University of Virginia Library

CHAPTER L.

The daring spirit of the old warrior,
Muley Abdalla El Zagal, in sallying
forth to defend his territories, while he
left an armed rival in his capital, had
struck the people of Granada with admiration.
They recalled his former exploits,
and again anticipated some hardy
achievement from his furious valour.
Couriers from the army reported its
formidable position on the height of Bentomiz.
For a time there was a pause in
the bloody commotions of the city; all
attention was turned to the blow about to
be struck at the Christian camp. The
same considerations, which diffused anxiety
and terror through Cordova, swelled
every bosom with exulting confidence in
Granada. The Moors expected to hear
of another massacre, like that in the
mountains of Malaga. "El Zagal has
again entrapped the enemy!" was the
cry. "The power of the unbelievers is
about to be struck to the heart; and we
shall soon see the Christian king led
captive to the capital!" Thus the name
of El Zagal was on every tongue. He
was extolled as the saviour of the country,
the only one worthy of wearing the
Moorish crown. Boabdil was reviled as
basely remaining passive while his country
was invaded; and so violent became
the clamour of the populace, that his adherents
trembled for his safety.

While the people of Granada were
impatiently looking for tidings of the

anticipated victory, scattered horsemen
come spurring across the vega. They
were fugitives from the Moorish army,
and brought the first incoherent account
of its defeat. Every one who attempted
to tell the tale of this unaccountable panic
and dispersion was as if bewildered by
the broken recollection of some frightful
dream. He knew not how or why it
came to pass. He talked of a battle in
the night among rocks and precipices,
by the glare of bale-fires; of multitudes
of armed foes in every pass, seen by
gleams and flashes; of the sudden horror
that seized upon the army at daybreak,
its headlong flight and total dispersion.
Hour after hour the arrival of
other fugitives confirmed the story of ruin
and disgrace.

In proportion to their recent vaunting
was the humiliation that now fell upon
the people of Granada. There was a
universal burst, not of grief, but indignation.

They confounded the leader with the
army; the deserted with those who had
abandoned him; and El Zagal, from
being their idol, became the object of
their execration. He had sacrificed the
army; he had disgraced the nation; he
had betrayed the country. He was a
dastard, a traitor, he was unworthy to
reign!

On a sudden, one among the multitude
cried out, "Long live Boabdil el Chico!"
The cry was echoed on all sides, and
every one shouted, "Long live Boabdil
el Chico! long live the legitimate king of
Granada! and death to all usurpers!"
In the excitement of the moment they
thronged to the albaycen, and those, who
had lately besieged Boabdil with arms,
now surrounded his palace with acclamations.
The keys of the city and of all
the fortresses were laid at his feet; he
was borne in state to the Alhambra, and
once more seated, with all due ceremony,
on the throne of his ancestors.

Boabdil had by this time become so
accustomed to be crowned and uncrowned
by the multitude, that he put no great
faith in the duration of their loyalty.

He knew that he was surrounded by
hollow hearts, and that most of the
courtiers of the Alhambra were secretly
devoted to his uncle. He ascended the
throne as the rightful sovereign, who had
been dispossessed of it by usurpation, and
he ordered the heads of four of the principal
nobles to be struck off, who had been
most zealous in support of the usurper.
Executions of this kind were matters of
course on any change of Moorish government,
and Boabdil was extolled for his
moderation and humanity, in being content
with so small a sacrifice. The factions
were awed into obedience; the
populace, delighted with any change,
extolled Boabdil to the skies, and the
name of Muley Abdalla el Zagal was
for a time a byword of scorn and opprobrium
throughout the city.

Never was any commander more astonished
and confounded by a sudden
reverse than El Zagal. The evening
had seen him with a powerful army at
his command, his enemy within his grasp,
and victory about to cover him with
glory, and to consolidate his power. The
morning beheld him a fugitive among the
mountains; his army, his prosperity, his
power, all dispelled he knew not how;
gone like a dream of the night. In vain
had he tried to stem the headlong flight
of the soldiery. He saw his squadrons
breaking and dispersing among the cliffs
of the mountains, until, of all his host,
only a handful of cavaliers remained
faithful to him. With these he made a
gloomy retreat towards Granada, but
with a heart full of foreboding. When
he drew near the city, he paused on the
banks of the Xenil, and sent forth scouts
to collect intelligence. They returned
with dejected countenances. "The gates
of Granada," said they, "are closed
against you. The banner of Boabdil
floats on the tower of the Alhambra."

El Zagal turned his steed, and departed
in silence. He retreated to the town of
Almuneçar, and from thence to Almeria,
places which still remained faithful to
him. Restless and uneasy at being so
distant from the capital, he again changed
his abode and repaired to the city of
Guadix, within a few leagues of Granada.
Here he remained, endeavouring to rally
his forces, and preparing to avail himself
of any change in the fluctuating politics
of the metropolis.