University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.
Result of the stratagem of El Zagal to surprise King
Ferdinand.

Queen Isabella and her court had remained at
Cordova, in great anxiety for the result of the royal
expedition. Every day brought tidings of the difficulties
which attended the transportation of the ordnance
and munitions, and of the critical state of the
army.

While in this state of anxious suspense, couriers
arrived with all speed from the frontiers, bringing
tidings of the sudden sally of El Zagal from Granada,
to surprise the camp. All Cordova was in consternation.
The destruction of the Andalusian chivalry,
among the mountains of this very neighborhood, was
called to mind; it was feared that similar ruin was
about to burst forth, from rocks and precipices, upon
Ferdinand and his army.

Queen Isabella shared in the public alarm, but it
served to rouse all the energies of her heroic mind.
Instead of uttering idle apprehensions, she sought
only how to avert the danger. She called upon all
the men of Andalusia, under the age of seventy, to
arm and hasten to the relief of their sovereign; and
she prepared to set out with the first levies. The
grand cardinal of Spain, old Pedro Gonzalez de
Mendoza, in whom the piety of the saint and the

wisdom of the counsellor were mingled with the fire
of the cavalier, offered high pay to all horsemen who
would follow him to aid their king and the christian
cause; and, buckling on armor, prepared to lead
them to the scene of danger.

The summons of the queen roused the quick Andalusian
spirit. Warriors who had long since given
up fighting, and had sent their sons to battle, now
seized the sword and lance that were rusting on the
wall, and marshalled forth their gray-headed domestics
and their grandchildren for the field. The great
dread was, that all aid would arrive too late: El
Zagal and his host had passed like a storm through
the mountains, and it was feared the tempest had
already burst upon the christian camp.

In the mean time, the night had closed which had
been appointed by El Zagal for the execution of his
plan. He had watched the last light of day expire,
and all the Spanish camp remained tranquil. As the
hours wore away, the camp-fires were gradually
extinguished. No drum or trumpet sounded from
below. Nothing was heard, but now and then the
dull heavy tread of troops, or the echoing tramp
of horses—the usual patrols of the camp, and the
changes of the guards. El Zagal restrained his own
impatience, and that of his troops, until the night
should be advanced, and the camp sunk in that
heavy sleep from which men are with difficulty
awakened; and, when awakened, so prone to be
bewildered and dismayed.

At length, the appointed hour arrived. By order

of the Moorish king, a bright flame sprung up from
the height of Bentomiz; but El Zagal looked in vain
for the responding light from the city. His impatience
would brook no longer delay; he ordered the
advance of the army, to descend the mountain defile
and attack the camp. The defile was narrow, and
overhung by rocks: as the troops proceeded, they
came suddenly, in a shadowy hollow, upon a dark
mass of christian warriors. A loud shout burst forth,
and the christians rushed to assail them; the Moors,
surprised and disconcerted, retreated in confusion to
the height. When El Zagal heard there was a christian
force posted in the defile, he doubted some
counter-plan of the enemy. He gave orders to light
the mountain fires. On a signal given, bright flames
sprung out on every height, from great pyres of
wood, prepared for the purpose: cliff blazed out
after cliff, until the whole atmosphere was in a glow
of furnace light. The ruddy glare lit up the glens
and passes of the mountain, and fell strongly upon
the christian camp, revealing all its tents and every
post and bulwark. Wherever El Zagal turned his
eyes, he beheld the light of his fires flashed back
from cuirass, and helm, and sparkling lance; he beheld
a grove of spears planted in every pass, every
assailable point bristling with arms, and squadrons
of horse and foot in battle array, awaiting his attack.

In fact, the letter of El Zagal to the alcayde of
Velez Malaga had been intercepted by the vigilant
Ferdinand; the renegado messenger hanged; and
secret measures taken, after the night had closed in,

to give the enemy a warm reception. El Zagal saw
that his plan of surprise was discovered and foiled;
furious with disappointment, he ordered his troops
forward to the attack. They rushed down the defile,
but were again encountered by the mass of
christian warriors, being the advance guard of the
army, commanded by Don Hurtado de Mendoza,
brother of the grand cardinal. The Moors were
again repulsed, and retreated up the height. Don
Hurtado would have followed them, but the ascent
was steep and rugged, and easily defended by the
Moors. A sharp action was kept up, through the
night, with cross-bows, darts, and arquebusses. The
cliffs echoed with deafening uproar, while the fires
blazing upon the mountains threw a lurid and uncertain
light upon the scene.

When the day dawned, and the Moors saw that
there was no co-operation from the city, they began
to slacken in their ardor: they beheld also every
pass of the mountain filled with christian troops, and
began to apprehend an assault in return. Just then
king Ferdinand sent the marques of Cadiz, with
horse and foot, to seize upon a height occupied by a
battalion of the enemy. The marques assailed the
Moors with his usual intrepidity, and soon put them
to flight. The others, who were above, seeing their
comrades flying, were seized with a sudden alarm:
they threw down their arms, and retreated. One of
those unaccountable panics, which now and then
seize upon great bodies of people, and to which the
light-spirited Moors were very prone, now spread

throughout the camp. They were terrified, they
knew not why, or at what. They threw away
swords, lances, breast-plates, cross-bows, every thing
that could burthen or impede their flight; and,
spreading themselves wildly over the mountains,
fled headlong down the defiles. They fled without
pursuers—from the glimpse of each other's arms,
from the sound of each other's footsteps. Rodovan
de Vanegas, the brave alcayde of Granada, alone
succeeded in collecting a body of the fugitives; he
made a circuit with them through the passes of the
mountain, and forcing his way across a weak part of
the christian lines, galloped towards Velez Malaga.
The rest of the Moorish host was completely scattered.
In vain did El Zagal and his knights attempt
to rally them; they were left almost alone, and had
to consult their own security by flight.

The marques of Cadiz, finding no opposition, ascended
from height to height, cautiously reconnoitring,
and fearful of some stratagem or ambush. All,
however, was quiet. He reached with his men the
place which the Moorish army had occupied: the
heights were abandoned, and strewed with cuirasses,
scimitars, cross-bows, and other weapons. His force
was too small to pursue the enemy, but returned to
the royal camp, laden with the spoils.

King Ferdinand, at first, could not credit so signal
and miraculous a defeat: he suspected some lurking
stratagem. He ordered, therefore, that a strict watch
should be maintained throughout the camp, and every
one be ready for instant action. The following night,

a thousand cavaliers and hidalgos kept guard about
the royal tent, as they had done for several preceding
nights; nor did the king relax this vigilance, until he
received certain intelligence that the enemy was
completely scattered, and El Zagal flying in confusion.

The tidings of this rout, and of the safety of the
christian army, arrived at Cordova just as reinforcements
were on the point of setting out. The anxiety
and alarm of the queen and the public, were turned
to transports of joy and gratitude. The forces were
disbanded, solemn processions were made, and te
deums chanted in the churches, for so signal a victory.