University of Virginia Library

12. CHAPTER XII.
Foray of Spanish cavaliers among the mountains
of Malaga.

The foray of old Muley Aben Hassan had touched
the pride of the Andalusian chivalry, and they determined
on retaliation. For this purpose, a number
of the most distinguished cavaliers assembled at
Antiquera, in the month of March, 1483. The leaders
of the enterprise were, the gallant marques of
Cadiz; Don Pedro Henriquez, adelantado of Andalusia;
Don Juan de Silva, count of Cifuentes, and
bearer of the royal standard, who commanded in
Seville; Don Alonzo de Cardevas, Master of the
religious and military order of Santiago; and Don
Alonzo de Aguilar. Several other cavaliers of note
hastened to take part in the enterprise; and in a
little while, about twenty-seven hundred horse, and
several companies of foot, were assembled within
the old warlike city of Antiquera, comprising the
very flower of Andalusian chivalry.

A council of war was held by the chiefs, to determine
in what quarter they should strike a blow.
The rival Moorish kings were waging civil war with
each other, in the vicinity of Granada; and the
whole country lay open to inroads. Various plans
were proposed by the different cavaliers. The marques
of Cadiz was desirous of scaling the walls of
Zahara, and regaining possession of that important

fortress. The Master of Santiago, however, suggested
a wider range and a still more important object. He
had received information from his adalides, who
were apostate Moors, that an incursion might be
safely made into a mountainous region near Malaga,
called the Axarquia. Here were valleys of pasture
land, well stocked with flocks and herds; and there
were numerous villages and hamlets, which would
be an easy prey. The city of Malaga was too weakly
garrisoned, and had too few cavalry, to send forth
any force in opposition; nay, he added, they might
even extend their ravages to its very gates, and peradventure
carry that wealthy place by sudden assault.

The adventurous spirits of the cavaliers were inflamed
by this suggestion; in their sanguine confidence,
they already beheld Malaga in their power,
and they were eager for the enterprise. The marques
of Cadiz endeavored to interpose a little cool
caution. He likewise had apostate adalides, the
most intelligent and experienced on the borders;
among these, he placed especial reliance on one
named Luis Amar, who knew all the mountains and
valleys of the country. He had received from him
a particular account of these mountains of the Axarquia.[1]
Their savage and broken nature was a sufficient

defence for the fierce people who inhabited
them, who, manning their rocks, and their tremendous
passes, which were often nothing more than the
deep dry beds of torrents, might set whole armies at
defiance. Even if vanquished, they afforded no spoil
to the victor. Their houses were little better than
bare walls, and they would drive off their scanty
flocks and herds to the fastnesses of the mountains.

The sober counsel of the marques, however, was
overruled. The cavaliers, accustomed to mountain
warfare, considered themselves and their horses equal
to any wild and rugged expedition, and were flushed
with the idea of terminating their foray by a brilliant
assault upon Malaga.

Leaving all heavy baggage at Antiquera, and all
such as had horses too weak for this mountain scramble,
they set forth, full of spirit and confidence. Don
Alonzo de Aguilar, and the adelantado of Andalusia,
led the squadron of advance. The count of Cifuentes
followed, with certain of the chivalry of Seville.
Then came the battalion of the most valiant
Roderigo Ponce de Leon, marques of Cadiz: he
was accompanied by several of his brothers and
nephews, and many cavaliers, who sought distinction
under his banner; and this family band attracted
universal attention and applause, as they paraded in
martial state through the streets of Antiquera. The
rear guard was led by Don Alonzo Cardenas, Master
of Santiago, and was composed of the knights of his
order, and the cavaliers of Ecija, with certain men-at-arms
of the Holy Brotherhood, whom the king

had placed under his command. The army was attended
by a great train of mules, laden with provisions
for a few days' supply, until they should be
able to forage among the Moorish villages. Never
did a more gallant and self-confident little army tread
the earth. It was composed of men full of health
and vigor, to whom war was a pastime and delight.
They had spared no expense in their equipments, for
never was the pomp of war carried to a higher pitch
than among the proud chivalry of Spain. Cased in
armor richly inlaid and embossed, decked with rich
surcoats and waving plumes, and superbly mounted
on Andalusian steeds, they pranced out of Antiquera
with banners flying, and their various devices and
armorial bearings ostentatiously displayed; and in
the confidence of their hopes, promised the inhabitants
to enrich them with the spoils of Malaga.

In the rear of this warlike pageant, followed a
peaceful band, intent upon profiting by the anticipated
victories. They were not the customary wretches
that hover about armies to plunder and strip the
dead, but goodly and substantial traders from Seville,
Cordova, and other cities of traffic. They rode
sleek mules, and were clad in goodly raiment, with
long leathern purses at their girdles, well filled with
pistoles and other golden coin. They had heard of
the spoils wasted by the soldiery at the capture of
Alhama, and were provided with moneys to buy up
the jewels and precious stones, the vessels of gold
and silver, and the rich silks and cloths, that should
form the plunder of Malaga. The proud cavaliers

eyed these sons of traffic with great disdain, but permitted
them to follow for the convenience of the
troops, who might otherwise be overburthened with
booty.

It had been intended to conduct this expedition
with great celerity and secrecy; but the noise of
their preparations had already reached the city of
Malaga. The garrison, it is true, was weak; but it
possessed a commander who was himself a host.
This was Muley Abdallah, commonly called El Zagal,
or the valiant. He was younger brother of Muley
Aben Hassan, and general of the few forces
which remained faithful to the old monarch. He
possessed equal fierceness of spirit with his brother,
and surpassed him in craft and vigilance. His very
name was a war-cry among his soldiery, who had the
most extravagant opinion of his prowess.

El Zagal suspected that Malaga was the object of
this noisy expedition. He consulted with old Bexir,
a veteran Moor, who governed the city. “If this
army of marauders should reach Malaga,” said he,
“we should hardly be able to keep them without its
walls. I will throw myself, with a small force, into
the mountains; rouse the peasantry, take possession
of the passes, and endeavor to give these Spanish
cavaliers sufficient entertainment upon the road.”

It was on a Wednesday, that the pranking army of
high-mettled warriors issued forth from the ancient
gates of Antiquera. They marched all day and
night, making their way, secretly as they supposed,
through the passes of the mountains. As the tract

of country they intended to maraud was far in the
Moorish territories, near the coast of the Mediterranean,
they did not arrive there until late in the following
day. In passing through these stern and lofty
mountains, their path was often along the bottom of
a barranco, or deep rocky valley, with a scanty
stream dashing along it, among the loose rocks and
stones, which it had broken and rolled down, in the
time of its autumnal violence. Sometimes their road
was a mere rambla, or dry bed of a torrent, cut deep
into the mountains, and filled with their shattered
fragments. These barrancos and ramblas were overhung
by immense cliffs and precipices; forming the
lurking-places of ambuscades, during the wars between
the Moors and Spaniards, as in after times
they have become the favorite haunts of robbers to
waylay the unfortunate traveller.

As the sun went down, the cavaliers came to a
lofty part of the mountains, commanding to the right
a distant glimpse of a part of the fair vega of Malaga,
with the blue Mediterranean beyond; and they
hailed it with exultation, as a glimpse of the promised
land. As the night closed in, they reached the chain
of little valleys and hamlets, locked up among these
rocky heights, and known among the Moors by the
name of the Axarquia. Here their vaunting hopes
were destined to meet with the first disappointment.
The inhabitants had heard of their approach; they
had conveyed away their cattle and effects, and,
with their wives and children, had taken refuge in
the towers and fastnesses of the mountains.

Enraged at their disappointment, the troops set fire
to the deserted houses, and pressed forward, hoping
for better fortune as they advanced. Don Alonzo
de Aguilar, and the other cavaliers in the vanguard,
spread out their forces to lay waste the country;
capturing a few lingering herds of cattle, with the
Moorish peasants who were driving them to some
place of safety.

While this marauding party carried fire and sword
in the advance, and lit up the mountain cliffs with
the flames of the hamlets, the Master of Santiago,
who brought up the rear guard, maintained strict
order, keeping his knights together in martial array,
ready for attack or defence, should an enemy appear.
The men-at-arms of the Holy Brotherhood attempted
to roam in quest of booty; but he called them
back, and rebuked them severely.

At length they came to a part of the mountain
completely broken up by barrancos and ramblas, of
vast depth, and shagged with rocks and precipices.
It was impossible to maintain the order of march;
the horses had no room for action, and were scarcely
manageable, having to scramble from rock to rock,
and up and down frightful declivities, where there
was scarce footing for a mountain goat. Passing by
a burning village, the light of the flames revealed
their perplexed situation. The Moors, who had
taken refuge in a watch-tower on an impending
height, shouted with exultation, when they looked
down upon these glistening cavaliers struggling and
stumbling among the rocks. Sallying forth from their

tower, they took possession of the cliffs which overhung
the ravine, and hurled darts and stones upon
the enemy. It was with the utmost grief of heart
that the good Master of Santiago beheld his brave
men falling like helpless victims around him, without
the means of resistance or revenge. The confusion
of his followers was increased by the shouts of the
Moors, multiplied by the echoes of every crag and
cliff, as if they were surrounded by innumerable
foes. Being entirely ignorant of the country, in their
struggles to extricate themselves they plunged into
other glens and defiles, where they were still more
exposed to danger. In this extremity, the master of
Santiago dispatched messengers in search of succor.
The marques of Cadiz, like a loyal companion in
arms, hastened to his aid with his cavalry; his approach
checked the assaults of the enemy, and the
Master was at length enabled to extricate his troops
from the defile.

In the mean time, Don Alonzo de Aguilar and his
companions, in their eager advance, had likewise got
entangled in deep glens, and the dry beds of torrents,
where they had been severely galled by the insulting
attacks of a handful of Moorish peasants, posted on
the impending precipices. The proud spirit of De
Aguilar was incensed at having the game of war thus
turned upon him, and his gallant forces domineered
over by mountain boors, whom he had thought to
drive, like their own cattle, to Antiquera. Hearing,
however, that his friend the marques of Cadiz, and
the Master of Santiago, were engaged with the

enemy, he disregarded his own danger, and, calling
together his troops, returned to assist them, or rather
to partake their perils. Being once more assembled
together, the cavaliers held a hasty council, amidst
the hurling of stones and the whistling of arrows;
and their resolves were quickened, by the sight, from
time to time, of some gallant companion in arms laid
low. They determined that there was no spoil in
this part of the country, to repay for the extraordinary
peril; and that it was better to abandon the
herds they had already taken, which only embarrassed
their march, and to retreat with all speed to
less dangerous ground.

The adalides, or guides, were ordered to lead the
way out of this place of carnage. These, thinking
to conduct them by the most secure route, led them
by a steep and rocky pass, difficult for the foot-soldiers,
but almost impracticable to the cavalry. It
was overhung with precipices, from whence showers
of stones and arrows were poured upon them, accompanied
by savage yells, which appalled the stoutest
heart. In some places, they could pass but one
at a time, and were often transpierced, horse and
rider, by the Moorish darts, impeding the progress
of their comrades by their dying struggles. The
surrounding precipices were lit up by a thousand
alarm-fires; every crag and cliff had its flame, by
the light of which they beheld their foes, bounding
from rock to rock, and looking more like fiends than
mortal men.

Either through terror and confusion, or through

real ignorance of the country, their guides, instead
of conducting them out of the mountains, led them
deeper into their fatal recesses. The morning dawned
upon them in a narrow rambla, its bottom formed of
broken rocks, where once had raved along the mountain
torrent; while above, there beetled great arid
cliffs, over the brows of which they beheld the turbaned
heads of their fierce and exulting foes. What
a different appearance did the unfortunate cavaliers
present, from that of the gallant band that marched
so vauntingly out of Antiquera! Covered with dust,
and blood, and wounds, and haggard with fatigue and
horror, they looked like victims rather than like warriors.
Many of their banners were lost, and not a
trumpet was heard to rally up their sinking spirits.
The men turned with imploring eyes to their commanders;
while the hearts of the cavaliers were
ready to burst with rage and grief, at the merciless
havoc made among their faithful followers.

All day, they made ineffectual attempts to extricate
themselves from the mountains. Columns of
smoke rose from the heights, where, in the preceding
night, had blazed the alarm-fire. The mountaineers
assembled from every direction; they swarmed at
every pass, getting in the advance of the christians,
and garrisoning the cliffs like so many towers and
battlements.

Night closed again upon the christians, when they
were shut up in a narrow valley traversed by a deep
stream, and surrounded by precipices which seemed
to reach the skies, and on which blazed and flared

the alarm-fires. Suddenly a new cry was heard resounding
along the valley: “El Zagal! El Zagal!”
echoed from cliff to cliff. “What cry is that?” said
the Master of Santiago. “It is the war-cry of El
Zagal, the Moorish general,” said an old Castilian
soldier: “he must be coming in person, with the
troops of Malaga.”

The worthy Master turned to his knights: “Let
us die,” said he, “making a road with our hearts,
since we cannot with our swords. Let us scale the
mountain, and sell our lives dearly, instead of staying
here to be tamely butchered.”

So saying, he turned his steed against the mountain,
and spurred him up its flinty side. Horse and foot
followed his example, eager, if they could not escape,
to have at least a dying blow at the enemy. As they
struggled up the height, a tremendous storm of darts
and stones was showered upon them by the Moors.
Sometimes a fragment of rock came bounding and
thundering down, plowing its way through the centre
of their host. The foot-soldiers, faint with weariness
and hunger, or crippled by wounds, held by the
tails and manes of the horses to aid them in their ascent;
while the horses, losing their foothold among the
loose stones, or receiving some sudden wound, tumbled
down the steep declivity, steed, rider, and soldier,
rolling from crag to crag, until they were dashed
to pieces in the valley. In this desperate struggle,
the alferez or standard-bearer of the Master, with
his standard, was lost; as were many of his relations
and his dearest friends. At length he succeeded in

attaining the crest of the mountain; but it was only
to be plunged in new difficulties. A wilderness of
rocks and rugged dells lay before him, beset by cruel
foes. Having neither banner nor trumpet by which
to rally his troops, they wandered apart, each intent
upon saving himself from the precipices of the mountains,
and the darts of the enemy. When the pious
Master of Santiago beheld the scattered fragments
of his late gallant force, he could not restrain his
grief. “Oh God!” exclaimed he, “great is thine
anger this day against thy servants. Thou hast converted
the cowardice of these infidels into desperate
valor, and hast made peasants and boors victorious
over armed men of battle.”

He would fain have kept with his foot-soldiers,
and, gathering them together, have made head against
the enemy; but those around him entreated him to
think only of his personal safety. To remain was
to perish, without striking a blow; to escape was to
preserve a life that might be devoted to vengeance
on the Moors. The Master reluctantly yielded to
the advice. “Oh Lord of hosts!” exclaimed he
again, “from thy wrath do I fly; not from these infidels:
they are but instruments in thy hands, to
chastise us for our sins.” So saying, he sent the
guides in the advance, and, putting spurs to his
horse, dashed through a defile of the mountains,
before the Moors could intercept him. The moment
the Master put his horse to speed, his troops scattered
in all directions. Some endeavored to follow
his traces, but were confounded among the intricacies

of the mountain. They fled hither and thither,
many perishing among the precipices, others being
slain by the Moors, and others taken prisoners.

The gallant marques of Cadiz, guided by his-trusty
adalid, Luis Amar, had ascended a different part of
the mountain. He was followed by his friend, Don
Alonzo de Aguilar, the adelantado, and the count of
Cifuentes; but, in the darkness and confusion, the
bands of these commanders became separated from
each other. When the marques attained the summit,
he looked around for his companions in arms;
but they were no longer following him, and there
was no trumpet to summon them. It was a consolation
to the marques, however, that his brothers, and
several of his relations, with a number of his retainers,
were still with him: he called his brothers by
name, and their replies gave comfort to his heart.

His guide now led the way into another valley,
where he would be less exposed to danger: when
he had reached the bottom of it, the marques paused
to collect his scattered followers, and to give time
for his fellow-commanders to rejoin him. Here he
was suddenly assailed by the troops of El Zagal,
aided by the mountaineers from the cliffs. The
christians, exhausted and terrified, lost all presence
of mind: most of them fled, and were either slain
or taken captive. The marques and his valiant
brothers, with a few tried friends, made a stout resistance.
His horse was killed under him; his
brothers, Don Diego and Don Lope, with his two
nephews Don Lorenzo and Don Manuel, were one

by one swept from his side, either transfixed with
darts and lances by the soldiers of El Zagal, or
crushed by stones from the heights. The marques
was a veteran warrior, and had been in many a
bloody battle; but never before had death fallen so
thick and close around him. When he saw his remaining
brother, Don Beltram, struck out of his saddle
by a fragment of a rock, and his horse running
wildly about without his rider, he gave a cry of anguish,
and stood bewildered and aghast. A few faithful
followers surrounded him, and entreated him to
fly for his life. He would still have remained, to
have shared the fortunes of his friend Don Alonzo
de Aguilar, and his other companions in arms; but
the forces of El Zagal were between him and them,
and death was whistling by on every wind. Reluctantly,
therefore, he consented to fly. Another horse
was brought him: his faithful adalid guided him by
one of the steepest paths, which lasted for four
leagues; the enemy still hanging on his traces, and
thinning the scanty ranks of his followers. At length
the marques reached the extremity of the mountain
defiles, and, with a haggard remnant of his men, escaped
by dint of hoof to Antiquera.

The count of Cifuentes, with a few of his retainers,
in attempting to follow the marques of Cadiz,
wandered into a narrow pass, where they were completely
surrounded by the band of El Zagal. Finding
all attempts at escape impossible, and resistance
vain, the worthy count surrendered himself prisoner,

as did also his brother Don Pedro de Silva, and the
few of his retainers who survived.

The dawn of day found Don Alonzo de Aguilar,
with a handful of his followers, still among the
mountains. They had attempted to follow the marques
of Cadiz, but had been obliged to pause and
defend themselves against the thickening forces of
the enemy. They at length traversed the mountain,
and reached the same valley where the marques had
made his last disastrous stand. Wearied and perplexed,
they sheltered themselves in a natural grotto,
under an overhanging rock, which kept off the darts
of the enemy; while a bubbling fountain gave them
the means of slaking their raging thirst, and refreshing
their exhausted steeds. As day broke, the scene
of slaughter unfolded its horrors. There lay the
noble brothers and nephews of the gallant marques,
transfixed with darts, or gashed and bruised with unseemly
wounds; while many other gallant cavaliers
lay stretched out dead and dying around, some of
them partly stripped and plundered by the Moors.
De Aguilar was a pious knight, but his piety was not
humble and resigned, like that of the worthy Master
of Santiago. He imprecated holy curses upon the
infidels, for having thus laid low the flower of christian
chivalry; and he vowed in his heart bitter
vengeance upon the surrounding country.

By degrees, the little force of De Aguilar was
augmented by numbers of fugitives, who issued from
caves and chasms, where they had taken refuge in the
night. A little band of mounted knights was gradually

formed; and the Moors having abandoned the heights
to collect the spoils of the slain, this gallant but forlorn
squadron was enabled to retreat to Antiquera.

This disastrous affair lasted from Thursday evening,
throughout Friday, the twenty-first of March,
the festival of St. Benedict. It is still recorded in
Spanish calendars, as the defeat of the mountains of
Malaga; and the spot where the greatest slaughter
took place, is pointed out to the present day, and is
called la Cuesta de la Matanza, or The Hill of the
Massacre. The principal leaders who survived, returned
to Antiquera. Many of the knights took
refuge in Alhama, and other towns: many wandered
about the mountains for eight days, living on roots
and herbs, hiding themselves during the day, and
sallying forth at night. So enfeebled and disheartened
were they, that they offered no resistance if attacked.
Three or four soldiers would surrender to
a Moorish peasant; and even the women of Malaga
sallied forth and made prisoners. Some were thrown
into the dungeons of frontier towns, others led captive
to Granada; but by far the greater number were
conducted to Malaga, the city they had threatened to
attack. Two hundred and fifty principal cavaliers,
alcaydes, commanders, and hidalgos, of generous
blood, were confined in the Alcazaba, or citadel of
Malaga, to await their ransom; and five hundred and
seventy of the common soldiery were crowded in an
enclosure or court-yard of the Alcazaba, to be sold
as slaves.[2]

Great spoils were collected of splendid armor and
weapons taken from the slain, or thrown away by the
cavaliers in their flight; and many horses, magnificently
caparisoned, together with numerous standards
—all which were paraded in triumph into the Moorish
towns.

The merchants also, who had come with the army,
intending to traffic in the spoils of the Moors, were
themselves made objects of traffic. Several of them
were driven like cattle, before the Moorish viragos,
to the market of Malaga; and in spite of all their
adroitness in trade, and their attempts to buy themselves
off at a cheap ransom, they were unable to
purchase their freedom without such draughts upon
their money-bags at home, as drained them to the
very bottom.