14. CHAPTER XIV.
How a Moorish santon undertook to deliver the city of
Malaga from the power of its enemies.
There lived at this time, in a hamlet in the neighborhood
of Guadix, an ancient Moor, of the name of
Abrahin Algerbi. He was a native of Guerba, in the
kingdom of Tunis, and had for several years led the
life of a santon or hermit. The hot sun of Africa
had dried his blood, and rendered him of an exalted
yet melancholy temperament. He passed most of
his time in meditation, prayer, and rigorous abstinence,
until his body was wasted and his mind bewildered,
and he fancied himself favored with divine
revelations. The Moors, who have a great reverence
for all enthusiasts of the kind, looked upon him
as inspired, listened to all his ravings as veritable
prophecies, and denominated him el santo, or the
saint.
The woes of the kingdom of Granada had long exasperated
the gloomy spirit of this man, and he had
beheld with indignation this beautiful country wrested
from the dominion of the faithful, and becoming
a prey to the unbelievers. He had implored the
blessings of Allah on the troops which issued forth
from Guadix for the relief of Malaga; but when he
saw them return, routed and scattered by their own
countrymen, he retired to his cell, shut himself up
from the world, and was plunged for a time in the
blackest melancholy.
On a sudden, he made his appearance again in
the streets of Guadix, his face haggard, his form
emaciated, but his eye beaming with fire. He said
that Allah had sent an angel to him in the solitude
of his cell, revealing to him a mode of delivering
Malaga from its perils, and striking horror and confusion
into the camp of the unbelievers. The Moors
listened with eager credulity to his words: four hundred
of them offered to follow him even to the death,
and to obey implicitly his commands. Of this number
many were Gomeres, anxious to relieve their
countrymen, who formed part of the garrison of
Malaga.
They traversed the kingdom by the wild and lonely
passes of the mountains, concealing themselves in
the day and travelling only in the night, to elude the
christian scouts. At length they arrived at the mountains
which tower above Malaga, and, looking down,
beheld the city completely invested; a chain of encampments
extending round it from shore to shore,
and a line of ships blockading it by sea; while the
continual thunder of artillery, and the smoke rising
in various parts, showed that the siege was pressed
with great activity. The hermit scanned the encampments
warily, from his lofty height. He saw
that the part of the encampment of the marques of
Cadiz which was at the foot of the height, and on
the margin of the sea, was most assailable, the rocky
soil not admitting ditches or palisadoes. Remaining
concealed all day, he descended with his followers
at night to the sea-coast, and approached silently to
the outworks. He had given them their instructions;
they were to rush suddenly upon the camp, fight
their way through, and throw themselves into the
city.
It was just at the gray of the dawning, when objects
are obscurely visible, that they made this desperate
attempt. Some sprang suddenly upon the
sentinels, others rushed into the sea and got round
the works, others clambered over the breastworks.
There was sharp skirmishing; a great part of the
Moors were cut to pieces, but about two hundred
succeeded in getting into the gates of Malaga.
The santon took no part in the conflict, nor did
he endeavor to enter the city. His plans were of a
different nature. Drawing apart from the battle, he
threw himself on his knees on a rising ground, and,
lifting his hands to Heaven, appeared to be absorbed
in prayer. The christians, as they were searching
for fugitives in the clefts of the rocks, found him at
his devotions. He stirred not at their approach, but
remained fixed as a statue, without changing color
or moving a muscle. Filled with surprise, not unmingled
with awe, they took him to the marques of
Cadiz. He was wrapped in a coarse albornoz, or
Moorish mantle; his beard was long and grizzled,
and there was something wild and melancholy in his
look, that inspired curiosity. On being examined, he
gave himself out as a saint to whom Allah had revealed
the events that were to take place in that siege.
The marques demanded when and how Malaga was
to be taken. He replied that he knew full well, but
he was forbidden to reveal those important secrets
except to the king and queen. The good marques
was not more given to superstitious fancies than
other commanders of his time, yet there seemed
something singular and mysterious about this man;
he might have some important intelligence to communicate;
so he was persuaded to send him to the
king and queen. He was conducted to the royal
tent, surrounded by a curious multitude, exclaiming
“
El Moro Santo!” for the news had spread through
the camp, that they had taken a Moorish prophet.
The king, having dined, was taking his siesta, or
afternoon's sleep, in his tent; and the queen, though
curious to see this singular man, yet, from a natural
delicacy and reserve, delayed until the king should
be present. He was taken therefore to an adjoining
tent, in which were Doña Beatrix de Bovadilla, marchioness
of Moya, and Don Alvaro of Portugal, son
of the duke of Braganza, with two or three attendants.
The Moor, ignorant of the Spanish tongue,
had not understood the conversation of the guards,
and supposed, from the magnificence of the furniture
and the silken hangings, that this was the royal tent.
From the respect paid by the attendants to Don Alvaro
and the marchioness, he concluded that they
were the king and queen.
He now asked for a draught of water; a jar was
brought to him, and the guard released his arm to
enable him to drink. The marchioness perceived a
sudden change in his countenance, and something
sinister in the expression of his eye, and shifted her
position to a more remote part of the tent. Pretending
to raise the water to his lips, the Moor unfolded
his albornoz, so as to grasp a scimitar which he wore
concealed beneath; then, dashing down the jar, he
drew his weapon, and gave Don Alvaro a blow on
the head, that struck him to the earth and nearly deprived
him of life. Turning then upon the marchioness,
he made a violent blow at her; but in his
eagerness and agitation, his scimitar caught in the
drapery of the tent; the force of the blow was
broken, and the weapon struck harmless upon some
golden ornaments of her head-dress.
[1]
Ruy Lopez de Toledo, treasurer to the queen, and
Juan de Belalcazar, a sturdy friar, who were present,
grappled and struggled with the desperado; and immediately
the guards, who had conducted him from
the marques de Cadiz, fell upon him and cut him to
pieces.[2]
The king and queen, brought out of their tents by
the noise, were filled with horror when they learned
the imminent peril from which they had escaped.
The mangled body of the Moor was taken by the
people to the camp, and thrown into the city from a
catapult. The Gomeres gathered up the body with
deep reverence, as the remains of a saint; they washed
and perfumed it, and buried it with great honor
and loud lamentations. In revenge of his death, they
slew one of their principal christian captives, and,
having tied his body upon an ass, they drove the animal
forth into the camp.
From this time, there was appointed an additional
guard around the tents of the king and queen, composed
of twelve hundred cavaliers of rank, of the
kingdoms of Castile and Arragon. No person was
admitted to the royal presence armed; no Moor was
allowed to enter the camp, without a previous knowledge
of his character and business; and on no account
was any Moor to be introduced into the presence
of the sovereigns.
An act of treachery of such ferocious nature, gave
rise to a train of gloomy apprehensions. There were
many cabins and sheds about the camp, constructed
of branches of trees which had become dry and combustible;
and fears were entertained that they might
be set on fire by the Mudexares or Moorish vassals,
who visited the army. Some even dreaded that attempts
might be made to poison the wells and fountains.
To quiet these dismal alarms, all Mudexares
were ordered to leave the camp; and all loose idle
loiterers, who could not give a good account of themselves,
were taken into custody.
