Don Quixote and Sancho Panza emerged at last out of the dense dark
wood on to a lovely meadow covered in flowers, the fragrance of which
invited them to take a rest from the midday heat. They dismounted and
let Rocinante and the donkey roam freely. The squire opened the
saddlebags and he and his master devoured the contents in peace and
good fellowship. But Fate had ordained that a herd of Galician mares
was being driven through the valley. The horses were grazing on the
meadow and it wasn't long until Rocinante began a little tussle with
some lively fillies. The animals became boisterous and wild and treated
boney old Rocinante with scant respect, indeed laid into him with
hooves and teeth. His girth was soon broken and the saddle stripped off
his back. Meanwhile the shepherds joined in, using their staves and
whips and belaboured poor Rocinante unmercifully. The steed of the
noble knight sank to the ground as though it were about to give up the
ghost. Don Quixote and Sancho Panza ran up panting. - "Friend Sancho,
from what I see, these are no knights or heroes, but vile and low-bred
men; this insult to Rocinante must be avenged!" -
"How the devil can we do that, replied Sancho trembling, "there are
more than twenty of them and we are only two!" - "I am equal to a
hundred!" Don Quixote impetuously attacked the twenty shepherds. Sancho
suddenly waxed enthusiastic and followed his master's example. The
noble avenger landed a blow on the next best shepherd which split his
leather jacket and cut into his shoulder. Seeing themselves so roughly
treated, the shepherds were enraged, encircled our two heroes, seized
their pack staves and laid into them with all their might. This welcome
was so overwhelming that Sancho Panza soon lay on the ground screaming
in pain. His master soon followed him, having tried in vain to fend
them off. He sank to the ground next to Rocinante, who was still lying
there stunned. The shepherds continued to thrash them and then made off
laughing, leaving the two heroes in a very sorry state. -
"Ah, Don Quixote!" cried Sancho Panza. - "What is it?" replied Don
Quixote in a similarly weak and piteous voice. -
"Oh, what a beating we got!" moaned fat Sancho amid sighs and groans. -
"A beating?" Don Quixote stood up with difficulty, "I swear to you on
my honour as a knight errant that I shall not rest or repose until I
have avenged your pain, Sancho Panza."