University of Virginia Library

9. CHAPTER IX.

Of the further details of the conspiracy against the crown of Roderick it does
not need that we should now take heed. It will suffice to remember that the conspirators
were counselled by shrewd, sagacious heads; men well experienced in
such practices, and entirely free from those disquieting morals of patriotism which
might have made them scrupulous in such employment. They carried their plans
forward so as to include all the probable elements of success—neglected no precautions,
and disregarded none of those considerations which might be supposed to
operate, whether favorably or otherwise, in connection with their schemes. After
some delays the two opposing armies came in sight of each other on the banks of
the lovely waters of the Xeres.

“Henceforward this shall be the river of death!” exclaimed the fierce captain of
the Arabs, as he looked down at the water flowing before his feet; and the name
of “Guadalete,” which, in the Arabic, has this signification, consecrated to the purpose
by the terrible strife which followed upon the banks of this stream, has clung
to it even to the present hour, and will probably cling to it forever. The dark
soul of Taric el Tuerto, conscious of its own purpose, was prescient of the awful
event about to follow, and he was destined soon to put in exercise all his fearful
energies in order to realize his own predictions and desires. Glorious, indeed, was
the spectacle then visible upon the borders of this lovely river, so darkly consecrated.
On the side of the invaders might be seen a small but formidable army—grim warriors,
well armed, compact, accustomed to work together in warfare, expert in the use
of their weapons, and yielding to the summons of battle with the exulting spirit of
the war horse, impatient of the trumpet. This well-appointed army though but a
speck in comparison with the numbers brought into the field by Roderick, wore yet
the aspect of a power which might be regarded with respect and apprehension. The
order of the well-drilled masses—their compact army—the symmetry and proper relationship
of body to body, horse and foot, seeming to co-operate as by some secret
sympathy, and without a word—these were signs not to be misunderstood or undervalued
by him whose eye hath ever enjoyed the spectacle of combat. The swarthy
legions of Taric looked like warriors embrowned by strife on every field in Mauritania.
The fiery steeds of the desert, admirably trained by the hand of the Bedouin,
gave life and animation to the array, as they coursed over the adjacent plain; and
the wild clash of the cymbal, mingled with the jeering cry of the Arabian horsemen,
seemed to awaken the very echoes in mockery of the vast but comparatively feeble
battallions of the Gothic monarch. But the spectacle that gave most pain and apprehension
to the eyes of Roderick was that of the small but formidable body of
Christian warriors leagued with the invader against his country. His heart grew
cold and sunk within his bosom, when he was shown, a little apart from the array
of the Moslem, the command of Count Julian, with his well-known banner waving
in the midst. Here were ten thousand of the bravest warriors of the Goth—hardy
veterans, daring soldiers, bold, firm and excellently skilled at every weapon. But
it was of their leader and not of these he thought; and, turning from the sight with
feelings which humbled, and which he did not dare to name to himself nor show
to others, he secretly resolved that it was not in this quarter he should seek to find
his enemies in battle. The conscience that makes cowards of us all, palsied the
valor of the tyrant when he remembered the wrongs that he had done to the daughter
of Count Julian, and his heart did not suffer him to join in the frequent maledictions
of his nobles, as they shook their vindictive hands towards the tents of the
apostate.

A short league lay between the opposing armies. That of Roderick presented a
spectacle of unexampled magnificence. The immense number of his host, rated by
historians almost as extravagantly as those of the Persians in the invasion of Greece,
was itself a sight of marvellous impressiveness. But the splendor of its array put to
shame any exhibition of a like character either in ancient or modern times. The
habitual luxuries into which the Gothic nobles had fallen, could not be separated
from their connection, even though they were about to engage in new toils and
perils in which such luxuries were incumbrances only. Details cannot well be
given of a display of which all the writers deal in superlatives only. Enough to
say that the ostentatious exhibitions of the tournament, in the most glorious periods
of chivalry, were translated to that field of death, and crowned it with a magnificence
and beauty that contrasted terribly and sadly with the fearful issues of the strife

Myriads of pennons streamed above the scattered hosts of the Gothic monarch—the
tents of their nobles were almost hidden in their ornaments of silk, while their persons,
blazing with jewels, were only so many inestimable motives to valorous exertion,
on the part of an enemy roused to avarice by the exhibition of a wealth which
it required nothing but valor to obtain.

There was yet another army on the field. Scarcely an army, if we regard the
mighty legions of Roderick, and the inferior, but still imposing force led by Taric
and Julian. This was the little band of Pelayo, the true heir of the Gothic crown.
These were his mountaineers, from the Asturian passes, and they occupied a strong
position on the side of a hill, in sight of both the opposing armies. They lay
quiet but watchful in their camp, as if without a motive or a life; but their prince
and leader, Pelayo, was even now a victim in his tent to the bitterest pangs of disappointment
and distrust. He who had come to the field under the assurances of
the Archbishop Oppas, to find himself seconded by Julian with his forces, now
found that Julian himself was but the auxiliar of the infidel invader. It was at
the hour of vespers that the army of Roderick pitched its tents on the banks of the
Guadalete, and that night Pelayo and the archbishop, his uncle, met midway between
his own small array and the multitudes of the tyrant.

“To what feast is this you have brought me?” demanded Pelayo sternly of the
archbishop. “A feast where we furnish the food and are ourselves the prey. For
whom do we fight here, Lord Oppas? for Roderick or the Moors? for Spain or
Africa? Count Julian or yourself? Well, I trow that mine is to be a small share
in this business. Why am I here?”

The archbishop's explanations availed nothing.

“Hark ye, Lord Oppas,” was the conclusion of Pelayo—“I stand here in most
bitter opposition to ye all. You have humbled me to the earth, as you have brought
me to a pass where I may but look on the deeds of others, doing nothing of my
own. For what should I strive here? If I put in with Count Julian and against
Roderick, I but toil for the sons of Islam—the infidel Moor—the swarthy and
savage invader. If I strike against him, as it is my mood to do, I strike against
my brother's right and against my own—against my father's memory, against
Spain, and in behalf of a foul usurper. This is a strife, most like an agony, now
working in my soul. My will is feeble and knows not where to turn. My hands
are tied—I wist not where to strike. Verily, I must but look on, in waiting for
the mood; doing little in this conflict which approaches, unless it be in saving
from the scymitar the poor wretches of the land who follow only as they are
driven to the fight. Look to it then, lest, in what thou doest to-morrow, thou bring
the terrible curse of a foreign sway upon the land which a thousand generations
may never shake from its prostrate neck.”

They separated, the archbishop failing, with all his art, to disturb the first conclusions
to which the honorable mind of Pelayo had attained. Pelayo returned to
his heights, and the Lord Oppas proceeded with a guide to another interview in the
tents of the Arabian. Here, for the first time, he met with Taric. Here was Count
Julian also. Their schemes for the battle were to be adjusted, and the archbishop
was to make his conditions. He was to stipulate with Julian and Taric for a certain
share of that power which was to accrue from the defeat of Roderick. The ambitious
priest had his designs apart from the priesthood. An appetite for power was
raging in his heart, with other appetites of which nothing need be said. The Arabian
warrior readily conceded to the traitor all that he required. Taric had been impressed
with the numerous array of Roderick. Its splendor had dazzled his eyes,
and insensibly influenced his apprehensions. He knew his veterans, and he could

reasonably judge of the inferior training of the force opposed to him; but he as
well knew that such an inequality of numbers as existed between the two armies,
was not easily to be reconciled by any inequality of practice or even valor; and
he had no reason to suppose, that, if not veteran soldiers, those of Roderick were
at all deficient in bravery. He felt the policy, therefore, of acceding to any terms,
within certain limits, which might be proposed by Oppas as the price of his treachery
on the ensuing day. The archbishop left the tents of “the faithful” for his
own, perfectly satisfied with the result of his nocturnal expedition in this quarter.