22. CHAPTER XXII.
Retreat of Hamet el Zegri, Alcayde of Ronda.
The bold alcayde of Ronda, Hamet el Zegri, had
careered wide over the Campiña of Utrera, encompassing
the flocks and herds, when he heard the
burst of war at a distance. There were with him
but a handful of his Gomeres. He saw the scamper
and pursuit afar off, and beheld the christian horsemen
spurring madly on towards the ambuscade on
the banks of the Lopera. Hamet tossed his hand
triumphantly aloft, for his men to follow him. “The
christian dogs are ours!” said he, as he put spurs to
his horse, to take the enemy in rear.
The little band, which followed Hamet, scarcely
amounted to thirty horsemen. They spurred across
the plain, and reached a rising ground, just as the
force of Puerto Carrero had charged, with sound of
trumpet, upon the flank of the party in ambush.
Hamet beheld the headlong rout of the army, with
rage and consternation. He found the country was
pouring forth its legions from every quarter, and
perceived that there was no safety but in precipitate
flight.
But which way to fly? An army was between
him and the mountain pass; all the forces of the
neighborhood were rushing to the borders; the whole
route by which he had come, was by this time occupied
by the foe. He checked his steed, rose in the
stirrups, and rolled a stern and thoughtful eye over
the country; then sinking into his saddle, he seemed
to commune a moment with himself. Turning quickly
to his troop, he singled out a renegado christian,
a traitor to his religion and his king. “Come hither,”
said Hamet. “Thou knowest all the secret passes
of the country.” “I do,” replied the renegado.
“Dost thou know any circuitous route, solitary and
untravelled, by which we can pass wide within these
troops, and reach the Serrania?” The renegado
paused: “Such a route I know, but it is full of peril,
for it leads through the heart of the christian land.”
“'Tis well,” said Hamet; “the more dangerous in
appearance, the less it will be suspected. Now
hearken to me. Ride by my side. Thou seest this
purse of gold, and this scimitar. Take us, by the
route thou hast mentioned, safe to the pass of the
Serrania, and this purse shall be thy reward; betray
us, and this scimitar shall cleave thee to the saddle-bow.”
[1]
The renegado obeyed, trembling. They turned off
from the direct road to the mountains, and struck
southward towards Lebrixa, passing by the most
solitary roads, and along those deep ramblas and
ravines by which the country is intersected. It was
indeed a daring course. Every now and then they
heard the distant sound of trumpets, and the alarm-bells
of towns and villages, and found that the war
was still hurrying to the borders. They hid themselves
in thickets, and in the dry beds of rivers, until
the danger had passed by, and then resumed their
course. Hamet el Zegri rode on in silence, his hand
upon his scimitar and his eye upon the renegado
guide, prepared to sacrifice him on the least sign of
treachery; while his band followed, gnawing their
lips with rage, at having thus to skulk through a
country they had come to ravage.
When night fell, they struck into more practicable
roads, always keeping wide of the villages and hamlets,
lest the watch-dogs should betray them. In this
way, they passed in deep midnight by Areos, crossed
the Guadalete, and effected their retreat to the
mountains. The day dawned, as they made their
way up the savage defiles. Their comrades had been
hunted up these very glens by the enemy. Every
now and then, they came to where there had been a
partial fight, or a slaughter of the fugitives; and the
rocks were red with blood, and strewed with mangled
bodies. The alcayde of Ronda was almost
frantic with rage, at seeing many of his bravest warriors
lying stiff and stark, a prey to the hawks and
vultures of the mountains. Now and then some
wretched Moor would crawl out of a cave or glen,
whither he had fled for refuge; for in the retreat,
many of the horsemen had abandoned their steeds,
thrown away their armor, and clambered up the
cliffs, where they could not be pursued by the christian
cavalry.
The Moorish army had sallied forth from Ronda,
amidst shouts and acclamations; but wailings were
heard within its walls, as the alcayde and his broken
band returned without banner or trumpet, and haggard
with famine and fatigue. The tidings of their
disaster had preceded them, borne by the fugitives
of the army. No one ventured to speak to the stern
Hamet el Zegri, as he entered the city; for they saw
a dark cloud gathered upon his brow.
It seemed (says the pious Antonio Agapida) as if
heaven meted out this defeat in exact retribution for
the ills inflicted upon the christian warriors in the
heights of Malaga. It was equally signal and disastrous.
Of the brilliant array of Moorish chivalry,
which had descended so confidently into Andalusia,
not more than two hundred escaped. The choicest
troops of the frontier were either taken or destroyed;
the Moorish garrisons enfeebled; and many alcaydes
and cavaliers of noble lineage carried into
captivity, who were afterwards obliged to redeem
themselves with heavy ransoms.
This was called the battle of Lopera, and was
fought on the 17th of September, 1483. Ferdinand
and Isabella were at Vittoria in Old Castile, when
they received news of the victory, and the standards
taken from the enemy. They celebrated the event
with processions, illuminations, and other festivities.
Ferdinand sent to the marques of Cadiz the royal
raiment which he had worn on that day, and conferred
on him, and on all those who should inherit
his title, the privilege of wearing royal robes on our
Lady's day, in September, in commemoration of this
victory.
[2]
Queen Isabella was equally mindful of the great
services of Don Luis Fernandez Puerto Carrero.
Besides many encomiums and favors, she sent to his
wife the royal vestments and robe of brocade which
she had worn on the same day, to be worn by her,
during her life, on the anniversary of that battle.**
