University of Virginia Library

20. CHAPTER XX.

In his sleep, the wounded cavalier was no longer
a captive. Memory and imagination, acting together,
bore him to the shores of the Mediterranean; and as
he trode the smooth beach, his eye wandered, with
transport, to the blue Alpujarras, stretching dimly in
the interior. But not long did he gaze on those
mountains, which intercepted the view of his distant
castle. He stepped joyously along over the sands,
obeying the voices and gestures of his conductors;
for, it seemed to him, that his hands were grasped,
the one by the page Jacinto, the other by the priestess

of Mexico, both of whom urged him on with
smiles, while pointing to a group of palm-trees, under
which reclined the long-lost maid of Almeria. The
cross of rubies shone upon her breast, and her downcast
eyes regarded it with a gaze of sadness; but,
ever and anon, as the cavalier vainly strove to approach,
and called to her with his voice, they were
raised upon him in tears; and the hand of Leila was
uplifted, with a melancholy gesture, towards heaven.
With such a vision, repeated many times in his brain,
varied only by changes of place, (for now the scene
was transferred to the deserts of Barbary, now the
fair vales of Rhodes, and now the verdant borders
of Tezcuco,) he struggled through many hours of torture;
and, at last, awoke, as a peal of thunder, bursting
on the scene, drove, terrified away, as well his
guides as the maid of his memory.

As he started from his couch, confused and bewildered,
the thunder seemed still to roll, with distant
murmurs, over the city. His practised ear detected,
in these peals, the explosions of artillery, mingled
with volleys of musketry; but for awhile, in his disorder,
he was unable to account for them; and in a
few moments they ceased.—Night had succeeded to
day; no taper burned on the table, and scarcely
enough light shone through the narrow casement into
the apartment, to show him that he occupied it alone.

His lips were parched with thirst; he strode to the
table, and finding nothing thereon to allay the burnings
of fever, he called faintly on Jacinto. No answer
was made to the call; he seemed to be the only
tenant of the house; and yet he fancied that the deep
silence, which succeeded his exclamation, was broken
by distant and feeble lamentations. He listened attentively;
the sounds were repeated, but yet with so
low a tone, that they would have escaped him entirely,
had not his senses been sharpened by fever.

Obeying his instincts of benevolence, rather than
his reason, for this had not yet recovered from the
disorder of slumber, he stepped from the chamber;

and, following not so much the sounds, which had
become nearly inaudible, as a light that gleamed
at a little distance, he found himself soon at the door
of an apartment, through the curtain of which
streamed the radiance.

The image of Leila, surveying the cross of rubies,
had not yet departed from his imagination, when he
pushed aside the flimsy arras, and stood in the room;
and his feelings of amazement and rapture, of mingled
joy and terror, may be imagined, when he beheld,
at the first glance, what seemed the incarnation
of his vision.—Before a little stool, which supported
a taper of some vegetable substance, burning with
odours and smoke, there knelt, or seemed to kneel, a
maiden of exquisite beauty, whose Moorish character
might have been imagined in her face, but not detected
in her garments, for these were of Spanish fashion.
The light of the taper streamed full upon her visage,
from which it was not two feet removed, and showed
it to be bathed in tears. Her eyes were fixed upon
some jewel held in her hands, close to the light, which
was attached, by a chain of gold, to her neck; and
the same look which revealed to Don Amador the
features of the maid of Almeria, showed him, in this
jewel, the well-known and never to be forgotten cross
of rubies. The cavalier stood petrified; a smothered
ejaculation burst from his lips, and his gaze was fixed
upon the vision as on a basilisk.

At his sudden exclamation, the maiden raised her
eyes, gazed at him an instant, as he stood trembling
with awe and delight; and the next moment,—whether
it was that she struck the light out with her hand, or
whether the taper and the figure were alike spectral,
and snatched away by the same enchantment which
had brought them into existence,—the chamber was
left in darkness, and the pageant of loveliness and
sorrow had vanished entirely away.

No sooner had this unlooked for termination been
presented, than Don Amador recovered his strength,
and, with a cry of grief, rushed towards the spot so

lately occupied by the vision. The stool still stood
on the floor, but no maiden knelt by it. A faint gleam
of dusky light shone suddenly on the opposite wall,
and then as suddenly disappeared. It had not been
lost to the cavalier; he approached it; his outstretched
hands struck upon a curtain hung before another
door, which admitted him into a passage, where a
pleasant breeze, burdened with many perfumes, as
from a garden, puffed on his cheeks. The sound of
steps, echoing at the end of the gallery, and the
gleaming of a light, struck at once upon his ears and
eyes; he rushed onwards, with a loud cry, gained
the door, which, he doubted not, would again reveal
to him the blessed vision, and the next moment found
himself arrested by the Zegri.

Behind Abdalla stood the slave Ayub, bearing a
torch, whose light shone equally on the indignant
visage of the renegade Moor, and the troubled aspect
of his captive.

“Hath the señor forgot that he made me a vow?”
cried Abdalla, sternly: “and that, in this effort to escape,
he covers himself with dishonour?”

To this reproach, Don Amador replied only by
turning a bewildered and stupified stare on his host;
and the Zegri, reading in this the evidence of returning
delirium, relaxed the severity of his countenance,
and spoke with a gentler voice.

“My lord does not well,” he said, “to leave his
chamber, while the fever still burns him.”

He took the cavalier by the arm, and Don Amador
suffered himself to be led to his apartment. There,
seating himself on the couch, he surveyed the Moor
with a steadfast and yet disturbed look, not at all regarding
the words of sympathy pronounced by his
jailer. At last, rousing himself, and muttering a sort
of prayer, he said,

“Are ye all enchanters? or am I mad? for either
this thing is the fabrication of lunacy, or the illusion
of unearthly art!”

“Of what does my lord speak?” said the Moor,
mildly, and soothingly. “He should not think of
dreams.”

“Dost thou say, dreams?” cried the cavalier, with
a laugh. “Surely mine eyes are open, and I see
thee. Dost thou not profess thyself flesh and blood?”

The Moor regarded his captive with uneasiness,
thinking that his wits had fled.

“My noble patron does not ask me of his countrymen
and friends,” he said, willing to divert his prisoner's
thoughts. “This day, did I behold his followers,
and, in addition, his kinsman, the knight of Calavar.”

At this name, the neophyte became more composed.
He eyed the speaker more attentively, and
now remarked, that, besides the leathern mail which
he wore in the manner of the Mexicans, his chest
was defended by an iron corslet, which, as well as
the plumes of his tunic, was spotted with blood. As
the Moor spoke, Don Amador perceived him to lay
upon the table, along with the torch, which he had
taken from Ayub, a sword dyed with the same gory
ornament; and he started to his feet, with a feeling
of fierce wrath, which entirely dispelled his stupefaction,
when he recognized in this, his own vanished
weapon.

“Knave of a Zegri!” he cried, “hast thou used
my glave on Spaniards, my friends and brothers?”

“When I struck thee the blow which saved thy
life,” said Abdalla, calmly, “I was left without a
weapon; for the steel shivered upon thy casque. I
borrowed the sword, which, to thee, was useless,
and I return it, not dishonoured, for it has drunk the
blood of those who are, in the eyes of heaven, idolaters
and assassins. I give it back to thee, and will
not again use it, even in a just and righteous combat;
for, thanks be to God! it has been the means of providing
me a store, which I hope to increase into an
armoury.”

“Thou avowest this to me? and with exultation?”
said the cavalier, passing at once, in the excitement

of anger, from the effects, and even the remembrance,
of the vision.

“If my lord will listen,” replied Abdalla, not unrejoiced
at the change, and willing to confirm the sanity
of the prisoner, “he shall hear what good blows this
rich and very excellent weapon hath this day struck.
A better never smote infidel or Christian.”

“I will hear what thou hast to say,” said the novice,
with a stern accent; “and, wondering what direful
calamity shall befall thee, for having thus profaned
and befouled the sword of a Christian soldier, I hope
thou wilt tell me of such things as will prove to me
that God has punished the same, if not upon thy head,
yet, at least, upon the heads of divers of thy godless
companions.”

“There are many of the godless, both heathen and
Christian, who have slept the sleep of death this day,”
said Abdalla, knitting his brows with the ardour of a
soldier; “many shall die to-morrow, some the next
day, but few on the last—for who shall remain to
perish? Every day do I look down from the pyramid,
and hearken to the groans of those who destroyed
Granada; and every day, though the lamentings
be wilder and louder, yet are they fewer. Heaven
be thanked! a few days more, and not a bone shall
be left to whiten on the square, that does not speak
of vengeance for the Alpujarras!”

“Moor!” said the frowning Spaniard, “have a
care that thy ferocious and very unnatural triumph
do not cause me to forget that I am thy prisoner. It
was, perhaps, proper, that thou shouldst fly from Don
Hernan, seeing that the slanders of very base caitiffs
had prejudiced thee, and left thy life in jeopardy;
perhaps, also, the necessity to gain the favour of
Mexicans for thyself and Jacinto, by fighting with
them against their foes, may, in part, extenuate the
sin of such impiety; but I warn thee, thou leapest
wantonly into superfluous crime, when, instead of
mourning thy cruel fate, thou rejoicest over the blood
thou art shedding.”

“Whose fault is it? and who shall account for my
crime?” said the Zegri, with energy. “I came to
these shores against my will; when I landed upon
the sands of Ulua, my heart was in the peace of
sorrow. I besought those who held me in unjust
bondage, to discharge me with my boy: had they
done so, then had I left them, and no Spaniard should
have mourned for his oppression; the wrongs of
Granada had not been repaid in Mexico. My prayers
were met with mockery; the Zegri that hath sat in
the seat of kings, was doomed to be the bearer of a
match-stick; and the boy, whose blood runs redder
and purer than that in the veins of the proudest cavalier
of all, was degraded into the service of a menial,
in the house of the bitterest enemy of his people!
What was left for me? To choose between slavery
and exile, contempt and revenge.—The señor thinks
that the base Yacub belied me: Yacub spoke the
truth. From the moment when I perceived I could
not escape from the land, then did I know, that God
had commissioned me to the work of revenge; and
I resolved it should be mighty. I meditated the flight
I have accomplished, the treason I have committed,
the revenge I have obtained. I saw that I should
remain in wo, with benighted barbarians; but I saw,
also, that I should be afar from Spaniards. God be
thanked! It was bitter to be parted, for ever, from
the land of my birth, and the people of my love; but
it is goodly and pleasant, to see the Castilian perish
in misery, and remember Granada!”

Throughout the whole of this harangue, Don Amador
de Leste preserved a countenance of inflexible
gravity.

“Sir Zegri,” said he, with a sigh, when it was concluded,
“I perceive, that heaven hath erected a wall
between us, to keep us for ever asunder. Whether
thy bitter hatred of Spaniards be just or not, whether
thy appetite for revenge be allowable or accurst, still
is it apparent, that, while thou indulgest the one, and
seekest to gratify the other, it is impossible I should

remain with thee on any terms, except those of enmity
and defiance; for those whom thou hatest, and
dost so bloodily destroy, they are my countrymen.
I love thy boy, but thee I detest. And now, having
discovered that thou art of very noble blood, and
being impelled to punish on thee the very grievous
and unpardonable wrongs, which thou art doing to
my country, I beg thou wilt release me from my parole,
and fetch hither one of those swords which thou
hast rifled from Spanish corses, I arming myself with
my own weapon, here befouled with Spanish blood.
We will discharge upon each other, the obligations
we are under, thou to hate and slay Spaniards, and
I to punish the haters and slayers of the same; for it
is quite impossible I can live longer in peace, suffering
thee to destroy my friends. Fetch hither, therefore,
a sword, and let us end this quarrel with the life
of one or the other; and, to ease thee of any anxiety
thou mayest have, in regard to Jacinto, I solemnly
assure thee, that, if thou fall, I will myself take thy
place, and remain a father to him to the end of my
days.”

As the cavalier made this extraordinary proposal,
Abdalla surveyed him, first with surprise, then with
gloomy regret; and when he had finished, with a
glistening eye. Before Don Amador had yet done
speaking, the Zegri unbuckled his corslet, and, flinging
it on the floor, at the last word, said, with mild
and reproachful dignity,—

“Behold! thy sword is within reach, and my breast
is naked. What hinders that thou shouldst not strike
me at once? Thou speakest of Jacinto—It is enough
that thy hand saved him from the blow of thy countryman:
at that moment, I said, in my heart, though
I spoke it not, `Thou hast bought my life.' If thou
wilt have it, it is thine. If thou hadst killed my father,
I could not aim at thine!”

“Of a truth,” said the cavalier, moodily, “I should
not slay thee out of mere anger, but duty: yet I
would that thou mightest be prevailed upon to assault

me, so as to enforce me into rage; for, I say to thee
again, so long as thy hostile acts continue, I must
very violently abhor thee.”

“They will not continue long,” said Abdalla. “After
a few days, there will remain in my bosom no
feeling but gratitude; and, then, my lord shall see,
that the fury which has slain all others, has been his
own security.”

“Of this,” said Don Amador, “I will have a
word to speak with thee anon. At present, I am desirous,
that thou shouldst relate to me the fate of
this day's battle, which I am the more anxious to
know, since thou hast spoken the name of Calavar.”

“I am loath to obey thee,” said the Zegri, struggling
with the fierce satisfaction that beset him at
the thought, “for it may again excite thee to anger.”

“Nevertheless, I will listen to thy story, with such
composure as I can, as to a thing, it may be needful
for me to know; after which, I have myself a matter
of which it is quite essential I should acquaint
thee.”

Thus commanded, the Moor obeyed; and his eyes
sparkled, as he conned over in his mind the events of
a day so dreadful to the Spaniards.