University of Virginia Library

CHAPTER LIX.

There lived at this time, in a hamlet
in the neighbourhood of Guadix, an
ancient Moor, of the name of Abraham
Algerbi. He was a native of Guerba,
in the kingdom of Tunis, and had for
several years led the life of a santon or
hermit. The hot sun of Africa had
dried his blood, and rendered him of an
exalted yet melancholy temperament.
He passed most of his time in meditation,
prayer, and rigorous abstinence,
until his body was wasted, and his mind
bewildered, and he fancied himself favoured
with divine revelations. The
Moors, who have a great reverence for
all enthusiasts of the kind, looked upon
him as inspired, listened to all his ravings
as veritable prophecies, and denominated
him El Santo, or "the saint."

The woes of the kingdom of Granada
had long exasperated the gloomy spirit
of this man; and he had beheld with indignation
this beautiful country wrested
from the dominion of the faithful, and
becoming a prey to the unbelievers. He
had implored the blessing of Allah on
the troops which issued forth from Guadix
for the relief of Malaga; but when he
saw them return, routed and scattered
by their own countrymen, he retired to
his cell, shut himself up from the world,
and was plunged for a time in the blackest
gloom.

On a sudden he made his appearance
again in the streets of Guadix; his face
haggard, his form emaciated, but his eye
beaming with fire. He said, that Allah
had sent an angel to him, in the solitude
of his cell, revealing to him a mode of
delivering Malaga from its perils, and
striking horror and confusion into the
camp of the unbelievers. The Moors listened
with eager credulity to his words:
four hundred of them offered to follow
him even to the death, and to obey implicitly
his commands. Of this number
many were Gomeres, anxious to relieve
their countrymen, who formed part of
the garrison of Malaga.

They traversed the kingdom by the
wild and lonely passes of the mountains,
concealing themselves in the day, and

travelling only in the night, to elude the
Christian scouts. At length they arrived
at the mountains which tower above
Malaga; and, looking down, beheld the
city completely invested, a chain of encampments
extending round it from shore
to shore, and a line of ships blockading
it by sea, while the continual thunder of
artillery, and the smoke rising in various
parts, showed, that the siege was pressed
with great activity. The hermit scanned
the encampments warily from his lofty
height. He saw, that the part of the
encampment of the Marquis of Cadiz,
which was at the foot of the height, and
on the margin of the sea, was the most
assailable, the rocky soil not admitting
ditches or palisadoes. Remaining concealed
all day, he descended with his
followers at night to the sea-coast, and
approached silently to the outworks.
He had given them their instructions:
they were to rush suddenly upon the
camp, fight their way through, and throw
themselves into the city.

It was just at the gray of the dawning,
when objects are obscurely visible, that
they made this desperate attempt. Some
sprang suddenly upon the sentinels;
others rushed into the sea, and got round
the works; others clambered over the
breastworks. There was sharp skirmishing;
a great part of the Moors were
cut to pieces, but about two hundred
succeeded in getting into the gates of
Malaga.

The santon took no part in the conflict,
nor did he endeavour to enter the
city. His plans were of a different nature.
Drawing apart from the battle, he
threw himself on his knees, on a rising
ground, and, lifting his hands to Heaven,
appeared to be absorbed in prayer. The
Christians, as they were searching for
fugitives in the clefts of the rocks, found
him at his devotions. He stirred not at
their approach, but remained fixed as a
statue, without changing colour, or moving
a muscle. Filled with surprise not
unmixed with awe, they took him to the
Marquis of Cadiz. He was wrapped in
a coarse albornoz, or Moorish mantle;
his beard was long and grizzled, and
there was something wild and melancholy
in his look, that inspired curiosity.

On being examined, he gave himself
out as a saint, to whom Allah had revealed
the events that were to take place
in that siege. The marquis demanded
when and how Malaga was to be taken.
He replied, that he knew full well; but
he was forbidden to reveal those important
secrets, except to the king and
queen. The good marquis was not more
given to superstitious fancies than other
commanders of his time; yet there seemed
something singular and mysterious
about this man: he might have some
important intelligence to communicate;
so he was persuaded to send him to the
king and queen. He was conducted to
the royal tent, surrounded by a curious
multitude, exclaiming, "El Moro Santo!"
for the news had spread through the
camp, that they had taken a Moorish
prophet.

The king, having dined, was taking
his siesta, or afternoon's sleep, in his
tent: and the queen, though curious to
see this singular being, yet, from a natural
delicacy and reserve, delayed until
the king should be present. He was
taken, therefore, to an adjoining tent, in
which were Doña Beatrix de Bovadilla,
Marchioness of Moya, and Don Alvaro
of Portugal, son of the Duke of Braganza,
with two or three attendants. The Moor,
ignorant of the Spanish tongue, had not
understood the conversation of the guards,
and supposed, from the magnificence of
the furniture, and the silken hangings,
that this was the royal tent. From the
respect paid by the attendants to Don
Alvaro and the marchioness, he concluded
that they were the king and
queen.

He now asked for a draught of water.
A jar was brought to him, and the guard
released his arm, to enable him to drink.
The marchioness perceived a sudden
change in his countenance, and something
sinister in the expression of his
eye, and shifted her position to a more
remote part of the tent. Pretending to
raise the water to his lips, the Moor
unfolded his albornoz so as to grasp a
cimeter, which he wore concealed beneath;
then, dashing down the jar, he
drew his weapon, and gave Don Alvaro
a blow on the head, that struck him to
the earth, and nearly deprived him of
life. Turning upon the marchioness, he

then made a violent blow at her, but in
his eagerness and agitation, his cimeter
caught in the drapery of the tent; the
force of the blow was broken, and the
weapon struck harmless upon some golden
ornaments of her head-dress.[81]

Ruy Lopez de Toledo, treasurer to the
queen, and Juan de Belalcazar, a sturdy
friar, who were present, grappled and
struggled with the desperado; and immediately
the guards who had conducted
him from the Marquis of Cadiz fell upon
him, and cut him to pieces.[82]

The king and queen, brought out of
their tents by the noise, were filled with
horror when they learned the imminent
peril from which they had escaped. The
mangled body of the Moor was taken by
the people of the camp, and thrown into
the city from a catapult. The Gomeres
gathered up the body, with deep reverence,
as the remains of a saint; they
washed and perfumed it, and buried it
with great honour and loud lamentations.
In revenge of his death, they slew one
of their principal Christian captives; and,
having tied his body upon an ass, they
drove the animal forth into the camp.

From this time there was appointed an
additional guard around the tents of the
king and queen, composed of twelve hundred
cavaliers of rank of the kingdoms
of Castile and Aragon. No person was
admitted to the royal presence armed.
No Moor was allowed to enter the camp
without a previous knowledge of his
character and business; and on no account
was any Moor to be introduced
into the presence of the sovereigns.

An act of treachery of such a ferocious
nature gave rise to a train of gloomy
apprehensions. There were many cabins
and sheds about the camp, constructed of
branches of trees, which had become dry
and combustible; and fears were entertained,
that they might be set on fire by
the Mudixares, or Moorish vassals, who
visited the army. Some even dreaded,
that attempts might be made to poison
the wells and fountains. To quiet these
dismal alarms, all Mudixares were ordered
to leave the camp; and all loose
idle loiterers, who could not give a good
account of themselves, were taken into
custody.