2. CHAPTER II.
How the Catholic Sovereigns sent to demand arrears of
tribute of the Moor, and how the Moor replied.
In the year 1478, a Spanish courtier, of powerful
frame and haughty demeanor, arrived at the gates
of Granada, as ambassador from the Catholic monarchs,
to demand the arrear of tribute. His name
was Don Juan de Vera, a zealous and devout knight,
full of ardor for the faith, and loyalty for the crown.
He was gallantly mounted, armed at all points, and
followed by a moderate but well-appointed retinue.
The Moorish inhabitants looked jealously at this
small but proud array of Spanish chivalry, as it
paraded, with that stateliness possessed only by
Spanish cavaliers, through the renowned gate of
Elvira. They were struck with the stern and lofty
demeanor of Don Juan de Vera, and his sinewy
frame, which showed him formed for hardy deeds
of arms; and they supposed he had come in search
of distinction, by defying the Moorish knights in open
tourney, or in the famous tilt with reeds, for which
they were so renowned: for it was still the custom
of the knights of either nation to mingle in these
courteous and chivalrous contests, during the intervals
of war. When they learnt, however, that he
was come to demand the tribute so abhorrent to the
ears of the fiery monarch, they observed that it well
required a warrior of his apparent nerve, to execute
such an embassy.
Muley Aben Hassan received the cavalier in state,
seated on a magnificent divan, and surrounded by
the officers of his court, in the hall of ambassadors,
one of the most sumptuous apartments of the Alhambra.
When De Vera had delivered his message, a
haughty and bitter smile curled the lip of the fierce
monarch. “Tell your sovereigns,” said he, “that
the kings of Granada, who used to pay tribute in
money to the Castilian crown, are dead. Our mint
at present coins nothing but blades of scimitars and
heads of lances.”[1]
The defiance couched in this proud reply, was
heard with stern and lofty courtesy by Don Juan de
Vera, for he was a bold soldier, and a devout hater
of the Infidels; and he saw iron war in the words of
the Moorish monarch. He retired from the audience
chamber with stately and ceremonious gravity, being
master of all points of etiquette. As he passed through
the Court of Lions, and paused to regard its celebrated
fountain, he fell into a discourse with the
Moorish courtiers on certain mysteries of the Christian
faith. The arguments advanced by those Infidels
(says Fray Antonio Agapida) awakened the pious
indignation of this most Christian knight and discreet
ambassador; but still he restrained himself within the
limits of lofty gravity, leaning on the pommel of his
sword, and looking down with ineffable scorn upon
the weak casuists around him. The quick and subtle
Arabian witlings redoubled their light attacks upon
this stately Spaniard, and thought they had completely
foiled him in the contest; but the stern Juan
de Vera had an argument in reserve, for which they
were but little prepared; for, on one of them, of the
race of the Abencerrages, daring to question, with a
sneer, the immaculate conception of the blessed
virgin, the Catholic knight could no longer restrain
his ire. Raising his voice of a sudden, he told the
Infidel he lied; and, raising his arm at the same time,
he smote him on the head with his sheathed sword.
In an instant the Court of Lions glistened with the
flash of arms, and its fountains would have been dyed
with blood, had not Muley Aben Hassan overheard
the tumult, and forbade all appeal to arms, pronouncing
the person of the ambassador sacred while within
his territories. The Abencerrage treasured up the
remembrance of the insult until an hour of vengeance
should arrive, and the ambassador prayed our blessed
lady to grant him an opportunity of proving her immaculate
conception on the head of this turbaned
Infidel.[2]
Notwithstanding this occurrence, Don Juan de
Vera was treated with great distinction by Muley
Aben Hassan; but nothing could make him unbend
from his stern and stately reserve. Before his departure,
a scimitar was sent to him by the king; the
blade of the finest Damascus steel, the hilt of agate
enriched with precious stones, and the guard of gold.
De Vera drew it, and smiled grimly as he noticed
the admirable temper of the blade. “His majesty
has given me a trenchant weapon,” said he: “I trust
a time will come when I may show him that I know
how to use his royal present.” The reply was considered
as a compliment, of course; the bystanders
little knew the bitter hostility that lay couched beneath.
Don Juan de Vera and his companions, during
their brief sojourn at Granada, learned the force and
situation of the Moor, with the eyes of practised warriors.
They saw that he was well prepared for hostilities.
His walls and towers were of vast strength,
in complete repair, and mounted with lombards and
other heavy ordnance. His magazines were well
stored with all the munitions of war: he had a mighty
host of foot-soldiers, together with squadrons of cavalry,
ready to scour the country and carry on either
defensive or predatory warfare. The Christian warriors
noted these things without dismay; their hearts
rather glowed with emulation, at the thoughts of encountering
so worthy a foe. As they slowly pranced
through the streets of Granada, on their departure,
they looked round with eagerness on its stately
palaces, and sumptuous mosques; on its alcayceria
or bazar, crowded with silks and cloth of silver and
gold, with jewels and precious stones, and other rich
merchandise, the luxuries of every clime; and they
longed for the time when all this wealth should be
the spoil of the soldiers of the faith, and when each
tramp of their steeds might be fetlock deep in the
blood and carnage of the Infidels.
Don Juan de Vera and his little band pursued
their way slowly through the country, to the Christian
frontier. Every town was strongly fortified. The
vega was studded with towers of refuge for the
peasantry: every pass of the mountain had its castle
of defence, every lofty height its watch-tower. As
the Christian cavaliers passed under the walls of
the fortresses, lances and scimitars flashed from their
battlements, and the turbaned sentinels seemed to
dart from their dark eyes glances of hatred and defiance.
It was evident that a war with this kingdom
must be one of doughty peril and valiant enterprise;
a war of posts, where every step must be gained by
toil and bloodshed, and maintained with the utmost
difficulty. The warrior spirit of the cavaliers kindled
at the thoughts, and they were impatient for hostilities;
“not,” says Antonio Agapida, “from any thirst
for rapine and revenge, but from that pure and holy
indignation which every Spanish knight entertained
at beholding this beautiful dominion of his ancestors
defiled by the footsteps of Infidel usurpers. It was
impossible,” he adds, “to contemplate this delicious
country, and not long to see it restored to the dominion
of the true faith, and the sway of the Christian
monarchs.”
When Don Juan de Vera returned to the Castilian
court, and reported the particulars of his mission,
and all that he had heard and seen in the Moorish
territories, he was highly honored and rewarded by
king Ferdinand; and the zeal he had shown in vindication
of the sinless conception of the blessed virgin,
was not only applauded by that most Catholic
of sovereigns, but gained him great favor and renown
among all pious cavaliers and reverend prelates.
