University of Virginia Library

APPENDIX.

FATE OF BOABDIL EL CHICO.

The Chronicle of the Conquest of Granada is finished;
but the reader may be desirous of knowing the subsequent
fortunes of some of the principal personages. The
unfortunate Boabdil retired to the valley of Purchena, where
a small but fertile territory had been allotted him, comprising
several towns, with all their rights and revenues.
Great estates had likewise been bestowed on his vizier Yusef
Aben Comixa and his valiant relation and friend Yusef Venegas,
both of whom resided near him. Were it in the heart
of man in the enjoyment of present competence to forget past
splendor, Boabdil might at length have been happy. Dwelling
in the bosom of a delightful valley, surrounded by obedient
vassals, devoted friends, and a loving family, he might
have looked back upon his past career as upon a troubled
and terrific dream, and might have thanked his stars that he
had at length awaked to sweet and tranquil security. But
the dethroned prince could never forget that he had once
been a monarch; and the remembrance of the regal splendors
of Granada, made all present comforts contemptible in his
eyes. No exertions were spared by Ferdinand and Isabella,
to induce him to embrace the Catholic religion; but he remained
true to the faith of his fathers, and it added not a
little to his humiliation, to live a vassal under christian
sovereigns.

It is probable that his residence in the kingdom was equally
irksome to the politic Ferdinand, who could not feel perfectly
secure in his newly conquered territories, while there was
one within their bounds who might revive pretensions to the
throne. A private bargain was therefore made, in the year

1496, between Ferdinand and Yusef Aben Comixa, in which
the latter, as vizier of Boabdil, undertook to dispose of his
master's scanty territory, for eighty thousand ducats of gold.
This, it is affirmed, was done without the consent or knowledge
of Boabdil; but the vizier probably thought he was
acting for the best.

The shrewd Ferdinand does not appear to have made any
question about the right of the vizier to make the sale, but
paid the money with secret exultation. Yusef Aben Comixa
loaded the treasure upon mules, and departed joyfully for
the Alpuxarras. He spread the money in triumph before
Boabdil: “Senior,” said he, “I have observed that as long
as you live here, you are exposed to constant peril. The
Moors are rash and irritable; they may make some sudden
insurrection, elevate your standard as a pretext, and thus
overwhelm you and your friends with utter ruin. I have
observed also that you pine away with grief, being continually
reminded in this country that you were once its sovereign,
but never more must hope to reign. I have put an end
to these evils. Your territory is sold—behold the price of it.
With this gold you may buy far greater possessions in Africa,
where you may live in honor and security.”

When Boabdil heard these words, he burst into a sudden
transport of rage, and, drawing his scimitar, would have sacrificed
the officious Yusef on the spot, had not the attendants
interfered, and hurried the vizier from his presence.

Boabdil was not of a vindictive spirit, and his anger soon
passed away. He saw that the evil was done, and he knew
the spirit of the politic Ferdinand too well to hope that he
would retract the bargain. Gathering together the money,
therefore, and all his jewels and precious effects, he departed
with his family and household for a port where a vessel had
been carefully provided by the Castilian king to transport
them to Africa.

A crowd of his former subjects witnessed his embarkation.
As the sails were unfurled and swelled to the breeze, and the

vessel parted from the land, the spectators would fain have
given him a parting cheering; but the humbled state of their
once proud sovereign forced itself upon their minds, and the
ominous surname of his youth rose involuntarily to their
tongues: “Farewell, Boabdil! Allah preserve thee, El Zogoybi!”
burst spontaneously from their lips. The unlucky appellation
sank into the heart of the expatriated monarch, and
tears dimmed his eyes as the snowy summits of the mountains
of Granada gradually faded from his view.

He was received with welcome at the court of his relation,
Muley Ahmed, king of Fez, and resided for many years in
his territories. How he passed his life, whether repining or
resigned, history does not mention. The last we find recorded
of him is in the year 1536, thirty-four years after the surrender
of Granada, when he followed the king of Fez to the
field, to quell the rebellion of two brothers named Xerifes.
The armies came in sight of each other, on the banks of the
Guadiswed, at the ford of Bacuba. The river was deep, the
banks were high and broken; for three days the armies remained
firing at each other across the stream, neither venturing
to attempt the dangerous ford.

At length the king of Fez divided his army into three battalions;
the first led on by his son, and by Boabdil el Chico.
They boldly dashed across the ford, scrambled up the opposite
bank, and attempted to keep the enemy employed until the
other battalions should have time to cross. The rebel army,
however, attacked them with such fury, that the son of the
king of Fez and several of the bravest alcaydes were slain
upon the spot; multitudes were driven back into the river,
which was already crowded with passing troops. A dreadful
confusion took place; the horse trampled upon the foot;
the enemy pressed on them with fearful slaughter; those who
escaped the sword perished by the stream; the river was
choked by the dead bodies of men and horses, and by the
scattered baggage of the army. In this scene of horrible
carnage fell Boabdil, truly called El Zogoybi, or the un

lucky;—an instance, says the ancient chronicler, of the scornful
caprice of fortune, dying in defence of the kingdom of
another, after wanting spirit to die in defence of his own.”[1]

Note.—A portrait of Boabdil el Chico is to be seen in the picture-gallery
of the Generalife. He is represented with a mild handsome face, a
fair complexion, and yellow hair. His dress is of yellow brocade, relieved
with black velvet, and he has a black velvet cap, surmounted with a crown.
In the armory of Madrid are two suits of armor, said to have belonged to
him. One is of solid steel, with very little ornament, the helmet closed.
From the proportions of these suits of armor, he must have been of full
stature and vigorous form.

DEATH OF THE MARQUES OF CADIZ.

The renowned Roderigo Ponce de Leon, Marques, Duke
of Cadiz, was unquestionably the most distinguished among
the cavaliers of Spain, for his zeal, enterprise, and heroism,
in the great crusade of Granada. He began the war by the
capture of Alhama; he was engaged in almost every inroad
and siege of importance, during its continuance; and he was
present at the surrender of the capital, which was the closing
scene of the conquest. The renown he thus acquired was
sealed by his death, which happened in the forty-eighth year
of his age, almost immediately at the close of his triumphs,
and before a leaf of his laurels had time to wither. He died
at his palace in the city of Seville, on the 27th day of August,
1492, but a few months after the surrender of Granada, and
of an illness caused by the exposures and fatigues he had undergone
in this memorable war. That honest chronicler,
Andres Bernaldes, the curate of Los Palacios, who was a
contemporary of the marques, draws his portrait from actual
knowledge and observation. He was universally cited (says
he) as the most perfect model of chivalrous virtue of the
age. He was temperate, chaste, and rigidly devout; a benignant
commander, a valiant defender of his vassals, a great
lover of justice, and an enemy to all flatterers, liars, robbers,
traitors, and poltroons.

His ambition was of a lofty kind—he sought to distinguish
himself and his family, by heroic and resounding deeds; and
to increase the patrimony of his ancestors, by the acquisition
of castles, domains, vassals, and other princely possessions.
His recreations were all of a warlike nature; he delighted
in geometry as applied to fortifications, and spent much time
and treasure in erecting and repairing fortresses. He relished
music, but of a military kind—the sound of clarions and sackbuts,
of drums and trumpets. Like a true cavalier, he was
a protector of the sex on all occasions, and an injured woman

never applied to him in vain for redress. His prowess was
so well known, and his courtesy to the fair, that the ladies of
the court, when they accompanied the queen to the wars,
rejoiced to find themselves under his protection; for wherever
his banner was displayed, the Moors dreaded to adventure.
He was a faithful and devoted friend, but a formidable enemy;
for he was slow to forgive, and his vengeance was persevering
and terrible.

The death of this good cavalier spread grief and lamentation
throughout all ranks, for he was universally honored and
beloved. His relations, dependants, and companions in arms,
put on mourning for his loss; and so numerous were they,
that half of Seville was clad in black. None, however, deplored
his death more deeply and sincerely than his friend
and chosen companion, Don Alonzo de Aguilar.

The funeral ceremonies were of the most solemn and sumptuous
kind. The body of the marques was arrayed in a costly
shirt, a doublet of brocade, a sayo or long robe of black velvet,
a marlota or Moorish tunic of brocade that reached to
the feet, and scarlet stockings. His sword, superbly gilt,
was girded to his side, as he used to wear it when in the
field. Thus magnificently attired, the body was inclosed in a
coffin, which was covered with black velvet, and decorated
with a cross of white damask. It was then placed on a sumptuous
bier, in the centre of the great hall of the palace. Here
the duchess made great lamentation over the body of her
lord, in which she was joined by her train of damsels and attendants,
as well as by the pages and esquires, and innumerable
vassals of the marques.

In the close of the evening, just before the Ave Maria, the
funeral train issued from the palace. Ten banners were borne
around the bier, the particular trophies of the marques, won
from the Moors by his valor in individual enterprises, before
king Ferdinand had commenced the war of Granada. The
procession was swelled by an immense train of bishops,
priests, and friars of different orders, together with the civil

and military authorities, and all the chivalry of Seville, headed
by the count of Cifuentes, at that time intendente or commander
of the city. It moved slowly and solemnly through
the streets, stopping occasionally, and chanting litanies and
responses. Two hundred and forty waxen tapers shed a light
like the day about the bier. The balconies and windows
were crowded with ladies, who shed tears as the funeral
train passed by; while the women of the lower classes were
loud in their lamentations, as if bewailing the loss of a father
or a brother. On approaching the convent of St. Augustine,
the monks came forth with the cross and tapers, and eight
censers, and conducted the body into the church, where it
lay in state until all the vigils were performed, by the different
orders; after which it was deposited in the family tomb
of the Ponces in the same church, and the ten banners were
suspended over the sepulchre.[2]

The tomb of the valiant Roderigo Ponce de Leon, with his
banners mouldering above it, remained for ages an object of
veneration with all who had read or heard of his virtues and
achievements. In the year 1810, however, the chapel was
sacked by the French, its altars overturned, and the sepulchres
of the family of the Ponces shattered to pieces. The
present duchess of Benevente, the worthy descendant of this
illustrious and heroic line, has since piously collected the
ashes of her ancestors, restored the altar, and repaired the
chapel. The sepulchres, however, were utterly destroyed;
an inscription in gold letters, on the wall of the chapel, to the
right of the altar, is all that denotes the place of sepulture of
the brave Ponce de Leon.

THE LEGEND OF THE DEATH OF DON ALONZO
DE AGUILAR.

To such as feel an interest in the fortunes of the valiant
Don Alonzo de Aguilar, the chosen friend and companion in
arms of Ponce de Leon, marques of Cadiz, and one of the
most distinguished heroes of the war of Granada, a few particulars
of his remarkable fate will not be unacceptable.
They are found among the manuscripts of the worthy padre
Fray Antonio Agapida, and appear to have been appended
to this Chronicle.

For several years after the conquest of Granada, the country
remained feverish and unquiet. The zealous efforts of
the catholic clergy to effect the conversion of the infidels,
and the pious coercion used for that purpose by government,
exasperated the stubborn Moors of the mountains. Several
missionaries were maltreated; and in the town of Dayrin, two
of them were seized, and exhorted, with many menaces, to
embrace the Moslem faith; on their resolutely refusing, they
were killed with staves and stones, by the Moorish women
and children, and their bodies burnt to ashes.[3]

Upon this event, a body of christian cavaliers assembled in
Andalusia to the number of eight hundred, and, without
waiting for orders from the king, revenged the death of these
martyrs, by plundering and laying waste the Moorish towns
and villages. The Moors fled to the mountains, and their
cause was espoused by many of their nation, who inhabited
those rugged regions. The storm of rebellion began to
gather, and mutter its thunders in the Alpuxarras. They
were echoed from the Serrania of Ronda, ever ready for
rebellion; but the strongest hold of the insurgents was in the
Sierra Vermeja, or chain of Red Mountains, which lie near

the sea, and whose savage rocks and precipices may be seen
from Gibraltar.

When king Ferdinand heard of these tumults, he issued
a proclamation ordering all the Moors of the insurgent regions
to leave them within ten days, and repair to Castile;
giving secret instructions, however, that those who should
voluntarily embrace the christian faith might be permitted
to remain. At the same time, he ordered Don Alonzo de
Aguilar, and the counts of Ureña and Cifuentes, to march
against the rebels.

Don Alonzo de Aguilar was at Cordova, when he received
the commands of the king. “What force is allotted us for
this expedition?” said he. On being told, he perceived that
the number of troops was far from adequate. “When a
man is dead,” said he, “we send four men into his house
to bring forth the body. We are now sent to chastise these
Moors, who are alive, vigorous, in open rebellion, and ensconced
in their castles; yet they do not give us man to man.”
These words of the brave Alonzo de Aguilar were afterwards
frequently repeated; but though he saw the desperate nature
of the enterprise, he did not hesitate to undertake it.

Don Alonzo was at that time in the fifty-first year of his
age. He was a veteran warrior, in whom the fire of youth
was yet unquenched, though tempered by experience. The
greater part of his life had been passed in the camp and in
the field, until danger was as his natural element. His muscular
frame had acquired the firmness of iron, without the
rigidity of age. His armor and weapons seemed to have
become a part of his nature, and he sat like a man of steel
on his powerful war-horse.

He took with him, on this expedition, his son Don Pedro
de Cordova, a youth of bold and generous spirit, in the
freshness of his days, and armed and arrayed with all the
bravery of a young Spanish cavalier. When the populace of
Cordova beheld the veteran father, the warrior of a thousand
battles, leading forth his youthful son to the field, they be

thought themselves of the family appellation: “Behold,”
cried they, “the eagle teaching his young to fly! Long live
the valiant line of Aguilar!”[4]

The prowess of Don Alonzo, and of his companions in
arms, was renowned throughout the Moorish towns. At their
approach, therefore, numbers of the Moors submitted, and
hastened to Ronda to embrace christianity. Among the
mountaineers, however, there were many of the Gaudules,
a fierce tribe from Africa, too proud of spirit to bend their
necks to the yoke. At their head was a Moor named El
Feri of Ben Estepar, renowned for strength and courage.
At his instigations, his followers gathered together their families
and most precious effects, placed them on mules, and,
driving before them their flocks and herds, abandoned their
valleys, and retired up the craggy passes of the Sierra Vermeja.
On the summit was a fertile plain, surrounded by
rocks and precipices, which formed a natural fortress. Here
El Feri placed all the women and children, and all the property.
By his orders, his followers piled great stones on the
rocks and cliffs which commanded the defiles and the steep
sides of the mountain, and prepared to defend every pass that
led to his place of refuge.

The christian commanders arrived, and pitched their camp
before the town of Monarda, a strong place, curiously fortified,
and situated at the foot of the highest part of the Sierra
Vermeja. Here they remained for several days, unable to
compel a surrender. They were separated from the skirt of
the mountain by a deep barranca or ravine, at the bottom of
which flowed a small stream. The Moors, commanded by
El Feri, drew down from their mountain height, and remained
on the opposite side of the brook, to defend a pass which
led up to their strong-hold.

One afternoon, a number of christian soldiers, in mere
bravado, seized a banner, crossed the brook, and, scrambling

up the opposite bank, attacked the Moors. They were followed
by numbers of their companions, some in aid, some
in emulation, but most in hope of booty. A sharp action
ensued on the mountain side. The Moors were greatly superior
in number, and had the vantage-ground. When the
counts of Ureña and Cifuentes beheld this skirmish, they
asked Don Alonzo de Aguilar his opinion: “My opinion,”
said he, “was given at Cordova, and remains the same; this
is a desperate enterprise: however, the Moors are at hand,
and if they suspect weakness in us, it will increase their
courage and our peril. Forward then to the attack, and I
trust in God we shall gain a victory.” So saying, he led his
troops into the battle.[5]

On the skirts of the mountain were several level places,
like terraces; here the christians pressed valiantly upon the
Moors, and had the advantage; but the latter retreated to
the steep and craggy heights, from whence they hurled darts
and rocks upon their assailants. They defended their passes
and defiles with ferocious valor, but were driven from height
to height, until they reached the plain on the summit of the
mountain, where their wives and children were sheltered.
Here they would have made a stand; but Alonzo de Aguilar,
with his son Don Pedro, charged upon them at the head of
three hundred men, and put them to flight with dreadful carnage.
While they were pursuing the flying enemy, the rest
of the army, thinking the victory achieved, dispersed themselves
over the little plain in search of plunder. They pursued
the shrieking females, tearing off their necklaces, bracelets,
and anklets of gold; and they found so much treasure of
various kinds collected in this spot, that they threw by their
armor and weapons, to load themselves with booty.

Evening was closing. The christians, intent upon spoil,
had ceased to pursue the Moors, and the latter were arrested
in their flight by the cries of their wives and children. Their

fierce leader El Feri threw himself before them: “Friends,
soldiers,” cried he, “whither do you fly? Whither can you
seek refuge, where the enemy cannot follow you? Your
wives, your children, are behind you—turn and defend them;
you have no chance for safety, but from the weapons in your
hands.”

The Moors turned at his words. They beheld the christians
scattered about the plain, many of them without armor,
and all encumbered with spoil. “Now is the time!”
shouted El Feri; “charge upon them, while laden with your
plunder. I will open a path for you!” He rushed to the
attack, followed by his Moors, with shouts and cries that
echoed through the mountains. The scattered christians
were seized with panic, and, throwing down their booty, began
to fly in all directions. Don Alonzo de Aguilar advanced
his banner, and endeavored to rally them. Finding his horse
of no avail in these rocky heights, he dismounted, and caused
his men to do the same; he had a small band of tried followers,
with which he opposed a bold front to the Moors, calling
on the seattered troops to rally in the rear.

Night had completely closed. It prevented the Moors from
seeing the smallness of the force with which they were contending;
and Don Alonzo and his cavaliers dealt their blows
so vigorously, that, aided by the darkness, they seemed multiplied
to ten times their number. Unfortunately, a small cask
of gunpowder blew up, near to the scene of action. It shed
a momentary but brilliant light over all the plain, and on
every rock and cliff. The Moors beheld, with surprise, that
they were opposed by a mere handful of men, and that the
greater part of the christians were flying from the field.
They put up loud shouts of triumph. While some continued
the conflict with redoubled ardor, others pursued the fugitives,
hurling after them stones and darts, and discharging
showers of arrows. Many of the christians, in their terror
and their ignorance of the mountains, rushed headlong from
the brinks of precipices, and were dashed in pieces.

Don Alonzo de Aguilar still maintained his ground; but,
while some of the Moors assailed him in front, others galled
him with all kinds of missiles from the impending cliffs.
Some of the cavaliers, seeing the hopeless nature of the conflict,
proposed that they should abandon the height and retreat
down the mountain: “No,” said Don Alonzo, proudly;
“never did the banner of the house of Aguilar retreat one
foot in the field of battle.” He had scarcely uttered these
words, when his son Don Pedro was stretched at his feet. A
stone hurled from a cliff had struck out two of his teeth, and
a lance passed quivering through his thigh. The youth attempted
to rise, and, with one knee on the ground, to fight
by the side of his father. Don Alonzo, finding him wounded,
urged him to quit the field. “Fly, my son!” said he; “let
us not put every thing at venture upon one hazard. Conduct
thyself as a good christian, and live to comfort and honor
thy mother.”

Don Pedro still refused to leave his side. Whereupon
Don Alonzo ordered several of his followers to bear him off
by force. His friend Don Francisco Alvarez of Cordova,
taking him in his arms, conveyed him to the quarters of the
count of Ureña; who had halted on the height, at some distance
from the scene of battle, for the purpose of rallying and
succoring the fugitives. Almost at the same moment, the
count beheld his own son, Don Pedro Giron, brought in
grievously wounded.

In the mean time, Don Alonzo, with two hundred cavaliers,
maintained the unequal contest. Surrounded by foes,
they fell, one after another, like so many noble stags encircled
by the hunters. Don Alonzo was the last survivor, without
horse, and almost without armor—his corselet unlaced, and
his bosom gashed with wounds. Still he kept a brave front
towards the enemy, and, retiring between two rocks, defended
himself with such valor, that the slain lay in a heap
before him.

He was assailed in this retreat, by a Moor of surpassing

strength and fierceness. The contest was for some time
doubtful; but Don Alonzo received a wound in the head, and
another in the breast, that made him stagger. Closing and
grappling with his foe, they had a desperate struggle, until
the christian cavalier, exhausted by his wounds, fell upon his
back. He still retained his grasp upon his enemy: “Think
not,” cried he, “thou hast an easy prize; know that I am
Don Alonzo, he of Aguilar!”—“If thou art Don Alonzo,”
replied the Moor “know that I am El Feri of Ben Estepar.”
They continued their deadly struggle, and both drew their
daggers; but Don Alonzo was exhausted by seven ghastly
wounds: while he was yet struggling, his heroic soul departed
from his body, and he expired in the grasp of the Moor.

Thus fell Alonzo de Aguilar, the mirror of Andalusian
chivalry—one of the most powerful grandees of Spain, for
person, blood, estate, and office. For forty years he had made
successful war upon the Moors—in childhood by his household
and retainers, in manhood by the prowess of his arm, and
in the wisdom and valor of his spirit. His pennon had always
been foremost in danger; he had been general of armies, viceroy
of Andalusia, and the author of glorious enterprises, in
which kings were vanquished, and mighty alcaydes and warriors
laid low. He had slain many Moslem chiefs with his own
arm, and among others the renowned Ali Atar of Loxa, fighting
foot to foot, on the banks of the Xenel. His judgment,
discretion, magnanimity, and justice, vied with his prowess.
He was the fifth lord of his warlike house, that fell in battle
with the Moors.

“His soul,” observes the worthy padre Abarca, “it is believed
ascended to heaven, to receive the reward of so christian
a captain; for that very day, he had armed himself with
the sacraments of confession and communion.”[6]

The Moors, elated with their success, pursued the fugitive
christians down the defiles and sides of the mountains.

It was with the utmost difficulty that the count de Ureña
could bring off a remnant of his forces from that disastrous
height. Fortunately, on the lower slope of the mountain,
they found the rear-guard of the army, led by the count de
Cifuentes, who had crossed the brook and the ravine to come
to their assistance. As the fugitives came flying in headlong
terror down the mountain, it was with difficulty the count
kept his own troops from giving way in panic, and retreating
in confusion across the brook. He succeeded however in
maintaining order, in rallying the fugitives, and checking the
fury of the Moors: then, taking his station on a rocky eminence,
he maintained his post until morning; sometimes sustaining
violent attacks, at other times rushing forth and
making assaults upon the enemy. When morning dawned,
the Moors ceased to combat, and drew up to the summit of
the mountain.

It was then that the christians had time to breathe, and to
ascertain the dreadful loss they had sustained. Among the
many valiant cavaliers who had fallen, was Don Francisco
Ramirez of Madrid, who had been captain-general of artillery
throughout the war of Granada, and had contributed
greatly by his valor and ingenuity to that renowned conquest.
But all other griefs and cares were forgotten, in anxiety
for the fate of Don Alonzo de Aguilar. His son, Don Pedro
de Cordova, had been brought off with great difficulty from
the battle, and afterwards lived to be marques of Priego; but
of Don Alonzo nothing was known, except that he was left
with a handful of cavaliers, fighting valiantly against an
overwhelming force.

As the rising sun lighted up the red cliffs of the mountains,
the soldiers watched with anxious eyes, if perchance his pennon
might be descried, fluttering from any precipice or defile;
but nothing of the kind was to be seen. The trumpet-call
was repeatedly sounded, but empty echoes alone replied. A
silence reigned about the mountain summit, which showed
that the deadly strife was over. Now and then a wounded

warrior came dragging his feeble steps from among the clefts
and rocks; but, on being questioned, he shook his head
mournfully, and could tell nothing of the fate of his commander.

The tidings of this disastrous defeat, and of the perilous
situation of the survivors, reached king Ferdinand at Granada;
he immediately marched, at the head of all the chivalry
of his court, to the mountains of Ronda. His presence, with
a powerful force, soon put an end to the rebellion. A part of
the Moors were suffered to ransom themselves, and to embark
for Africa; others were made to embrace christianity;
and those of the town where the christian missionaries had
been massacred, were sold as slaves. From the conquered
Moors, the mournful but heroic end of Alonzo de Aguilar
was ascertained.

On the morning after the battle, when the Moors came to
strip and bury the dead, the body of Don Alonzo was found,
among those of more than two hundred of his followers, many
of them alcaydes and cavaliers of distinction. Though the
person of Don Alonzo was well known to the Moors, being so
distinguished among them both in peace and war, yet it was
so covered and disfigured with wounds, that it could with
difficulty be recognised. They preserved it with great care,
and, on making their submission, delivered it up to king Ferdinand.
It was conveyed with great state to Cordova, amidst
the tears and lamentations of all Andalusia. When the funeral
train entered Cordova, and the inhabitants saw the
coffin containing the remains of their favorite hero, and the
war horse, led in mournful trappings, on which they had so
lately seen him sally forth from their gates, there was a
general burst of grief throughout the city. The body was
interred, with great pomp and solemnity, in the church of
St. Hypolito.

Many years afterwards, his grand-daughter, Doña Catalina
of Aguilar and Cordova, marchioness of Priego, caused his
tomb to be altered. On examining the body, the head of a

lance was found among the bones, received without doubt
among the wounds of his last mortal combat. The name of
this accomplished and christian cavalier has ever remained a
popular theme of the chronicler and poet, and is endeared to
the public memory by many of the historical ballads and songs
of his country. For a long time the people of Cordova were
indignant at the brave count de Ureña, who they thought
had abandoned Don Alonzo in his extremity; but the Castilian
monarch acquitted him of all charge of the kind, and continued
him in honor and office. It was proved that neither
he nor his people could succor Don Alonzo, or even know of
his peril, from the darkness of the night. There is a mournful
little Spanish ballad or romance, which breathes the public
grief on this occasion; and the populace, on the return of
the count de Ureña to Cordova, assailed him with one of its
plaintive and reproachful verses:—