University of Virginia Library

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:—