University of Virginia Library

32. CHAPTER XXXII.
How the Count de Cabra attempted to capture another
King, and how he fared in his attempt.

The elevation of a bold and active veteran to the
throne of Granada, in place of its late bedridden king,
made an important difference in the aspect of the
war, and called for some blow that should dash the
confidence of the Moors in their new monarch, and
animate the christians to fresh exertions.

Don Diego de Cordova, the brave count de Cabra,
was at this time in his castle of Vaena, where he kept
a wary eye upon the frontier. It was now the latter
part of August, and he grieved that the summer should
pass away without an inroad into the country of the
foe. He sent out his scouts on the prowl, and they
brought him word that the important post of Moclin
was but weakly garrisoned. This was a castellated
town, strongly situated upon a high mountain, partly
surrounded by thick forests, and partly girdled by a
river. It defended one of the rugged and solitary
passes, by which the christians were wont to make
their inroads; insomuch that the Moors, in their
figurative way, denominated it the shield of Granada.

The count de Cabra sent word to the monarchs
of the feeble state of the garrison, and gave it as his
opinion, that, by a secret and rapid expedition, the
place might be surprised. King Ferdinand asked

the advice of his counsellors. Some cautioned him
against the sanguine temperament of the count, and
his heedlessness of danger; Moclin, they observed,
was near to Granada, and might be promptly reinforced.
The opinion of the count, however, prevailed;
the king considering him almost infallible, in
matters of border warfare, since his capture of Boabdil
el Chico.

The king departed, therefore, from Cordova, and
took post at Alcala la Real, for the purpose of being
near to Moclin. The queen, also, proceeded to
Vaena, accompanied by her children, prince Juan
and the princess Isabella, and her great counsellor
in all matters, public and private, spiritual and temporal,
the venerable grand cardinal of Spain.

Nothing could exceed the pride and satisfaction
of the loyal count de Cabra, when he saw this stately
train winding along the dreary mountain roads, and
entering the gates of Vaena. He received his royal
guests with all due ceremony, and lodged them in
the best apartments that the warrior castle afforded,
being the same that had formerly been occupied by
the royal captive Boabdil.

King Ferdinand had concerted a wary plan, to insure
the success of the enterprise. The count de
Cabra and Don Martin Alonzo de Montemayor were
to set forth with their troops, so as to reach Moclin
by a certain hour, and to intercept all who should
attempt to enter, or should sally from the town. The
Master of Calatrava, the troops of the grand cardinal,
commanded by the count of Buendia, and the forces

of the bishop of Jaen, led by that belligerent prelate,
amounting in all to four thousand horse and six thousand
foot, were to set off in time to co-operate with
the count de Cabra, so as to surround the town. The
king was to follow with his whole force, and encamp
before the place.

And here the worthy padre Fray Antonio Agapida
breaks forth into a triumphant eulogy of the pious
prelates, who thus mingled personally in these scenes
of warfare. As this was a holy crusade (says he)
undertaken for the advancement of the faith and the
glory of the church, so was it always countenanced
and upheld by saintly men: for the victories of their
most Catholic majesties were not followed, like those
of mere worldly sovereigns, by erecting castles and
towers, and appointing alcaydes and garrisons; but
by the founding of convents and cathedrals, and the
establishment of wealthy bishoprics. Wherefore their
majesties were always surrounded, in court or camp,
in the cabinet or in the field, by a crowd of ghostly
advisers, inspiriting them to the prosecution of this
most righteous war. Nay, the holy men of the church
did not scruple, at times, to buckle on the cuirass over
the cassock, to exchange the crosier for the lance,
and thus, with corporal hands and temporal weapons,
to fight the good fight of the faith.

But to return from this rhapsody of the worthy
friar. The count de Cabra, being instructed in the
complicated arrangements of the king, marched forth
at midnight to execute them punctually. He led his
troops by the little river that winds below Vaena,

and so up the wild defiles of the mountains, marching
all night, and stopping only in the heat of the following
day, to repose under the shadowy cliffs of a deep
barranca, calculating to arrive at Moclin exactly in
time to co-operate with the other forces.

The troops had scarcely stretched themselves on
the earth to take repose, when a scout arrived,
bringing word that El Zagal had suddenly sallied
out of Granada with a strong force, and had encamped
in the vicinity of Moclin. It was plain that the
wary Moor had received information of the intended
attack. This, however, was not the idea that presented
itself to the mind of the count de Cabra. He
had captured one king—here was a fair opportunity
to secure another. What a triumph, to lodge another
captive monarch in his castle of Vaena!—what a
prisoner to deliver into the hands of his royal mistress!
Fired with the thoughts, the good count forgot
all the arrangements of the king; or rather, blinded
by former success, he trusted every thing to courage
and fortune, and thought that, by one bold swoop, he
might again bear off the royal prize, and wear his
laurels without competition.[1] His only fear was
that the Master of Calatrava, and the belligerent
bishop, might come up in time to share the glory of
the victory; so, ordering every one to horse, this
hot-spirited cavalier pushed on for Moclin, without
allowing his troops the necessary time for repose.

The evening closed, as the count arrived in the

neighborhood of Moclin. It was the full of the moon,
and a bright and cloudless night. The count was
marching through one of those deep valleys or ravines,
worn in the Spanish mountains by the brief but tremendous
torrents which prevail during the autumnal
rains. It was walled on each side by lofty and almost
perpendicular cliffs, but great masses of moonlight
were thrown into the bottom of the glen, glittering
on the armor of the shining squadrons, as they
silently passed through it. Suddenly the war-cry of
the Moors rose in various parts of the valley; “El
Zagal! El Zagal!” was shouted from every cliff, accompanied
by showers of missiles, that struck down
several of the christian warriors. The count lifted
up his eyes, and beheld, by the light of the moon,
every cliff glistening with Moorish soldiery. The
deadly shower fell thickly round him, and the shining
armor of his followers made them fair objects for the
aim of the enemy. The count saw his brother Gonzalo
struck dead by his side; his own horse sunk
under him, pierced by four Moorish lances; and he
received a wound in the hand from an arquebuss.
He remembered the horrible massacre of the mountains
of Malaga, and feared a similar catastrophe.
There was no time to pause. His brother's horse,
freed from his slaughtered rider, was running at
large; seizing the reins, he sprang into the saddle,
called upon his men to follow him, and, wheeling
round, retreated out of the fatal valley.

The Moors, rushing down from the heights, pursued
the retreating christians. The chase endured

for a league, but it was a league of rough and broken
road, where the christians had to turn and fight at
almost every step. In these short but fierce combats,
the enemy lost many cavaliers of note; but the loss
of the christians was infinitely more grievous, comprising
numbers of the noblest warriors of Vaena and
its vicinity. Many of the christians, disabled by
wounds or exhausted by fatigue, turned aside and
endeavored to conceal themselves among rocks and
thickets, but never more rejoined their companions,
being slain or captured by the Moors, or perishing in
their wretched retreats.

The arrival of the troops, led by the Master of
Calatrava and the bishop of Jaen, put an end to the
route. El Zagal contented himself with the laurels
he had gained, and, ordering the trumpets to call off
his men from the pursuit, returned in great triumph
to Moclin.[2]

Queen Isabella was at Vaena, awaiting with great
anxiety the result of the expedition. She was in a
stately apartment of the castle, looking towards the
road that winds through the mountains from Moclin,
and regarding the watch-towers that crowned the
neighboring heights, in hopes of favorable signals.
The prince and princess, her children, were with
her, and her venerable counsellor the grand cardinal.
All shared in the anxiety of the moment. At length
couriers were seen riding toward the town. They
entered its gates, but before they reached the castle,

the nature of their tidings was known to the queen,
by the shrieks and wailings that rose from the streets
below. The messengers were soon followed by
wounded fugitives, hastening home to be relieved, or
to die among their friends and families. The whole
town resounded with lamentations; for it had lost
the flower of its youth, and its bravest warriors.
Isabella was a woman of courageous soul, but her
feelings were overpowered by the spectacle of wo
which presented itself on every side; her maternal
heart mourned over the death of so many loyal subjects,
who so shortly before had rallied round her
with devoted affection; and, losing her usual self-command,
she sunk into deep despondency.

In this gloomy state of mind, a thousand apprehensions
crowded upon her. She dreaded the confidence
which this success would impart to the Moors: she
feared also for the important fortress of Alhama, the
garrison of which had not been reinforced, since its
foraging party had been cut off by this same El
Zagal. On every side the queen saw danger and
disaster, and feared that a general reverse was about
to attend the Castilian arms.

The grand cardinal comforted her with both spiritual
and worldly counsel. He told her to recollect
that no country was ever conquered without occasional
reverses to the conquerors; that the Moors
were a warlike people, fortified in a rough and
mountainous country, where they never could be
conquered by her ancestors,—and that in fact her
armies had already, in three years, taken more cities

than those of any of her predecessors had been able
to do in twelve. He concluded by offering himself
to take the field, with three thousand cavalry, his
own retainers, paid and maintained by himself, and
either hasten to the relief of Alhama, or undertake
any other expedition her majesty might command.
The discreet words of the cardinal soothed the spirit
of the queen, who always looked to him for consolation;
and she soon recovered her usual equanimity.

Some of the counsellors of Isabella, of that politic
class who seek to rise by the faults of others, were
loud in their censures of the rashness of the count.
The queen defended him, with prompt generosity.
“The enterprise,” said she, “was rash, but not more
rash than that of Lucena, which was crowned with
success, and which we have all applauded as the
height of heroism. Had the count de Cabra succeeded
in capturing the uncle, as he did the nephew,
who is there that would not have praised him to the
skies?”

The magnanimous words of the queen put a stop
to all invidious remarks in her presence; but certain
of the courtiers, who had envied the count the glory
gained by his former achievements, continued to
magnify, among themselves, his present imprudence;
and we are told by Fray Antonio Agapida, that they
sneeringly gave the worthy cavalier the appellation
of count de Cabra, the king-catcher.

Ferdinand had reached the place on the frontier
called the Fountain of the King, within three leagues
of Moclin, when he heard of the late disaster. He

greatly lamented the precipitation of the count, but
forbore to express himself with severity, for he knew
the value of that loyal and valiant cavalier.[3] He
held a council of war, to determine what course was
to be pursued. Some of his cavaliers advised him to
abandon the attempt upon Moclin, the place being
strongly reinforced, and the enemy inspirited by his
recent victory. Certain old Spanish hidalgos reminded
him that he had but few Castilian troops in
his army, without which staunch soldiery his predecessors
never presumed to enter the Moorish territory;
while others remonstrated that it would be
beneath the dignity of the king to retire from an enterprise,
on account of the defeat of a single cavalier
and his retainers. In this way the king was distracted
by a multitude of counsellors, when fortunately a
letter from the queen put an end to his perplexities.
Proceed we, in the next chapter, to relate what was
the purport of that letter.