered those words, the eagle swooped down and alighted on the summit of one of the highest mountains in Asia.

“We are a thousand leagues from the place where I found you,” the divine friend of Jupiter said. “You must now climb down this mountain alone. At its foot you will find what you are looking for.”

The eagle then vanished.

In a few hours Rodrigo had descended the sheer rock face on top of which the eagle had set him. At the base of the mountain he found a cave sealed by a huge gate that was guarded by six giants, each one more than fifteen feet tall.

“What is your business here?” one of the giants demanded.

“To take away the gold that has been hidden in this cave,” Rodrigo said.

“In order to succeed, you will have to kill all six of us,” the giant replied.

“I am not concerned that I only have a small chance of victory,” the King said. “If you have some weapons brought, I will borrow them.”

Weapons were brought and Rodrigo armed himself. The proud Spaniard immediately attacked the first giant to step forward, and a few minutes were all he needed to dispatch his adversary. A second giant advanced; Rodrigo cut him down in the same way. And in less than two hours, Rodrigo had defeated all of his enemies.

“Tyrant!” a familiar voice shouted. “Enjoy your final victories. The success that awaits you in Spain will not be as brilliant as this victory. The decrees of fate are fulfilled and the treasure of the cave is yours, but it will only serve to destroy you.”

“What! Have I triumphed only to be defeated?”

“Cease trying to probe the decisions of the Eternal One. His decrees are immutable; they are incomprehensible. Know only this: when a man prospers unexpectedly, it is merely a present sign that at some point in the future he will experience disaster.”

The cave opened. Inside Rodrigo saw millions . . . Then a light sleep took hold of his senses, and when he awoke he found himself at the gate of the enchanted tower, surrounded by his entire retinue of courtiers, and fifteen wagons loaded with gold. The monarch embraced his friends. He told them that it was impossible for any man to imagine everything he had seen. He asked them how long his absence had been.

“Thirteen days,” he was informed.

“Oh, merciful heavens!” the king said. “It seems to me that I have been travelling for more than five years.”

He then leaped onto an Andalusian horse, and galloped off to return to Toledo. But he had ridden barely a hundred paces from the tower when he heard a clap of thunder. Rodrigo turned around and watched as the ancient monument was launched into the air like an arrow. Undeterred, the King continued galloping towards his palace. During the time he had been away, all the insurgent provinces had already opened their gates to the Moors.

Rodrigo raised a formidable army, marched at its head against his enemies, faced them near Cordova, attacked them, thus beginning a battle that lasted for eight days . . . It was without doubt the bloodiest battle that had ever been seen in the two provinces of Spain. Twenty times fickle victory promised to bestow its favors on Rodrigo, and twenty times it cruelly took them away from him.

At the end of the last day, just as Rodrigo had assembled his entire force and seemed to be about to place the laurel crown of victory upon his head, a hero stepped forward from the enemy lines and challenged him to single combat.

“Who are you?” the king demanded imperiously. “Why should I grant you this favor?”

“I am the leader of the Moors,” the warrior replied. “I am weary of all the blood we have shed. Let us spare the rest, Rodrigo. Why should the lives of the subjects of empires be sacrificed to the fleeting interests of their masters? Let kings fight each other when arguments divide them. Then their quarrels will not last so long. Name the place, proud Spaniard, and measure your lance against mine. Let the fruits of victory go to whichever of us triumphs . . . Do you agree to this?”

“I accept your challenge,” Rodrigo said. “I would prefer the prospect of defeating a single adversary to fighting for longer against countless waves of warriors.”

“So you don’t consider me to be a formidable enemy.”

“I have never seen a more feeble adversary.”

“It is true that you have already defeated me once, Rodrigo, but you are no longer in the glory days of your victories, you no longer languish in your palace in the midst of your unsavory pleasures, you no longer shed the blood of your subjects to satisfy your depraved appetites, you no longer debase your subjects’ daughters’ honor . . .”

At these words, the two warriors took to the field, watched by both armies . . . they approached each other, they clashed savagely . . . they struck at each other furiously.

Finally, Rodrigo was defeated. Wounded fatally, he dropped his sword, staggered and fell to the ground. His enemy stood over him as he lay dying, sword poised.

“Know your conqueror before you die,” Rodrigo, said the warrior, raising the visor of the battle-scarred helmet.

“Oh, merciful Heaven!” the Spaniard gasped.

“You may shudder, you coward. Did I not tell you that you would see me again in the last moment of your life?” Florinde demanded. “Heaven, outraged by your crimes, has allowed me to leave the region of the dead in order to come and punish you by ending your life. Take a final look at how the woman you once forced your attentions on, whose honor you destroyed, has now tarnished your name, destroyed your glory and withered your laurels. Die, you miserable excuse for a king. May your example teach the kings of this world that it is only virtue that can validate their power, and that he who abuses his authority, as you have done, will find sooner or later that punishment for his crimes is meted out by Heaven’s justice.”

Rodrigo died. The Spaniards fled and the Moors seized every strategic place and occupied the land. And so began the period of time when the Moors were the masters of Spain, until a new reversal of fortune, fomented by a similar crime, drove them out of the country forever.

It would take twenty-five years for a cannonball to cover the same distance, all of which is in Newton’s system, which, as we know, finds many contradictors today; because we must, if we know nothing, at least appear to know more than those who preceded us.