49. CHAPTER XLIX.
Conflagration of the Christian camp.
The ravages of war had as yet spared a little portion
of the vega of Granada. A green belt of gardens
and orchards still flourished round the city, extending
along the banks of the Xenel and the Darro.
They had been the solace and delight of the inhabitants
in their happier days, and contributed to their
sustenance in this time of scarcity. Ferdinand determined
to make a final and exterminating ravage to
the very walls of the city, so that there should not
remain a single green thing for the sustenance of man
or beast. The evening of a hot July day shone
splendidly upon the christian camp, which was in a
bustle of preparation for the next day's service—for
desperate resistance was expected from the Moors.
The camp made a glorious appearance, in the setting
sun. The various tents of the royal family and the
attendant nobles, were adorned with rich hangings,
and sumptuous devices, and costly furniture; forming,
as it were, a little city of silk and brocade, where
the pinnacles of pavilions of various gay colors, surmounted
with waving standards and fluttering pennons,
might vie with the domes and minarets of the
capital they were besieging.
In the midst of this little gaudy metropolis, the
lofty tent of the queen domineered over the rest like
a stately palace. The marques of Cadiz had courteously
surrendered his own tent to the queen; it
was the most complete and sumptuous in Christendom,
and had been carried about with him throughout
the war. In the centre rose a stately alfaneque or
pavilion in oriental taste, the rich hangings being supported
by columns of lances and ornamented with
martial devices. This central pavilion, or silken
tower, was surrounded by other compartments, some
of painted linen lined with silk, and all separated
from each other by curtains. It was one of those
camp palaces which are raised and demolished in an
instant, like the city of canvas that surrounds them.
As the evening advanced, the bustle in the camp
subsided. Every one sought repose, preparatory to
the next day's trial. The king retired early, that he
might be up with the crowing of the cock, to head
the destroying army in person. All stir of military
preparation was hushed in the royal quarters; the very
sound of ministrelsy was mute, and not the tinkling
of a guitar was to be heard from the tents of the fair
ladies of the court.
The queen had retired to the innermost part of her
pavilion, where she was performing her orisons before
a private altar; perhaps the peril to which the
king might be exposed in the next day's foray, inspired
her with more than usual devotion. While thus
at her prayers, she was suddenly aroused by a glare
of light, and wreaths of suffocating smoke. In an
instant, the whole tent was in a blaze: there was
a high gusty wind, which whirled the light flames
from tent to tent, and wrapped the whole in one
conflagration.
Isabella had barely time to save herself by instant
flight. Her first thought, on being extricated from
her tent, was for the safety of the king. She rushed
to his tent, but the vigilant Ferdinand was already
at the entrance of it. Starting from bed on the first
alarm, and fancying it an assault of the enemy, he
had seized his sword and buckler, and sallied forth
undressed, with his cuirass upon his arm.
The late gorgeous camp was now a scene of wild
confusion. The flames kept spreading from one
pavilion to another, glaring upon the rich armor, and
golden and silver vessels, which seemed melting in
the fervent heat. Many of the soldiers had erected
booths and bowers of branches, which, being dry,
crackled and blazed, and added to the rapid conflagration.
The ladies of the court fled, shrieking
and half-dressed, from their tents. There was an
alarm of drum and trumpet, and a distracted hurry
about the camp of men half armed. The prince
Juan had been snatched out of bed by an attendant,
and conveyed to the quarters of the count de Cabra,
which were at the entrance of the camp. The loyal
count immediately summoned his people, and those
of his cousin Don Alonzo de Montemayor, and formed
a guard round the tent in which the prince was
sheltered.
The idea that this was a stratagem of the Moors,
soon subsided; but it was feared that they might take
advantage of it, to assault the camp. The marques
of Cadiz, therefore, sallied forth with three thousand
horse, to check any advance from the city. As they
passed along, the whole camp was a scene of hurry
and consternation—some hastening to their posts, at
the call of drum and trumpet; some attempting to
save rich effects and glittering armor from the tents,
others dragging along terrified and restive horses.
When they emerged from the camp, they found
the whole firmament illuminated. The flames whirled
up in long light spires, and the air was filled with
sparks and cinders. A bright glare was thrown upon
the city, revealing every battlement and tower. Turbaned
heads were seen gazing from every roof, and
armor gleamed along the walls; yet not a single
warrior sallied from the gates: the Moors suspected
some stratagem on the part of the christians, and
kept quietly within their walls. By degrees, the
flames expired; the city faded from sight; all again
became dark and quiet, and the marques of Cadiz
returned with his cavalry to the camp.
