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“I am worth a hundred,” Don Quixote replied.

And without making more speeches, he grasped his sword and rushed at the Yanguesans, and Sancho Panza, incited and moved by his master’s example, did the same. To begin with, Don Quixote landed a blow on one drover that slashed open a leather tunic he was wearing, as well as a good part of his shoulder.

The Yanguesans, who saw themselves attacked by only two men when there were so many of them, had recourse to their staffs, and surrounding the two men, they began to rain blows down on them with great zeal and eagerness. The truth is that with the second blow they knocked Sancho to the ground, and the same thing happened to Don Quixote, and all his skill and courage were of no use to him; as luck would have it, he fell at the feet of Rocinante, who had not yet stood up, which proves what furious beatings staffs can administer when wielded by angry rustic hands.

When the Yanguesans saw the damage they had done, they loaded their animals as quickly as they could and continued on their way, leaving the two adventurers looking bad and feeling worse.

The first to stir was Sancho Panza; finding himself next to his master, in a weak, plaintive voice he said:

“Señor Don Quixote! Ah, Señor Don Quixote!”

“What do you want, brother Sancho?” replied Don Quixote in a voice as feeble and pitiful as Sancho’s.

“What I want, if it’s possible,” replied Sancho Panza, “is for your grace to give me two swigs of that drink of Fearsome Blas,2 if your grace happens to have any on hand. Maybe it’s as good for broken bones as it is for wounds.”

“Ah, woe is me, if I had it here, what else would we need?” Don Quixote responded. “But I swear to you, Sancho Panza, by my faith as a knight errant, that in two days’ time, if fortune does not ordain otherwise, I shall have it in my possession, unless my hands fail me.”

“And how many days does your grace think we’ll need before we can move our legs?” Sancho Panza replied.

“As for me,” said a beaten and exhausted Don Quixote, “I do not know how many days it will be. But I hold myself responsible for everything; I should not have raised my sword against men who were not dubbed knights like myself; and therefore I believe that as a punishment for having trespassed against the laws of chivalry, the god of battles has allowed me to be injured in this way. Therefore, Sancho Panza, it is fitting that you heed carefully what I shall say to you now, because it is important to the well-being of both of us, and it is that when you see rabble like this offending us in some way, do not wait for me to raise my sword against them, because I shall not do that; instead, you must seize your sword and punish them as you like, and if knights come to their aid and defense, I shall know how to defend you and offend them with all my power, for you have seen in a thousand demonstrations and experiences the extent of the valor of this my mighty arm.”

This was how arrogant the poor gentleman was after his defeat of the valiant Basque. But his master’s advice did not seem very good to Sancho, and he had to respond, saying:

“Señor, I’m a peaceful, mild, and quiet man, and I know how to conceal any insult because I have a wife and children to support and care for. So let your grace be advised as well, since I can’t give an order, that under no circumstances will I raise my sword against either lowborn or gentry, and from now until the day I appear before God, I forgive all offenses that have been done or will be done to me, whether they were done, are being done, or will be done by a person high or low, rich or poor, noble or common, without exception, and regardless of rank or position.”

Hearing which, his master responded:

“I wish I had enough breath to speak with less effort and that the pain I feel in this rib would ease just a little, so that I could make clear to you, Panza, how wrong you are. Come closer, you sinner: if the winds of fortune, until now so contrary,