University of Virginia Library

CHAPTER XLIX.

Queen Isabella and her court had
remained at Cordova, in great anxiety
for the result of the royal expedition.
Every day brought tidings of the difficulties
which attended the transportation
of the ordnance and munitions, and of
the critical situation of the army.

While in this state of anxious suspense,
couriers arrived with all speed from the
frontiers, bringing tidings of the sudden
sally of El Zagal from Granada to surprise
the Christian camp. All Cordova
was in consternation. The destruction
of the Andalusian chivalry among the
mountains of this very neighbourhood
was called to mind; it was feared that
similar ruin was about to burst forth,
from rocks and precipices, upon Ferdinand
and his army.

Queen Isabella shared in the public
alarm; but it served to rouse all the
energies of her heroic mind. Instead
of uttering idle apprehensions, she sought
only how to avert the danger. She called

upon all the men of Andalusia, under the
age of seventy, to arm and hasten to the
relief of their sovereign; and she prepared
to set out with the first levies.

The grand cardinal of Spain, old Pedro
Gonzales de Mendoza, in whom the piety
of the saint and the wisdom of the counsellor
were mingled with the fire of the
cavalier, offered high pay to all horsemen
who would follow him to aid their king
and the Christian cause; and buckling
on armour, prepared to lead them to the
scene of danger.

The summons of the queen roused the
quick Andalusian spirit. Warriors, who
had long since given up fighting, and had
sent their sons to battle, now seized the
sword and lance that were rusting on the
wall, and marshalled forth their gray-headed
domestics and their grandchildren
for the field. The great dread was, that
all aid would arrive too late. El Zagal
and his host had passed like a storm
through the mountains, and it was feared
the tempest had already burst upon the
Christian camp.

In the mean while the night had closed,
which had been appointed by El Zagal
for the execution of his plan. He had
watched the last light of day expire, and
all the Spanish camp remained tranquil.
As the hours wore away, the camp-fires
were gradually extinguished. No drum
or trumpet sounded from below; nothing
was heard but now and then the heavy
tread of troops, or the echoing tramp of
horses, the usual patrols of the camp,
and the changes of the guard. El Zagal
restrained his own impatience, and that
of his troops, until the night should be
advanced, and the camp sunk in that
heavy sleep from which men are with
difficulty awakened, and, when awakened,
so prone to be bewildered and dismayed.

At length the appointed hour arrived.
By order of the Moorish king a bright
flame sprung up from the height of Bentomiz;
but El Zagal looked in vain for
the responding light from the city. His
impatience could brook no longer delay:
he ordered the advance of the army to
descend the mountain defile, and attack
the camp. The defile was narrow, and
overhung by rocks. As the troops proceeded,
they came suddenly, in a shadowy
hollow, upon a dark mass of Christian
warriors. A loud shout burst forth,
and the Christians rushed to assail them.
The Moors, surprised and disconcerted,
retreated in confusion to the height.
When El Zagal heard of a Christian
force posted in the defile, he doubted
some counter-plan of the enemy. He
gave orders to light the mountain-fires.
On a signal given, bright flames sprung
out on every height, from great pyres of
wood prepared for the purpose. Cliff
blazed out after cliff, until the whole
atmosphere was in a glow of furnace
light. The ruddy glare lit up the glens
and passes of the mountains, and fell
strongly upon the Christian camp, revealing
all its tents, and every post and
bulwark. Wherever El Zagal turned
his eyes, he beheld the light of his fires
flashed back from cuirass, and helm, and
sparkling lance; he behold a grove of
spears planted in every pass, every assailable
point bristling with arms, and
squadrons of horse and foot, in battle
array, awaiting his attack.

In fact, the letter of El Zagal to the
alcayde of Velez Malaga had been intercepted
by the vigilant Ferdinand, and the
renegado messenger hanged, and secret
measures taken, after the night had closed
in, to give the enemy a warm reception.
El Zagal saw that his plan of surprise
was discovered and foiled: furious with
disappointment, he ordered his troops
forward to the attack. They rushed
down the defile with loud cries, but were
again encountered by the mass of Christian
warriors, being the advanced guard
of the army commanded by Don Hurtado
de Mendoza, brother of the grand cardinal.
The Moors were again repulsed,
and retreated up the heights. Don Hurtado
would have pursued them; but the
ascent was steep and rugged, and easily
defended by the Moors. A sharp action
was kept up through the night with
crossbows, darts, and arquebuses; the
cliffs echoed with deafening uproar, while
the fires, blazing upon the mountains,
threw a lurid and uncertain light upon
the scene.

When the day dawned, and the Moors
saw that there was no co-operation from
the city, they began to slacken in their
ardour: they beheld also every pass of

the mountain filled with Christian troops,
and began to apprehend an assault in return.
Just then King Ferdinand sent the
Marquis of Cadiz, with horse and foot, to
seize upon a height occupied by a battalion
of the enemy. The Marquis assailed
the Moors with his usual intrepidity,
and soon put them to flight. The others,
who were above, seeing their companions
flying, were seized with a sudden alarm.
They threw down their arms and retreated.
One of those unaccountable panics,
which now and then seize upon great
bodies of people, and to which the light-spirited
Moors were very prone, now
spread through the camp. They were
terrified, they knew not why, or at what.
They threw away swords, lances, breastplates,
crossbows, every thing that could
burden or impede their flight, and, spreading
themselves wildly over the mountains,
fled headlong down the defiles. They
fled, without pursuers, from the glimpse of
each other's arms, from the sound of each
other's footsteps. Rodovan de Vanegas,
the brave alcayde of Granada, alone succeeded
in collecting a body of the fugitives:
he made a circuit with them
through the passes of the mountains,
and, forcing his way across a weak part
of the Christian lines, galloped towards
Velez Malaga. The rest of the Moorish
host was completely scattered. In vain
did El Zagal and his knights attempt to
rally them; they were left almost alone,
and had to consult their own security by
flight. The Marquis of Cadiz, finding
no opposition, ascended from height to
height, cautiously reconnoitring, and
fearful of some stratagem or ambush.
All, however, was quiet. He reached,
with his men, the place which the Moorish
army had occupied: the heights were
abandoned, and strewed with cuirasses,
cimeters, crossbows, and other weapons.
His force was too small to pursue the
enemy, and he returned to the royal
camp laden with the spoils.

King Ferdinand at first could not
credit so signal and miraculous a defeat.
He suspected some lurking stratagem.
He ordered, therefore, that a strict watch
should be maintained throughout the
camp, and every one be ready for instant
action. The following night a
thousand cavaliers and hidalgos kept
guard about the royal tent, as they had
done for several preceding nights; nor
did the king relax this vigilance, until he
received certain intelligence that the
army was completely scattered, and El
Zagal flying in confusion.

The tidings of this rout, and of the
safety of the Christian army, arrived at
Cordova just as the reinforcements were
on the point of setting out. The anxiety
and alarm of the queen and the public
were turned to transports of joy and
gratitude. The forces were disbanded,
solemn processions were made, and Te
Deums chanted in the churches for so
signal a victory.