University of Virginia Library

48. CHAPTER XLVIII.
How Queen Isabella took a view of the city of Granada
—and how her curiosity cost the lives of many Christians
and Moors.

The royal encampment lay at such a distance from
Granada, that the general aspect of the city only could
be seen, as it rose gracefully from the vega, covering
the sides of the hills with palaces and towers. Queen
Isabella had expressed an earnest desire to behold,
nearer at hand, a city whose beauty was so renowned
throughout the world; and the marques of Cadiz,
with his accustomed courtesy, prepared a great military
escort and guard, to protect the queen and the
ladies of the court, while they enjoyed this perilous
gratification.

It was on the morning after the events recorded in
the preceding chapter, that a magnificent and powerful
train issued forth from the christian camp. The
advanced guard was composed of legions of cavalry,
heavily armed, that looked like moving masses of
polished steel. Then came the king and queen, with
the prince and princess, and the ladies of the court,
surrounded by the royal body-guard, sumptuously
arrayed, composed of the sons of the most illustrious
houses of Spain; after these was the rear-guard, composed
of a powerful force of horse and foot; for the
flower of the army sallied forth that day. The Moors

gazed with fearful admiration at this glorious pageant,
wherein the pomp of the court was mingled with
the terrors of the camp. It moved along in a radiant
line, across the vega, to the melodious thunders of
martial music; while banner and plume, and silken
scarf, and rich brocade, gave a gay and gorgeous
relief to the grim visage of iron war, that lurked
beneath.

The army moved towards the hamlet of Zubia,
built on the skirts of the mountain to the left of Granada,
and commanding a view of the Alhambra, and
the most beautiful quarter of the city. As they approached
the hamlet, the marques of Villena, the
count Ureña, and Don Alonzo de Aguilar, filed off
with their battalions, and were soon seen glittering
along the side of the mountain above the village. In
the mean time, the marques of Cadiz, the count de
Tendilla, the count de Cabra, and Don Alonzo Fernandez,
Senior of Alcandrete and Montemayor, drew
up their forces in battle array on the plain below the
hamlet, presenting a living barrier of loyal chivalry
between the sovereigns and the city.

Thus securely guarded, the royal party alighted,
and, entering one of the houses of the hamlet, which
had been prepared for their reception, enjoyed a full
view of the city from its terraced roof. The ladies
of the court gazed with delight at the red towers
of the Alhambra, rising from amidst shady groves,
anticipating the time when the Catholic sovereigns
should be enthroned within its walls, and its courts
shine with the splendor of Spanish chivalry. “The

reverend prelates and holy friars, who always surrounded
the queen, looked with serene satisfaction,”
says Fray Antonio Agapida, “at this modern Babylon,
enjoying the triumph that awaited them, when those
mosques and minarets should be converted into
churches, and goodly priests and bishops should succeed
to the infidel alfaquis.”

When the Moors beheld the christians thus drawn
forth in full array in the plain, they supposed it was
to offer them battle; and they hesitated not to accept
it. In a little while, the queen beheld a body of
Moorish cavalry pouring into the vega, the riders
managing their fleet and fiery steeds with admirable
address. They were richly armed, and clothed in
the most brilliant colors, and the caparisons of
their steeds flamed with gold and embroidery. This
was the favorite squadron of Muza, composed of the
flower of the youthful cavaliers of Granada. Others
succeeded, some heavily armed, some à la ginete
with lance and buckler; and lastly came the legions
of foot-soldiers, with arquebuss and cross-bow, and
spear and scimitar.

When the queen saw this army issuing from the
city, she sent to the marques of Cadiz, and forbade
any attack upon the enemy, or the acceptance of
any challenge to a skirmish; for she was loth that
her curiosity should cost the life of a single human
being.

The marques promised to obey, though sorely
against his will; and it grieved the spirit of the Spanish
cavaliers, to be obliged to remain with sheathed

swords while bearded by the foe. The Moors could
not comprehend the meaning of this inaction of the
christians, after having apparently invited a battle.
They sallied several times from their ranks, and approached
near enough to discharge their arrows; but
the christians were immovable. Many of the Moorish
horsemen galloped close to the christian ranks,
brandishing their lances and scimitars, and defying
various cavaliers to single combat; but king Ferdinand
had rigorously prohibited all duels of the kind,
and they dared not transgress his orders under his
very eye.

While this grim and reluctant tranquillity prevailed
along the christian line, there rose a mingled shout and
sound of laughter near the gate of the city. A Moorish
horseman, armed at all points, issued forth, followed
by a rabble, who drew back as he approached the
scene of danger. The Moor was more robust and
brawny than was common with his countrymen. His
visor was closed; he bore a huge buckler and a
ponderous lance; his scimitar was of a Damascus
blade, and his richly ornamented dagger was wrought
by an artificer of Fez. He was known by his device
to be Yarfe, the most insolent, yet valiant, of the
Moslem warriors—the same who had hurled into the
royal camp his lance, inscribed to the queen. As he
rode slowly along in front of the army, his very steed,
prancing with fiery eye and distended nostril, seemed
to breath defiance to the christians.

But what were the feelings of the Spanish cavaliers,
when they beheld, tied to the tail of his steed,

and dragged in the dust, the very inscription, “Ave
Maria,” which Hernando Perez del Pulgar had affixed
to the door of the mosque! A burst of horror and
indignation broke forth from the army. Hernando
del Pulgar was not at hand, to maintain his previous
achievement; but one of his young companions in
arms, Garcilasso de la Vega by name, putting spurs
to his horse, galloped to the hamlet of Zubia, threw
himself on his knees before the king, and besought
permission to accept the defiance of this insolent
infidel, and to revenge the insult offered to our blessed
Lady. The request was too pious to be refused:
Garcilasso remounted his steed; he closed his helmet,
graced by four sable plumes, grasped his buckler of
Flemish workmanship, and his lance of matchless
temper, and defied the haughty Moor in the midst of
his career. A combat took place, in view of the
two armies and of the Castilian court. The Moor
was powerful in wielding his weapons, and dextrous
in managing his steed. He was of larger frame than
Garcilasso, and more completely armed; and the
christians trembled for their champion. The shock
of their encounter was dreadful; their lances were
shivered, and sent up splinters in the air. Garcilasso
was thrown back in his saddle—his horse made a
wide career, before he could recover, gather up the
reins, and return to the conflict. They now encountered
each other with swords. The Moor circled
round his opponent, as a hawk circles whereabout
to make a swoop; his Arabian steed obeyed his
rider, with matchless quickness; at every attack of
the infidel, it seemed as if the christian knight must
sink beneath his flashing scimitar. But if Garcilasso
were inferior to him in power, he was superior in
agility: many of his blows he parried; others he received
upon his Flemish shield, which was proof
against the Damascus blade. The blood streamed
from numerous wounds received by either warrior.
The Moor, seeing his antagonist exhausted, availed
himself of his superior force, and, grappling, endeavored
to wrest him from his saddle. They both fell
to earth; the Moor placed his knee upon the breast
of his victim, and, brandishing his dagger, aimed a
blow at his throat. A cry of despair was uttered by
the christian warriors, when suddenly they beheld
the Moor rolling lifeless in the dust. Garcilasso had
shortened his sword, and, as his adversary raised his
arm to strike, had pierced him to the heart. “It
was a singular and miraculous victory,” says Fray
Antonio Agapida; “but the christian knight was
armed by the sacred nature of his cause, and the
holy virgin gave him strength, like another David, to
slay this gigantic champion of the Gentiles.”

The laws of chivalry were observed throughout
the combat—no one interfered on either side. Garcilasso
now despoiled his adversary; then, rescuing
the holy inscription of “Ave Maria” from its degrading
situation, he elevated it on the point of his sword,
and bore it off as a signal of triumph, amidst the rapturous
shouts of the christian army.

The sun had now reached the meridian; and the
hot blood of the Moors was inflamed by its rays, and

by the sight of the defeat of their champion. Muza
ordered two pieces of ordnance to open a fire upon
the christians. A confusion was produced in one
part of their ranks: Muza called to the chiefs of the
army, “Let us waste no more time in empty challenges—let
us charge upon the enemy: he who assaults
has always an advantage in the combat.” So
saying, he rushed forward, followed by a large body
of horse and foot, and charged so furiously upon the
advance guard of the christians, that he drove it in
upon the battalion of the marques of Cadiz.

The gallant marques now considered himself absolved
from all further obedience to the queen's commands.
He gave the signal to attack. “Santiago!”
was shouted along the line; and he pressed forward
to the encounter, with his battalion of twelve hundred
lances. The other cavaliers followed his example,
and the battle instantly became general.

When the king and queen beheld the armies thus
rushing to the combat, they threw themselves on their
knees, and implored the holy virgin to protect her
faithful warriors. The prince and princess, the ladies
of the court, and the prelates and friars who were
present, did the same; and the effect of the prayers
of these illustrious and saintly persons, was immediately
apparent. The fierceness with which the
Moors had rushed to the attack was suddenly cooled;
they were bold and adroit for a skirmish, but unequal
to the veteran Spaniards in the open field. A panic
seized upon the foot-soldiers—they turned, and took
to flight. Muza and his cavaliers in vain endeavored

to rally them. Some took refuge in the mountains;
but the greater part fled to the city, in such confusion
that they overturned and trampled upon each
other. The christians pursued them to the very gates.
Upwards of two thousand were either killed, wounded,
or taken prisoners; and the two pieces of ordnance
were brought off, as trophies of the victory.
Not a christian lance but was bathed that day in the
blood of an infidel.[1]

Such was the brief but bloody action, which was
known among the christian warriors by the name of
“the queen's skirmish;” for when the marques of
Cadiz waited upon her majesty to apologize for breaking
her commands, he attributed the victory entirely
to her presence. The queen, however, insisted that
it was all owing to her troops being led on by so
valiant a commander. Her majesty had not yet recovered
from her agitation at beholding so terrible a
scene of bloodshed; though certain veterans present
pronounced it as gay and gentle a skirmish as they
had ever witnessed.

To commemorate this victory, the queen afterwards
erected a monastery in this village of Zubia,
dedicated to St. Francisco, which still exists; and in
its garden is a laurel, planted by the hands of her
majesty.[2]