University of Virginia Library

LEGEND OF THE
SUBJUGATION OF SPAIN.

LEGEND
OF THE
SUBJUGATION OF SPAIN.[1]

1. CHAPTER I.

The overthrow of King Roderick and his
army on the banks of the Guadalete, threw open
all southern Spain to the inroads of the moslems.
The whole country fled before them; villages and
hamlets were hastily abandoned; the inhabitants
placed their aged and infirm, their wives and
children, and their most precious effects, on

mules and other beasts of burden, and, driving
before them their flocks and herds, made for distant
parts of the land; for the fastnesses of the
mountains, and for such of the cities as yet possessed
walls and bulwarks. Many gave out,
faint and weary, by the way, and fell into the
hands of the enemy; others, at the distant sight
of a turban or a moslem standard, or on hearing
the clangour of a trumpet, abandoned their flocks
and herds and hastened their flight with their families.
If their pursuers gained upon them, they
threw by their household goods and whatever
was of burthen, and thought themselves fortunate
to escape, naked and destitute, to a place of refuge.
Thus the roads were covered with scattered
flocks and herds, and with spoil of all kind.

The Arabs, however, were not guilty of wanton
cruelty or ravage; on the contrary, they conducted
themselves with a moderation but seldom
witnessed in more civilized conquerors. Taric
el Tuerto, though a thorough man of the sword,
and one whose whole thoughts were warlike, yet
evinced wonderful judgment and discretion. He
checked the predatory habits of his troops with
a rigorous hand. They were forbidden, under
pain of severe punishment, to molest any peaceable
and unfortified towns, or any unarmed and
unresisting people, who remained quiet in their
homes. No spoil was permitted to be made excepting

in fields of battle, in camps of routed
foes, or in cities taken by the sword.

Taric had little need to exercise his severity;
his orders were obeyed through love, rather than
fear, for he was the idol of his soldiery. They
admired his restless and daring spirit, which nothing
could dismay. His gaunt and sinewy form,
his fiery eye, his visage seamed with scars,
were suited to the hardihood of his deeds; and
when mounted on his foaming steed, careering
the field of battle with quivering lance or flashing
scimitar, his Arabs would greet him with shouts
of enthusiasm. But what endeared him to them
more than all was his soldier-like contempt of
gain. Conquest was his only passion; glory the
only reward he coveted. As to the spoil of the
conquered, he shared it freely among his followers,
and squandered his own portion with open-handed
generosity.

While Taric was pushing his triumphant course
through Andalusia, tidings of his stupendous victory
on the banks of the Guadalete were carried
to Muza ben Nozier. Messengers after messengers
arrived, vieing who should most extol the
achievements of the conqueror and the grandeur
of the conquest. “Taric,” said they, “has over-thrown
the whole force of the unbelievers in one
mighty battle. Their king is slain; thousands
and tens of thousands of their warriors are destroyed;

the whole land lies at our mercy; and
city after city is surrendering to the victorious
arms of Taric.”

The heart of Muza ben Nozier sickened at
these tidings, and, instead of rejoicing at the success
of the cause of Islam, he trembled with jealous
fear lest the triumphs of Taric in Spain
should eclipse his own victories in Africa. He
despatched missives to the Caliph Waled Almanzor,
informing him of these new conquests, but
taking the whole glory to himself, and making no
mention of the services of Taric; or at least, only
mentioning him incidentally as a subordinate
commander. “The battles,” said he, “have
been terrible as the day of judgment; but by the
aid of Allah we have gained the victory.”

He then prepared in all haste to cross over
into Spain and assume the command of the conquering
army; and he wrote a letter in advance
to interrupt Taric in the midst of his carrer.
“Wherever this letter may find thee,” said he,
“I charge thee halt with thy army and await my
coming. Thy force is inadequate to the subjugation
of the land, and by rashly venturing, thou
mayst lose every thing. I will be with thee
speedily, with a reinforcement of troops competent
to so great an enterprise.”

The letter overtook the veteran Taric while
in the full glow of triumphant success; having

overrun some of the richest part of Andalusia,
and just received the surrender of the city of
Ecija. As he read the letter the blood mantled
in his sunburnt cheek and fire kindled in his eye,
for he penetrated the motives of Muza. He suppressed
his wrath, however, and turning with a
bitter expression of forced composure to his captains,
“Unsaddle your steeds,” said he, “and
plant your lances in the earth; set up your tents
and take your repose: for we must await the
coming of the Wali with a mighty force to assist
us in our conquest.”

The Arab warriors broke forth with loud murmurs
at these words: “What need have we of
aid,” cried they, “when the whole country is
flying before us; and what better commander
can we have than Taric to lead us on to victory?”

Count Julian, also, who was present, now hastened
to give his traitorous counsel.

“Why pause,” cried he, “at this precious moment?
The great army of the Goths is vanquished,
and their nobles are slaughtered or dispersed.
Follow up your blow before the land
can recover from its panic. Overrun the provinces,
seize upon the cities, make yourself master
of the capital, and your conquest is complete.”
[2]

The advice of Julian was applauded by all
the Arab chieftains, who were impatient of any
interruption in their career of conquest. Taric
was easily persuaded to what was the wish of
his heart. Disregarding the letter of Muza, therefore,
he prepared to pursue his victories. For
this purpose he ordered a review of his troops
on the plain of Ecija. Some were mounted on
steeds which they had brought from Africa; the
rest he supplied with horses taken from the
christians. He repeated his general orders, that
they should inflict no wanton injury, nor plunder
any place that offered no resistance. They were
forbidden, also, to encumber themselves with
booty, or even with provisions; but were to scour
the country with all speed, and seize upon all its
fortresses and strong holds.

He then divided his host into three several
armies. One he placed under the command of
the Greek renegado, Magued el Rumi, a man of
desperate courage; and sent it against the ancient
city of Cordova. Another was sent against the
city of Malaga, and was led by Zayd ben Kesadi,
aided by the Bishop Oppas. The third was led
by Taric himself, and with this he determined to
make a wide sweep through the kingdom.[3]

2. CHAPTER II.

The terror of the arms of Taric ben Zeyad
went before him; and, at the same time, the report
of his lenity to those who submitted without
resistance. Wherever he appeared the towns,
for the most part, sent forth some of their principal
inhabitants to proffer a surrender; for they
were destitute of fortifications, and their fighting
men had perished in battle. They were all received
into allegiance to the caliph, and were
protected from pillage or molestation.

After marching some distance through the
country, he entered one day a vast and beautiful
plain, interspersed with villages, adorned with
groves and gardens, watered by winding rivers,
and surrounded by lofty mountains. It was the
famous vega, or plain of Granada, destined to
be for ages the favourite abode of the moslems.
When the Arab conquerors beheld this delicious
vega, they were lost in admiration; for it seemed
as if the prophet had given them a paradise

on earth, as a reward for their services in his
cause.

Taric approached the city of Granada, which
had a formidable aspect, seated on lofty hills and
fortified with Gothic walls and towers, and with
the red castle or citadel, built in times of old by
the Phœnicians or the Romans. As the Arab
chieftain eyed the place, he was pleased with its
stern warrior look, contrasting with the smiling
beauty of its vega, and the freshness and voluptuous
abundance of its hills and valleys. He
pitched his tents before its walls, and made preparations
to attack it with all his force.

The city, however, bore but the semblance of
power. The flower of its youth had perished in
the battle of the Guadalete; many of the principal
inhabitants had fled to the mountains, and few
remained in the city excepting old men, women
and children, and a number of Jews, which last
were well disposed to take part with the conquerors.
The city, therefore, readily capitulated,
and was received into vassalage on favourable
terms. The inhabitants were to retain their
property, their laws and their religion; their
churches and priests were to be respected; and
no other tribute was required of them than such
as they had been accustomed to pay to their Gothic
kings.

On taking possession of Granada, Taric garri

soned the towers and castles, and left as alcayde
or governour a chosen warrior named Betiz
Aben Habuz, a native of Arabia Felix, who had
distinguished himself by his valour and abilities.
This alcayde subsequently made himself king of
Granada, and built a palace on one of its hills;
the remains of which may be seen at the present
day.[4]

Even the delights of Granada had no power to
detain the active and ardent Taric. To the east
of the city he beheld a lofty chain of mountains,
towering to the sky, and crowned with shining
snow. These were the “Mountains of the Sun

and Air;” and the perpetual snows on their summits
gave birth to streams that fertilized the
plains. In their bosoms, shut up among cliffs
and precipices, were many small valleys of great
beauty and abundance. The inhabitants were a
bold and hardy race, who looked upon their
mountains as everlasting fortresses that could
never be taken. The inhabitants of the surrounding
country had fled to these natural fastnesses
for refuge, and driven thither their flocks
and herds.

Taric felt that the dominion he had acquired
of the plains would be insecure until he had
penetrated and subdued these haughty mountains.
Leaving Aben Habuz, therefore, in command
of Granada, he marched with his army
across the vega, and entered the folds of the
Sierra, which stretch towards the south. The
inhabitants fled with affright on hearing the
moorish trumpets, or beholding the approach
of the turbaned horsemen, and plunged deeper
into the recesses of their mountains. As the
army advanced, the roads became more and
more rugged and difficult; sometimes climbing
great rocky heights, and at other times descending
abruptly into deep ravines, the beds of winter
torrents. The mountains were strangely wild
and sterile; broken into cliffs and precipices of
variegated marble. At their feet were little

valleys enamelled with groves and gardens, interlaced
with silver streams, and studded with
villages and hamlets; but all deserted by their
inhabitants. No one appeared to dispute the
inroad of the moslems, who continued their
march with increasing confidence, their pennons
fluttering from rock and cliff, and the valleys
echoing to the din of trumpet, drum, and cymbal.
At length they came to a defile where the
mountains seemed to have been rent asunder to
make way for a foaming torrent. The narrow
and broken road wound along the dizzy edge of
precipices, until it came to where a bridge was
thrown across the chasm. It was a fearful and
gloomy pass; great beetling cliffs overhung the
road, and the torrent roared below. This awful
defile has ever been famous in the warlike history
of those mountains, by the name, in former
times, of the Barranco de Tocos, and at present
of the bridge of Tablete. The Saracen army
entered fearlessly into the pass; a part had already
crossed the bridge, and was slowly toiling
up the rugged road on the opposite side, when
great shouts arose, and every cliff appeared suddenly
peopled with furious foes. In an instant
a deluge of missiles of every sort was rained
upon the astonished moslems. Darts, arrows,
javelins, and stones, came whistling down, singling
out the most conspicuous cavaliers; and at
times great masses of rock, bounding and thundering
along the mountain side, crushed whole
ranks at once, or hurled horses and riders over
the edge of the precipices.

It was in vain to attempt to brave this mountain
warfare. The enemy were beyond the
reach of missiles, and safe from pursuit; and the
horses of the Arabs were here an incumbrance
rather than an aid. The trumpets sounded a
retreat, and the army retired in tumult and confusion,
harassed by the enemy until extricated
from the defile. Taric, who had beheld cities
and castles surrendering without a blow, was
enraged at being braved by a mere horde of
mountain boors, and made another attempt to
penetrate the mountains, but was again waylaid
and opposed with horrible slaughter.

The fiery son of Ishmael foamed with rage at
being thus checked in his career and foiled in
his revenge. He was on the point of abandoning
the attempt, and returning to the vega, when
a christian boor sought his camp, and was admitted
to his presence. The miserable wretch
possessed a cabin and a little patch of ground
among the mountains, and offered, if these should
be protected from ravage, to inform the Arab
commander of a way by which troops of horse
might be safely introduced into the bosom of the
Sierra, and the whole subdued. The name of

this caitiff was Fandino, and it deserves to be
perpetually recorded with ignominy. His case
is an instance how much it is in the power, at
times, of the most insignificant being to do mischief,
and how all the valour of the magnanimous
and the brave, may be defeated by the
treason of the selfish and the despicable.

Instructed by this traitor, the Arab commander
caused ten thousand foot soldiers and four
thousand horsemen, commanded by a valiant
captain, named Ibrahim Albuxarra, to be conveyed
by sea to the little port of Adra, at the
Mediteranean foot of the mountains. Here they
landed, and, guided by the traitor, penetrated to
the heart of the Sierra, laying every thing waste.
The brave mountaineers, thus hemmed in between
two armies, destitute of fortresses and
without hope of succour, were obliged to capitulate
but their valour was not without avail, for
never, even in Spain, did vanquished people surrender
on prouder or more honourable terms.
We have named the wretch who betrayed his
native mountains; let us, equally, record the
name of him whose pious patriotism saved them
from desolation. It was the reverend Bishop
Centerio. While the warriors rested on their
arms in grim and menacing tranquility among
the cliffs, this venerable prelate descended to the
Arab tents in the valley, to conduct the capitu

lation. In stipulating for the safety of his people,
he did not forget that they were brave men,
and that they still had weapons in their hands.
He obtained conditions accordingly. It was
agreed that they should be permitted to retain
their houses, lands, and personal effects; that
they should be unmolested in their religion, and
their temples and priests respected; and that
they should pay no other tribute than such as
they had been accustomed to render to their
kings. Should they prefer to leave the country
and remove to any part of christendom, they
were to be allowed to sell their possessions; and
to take with them the money, and all their other
effects.[5]

Ibrahim Albuxarra remained in command of
the territory, and the whole sierra, or chain of
mountains, took his name, which has since been
slightly corrupted into that of the Alpuxarras.
The subjugation of this rugged region, however,
was for a long time incomplete; many of the
christians maintained a wild and hostile independence,
living in green glens and scanty valleys
among the heights; and the sierra of the
Alpuxarras, has, in all ages, been one of the
most difficult parts of Andalusia to be subdued.

The Casa del Gallo, even until within twenty years, possessed
two great halls beautifully decorated with morisco
reliefs. It then caught fire and was so damaged as to require
to be nearly rebuilt. It is now a manufactory of coarse
canvas, and has nothing of the moorish character remaining.
It commands a beautiful view of the city and the vega.

3. CHAPTER III.

While the veteran Taric was making this
wide circuit through the land, the expedition
under Magued the renegado proceeded against
the city of Cordova. The inhabitants of that
ancient place had beheld the great army of
Don Roderick spreading like an inundation
over the plain of the Guadalquivir, and had
felt confident that it must sweep the infidel
invaders from the land. What then was
their dismay, when scattered fugitives, wild
with horror and affright, brought them tidings
of the entire overthrow of that mighty host,
and the disappearance of the king! In the
midst of their consternation, the Gothic noble,
Pelistes, arrived at their gates, haggard with fatigue
of body, and anguish of mind, and leading
a remnant of his devoted cavaliers, who
had survived the dreadful battle of the Guadalete.
The people of Cordova knew the valiant
and steadfast spirit of Pelistes, and rallied round

him as a last hope. “Roderick is fallen,” cried
they, “and we have neither king nor captain;
be unto us as a sovereign; take command of
our city, and protect us in this hour of peril!”

The heart of Pelistes was free from ambition,
and was too much broken by grief to be flattered
by the offer of command; but he felt
above every thing for the woes of his country,
and was ready to assume any desperate service
in her cause. “Your city” said he, “is surrounded
by walls and towers, and may yet check
the progress of the foe. Promise to stand by
me to the last, and I will undertake your defence.”
The inhabitants all promised implicit
obedience and devoted zeal; for what will not
the inhabitants of a wealthy city promise and
profess in a moment of alarm. The instant,
however, that they heard of the approach of
the moslem troops, the wealthier citizens packed
up their effects and fled to the mountains, or to
the distant city of Toledo. Even the monks
collected the riches of their convents and
churches, and fled. Pelistes, though he saw
himself thus deserted by those who had the
greatest interest in the safety of the city, yet
determined not to abandon its defence. He
had still his faithful though scanty band of
cavaliers, and a number of fugitives of the
army; in all amounting to about four hundred

men. He stationed guards, therefore, at the
gates and in the towers, and made every preparation
for a desperate resistance.

In the meantime, the army of moslems and
apostate christians advanced, under the command
of the Greek renegado, Magued, and
guided by the traitor Julian. While they were
yet at some distance from the city, their scouts
brought to them a shepherd, whom they had
surprised on the banks of the Guadalquivir.
The trembling hind was an inhabitant of Cordova,
and revealed to them the state of the
place, and the weakness of its garrison.

“And the walls and gates,” said Magued,
“are they strong and well guarded?”

“The walls are high, and of wondrous
strength,” replied the shepherd, “and soldiers
hold watch at the gates by day and night. But
there is one place where the city may be secretly
entered. In a part of the wall, not far
from the bridge, the battlements are broken,
and there is a breach at some height from the
ground. Hard by stands a fig tree, by the aid
of which the wall may easily be scaled.”

Having received this information, Magued
halted with his army, and sent forward several
renegado christians, partisans of Count Julian,
who entered Cordova as if flying before the
enemy. On a dark and tempestuous night, the

moslems approached to the end of the bridge
which crosses the Guadalquivir, and remained
in ambush. Magued took a small party of
chosen men, and, guided by the shepherd, forded
the stream and groped silently along the
wall to the place where stood the fig tree. The
traitors, who had fraudulently entered the city,
were ready on the wall to render assistance.
Magued ordered his followers to make use of
the long folds of their turbans instead of cords,
and succeeded without difficulty in clambering
into the breach.

Drawing their scimitars, they now hastened
to the gate which opened towards the bridge;
the guards, suspecting no assault from within,
were taken by surprise, and easily overpowered;
the gate was thrown open, and the army
that had remained in ambush, rushed over the
bridge, and entered without opposition.

The alarm had by this time spread throughout
the city; but already a torrent of armed
men was pouring through the streets. Pelistes
sallied forth with his cavaliers and such of the
soldiery as he could collect, and endeavoured
to repel the foe; but every effort was in vain.
The christians were slowly driven from street to
street, and square to square, disputing every inch
of ground; until, finding another body of the enemy
approaching to attack them in rear, they took

refuge in a convent, and succeeded in throwing
to and barring the ponderous doors. The
Moors attempted to force the gates, but were
assailed with such showers of missiles from the
windows and battlements that they were obliged
to retire. Pelistes examined the convent, and
found it admirably calculated for defence. It
was of great extent, with spacious courts and
cloisters. The gates were massive, and secured
with bolts and bars; the walls were of great
thickness; the windows high and grated; there
was a great tank or cistern of water, and the
friars, who had fled from the city, had left behind
a good supply of provisions. Here, then,
Pelistes proposed to make a stand, and to endeavour
to hold out until succour should arrive
from some other city. His proposition was
received with shouts by his loyal cavaliers; not
one of whom but was ready to lay down his
life in the service of his commander.

4. CHAPTER IV.

For three long and anxious months did the
good knight Pelistes and his cavaliers defend
their sacred asylum against the repeated assaults
of the infidels. The standard of the true faith
was constantly displayed from the loftiest tower,
and a fire blazed there throughout the night, as
signals of distress to the surrounding country.
The watchman from his turret kept a wary look
out over the land, hoping in every cloud of dust
to descry the glittering helms of christian warriors.
The country, however, was forlorn and
abandoned, or if perchance a human being was
perceived, it was some Arab horseman, careering
the plain of the Guadalquivir as fearlessly as
if it were his native desert.

By degrees the provisions of the convent were
consumed, and the cavaliers had to slay their
horses, one by one, for food. They suffered the
wasting miseries of famine without a murmur,
and always met their commander with a smile.
Pelistes, however, read their sufferings in their
wan and emaciated countenances, and felt more

for them than for himself. He was grieved at
heart that such loyalty and valour should only
lead to slavery or death, and resolved to make
one desperate attempt for their deliverance.
Assembling them one day in the court of the convent,
he disclosed to them his purpose.

“Comrades and brothers in arms,” said he,
“it is needless to conceal danger from brave
men. Our case is desperate; our countrymen
either know not or heed not our situation, or
have not the means to help us. There is but one
chance of escape; it is full of peril, and, as your
leader, I claim the right to brave it. Tomorrow
at break of day I will sally forth and make for
the city gates at the moment of their being opened;
no one will suspect a solitary horseman; I
shall be taken for one of those recreant christians
who have basely mingled with the enemy.
If I succeed in getting out of the city I will hasten
to Toledo for assistance. In all events I shall
be back in less than twenty days. Keep a vigilant
look out toward the nearest mountain. If
you behold five lights blazing upon its summit,
be assured I am at hand with succour, and prepare
yourselves to sally forth upon the city as I
attack the gates. Should I fail in obtaining aid
I will return to die with you.”

When he had finished, his warriors would fain
have severally undertaken the enterprise, and

they remonstrated against his exposing himself
to such peril; but he was not to be shaken from
his purpose. On the following morning, ere the
break of day, his horse was led forth, caparisoned,
into the court of the convent, and Pelistes
appeared in complete armour. Assembling his
cavaliers in the chapel, he prayed with them for
some time before the altar of the holy Virgin.
Then rising and standing in the midst of them,
“God knows, my companions,” said he, “whether
we have any longer a country; if not, better
were we in our graves. Loyal and true have
ye been to me, and loyal have ye been to my
son, even to the hour of his death; and grieved
am I that I have no other means of proving my
love for you, than by adventuring my worthless
life for your deliverance. All I ask of you before
I go, is a solemn promise to defend yourselves
to the last like brave men and christian
cavaliers, and never to renounce your faith, or
throw yourselves on the mercy of the renegado
Magued, or the traitor Julian.” They all pledged
their words, and took a solemn oath to the same
effect before the altar.

Pelistes then embraced them one by one, and
gave them his benediction, and as he did so his
heart yearned over them, for he felt towards
them, not merely as a companion in arms and as
a commander, but as a father; and he took leave

of them as if he had been going to his death.
The warriors, on their part, crowded round him
in silence, kissing his hands and the hem of his
surcoat, and many of the sternest shed tears.

The gray of the dawning had just streaked
the east, when Pelistes took lance in hand, hung
his shield about his neck, and mounting his steed,
issued quietly forth from a postern of the convent.
He paced slowly through the vacant
streets, and the tramp of his steed echoed afar in
that silent hour; but no one suspected a warrior,
moving thus singly and tranquilly in an armed
city, to be an enemy. He arrived at the gate
just at the hour of opening; a foraging party was
entering with cattle and with beasts of burden,
and he passed unheeded through the throng.
As soon as he was out of sight of the soldiers
who guarded the gate, he quickened his pace,
and at length, galloping at full speed, succeeded
in gaining the mountains. Here he paused, and
alighted at a solitary farm house to breathe his
panting steed; but had scarce put foot to ground
when he heard the distant sound of pursuit, and
beheld a horseman spurring up the mountain.

Throwing himself again upon his steed, he
abandoned the road and galloped across the
rugged heights. The deep dry channel of a torrent
checked his career, and his horse stumbling
upon the margin, rolled with his rider to the

bottom. Pelistes was sorely bruised by the fall,
and his whole visage was bathed in blood. His
horse, too, was maimed and unable to stand, so
that there was no hope of escape. The enemy
drew near, and proved to be no other than Magued
the renegado general, who had perceived
him as he issued forth from the city and had followed
singly in pursuit. “Well met, señor
alcayde!” exclaimed he, “and overtaken in
good time. Surrender yourself my prisoner.”

Pelistes made no other reply than by drawing
his sword, bracing his shield, and preparing
for defence. Magued, though an apostate,
and a fierce warrior, possessed some sparks of
knightly magnanimity. Seeing his adversary
dismounted, he disdained to take him at a disadvantage,
but, alighting, tied his horse to a
tree.

The conflict that ensued was desperate and
doubtful, for seldom had two warriors met so well
matched or of equal prowess. Their shields were
hacked to pieces, the ground was strewed with
fragments of their armour, and stained with their
blood. They paused repeatedly to take breath;
regarding each other with wonder and admiration.
Pelistes, however, had been previously
injured by his fall, and fought to great disadvantage.
The renegado perceived it, and sought
not to slay him, but to take him alive. Shifting

his ground continually, he wearied his antagonist,
who was growing weaker and weaker from the
loss of blood. At length Pelistes seemed to
summon up all his remaining strength to make a
signal blow; it was skilfully parried, and he fell
prostrate upon the ground. The renegado ran
up, and putting his foot upon his sword, and the
point of his scimitar to his throat, called upon
him to ask his life; but Pelistes lay without
sense, and as one dead. Magued then unlaced
the helmet of his vanquished enemy, and seated
himself on a rock beside him, to recover breath.
In this situation the warriors were found by
certain moorish cavaliers, who marvelled much
at the traces of that stern and bloody combat.

Finding there was yet life in the christian
knight, they laid him upon one of their horses,
and aiding Magued to remount his steed, proceeded
slowly to the city. As the convoy
passed by the convent, the cavaliers looked
forth and beheld their commander borne along
bleeding and a captive. Furious at the sight,
they sallied forth to the rescue, but were repulsed
by a superior force and driven back to
the great portal of the church. The enemy entered
pell mell with them, fighting from aisle to
aisle, from altar to altar, and in the courts and
cloisters of the convent. The greater part of
the cavaliers died bravely, sword in hand; the

rest were disabled with wounds and made prisoners.
The convent, which was lately their
castle, was now made their prison, and in aftertimes,
in commemoration of this event, was consecrated
by the name of St. George of the Captives.

5. CHAPTER V.

The loyalty and prowess of the good knight
Pelistes had gained him the reverence even of
his enemies. He was for a long time disabled
by his wounds, during which he was kindly treated
by the Arab chieftains, who strove by every
courteous means, to cheer his sadness and make
him forget that he was a captive. When he was
recovered from his wounds they gave him a
magnificent banquet, to testify their admiration
of his virtues.

Pelistes appeared at the banquet clad in sable
armour, and with a countenance pale and
dejected, for the ills of his country evermore
preyed upon his heart. Among the assembled
guests was Count Julian, who held a high command
in the moslem army, and was arrayed in
garments of mingled christian and morisco
fashion. Pelistes had been a close and bosom
friend of Julian in former times, and had served
with him in the wars in Africa, but when the

Count advanced to accost him with his wonted
amity, he turned away in silence and deigned
not to notice him; neither, during the whole of
the repast, did he address to him ever a word,
but treated him as one unknown.

When the banquet was nearly at a close, the
discourse turned upon the events of the war, and
the moslem chieftains, in great courtesy, dwelt
upon the merits of many of the christian cavaliers
who had fallen in battle, and all extolled
the valour of those who had recently perished in
the defence of the convent. Pelistes remained
silent for a time, and checked the grief which
swelled within his bosom as he thought of his
devoted cavaliers. At length, lifting up his voice,
“Happy are the dead,” said he, “for they rest
in peace, and are gone to receive the reward of
their piety and valour! I could mourn over
the loss of my companions in arms, but they have
fallen with honour, and are spared the wretchedness
I feel in witnessing the thraldom of my
country. I have seen my only son, the pride
and hope of my age, cut down at my side; I
have beheld kindred friends and followers falling
one by one around me, and have become so seasoned
to those losses that I have ceased to weep.
Yet there is one man over whose loss I will never
cease to grieve. He was the loved companion
of my youth, and the steadfast associate of my

graver years. He was one of the most loyal of
christian knights. As a friend he was loving
and sincere; as a warrior his achievements were
above all praise. What has become of him, alas,
I know not! If fallen in battle, and I knew
where his bones were laid, whether bleaching on
the plains of Xeres, or buried in the waters of the
Guadalete, I would seek them out and enshrine
them as the relics of a sainted patriot. Or if,
like many of his companions in arms, he should
be driven to wander in foreign lands, I would
join him in his hapless exile, and we would mourn
together over the desolation of our country!”

Even the hearts of the Arab warriors were
touched by the lament of the good Pelistes, and
they said—“Who was this peerless friend in
whose praise thou art so fervent?”

“His name,” replied Pelistes, “was Count
Julian.”

The moslem warriors stared with surprise.
“Noble cavalier,” exclaimed they, “has grief
disordered thy senses? Behold thy friend living
and standing before thee, and yet thou dost not
know him! This, this is Count Julian!”

Upon this, Pelistes turned his eyes upon the
count, and regarded him for a time with a lofty
and stern demeanour; and the countenance of
Julian darkened, and was troubled, and his eye
sank beneath the regard of that loyal and honourable

cavalier. And Pelistes said, “In the name
of God, I charge thee, man unknown! to answer.
Dost thou presume to call thyself Count Julian?”

The count reddened with anger at these
words. “Pelistes,” said he, “what means this
mockery, thou knowest me well; thou knowest
me for Count Julian.”

“I know thee for a base impostor!” cried
Pelistes. “Count Julian was a noble gothic
knight; but thou appearest in mongrel moorish
garb. Count Julian was a christian, faithful
and devout; but I behold in thee a renegado
and an infidel. Count Julian was ever loyal to
his king, and foremost in his country's cause;
were he living he would be the first to put shield
on neck and lance in rest, to clear the land of
her invaders; but thou art a hoary traitor! thy
hands are stained with the royal blood of the
Goths, and thou has betrayed thy country and
thy God. Therefore, I again repeat, man unknown!
if thou sayest thou art Count Julian, thou
liest! My friend, alas, is dead; and thou art
some fiend from hell, which hast taken possession
of his body to dishonour his memory and render
him an abhorrence among men!” So saying,
Pelistes turned his back upon the traitor, and
went forth from the banquet; leaving Count
Julian overwhelmed with confusion, and an object
of scorn to all the moslem cavaliers.

6. CHAPTER VI.

While these events were passing in Cordova,
the one-eyed Arab general, Taric el Tuerto,
having subdued the city and vega of Granada,
and the Mountains of the Sun and Air, directed
his march into the interior of the kingdom to attack
the ancient city of Toledo, the capital of the
gothic kings. So great was the terror caused
by the rapid conquests of the invaders, that at
the very rumour of their approach, many of the
inhabitants, though thus in the very citadel of the
kingdom, abandoned it and fled to the mountains
with their families. Enough remained,
however, to have made a formidable defence;
and, as the city was seated on a lofty rock, surrounded
by massive walls and towers, and almost
girdled by the Tagus, it threatened a long resistance.
The Arab warriors pitched their tents in
the vega, on the borders of the river, and prepared
for a tedious siege.

One evening, as Taric was seated in his tent
meditating on the mode in which he should assail
this rock-built city, certain of the patroles of
the camp brought a stranger before him. “As
we were going our rounds,” said they, “we beheld
this man lowered down with cords from a
tower, and he delivered himself into our hands,
praying to be conducted to thy presence, that
he might reveal to thee certain things important
for thee to know.”

Taric fixed his eyes upon the stranger: he
was a Jewish rabbi, with a long beard which
spread upon his gabardine, and descended even
to his girdle. “What hast thou to reveal?” said
he to the Israelite. “What I have to reveal,”
replied the other, “is for thee alone to hear; command
then, I intreat thee, that these men withdraw.”
When they were alone he addressed
Taric in Arabic: “Know, O leader of the host
of Islam,” said he, “that I am sent to thee on
the part of the children of Israel, resident in
Toledo. We have been oppressed and insulted
by the christians in the time of their prosperity,
and now that they are threatened with siege,
they have taken from us all our provisions and
our money; they have compelled us to work
like slaves, repairing their walls; and they oblige
us to bear arms and guard a part of the towers.
We abhor their yoke, and are ready, if thou wilt

receive us as subjects, and permit us the free
enjoyment of our religion and our property, to
deliver the towers we guard into thy hands, and
to give thee safe entrance into the city.”

The Arab chief was overjoyed at this proposition,
and he rendered much honour to the rabbi,
and gave orders to clothe him in a costly robe,
and to perfume his beard with essences of a
pleasant odour, so that he was the most sweet
smelling of his tribe; and he said, “Make thy
words good, and put me in possession of the city,
and I will do all and more than thou hast required,
and will bestow countless wealth upon
thee and they brethren.”

Then a plan was devised between them by
which the city was to be betrayed and given up.
“But how shall I be secured,” said he, “that all
thy tribe will fulfil what thou hast engaged, and
that this is not a stratagem to get me and my
people into your power?”

“This shall be thy assurance,” replied the
rabbi: “Ten of the principal Israelites will
come to this tent and remain as hostages.”

“It is enough,” said Taric; and he made oath
to accomplish all that he had promised; and the
Jewish hostages came and delivered themselves
into his hands.

On a dark night, a chosen band of moslem
warriors approached the part of the walls

guarded by the Jews, and were secretly admitted
into a postern gate and concealed within
a tower. Three thousand Arabs were at the
same time placed in ambush among rocks
and thickets, in a place on the opposite side of
the river, commanding a view of the city. On
the following morning Taric ravaged the gardens
of the valley, and set fire to the farm
houses, and then breaking up his camp marched
off as if abandoning the siege.

The people of Toledo gazed with astonishment
from their walls at the retiring squadrons
of the enemy, and scarcely could credit their
unexpected deliverance; before night there was
not a turban nor a hostile lance to be seen in the
vega. They attributed it all to the special intervention
of their patron saint, Leocadia; and the
following day being palm Sunday, they sallied
forth in procession, man, woman, and child, to
the church of that blessed saint, which is situated
without the walls, that they might return thanks
for her marvellous protection.

When all Toledo had thus poured itself forth,
and was marching with cross and relic and
solemn chaunt towards the chapel, the Arabs,
who had been concealed in the tower, rushed
forth and barred the gates of the city. While
some guarded the gates, others dispersed themselves
about the streets, slaying all who made

resistance; and others kindled a fire and made
a column of smoke on the top of the citadel. At
sight of this signal, the Arabs, in ambush, beyond
the river, rose with a great shout, and attacked
the multitude who were thronging to the church
of St. Leocadia. There was a great massacre,
although the people were without arms, and
made no resistance; and it is said, in ancient
chronicles, that it was the apostate Bishop Oppas
who guided the moslems to their prey, and
incited them to this slaughter. The pious reader,
says Fray Antonio Agapida, will be slow to
believe such turpitude; but there is nothing more
venomous than the rancour of an apostate priest;
for the best things in this world, when corrupted,
become the worst and most baneful.

Many of the christians had taken refuge within
the church, and had barred the doors, but Oppas
commanded that fire should be set to the portals,
threatening to put every one within to the sword.
Happily the veteran Taric arrived just in time
to stay the fury of this reverend renegado. He
ordered the trumpets to call off the troops from
the carnage, and extended grace to all the surviving
inhabitants. They were permitted to
remain in quiet possession of their homes and
effects, paying only a moderate tribute; and
they were allowed to exercise the rites of their
religion in the existing churches, to the number

of seven, but were prohibited from erecting any
others. Those who preferred to leave the city
were suffered to depart in safety, but not to take
with them any of their wealth.

Immense spoil was found by Taric in the
alcazar, or royal castle, situated on a rocky eminence,
in the highest part of the city. Among
the regalia treasured up in a secret chamber,
were twenty-five regal crowns of fine gold, garnished
with jacynths, amethysts, diamonds, and
other precious stones. These were the crowns
of the different gothic kings who had reigned in
Spain; it having been the usage, on the death of
each king, to deposit his crown in this treasury,
inscribing on it his name and age.[6]

When Taric was thus in possession of the city,
the Jews came to him in procession, with songs
and dances and the sound of timbrel and psaltry,
hailing him as their lord, and reminding him of
his promises.

The son of Ishmael kept his word with the
children of Israel; they were protected in the
possession of all their wealth and the exercise of
their religion, and were, moreover, rewarded
with jewels of gold and jewels of silver, and
much monies.[7]

A subsequent expedition was led by Taric
against Guadalaxara, which surrendered without
resistance; he moreover captured the city of
Medina Celi, where he found an inestimable table
which had formed a part of the spoil taken at
Rome by Alaric, at the time that the sacred city
was conquered by the Goths. It was composed
of one single and entire emerald, and possessed
talismanic powers; for traditions affirm that it
was the work of genii, and had been wrought by
them for King Solomon the wise, the son of
David. This marvellous relic was carefully
preserved by Taric, as the most precious of all
his spoils, being intended by him as a present to
the caliph; and in commemoration of it the city
was called by the Arabs, Medina Almeyda; that
is to say, “The City of the Table.”[8]

Having made these and other conquests of
less importance, and having collected great

quantities of gold and silver, and rich stuffs and
precious stones, Taric returned with his booty
to the royal city of Toledo.

7. CHAPTER VII.

Let us leave for a season the bold Taric in
his triumphant progress from city to city, while
we turn our eyes to Muza ben Nozier, the renowned
emir of Almagreb, and the commander
in chief of the moslem forces of the west.
When that jealous chieftain had despatched his
letter commanding Taric to pause and await
his coming, he immediately made every preparation
to enter Spain with a powerful reinforcement,
and to take command of the conquering
army. He left his eldest son, Abdalasis, in
Caervan, with authority over Almagreb, or
Western Africa. This Abdalasis was in the
flower of his youth, and beloved by the soldiery
for the magnanimity and the engaging affability
which graced his courage.

Muza ben Nozier crossed the strait of Hercules
with a chosen force of ten thousand horse
and eight thousand foot; Arabs and Africans.
He was accompanied by his two sons, Meruan

and Abdelola, and by numerous illustrious
Arabian cavaliers of the tribe of the Koreish.
He landed his shining legions on the coast of
Andalusia, and pitched his tents near to the
Guadiana. There first he received intelligence
of the disobedience of Taric to his orders, and
that, without waiting his arrival, the impetuous
chieftain had continued his career, and with his
light Arab squadrons had overrun and subdued
the noblest provinces and cities of the kingdom.

The jealous spirit of Muza was still more
exasperated by these tidings; he looked upon
Taric no longer as a friend and coadjutor, but
as an invidious rival, the decided enemy of his
glory; and he determined on his ruin. His
first consideration, however, was to secure to
himself a share in the actual conquest of the
land before it should be entirely subjugated.

Taking guides, therefore, from among his
christian captives, he set out to subdue such
parts of the country as had not been visited by
Taric. The first place which he assailed was
the ancient city of Carmona; it was not of
great magnitude, but was fortified with high
walls and massive towers, and many of the fugitives
of the late army had thrown themselves
into it.

The Goths had by this time recovered from
their first panic; they had become accustomed

to the sight of moslem troops, and their native
courage had been roused by danger. Shortly
after the Arabs had encamped before their
walls, a band of cavaliers made a sudden sally
one morning before the break of day, fell upon
the enemy by surprise, killed above three hundred
of them in their tents, and effected their
retreat into the city; leaving twenty of their
number dead, covered with honourable wounds,
and in the very centre of the camp.

On the following day they made another
sally, and fell on a different quarter of the encampment;
but the Arabs were on their guard,
and met them with superior numbers. After
fighting fiercely for a time, they were routed,
and fled full speed for the city, with the Arabs
hard upon their traces. The guards within
feared to open the gate, lest with their friends
they should admit a torrent of enemies. Seeing
themselves thus shut out, the fugitives determined
to die like brave soldiers rather than
surrender. Wheeling suddenly round, they
opened a path through the host of their pursuers,
fought their way back to the camp, and
raged about it with desperate fury until they
were all slain, after having killed above eight
hundred of the enemy.[9]

Muza now ordered that the place should be
taken by storm. The moslems assailed it on
all sides, but were vigorously resisted; many
were slain by showers of stones, arrows, and
boiling pitch, and many who had mounted with
scaling ladders were thrown headlong from the
battlements. The alcayde, Galo, aided solely
by two men, defended a tower and a portion of
the wall; killing and wounding with a cross-bow
more than eighty of the enemy. The attack
lasted above half a day, when the moslems
were repulsed with the loss of fifteen hundred
men.

Muza was astonished and exasperated at
meeting with such formidable resistance from
so small a city; for it was one of the few places,
during that memorable conquest, where the gothic
valour shone forth with its proper lustre.
While the moslem army lay encamped before
the place, it was joined by Magued the renegado,
and Count Julian the traitor, with one
thousand horsemen; most of them recreant
christians, base betrayers of their country, and
more savage in their warfare than the Arabs of
the desert. To find favour in the eyes of Muza,
and to evince his devotion to the cause, the
count undertook, by wiley stratagem, to put this
gallant city in his power.

One evening, just at twilight, a number of
christians, habited as travelling merchants, arrived
at one of the gates, conducting a train of
mules laden with arms and warlike munitions.
“Open the gate quickly,” cried they, “we bring
supplies for the garrison, but the Arabs have
discovered, and are in pursuit of us.” The gate
was thrown open, the merchants entered with
their beasts of burden, and were joyfully received.
Meat and drink were placed before
them, and after they had refreshed themselves
they retired to the quarters allotted to them.

These pretenced merchants were Count Julian
and a number of his partisans. At the
hour of midnight they stole forth silently, and
assembling together, proceeded to what was
called the Gate of Cordova. Here setting suddenly
upon the unsuspecting guards, they put
them to the edge of the sword, and throwing
open the gates admitted a great body of the
Arabs. The inhabitants were roused from their
sleep by sound of drum and trumpet, and the
clattering of horses. The Arabs scoured the
streets; a horrible massacre was commenced,
in which none were spared but such of the females
as were young and beautiful, and fitted
to grace the harems of the conquerors. The
arrival of Muza put an end to the pillage and

the slaughter, and he granted favourable terms
to the survivors. Thus the valiant little city of
Carmona, after nobly resisting the open assaults
of the infidels, fell a victim to the treachery of
apostate christians.[10]

8. CHAPTER VIII.

After the capture of Carmona, Muza descended
into a noble plain, covered with fields
of grain, with orchards and gardens, through
which glided the soft flowing Guadalquivir. On
the borders of the river stood the ancient city of
Seville, surrounded by Roman walls, and defended
by its golden tower. Understanding from
his spies that the city had lost the flower of its
youth in the battle of the Guadalete, Muza anticipated
but a faint resistance. A considerable
force, however, still remained within the place,
and what they wanted in numbers they made up
in resolution. For some days they withstood the
assaults of the enemy, and defended their walls
with great courage. Their want of warlike
munitions, however, and the superior force and
skill of the besieging army, left them no hope of
being able to hold out long. There were two
youthful cavaliers of uncommon valour in the
city. They assembled the warriors and addressed
them. “We cannot save the city,” said they,

“but at least we may save ourselves, and preserve
so many strong arms for the service of our
country. Let us cut our way through the infidel
force, and gain some secure fortress, from whence
we may return with augmented numbers for the
rescue of the city.”

The advice of the young cavaliers was adopted.
In the dead of the night the garrison assembled
to the number of about three thousand;
the most part mounted on horseback. Suddenly
sallying from one of the gates, they rushed in a
compact body upon the camp of the Saracens,
which was negligently guarded, for the moslems
expected no such act of desperation. The camp
was a scene of great carnage and confusion;
many were slain on both sides; the two valiant
leaders of the christians fell covered with wounds,
but the main body succeeded in forcing their
way through the centre of the army, and in
making their retreat to Beja in Lusitania.

Muza was at a loss to know the meaning of
this desperate sally. In the morning he perceived
the gates of the city wide open. A number
of ancient and venerable men presented
themselves at his tent, offering submission and
imploring mercy, for none were left in the place
but the old, the infirm, and the miserable. Muza
listened to them with compassion, and granted
their prayer, and the only tribute he exacted was

three measures of wheat and three of barley
from each house or family. He placed a garrison
of Arabs in the city, and left there a number
of Jews to form a body of population. Having
thus secured two important places in Andalusia,
he passed the boundaries of the province, and
advanced with great martial pomp into Lusitania.

9. CHAPTER IX.

The army of Muza was now augmented to
about eighteen thousand horsemen, but he took
with him but few foot soldiers, leaving them to
garrison the conquered towns. He met with no
resistance on his entrance into Lusitania. City
after city laid its keys at his feet, and implored
to be received in peaceful vassalage. One city
alone prepared for vigorous defence, the ancient
Merida, a place of great extent, uncounted riches,
and prodigious strength. A noble Goth named
Sacarus was the governor; a man of consummate
wisdom, patriotism and valour. Hearing
of the approach of the invaders, he gathered
within the walls all the people of the surrounding
country, with their horses and mules, their
flocks and herds and most precious effects. To
insure for a long time a supply of bread, he filled
the magazines with grain, and erected windmills
on the churches. This done, he laid waste the
surrounding country to a great extent, so that a
besieging army would have to encamp in a desert.

When Muza came in sight of this magnificent
city, he was struck with admiration. He remained
for some time gazing in silence upon its
mighty walls and lordly towers, its vast extent,
and the stately palaces and temples with which
it was adorned. “Surely,” cried he, at length,
“all the people of the earth have combined their
power and skill to embellish and aggrandize this
city. Allah Achbar! Happy will he be who
shall have the glory of making such a conquest!”

Seeing that a place so populous and so strongly
fortified would be likely to maintain a long
and formidable resistance, he sent messengers to
Africa to his son Abdalasis, to collect all the
forces that could be spared from the garrisons of
Mauritania, and to hasten and reinforce him.

While Muza was forming his encampment,
deserters from the city brought him word that a
chosen band intended to sally forth at midnight
and surprise his camp. The Arab commander
immediately took measures to receive them with
a counter surprise. Having formed his plan, and
communicated it to his principal officers, he
ordered that, throughout the day, there should
be kept up an appearance of negligent confusion
in his encampment. The outposts were feebly
guarded; fires were lighted in various places, as
if preparing for feasting; bursts of music and
shouts of revelry resounded from different quarters,

and the whole camp seemed to be rioting in
careless security on the plunder of the land. As
the night advanced, the fires were gradually extinguished,
and silence ensued, as if the soldiery
had sunk into deep sleep after the carousal.

In the mean time, bodies of troops had been
secretly and silently marched to reinforce the
outposts; and the renegado Magued, with a numerous
force, had formed an ambuscade in a
deep stone quarry by which the christians would
have to pass. These preparations being made,
they awaited the approach of the enemy in
breathless silence.

About midnight, the chosen force intended for
the sally assembled, and the command was confided
to Count Tendero, a gothic cavalier of
tried prowess. After having heard a solemn
mass and received the benediction of the priest,
they marched out of the gate with all possible
silence. They were suffered to pass the ambuscade
in the quarry without molestation: as they
approached the moslem camp every thing appeared
quiet, for the foot soldiers were concealed
in slopes and hollows, and every Arab horseman
lay in his armour beside his steed. The sentinels
on the outposts waited until the christians were
close at hand, and then fled in apparent consternation.

Count Tendero gave the signal for assault, and

the christians rushed confidently forward. In an
instant an uproar of drums trumpets and shrill
war cries burst forth from every side. An army
seemed to spring up from the earth; squadrons
of horse came thundering on them in front,
while the quarry poured forth legions of armed
warriors in their rear.

The noise of the terrific conflict that took
place was heard on the city walls, and answered
by shouts of exultation, for the christians thought
it rose from the terror and confusion of the Arab
camp. In a little while, however, they were undeceived
by fugitives from the fight, aghast with
terror, and covered with wounds. “Hell itself,”
cried they, “is on the side of these infidels; the
earth casts forth warriors and steeds to aid them.
We have fought, not with men, but devils!”

The greater part of the chosen troops who had
sallied, were cut to pieces in that scene of massacre,
for they had been confounded by the tempest
of battle which suddenly broke forth around
them. Count Tendero fought with desperate
valour and fell covered with wounds. His body
was found the next morning, lying among the
slain, and transpierced with half a score of
lances. The renegado Magued cut off his head
and tied it to the tail of his horse, and repaired
with this savage trophy to the tent of Muza; but
the hostility of the Arab general was of a less

malignant kind. He ordered that the head and
body should be placed together upon a bier and
treated with becoming reverence.

In the course of the day a train of priests and
friars came forth from the city to request permission
to seek for the body of the count. Muza
delivered it to them, with many soldier like encomiums
on the valour of that good cavalier. The
priests covered it with a pall of cloth of gold,
and bore it back in melancholy procession to the
city, where it was received with loud lamentations.

The seige was now pressed with great vigour,
and repeated assaults were made, but in vain.
Muza saw at length, that the walls were too high
to be scaled, and the gates too strong to be burst
open without the aid of engines, and he desisted
from the attack until machines for the purpose
could be constructed. The governor suspected
from this cessation of active warfare, that the
enemy flattered themselves to reduce the place
by famine; he caused, therefore, large baskets
of bread to be thrown from the wall, and sent a
messenger to Muza to inform him that if his army
should be in want of bread, he would supply it,
having sufficient corn in his granaries for a ten
year's seige.[11]

The citizens, however, did not possess the undaunted

spirit of their governor. When they
found that the moslems were constructing tremendous
engines for the destruction of their walls,
they lost all courage, and, surrounding the governor
in a clamorous multitude, compelled him
to send forth persons to capitulate.

The ambassadors came into the presence of
Muza with awe, for they expected to find a
fierce and formidable warrior in one who had
filled the land with terror; but to their astonishment,
they beheld an ancient and venerable man,
with white hair, a snowy beard, and a pale emaciated
countenance. He had passed the previous
night without sleep, and had been all day in the
field; he was exhausted, therefore, by watchfulness
and fatigue, and his garments were covered
with dust.

“What a devil of a man is this,” murmured
the ambassadors, one to another, “to undertake
such a seige when on the verge of the grave.
Let us defend our city the best way we can,
surely we can hold out longer than the life of
this grey-beard.”

They returned to the city, therefore, scoffing at
an invader who seemed fitter to lean on a crutch
than wield a lance; and the terms offered by
Muza, which would otherwise have been thought
favourable, were scornfully rejected by the inhabitants.
A few days put an end to this mistaken

confidence. Abdalasis, the son of Muza,
arrived from Africa at the head of his reinforcement;
he brought seven thousand horsemen and
a host of Barbary archers, and made a glorious
display as he marched into the camp. The arrival
of this youthful warrior was hailed with
great acclamations, so much had he won the
hearts of the soldiery by the frankness, the
suavity, and generosity of his conduct. Immediately
after his arrival a grand assault was
made upon the city, and several of the huge battering
engines being finished, they were wheeled
up and began to thunder against the walls.

The unsteady populace were again seized
with terror, and, surrounding their governor with
fresh clamours, obliged him to send forth ambassadors
a second time to treat of a surrender.
When admitted to the presence of Muza, the ambassadors
could scarcely believe their eyes, or
that this was the same withered, white headed old
man of whom they had lately spoken with scoffing.
His hair and beard were tinged of a ruddy
brown; his countenance was refreshed by
repose and flushed with indignation, and he appeared
a man in the matured vigour of his days.
The ambassadors were struck with awe: “surely,”
whispered they, one to the other, “this must
be either a devil or a magician, who can thus
make himself old and young at pleasure!”

Muza received them haughtily. “Hence,”
said he, “and tell your people I grant them the
same terms I have already proffered, provided
the city be instantly surrendered; but, by the
head of Mahomet, if there be any further delay,
not one mother's son of ye shall receive mercy
at my hands!”

The deputies returned into the city pale and
dismayed. “Go forth! go forth!” cried they,
“and accept whatever terms are offered; of
what avail is it to fight against men who can renew
their youth at pleasure. Behold, we left
the leader of the infidels an old and feeble man,
and to day we find him youthful and vigorous.”[12]

The place was, therefore, surrendered forthwith,
and Muza entered it in triumph. His
terms were merciful. Those who chose to remain
were protected in persons, possessions, and
religion; he took the property of those only
who abandoned the city or had fallen in
battle; together with all arms and horses, and
the treasures and ornaments of the churches.
Among these sacred spoils was found a cup
made of a single pearl, which a king of Spain,
in ancient times, had brought from the temple
of Jerusalem when it was destroyed by Nebu

cadonozer. This precious relic was sent by
Muza to the caliph, and was placed in the principle
mosque of the city of Damascus.[13]

Muza knew how to esteem merit even in an
enemy. When Sacarus, the governor of Merida,
appeared before him, he lauded him greatly for
the skill and courage he had displayed in the
defence of his city; and, taking off his own
scimitar, which was of great value, girded it upon
him with his own hands. “Wear this,” said
he, “as a poor memorial of my admiration; a
soldier of such virtue and valour is worthy of
far higher honours.”

He would have engaged the governor in his
service, or have persuaded him to remain in the
city, as an illustrious vassal of the caliph, but the
noble minded Sacarus refused to bend to the
yoke of the conquerors; nor could he bring
himself to reside contentedly in his country,
when subjected to the domination of the infidels.
Gathering together all those who chose to accompany
him into exile, he embarked to seek
some country where he might live in peace and
in the free exercise of his religion. What shore
these ocean pilgrims landed upon has never
been revealed; but tradition vaguely gives us to
believe that it was some unknown island far in
the bosom of the Atlantic.[14]

10. CHAPTER X.

After the capture of Merida, Muza gave a
grand banquet to his captains and distinguished
warriors, in that magnificent city. At this martial
feast were many Arab cavaliers who had
been present in various battles, and they vied
with each other in recounting the daring enterprises
in which they had been engaged, and the
splendid triumphs they had witnessed. While
they talked with ardour and exultation, Abdalasis,
the son of Muza, alone kept silence, and sat
with a dejected countenance. At length, when
there was a pause, he turned to his father and
addressed him with modest earnestness. “My
lord and father,” said he, “I blush to hear your
warriors recount the toils and dangers they have
passed, while I have done nothing to entitle me
to their companionship. When I return to Egypt
and present myself before the caliph, he will ask
me of my services in Spain; what battle I have

gained; what town or castle I have taken. How
shall I answer him? If you love me, then, as your
son, give me a command, intrust to me an enterprise,
and let me acquire a name worthy to be
mentioned among men.”

The eyes of Muza kindled with joy at finding
Abdalasis thus ambitious of renown in arms.
“Allah be praised!” exclaimed he, “the heart of
my son is in the right place. It is becoming in
youth to look upward and be aspiring. Thy
desire, Abdalasis, shall be gratified.”

An opportunity at that very time presented
itself to prove the prowess and discretion of the
youth. During the seige of Merida, the christian
troops which had taken refuge at Beja had reinforced
themselves from Peñaflor, and suddenly
returning, had presented themselves before the
gates of the city of Seville.[15] Certain of the
christian inhabitants threw open the gates and
admitted them. The troops rushed to the alcazar,
took it by surprise, and put many of the
moslem garrison to the sword; the residue made
their escape, and fled to the Arab camp before
Merida, leaving Seville in the hands of the
christians.

The veteran Muza, now that the seige of Merida
was at an end, was meditating the recapture

and punishment of Seville at the very time
when Abdalasis addressed him. “Behold, my
son,” exclaimed he, “an enterprise worthy of
thy ambition. Take with thee all the troops thou
hast brought from Africa; reduce the city of Seville
again to subjection, and plant thy standard
upon its alcazar. But stop not there: carry thy
conquering sword into the southern parts of
Spain; thou wilt find there a harvest of glory yet
to be reaped.”

Abdalasis lost no time in departing upon this
enterprise. He took with him Count Julian,
Magued el Rumi, and the Bishop Oppas, that he
might benefit by their knowledge of the country.
When he came in sight of the fair city of Seville,
seated like a queen in the midst of its golden
plain, with the Guadalquivir flowing beneath its
walls, he gazed upon it with the admiration of a
lover, and lamented in his soul that he had to
visit it as an avenger. His troops, however, regarded
it with wrathful eyes, thinking only of its
rebellion and of the massacre of their countrymen
in the alcazar.

The principal people of the city had taken no
part in this gallant but fruitless insurrection; and
now, when they beheld the army of Abdalasis
encamped upon the banks of the Guadalquivir,
would fain have gone forth to make explanations,
and intercede for mercy. The populace, how

ever, forbade any one to leave the city, and, barring
the gates, prepared to defend themselves to
the last.

The place was attacked with resistless fury.
The gates were soon burst open; the moslems
rushed in, panting for revenge. They confined
not their slaughter to the soldiery in the alcazar,
but roamed through every street, confounding
the innocent with the guilty in one bloody massacre,
and it was with the utmost difficulty that
Abdalasis could at length succeed in staying their
sanguinary career.[16]

The son of Muza proved himself as mild in
conquest as he had been intrepid in assault. The
moderation and benignity of his conduct soothed
the terrors of the vanquished, and his wise precautions
restored tranquility. Having made
proper regulations for the protection of the inhabitants,
he left a strong garrison in the place to
prevent any future insurrection, and then departed
on the further prosecution of his enterprise.

Wherever he went his arms were victorious;
and his victories were always characterised by
the same magnanimity. At length he arrived
on the confines of that beautiful region comprising
lofty and precipitous mountains and rich and
delicious plains, afterwards known by the name
of the kingdom of Murcia. All this part of the

country was defended by the veteran Theodomir,
who, by skilful management, had saved a
remnant of his forces after the defeat on the
banks of the Guadalete.

Theodomir was a stanch warrior, but a wary
and prudent man. He had experienced the
folly of opposing the Arabs in open field, where
their cavalry and armour gave them such superiority;
on their approach, therefore, he assembled
all his people capable of bearing arms,
and took possession of the cliffs and mountain
passes. “Here,” said he, “a simple goatherd,
who can hurl down rocks and stones, is as good
as a warrior, armed in proof.” In this way he
checked and harassed the moslem army in all
its movements; showering down missiles upon
it from overhanging precipices, and waylaying
it in narrow and rugged defiles, where a few
raw troops could make stand against a host.

Theodomir was in a fair way to baffle his foes
and oblige them to withdraw from his territories;
unfortunately, however, the wary veteran had
two sons with him, young men of hot and heady
valour, who considered all this prudence of their
father as savouring of cowardice, and who were
anxious to try their prowess in the open field.
“What glory,” said they, “is to be gained by
destroying an enemy in this way, from the covert
of rocks and thickets?”

“You talk like young men,” replied the veteran.
“Glory is a prize one may fight for abroad,
but safety is the object when the enemy is at the
door.”

One day, however, the young men succeeded
in drawing down their father into the plain.
Abdalasis immediately seized on the opportunity
and threw himself between the Goths and
their mountain fastnesses. Theodomir saw too
late the danger into which he was betrayed.
“What can our raw troops do,” said he, “against
those squadrons of horse that move like castles?
Let us make a rapid retreat to Orihuela and
defend ourselves from behind its walls.”

“Father,” said the eldest son, “it is too late to
retreat, remain here with the reserve while my
brother and I advance. Fear nothing; am not
I your son, and would I not die to defend you?”

“In truth,” replied the veteran, “I have my
doubts whether you are my son. But if I remain
here, and you should all be killed, where
then would be my protection? Come,” added
he, turning to the second son, “I trust that thou
art virtually my son, let us hasten to retreat before
it is too late.”

“Father,” replied the youngest, “I have not a
doubt that I am honestly and thoroughly your
son, and as such I honour you; but I owe duty
likewise to my mother, and when I sallied to the

war she gave me her blessing as long as I should
act with valour, but her curse should I prove
craven and fly the field. Fear nothing, father;
I will defend you while living, and even after
you are dead. You shall never fail of an honourable
sepulture among your kindred.”

“A pestilence on ye both,” cried Theodomir,
“for a brace of misbegotten madmen! what
care I, think ye, where ye lay my body when I
am dead. One day's existence in a hovel is
worth an age of interment in a marble sepulchre.
Come, my friends,” said he, turning to his
principal cavaliers, “let us leave these hot-headed
striplings and make our retreat; if we tarry
any longer the enemy will be upon us.”

Upon this the cavaliers and proud hidalgoes
drew up scornfully and tossed their heads:
“What do you see in us,” said they, “that you
think we will show our backs to the enemy?
Forward! was ever the good old gothic watch
word, and with that will we live and die!”

While time was lost in these disputes, the
moslem army kept advancing, until retreat was
no longer practicable. The battle was tumultuous
and bloody. Theodomir fought like a lion,
but it was all in vain: he saw his two sons cut
down and the greater part of their rash companions,
while his raw mountain troops fled in
all directions.

Seeing there was no longer any hope, he
seized the bridle of a favourite page who was
near him, and who was about spurring for the
mountains. “Part not from me,” said he, “but
do thou at least attend to my counsel, my son;
and, of a truth, I believe thou art my son; for
thou art the offspring of one of my handmaids
who was kind unto me.” And indeed the youth
marvellously resembled him. Turning then the
reins of his own steed, and giving him the spur,
he fled amain from the field, followed by the
page; nor did he stop until he arrived within the
walls of Orihuela.

Ordering the gates to be barred and bolted,
he prepared to receive the enemy. There were
but few men in the city capable of bearing arms,
most of the youth having fallen in the field. He
caused the women, therefore, to clothe themselves
in male attire, to put on hats and helmets,
to take long reeds in their hands instead of lances,
and to cross their hair upon their chins in
semblance of beards. With these troops he
lined the walls and towers.

It was about the hour of twilight that Abdalasis
approached with his army, but he paused
when he saw the walls so numerously garrisoned.
Then Theodomir took a flag of truce in his hand,
and put a herald's tabard on the page, and they

two sallied forth to capitulate, and were graciously
received by Abdalasis.

“I come,” said Theodomir, “on the behalf of
the commander of this city to treat for terms
worthy of your magnanimity and of his dignity.
You perceive that the city is capable of withstanding
a long siege, but he is desirous of
sparing the lives of his soldiers. Promise that
the inhabitants shall be at liberty to depart unmolested
with their property, and the city will be
delivered up to you tomorrow morning without
a blow; otherwise we are prepared to fight until
not a man be left.”

Abdalsis was well pleased to get so powerful
a place upon such easy terms, but stipulated
that the garrison should lay down their arms.
To this Theodomir readily assented, with the
exception, however, of the governor and his retinue,
which was granted out of consideration
for his dignity. The articles of capitulation
were then drawn out, and, when Abdalasis had
affixed his name and seal, Theodomir took the
pen and wrote his signature. “Behold in me,”
said he, “the governor of the city!”

Abdalasis was pleased with the hardihood of
the commander of the place in thus venturing
personally into his power, and entertained the
veteran with still greater honour. When Theodomir
returned to the city, he made known the

capituation, and charged the inhabitants to pack
up their effects during the night and be ready to
sally forth in the morning.

At the dawn of day the gates were thrown
open, and Abdalasis looked to see a great force
issuing forth, but, to his surprise, beheld merely
Theodomir and his page in battered armour, followed
by a multitude of old men, women and
children.

Abdalasis waited until the whole had come
forth, then turning to Theodomir, “Where,” cried
he, “are the soldiers whom I saw last evening,
lining the walls and towers?”

“Soldiers have I none,” replied the veteran.
“As to my garrison, behold it before you. With
these women did I man my walls, and this, my
page, is my herald, guard and retinue.”

Upon this the Bishop Oppas and Count Julian
exclaimed that the capitulation was a base fraud
and ought not to be complied with; but Abdalasis
relished the stratagem of the old soldier,
and ordered that the stipulations of the treaty
should be faithfully performed. Nay, so high an
opinion did he conceive of the subtle wisdom of
this commander, that he permitted him to remain
in authority over the surrounding country on his
acknowledging allegiance and engaging to pay
tribute to the caliph; and all that part of Spain,
comprising the beautiful provinces of Murcia

and Valencia, was long after known by the
Arabic name of its defender, and is still recorded
in Arabian chronicles as “The land of Tadmir.”

Having succeeded in subduing this rich and
fruitful region, and having gained great renown
for his generosity as well as valour, Abdalasis
returned with the chief part of his army to the
city of Seville. [17]

11. CHAPTER XI.

When Muza ben Nozier had sent his son Abdalasis
to subdue Seville, he departed for Toledo
to call Taric to account for his disobedience to
his orders; for, amidst all his own successes,
the prosperous career of that commander preyed
upon his mind. What can content the jealous
and ambitious heart? As Muza passed through
the land, towns and cities submitted to him without
resistance; he was lost in wonder at the
riches of the country and the noble monuments
of art with which it was adorned; when he beheld
the bridges, constructed in ancient times by
the Romans, they seemed to him the work, not
of men, but of genii. Yet all these admirable
objects only made him repine the more that he
had not had the exclusive glory of invading and
subduing the land; and exasperated him the
more against Taric, for having apparently endeavoured
to monopolize the conquest.

Taric heard of his approach, and came forth
to meet him at Talavera, accompanied, by many
of the most distinguished companions of his
victories, and with a train of horses and mules
laden with spoils, with which he trusted to propitiate
the favour of his commander. Their
meeting took place on the banks of the rapid
river Tietar, which rises in the mountains of Placencia
and throws itself into the Tagus. Muza,
in former days, while Taric had acted as his subordinate
and indefatigable officer, had cherished
and considered him as a second self, but now
that he had started up to be a rival, he could not
conceal his jealousy. When the veteran came
into his presence, he regarded him for a moment
with a stern and indiguant aspect. “Why hast
thou disobeyed my orders?” said he, “I commanded
thee to await my arrival with reinforcements,
but thou hast rashly overrun the country,
endangering the loss of our armies and the ruin
of our cause.”

“I have acted,” replied Taric, “in such manner
as I thought would best serve the cause of
Islam, and in so doing I thought to fulfil the
wishes of Muza. Whatever I have done has
been as your servant; behold your share, as
commander-in-chief, of the spoils which I have
collected.” So saying, he produced an immense

treasure in silver and gold and costly stuffs, and
precious stones, and spread it before Muza.

The anger of the Arab commander was still
more kindled at the sight of this booty, for it
proved how splendid had been the victories of
Taric; but he restrained his wrath for the present,
and they proceeded together in moody
silence to Toledo. When he entered this royal
city, however, and ascended to the ancient
palace of the gothic kings, and reflected that all
this had been a scene of triumph to his rival, he
could no longer repress his indignation. He demanded
of Taric a strict account of all the riches
he had gathered in Spain, even of the presents
he had reserved for the caliph, and, above all, he
made him yield up his favourite trophy, the talismanic
table of Solomon. When all this was
done, he again upbraided him bitterly with his
disobedience of orders, and with the rashness of
his conduct. “What blind confidence in fortune
hast thou shown,” said he, “in overrunning such
a country and assailing such powerful cities
with thy scanty force! What madness, to venture
every thing upon a desperate chance, when
thou knewest I was coming with a force to make
the victory secure. All thy success has been
owing to mere luck, not to judgment nor generalship.”

He then bestowed high praises upon the other
chieftains for their services in the cause of Islam,
but they answered not a word, and their countenances
were gloomy and discontented; for they
felt the injustice done to their favourite leader.
As to Taric, though his eye burned like fire, he
kept his passion within bounds. “I have done
the best I could to serve God and the caliph,”
said he, emphatically; “my conscience acquits
me, and I trust my sovereign will do the same.”

“Perhaps he may,” replied Muza bitterly,
“but, in the mean time, I cannot confide his interests
to a desperado who is heedless of orders
and throws every thing at hazard. Such a general
is unworthy to be intrusted with the fate
of armies.”

So saying, he divested Taric of his command,
and gave it to Magued the renegado. The gaunt
Taric still maintained an air of stern composure.
His only words were “The caliph will do me
justice!” Muza was so transported with passion
at this laconic defiance that he ordered him to
be thrown into prison, and even threatened his
life.

Upon this, Magued el Rumi, though he had
risen by the disgrace of Taric, had the generosity
to speak out warmly in his favour. “Consider,”
said he, to Muza, “what may be the consequences
of this severity. Taric has many

friends in the army; his actions, too, have been
signal and illustrious, and entitle him to the highest
honours and rewards, instead of disgrace and
imprisonment.”

The anger of Muza, however, was not to be
appeased; and he trusted to justify his measures
by despatching missives to the caliph, complaining
of the insubordination of Taric, and his rash
and headlong conduct. The result proved the
wisdom of the caution given by Magued. In
the course of a little while Muza received a humiliating
letter from the caliph, ordering him to
restore Taric to the command of the soldiers
“whom he had so gloriously conducted;” and
not to render useless “one of the best swords
in Islam!”[18]

It is thus the envious man brings humiliation
and reproach upon himself, in endeavouring to
degrade a meritorious rival. When the tidings
came of the justice rendered by the caliph to
the merits of the veteran, there was general joy
throughout the army, and Muza read in the
smiling countenances of every one around him
a severe censure upon his conduct. He concealed,
however, his deep humiliation, and affected
to obey the orders of his sovereign with
great alacrity; he released Taric from prison,

feasted him at his own table, and then publicly
replaced him at the head of his troops. The
army received its favourite veteran with shouts
of joy, and celebrated with rejoicings the reconciliation
of the commanders; but the shouts
of the soldiery were abhorrent to the ears of
Muza.

12. CHAPTER XII.

The dissensions, which for a time had distracted
the conquering army, being appeased,
and the Arabian generals being apparently
once more reconciled, Muza, as commander-in-chief,
proceeded to complete the enterprise by
subjugating the northern parts of Spain. The
same expeditious mode of conquest that had
been sagaciously adopted by Taric, was still
pursued. The troops were lightly armed, and
freed from every superfluous incumbrance.
Each horseman, beside his arms, carried a
small sack of provisions; a copper vessel in
which to cook them, and a skin which served
him for surcoat and for bed. The infantry
carried nothing but their arms. To each regiment
or squadron was allowed a limited number
of sumpter mules and attendants; barely
enough to carry their necessary baggage and
supplies; nothing was permitted that could

needlessly diminish the number of fighting men
delay their rapid movements, or consume their
provisions. Strict orders were again issued,
prohibiting, on pain of death, all plunder excepting
the camp of an enemy, or cities given
up to pillage.[19]

The armies now took their several lines of
march. That under Taric departed towards
the northeast; beating up the country towards
the source of the Tagus; traversing the chain of
Iberian or Arragonian mountains, and pouring
down into the plains and valleys watered by
the Ebro. It was wonderful to see, in so brief
a space of time, such a vast and difficult country
penetrated and subdued; and the invading
army, like an inundating flood, pouring its
streams into the most remote recesses.

While Taric was thus sweeping the country
to the northeast, Muza departed in an opposite
direction; yet purposing to meet him,
and to join their forces in the north. Bending
his course westwardly, he made a circuit
behind the mountains, and then, advancing into
the open country, displayed his banners before
Salamanca, which surrendered without resistance.
From hence he continued on towards Astorga,
receiving the terrified submission of the

land; then turning up the valley of the Douro,
he ascended the course of that famous river towards
the east; crossed the Sierra de Moncayo,
and, arrriving on the banks of the Ebro, marched
down along its stream, until he approached
the strong city of Saragossa, the citadel of all
that part of Spain. In this place had taken
refuge many of the most valiant of the gothic
warriors; the remnants of armies, and fugitives
from conquered cities. It was one of the last
rallying points of the land. When Muza arrived,
Taric had already been for some time
before the place, laying close siege; the inhabitants
were pressed by famine, and had suffered
great losses in repeated combats; but there was
a spirit and obstinacy in their resistance surpassing
any thing that had yet been witnessed
by the invaders.

Muza now took command of the siege, and
ordered a general assault upon the walls. The
moslems planted their scaling ladders, and
mounted with their accustomed intrepidity, but
were vigorously resisted; nor could all their
efforts obtain them a footing upon the battlements.
While they were thus assailing the
walls, Count Julian ordered a heap of combustibles
to be placed against one of the gates, and
set on fire. The inhabitants attempted in vain
from the barbican to extinguish the flames.

They burnt so fiercely, that in a little while the
gate fell from the hinges. Count Julian galloped
into the city mounted upon a powerful
charger, himself and his steed all covered with
mail. He was followed by three hundred of
his partisans, and supported by Magued, the
renegado, with a troop of horse.

The inhabitants disputed every street and
public square; they made barriers of dead bodies,
fighting behind these ramparts of their
slaughtered countrymen. Every window and
roof was filled with combatants; the very women
and children joined in the desperate fight,
throwing down stones and missiles of all kinds,
and scalding water upon the enemy.

The battle raged until the hour of vespers,
when the principal inhabitants held a parley,
and capitulated for a surrender. Muza had
been incensed at their obstinate resistance,
which had cost the lives of so many of his
soldiers; he knew, also, that in the city were
collected the riches of many of the towns of
eastern Spain. He demanded, therefore, beside
the usual terms, a heavy sum to be paid
down by the citizens, called the contribution of
blood; as by this they redeemed themselves
from the edge of the sword. The people were
obliged to comply. They collected all the jewels
of their richest families, and all the orna

ments of their temples, and laid them at the
feet of Muza; and placed in his power many
of their noblest youths as hostages. A strong
garrison was then appointed, and thus the fierce
city of Saragossa was subdued to the yoke of
the conqueror.

The Arab generals pursued their conquests
even to the foot of the Pyrenees; Taric then
descended along the course of the Ebro, and
continued along the Mediterranean coast; subduing
the famous city of Valencia, with its rich
and beautiful domains, and carrying the success
of his arms even to Denia.

Muza undertook with his host a wider range
of conquest. He overcame the cities of Barcelona,
Gerona, and others that lay on the skirts
of the eastern mountains; then crossing into
the land of the Franks, he captured the city of
Narbonne; in a temple of which he found seven
equestrian images of silver, which he brought
off as trophies of his victory.[20] Returning into
Spain, he scoured its northern regions along
Gallicia and the Asturias; passed triumphantly
through Lusitania, and arrived once more in
Andalusia, covered with laurels and enriched
with immense spoils.

Thus was completed the subjugation of unhappy

Spain. All its cities and fortresses, and
strong holds, were in the hands of the Saracens,
excepting some of the wild mountain
tracts that bordered the Atlantic, and extended
towards the north. Here, then, the story
of the conquest might conclude, but that the
indefatigable chronicler, Fray Antonio Agapida,
goes on to record the fate of those persons
who were most renowned in the enterprise.
We shall follow his steps, and avail ourselves
of his information, laboriously collected from
various sources; and, truly, the story of each
of the actors in this great historical drama,
bears with it its striking moral, and is full of
admonition and instruction.

13. CHAPTER XIII.

The heart of Muza ben Nozier was now lifted
up, for he considered his glory complete. He
held a sway that might have gratified the ambition
of the proudest sovereign, for all western
Africa and the newly acquired peninsula of
Spain were obedient to his rule; and he was
renowned throughout all the lands of Islam as
the great conqueror of the west. But sudden
humiliation awaited him in the very moment of
his highest triumph.

Notwithstanding the outward reconciliation
of Muza and Taric, a deep and implacable hostility
continued to exist between them; and
each had busy partisans who distracted the
armies by their feuds. Letters were incessantly
despatched to Damascus by either party,
exalting the merits of their own leader and decrying
his rival. Taric was represented as rash,
arbitrary, and prodigal, and as injuring the discipline

of the army, by sometimes treating it
with extreme rigor, and at other times giving
way to licentiousness and profusion. Muza was
lauded as prudent, sagacious, dignified and systematic
in his dealings. The friends of Taric, on
the other hand, represented him as brave, generous,
and high minded; scrupulous in reserving
to his sovereign his rightful share of the spoils,
but distributing the rest bounteously among his
soldiers, and thus increasing their alacrity in the
service. “Muza, on the contrary,” said they,
“is grasping and insatiable; he levies intolerable
contributions and collects immense treasure, but
sweeps it all into his own coffers.”

The caliph was at length wearied out by these
complaints, and feared that the safety of the
cause might be endangered by the dissensions of
the rival generals. He sent letters, therefore,
ordering them to leave suitable persons in
charge of their several commands, and appear,
forthwith, before him at Damascus.

Such was the greeting from his sovereign that
awaited Muza on his return from the conquest of
northern Spain. It was a grievous blow to a man
of his pride and ambition; but he prepared instantly
to obey. He returned to Cordova, collecting
by the way all the treasures he had deposited
in various places. At that city he called a meeting
of his principal officers, and of the leaders of the

faction of apostate christians, and made them all
do homage to his son Abdalasis, as emir or governor
of Spain. He gave this favourite son
much sage advice for the regulation of his conduct,
and left with him his nephew, Ayub, a
man greatly honoured by the moslems for his
wisdom and discretion; exhorting Abdalasis to
consult him on all occasions and consider him as
his bosom counsellor. He made a parting address
to his adherents, full of cheerful confidence;
assuring them that he would soon return,
loaded with new favours and honours by his
sovereign, and enabled to reward them all for
their faithful services.

When Muza sallied forth from Cordova, to
repair to Damascus, his cavalgada appeared
like the sumptuous pageant of some oriental
potentate; for he had numerous guards and attendants
splendidly armed and arrayed, together
with four hundred hostages, who were
youthful cavaliers of the noblest families of the
Goths, and a great number of captives of both
sexes, chosen for their beauty, and intended as
presents for the caliph. Then there was a vast
train of beasts of burden, laden with the plunder
of Spain; for he took with him all the wealth he
had collected in his conquests; and all the share
that had been set apart for his sovereign. With
this display of trophies and spoils, showing the

magnificence of the land he had conquered, he
looked forward with confidence to silence the
calumnies of his foes.

As he traversed the valley of the Guadalquivir
he often turned and looked back wistfully
upon Cordova; and, at the distance of a league,
when about to lose sight of it, he checked his
steed upon the summit of a hill, and gazed for a
long time upon its palaces and towers. “O
Cordova!” exclaimed he, “great and glorious art
thou among cities, and abundant in all delights.
With grief and sorrow do I part from thee, for
sure I am it would give me length of days to abide
within thy pleasant walls!” When he had uttered
these words, say the Arabian chronicles,
he resumed his wayfaring; but his eyes were
bent upon the ground, and frequent sighs bespoke
the heaviness of his heart.

Embarking at Cadiz he passed over to Africa
with all his people and effects, to regulate his
government in that country. He divided the
command between his sons, Abdelola and Meruan,
leaving the former in Tangier, and the
latter in Cairvan. Thus having secured, as he
thought, the power and prosperity of his family,
by placing all his sons as his lieutenants in the
country he had conquered, he departed for
Syria, bearing with him the sumptuous spoils of
the west.

While Muza was thus disposing of his commands,
and moving cumbrously under the
weight of wealth, the veteran Taric was more
speedy and alert in obeying the summons of the
caliph. He knew the importance, where complaints
were to be heard, of being first in presence
of the judge; beside, he was ever ready
to march at a moments warning, and had nothing
to impede him in his movements. The spoils
he had made in his conquests had either been
shared among his soldiers, or yielded up to
Muza, or squandered away with open handed
profusion. He appeared in Syria with a small
train of war-worn followers, and had no other
trophies to show than his battered armour, and
a body seamed with scars. He was received,
however, with rapture by the multitude, who
crowded to behold one of those conquerors of
the west, whose wonderful achievements were
the theme of every tongue. They were charmed
with his gaunt and martial air, his hard sun-burnt
features, and his scathed eye. “All hail,”
cried they, “to the sword of Islam, the terror of
the unbelievers! Behold the true model of a
warrior, who despises gain and seeks for nought
but glory!”

Taric was graciously received by the caliph,
who asked tidings of his victories. He gave a
soldier-like account of his actions, frank and

full, without any feigned modesty, yet without
vain-glory. “Commander of the faithful,” said
he, “I bring thee no silver, nor gold, nor precious
stones, nor captives, for what spoils I did not
share with my soldiers I gave up to Muza as my
commander. How I have conducted myself the
honourable warriors of thy host will tell thee;
nay, let our enemies, the christians, be asked if I
have ever shown myself cowardly or cruel or
rapacious.”

“What kind of people are these christians?”
demanded the caliph.

“The Spaniards,” replied Taric, “are lions
in their castles, eagles in their saddles, but mere
women when on foot. When vanquished they
escape like goats to the mountains, for they need
not see the ground they tread on.”

“And tell me of the Moors of Barbary.”

“They are like Arabs in the fierceness and
dexterity of their attacks, and in their knowledge
of the stratagems of war; they resemble them,
too, in feature, in fortitude and hospitality; but
they are the most perfidious people upon earth,
and never regard promise or plighted faith.”

“And the people of Afranc; what sayest thou
of them?”

“They are infinite in number, rapid in the onset,
fierce in battle, but confused and headlong
in flight.”

“And how fared it with thee among these
people?” Did they sometimes vanquish thee?”

“Never, by Allah!” cried Taric with honest
warmth, “never did a banner of mine fly the
field. Though the enemy were two to one, my
moslems never shunned the combat!”

The caliph was well pleased with the martial
bluntness of the veteran, and showed him great
honour; and wherever Taric appeared he was
the idol of the populace.

14. CHAPTER XIV.

Shortly after the arrival of Taric el Tuerto
at Damascus, the caliph fell dangerously ill, insomuch
that his life was despaired of. During
his illness, tidings were brought that Muza ben
Nozier had entered Syria with a vast cavalcade,
bearing all the riches and trophies gained in the
western conquests. Now Suleiman ben Abdelmelec,
brother to the caliph, was successor to
the throne, and he saw that his brother had not
long to live, and wished to grace the commencement
of his reign by this triumphant display
of the spoils of christendom; he sent
messengers, therefore, to Muza, saying, “The
caliph is ill and cannot receive thee at present;
I pray thee tarry on the road until his recovery.”
Muza, however, paid no attention to
the messages of Suleiman, but rather hastened
his march to arrive before the death of the

caliph. And Suleiman treasured up his conduct
in his heart.

Muza entered the city in a kind of triumph,
with a long train of horses and mules and camels
laden with treasure, and with the four hundred
sons of gothic nobles as hostages, each
decorated with a diadem and a girdle of gold;
and with one hundred christian damsels, whose
beauty dazzled all beholders. As he passed
through the streets he ordered purses of gold
to be thrown among the populace, who rent the
air with acclamations. “Behold,” cried they,
“the veritable conqueror of the unbelievers!
Behold the true model of a conqueror, who
brings home wealth to his country!” And they
heaped benedictions on the head of Muza.

The caliph Waled Almanzor rose from his
couch of illness to receive the emir; who, when
he repaired to the palace, filled one of its great
courts with treasures of all kinds; the halls, too,
were thronged with the youthful hostages, magnificently
attired, and with christian damsels,
lovely as the houries of paradise. When the
caliph demanded an account of the conquest of
Spain, he gave it with great eloquence; but, in
describing the various victories, he made no
mention of the name of Taric, but spoke as if
every thing had been effected by himself. He
then presented the spoils of the christians as if

they had been all taken by his own hands; and
when he delivered to the caliph the miraculous
table of Solomon, he dwelt with animation on
the virtues of that inestimable talisman.

Upon this, Taric, who was present, could no
longer hold his peace. “Commander of the
faithful,” said he, “examine this precious table,
if any part be wanting.” The caliph examined
the table, which was composed of a single emerald,
and he found that one foot was supplied
by a foot of gold. The caliph turned to Muza
and said, “Where is the other foot of the table?”
Muza answered, “I know not; one foot
was wanting when it came into my hands.”
Upon this, Taric drew from beneath his robe a
foot of emerald of like workmanship to the
others, and fitting exactly to the table. “Behold,
O commander of the faithful!” cried he,
“a proof of the real finder of the table; and
so is it with the greater part of the spoils exhibited
by Muza as trophies of his achievements.
It was I who gained them, and who captured
the cities in which they were found. If you
want proof, demand of these christian cavaliers
here present, most of whom I captured; demand
of those moslem warriors who aided me
in my battles.”

Muza was confounded for a moment, but
attempted to vindicate himself. “I spake,” said

he, “as the chief of your armies, under whose
orders and banners this conquest was achieved.
The actions of the soldier are the actions of the
commander. In a great victory it is not supposed
that the chief of the army takes all the
captives, or kills all the slain, or gathers all the
booty, though all are enumerated in the records
of his triumph.” The caliph, however, was
wroth, and heeded not his words. “You have
vaunted your own deserts,” said he, “and have
forgotten the deserts of others; nay, you have
sought to debase another who has loyally served
his sovereign; the reward of your envy and
covetousness be upon your head!” So saying,
he bestowed a great part of the spoils upon
Taric and the other chiefs, but gave nothing
to Muza; and the veteran retired amidst the
sneers and murmurs of those present.

In a few days the Caliph Waled died, and
was succeeded by his brother Suleiman. The
new sovereign cherished deep resentment
against Muza for having presented himself
at court contrary to his command, and he listened
readily to the calumnies of his enemies;
for Muza had been too illustrious in his deeds
not to have many enemies. All now took courage
when they found he was out of favour, and
they heaped slanders on his head; charging
him with embezzling much of the share of the

booty belonging to the sovereign. The new
caliph lent a willing ear to the accusation, and
commanded him to render up all that he had
pillaged from Spain. The loss of his riches
might have been borne with fortitude by Muza,
but the stigma upon his fame filled his heart
with bitterness. “I have been a faithful servant
to the throne from my youth upwards,”
said he, “and now am I degraded in my old
age. I care not for wealth, I care not for life,
but let me not be deprived of that honour which
God has bestowed upon me!”

The caliph was still more exasperated at his
repining, and stripped him of his commands;
confiscated his effects; fined him two hundred
thousand pesants of gold, and ordered that he
should be scourged and exposed to the noontide
sun, and afterwards thrown into prison.[21] The
populace, also, reviled and scoffed at him in his
misery, and as they beheld him led forth to the
public gaze, and fainting in the sun, they pointed
at him with derision and exclaimed—“Behold
the envious man and the impostor; this is he
who pretended to have conquered the land of
the unbelievers!”

15. CHAPTER XV.

While these events were happening in Syria,
the youthful Abdalasis, the son of Muza,
remained as emir or governor of Spain. He
was of a generous and benignant disposition,
but he was open and confiding, and easily led
away by the opinions of those he loved. Fortunately
his father had left with him, as a bosom
counsellor, the discreet Ayub, the nephew of
Muza; aided by his advice, he for some time
administered the public affairs prudently and
prosperously.

Not long after the departure of his father, he
received a letter from him, written while on his
journey to Syria; it was to the following purport:

“Beloved son; honour of thy lineage; Allah
guard thee from all harm and peril! Listen
to the words of thy father. Avoid all treachery
though it should promise great advantage, and

trust not in him who counsels it, even though
he should be a brother. The company of traitors
put far from thee; for how canst thou be
certain that he who has proved false to others
will prove true to thee? Beware, O my son, of
the seductions of love. It is an idle passion
which enfeebles the heart and blinds the judgment;
it renders the mighty weak, and makes
slaves of princes. If thou shouldst discover
any foible of a vicious kind springing up in thy
nature, pluck it forth, whatever pang it cost
thee. Every error, while new, may easily be
weeded out, but if suffered to take root it flourishes
and bears seed, and produces fruit an hundred
fold. Follow these counsels, O son of my
affections, and thou shalt live secure.”

Abdalasis meditated upon this letter, for some
part of it seemed to contain a mystery which
he could not comprehend. He called to him his
cousin and counsellor, the discreet Ayub. “What
means my father,” said he, “in cautioning me
against treachery and treason? Does he think
my nature so base that it could descend to
such means?”

Ayub read the letter attentively. “Thy father,”
said he, “would put thee on thy guard
against the traitors Julian and Oppas, and
those of their party who surround thee. What
love canst thou expect from men who have

been unnatural to their kindred, and what
loyalty from wretches who have betrayed
their country?”

Abdalasis was satisfied with the interpretation,
and he acted accordingly. He had long
loathed all communion with these men, for
there is nothing which the open ingenuous
nature so much abhors as duplicity and treason.
Policy, too, no longer required their
agency; they had rendered their infamous
service, and had no longer a country to betray;
but they might turn and betray their
employers. Abdalasis, therefore, removed them
to a distance from his court, and placed them
in situations where they could do no harm, and
he warned his commanders from being in any
wise influenced by their counsels, or aided by
their arms.

He now confided entirely in his Arabian
troops, and in the moorish squadrons from Africa,
and with their aid he completed the conquest
of Lusitania to the ultimate parts of the
Algarbe, or west, even to the shores of the
great Ocean sea.[22] From hence he sent his
generals to overrun all those vast and rugged

sierras, which rise like ramparts along the ocean
borders of the peninsula; and they carried the
standard of Islam in triumph even to the mountains
of Biscay, collecting all manner of precious
spoil.

“It is not enough, O Abdalasis,” said Ayub,
“that we conquer and rule this country with
the sword; if we wish our dominion to be secure,
we must cultivate the arts of peace, and
study to secure the confidence and promote the
welfare of the people we have conquered.” Abdalasis
relished counsel which accorded so well
with his own beneficent nature. He endeavoured,
therefore, to allay the ferment and confusion
of the conquest; forbade, under rigorous punishment,
all wanton spoil or oppression, and
protected the native inhabitants in the enjoyment
and cultivation of their lands, and the
pursuit of all useful occupations. By the advice
of Ayub, also, he encouraged great numbers of
industrious Moors and Arabs to emigrate from
Africa, and gave them houses and lands; thus
introducing a peaceful mahometan population
into the conquered provinces.

The good effect of the counsels of Ayub
were soon apparent. Instead of a sudden but
transient influx of wealth, made by the ruin of
the land, which left the country desolate, a regular
and permanent revenue sprang up, produced

by reviving prosperity, and gathered
without violence. Abdalasis ordered it to be
faithfully collected, and deposited in coffers by
public officers appointed in each province for
the purpose; and the whole was sent by ten
deputies to Damascus to be laid at the feet of
the caliph; not as the spoils of a vanquished
country, but as the peaceful trophies of a wisely
administered government.

The common herd of warlike adventurers,
the mere men of the sword, who had thronged
to Spain for the purpose of ravage and rapine,
were disappointed at being thus checked in
their career, and at seeing the reign of terror
and violence drawing to a close. What manner
of leader is this, said they, who forbids us
to make spoil of the enemies of Islam, and to
enjoy the land we have wrested from the unbelievers?
The partisans of Julian, also, whispered
their calumnies. “Behold,” said they, “with
what kindness he treats the enemies of your
faith; all the christians who have borne arms
against you, and withstood your entrance into
the land, are favoured and protected; but it is
enough for a christian to have befriended the
cause of the moslems to be singled out by Abdalasis
for persecution, and to be driven with
scorn from his presence.”

These insinuations fermented the discontent

of the turbulent and rapacious among the moslems,
but all the friends of peace and order and
good government applauded the moderation of
the youthful emir.

16. CHAPTER XVI.

Abdalasis had fixed his seat of government
at Seville, as permitting easy and frequent
communications with the coast of Africa. His
palace was of noble architecture, with delightful
gardens extending to the banks of the Guadalquivir.
In a part of this palace resided many
of the most beautiful christian females, who
were detained as captives, or rather hostages, to
insure the tranquillity of the country. Those
who were of noble rank were entertained in
luxury and magnificence; slaves were appointed
to attend upon them, and they were arrayed
in the richest apparel and decorated with the
most precious jewels. Those of tender age
were taught all graceful accomplishments; and
even where tasks were imposed, they were of
the most elegant and agreeable kind. They
embroidered, they sang, they danced, and passed
their times in pleasing revelry. Many were
lulled by this easy and voluptuous existence:

the scenes of horror through which they had
passed were gradually effaced from their minds,
and a desire was often awakened of rendering
themselves pleasing in the eyes of their conquerors.

After his return from his campaign in Lusitania,
and during the intervals of public duty,
Abdalasis solaced himself in the repose of this
palace, and in the society of these christian captives.
He remarked one among them who ever
sat apart; and neither joined in the labours nor
sports of her companions. She was lofty in her
demeanour, and the others always paid her reverence;
yet sorrow had given a softness to
her charms, and rendered her beauty touching
to the heart. Abdalasis found her one day in
the garden with her companions; they had
adorned their heads with flowers, and were
singing the songs of their country, but she sat by
herself and wept. The youthful emir was
moved by her tears, and accosted her in gentle
accents. “O fairest of women!” said he,
“why dost thou weep, and why is thy heart
troubled?” “Alas!” replied she, “have I not
cause to weep, seeing how sad is my condition,
and how great the height from which I have
fallen? In me you behold the wretched Exilona,
but lately the wife of Roderick, and the
queen of Spain, now a captive and a slave!”

and, having said these words, she cast her eyes
upon the earth, and her tears began to flow
afresh.

The generous feelings of Abdalasis were
aroused at the sight of beauty and royalty in
tears. He gave orders that Exilona should be
entertained in a style befitting her former rank;
he appointed a train of female attendants to
wait upon her, and a guard of honour to protect
her from all intrusion. All the time that he
could spare from public concerns was passed in
her society; and he even neglected his divan,
and suffered his counsellors to attend in vain,
while he lingered in the apartments and gardens
of the palace, listening to the voice of Exilona.

The discreet Ayub saw the danger into which
he was falling. “Oh Abdalasis,” said he, “remember
the words of thy father. `Beware, my
son,' said he, `of the seductions of love. It renders
the mighty weak, and makes slaves of princes!”'
A blush kindled on the cheek of Abdalasis,
and he was silent for a moment. “Why,” said
he, at length, “do you seek to charge me with
such weakness. It is one thing to be infatuated
by the charms of a woman, and another to be
touched by her misfortunes. It is the duty of
my station to console a princess who has been
reduced to the lowest humiliation by the tri

umphs of our arms. In doing so I do but listen
to the dictates of true magnanimity.”

Ayub was silent, but his brow was clouded,
and for once Abdalasis parted in discontent
from his counsellor. In proportion as he was
dissatisfied with others or with himself, he sought
the society of Exilona, for there was a charm in
her conversation that banished every care. He
daily became more and more enamoured, and
Exilona gradually ceased to weep, and began to
listen with secret pleasure to the words of her
Arab lover. When, however, he sought to urge
his passion, she recollected the light estimation
in which her sex was held by the followers of
Mahomet, and assumed a countenance grave
and severe.

“Fortune,” said she, “has cast me at thy feet,
behold I am thy captive and thy spoil. But though
my person is in thy power, my soul is unsubdued.
and know that, should I lack force to defend my
honour, I have resolution to wash out all stain
upon it with my blood. I trust, however, in thy
courtesy as a cavalier to respect me in my reverses,
remembering what I have been, and that
though the crown has been wrested from my
brow, the royal blood still warms within my
veins.[23]

The lofty spirit of Exilona, and her proud
repulse, served but to increase the passion of
Abdalasis. He besought her to unite her destiny
with his, and share his state and power,
promising that she should have no rival nor co-partner
in his heart. Whatever scruples the
captive queen might originally have felt to a
union with one of the conquerors of her lord,
and an enemy of her adopted faith, they were
easily vanquished, and she became the bride of
Abadalasis. He would fain have persuaded her
to return to the faith of her fathers; but though
of moorish origin, and brought up in the doctrines
of Islam, she was too thorough a convert
to christianity to consent, and looked back with
disgust upon a religion that admitted a plurality
of wives.

When the sage Ayub heard of the resolution
of Abadalasis to espouse Exilona he was in despair.
“Alas, my cousin!” said he, “what infatuation
possesses thee? Hast thou then entirely
forgotten the letter of thy father. `Beware
my son,' said he, `of love, it is an idle passion,
which enfeebles the heart and blinds the
judgment.”' But Abdalasis interrupted him
with impatience. “My father,” said he, “spake
but of the blandishments of wanton love, against
these I am secured by my virtuous passion for
Exilona.”

Ayub would fain have impressed upon him
the dangers he ran of awakening suspicion in
the caliph, and discontent among the moslems,
by wedding the queen of the conquered Roderick,
and one who was an enemy to the religion
of Mahomet; but the youthful lover only listened
to his passion. Their nuptials were celebrated
at Seville with great pomp and rejoicings,
and he gave his bride the name of
Omalisam; that is to say, she of the precious
jewels;[24] but she continued to be known among
the christians by the name of Exilona.

17. CHAPTER XVII.

Possession instead of cooling the passion of
Abdalasis, only added to its force; he became
blindly enamoured of his beautiful bride, and
consulted her will in all things; nay, having lost
all relish for the advice of the discreet Ayub,
he was even guided by the counsels of his wife
in the affairs of government. Exilona, unfortunately,
had once been a queen, and she could
not remember her regal glories without regret.
She saw that Abdalasis had great power in the
land; greater even than had been possessed by
the gothic kings; but she considered it as
wanting in true splendour until his brows should
be encircled with the outward badge of royalty.
One day, when they were alone in the
palace of Seville, and the heart of Abdalasis
was given up to tenderness, she addressed him
in fond yet timid accents. “Will not my lord
be offended,” said she, “if I make an unwel

come request?” Abdalasis regarded her with
a smile. “What canst thou ask of me, Exilona,”
said he, “that it would not be a happiness
for me to grant?” Then Exilona produced a
crown of gold, sparkling with jewels, which
had belonged to the king, Don Roderick, and
said, “Behold, thou art king in authority, be so
in thy outward state. There is majesty and
glory in a crown; it gives a sanctity to power.”
Then putting the crown upon his head, she held
a mirror before him that he might behold the
majesty of his appearance. Abdalasis chid her
fondly, and put the crown away from him, but
Exilona persisted in her prayer. “Never,” said
she, “has there been a king in Spain that did
not wear a crown.” So Abdalasis suffered
himself to be beguiled by the blandishments of
his wife, and to be invested with the crown and
sceptre and other signs of royalty.[25]

It is affirmed by ancient and discreet chroniclers,
that Abdalasis only assumed this royal
state in the privacy of his palace, and to gratify
the eye of his youthful bride; but where was a
secret ever confined within the walls of a palace?
The assumption of the insignia of the
ancient gothic kings was soon rumoured about,

and caused the most violent suspicions. The
moslems had already felt jealous of the ascendancy
of this beautiful woman, and it was now
confidently asserted that Abdalasis, won by her
persuasions, had secretly turned christian.

The enemies of Abdalasis, those whose rapacious
spirits had been kept in check by the beneficence
of his rule, seized upon this occasion
to ruin him. They sent letters to Damascus
accusing him of apostacy, and of an intention
to seize upon the throne in right of his wife,
Exilona, as widow of the late King Roderick.
It was added, that the christians were prepared
to flock to his standard as the only means of
regaining ascendancy in their country.

These accusations arrived at Damascus just
after the accession of the sanguinary Suleiman
to the throne, and in the height of his persecution
of the unfortunate Muza. The caliph
waited for no proofs in confirmation; he immediately
sent private orders that Abdalasis should
be put to death, and that the same fate should
be dealt to his two brothers who governed in
Africa, as a sure means of crushing the conspiracy
of this ambitious family.

The mandate for the death of Abdalasis was
sent to Abhilbar ben Obeidah and Zeyd ben
Nabegat, both of whom had been cherished
friends of Muza, and had lived in intimate

favour and companionship with his son. When
they read the fatal parchment, the scroll fell
from their trembling hands. “Can such hostility
exist against the family of Muza?” exclaimed
they. “Is this the reward for such
great and glorious services?” The cavaliers
remained for some time plunged in horror and
consternation. The order, however, was absolute,
and left them no discretion. “Allah is
great,” said they, “and commands us to obey
our sovereign.” So they prepared to execute
the bloody mandate with the blind fidelity of
moslems.

It was necessary to proceed with caution.
The open and magnanimous character of Abdalasis
had won the hearts of a great part of
the soldiery, and his magnificence pleased the
cavaliers who formed his guard; it was feared,
therefore, that a sanguinary opposition would
be made to any attempt upon his person. The
rabble, however, had been imbittered against
him from his having restrained their depredations,
and because they thought him an apostate
in his heart, secretly bent upon betraying them
to the christians. While, therefore, the two
officers made vigilant dispositions to check any
movement on the part of the soldiery, they let
loose the blind fury of the populace by publishing
the fatal mandate. In a moment the city

was in a ferment, and there was a ferocious
emulation who should be first to execute the
orders of the caliph.

Abdalasis was at this time at a palace in the
country not far from Seville, commanding a
delightful view of the fertile plain of the Guadalquivir.
Hither he was accustomed to retire
from the tumult of the court, and to pass his
time among groves and fountains and the sweet
repose of gardens, in the society of Exilona. It
was the dawn of day, the hour of early prayer,
when the furious populace arrived at this retreat.
Abdalasis was offering up his orisons in
a small mosque which he had erected for the
use of the neighbouring peasantry. Exilona
was in a chapel in the interior of the palace,
where her confessor, a holy friar, was performing
mass. They were both surprised at their
devotions, and dragged forth by the hands of
the rabble. A few guards, who attended at the
palace, would have made defence, but they
were overawed by the sight of the written mandate
of the caliph.

The captives were borne in triumph to Seville.
All the beneficent virtues of Abdalasis
were forgotten; nor had the charms of Exilona
any effect in softening the hearts of the populace.
The brutal eagerness to shed blood, which
seems inherent in human nature, was awakened,

and woe to the victims when that eagerness
is quickened by religious hate. The illustrious
couple adorned with all the graces of youth
and beauty, were hurried to a scaffold in the
great square of Seville, and there beheaded
amidst the shouts and execrations of an infatuated
multitude. Their bodies were left exposed
upon the ground, and would have been devoured
by dogs, had they not been gathered at
night by some friendly hand, and poorly interred
in one of the courts of their late dwelling.

Thus terminated the loves and lives of Abdalasis
and Exilona, in the year of the incarnation
seven hundred and fourteen. Their names
were held sacred as martyrs to the christian
faith; but many read in their untimely fate a
lesson against ambition and vain-glory; having
sacrificed real power and substantial rule to the
glittering bawble of a crown.

The head of Abdalasis was embalmed and
enclosed in a casket, and sent to Syria to the
cruel Suleiman. The messenger who bore it
overtook the caliph as he was performing a
pilgrimage to Mecca. Muza was among the
courtiers in his train, having been released from
prison. On opening the casket and regarding
its contents, the eyes of the tyrant sparkled
with malignant satisfaction. Calling the unhappy

father to his side: “Muza,” said he, “dost
thou know this head?” The veteran recognized
the features of his beloved son, and
turned his face away with anguish. “Yes!
well do I know it,” replied he; “and may the
curse of God light upon him who has destroyed
a better man than himself.”

Without adding another word, he retired to
Mount Deran, a prey to devouring melancholy.
He shortly after received tidings of the death of
his two sons whom he had left in the government
of western Africa, and who had fallen
victims to the jealous suspicions of the caliph.
His advanced age was not proof against these
repeated blows, and this utter ruin of his late
prosperous family, and he sank into his grave
sorrowing and broken hearted.

Such was the lamentable end of the conqueror
of Spain; whose great achievements
were not sufficient to atone, in the eye of his
sovereign, for a weakness to which all men ambitious
of renown are subject; and whose triumphs
eventually brought persecution upon
himself, and untimely death upon his children.

Here ends the legend of the Subjugation of
Spain.