University of Virginia Library

CHAPTER LXIII.

"The Moorish necromancer," observes
the worthy Fray Antonio Agapida,
"remained shut up in the tower of
Gibralfaro, devising devilish means to
work mischief and discomfiture upon
the Christians. He was daily consulted
by Hamet el Zegri, who had great faith
in those black and magic arts, which he
had brought with him from the bosom of
heathen Africa."

From the account given of this dervise
and his incantations by the worthy
father, it would appear, that he was an
astrologer, and was studying the stars,
and endeavouring to calculate the day
and hour when a successful attack might
be made upon the Christian camp.

Famine had now increased to such a
degree as to distress even the garrison of
Gibralfaro; although the Gomeres had
seized upon all the provisions they could
find in the city. Their passions were
sharpened by hunger; and they became
restless and turbulent, and impatient for
action.

Hamet el Zegri was one day in council
with his captains, perplexed by the
pressure of events, when the dervise
entered among them. "The hour of
victory," exclaimed be, "is at hand!
Allah has commanded that to-morrow
morning ye shall sally forth to the fight.
I will bear before you the sacred banner,
and deliver your enemies into your
hands. Remember, however, that ye
are but instruments in the hands of
Allah, to take vengeance on the enemies
of the faith. Go into battle, therefore,
with pure hearts, forgiving each other
all past offences; for those who are
charitable towards each other, will be
victorious over the foe."

The words of the dervise were received
with rapture. All Gibralfaro and
the aleazaba resounded immediately with
the din of arms; and Hamet sent throughout
the towers and fortifications of the
city, and selected the choicest troops and
most distinguished captains for this eventful
combat.

In the morning early, the rumour went
throughout the city, that the sacred banner
had disappeared from the tower of
Gibralfaro, and all Malaga was roused
to witness the sally that was to destroy
the unbelievers. Hamet descended from
his stronghold, accompanied by his principal
captain, Abrahen Zenete, and followed
by his Gomeres. The dervise led
the way, displaying the white banner,
the sacred pledge of victory. The multitude
shouted, "Allah achbar!" and
prostrated themselves before the banner
as it passed. Even the dreaded Hamet
was hailed with praises; for, in their
hope of speedy relief through the prowess
of his arm, the populace forgot every
thing but his bravery. Every bosom in
Malaga was agitated by hope and fear;
the old men, the women, and children,
and all who went not forth to battle,
mounted on tower, and battlement, and
roof, to watch a combat that was to decide
their fate.

Before sallying forth from the city, the
dervise addressed the troops; reminding
them of the holy nature of this enterprise,
and warning them not to forget the protection
of the sacred banner by any unworthy
act. They were to press forward,
fighting valiantly, and granting no
quarter. The gate was then thrown
open, and the dervise issued forth, followed
by the army. They directed their
assault upon the encampments of the
Master of Santiago and the Master of
Calatrava, and came upon them so suddenly,
that they killed and wounded several
of the guards. Abrahen Zenete made
his way into one of the tents, where he
beheld several Christian striplings, just
starting from their slumber. The heart
of the Moor was suddenly touched with
pity for their youth, or, perhaps, he

scorned the weakness of the foe. He
smote them with the flat, instead of the
edge, of his sword. "Away, imps,"
cried he, "away to your mothers!" The
fanatic dervise reproached him with his
clemency. "I did not kill them," replied
Zenete, "because I saw no beards!"[85]

The alarm was given in the camp, and
the Christians rushed from all quarters
to defend the gates of the bulwarks. Don
Pedro Puerto Carrero, senior of Moguer,
and his brother, Don Alonso Pacheco,
planted themselves, with their followers,
in the gateway of the encampment of the
Master of Santiago, and bore the whole
brunt of the battle until they were reinforced.
The gate of the encampment of
the Master of Calatrava was, in like
manner, defended by Lorenzo Saurez de
Mendoza. Hamet el Zegri was furious
at being thus checked, where he had expected
a miraculous victory. He led his
troops repeatedly to the attack, hoping
to force the gates before succour should
arrive. They fought with vehement ardour,
but were as often repulsed; and
every time they returned to the assault,
they found their enemies doubled in number.
The Christians opened a crossfire
of all kinds of missiles from their bulwarks;
the Moors could effect but little
damage upon a foe thus protected behind
their works, while they themselves were
exposed from head to foot. The Christians
singled out the most conspicuous
cavaliers, the greater part of whom were
either slain or wounded. Still the Moors,
infatuated by the predictions of the prophet,
fought desperately and devotedly;
and they were furious to revenge the
slaughter of their leaders. They rushed
upon certain death, endeavouring madly
to scale the bulwarks, or force the gates;
and fell amidst showers of darts and
lances, filling the ditches with their mangled
bodies.

Hamet el Zegri raged along the front
of the bulwarks, seeking an opening for
attack. He gnashed his teeth with fury,
as he saw so many of his chosen warriors
slain around him. He seemed to
have a charmed life; for, though constantly
in the hottest of the fight, amidst
showers of missiles, he still escaped uninjured.
Blindly confiding in the prophecy
of victory, he continued to urge on his
devoted troops. The dervise, too, ran
like a maniac through the ranks, waving
his white banner, and inciting the Moors,
by bowlings rather than by shouts. In
the midst of his frenzy, a stone from a
catapult struck him on the head, and
dashed out his bewildered brains.[86]

When the Moors beheld their prophet
slain, and his banner in the dust, they
were seized with despair, and fled in confusion
to the city. Hamet el Zegri made
some effort to rally them, but was himself
confounded by the fall of the dervise.
He covered the flight of his broken forces,
turning repeatedly upon their pursuers,
and slowly making his retreat into the
city.

The inhabitants of Malaga witnessed
from their walls, with trembling anxiety,
the whole of this disastrous conflict. At
the first onset, on seeing the guards of
the camp put to flight, they exclaimed,
"Allah has given us the victory!" and
they sent up shouts of triumph. Their
exultation, however, was turned into
doubt, when they beheld their troops repulsed
in repeated attacks. They could
perceive, from time to time, some distinguished
warrior laid low, and others
brought back bleeding to the city. When,
at length, the sacred banner fell, and the
routed troops came flying to the gates,
pursued and cut down by the foe, horror
and despair seized upon the populace.

As Hamet el Zegri entered the gates,
he was greeted with loud lamentations.
Mothers, whose sons had been slain,
shrieked curses after him as he passed.
Some, in the anguish of their hearts,
threw down their famishing babes before
him, exclaiming, "Trample on them with
thy horse's feet, for we have no food to
give them, and we cannot endure their
cries!" All heaped execrations on his
head as the cause of the woes of Malaga.

The warlike part of the citizens, also,
and many warriors, who, with their wives
and children, had taken refuge in Malaga
from the mountain fortresses, now joined
in the popular clamour; for their hearts
were overcome by the sufferings of their
families.

Hamet el Zegri found it impossible to
withstand this torrent of lamentations,
curses, and reproaches. His military
ascendancy was at an end; for most of
his officers, and the prime warriors of
his African band, had fallen in this disastrous
sally. Turning his back, therefore,
upon the city, and abandoning it to
its own councils, he retired, with the
remnant of his Gomeres, to his stronghold
in the Gibralfaro.