University of Virginia Library

THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA.

INTRODUCTION.

Although the following chronicle
bears the name of the venerable Fray
Antonio Agapida, it is more properly
a superstructure reared upon the fragments
which remain of his work. It
may be asked, who is this same Agapida,
who is cited with such deference, yet
whose name is not to be found in any of
the catalogues of Spanish authors? The
question is hard to answer: he appears
to have been one of the many indefatigable
writers, who have filled the libraries
of the convents and cathedrals of
Spain with their tomes, without ever
dreaming of bringing their labours to
the press. He evidently was deeply and
accurately informed of the particulars of
the wars between his countrymen and
the Moors, a tract of history but too
much overgrown with the weeds of fable.
His glowing zeal, also, in the cause of
the Catholic faith, entitles him to be held
up as a model of the good old orthodox
chroniclers, who recorded, with such
pious exultation, the united triumphs of
the cross and the sword. It is deeply to
be regretted, therefore, that his manuscripts,
deposited in the libraries of
various convents, have been dispersed
during the late convulsions in Spain, so
that nothing is now to be met of them
but disjointed fragments. These, however,
are too precious to be suffered to
fall into oblivion, as they contain many
curious facts not to be found in any other
historian. In the following work, therefore,
the manuscripts of the worthy Fray
Antonio will be adopted, whenever they
exist entire, but will be filled up, extended,
illustrated, and corroborated, by citations
from various authors, both Spanish
and Arabian, who have treated of the
subject. The manuscripts themselves
are carefully preserved in the library of
the Escurial.

Before entering upon the history, it
may be as well to notice the opinions of
certain of the most learned and devout
historiographers of former times relative
to this war. Marinus Siculus, historian
to Charles the Fifth, pronounces it a war
to avenge the ancient injuries received by
the Christians from the Moors, to recover
the kingdom of Granada, and to extend
the name and honour of the Christian
religion.[1]

Estevan de Garibay, one of the most
distinguished among the Spanish historians,
regards the war as a special act
of divine clemency towards the Moors;
to the end that those barbarians and
infidels, who had dragged out so many
centuries under the diabolical oppression
of the absurd sect of Mahomet, should
at length be reduced to the Christian
faith.[2]

Padre Mariana, also, a venerable
Jesuit, and the most renowned historian
of Spain, considers the past domination
of the Moors as a scourge inflicted on
the Spanish nation for its iniquities; but
the triumphant war with Granada as the
reward of Heaven, for its great act of
propitiation in establishing the glorious

tribunal of the Inquisition! "No sooner,"
says the worthy father, "was this holy
office opened in Spain, than there instantly
shone forth a resplendent light.
Then it was, that, through divine favour,
the nation increased in power, and became
competent to overthrow and trample
down the domination of the Moors."[3]

Having thus cited high and venerable
authority for considering this war in the
light of one of those pious enterprises
denominated crusades, we trust we have
said enough to engage the Christian
reader to follow us into the field, and
to stand by us to the very issue of the
contest.

CHAPTER I.

The history of those desperate and
bloody wars, observes Fray Antonio
Agapida, which have filled the world
with rumour and astonishment, and have
determined the fate of mighty empires,
has ever been considered as a theme
worthy of the pen of the philosopher
and the study of the sage. What then
must be the history of a holy war, or
rather, a pious crusade, waged by the
most catholic of sovereigns, for the
restoration of the light of the true faith
to one of the most beautiful but benighted
regions of the globe? Listen, then,
while from the solitude of my cell I narrate
the events of the conquest of Granada,
where Christian knight and turbaned
infidel disputed, hand to hand, every inch
of the fair land of Andalusia, until the
crescent, that symbol of heathenish
abomination, was cast into the dust, and
the blessed cross, the tree of our redemption,
erected in its stead.

Upwards of eight hundred years were
past and gone since the Arabian invaders
sealed the perdition of Spain, by the defeat
of Don Roderick, the last of her
Gothic kings. From the period of that
disastrous event, kingdom after kingdom
had been gradually recovered by the
Christian princes, until the single, but
powerful territory of Granada alone
remained under the domination of the
Moors.

This renowned kingdom was situate in
the southern part of Spain, bordering on
the Mediterranean Sea, and defended on
the land side by lofty and rugged mountains,
locking up within their embraces
deep, rich, and verdant valleys, where
the sterility of the surrounding heights
was repaid by prodigal fertility.

The city of Granada lay in the centre
of the kingdom, sheltered as it were in
the lap of the Sierra Nevada, or chain of
snowy mountains. It covered two lofty
hills, and a deep valley that divides them,
through which flows the river Darro.
One of these hills was crowned by the
royal palace and fortress of the Alhambra,
capable of containing forty thousand
men within its walls and towers. There
is a Moorish tradition, that the king who
built this mighty pile was skilled in the
occult sciences, and furnished himself
with gold and silver for the purpose by
means of alchymy.[4] Certainly never
was there an edifice accomplished in a
superior style of barbaric magnificence;
and the stranger who, even at the present
day, wanders among its silent and
deserted courts and ruined halls, gazes
with astonishment at its gilded and fretted
domes and luxurious decorations, still
retaining their brilliancy and beauty, in
defiance of the ravages of time.

Opposite to the hill on which stood the
Alhambra was its rival hill, on the summit
of which was a spacious plain,
covered with houses, and crowded with
inhabitants. It was commanded by a
fortress called the Alcazaba. The declivities
and skirts of these hills were
covered with houses to the number of
seventy thousand, separated by narrow
streets and small squares, according to
the custom of Moorish cities. The
houses had interior courts and gardens,
refreshed by fountains and running
streams, and set out with oranges,
citrons, and pomegranates; so that, as
the edifices of the city rose above each
other on the sides of the hill, they presented
a mingled appearance of city and
grove, delightful to the eye. The whole
was surrounded by high walls, three

leagues in circuit, with twelve gates, and
fortified by a thousand and thirty towers.
The elevation of the city, and the neighbourhood
of the Sierra Nevada, crowned
with perpetual snows, tempered the fervid
rays of summer; and thus, while other
cities were panting with the sultry and
stifling heat of the dogdays, the most
salubrious breezes played through the
marble halls of Granada.

The glory of the city, however, was
its vega, or plain, which spread out to a
circumference of thirty-seven leagues,
surrounded by lofty mountains. It was
a vast garden of delight, refreshed by
numerous fountains, and by the silver
windings of the Xenil. The labour and
ingenuity of the Moors had diverted the
waters of this river into thousands of
rills and streams, and diffused them over
the whole surface of the plain. Indeed,
they had wrought up this happy region
to a degree of wonderful prosperity, and
took a pride in decorating it, as if it had
been a favourite mistress. The hills
were clothed with orchards and vineyards,
the valleys embroidered with gardens,
and the wide plains covered with
waving grain. Here were seen in profusion,
the orange, the citron, the fig, and
pomegranate, with large plantations of
mulberry trees, from which was produced
the finest of silk. The vine clambered
from tree to tree, the grapes hung in rich
clusters about the peasant's cottage, and
the groves were rejoiced by the perpetual
song of the nightingale. In a word, so
beautiful was the earth, so pure the air,
and so serene the sky of this delicious
region, that the Moors imagined the
paradise of their prophet to be situate in
that part of heaven which overhung the
kingdom of Granada.[5]

This rich and populous territory had
been left in quiet possession of the infidels,
on condition of an annual tribute to
the sovereign of Castile and Leon of two
thousand doblas or pistoles of gold, and
sixteen hundred Christian captives, or, in
default of captives, an equal number of
Moors to be surrendered as slaves; all to
be delivered in the city of Cordova.[6]

At the era at which this chronicle
commences, Ferdinand and Isabella, of
glorious and happy memory, reigned
over the united kingdoms of Castile,
Leon and Arragon, and Muley Aben
Hassan sat on the throne of Granada.

This Muley Aben Hassan had succeeded
to his father Ismael in 1465,
while Henry IV., brother and immediate
predecessor of Queen Isabella, was king
of Castile and Leon. He was of the
illustrious lineage of Mohammed Aben
Alamar, the first Moorish king of Granada,
and was the most potent of his line.
He had, in fact, augmented in power in
consequence of the fall of other Moorish
kingdoms, which had been conquered by
the Christians. Many cities and strong
places of the kingdoms which lay contiguous
to Granada had refused to submit
to Christian vassalage, and had sheltered
themselves under the protection of Muley
Aben Hassan. His territories had thus
increased in wealth, extent, and population,
beyond all former example; and
contained fourteen cities, and ninety-seven
fortified towns, besides numerous
unwalled towns and villages, defended by
formidable castles. The spirit of Muley
Aben Hassan swelled with his possessions.

The tribute of money and captives had
been regularly paid by his father Ismael,
and Muley Aben Hassan had, on one occasion,
attended personally in Cordova at
the payment. He had witnessed the
taunts and sneers of the haughty Castilians;
and so indignant was the proud
son of Afric at what he considered a
degradation of his race, that his blood
boiled, whenever he recollected the humiliating
scene.

When he came to the throne he ceased
all payment of the tribute, and it was
sufficient to put him in a transport of rage
only to mention it. "He was a fierce
and warlike infidel," says the catholic
Fray Antonio Agapida; "his bitterness
against the holy Christian faith had
been signalized in battle during the lifetime
of his father, and the same diabolical
spirit of hostility was apparent
in his ceasing to pay this most righteous
tribute."

CHAPTER II.

In the year 1478, a Spanish cavalier,
of powerful frame and haughty demeanour,
arrived at the gates of Granada as
ambassador from the Catholic monarchs,
to demand the arrear of tribute. His
name was Don Juan de Vera, a zealous
and devout knight, full of ardour for the
faith and loyalty for the crown. He was
gallantly mounted, armed at all points,
and followed by a moderate but well-appointed
retinue.

The Moorish inhabitants looked jealously
at this small but proud array of
Spanish chivalry, as it paraded, with that
stateliness possessed only by Spanish cavaliers,
through the renowed gate of Elvira.
They were struck with the stern
and lofty demeanour of Don Juan de
Vera, and his sinewy frame, which showed
him formed for hardy deeds of arms;
and they supposed he had come in search
of distinction, by defying the Moorish
knights in open tourney, or in the famous
tilt with reeds for which they were so
renowned. For it was still the custom
of the knights of either nation to mingle
in these courteous and chivalrous contests,
during the intervals of war. When
they learned, however, that he was come
to demand the tribute so abhorrent to the
ears of the fiery monarch, they observed,
that it required a warrior of his apparent
nerve to execute such an embassy.

Muley Aben Hassan received the cavalier
in state, seated on a magnificent divan,
and surrounded by the officers of his
court, in the hall of ambassadors, one of
the most sumptuous apartments of the
Alhambra. When De Vera had delivered
his message, a haughty and bitter
smile curled the lip of the fierce monarch.
"Tell your sovereigns," said he, "that
the kings of Granada, who used to pay
tribute in money to the Castilian crown,
are dead. Our mint at present coins nothing
but blades of cimeters and heads of
lances."[7]

The defiance couched in this proud
reply was heard with stern and lofty
courtesy by Don Juan de Vera; for he
was a bold soldier, and a devout hater of
the infidels, and he saw iron war in the
words of the Moorish monarch. He retired
from the audience-chamber with
stately and ceremonious gravity, being
master of all points of etiquette. As he
passed through the Court of Lions, and
paused to regard its celebrated fountain,
he fell into a discourse with the Moorish
courtiers on certain mysteries of the
Christian faith. The arguments advanced
by these infidels, says Fray Antonio Agapida,
awakened the pious indignation of
this most Christian knight and discreet
ambassador, but still he restrained himself
within the limits of lofty gravity,
leaning on the pommel of his sword, and
looking down with ineffable scorn upon
the weak casuists around him. The quick
and subtle Arabian witlings redoubled
their light attacks upon that stately Spaniard,
and thought they had completely
foiled him in the contest; but the stern
Juan de Vera had an argument in reserve,
for which they were but little prepared;
for, on one of them, of the race of
the Abencerrages, daring to question,
with a sneer, the immaculate conception
of the blessed Virgin, the Catholic knight
could no longer restrain his ire. Elevating
his voice of a sudden, he told the
infidel he lied, and raising his arm at the
same time, he smote him on the head with
his sheathed sword.

In an instant the Court of Lions glistened
with the flash of arms, and its fountains
would have been dyed with blood,
had not Muley Aben Hassan overheard
the tumult, and forbade all appeal to force,
pronouncing the person of the ambassador
sacred, while within his territories.
The Abencerrage treasured up the remembrance
of the insult until an hour of
vengeance should arrive, and the ambassador
prayed our blessed Lady to grant
him an opportunity of proving her immaculate
conception on the head of this turbaned
infidel.[8]

Notwithstanding this occurrence, Don

Juan de Vera was treated with great distinction
by Muley Aben Hassan; but nothing
could make him unbend from his
stern and stately reserve. Before his departure,
a cimeter was sent to him by the
king; the blade of the finest Damascus
steel, the hilt of agate, enriched with
precious stones, and the guard of gold.
De Vera drew it, and smiled grimly as
he noticed the admirable temper of the
blade. "His majesty has given me a
trenchant weapon," said he: "I trust a
time will come, when I may show him
that I know how to use his royal present."
The reply was considered as a compliment,
of course; the bystanders little
knew the bitter hostility that lay couched
beneath.

Don Juan de Vera and his companions,
during his brief sojourn at Granada,
scanned the force and situation of the
Moor with the eyes of practised warriors.
They saw, that he was well prepared
for hostilities. His walls and towers
were of vast strength, in complete repair,
and mounted with lombards and other
heavy ordnance. His magazines were
well stored with all the munitions of war:
he had a mighty host of foot-soldiers, together
with squadrons of cavalry, ready
to scour the country, and carry on either
defensive or predatory warfare. The
Christian warriors noted these things
without dismay; their hearts rather
glowed with emulation at the thoughts
of encountering so worthy a foe. As
they slowly pranced through the streets
of Granada on their departure, they looked
round with eagerness on its stately
palaces and sumptuous mosques; on its
alcayceria or bazar, crowded with silks
and cloth of silver and gold, with jewels
and precious stones, and other rich merchandise,
the luxuries of every clime;
and they longed for the time, when all
this wealth should be the spoil of the
soldiers of the faith, and when each tramp
of their steeds might be fetlock-deep in
the blood and carnage of the infidels.

Don Juan de Vera and his little band
pursued their way slowly through the
country to the Christian frontier. Every
town was strongly fortified. The vega
was studded with towers of refuge for the
peasantry; every pass of the mountain
had its castle of defence, every lofty height
its watch-tower. As the Christian cavaliers
passed under the walls of the fortresses,
lances and cimeters flashed from
their battlements, and the turbaned sentinels
seemed to dart from their dark eyes
glances of hatred and defiance. It was
evident, that a war with this kingdom
must be one of doughty peril and valiant
enterprise; a war of posts, where every
step must be gained by toil and bloodshed,
and maintained with the utmost
difficulty. The warrior spirit of the cavaliers
kindled with the thought, and they
were impatient for hostilities; "not,"
says Antonio Agapida, "from any thirst
for rapine and revenge, but from that
pure and holy indignation, which every
Spanish knight entertained at beholding
this beautiful dominion of his ancestors
defiled by the footsteps of infidel usurpers.
It was impossible," he adds, "to contemplate
this delicious country, and not long
to see it restored to the dominion of the
true faith, and the sway of the Christian
monarchs."

CHAPTER III.

The defiance, thus hurled at the Castilian
sovereigns by the fiery Moorish
king, would at once have been answered
by the thunder of their artillery, but they
were embroiled at that time in a war with
Portugal, and in contests with their own
factious nobles. The truce, therefore,
which had existed for many years between
the nations, was suffered to continue; the
wary Ferdinand reserving the refusal to
pay tribute as a fair ground for war,
whenever the favourable moment to wage
it should arrive.

In the course of three years the war
with Portugal terminated, and the factions
of the Spanish nobles were for the most
part quelled. The Castilian sovereigns
now turned their thoughts to what, from
the time of the union of their crowns, had
been the great object of their ambition,
the conquest of Granada, and the complete
extirpation of the Moorish power
from Spain. Ferdinand, whose pious
zeal was quickened by motives of temporal
policy, looked with a craving eye
at the rich territory of the Moor, studded

with innumerable towns and cities. He
determined to carry on the war with cautious
and persevering patience, taking
town after town, and fortress after fortress,
and gradually plucking away all
the supports, before he attempted the
Moorish capital. "I will pick out the
seeds one by one of this pomegranate,"
said the wary Ferdinand.[9]

Muley Aben Hassan was aware of the
hostile intentions of the Catholic monarch,
but felt confident in his means of resisting
them. He had amassed great wealth
during a tranquil reign; he had strengthened
the defences of his kingdom, and
had drawn large bodies of auxiliary
troops from Barbary, besides making
arrangements with the African princes
to assist him with supplies in case of
emergency. His subjects were fierce of
spirit, stout of heart, and valiant of hand.
Inured to the exercise of war, they could
fight skilfully on foot, but above all were
dexterous horsemen, whether heavily
armed and fully appointed, or lightly
mounted á la gineta, with simply lance
and target. They were patient of fatigue,
hunger, thirst, and nakedness; prompt
for war at the first summons of their
king, and tenacious in defence of their
towns and possessions.

Thus amply provided for war, Muley
Aben Hassan determined to be beforehand
with the politic Ferdinand, and to
be the first to strike a blow. In the truce
which existed between them there was a
singular clause, permitting either party
to make sudden inroads and assaults
upon towns and fortresses, provided they
were done furtively and by stratagem,
without display of banners, or sound of
trumpet, or regular encampment, and that
they did not last above three days.[10] This
gave rise to frequent enterprises of a
hardy and adventurous character, in
which castles and strong holds were
taken by surprise, and carried sword in
hand. A long time had elapsed, however,
without any outrage of the kind on
the part of the Moors, and the Christian
towns on the frontier had all, in consequence,
fallen into a state of the most
negligent security.

Muley Aben Hassan cast his eyes
round to select his object of attack, when
information was brought him that the
fortress of Zahara was but feebly garrisoned
and scantily supplied, and that its
alcayde was careless of his charge. This
important post was on the frontier, between
Ronda and Medina Sidonia, and
was built on the crest of a rocky mountain,
with a strong castle perched above
it, upon a cliff so high that it was said to
be above the flight of birds or drift of
clouds. The streets, and many of the
houses, were mere excavations, wrought
out of the living rock. The town had
but one gate, opening to the west, and
defended by towers and bulwarks. The
only ascent to this cragged fortress was
by roads cut in the rock, and so rugged
as in many places to resemble broken
stairs. Such was the situation of the
mountain fortress of Zahara, which seemed
to set all attack at defiance, insomuch
that it had become so proverbial throughout
Spain, that a woman of forbidding
and inaccessible virtue was called a
Zaharena. But the strongest fortress and
sternest virtue have their weak points,
and require unremitting vigilance to
guard them; let warrior and dame take
warning from the fate of Zahara.

CHAPTER IV.

It was in the year of our Lord one
thousand four hundred and eighty-one,
and but a night or two after the festival
of the most blessed Nativity, that Muley
Aben Hassan made his famous attack
upon Zahara. The inhabitants of the
place were sunk in profound sleep; the
very sentinel had deserted his post, and
sought shelter from a tempest, which had
raged for three nights in succession; for
it appeared but little probable, that an
enemy would be abroad during such an
uproar of the elements. But evil spirits
work best during a storm, observes the
worthy Antonio Agapida; and Muley
Aben Hassan found such a season most
suitable for his diabolical purposes. In
the midst of the night an uproar arose
within the walls of Zahara, more awful
than the raging of the storm. A fearful

alarm-cry, "The Moor! the Moor!" resounded
through the streets, mingled with
the clash of arms, the shriek of anguish,
and the shout of victory. Muley Aben
Hassan, at the head of a powerful force,
had hurried from Granada, and passed
unobserved through the mountains in the
obscurity of the tempest. When the
storm pelted the sentinel from his post,
and howled round tower and battlement,
the Moors had planted their scaling-ladders,
and mounted securely into both
town and castle. The garrison was unsuspicious
of danger until battle and
massacre burst forth within its very
walls. It seemed to the affrighted inhabitants,
as if the fiends of the air
had come upon the wings of the wind,
and possessed themselves of tower and
turret. The war-cry resounded on every
side, shout answering shout, above, below,
on the battlements of the castle, in
the streets of the town; the foe was in
all parts, wrapped in obscurity, but acting
in concert by the aid of preconcerted signals.
Starting from sleep, the soldiers
were intercepted and cut down as they
rushed from their quarters, or if they
escaped, they knew not where to assemble
or where to strike. Wherever lights
appeared, the flashing cimeter was at its
deadly work, and all who attempted resistance
fell beneath its edge.

In a little while the struggle was at an
end. Those who were not slain took
refuge in the secret places of their houses,
or gave themselves up as captives. The
clash of arms ceased, and the storm continued
its howling, mingled with the occasional
shout of the Moorish soldiery,
roaming in search of plunder. While
the inhabitants were trembling for their
fate, a trumpet resounded through the
streets, summoning them all to assemble,
unarmed, in the public square. Here
they were surrounded by soldiery, and
strictly guarded until daybreak. When
the day dawned, it was piteous to behold
this once prosperous community,
which had lain down to rest in peaceful
security, now crowded together, without
distinction of age, or rank, or sex, and
almost without raiment during the severity
of a wintry storm. The fierce Muley
Aben Hassan turned a deaf ear to all
their prayers and remonstrances, and
ordered them to be conducted captives to
Granada. Leaving a strong garrison in
both town and castle, with orders to put
them in a complete state of defence, he
returned flushed with victory to his capital,
entering it at the head of his troops,
laden with spoil, and bearing in triumph
the banners and pennons taken at Zahara.

While preparations were making for
jousts and other festivities in honour of
this victory over the Christians, the captives
of Zahara arrived; a wretched train
of men, women, and children, worn out
with fatigue and haggard with despair,
and driven like cattle into the city gates
by a detachment of Moorish soldiery.

Deep were the grief and indignation
of the people of Granada at this cruel
scene. Old men, who had experienced
the calamities of warfare, anticipated
coming troubles. Mothers clasped their
infants to their breasts, as they beheld
the hapless females of Zahara, with their
children expiring in their arms. On every
side the accents of pity for the sufferers
were mingled with execrations of the
barbarity of the king. The preparations
for festivity were neglected, and the
viands, which were to have feasted the
conquerors, were distributed among the
captives.

The nobles and alfaquis, however, repaired
to the Alhambra to congratulate
the king: for whatever storm may rage
in the lower regions of society, rarely
do any clouds, but clouds of incense,
rise to the awful eminence of the throne.
In this instance, however, a voice rose
from the midst of the obsequious crowd,
that burst like thunder upon the ears of
Aben Hassan. "Wo! wo! wo! to Granada!"
exclaimed the voice, "its hour
of desolation approaches! The ruins of
Zahara will fall upon our heads: my
spirit tells me, that the end of our empire
is at hand!" All shrunk back aghast,
and left the denouncer of wo standing
alone in the centre of the hall. He was
an ancient and hoary man, in the rude
attire of a dervise. Age had withered his
form without quenching the fire of his
spirit, which glared in baleful lustre from
his eyes. He was, say the Arabian historians,
one of those holy men termed
santons, who pass their lives in hermitages,
in fasting, meditation, and prayer,

until they attain to the purity of saints,
and the foresight of prophets. "He
was," says the indignant Fray Antonio
Agapida, "a son of Belial, one of
those fanatic infidels possessed of the
devil, who are sometimes permitted to
predict the truth to their followers, but
with the proviso, that their predictions
shall be of no avail."

The voice of the santon resounded
through the lofty hall of the Alhambra,
and struck silence and awe into the
crowd of courtly sycophants. Muley
Aben Hassan alone was unmoved. He
eyed the hoary anchoret with scorn as
he stood dauntless before him, and treated
his predictions as the raving of a maniac.
The santon rushed from the royal presence,
and descending into the city, hurried
through its streets and squares with
frantic gesticulations. His voice was
heard in every part in awful denunciation.
"The peace is broken, the exterminating
war is commenced. Wo! wo!
wo! to Granada! its fall is at hand!
desolation shall dwell in its palaces, its
strong men shall fall beneath the sword,
its children and maidens shall be led into
captivity! Zahara is but a type of Granada!"

Terror seized upon the populace; for
they considered these ravings as the
inspirations of prophecy. They hid themselves
in their dwellings, as in a time
of general mourning; or, if they went
abroad, it was to gather together in knots
in the streets and squares, to alarm each
other with dismal forebodings, and to
curse the rashness and cruelty of the
fierce Aben Hassan.

The Moorish monarch heeded not their
murmurs. Knowing that his exploit must
draw upon him the vengeance of the
Christians, he now threw off all reserve,
and made attempts to surprise Castellar
and Olvera, though without success. He
sent alfaquis also to the Barbary powers,
informing them that the sword was drawn,
and inviting them to aid in maintaining
the kingdom of Granada, and the religion
of Mahomet, against the violence of unbelievers.

CHAPTER V.

Great was the indignation of King
Ferdinand, when he heard of the storming
of Zahara, more especially as it
anticipated his intention of giving the
first blow in this eventful war. He valued
himself upon his deep and prudent
policy; and there is nothing which politic
monarchs can less forgive, than thus
being forestalled by an adversary. He
immediately issued orders to all the adelantados
and alcaydes of the frontiers to
maintain the utmost vigilance at their
several posts, and to prepare to carry fire
and sword into the territories of the
Moors; while he despatched friars of
different orders, to stir up the chivalry
of Christendom to take part in this holy
crusade against the infidels.

Among the many valiant cavaliers who
rallied round the throne of Ferdinand and
Isabella, one of the most eminent in rank
and renowned in arms was Don Roderigo
Ponce de Leon, Marquis of Cadiz. As
he was the distinguished champion of
this holy war, and commanded in most
of its enterprises and battles, it is meet
that some particular account should be
given of him. He was born in 1443, of
the valiant lineage of the Ponces, and
from his earliest youth had rendered
himself illustrious in the field. He was
of the middle stature, with a muscular
and powerful frame, capable of great
exertion and fatigue. His hair and beard
were red and curled, his countenance was
open and magnanimous, of a ruddy complexion,
and slightly marked with the
smallpox. He was temperate, chaste,
valorous, vigilant; a just and generous
master to his vassals; frank and noble
in his deportment towards his equals;
loving and faithful to his friends; fierce
and terrible, yet magnanimous, to his
enemies. He was considered the mirror
of chivalry of his times, and compared
by cotemporary historians to the immortal
Cid.

The Marquis of Cadiz had vast possessions
in the most fertile parts of Andalusia,
including many towns and castles;
and could lead forth an army into the
field from his own vassals and dependents.
On receiving the orders of the

king, he burned to signalize himself by
some sudden incursion into the kingdom
of Granada, that should give a brilliant
commencement to the war, and console
the sovereigns for the insult they had
received on the capture of Zahara. As
his estates lay near the Moorish frontiers,
and were subject to sudden inroads, he
had always in his pay numbers of adalides,
or scouts and guides, many of them
converted Moors. These he sent out in
all directions, to watch the movements
of the enemy, and to procure all kinds of
information important to the security of
the frontier. One of these spies come to
him one day in his town of Marchena,
and informed him, that the Moorish town
of Alhama was slightly garrisoned and
negligently guarded, and might be taken
by surprise. This was a large, wealthy,
and populous place, within a few leagues
of Granada. It was situate on a rocky
height, nearly surrounded by a river,
and defended by a fortress, to which
there was no access but by a steep and
cragged ascent. The strength of its situation,
and its being embosomed in the
centre of the kingdom, had produced the
careless security which now invited attack.

To ascertain fully the state of the
fortress, the marquis secretly despatched
thither a veteran soldier who was highly
in his confidence. His name was Ortega
de Prado; a man of great activity,
shrewdness, and valour, and captain of
escaladores, or those employed to scale
the walls of fortresses in time of attack.
Ortega approached Alhama one moonless
night, and paced along its walls with
noiseless step, laying his ear occasionally
to the ground or to the wall. Every
time he distinguished the measured tread
of a sentinel, and now and then the
challenge of the night-watch going its
rounds. Finding the town thus guarded,
he clambered to the castle. There all
was silent: as he ranged its lofty battlements,
between him and the sky, he saw
no sentinel on duty. He noticed certain
places where the wall might be ascended
by scaling-ladders; and having marked
the hour of relieving guard, and made all
necessary observations, he retired without
being discovered.

Ortega returned to Marchena, and assured
the Marquis of Cadiz of the practicability
of scaling the castle of Alhama,
and taking it by surprise. The marquis
had a secret conference with Don Pedro
Henriquez, adelantado of Andalusia, Don
Diego de Merlo, commander of Seville,
and Sancho de Avila, alcayde of Carmona,
who all agreed to aid him with
their forces. On an appointed day the
several commanders assembled at Marchena
with their troops and retainers.
None but the leaders knew the object or
destination of the enterprise, but it was
enough to rouse the Andalusian spirit to
know that a foray was intended into the
country of their old enemies the Moors.
Secrecy and celerity were necessary for
success. They set out promptly, with
three thousand genetes or light cavalry,
and four thousand infantry. They chose
a route but little travelled, by the way
of Antequera, passing with great labour
through rugged and solitary defiles of
the sierra or chain of mountains of
Alzerifa, and left all their baggage on
the banks of the river Yeguas, to be
brought after them. Their march was
principally in the night: all day they
remained quiet; no noise was suffered
in their camp, and no fires were made,
lest the smoke should betray them. On
the third day they resumed their march
as the evening darkened, and forcing
themselves forward at as quick a pace
as the rugged and dangerous mountain
roads would permit, they descended towards
midnight into a small deep valley,
only half a league from Alhama. Here
they made a halt, fatigued by this forced
marched during a long dark evening towards
the end of February.

The Marquis of Cadiz now explained
to the troops the object of the expedition.
He told them, it was for the glory of the
most holy faith, and to avenge the wrongs
of their countrymen of Zahara; and that
the rich town of Alhama, full of wealthy
spoil, was the place to be attacked. The
troops were roused to new ardour by
these words, and desired to be led forthwith
to the assault. They arrived close
to Alhama about two hours before daybreak.
Here the army remained in ambush,
while three hundred men were
despatched to scale the walls and take
possession of the castle. They were

picked men, many of them alcaydes and
officers, men who preferred death to dishonour.
This gallant band was guided
by the escalador, Ortega de Prado, at
the head of thirty men with scaling-ladders.
They clambered the ascent to
the castle in silence, and arrived under
the dark shadow of its towers without
being discovered. Not a light was to be
seen, not a sound to be heard; the whole
place was wrapped in profound repose.

Fixing their ladders, they ascended
cautiously and with noiseless steps. Ortega
was the first that mounted upon the
battlements, followed by one Martin Galindo,
a youthful squire, full of spirit and
eager for distinction. Moving stealthily
along the parapet to the portal of the
citadel, they came upon the sentinel by
surprise. Ortega seized him by the
throat, brandished a dagger before his
eyes, and ordered him to point the way
to the guard-room. The infidel obeyed,
and was instantly despatched, to prevent
his giving any alarm. The guard-room
was a scene rather of massacre than
combat. Some of the soldiery were
killed while sleeping, others were cut
down almost without resistance, bewildered
by so unexpected an assault: all
were despatched, for the scaling party
was too small to make prisoners or to
spare. The alarm spread throughout
the castle: but by this time the three
hundred picked men had mounted the
battlements. The garrison, startled from
sleep, found the enemy already masters
of the towers. Some of the Moors were
cut down at once, others fought desperately
from room to room, and the whole
castle resounded with the clash of arms,
the cries of the combatants, and the
groans of the wounded. The army in ambush,
finding by the uproar that the castle
was surprised, now rushed from their concealment,
and approached the walls with
loud shouts and sound of kettledrums
and trumpets, to increase the confusion
and dismay of the garrison. A violent
conflict took place in the court of the
castle, where several of the scaling party
sought to throw open the gates to admit
their countrymen. Here fell two valiant
alcaydes, Nicholas de Roja and Sancho
de Avila, but they fell honourably, upon
a heap of slain. At length Ortega de
Prado succeeded in throwing open a
postern, through which the Marquis of
Cadiz, the adelantado of Andalusia, and
Don Diego de Merlo entered with a host
of followers, and the citadel remained in
full possession of the Christinns.

As the Spanish cavaliers were ranging
from room to room, the Marquis of Cadiz,
entering an apartment of superior richness
to the rest, beheld, by the light of a
silver lamp, a beautiful Moorish female,
the wife of the alcayde of the castle,
whose husband was absent, attending a
wedding-feast at Velez Malaga. She
would have fled at the sight of a Christian
warrior in her apartment, but, entangled
in the covering of the bed, she fell at the
feet of the marquis, imploring mercy.
The Christian cavalier, who had a soul
full of honour and courtesy towards the
sex, raised her from the earth, and endeavoured
to allay her fears; but they
were increased at the sight of her female
attendants, pursued into the room by
the Spanish soldiery. The marquis reproached
his soldiers with their unmanly
conduct, and reminded them, that they
made war upon men, not on defenceless
women. Having soothed the terrors of
the females by the promise of honourable
protection, he appointed a trusty guard
to watch over the security of their apartment.

The castle was now taken, but the
town below it was in arms. It was
broad day, and the people, recovered
from their panic, were enabled to see
and estimate the force of the enemy.
The inhabitants were chiefly merchants
and trades-people; but the Moors all
possessed a knowledge of the use of
weapons, and were of brave and warlike
spirit. They confided in the strength of
their walls, and the certainty of speedy
relief from Granada, which was but
about eight leagues distant. Manning
the battlements and towers, they discharged
showers of stones and arrows,
whenever the part of the Christian army
without the walls attempted to approach.
They barricadoed the entrances of their
streets also, which opened towards the
castle, stationing men expert at the crossbow
and arquebuse. These kept up a
constant fire upon the gate of the castle,
so that no one could sally forth without

being instantly wounded or killed. Two
valiant cavaliers, who attempted to lead
forth a party in defiance of this fatal
tempest, were shot dead at the very
portal.

The Christians now found themselves
in a situation of great peril. Reinforcements
must soon arrive to the enemy
from Granada. Unless, therefore, they
gained possession of the town in the
course of the day, they were likely to be
surrounded and beleaguered, and with
scarcely any provisions in the castle.
Some observed, that, even if they took
the town, they should not be able to keep
possession of it. They proposed, therefore,
to make booty of every thing valuable,
to sack the castle, set it on fire, and
make good their retreat to Seville.

The Marquis of Cadiz was of different
counsel. "God has given the citadel
into Christian hands," said he, "he will
no doubt strengthen them to maintain it.
We have gained the place with difficulty
and bloodshed; it would be a stain upon
our honour to abandon it through fear of
imaginary dangers." The adelantado
and Don Diego de Merlo joined in his
opinion; but, without their earnest and
united remonstrances, the place would
have been abandoned; so exhausted were
the troops by forced marches and hard
fighting, and so apprehensive of the approach
of the Moors of Granada.

The strength and spirits of the party
within the castle were in some degree
restored by the provisions which they
found. The Christian army beneath the
town, being also refreshed by a morning
repast, advanced vigorously to the attack
of the walls. They planted their scaling-ladders,
and swarming up, fought fiercely
with the Moorish soldiery upon the ramparts.

In the mean time, the Marquis of
Cadiz, seeing that the gate of the castle
which opened towards the city was completely
commanded by the artillery of
the enemy, ordered a large breach to be
made in the wall, through which he
might lead his troops to the attack, animating
them in this perilous moment by
assuring them, that the place should be
given up to plunder, and its inhabitants
made captives.

The breach being made, the marquis
put himself at the head of his troops, and
entered sword in hand. A simultaneous
attack was made by the Christians in
every part, by the ramparts, by the gate,
by the roofs and walls which connected
the castle with the town. The Moors
fought valiantly in their streets, from
their windows, and from the tops of their
houses. They were not equal to the
Christians in bodily strength; for they
were for the most part peaceful men, of
industrious callings, and enervated by
the frequent use of the warm bath; but
they were superior in number, and unconquerable
in spirit; old and young,
strong and weak, fought with the same
desperation. The Moors fought for property,
for liberty, for life. They fought
at their thresholds and their hearths,
with the shrieks of their wives and
children ringing in their ears, and they
fought in hope, that each moment would
bring aid from Granada. They regarded
neither their own wounds nor the deaths
of their companions, but continued fighting
until they fell; and seemed as if,
when they could no longer contend, they
would block up the thresholds of their
beloved homes with their mangled bodies.
The Christians fought for glory, for revenge,
for the holy faith, and for the
spoil of these wealthy infidels. Success
would place a rich town at their mercy,
failure would deliver them into the hands
of the tyrant of Granada.

The contest raged from morning until
night, when the Moors began to yield.
Retreating to a large mosque near the
walls, they kept up so galling a fire from
it with lances, cross-bows, and arquebuses,
that for some the Christians dared
not approach. Covering themselves at
length, with bucklers and mantelets,[11] to
protect them from the deadly shower,
they made their way to the mosque, and
set fire to the doors. When the smoke
and flames rolled in upon them, the
Moors gave all up as lost. Many rushed
forth desperately upon the enemy, but
were immediately slain; the rest surrendered.

The struggle was now at an end; the
town remained at the mercy of the

Christians; and the inhabitants, both
male and female, became slaves of those
who made them prisoners. Some few
escaped by a mine or subterranean way
which led to the river, and concealed
themselves, their wives and children, in
caves and secret places; but in three or
four days were compelled to surrender
themselves through hunger.

The town was given up to plunder, and
the booty was immense. There were
found prodigious quantities of gold, and
silver, and jewels, and rich silks, and
costly stuffs of all kinds, together with
horses and beeves, and abundance of
grain, and oil, and honey, and all other
productions of this fruitful kingdom; for
in Alhama were collected the royal rents
and tributes of the surrounding country:
it was the richest town in the Moorish
territory, and from its great strength and
its peculiar situation was called the key
to Granada.

Great waste and devastation were committed
by the Spanish soldiery; for,
thinking it would be impossible to keep
possession of the place, they began to demolish
whatever they could not take away.
Immense jars of oil were destroyed,
costly furniture shattered to pieces, and
magazines of grain broken open, and
their contents scattered to the winds.
Many Christian captives, who had been
taken at Zahara, were found buried in a
Moorish dungeon, and were triumphantly
restored to light and liberty; and a renegado
Spaniard, who had often served as
guide to the Moors in their incursions
into the Christian territories, was hanged
on the highest part of the battlements,
for the edification of the army.

CHAPTER VI.

A Moorish horseman had spurred
across the vega, nor did he rein his
painting steed until he alighted at the
gate of the Alhambra. He brought
tidings to Muley Aben Hassan of the
attack upon Alhama. "The Christians,"
said he, "are in the land. They
came upon us, we know not whence or
how; and scaled the walls of the castle
in the night. There has been dreadful
fighting and carnage on its towers and
courts; and when I spurred my steed
from the gate of Alhama, the castle was
in possession of the unbelievers."

Muley Aben Hassan felt for a moment
as if swift retribution had come upon him
for the woes he had inflicted upon
Zahara. Still he flattered himself, that
this had only been some transient inroad
of a party of marauders, intent upon
plunder; and that a little succour thrown
into the town would be sufficient to expel
them from the castle, and drive them
from the land. He ordered out, therefore,
a thousand of his chosen cavalry,
and sent them in all speed to the assistance
of Alhama. They arrived before
its walls the morning after its capture.
The Christian standards floated upon the
towers, and a body of cavalry poured
forth from its gates, and came wheeling
down into the plain to receive them.

The Moorish horsemen turned the
reins of their steeds, and galloped back
for Granada. They entered its gates in
tumultuous confusion, spreading terror
and lamentation by their tidings. "Alhama
is fallen! Alhama is fallen!" exclaimed
they; "the Christians garrison
its walls; the key of Granada is in the
hands of the enemy!"

When the people heard these words,
they remembered the denunciation of the
santon: his prediction seemed still to resound
in every ear, and its fulfilment to
be at hand. Nothing was heard throughout
the city but sighs and wailings.
"Wo is me, Alhama!" was in every
mouth, and this ejaculation of deep sorrow
and doleful foreboding came to be the
burden of a plaintive ballad, which remains
to the present day.[12]

Many aged men, who had taken refuge
in Granada from other Moorish dominions
which had fallen into the power
of the Christians, now groaned in despair
at the thought, that war was to follow
them into this last retreat, to lay waste
this pleasant land, and to bring trouble
and sorrow upon their declining years.
The women were more loud and vehement
in their grief, for they beheld the

evils impending over their children, and
what can restrain the agony of a mother's
heart? Many of them made their
way through the halls of the Alhambra,
into the presence of the king, weeping,
and wailing, and tearing their hair.
"Accursed be the day," cried they,
"when the flame of war was kindled by
thee in our land! May the holy prophet
bear witness before Allah, that we and
our children are innocent of this act!
Upon thy head, and upon the heads of
thy posterity, to the end of the world,
rest the sin of the desolation of Zahara."[13]

Muley Aben Hassan remained unmoved
amidst all this storm: his heart
was hardened, observes Fray Antonio
Agapida, like that of Pharaoh, to the end
that, through his blind violence and rage,
he might produce the deliverance of the
land from its heathen bondage. In fact,
he was a bold and fearless warrior, and
trusted soon to make this blow recoil
upon the head of the enemy. He had
ascertained, that the captors of Alhama
were but a handful; they were in the
centre of his dominions, within a short
distance of his capital. They were deficient
in munitions of war, and provisions
for sustaining a siege. By a rapid
movement he might surround them with
a powerful army, cut off all aid from their
countrymen, and entrap them in the fortress
they had taken.

To think was to act, with Muley Aben
Hassan; but he was prone to act with
too much precipitation. He immediately
set forth in person, with three thousand
horse and fifty thousand foot, and, in his
eagerness to arrive at the scene of action,
would not wait to provide artillery and
the various engines required in a siege.
"The multitude of my forces," said he,
confidently, "will be sufficient to overwhelm
the enemy."

The Marquis of Cadiz, who thus held
possession of Alhama, had a chosen
friend and faithful companion in arms,
among the most distinguished of the
Christian chivalry. This was Don
Alonso de Cordova, senior and lord of
the house of Aguilar, and brother of
Gonsalvo of Cordova, afterwards renowned
as the grand captain of Spain.
As yet Alonso de Aguilar was the glory
of his name and race; for his brother
was but young in arms. He was one of
the most hardy, valiant, and enterprising
Spanish knights, and foremost in all
service of a perilous and adventurous
nature. He had not been at hand to
accompany his friend Ponce de Leon,
Marquis of Cadiz, in his inroad into the
Moorish territory; but he hastily assembled
a number of retainers, horse and
foot, and pressed forward to join the
enterprise. Arriving at the river Feguas,
he found the baggage of the army still
upon its banks, and took charge of it to
carry it to Alhama. The Marquis of
Cadiz heard of the approach of his
friend, whose march was slow, in consequence
of being encumbered by the
baggage. He was within but a few
leagues of Alhama, when scouts came
hurrying into the place with intelligence
that the Moorish king was at hand with
a powerful army. The Marquis of Cadiz
was filled with alarm, lest De Aguilar
should fall into the hands of the enemy.
Forgetting his own danger, and thinking
only of that of his friend, he despatched
a well-mounted messenger to ride full
speed and warn him not to approach.

The first determination of Alonso de
Aguilar, when he heard that the Moorish
king was at hand, was to take a strong
position in the mountains, and await his
coming. The madness of an attempt
with his handful of men to oppose an
immense army was represented to him
with such force, as to induce him to
abandon the idea. He then thought of
throwing himself into Alhama, to share
the fortunes of his friend. But it was now
too late. The Moor would infallibly
intercept him, and he should only give
the marquis the additional distress of
beholding him captured beneath his
walls. It was even urged upon him, that
he had no time for delay, if he would
consult his own safety, which could only
be insured by an immediate retreat into
the Christian territory. This last opinion
was confirmed by the return of scouts,
who brought information, that Muley
Aben Hassan had received notice of his
movements, and was rapidly advancing
in quest of him. It was with infinite
reluctance that Don Alonso de Aguilar

yielded to these united and powerful
reasons. Proudly and sullenly he drew
off his forces, laden with the baggage
of the army, and made an unwilling
retreat towards Antequera. Muley Aben
Hassan pursued him for some distance
through the mountains, but soon gave up
the chase, and turned with his forces
upon Alhama.

As the army approached the town,
they beheld the fields strewn with the
dead bodies of their countrymen, who
had fallen in defence of the place, and
had been cast forth and left unburied by
the Christians. There they lay, mangled
and exposed to every indignity, while
droves of half-famished dogs were preying
upon them, and fighting and bowling
over their hideous repast.[14] Furious at
the sight, the Moors, in the first transports
of their rage, attacked these ravenous
animals, and their next measure
was to vent their fury upon the Christians.
They rushed like madmen to the
walls, applied scaling-ladders in all parts,
without waiting for the necessary mantelets
and other protections, thinking, by
attacking suddenly and at various points,
to distract the enemy, and overcome them
by the force of numbers.

The Marquis of Cadiz with his confederate
commanders distributed themselves
along the walls, to direct and
animate their men in the defence. The
Moors, in their blind fury, often assailed
the most difficult and dangerous places.
Darts, stones, and all kinds of missiles
were hurled down upon their unprotected
heads. As fast as they mounted they
were cut down, or dashed from the
battlements, their ladders overturned,
and all who were on them precipitated
headlong below.

Muley Aben Hassen stormed with
passion at the sight: he sent detachment
after detachment to scale the walls; but
in vain: they were like waves rushing
upon a rock only to dash themselves to
pieces. The Moors lay in heaps beneath
the walls, and among them many of the
bravest cavaliers of Granada. The
Christians, also, sallied frequently from
the gates, and made great havoc in the
irregular multitude of assailants. On
one of these occasions the party was
commanded by Don Juan de Vera, the
same pious and high-handed knight who
had borne the embassy to Muley Aben
Hassen demanding tribute. As this
doughty cavalier, after a career of carnage,
was slowly retreating to the gate,
he heard a voice calling after him in
furious accents. "Turn back! turn
back!" cried the voice: "thou who canst
insult in hall, prove that thou canst
combat in the field." Don Juan de Vera
turned, and beheld the same Abencerrage
whom he had struck with his sword in
the Alhambra, for scoffing at the immaculate
conception of the blessed Virgin.
All his holy zeal and pious indignation
rekindled at the sight: he put lance in
rest, and spurred his steed, to finish this
doctrinal dispute. Don Juan was a potent
and irresistible arguer with his weapon;
and he was aided, says Fray Antonio
Agapida, by the peculiar virtue of his
cause. At the very first encounter, his
lance entered the mouth of the Moor, and
hurled him to the earth, never more to
utter word or breath. Thus, continues
the worthy friar, did this scoffing infidel
receive a well-merited punishment
through the very organ with which he
had offended, and thus was the immaculate
conception miraculously vindicated
from his foul aspersions.

The vigorous and successful defence
of the Christians now made Muley Aben
Hassan sensible of his error, in hurrying
from Granada without the proper engines
for a siege. Destitute of all means to
batter the fortifications, the town remained
uninjured, defying the mighty
army which raged in vain before it.
Incensed at being thus foiled, Muley
Aben Hassan gave orders to undermine
the walls. The Moors advanced with
shouts to the attempt. They were received
with a deadly fire from the ramparts,
which drove them from their
works. Repeatedly were they repulsed,
and repeatedly did they return to the
charge. The Christians not merely
galled them from the battlements, but
issued forth and cut them down in the
excavations they were attempting to
form. The contest lasted a whole day,
and by evening two thousand Moors were
either killed or wounded.

Muley Aben Hassan now abandoned
all hope of carrying the place by assault;
and attempted to distress it into terms,
by turning the channel of the river which
runs by its walls. On this stream the
inhabitants depended for their supply of
water, the place being destitute of fountains
and cisterns, from which circumstance
it is called Alhama la seca, or
"the dry."

A desperate conflict ensued on the
banks of the river; the Moors endeavouring
to plant palisadoes in its bed, to
divert the stream, and the Christians
striving to prevent them. The Spanish
commanders exposed themselves to the
utmost danger to animate their men,
who were repeatedly driven back into
the town. The Marquis of Cadiz was
often up to his knees in the stream,
fighting hand to hand with the Moors.
The water ran red with blood, and was
encumbered with dead bodies. At length
the overwhelming numbers of the Moors
gave them the advantage, and they succeeded
in diverting the greater part of
the water. The Christians had to struggle
severely to supply themselves from
the feeble rill which remained. They
sallied to the river by a subterraneous
passage; but the Moorish cross-bowmen
stationed themselves on the opposite
bank, keeping up a heavy fire upon the
Christians, whenever they attempted to
fill their vessels from the scanty and
turbid stream. One party of the Christians
had therefore to fight, while another
drew water. At all hours of day
and night this deadly strife was maintained,
until it seemed as if every drop
of water were purchased with a drop of
blood.

In the mean time the sufferings in the
town became intense. None but the
soldiery and their horses were allowed
the precious beverage so dearly earned,
and even that in quantities that only
tantalized their wants. The wounded,
who could not sally to procure it, were
almost destitute; while the unhappy
prisoners, shut up in the mosques, were
reduced to frightful extremities. Many
perished raving mad, fancying themselves
swimming in boundless seas, yet
unable to assuage their thirst. Many
of the soldiers lay parched and panting
along the battlements, no longer able to
draw a bowstring or hurl a stone, while
above five thousand Moors, stationed
upon a rocky height which overlooked
part of the town, kept up a galling fire
into it with slings and cross-bows; so
that the Marquis of Cadiz was obliged
to heighten the battlements by using the
doors from the private dwellings.

The Christian cavaliers, exposed to
this extreme peril, and in imminent
danger of falling into the hands of the
enemy, despatched fleet messengers to
Seville and Cordova, entreating the chivalry
of Andalusia to hasten to their
aid. They sent likewise to implore assistance
from the king and queen, who
at that time held their court in Medina
del Campo. In the midst of their distress,
a tank, or cistern of water, was
fortunately discovered in the city, which
gave temporary relief to their sufferings.

CHAPTER VII.

The perilous situation of the Christian
cavaliers, pent up and beleaguered
within the walls of Alhama, spread terror
among their friends, and anxiety
throughout all Andalusia. Nothing,
however, could equal the anguish of
the Marchioness of Cadiz, the wife of
the gallant Rodrigo Ponce de Leon. In
her deep distress she looked round for
some powerful noble, who had the means
of rousing the country to the assistance
of her husband. No one appeared more
competent for the purpose than Don Juan
de Guzman, the Duke of Medina Sidonia.
He was one of the most wealthy
and puissant grandees of Spain; his possessions
extended over some of the most
fertile parts of Andalusia, embracing
towns and seaports, and numerous villages.
Here he reigned in feudal state
like a petty sovereign, and could at any
time bring into the field an immense
force of vassals and retainers. The
Duke of Medina Sidonia, and the Marquis
of Cadiz, however, were at this
time deadly foes. An hereditary feud
existed between them, that had often
arisen to bloodshed and war; for as yet

the fierce contests between the proud
and pussant Spanish nobles had not
been completely quelled by the power
of the crown, and in this respect they
exerted a right of sovereignty, in leading
their vassals against each other in
open field.

The Duke of Medina Sidonia would
have appeared to many the very last
person to whom to apply for aid of the
Marquis of Cadiz; but the marchioness
judged of him by the standard of her
own high and generous mind. She
knew him to be a gallant and courteous
knight, and had already experienced the
magnanimity of his spirit, having been
relieved by him when besieged by the
Moors in her husband's fortress of Arcos.
To the duke, therefore, she applied in this
moment of sudden calamity, imploring
him to furnish succour to her husband.
The event showed how well noble spirits
understand each other. No sooner did
the duke receive this appeal from the
wife of his enemy, than he generously
forgot all feeling of animosity, and determined
to go in person to his succour.
He immediately despatched a courteous
letter to the marchioness, assuring her,
that, in consideration of the request of
so honourable and estimable a lady, and
to rescue from peril so valiant a cavalier
as her husband, whose loss would be
great, not only to Spain, but to all
Christendom, he would forego the recollection
of all past grievances, and
hasten to his relief with all the forces
he could raise.

The duke wrote at the same time to
the alcaydes of his towns and fortresses,
ordering them to join him forthwith at
Seville, with all the force they could
spare from their garrisons. He called
on all the chivalry of Andalusia to make
common cause in the rescue of those
Christian cavaliers, and he offered large
pay to all volunteers who would resort
to him with horses, armour, and provisions.
Thus all who could be incited
by honour, religion, patriotism, or thirst
of gain, were induced to hasten to his
standard; and he took the field with an
army of five thousand horse and fifty
thousand foot.[15] Many cavaliers of distinguished
name accompanied him in this
generous enterprise. Amongst these was
the redoubtable Alonso de Aguilar, the
chosen friend of the Marquis of Cadiz,
and with him his younger brother, Gonsalvo
Fernandez de Cordova, afterwards
renowned as the grand captain; Don
Rodrigo Givon, also, master of the order
of Calatrava; together with Martin
Alonso de Montemayor, and the Marquis
de Villena, esteemed the best lance
in Spain. It was a gallant and splendid
army, comprising the power of Spanish
chivalry, and poured forth in brilliant
array from the gates of Seville, bearing
the great standard of that ancient and
renowned city.

Ferdinand and Isabella were at Medina
del Campo when tidings came of the
capture of Alhama. The king was at
mass when he received the news, and
ordered Te Deum to be chanted for this
signal triumph of the holy faith. When
the first flush of triumph had subsided,
and the king learned the imminent peril
of the valorous Ponce de Leon and his
companions, and the great danger there
was that this stronghold might again be
wrested from their grasp, he resolved to
hurry in person to the scene of action.
So pressing appeared to him the emergency,
that he barely gave himself time
to take a hasty repast while horses were
providing, and then departed at furious
speed for Andalusia, leaving a request for
the queen to follow him.[16] He was attended
by Don Beltran de la Cueva, Duke of
Albuquerque; Don Inigo Lopez de Mendoza,
Count of Tendilla; and Don Pedro
Manriquez, Count of Trevino, with a few
more cavaliers of prowess and distinction.
He travelled by forced journeys, frequently
changing his jaded horses, being
eager to arrive in time to take command
of the Andalusian chivalry. When he
came within five leagues of Cordova,
the Duke of Albuquerque remonstrated
with him upon entering with such incautious
haste into the enemy's country,
He represented to him, that there were
troops enough assembled to succour Alhama,
and that it was not for him to
adventure his royal person in doing
what could be done by his subjects,

especially as he had such valiant and
experienced captains to act for him.
"Besides, sire," added the duke, "your
majesty should bethink you, that the
troops about to take the field are mere
men of Andalusia; whereas your illustrious
predecessors never made an inroad
into the territory of the Moors, without
being accompanied by a powerful force
of the staunch and iron warriors of Old
Castile."

"Duke," replied the king, "your
counsel might have been good had I not
have departed from Medina with the
avowed determination of succouring these
cavaliers in person. I am now near the
end of my journey, and it would be beneath
my dignity to change my intention,
before even I had met with an impediment.
I shall take the troops of this
country who are assembled, without
waiting for those of Castile, and, with
the aid of God, shall prosecute my journey."[17]

As King Ferdinand approached Cordova,
the principal inhabitants came forth
to receive him. Learning, however, that
the Duke of Medina Sidonia was already
on the march, and pressing forward into
the territory of the Moors, the king was
all on fire to overtake him, and to lead
in person the succour to Alhama. Without
entering Cordova, therefore, he exchanged
his weary horses for those of
the inhabitants who had come to meet
him, and pressed forward for the army.
He despatched fleet couriers in advance,
requesting the Duke of Medina Sidonia
to await his coming, that he might take
command of the forces.

Neither the duke nor his companions
in arms, however, felt inclined to pause
in their generous expedition, and gratify
the inclination of the king. They sent
back missives, representing that they
were far within the enemy's frontiers,
and it was dangerous either to pause or
to turn back. They had likewise received
pressing entreaties from the besieged
to hasten their speed, setting forth
their great sufferings, and their hourly
peril of being overwhelmed by the enemy.

The king was at Ponton del Maestre
when he received these missives. So inflamed
was he with zeal for the success
of this enterprise, that he would have
penetrated into the kingdom of Granada
with the handful of cavaliers who accompanied
him; but they represented the
rashness of such a journey, through the
mountainous defiles of a hostile country
thickly beset with towns and castles.
With some difficulty, therefore, he was
dissuaded from his inclination, and prevailed
upon to await tidings from the
army, in the frontier city of Antequera.

CHAPTER VIII.

While all Andalusia was thus in arms,
and pouring its chivalry through the
mountain passes of the Moorish frontier,
the garrison of Alhama was reduced to
great extremity, and in danger of sinking
under its sufferings before the promised
succour could arrive. The intolerable
thirst that prevailed in consequence of
the scarcity of water, the incessant watch
that had to be maintained over the vast
force of enemies without, and the great
number of prisoners within, and the
wounds which almost every soldier had
received in the incessant skirmishes and
assaults, had worn grievously both flesh
and spirit. The noble Ponce de Leon,
Marquis of Cadiz, still animated the soldiery,
however by word and example,
sharing every hardship, and being foremost
in every danger; exemplifying, that
a good commander is the vital spirit of
an army.

When Muley Aben Hassan heard of
the vast force that was approaching
under the command of the Duke of Medina
Sidonia, and that Ferdinand was
coming in person with additional troops,
he perceived that no time was to be lost:
Alhama must be carried by one powerful
attack, or abandoned entirely to the
Christians.

A number of Moorish cavaliers, some
of the bravest youth of Granada, knowing
the wishes of the king, proposed to undertake
a desperate enterprise, which, if
successful, must put Alhama in his power.
Early one morning, when it was scarcely
the gray of the dawn, about the time of
changing the watch, these cavaliers approached
the town, at a place considered

inaccessible from the steepness of the
rocks on which the wall was founded;
which it was supposed elevated the battlements
beyond the reach of the longest
scaling-ladders. The Moorish knights,
aided by a number of the strongest and
most active escaladors, mounted these
rocks, and applied the ladders without
being discovered; for, to divert attention
from them, Muley Aben Hassan made a
false attack upon the town in another
quarter.

The scaling party mounted with difficulty,
and in small numbers; the sentinel
was killed at his post, and seventy
of the Moors made their way into the
streets before an alarm was given. The
guards rushed to the walls, to stop the
hostile throng that was still pouring in.
A sharp conflict, hand to hand, and
man to man, took place on the battlements,
and many on both sides fell. The
Moors, whether wounded or slain, were
thrown headlong without the walls, the
scaling-ladders were overturned, and
those who were mounting were dashed
upon the rocks, and from thence tumbled
upon the plain. Thus in a little while
the ramparts were cleared by Christian
prowess, led on by that valiant knight
Don Alonso Ponce the uncle, and that
brave esquire Pedro Pineda, nephew of
the Marquis of Cadiz.

The walls being cleared, these two
kindred cavaliers now hastened with
their forces in pursuit of the seventy
Moors, who had gained an entrance into
the town. The main part of the garrison
being engaged at a distance, resisting the
feigned attack of the Moorish king, this
fierce band of infidels had ranged the
streets almost without opposition, and
were making their way to the gates, to
throw them open to the army.[18] They
were chosen men from among the Moorish
forces, several of them gallant knights
of the proudest families of Granada.
Their footsteps through the city were in
a manner printed in blood, and they were
tracked by the bodies of those they had
killed and wounded. They had attained
the gate; most of the guard had fallen
beneath their cimeters; a moment more
and Alhama would have been thrown
open to the enemy.

Just at this juncture, Don Alonso
Ponce and Pedro de Pineda reached the
spot with their forces. The Moors had
the enemy in front and rear: they placed
themselves back to back, with their banner
in the centre. In this way they
fought with desperate and deadly determination,
making a rampart around
them with the slain. More Christian
troops arrived, and hemmed them in,
but still they fought, without asking for
quarter. As their numbers decreased,
they serried their circle still closer, defending
their banner from assault, and
the last Moor died at his post, grasping
the standard of the Prophet. This
standard was displayed from the walls,
and the turbaned heads of the Moors
were thrown down to the besiegers.[19]

Muley Aben Hassan tore his beard
with rage at the failure of this attempt,
and at the death of so many of his chosen
cavaliers. He saw that all further effort
was in vain. His scouts brought word,
that they had seen from the heights the
long columns and flaunting banners of the
Christian army approaching through the
mountains. To linger would be to place
himself between two bodies of the enemy.
Breaking up his camp, therefore, in all
haste, he gave up the siege of Alhama,
and hastened back to Granada; and the
last clash of his cymbals scarce died
upon the ear from the distant hills, before
the standard of the Duke of Medina
Sidonia was seen emerging in another
direction from the defiles of the mountains.

When the Christians in Alhama beheld
their enemies retreating on one side,
and their friends advancing on the other,
they uttered shouts of joy and hymns of
thanksgiving; for it was as a sudden
relief from present death. Harassed
by several weeks of incessant vigil and
fighting, suffering from scarcity of provisions
and almost continual thirst, they
resembled skeletons rather than living
men. It was a noble and gracious sight,
to behold the meeting of those two ancient
foes, the Duke of Medina Sidonia,
and the Marquis of Cadiz. When the

marquis beheld his magnanimous deliverer
approaching, he melted into tears:
all past animosities only gave the greater
poignancy to present feelings of gratitude
and admiration: they clasped each other
in their arms, and, from that time forward,
were true and cordial friends.

While this generous scene took place
between the commanders, a sordid contest
arose among their troops. The
soldiers, who had come to the rescue,
claimed a portion of the spoils of Alhama;
and so violent was the dispute,
that both parties seized their arms. The
Duke of Medina Sidonia interfered and
settled the question with his characteristic
magnanimity. He declared, that
the spoil belonged to those who had captured
the city. "We have taken the
field," said he, "only for honour, for religion,
and for the rescue of our countrymen
and fellow Christians; and the
success of our enterprise is a sufficient
and glorious reward. If we desire booty,
there are sufficient Moorish cities yet to
be taken to enrich us all." The soldiers
were convinced by the frank and chivalrous
reasoning of the duke; they replied
to his speech by acclamations, and the
transient broil was happily appeased.

The Marchioness of Cadiz, with the
forethought of a loving wife, had despatched
her major-domo with the army,
with a large supply of provisions. Tables
were immediately spread beneath the
tents, where the marquis gave a banquet
to the duke and the cavaliers who had
accompanied him, and nothing but hilarity
prevailed in this late scene of suffering
and death.

A garrison of fresh troops was left in
Alhama, and the veterans, who had so
valiantly captured and maintained it, returned
to their homes burdened with
precious booty. The marquis and duke,
with their confederate cavaliers, repaired
to Antequera, where they were received
with great distinction by the king, who
honoured the Marquis of Cadiz with signal
marks of favour. The duke then
accompanied his late enemy, but now
most zealous and grateful friend, the
Marquis of Cadiz, to his town of Marchena,
where he received the reward of
his generous conduct in the thanks and
blessings of the marchioness. The marquis
gave a sumptuous entertainment in
honour of his guest; for a day and night
his palace was thrown open, and was
the scene of continual revel and festivity.
When the duke departed for his estates
at St. Lucar, the marquis attended him
for some distance on his journey, and
when they separated, it was as the parting
scene of brothers. Such was the
noble spectacle exhibited to the chivalry
of Spain by these two illustrious rivals.
Each reaped universal renown from the
part he had performed in the campaign:
the marquis, from having surprised and
captured one of the most important and
formidable fortresses of the kingdom of
Granada, and the duke from having subdued
his deadliest foe by a great act of
magnanimity.

CHAPTER IX.

The Moorish king Aben Hassan returned,
baffled and disappointed, from
before the walls of Alhama, and was
received with groans and smothered execrations
by the people of Granada. The
prediction of the santon was in every
mouth, and appeared to be rapidly fulfilling;
for the enemy was already strongly
fortified in Alhama, in the very heart of
the kingdom. The disaffection, which
broke out in murmurs among the common
people, fermented more secretly and
dangerously among the nobles. Muley
Aben Hassan was of a fierce and cruel
nature; his reign had been marked with
tyranny and bloodshed, and many chiefs
of the family of the Abencerrages, the
noblest lineage among the Moors, had
fallen victims to his policy or vengeance.
A deep plot was now formed to put an
end to his oppressions, and dispossess
him of the throne. The situation of the
royal household favoured the conspiracy.

Muley Aben Hassan, though cruel, was
uxorious; that is to say, he had many
wives, and was prone to be managed
by them by turns. He had two queens,
in particular, whom he had chosen from
affection. One, named Ayxa, was a
Moorish female; she was likewise termed
in Arabic La Horra, or "the chaste,"
from the spotless purity of her character.

While yet in the prime of her beauty,
she bore a son to Aben Hassan, the expected
heir to his throne. The name of
this prince was Mahomet Abdalla, or, as
he has more generally been termed
among historians, Boabdil. At his birth
the astrologers, according to custom,
cast his horoscope: they were seized with
fear and trembling when they beheld the
fatal portents revealed to their science.
"Alla achbar! God is great!" exclaimed
they: "he alone controls the fate of empires:
it is written in the heavens, that
this prince shall sit upon the throne of
Granada, but that the downfall of the
kingdom shall be accomplished during
his reign." From this time the prince
was ever regarded with aversion by his
father, and the series of persecutions
which he suffered, and the dark prediction
which hung over him from his infancy,
procured him the surname of El
Zogoybi, or "the unfortunate." He is
more commonly known by the appellation
of El Chico, "the younger," to distinguish
him from an usurping uncle.

The other favourite queen of Aben
Hassan was named Fatima, to which
the Moors added the appellation of La
Zoroya, or "the light of the dawn,"
from her effulgent beauty. She was a
Christian by birth, the daughter of the
commander Sancho Ximenes de Solis,
and had been taken captive in her tender
youth.[20]

The king, who was well stricken in
years at the time, became enamoured of
the blooming Christian maid. He made
her his sultana; and, like most old men
who marry in their dotage, resigned
himself to her management. Zoroya
became the mother of two princes; and
her anxiety for their advancement seemed
to extinguish every other natural
feeling in her breast. She was as ambitious
as she was beautiful, and her ruling
desire became, to see one of her sons
seated upon the throne of Granada.

For this purpose she made use of all
her arts, and of the complete ascendancy
she had over the mind of her cruel husband,
to undermine his other children in
his affections, and to fill him with jealousies
of their designs. Muley Aben
Hassan was so wrought upon by her
machinations, that he publicly put several
of his sons to death at the celebrated
fountain of lions, in the court of the
Alhambra; a place signalized in Moorish
history as the scene of many sanguinary
deeds.

The next measure of Zoroya was
against her rival sultana, the virtuous
Ayxa. She was past the bloom of her
beauty, and had ceased to be attractive
in the eyes of her husband. He was
easily persuaded to repudiate her, and to
confine her and her son in the tower of
Comares, one of the principal towers of
the Alhambra. As Boabdil increased in
years, Zoroya beheld in him a formidable
obstacle to the pretensions of her
sons; for he was universally considered
heir-apparent to the throne. The jealousies,
suspicions, and alarms of his
tiger-hearted father were again excited;
he was reminded, too, of the prediction,
that fixed the ruin of the kingdom during
the reign of this prince. Muley Aben
Hassan impiously set the stars at defiance.
"The sword of the executioner," said he,
"shall prove the falsehood of these lying
horoscopes, and shall silence the ambition
of Boabdil, as it has the presumption of
his brothers."

The sultana Ayxa was secretly apprised
of the cruel design of the old
monarch. She was a woman of talents
and courage, and by means of her female
attendants concerted a plan for the escape
of her son. A faithful servant was instructed
to wait below the Alhambra, in
the dead of the night, on the banks of
the river Darro, with a fleet Arabian
courser. The sultana, when the castle
was in a state of deep repose, tied
together the shawls and scarfs of herself
and her female attendants, and lowered
the youthful prince from the tower of
Comares.[21] He made his way in safety
down the steep rocky hill to the banks of
the Darro, and, throwing himself on the
Arabian courser, was thus spirited off to
the city of Guadix in the Alpuxarres.
Here he lay for some time concealed,
until, gaining adherents, he fortified himself
in the place, and set the machinations
of his tyrant father at defiance. Such

was the state of affairs in the royal household
of Granada, when Muley Aben Hassan
returned foiled from his expedition
against Alhama. The faction which had
been secretly formed among the nobles,
determined to depose the old king Aben
Hassan, and to elevate his son Boabdil
to the throne. They concerted their
measures with the latter, and an opportunity
soon presented to put them in
practice. Muley Aben Hassan had a
royal country palace, called Alexares, in
the vicinity of Granada, to which he
resorted occasionally, to recreate his
mind during this time of perplexity. He
had been passing one day among its
bowers, when, on returning to the capital,
he found the gates closed against
him, and his son Mohammed Abdalla,
otherwise called Boabdil, proclaimed
king. "Alla achbar! God is great!"
exclaimed old Muley Aben Hassan: "it
is in vain to contend against what is
written in the book of fate. It was predestined
that my son should sit upon the
throne. Alla forfend the rest of the prediction!"
The old monarch knew the
inflammable nature of the Moors, and
that it was useless to attempt to check
any sudden blaze of popular passion.
"A little while," said he, "and this
rash flame will burn itself out; and the
people, when cool, will listen to reason."
So he turned his steed from the gate, and
repaired to the city of Baza, where he
was received with great demonstrations
of loyalty. He was not a man to give
up his throne without a struggle. A
large part of the kingdom still remained
faithful to him; he trusted that the conspiracy
in the capital was but transient
and partial, and that by suddenly making
his appearance in its streets, at the head
of a moderate force, he should awe the
people again into allegiance. He took
his measures with that combination of
dexterity and daring which formed his
character, and arrived one night under
the walls of Granada with five hundred
chosen followers. Scaling the walls of
the Alhambra, he threw himself, with
sanguinary fury, into its silent courts.
The sleeping inmates were roused from
their repose only to fall by the exterminating
cimeter. The rage of Aben Hassan
spared neither age, nor rank, nor
sex; the halls resounded with shrieks
and yells, and the fountains ran red with
blood. The alcayde, Aben Comixer,
retreated to a strong tower, with a few
of the garrison and inhabitants. The
furious Aben Hassan did not lose time
in pursuing him: he was anxious to
secure the city, and to wreak his vengeance
on its rebellious inhabitants.
Descending with his bloody band into
the streets, he cut down the defenceless
inhabitants, as, startled from their sleep,
they rushed forth, to learn the cause of
the alarm. The city was soon completely
roused; the people flew to arms;
lights blazed in every street, revealing
the scanty numbers of this band that
had been dealing such fatal vengeance
in the dark. Muley Aben Hassan had
been mistaken in his conjectures. The
great mass of the people, incensed by
his tyranny, were zealous in favour of
his son. A violent but transient conflict
took place in the streets and squares;
many of the followers of Aben Hassan
were slain, the rest driven out of the city,
and the old monarch, with the remnant
of his band, retreated to his loyal city of
Malaga.

Such was the commencement of those
great internal feuds and divisions, which
hastened the downfall of Granada. The
Moors became separated into two hostile
factions, headed by the father and the
son, and several bloody encounters took
place between them; yet they never
failed to act with all their separate force
against the Christians, as a common
enemy, whenever an opportunity occurred.

CHAPTER X.

King Ferdinand held a council of
war at Cordova, where it was deliberated
what was to be done with Alhama. Most
of the council advised that it should be
demolished, inasmuch as, being in the
centre of the Moorish kingdom, it would
be at all times liable to attack, and could
only be maintained by a powerful garrison,
and at vast expense. Queen Isabella
arrived at Cordova in the midst of these
deliberations, and listened to them with
surprise and impatience. "What!" said

she, "shall we destroy the first fruits of
our victories? shall we abandon the first
place we have wrested from the Moors?
Never let us suffer such an idea to occupy
our minds. It would give new courage
to the enemy; arguing fear or
feebleness in our councils. You talk of
the toil and expense of maintaining Alhama.
Did we doubt, on undertaking this
war, that it was to be a war of infinite
cost, labour, and bloodshed? and shall
we shrink from the cost the moment a
victory is obtained, and the question is
merely, to guard or abandon its glorious
trophy? Let us hear no more about the
destruction of Alhama; let us maintain
its walls sacred, as a stronghold, granted
us by Heaven, in the centre of this hostile
land; and let our only consideration
be, how to extend our conquest, and
capture the surrounding cities." The
language of the queen infused a more
lofty and chivalrous spirit into the royal
council. Preparations were immediately
made to maintain Alhama at all risk and
expense; and King Ferdinand appointed
as alcayde Luis Fernandez Puerto Carrero,
senior of the house of Palma, supported
by Diego Lopez de Ayola, Pero
Ruiz de Alarzon, and Alonso Ortis, captains
of four hundred lances and a body
of one thousand foot, supplied with provisions
for three months. Ferdinand
resolved also to lay siege to Loxa, a city
of great strength, at no great distance
from Alhama. For this purpose he
called upon all the cities and towns of
Andalusia and Estremadura, and the
domains of the orders of Santiago,
Calatrava, and Alcantara, and of the
priory of St. Juan, and the kingdom of
Toledo, and beyond, to the cities of
Salamanca, Toro, and Valladolid, to
furnish, according to their repartimientos
or allotments, a certain quantity of bread,
wine, and cattle, to be delivered at the
royal camp before Loxa, one-half at the
end of June, and one-half in July.
These lands, also, together with Biscay
and Guipuscoa, were ordered to send
reinforcements of horse and foot, each
town furnishing its quota; and great
diligence was used in providing lombards,
powder, and other warlike munitions.

The Moors were no less active in
their preparations; and sent missives
into Africa, entreating supplies, and calling
upon the Barbary princes to aid them
in this war of the faith. To intercept all
succour, the Castilian sovereigns stationed
an armada of ships and galleys in the
Straits of Gibraltar, under the command
of Martin Diaz de Mena and Carlos de
Valera, with orders to scour the Barbary
coast, and sweep every Moorish sail from
the sea.

While these preparations were making,
Ferdinand made an incursion, at the head
of his army, into the kingdom of Granada,
and laid waste the vega; destroying
its hamlets and villages, ravaging its
fields of grain, and driving away the
cattle.

It was about the end of June, that King
Ferdinand departed from Cordova, to sit
down before the walls of Loxa. So confident
was he of success, that he left a
great part of the army at Ecija, and
advanced with but five thousand cavalry
and eight thousand infantry. The Marquis
of Cadiz, a warrior as wise as he
was valiant, remonstrated against employing
so small a force; and, indeed,
was opposed to the measure altogether,
as being undertaken precipitately, and
without sufficient preparation. King
Ferdinand, however, was influenced by
the counsel of Don Diego de Merlo, and
was eager to strike a brilliant and decided
blow. A vainglorious confidence prevailed
about this time among the Spanish
cavaliers: they overrated their own
prowess; or rather, they undervalued
and despised their enemy. Many of
them believed that the Moors would
scarcely remain in their city, when they
saw the Christian troops advancing to
assail it. The Spanish chivalry marched,
therefore, gallantly and fearlessly, and
almost carelessly, over the border, scantily
supplied with the things needful for
a besieging army in the heart of an
enemy's country. In the same negligent
and confident spirit they took up
their station before Loxa. The country
around was broken and hilly, so that it
was extremely difficult to form a combined
camp. The river Xenil, which
runs by the town, was compressed between
high banks, and so deep as to be
fordable with extreme difficulty, and the

Moors had possession of the bridge.
The king pitched his tents in a plantation
of olives, on the banks of the river;
the troops were distributed in different
encampments on the heights, but separated
from each other by deep rocky
ravines, so as to be incapable of yielding
each other prompt assistance, and there
was no room for the operation of the
cavalry. The artillery, also, was so
injudiciously placed as to be almost
entirely useless. Alonso of Aragon,
Duke of Villahermosa, and illegitimate
brother to the king, was present at the
siege, and disapproved of the whole
arrangement. He was one of the most
able generals of his time, and especially
renowned for his skill in battering fortified
places. He recommended, that the
whole disposition of the camp should be
changed, and that several bridges should
be thrown across the river. His advice
was adopted, but slowly and negligently
followed; so that it was rendered of no
avail. Among other oversights, in this
hasty and negligent expedition, the army
had no supply of baked bread, and, in
the hurry of encampment, there was no
time to erect furnaces. Cakes were
therefore hastily made, and baked on the
coals, and for two days the troops were
supplied in this irregular way.

King Ferdinand felt too late the insecurity
of his position, and endeavoured
to provide a temporary remedy. There
was a height near the city, called by the
Moors Santo Albohacen, which was in
front of the bridge. He ordered several
of his most valiant cavaliers to take possession
of this height, and to hold it, as
a check upon the enemy and a protection
to the camp. The cavaliers chosen for
this distinguished and perilous post were
the Marquis of Cadiz, the Marquis of
Villena, Don Roderigo Tellez Giron,
master of Calatrava, his brother the Count
of Ureña, and Don Alonso de Aguilar.
These valiant warriors, and tried companions
in arms, led their troops with alacrity
to the height, which soon glittered
with the array of arms, and was graced
by several of the most redoubtable pennons
of warlike Spain.

Loxa was commanded at this time by
an old Moorish alcayde, whose daughter
was the favourite wife of Boabdil el
Chico. The name of this Moor was Ibraham
Ali Atar; but he was generally
known among the Spaniards as Alatar.
He had grown gray in border warfare,
was an implacable enemy of the Christians,
and his name had long been the
terror of the frontier. He was in the
ninetieth year of his age, yet indomitable
in spirit, fiery in his passion, sinewy and
powerful in frame, deeply versed in warlike
stratagem, and accounted the best
lance in all Mauritania. He had three
thousand horsemen under his command,
veteran troops, with whom he had often
scoured the borders, and he daily expected
the old Moorish king with reinforcements.

Old Ali Atar had watched, from his
fortress, every movement of the Christian
army, and had exulted in all the
errors of its commanders. When he
beheld the flower of Spanish chivalry
glittering about the height of Albohacen,
his eye flushed with exultation. "By the
aid of Allah," said he, "I will give these
prankling cavaliers a rouse."

Ali Atar privately, and by night, sent
forth a large body of his chosen troops
to lie in ambush near one of the skirts of
Albohacen. On the fourth day of the
siege, he sallied across the bridge, and
made a feigned attack upon the height.
The cavaliers rushed impetuously forth
to meet him, leaving their encampments
almost unprotected. Ali Atar wheeled
and fled, and was hastily pursued. When
the Christian cavaliers had been drawn a
considerable distance from their encampments,
they heard a vast shout behind
them, and, looking round, beheld their
encampments assailed by the Moorish
force, which had been placed in ambush,
and had ascended a different side of the
hill.

The cavaliers desisted from the pursuit,
and hastened to prevent the plunder
of their tents. Ali Atar in his turn
wheeled and pursued them; and they
were attacked in front and rear on the
summit of the hill. The contest lasted
for an hour; the height of Albohacen
was red with blood; many brave cavaliers
fell, expiring among heaps of the
enemy. The fierce Ali Atar fought with
the fury of a demon, until the arrival of
more Christian forces compelled him to
retreat into the city. The severest loss

to the Christians in this skirmish was
that of Roderigo Tellez Giron, master of
Calatrava: as he was raising his arm to
make a blow, an arrow pierced him, just
beneath the shoulder, at the open part of
the corslet. He fell instantly from his
horse, but was caught by Pedro Gasea,
cavalier of Avila, who conveyed him to
his tent, where he died. The king and
queen and the whole kingdom mourned
his death; for he was in the freshness of
his youth, being but twenty-four years
of age, and had proved himself a gallant
and highminded cavalier. A melancholy
group collected about his corse, on the
bloody height of Albohacen: the knights
of Calatrava mourned him as a commander;
the cavaliers, who were encamped
on the height, lamented him as their
companion in arms in a service of perils,
while the Count of Ureña grieved over
him with the tender affection of a brother.

King Ferdinand now perceived the
wisdom of the opinion of the Marquis of
Cadiz, and that his force was quite insufficient
for the enterprise. To continue
his camp in its present unfortunate position
would cost him the lives of his
bravest cavaliers, if not a total defeat, in
case of reinforcements to the enemy. He
called a council of war late in the evening
of Saturday; and it was determined
to withdraw the army, early the next
morning, to Rio Frio, a short distance
from the city, and there wait for additional
troops from Cordova. The next
morning early, the cavaliers on the height
of Alhohacen began to strike their tents.
No sooner did Ali Atar behold this, than
he sallied forth to attack them. Many of
the Christian troops, who had not heard
of the intention to change the camp, seeing
the tents struck, and the Moors sallying
forth, supposed that the enemy had
been reinforced in the night, and the
army was on the point of retreating.
Without stopping to ascertain the truth,
or to receive orders, they fied in dismay,
spreading confusion through the camp;
nor did they halt until they had reached
the Rock of the Lovers, about seven
leagues from Loxa.[22]

The king and his commanders saw
the imminent peril of the moment, and
made face to the Moors, each commander
guarding his quarter, and repelling all
assaults, while the tents were struck, and
the artillery and ammunition conveyed
away. The king, with a handful of cavaliers,
galloped to a rising ground, exposed
to the fire of the enemy, calling upon the
flying troops, and endeavouring in vain
to rally them. Setting upon the Moors,
he and his cavaliers charged them so
vigorously, that they put a squadron to
flight, slaying many with their swords
and lances, and driving others into the
river, where they were drowned. The
Moors, however, were soon reinforced,
and returned in great numbers. The
king was in danger of being surrounded:
the Moors assailed him furiously; and
twice he owned his safety to the valour
of Don Juan de Ribera, senior of Moutemayor.

The Marquis of Cadiz beheld from a
distance the peril of his sovereign. Summoning
about seventy horsemen to follow
him, he galloped to the spot, threw himself
between the king and the enemy, and,
hurling his lance, transpierced one of the
most daring of the Moors. For some
time he remained with no other weapon
than his sword; his horse was wounded
by an arrow, and many of his followers
were slain; but he succeeded in beating
off the Moors, and rescuing the king from
imminent jeopardy, whom he then prevailed
upon to retire to less dangerous
ground.

The marquis continued throughout the
day to expose himself to the repeated
assaults of the enemy. He was ever
found in the place of greatest danger,
and through his bravery a great part of
the army and the camp was preserved
from destruction.[23] It was a perilous day
for the commanders; for in a retreat of
the kind, it is the noblest cavaliers who
most expose themselves to save their
people. The Duke of Medina Celi was
struck to the ground, but rescued by his
troops. The Count of Tendilla, whose
tents were nearest to the city, received
several wounds; and various other cavaliers
of the most distinguished note were
exposed to fearful hazard. The whole
day was passed in bloody skirmishings,

in which the hidalgos and cavaliers of
the royal household distinguished themselves
by their bravery. At length, the
encampments being all broken up, and
most of the artillery and baggage removed,
the bloody height of Albohacen
was abandoned, and the neighbourhood
of Loxa evacuated. Several tents, a
quantity of provisions, and a few pieces
of artillery, were left upon the spot, from
the want of horses or mules to carry
them off.

Ali Atar hung upon the rear of the
retiring army, and harassed it until it
reached Rio Frio. From thence Ferdinand
returned to Cordova, deeply mortified,
though greatly benefited, by the
severe lesson he had received, which
served to render him more cautious in
his campaigns, and more diffident of fortune.
He sent letters to all parts excusing
his retreat, imputing it to the
small number of his forces, and the circumstance,
that many of them were
quotas sent from various cities, and not
in royal pay. In the mean time, to console
his troops for their disappointment,
and to keep up their spirits, he led them
upon another inroad, to lay waste the
vega of Granada.

CHAPTER XI.

Old Muley Aben Hassan had mustered
an army, and marched to the relief of
Loxa; but arrived too late. The last
squadron of Ferdinand had already passed
over the border. "They have come
and gone," said he, "like a summer
cloud, and all their vaunting has been
mere empty thunder." He turned, to
make another attempt upon Alhama, the
garrison of which was in the utmost consternation
at the retreat of Ferdinand,
and would have deserted the place, had
it not been for the courage and perseverance
of the alcayde, Luis Fernandez
Puerto Carrero. That brave and loyal
commander cheered up the spirits of the
men, and kept the old Moorish king at
bay, until the approach of Ferdinand,
on his second incursion into the vega,
obliged him to make an unwilling retreat
to Malaga.

Muley Aben Hassan felt, that it would
be in vain, with his inferior force, to
oppose the powerful army of the Christian
monarch; but to remain idle, and
see his territories laid waste, would ruin
him in the estimation of his people. "If
we cannot parry," said he, "we can
strike: if we cannot keep our own lands
from being ravaged, we can ravage the
lands of the enemy." He inquired, and
learned that most of the chivalry of Andalusia,
in their eagerness for a foray,
had marched off with the king, and left
their own country almost defenceless.
The territories of the Duke of Medina
Sidonia were particularly unguarded.
Here were vast plains of pasturage, covered
with flocks and herds; the very
country for a hasty inroad. The old
monarch had a bitter grudge against the
duke, for having foiled him at Alhama.
"I'll give this cavalier a lesson," said
he, exultingly, "that will cure him of
his love of campaigning." So he prepared
in all haste for a foray into the
country about Medina Sidonia.

Muley Aben Hassan sallied out of
Malaga with fifteen hundred horse and
six thousand foot, and took the way by
the sea-coast, marching through Esteponia
and entering the Christian country
between Gibraltar and Castellar. The
only person that was likely to molest
him on this route was one Pedro de
Vargas, a shrewd, hardy, and vigilant
soldier, alcayde of Gibraltar, and who
lay ensconced in his old warrior-rock as
in a citadel. Muley Aben Hassan knew
the watchful and daring character of the
man; but had ascertained, that his garrison
was too small to enable him to
make a sally, or at least to assure him
any success. Still he pursued his march
with great silence and caution; sent
parties in advance, to explore every pass
where a foe might lie in ambush, cast
many an anxious eye towards the old
rock of Gibraltar, as its cloud-capt
summit was seen towering in the distance
on his left; nor did he feel entirely at
case, until he had passed through the
broken and mountainous country of
Castellar, and descended into the plains.
Here he encamped, on the banks of the
Celemin. From hence he sent four
hundred corredors, or fleet horsemen,

armed with lances, who were to station
themselves near Algeziras, and to keep
a strict watch, across the bay, upon the
opposite fortress of Gihraltar. If the
alcayde attempted to sally forth, they
were to waylay and attack him, being
almost four times his supposed force, and
were to send swift tidings to the camp.

In the mean time, two hundred corredors
were despatched to scour that vast
plain called the Campiña de Tarifa,
abounding with flocks and herds, and
two hundred more were to ravage the
lands about Medina Sidonia. Muley
Aben Hassan remained with the main
body of the army as a rallying point on
the banks of the Celemin. The foraging
parties scoured the country to such an
effect, that they came driving vast flocks
and herds before them, enough to supply
the place of all that had been swept from
the vega of Granada. The troops which
had kept watch upon the rock of Gibraltar
returned, with word, that they had
not seen a Christian helmet stirring.
The old king congratulated himself upon
the secrecy and promptness with which
he had conducted his foray, and upon
having baffled the vigilance of Pedro de
Vargas.

Muley Aben Hassan had not been so
secret as he imagined. The watchful
Pedro de Vargas had received notice of
his movements. His garrison was barely
sufficient for the defence of the place, and
he feared to take the field, and leave his
fortress unguarded. Luckily, at this
juncture, there arrived in the harbour of
Gibraltar a squadron of the armed galleys
stationed in the strait, and commanded
by Carlos de Valera. The alcayde
immediately prevailed upon him to guard
the place during his absence, and sallied
forth at midnight with seventy horse.
He made for the town of Castellar, which
is strongly posted on a steep height,
knowing that the Moorish king would
have to return by this place. He ordered
alarm-fires to be lighted upon the mountains,
to give notice that the Moors were
on the ravage, that the peasants might
drive the flocks and herds to places of
refuge; and he sent couriers at full speed
in every direction, summoning the fighting
men of the neighbourhood to meet
him at Castellar. Muley Aben Hassan
saw, by the fires blazing about the mountains,
that the country was rising.

He struck his tents, and pushed forward
as rapidly as possible for the
border; but he was encumbered with
booty, and with the vast cavalgada swept
from the pastures of the Campiña of
Tarifa. His scouts brought him word,
that there were troops in the field; but
he made light of the intelligence, knowing,
that they could only be those of the
alcayde of Gibraltar, and that he had
not more than a hundred horsemen in his
garrison. He threw in advance two
hundred and fifty of his bravest troops,
and with them the aleaydes of Marabilla
and Casares. Behind this vanguard
was a great cavalgada of cattle, and in
the rear marched the king, with the main
force of his army. It was near the
middle of a sultry summer day, that they
approached Castellar. De Vargas was
on the watch; and beheld, by an immense
cloud of dust, that they were
descending one of the heights of that
wild and broken country. The vanguard
and rearguard were above half a league
asunder, with the cavalgada between
them, and a long and a close forest hid
them from each other. De Vargas saw,
that they could render but little assistance
to each other, in case of a sudden
attack, and might be easily thrown into
confusion. He chose fifty of his bravest
horsemen, and, making a circuit, took
his post secretly in a narrow glen, opening
into a defile between two rocky
heights, through which the Moors had to
pass. It was his intention to suffer the
vanguard and the cavalgada to pass, and
to fall upon the rear.

While thus lying perdue, six Moorish
scouts, well mounted and well armed,
entered the glen, examining every place
that might conceal an enemy. Some of
the Christians advised, that they should
slay these six men, and retreat to Gibraltar.
"No," said De Vargas; "I have
come out for higher game than these, and
I hope, by the aid of God and Santiago,
to do good work this day. I know these
Moors well, and doubt not but that they
may readily be thrown into confusion."

By this time the six scouts approached
so near, that they were on the point of
discovering the Christiam ambush. De

Vargas gave the word, and ten horsemen
rushed forth upon them. In an instant,
four of the Moors rolled in the dust; the
other two put spurs to their steeds, and fled
towards their army, pursued by the ten
Christians. About eighty of the Moorish
vanguard came galloping to the relief of
their companions: the Christians turned,
and fled towards their ambush. De
Vargas kept his men concealed, until the
fugitives and their pursuers came clattering
pell-mell into the glen: at a signal
trumpet, his men sallied forth, with great
heat, and in close array. The Moors
almost rushed upon their weapons before
they perceived them. Forty of the infidels
were overthrown; the rest turned
their backs. "Forward!" cried De
Vargas: "let us give the vanguard a
brush before it can be joined by the rear."
So saying, he pursued the flying Moors
down the hill, and came with such force
and fury upon the advance guard, as to
overthrow many of them at the first encounter.
As he wheeled off with his
men, the Moors discharged their lances,
upon which he returned to the charge,
and made great slaughter. The Moors
fought valiantly for a short time, until
the alcaydes of Marabilla and Casares
were slain, when they gave way, and
fled for the rearguard. In their flight
they passed through the cavalgada of
cattle, threw the whole in confusion, and
raised such a cloud of dust, that the
Christians could no longer distinguish
objects. Fearing the king and the main
body might be at hand, and finding that
De Vargas was severely wounded, they
contented themselves with despoiling the
slain, and taking above twenty-eight
horses, and then returned to Castellar.

When the routed Moors came flying
back on the rearguard, Muley Aben
Hassan feared that the people of Xeres
were in arms. Several of his followers
advised him to abandon the cavalgada,
and retreat by another road. "No,"
said the old king; "he is no true soldier,
who gives up his booty without fighting."
Putting spurs to his horse, he galloped
forward through the centre of the cavalgada,
driving the cattle to the right and
left. When he reached the field of battle,
he found it strewed with the bodies of
upwards of one hundred Moors, among
which were those of the two alcaydes.
Enraged at the sight, he summoned all
his crossbow-men and cavalry, pushed
on to the very gates of Castellar, and set
fire to two houses close to the walls.
Pedro de Vargas was unable from his
wound to sally forth in person; but he
ordered out his troops, and there was
brisk skirmishing under the walls, until
the king drew off, and returned to the
scene of the recent encounter. Here he
had the bodies of the principal warriors
laid across mules, to be interred honourably
at Malaga. The rest of the slain
were buried in the field of battle. Gathering
together the scattered cavalgada, he
paraded it slowly, in an immense line,
past the walls of Castellar, by way of
taunting his foe.

With all his fierceness, old Muley
Aben Hassan had a gleam of warlike
courtesy, and admired the hardy and
soldier-like character of Pedro de Vargas.
He summoned two Christian captives,
and demanded what were the revenues of
the alcayde of Gibraltar. They told him,
that, among other things, he was entitled
to one out of every drove of cattle that
passed his boundaries. "Allah forbid!"
cried the old monarch, "that so brave a
cavalier should be defrauded of his
right." He immediately chose twelve of
the finest cattle from the twelve droves
which formed the cavalgada. These
he gave in charge to an alfaqui, to deliver
them to Pedro de Vargas. "Tell
him," said he, "that I crave his pardon,
for not having sent these cattle sooner,
but I have this moment learned the nature
of his rights, and I hasten to satisfy them
with the punctuality due to so worthy a
cavalier. Tell him at the same time,
that I had no idea the alcayde of Gibraltar
was so active and vigilant in collecting
his tolls."

The brave alcayde relished the stern
soldier-like pleasantry of the old Moorish
monarch, and replied in the same tone.
"Tell his majesty," said he, "that I kiss
his hands for the honour he has done me,
and regret that my scanty force has not
permitted me to give him a more signal
reception on his coming into these parts.
Had three hundred horsemen, whom I
have been promised from Xeres, arrived
in time, I might have served up an entertainment

more befitting such a monarch.
I trust, however, they will arrive in the
course of the night, in which case his
majesty may be sure of a royal regale at
the dawning."

He then ordered, that a rich silken
vest and scarlet mantle should be given
to the alfaqui, and dismissed him with
great courtesy.

Muley Aben Hassan shook his head
when he received the reply of De Vargas.
"Allah preserve us," said he, "from any
visitation of those hard riders of Xeres!
A handful of troops, acquainted with the
wild passes of these mountains, may destroy
an army encumbered as ours is
with booty."

It was some relief to the king, however,
to learn, that the hardy alcayde of
Gibraltar was too severely wounded to
take the field in person. He immediately
beat a retreat with all speed; hurrying
with such precipitation, that the cavalgada
was frequently broken and scattered
among the rugged defiles of the mountains,
and above five thousand of the
cattle turned back, and were regained by
the Christians. Muley Aben Hassan
proceeded triumphantly with the residue
to Malaga, glorying in the spoils of the
Duke of Medina Sidonia.

King Ferdinand was mortified at finding
his incursion into the vega of Granada
counterbalanced by this incursion into his
own dominions, and saw, that there were
two sides to the game of war, as to all
other games. The only one who reaped
real glory in this series of inroads and
skirmishings was Pedro de Vargas, the
stout alcayde of Gibraltar.[24]

CHAPTER XII.

The foray of old Muley Aben Hassan
had touched the pride of the Andalusian
chivalry, and they determined on retaliation.
For this purpose, a number of
the most distinguished cavaliers assembled
at Antequera, in the month of March,
1483. The leaders of the enterprise
were the gallant Marquis of Cadiz, Don
Pedro Henriquez, adelantado of Andalusia,
Don Juan de Silva, Count of Cifuentes,
and bearer of the royal standard,
who commanded in Seville, Don Alonso
de Cardenas, master of the religious
and military order of Santiago, and Don
Alonso de Aguilar. Several other cavaliers
of note hastened to take part in the
enterprise, and in a little time, about
twenty-seven hundred horse and several
companies of foot were assembled within
the old warlike city of Antequera, comprising
the very flower of Andalusian
chivalry. A council of war was held
by the chiefs, to determine in what quarter
they should strike a blow. The rival
Moorish kings were waging civil war
with each other in the vicinity of Granada,
and the whole country lay open to
inroad. Various plans were proposed
by the different cavaliers. The Marquis
of Cadiz was desirous of scaling the walls
of Zahara, and regaining possession of
that important fortress. The Master of
Santiago, however, suggested a wider
range, and a still more important object.
He had received information from his
adalides, who were apostate Moors, that
an incursion might be made with safety
into a mountainous region near Malaga,
called the Axarquia. Here were valleys
of pasture-land, well stocked with flocks
and herds; and there were numerous
villages and hamlets, which would be an
easy prey. The city of Malaga was too
weakly garrisoned, and had too few
cavalry, to send forth any force in opposition.
And he added, that they might
extend their ravages to its very gates,
and peradventure carry that wealthy
place by sudden assault. The adventurous
spirits of the cavaliers were inflamed
by this suggestion: in their sanguine
confidence, they already beheld
Malaga in their power, and they were
eager for the enterprise. The Marquis
of Cadiz endeavoured to interpose a little
cool caution: he likewise had apostate
adalides, the most intelligent and experienced
on the borders. Among these, he
placed especial reliance on one, named
Luis Amar, who knew all the mountains
and valleys of the country. He had received
from him a particular account of
these mountains of the Axarquia.[25] Their

savage and broken nature was a sufficient
defence for the fierce people that
inhabited them, who, manning their
rocks, and their tremendous passes,
which were often nothing more than the
deep, dry bed of torrents, might set
whole armies at defiance. Even if vanquished,
they afforded no spoil to the
victor; their houses were little better
than bare walls, and they would drive
off their scanty flocks and herds to the
fortresses of the mountains. The sober
counsel of the Marquis was overruled.
The cavaliers, accustomed to mountain
warfare, considered themselves and their
horses equal to any wild and rugged
expedition, and were flushed with the
idea of a brilliant assault upon Malaga.
Leaving all heavy baggage at Antequera,
and all such as had horses too weak
for this mountain scramble, they set
forth, full of spirit and confidence. Don
Alonso de Aguilar and the adelantado of
Andalusia led the squadron of advance;
the Count of Cifuentes followed, with
certain of the chivalry of Seville; then
came the battalion of the most valiant
Roderigo Ponce de Leon, Marquis of
Cadiz: he was accompanied by several
of his brothers and nephews, and many
cavaliers who sought distinction under
his banner; and as this family band
paraded in martial state through the
streets of Antequera, they attracted universal
attention and applause. The rearguard
was led by Don Alonso Cardenas,
master of Santiago; and was composed
of the knights of his order, and the cavaliers
of Ecija, with certain men-at-arms
of the Holy Brotherhood, whom the king
had placed under his command. The
army was attended by a great train of
mules, laden with provisions for a few
days' supply, until they should be able
to forage among the Moorish villages.
Never did a more gallant and self-confident
little army tread the earth. It was
composed of men full of health and
vigour, to whom war was a pastime and
delight. They had spared no expense
in their equipments; for never was the
pomp of war carried to a higher pitch
than among the proud chivalry of Spain.
Cased in armour, richly inlaid and embossed,
decked with rich surcoats and
waving plumes, and superbly mounted
on Andalusian steeds, they pranced out
of Antequera, with banners flying, and
their various devices and armorial bearings
ostentatiously displayed; and, in
the confidence of their hopes, promised
the inhabitants to enrich them with the
spoils of Malaga. In the rear of this
warlike pageant followed a peaceful band,
intent upon profiting by the anticipated
victories. They were not the customary
wretches that hover about armies, to
plunder and strip the dead; but goodly
and substantial traders, from Seville,
Cordova, and other cities of traffic. They
rode sleek mules, and were clad in fair
raiment, with long leathern purses at
their girdles, well filled with pistoles and
other golden coin. They had heard of
the spoils wasted by the soldiery at the
capture of Alhama, and were provided
with moneys to buy up the jewels and
precious stones, the vessels of gold and
silver, and the rich silks and cloths, that
should form the plunder of Malaga. The
proud cavaliers eyed these sons of traffic
with great disdain, but permitted them to
follow, for the convenience of the troops,
who might otherwise be overburdened
with booty.

It had been intended to conduct this
expedition with great celerity and secrecy;
but the noise of their preparations
had already reached the city of Malaga.
The garrison, it is true, was weak, but
the commander was himself a host. This
was Muley Abdallah, commonly called
El Zagal, or "the valiant." He was
younger brother of Muley Aben Hassan,
and general of the few forces which remained
faithful to the old monarch. He
possessed equal fierceness of spirit with
his brother, and surpassed him in craft
and vigilance. His very name was a
war-cry among his soldiery, who had
the most extravagant opinion of his
prowess.

El Zagal suspected that Malaga was
the object of this noisy expedition. He
consulted with old Bexir, a veteran Moor,
who governed the city. "If this army
of marauders were to reach Malaga,"
said he, "we should hardly be able to
keep them without its walls. I will

throw myself with a small force into the
mountains, rouse the peasantry, take
possession of the passes, and endeavour
to give these Spanish cavaliers sufficient
entertainment upon the road."

It was on a Wednesday, that the
prankling army of high-mettled warriors
issued from the ancient gates of
Antequera. They marched all day and
night, making their way secretly, as
they supposed, through the passes of the
mountains. As the tract of country they
intended to maraud was far in the Moorish
territories, near the coast of the Mediterranean,
they did not arrive there till
late in the following day. In passing
through these stern and lofty mountains,
their path was often along the bottom of
a barranca, or deep rocky valley, with a
scanty stream dashing along it, among
the loose rocks and stones which it had
broken and rolled down in the time of its
autumnal violence. Sometimes their road
was a mere rambla, or dry bed of a torrent,
cut deep into the mountains, and
filled with their shattered fragments.
These barrancas and ramblas were overhung
by immense cliffs and precipices,
forming the lurking-places of ambuscades
during the wars between the Moors and
Spaniards, as in after times they have
become the favourite haunts of robbers,
to waylay the unfortunate traveller.

As the sun went down, the cavaliers
came to a lofty part of the mountains,
commanding, to their right, a distant
glimpse of a part of the fair vega of Malaga,
with the blue Mediterranean beyond,
and they hailed it with exultation
as a glimpse of the promised land. As
the night closed in, they reached the
chain of little valleys and hamlets, locked
up among these rocky heights, and
known among the Moors by the name of
the Axarquia. Here their vaunting hopes
were destined to meet with the first disappointment.
The inhabitants had heard
of their approach; they had conveyed
away their cattle and effects; and, with
their wives and children, had taken refuge
in the towers and fortresses of the
mountains. Enraged at their disappointment,
the troops set fire to the deserted
houses, and pressed forward, hoping for
better fortune as they advanced, Don
Alonso de Aguilar, and the other cavaliers
in the vanguard, spread out their
forces, to lay waste the country; capturing
a few lingering herds of cattle,
with the Moorish peasants who were
driving them to some place of safety.
While this marauding party carried fire
and sword in the advance, and lit up the
mountain cliffs with the flames of the
hamlets, the Master of Santiago, who
brought up the rearguard, maintained
strict order, keeping his knights together
in martial array, ready for attack or defence
should an enemy appear. The
men-at-arms of the Holy Brotherhood
attempted to roam in quest of booty; but
he called them back, and rebuked them
severely.

At length they came to a part of the
mountain completely broken up by barrancas
and ramblas of vast depth, and
shagged with rocks and precipices. It
was impossible to maintain the order of
march; the horses had no room for
action, and were scarcely manageable,
having to scramble from rock to rock,
and up and down frightful declivities,
where there was scarce footing for a
mountain-goat. Passing by a burning
village, the light of the flames revealed
their perplexed situation. The Moors
who had taken refuge in a watchtower
on an impending height, shouted with
exultation, when they looked down upon
these glistering cavaliers, struggling and
stumbling among the rocks. Sallying
forth from their tower, they took possession
of the cliffs which overhung the
ravine, and hurled darts and stones upon
the enemy. It was with the utmost grief
of heart, that the good Master of Santiago
beheld his brave men falling like
helpless victims around him, without the
means of resistance or revenge. The
confusion of his followers was increased
by the shouts of the Moors, multiplied by
the echoes of every crag and cliff, as if
they were surrounded by innumerable
foes. Being entirely ignorant of the
country, in their struggles to extricate
themselves they plunged into other glens
and defiles, where they were still more
exposed to danger. In this extremity,
the Master of Santiago despatched messengers
in search of succour. The Marquis
of Cadiz, like a loyal companion
in arms, hastened to his aid with his

cavalry. His approach checked the assaults
of the enemy; and the master was
at length enabled to extricate his troops
from the defile. In the mean time, Don
Alonso de Aguilar and his companions,
in their eager advance, had likewise got
entangled in deep glens, and dry beds of
torrents, where they had been severely
galled by the insulting attacks of a handful
of Moorish peasants, posted on the
impending precipices. The proud spirit
of De Aguilar was incensed at having
the game of war thus turned upon him,
and his gallant forces domineered over by
mountain boors, whom he had thought
to drive, like their own cattle, to Antequera.
Hearing, however, that the Marquis
of Cadiz and the Master of Santiago
were engaged with the enemy, he disregarded
his own danger, and calling
together his troops, returned to assist
them, or rather, to partake of their
perils. Being once more assembled together,
the cavaliers held a hasty council,
amidst the hurling of stones and
whistling of arrows; and their resolves
were quickened by the sight, from time
to time, of some gallant companion in
arms laid low. They determined, that
there was no spoil in this part of the
country to repay the extraordinary peril;
and that it was better to abandon the
herds they had already taken, which
only embarrassed their march, and to
retreat with all speed to less dangerous
ground.

The adalides or guides were ordered
to lead the way out of this place of carnage.
These, thinking to conduct them
by the most secure route, led them by a
steep and rocky pass, difficult to the foot-soldiers,
but almost impracticable to the
cavalry. It was overhung with precipices,
whence showers of stones and
arrows were poured upon them, accompanied
by savage yells, which appalled
the stoutest heart. In some places they
could pass but one at a time, and were
often transpierced, horse and rider, by
the Moorish darts; the progress of their
comrades impeded by their dying struggles.
The surrounding precipices were
lit up by a thousand alarm-fires, and
every crag and cliff had its flames, by
the light of which they beheld their foes
bounding from rock to rock, and looking
more like fiends than mortal men. Either
through terror and confusion, or through
real ignorance of the country, their
guides, instead of conducting them out
of the mountains, led them deeper into
their fatal recesses. The morning dawned
upon them in a narrow rambla, its
bottom filled with broken rocks, where
once had raved along the mountain torrent,
while above them beetled huge arid
cliffs, over the brows of which they beheld
the turbaned heads of their fierce
and exulting foes. What a different appearance
did the unfortunate cavaliers
present, from the gallant band that
marched so vauntingly out of Antequera!
Covered with dust and blood and wounds,
and haggard with fatigue and horror,
they looked like victims rather than warriors.
Many of their banners were lost,
and not a trumpet was heard, to rally
their sinking spirits. The men turned
with imploring eyes to their commanders,
while the hearts of the cavaliers were
ready to burst with rage and grief, at the
merciless havoc made among their faithful
followers.

All day they made ineffectual attempts
to extricate themselves from the mountains.
Columns of smoke rose from the
heights where, in the preceding night,
had blazed the alarm-fires. The mountaineers
assembled from every direction;
they swarmed at every pass, getting in
the advance of the Christians, and garrisoning
the cliffs like so many towers
and battlements.

Night closed again upon the Christians,
when they were shut up in a narrow valley,
traversed by a deep stream, and surrounded
by precipices that seemed to
reach the skies, and on which the alarm
fires blazed and flared. Suddenly a new
cry was heard resounding along the valley.
"El Zagal! El Zagal!" echoed
from cliff to cliff. "What cry is that?"
said the Master of Santiago. "It is the
war-cry of El Zagal, the Moorish general,"
said an old Castilian soldier: "he
must be coming in person with the troops
of Malaga."

The worthy master turned to his
knights: "Let us die," said he, "making
a road with our hearts, since we cannot
with our swords. Let us scale the
mountain, and sell our lives dearly,

instead of staying here to be tamely
butchered."

So saying, he turned his steed against
the mountain, and spurred him up its
flinty side. Horse and foot followed his
example; eager, if they could not escape,
to have at least a dying blow at the enemy.
As they struggled up the height, a
tremendous storm of darts and stones was
showered upon them by the Moors.
Sometimes a fragment of rock came
bounding and thundering down, ploughing
its way through the centre of their
host. The foot-soldiers, faint with weariness
and hunger, or crippled by wounds,
held by the tails and manes of the horses,
to aid them in their ascent, while the
horses, losing their footing among the
loose stones, or receiving some sudden
wound, tumbled down the steep declivity,
steed, rider, and soldier rolling from crag
to crag, until they were dashed to pieces
in the valley. In this desperate struggle,
the alferez, or standard-bearer of the
master, with his standard, was lost, as
were many of his relations and his
dearest friends. At length he succeeded
in attaining the crest of the mountain,
but it was only to be plunged in new difficulties.
A wilderness of rocks and rugged
dells lay before him, beset by cruel
foes. Having neither banner nor trumpet,
by which to rally his troops, they
wandered apart, each intent upon saving
himself from the precipices of the mountains
and the darts of the enemy. When
the pious Master of Santiago beheld the
scattered fragments of his late gallant
force, he could not restrain his grief.
"O God!" exclaimed he, "great is thine
anger this day against thy servants!
Thou hast converted the cowardice of
these infidels into desperate valour, and
hast made peasants and boors victorious
over armed men of battle!"

He would fain have kept with his foot-soldiers,
and, gathering them together,
have made head against the enemy; but
those around him entreated him to think
only of his personal safety. To remain
was to perish without striking a blow; to
escape was to preserve a life that might
be devoted to vengeance on the Moors.
The master reluctantly yielded to their
advice. "O Lord of Hosts!" exclaimed
he again, "from thy wrath do I fly, not
from these infidels: they are but instruments
in thy hands to chastise us for our
sins!" So saying, he sent the guides in
advance, and, putting spurs to his horse,
dashed through a defile of the mountains,
before the Moors could intercept him.
The moment the master put his horse to
speed, his troops scattered in all directions.
Some endeavoured to follow his
traces, but were confounded among the
intricacies of the mountain. They fled
hither and thither; many perishing
among the precipices, others being slain
by the Moors, and others takes prisoners.

The gallant Marquis of Cadiz, guided
by his trusty adalide, Luis Amar, had
ascended a different part of the mountain.
He was followed by his friend, Don
Alonso de Aguilar, the adelantado, and
the Count of Cifuentes; but, in the darkness
and confusion, the bands of these
commanders became separated from each
other. When the marquis attained the
summit, he looked around for his companions
in arms; but they were no longer
following him, and there was no trumpet
to summon them. It was a consolation
to the marquis, however, that his brothers
and several of his relations, with a number
of his retainers, were still with him.
He called his brothers by name, and their
replies gave comfort to his heart.

His guide now led the way into another
valley, where he would be less exposed
to danger. When he had reached
the bottom of it, the marquis paused to
collect his scattered followers, and to give
time for his fellow-commanders to rejoin
him. Here he was suddenly assailed by
the troops of El Zagal, aided by the
mountaineers from the cliffs. The Christians,
exhausted and terrified, lost all
presence of mind; most of them fled,
and were either slain or taken captive.
The marquis and his valiant brothers,
with a few tried friends, made a stout
resistance. His horse was killed under
him; his brothers, Don Diego and Don
Lope, with his two nephews, Don Lorenzo
and Don Manuel, were, one by one,
swept from his side; either transfixed
with darts and lances by the soldiers of
El Zagal, or crushed by stones from the
heights. The marquis was a veteran
warrior, and had been in many a bloody
battle, but never before had death fallen

so thick and close around him. When
he saw his remaining brother, Don Beltran,
struck out of his saddle by a fragment
of a rock, and his horse running
wildly about without his rider, he gave a
cry of anguish, and stood bewildered and
aghast. A few faithful followers surrounded
him, and entreated him to fly for
his life. He would still have remained,
to have shared the fortunes of his friend,
Don Alonso de Aguilar, and his other
companions in arms; but the forces of
El Zagal were between him and them,
and death was whistling by on every
wind. Reluctantly, therefore, he consented
to fly. Another horse was brought
him; his faithful adalide guided him by
one of the steepest paths, which lasted
for four leagues; the enemy still hanging
on his traces, and thinning the scanty
ranks of his followers. At length the
marquis reached the extremity of the
mountain defiles, and, with a haggard
remnant of his men, escaped by dint of
hoof to Antequera.

The Count of Cifuentes, with a few of
his retainers, in attempting to follow the
Marquis of Cadiz, wandered into a narrow
pass, where they were completely
surrounded by the band of El Zagal.
Finding all attempt at escape impossible,
and resistance vain, the worthy count
surrendered himself prisoner, as did also
his brother, Don Pedro de Silva, and the
few of his retainers who survived.

The dawn of day found Don Alonso
de Aguilar, with a handful of his adherents,
still among the mountains. They
had attempted to follow the Marquis of
Cadiz, but had been obliged to pause and
defend themselves against the thickening
forces of the enemy. They at length
traversed the mountain, and reached the
same valley where the marquis had made
his last disastrous stand. Wearied and
perplexed, they sheltered themselves in
a natural grotto, under an overhanging
rock, which kept off the darts of the enemy;
while a bubbling fountain gave them
the means of slaking their raging thirst,
and refreshing their exhausted steeds.
As day broke, the scene of slaughter unfolded
its horrors. There lay the noble
brothers and nephews of the gallant
marquis transfixed with darts, or gashed
and bruised with unseemly wounds;
while many other gallant cavaliers were
stretched out dead and dying around,
some of them partly stripped and plundered
by the Moors. De Aguilar was a
pious knight, but his piety was not humble
and resigned, like that of the worthy
Master of Santiago. He imprecated holy
curses upon the infidels, for having thus
laid low the flower of Christian chivalry,
and he vowed in his heart bitter vengeance
upon the surrounding country. By degrees
the little force of De Aguilar was
augmented by numbers of fugitives, who
issued from caves and chasms, where
they had taken refuge in the night. A
little band of mounted knights was gradually
formed, and the Moors having abandoned
the heights to collect the spoils of
the slain, this gallant but forlorn squadron
was enabled to retreat to Antequera.

This disastrous affair lasted from
Thursday evening throughout Friday,
the twenty-first of March, the festival
of St. Benedict. It is still recorded in
Spanish calendars as the defeat of the
mountains of Malaga; and the place
where the greatest slaughter took place
is pointed out to the present day, and is
called La cuesta de la Matanza, or "the
hill of the massacre." The principal
leaders who survived returned to Antequera;
many of the knights took refuge
in Alhama, and others wandered about
the mountains for eight days, living on
roots and herbs, hiding themselves during
the day and roaming forth at night. So
enfeebled and disheartened were they,
that they offered no resistance if attacked.
Three or four soldiers would surrender
to a Moorish peasant, and even
the women of Malaga sallied forth and
made prisoners. Some were thrown into
the dungeons of frontier towns; others
led captive to Granada; but by far the
greater number were conducted to Malaga,
the city they had threatened to attack.
Two hundred and fifty principal
cavaliers, alcaydes, commanders, and
hidalgos of generous blood, were confined
in the alcazaba or citadel of Malaga, to
await their ransom; and five hundred
and seventy of the common soldiery were
crowded in an enclosure or courtyard of
the alcazaba, to be sold as slaves.[26]

Great spoils were collected of splendid
armour and weapons taken from the slain,
or thrown away by the cavaliers in their
flight; and many horses, magnificently
caparisoned, together with numerous
standards; all which were paraded in
triumph into the Moorish towns.

The merchants, also, who had come
with the army, intending to traffic in the
spoils of the Moors, were themselves
made objects of traffic. Several of them
were driven like cattle before the Moorish
viragos to the market of Malaga, and, in
spite of all their adroitness in trade, and
their attempts to buy themselves off at a
cheap ransom, they were unable to purchase
their freedom without such draughts
upon their money-hags at home, as drained
them to the very bottom.

CHAPTER XIII.

The people of Antequera had scarcely
recovered from the tumult of excitement
and admiration, caused by the departure
of the gallant hand of cavaliers upon
their foray, when they beheld the scattered
wrecks flying for refuge to their
walls. Day after day, and hour after
hour, brought some wretched fugitive, in
whose battered plight, and haggard, wo-begone
demeanour, it was almost impossible
to recognise the warrior, whom they
had lately seen to issue so gayly and
gloriously from their gates.

The arrival of the Marquis of Cadiz,
almost alone, covered with dust and
blood, his armour shattered and defaced,
his countenance the picture of despair,
filled every heart with sorrow; for he
was greatly beloved by the people. The
multitude asked, where was the band of
brothers, that rallied round him as he
went forth to the field; and when they
heard that they had, one by one, been
slaughtered at his side, they hushed their
voices; or spoke to each other only in
whispers as he passed, gazing at him in
silent sympathy. No one attempted to
console him in so great an affliction, nor
did the good marquis speak ever a word,
but, shutting himself up, brooded in lonely
anguish over his misfortune. It was only
the arrival of Don Alonso de Aguilar that
gave him a gleam of consolation; for,
amidst the shafts of death that had fallen
so thickly among his family, he rejoiced
that his chosen friend and brother in arms
had escaped uninjured.

For several days every eye was turned,
in an agony of suspense, towards the
Moorish border, anxiously looking, in
every fugitive from the mountains, for
the lineaments of some friend or relation,
whose fate was yet a mystery. At
length all doubt subsided into certainty;
the whole extent of this great calamity was
known, spreading grief and consternation
throughout the land, and laying desolate
the pride and hopes of palaces. It was a
sorrow that visited the marble hall and
silken pillow. Stately dames mourned
over the loss of their sons, the joy and
glory of their age; and many a fair
cheek was blanched with wo, that had
lately mantled with secret admiration.
"All Andalusia," says an historian of
the day, "was overwhelmed by a great
affliction; there was no drying of the
eyes which wept in her."[27]

Fear and trembling reigned for a while
along the frontier. Their spear seemed
broken; their buckler cleft in twain.
Every border town dreaded an attack,
and the mother caught her infant to her
bosom, when the watch-dog howled in
the night, fancying it the war-cry of the
Moor. All for a time appeared lost, and
despondency even found its way to the
royal breasts of Ferdinand and Isabella,
amid the splendours of their court.

Great, on the other hand, was the joy
of the Moors, when they saw whole
legions of Christian warriors brought
captive into their towns by rude mountain
peasantry. They thought it the
work of Allah in favour of the faithful.
But when they recognised, among the
captives thus dejected and broken down,
several of the proudest of Christian chivalry;
when they saw several of the
banners and devices of the noblest houses
of Spain, which they had been accustomed
to behold in the foremost of the
battle, now trailed ignominiously through
their streets; when, in short, they witnessed
the arrival of the Count of
Cifuentes, the royal standard-bearer of

Spain, with his gallant brother, Don
Pedro De Silva, brought prisoners into
the gates of Granada, there were no
bounds to their exultation. They thought
that the days of their ancient glory were
about to return, and that they were to
renew their career of triumph over the
unbelievers.

The Christian historians of the time
are sorely perplexed to account for this
misfortune; and why so many Christian
knights, fighting in the cause of the holy
faith, should thus, miraculously as it
were, be given captive to a handful of
infidel boors; for we are assured, that
all this rout and destruction was effected
by five hundred foot and fifty horse, and
these mere mountaineers, without science
or discipline.[28] "It was intended," observes
one historiographer, "as a lesson
to their confidence and vainglory; overrating
their own prowess, and thinking,
that so chosen a band of chivalry had
but to appear in the land of the enemy,
and conquer. It was to teach them, that
the race is not to the swift, nor the battle
to the strong, but that God alone giveth
the victory."

The worthy father Fray Antonio Agapida,
however, asserts it to be a punishment
for the avarice of the Spanish warriors.
"They did not enter the kingdom
of the infidels with the pure spirit of
Christian knights, zealous only for the
glory of the faith; but rather as greedy
men of trade, to enrich themselves by
vending the spoils of the infidels. Instead
of preparing themselves by confession
and communion, and executing their
testaments, and making donations to
churches and convents, they thought
only of arranging bargains and sales
of their anticipated booty. Instead of
taking with them holy monks, to aid
them with their prayers, they were
followed by a train of worldlings, to
keep alive their secular and sordid ideas,
and to turn what ought to be holy
triumphs into scenes of brawling traffic."
Such is the opinion of the excellent
Agapida, in which he is joined by
the most worthy and upright of chroniclers,
the curate of Los Palacios. Agapida
comforts himself, however, with the
reflection, that this visitation was meant
in mercy, to try the Castilian heart, and
to extract from its present humiliation
the elements of future success, as gold is
extracted from amidst the impurities of
earth; and in this reflection he is supported
by the venerable historian, Pedro
Abarca, of the society of Jesuits."[29]

CHAPTER XIV.

The defeat of the Christian cavaliers
among the mountains of Malaga, and the
successful inroad of Muley Aben Hassan
into the lands of Medina Sidonia, had
produced a favourable effect on the fortunes
of the old monarch. The inconstant
populace began to shout forth his
name in the streets, and to sneer at the
inactivity of his son, Boabdil el Chico.
The latter, though in the flower of his age,
and distinguished for vigour and dexterity
in jousts and tournaments, had never yet
fleshed his weapon in the field of battle;
and it was murmured, that he preferred
the silken repose of the cool halls of the
Alhambra, to the fatigue and danger of
the foray, and the hard encampments of
the mountains.

The popularity of these rival kings
depended upon their success against the
Christians; and Boabdil el Chico found
it necessary to strike some signal blow,
to counterbalance the late triumph of his
father. He was further incited by the
fierce old Moor, his father-in-law, Ali
Atar, alcayde of Loxa, with whom the
coals of wrath against the Christians
still burned among the ashes of age, and
had lately been blown into a flame by
the attack made by Ferdinand on the
city under his command.

Ali Atar informed Boabdil, that the
late discomfiture of the Christian knights
had stripped Andalusia of the prime of
her chivalry, and broken the spirit of
the country. All the frontier of Cordova
and Ecija now lay open to inroad;
but he specially pointed out the city of
Lucena as an object of attack; being
feebly garrisoned, and lying in a country
rich in pasturage, abounding in cattle

and grain, in oil and wine. The fiery
old Moor spoke from thorough information;
for he had made many an incursion
into those parts, and his very name was
a terror throughout the country. It had
become a byword in the garrison of Loxa,
to call Lucena the garden of Ali Atar;
for he was accustomed to forage its fertile
territories for all his supplies.

Boabdil el Chico listened to the persuasions
of this veteran of the borders. He
assembled a force of nine thousand foot
and seven hundred horse, most of them
his own adherents, but many the partisans
of his father: for both factions,
however they might fight among themselves,
were ready to unite in any expedition
against the Christians. Many of
the most illustrious and valiant of the
Moorish nobility assembled around his
standard, magnificently arrayed in sumptuous
armour and rich embroidery, as
though they were going to a festival, or
a tilt of reeds, rather than an enterprise
of iron war. Boabdil's mother, the Sultana
Ayxa la Horra, armed him for the
field, and gave him her benediction as
she girded his cimeter to his side. His
favourite wife Morayma wept, as she
thought of the evils that might befall
him. "Why dost thou weep, daughter
of Ali Atar?" said the high-minded
Ayxa; "these tears become not the
daughter of a warrior, nor the wife of a
king. Believe me, there lurks more
danger for a monarch within the strong
walls of a palace, than within the frail
curtains of a tent. It is by perils in the
field, that thy husband must purchase
security on his throne."

But Morayma still hung upon his neck
with tears and sad forebodings; and
when he departed from the Alhambra,
she betook herself to her mirador, which
looks out over the vega; whence she
watched the army, as it passed in shining
order along the road that leads to Loxa;
and every burst of warlike melody that
came swelling on the breeze was answered
by a gush of sorrow.

As the royal cavalcade issued from the
palace, and descended through the streets
of Granada, the populace greeted their
youthful sovereign with shouts, and anticipated
success that should wither the
laurels of his father. In passing through
the gate of Elvira, however, the king
accidentally broke his lance against the
arch. At this, certain of the nobles
turned pale, and entreated him not to
proceed, for they regarded it as an evil
omen. Boabdil scoffed at their fears,
for he considered them mere idle fancies;
or rather, says Fray Antonio Agapida,
he was an incredulous pagan, puffed up
with confidence and vainglory. He
refused to take another spear, but drew
forth his cimeter, and led the way (adds
Agapida) in an arrogant and haughty
style, as though he would set both heaven
and earth at defiance. Another evil omen
was sent, to deter him from his enterprise.
Arriving at the rambla or dry ravine of
Beyro, which is scarcely a bowshot from
the city, a fox ran through the whole
army, and close by the person of the
king, and, though a thousand bolts were
discharged at it, escaped uninjured to
the mountains. The principal courtiers
about Boabdil now reiterated their remonstrances
against proceeding; for
they considered these occurrences as
mysterious portents of disasters to their
army. The king, however, was not to
be dismayed, but continued to march
forward.[30]

At Loxa the royal army was reinforced
by old Ali Atar, with the chosen
horsemen of the garrison, and many of
the bravest warriors of the border towns.
The people of Loxa shouted with exultation,
when they beheld Ali Atar armed
at all points, and once more mounted on
his Barbary steed, which had often borne
him over the borders. The veteran warrior,
with nearly a century of years upon
his head, had all the fire and animation
of a youth at the prospect of a foray,
and careered from rank to rank with the
velocity of an Arab of the desert. The
populace watched the army as it paraded
over the bridge, and wound into the passes
of the mountains; and still their eyes
were fixed upon the pennon of Ali Atar,
as if it bore with it an assurance of
victory.

The Moorish army entered the Christian
frontier by forced marches, hastily
ravaging the country, driving off the
flocks and herds, and making captives of

the inhabitants. They pressed on furiously,
and made the latter part of their
march in the night, that they might elude
observation, and come upon Lucena by
surprise. Boabdil was inexperienced in
the art of war; but he had a veteran
counsellor in his old father-in-law: for
Ali Atar knew every secret of the country;
and as he prowled through it, his
eye ranged over the land, uniting, in its
glare, the craft of the fox, with the sanguinary
ferocity of the wolf. He had
flattered himself that their march had
been so rapid as to outstrip intelligence,
and that Lucena would be an easy capture;
when, suddenly, he beheld the
alarm-fires, blazing upon the mountains.
"We are discovered," said he to Boabdil
el Chico; "the country will be up in
arms. We have nothing left, but to
strike boldly for Lucena: it is but slightly
garrisoned, and we may carry it by assault,
before it can receive assistance."
The king approved of his counsel, and
they marched rapidly for the gate of
Lucena.

CHAPTER XV.

Don Diego de Cordova, Count of
Cabra, was in the castle of Vaena, which,
with the town of the same name, is situated
on a lofty sunburnt hill, on the frontier
of the kingdom of Cordova, and but
a few leagues from Lucena. The range
of mountains of Horquera lies between
them. The castle of Vaena was strong,
and well furnished with arms; and the
count had a numerous band of vassals
and retainers: for it behoved the noblemen
of the frontiers in those times to be
well prepared, with man and horse, with
lance and buckler, to resist the sudden
incursions of the Moors. The Count of
Cabra was a hardy and experienced warrior;
shrewd in council, prompt in action,
rapid and fearless in the field. He was
one of the bravest cavaliers for an inroad,
and had been quickened and sharpened
in thought and action by living on the
borders.

On the night of the 20th of April,
1483, the count was about to retire to
rest, when the watchman from the turret
brought him word, that there were alarm-fires
on the mountains of Horquera, and
that they were made on the signal tower,
overhanging the defile through which the
road passes to Cabra and Lucena.

The count ascended the battlements,
and beheld five lights blazing on the
tower; a sign that there was a Moorish
army attacking some place on the frontier.
The count instantly ordered the
alarm-bells to be sounded, and despatched
couriers, to rouse the commanders of
the neighbouring towns. He ordered all
his retainers to prepare for action, and
sent a trumpet through the town, summoning
the men to assemble at the castle-gate
at daybreak, armed and equipped
for the field.

Throughout the remainder of the night,
the castle resounded with the din of preparation.
Every house in the town was
in equal bustle; for in these frontier
towns every house had its warrior, and
the lance and buckler were ever hanging
against the wall, ready to be snatched
down for instant service. Nothing was
heard but the noise of armourers, the
shoeing of steeds, and furbishing of weapons;
and all night long the alarm-fires
kept blazing on the mountain.

When the morning dawned, the Count
of Cabra sallied forth, at the head of two
hundred and fifty cavaliers, of the best
families of Vaena; all well appointed,
exercised in arms, and experienced in
the warfare of the borders. There were,
besides, twelve hundred foot-soldiers; all
brave and well-seasoned men of the same
town. The count ordered them to hasten
forward, whoever could make most speed,
taking the road to Cabra, which was three
leagues distant. That they might not
loiter on the road, he allowed none of
them to break their fast until they arrived
at that place. The provident count despatched
couriers in advance; and the
little army, on reaching Cabra, found
tables spread with food and refreshments
at the gates of the town. There they
were joined by Don Alonso de Cordova,
senior of Zuheros.

Having made a hearty repast, they
were on the point of resuming their
march, when the count discovered, that,
in the hurry of his departure from home,
he had forgotten to bring the standard of
Vaena, which, for upwards of eighty

years, had always been borne to battle
by his family. It was now noon, and
there was not time to return. He took,
therefore, the standard of Cabra, the device
of which is a goat, and which had not
been seen in the wars for the last half
century. When about to depart, a courier
came galloping at full speed, bringing
missives to the count, from his nephew,
Don Diego Hernandez de Cordova, senior
of Lucena, and alcayde de los Donzeles,
entreating him to hasten to his aid, as his
town was beset by the Moorish king,
Boabdil el Chico, with a powerful army,
who were actually setting fire to the
gates.

The count put his little army instantly
in movement for Lucena, which is only
one league from Cabra. He was fired
with the idea of having the Moorish king
in person to contend with. By the time
he had reached Lucena, the Moors had
desisted from the attack, and were ravaging
the surrounding country. He
entered the town with a few of his cavaliers,
and was received with joy by his
nephew, whose whole force consisted but
of eighty horse and three hundred foot.
Don Diego Hernandez de Cordova was a
young man; yet he was a prudent, careful,
and capable officer. Having learned,
the evening before, that the Moors had
passed the frontiers, he had gathered
within the walls all the women and children
from the environs; had armed the
men, sent couriers in all directions for
succour, and had lighted alarm-fires on
the mountains.

Boabdil had arrived with his army at
daybreak, and had sent a message, threatening
to put the garrison to the sword, if
the place were not instantly surrendered.
The messenger was a Moor of Granada,
named Hamet, whom Don Diego had
formerly known. He contrived to amuse
him with negotiation, to gain time for
succour to arrive. The fierce old Ali
Atar, losing all patience, had made an
assault upon the town, and stormed like
a fury at the gate; but had been repulsed.
Another and more serious attack was
expected in the course of the night.

When the Count de Cabra had heard
this account of the situation of affairs, he
turned to his nephew with his usual alacrity
of manner, and proposed, that they
should immediately sally forth in quest
of the enemy. The prudent Don Diego
remonstrated at the rashness of attacking
so great a force with a mere handful of
men. "Nephew," said the count, "I
came from Vaena with a determination
to fight this Moorish king, and I will not
be disappointed."

"At any rate," replied Don Diego,
"let us wait but two hours, and we shall
have reinforcements, which have been
promised me from Rambla, Santaella,
Montilla, and other places in the neighbourhood."
"If we wait these," said the
hardy count, "the Moors will be off, and
all our trouble will have been in vain.
You may await them if you please: I
am resolved on fighting."

The count paused not for a reply; but,
in his prompt and rapid manner, sallied
forth to his men. The young alcayde
de los Donzeles, though more prudent
than his ardent uncle, was equally brave.
He determined to stand by him in his
rash enterprise; and, summoning his
little force, marched forth to join the
count, who was already on the alert.
They then proceeded together in quest of
the enemy.

The Moorish army had ceased ravaging
the country, and were not to be seen,
the neighbourhood being hilly, and broken
with deep ravines. The count despatched
six scouts on horseback, to reconnoitre,
ordering them to return with all speed
when they should have discovered the
enemy, and by no means to engage in
skirmishing with stragglers. The scouts,
ascending a high hill, beheld the Moorisa
army in a valley behind it; the cavalry
ranged in five battalions, keeping guard,
while the foot-soldiers were seated on
the grass, making a repast. They returned
immediately with the intelligence.

The count now ordered the troops to
march in the direction of the enemy. He
and his nephew ascended the hill, and
saw, that the five battalions of Moorish
cavalry had been formed in two; one of
about nine hundred lances, and the other
of about six hundred. The whole force
seemed prepared to march for the frontier.
The foot-soldiers were already in
motion, with many prisoners, and a great
train of mules and beasts of burden, laden
with booty. At a distance was Boabdil

el Chico. They could not distinguish his
person; but they knew him by his superb
white charger, magnificently caparisoned;
and by his being surrounded by a
numerous guard, sumptuously armed and
attired. Old Ali Atar was careering about
the valley with his usual impatience,
hurrying the march of the loitering
troops.

The eyes of the Count de Cabra glistened
with eager joy, as he beheld the
royal prize within his reach. The immense
disparity of their forces never
entered into his mind. "By Santiago!"
said he to his nephew, as they hastened
down the hill, "had we waited for more
forces, the Moorish king and his army
would have escaped us!"

The count now harangued his men, to
inspirit them to this hazardous encounter.
He told them, not to be dismayed at the
number of the Moors, for God often permitted
the few to conquer the many; and
he had great confidence that, through the
divine aid, they were that day to achieve
a signal victory, which should win them
both riches and renown. He commanded,
that no man should hurl his lance at the
enemy, but should keep it in his hands,
and strike as many blows with it as he
could. He warned them, also, never to
shout, except when the Moors did; for
when both armies shouted together, there
was no perceiving which made the most
noise, and was the strongest. He desired
his uncle, Lope de Mendoza, and Diego
Cabrera, alcayde of Menica, to alight,
and enter on foot, in the battalion of
infantry, to animate them to the combat.
He appointed, also, the alcayde of Vaena,
and Diego de Clavijo, a cavalier of his
household, to remain in the rear, and not
to permit any one to lag behind, either to
despoil the dead, or for any other purpose.

Such were the orders given by this
most adroit, active, and intrepid cavalier
to his little army; supplying, by admirable
sagacity, and subtle management, the
want of a more numerous force. His
orders being given, and all arrangements
made, he threw aside his lance, drew his
sword, and commanded his standard to be
advanced against the enemy.

CHAPTER XVI.

The Moorish king had descried the
Spanish forces at a distance, although a
slight fog prevented his seeing them distinctly,
and ascertaining their numbers.
His old father-in-law, Ali Atar, was by
his side, who, being a veteran marauder,
was well acquainted with all the standards
and armorial bearings of the frontiers.
When the king beheld the ancient and
long disused banner of Cabra emerging
from the mist, he turned to Ali Atar, and
demanded whose ensign it was. The
old borderer was for once at a loss; for
the banner had not been displayed in
battle in his time.

"Sire," replied he after a pause, "I
have been considering that standard, but
do not know it. It appears to be a dog,
which is a device borne by the towns of
Baeza and Ubeda. If it be so, all Andalusia
is in movement against you; for
it is not probable, that any single commander
or community would venture to
attack you. I would advise you therefore
to retire."

The Count of Cabra, in winding down
the hill towards the Moors, found himself
on a much lower station than the
enemy: he therefore ordered, in all haste,
that his standard should be taken back,
so as to gain the vantage ground. The
Moors, mistaking this for a retreat,
rushed impetuously towards the Christians.
The latter, having gained the
height proposed, charged down upon
them at the same moment, with the battle-cry
of "Santiago!" and, dealing the
first blows, laid many of the Moorish
cavaliers in the dust.

The Moors, thus checked in their tumultuous
assault, were thrown into confusion,
and began to give way; the
Christians following hard upon them.
Boabdil el Chico endeavoured to rally
them. "Hold! hold! for shame!" cried
he: "let us not fly, at least until we know
our enemy!" The Moorish chivalry
were stung by this reproof, and turned
to make front, with the valour of men
who feel that they are fighting under
their monarch's eye.

At this moment, Lorenzo de Pores,
alcayde of Luque, arrived with fifty

horse and one hundred foot, sounding an
Italian trumpet from among a copse of
oak trees, which concealed his force.
The quick ear of old Ali Atar caught the
note. "That is an Italian trumpet,"
said he to the king: "the whole world
seems in arms against your majesty!"

The trumpet of Lorenzo de Pores was
answered by that of the Count de Cabra
in another direction, and it seemed to the
Moors as if they were between two armies.
Don Lorenzo, sallying from among the
oaks, now charged upon the enemy.
The latter did not wait to ascertain the
force of this new foe. The confusion,
the variety of alarms, the attacks from
opposite quarters, the obscurity of the
fog, all conspired to deceive them as to
the number of their adversaries. Broken
and dismayed, they retreated fighting;
and nothing but the presence and
remonstrances of the king prevented
their retreat from becoming a headlong
flight.

This skirmishing retreat lasted for
about three leagues. Many were the
acts of individual prowess between Christian
and Moorish knights; and the way
was strewed by the flower of the king's
guards, and of his royal household. At
length they came to the rivulet of Mingonzalez,
the verdant banks of which
were covered with willows and tamarisks.
It was swollen by recent rain, and was
now a deep and turbid torrent.

Here the king made a courageous
stand, with a small body of cavalry,
while his baggage crossed the stream.
None but the choicest and most loyal of
his guards stood by their monarch in this
hour of extremity. The foot-soldiers
took to flight the moment they passed
the ford; many of the horsemen, partaking
of the general panic, gave reins
to their steeds, and scoured for the
frontier. The little host of devoted cavaliers
now serried their forces in front of
their monarch, to protect his retreat.
They fought hand to hand with the
Christian warriors; disdaining to yield,
or to ask for quarter. The ground was
covered with the dead and dying. The
king, having retreated along the river
banks, and gained some distance from
the scene of combat, looked back, and
saw the loyal band at length give way.
They crossed the ford, followed pell-mell
by the enemy, and several of them were
struck down into the stream.

The king now dismounted from his
white charger, whose colour and rich
caparison made him too conspicuous, and
endeavoured to conceal himself among
the thickets which fringed the river. A
soldier of Lucena, named Martin Hurtado,
discovered him and attacked him
with a pike. The king defended himself
with cimeter and target, until another
soldier assailed him, and he saw a third
approaching. Perceiving that further
resistance would be vain, he drew back,
and called upon them to desist, offering
them a noble ransom. One of the soldiers
rushed forward to seize him; but
the king struck him to the earth with a
blow of his cimeter.

Don Diego Fernandez de Cordova
coming up at this moment, the men said
to him, "Señor, here is a Moor that we
have taken, who seems to be a man of
rank, and offers a large ransom."

"Slaves!" exclaimed King Boabdil,
"you have not taken me. I surrender
to this cavalier."

Don Diego received him with knightly
courtesy. He perceived him to be a
person of high rank; but the king concealed
his quality, and gave himself out
as the son of Aben Aleyzer, a nobleman
of the royal household.[31] Don Diego
gave him in charge of five soldiers, to
conduct him to the castle of Lucena;
then putting spurs to his horse, he hastened
to rejoin the Count de Cabra, who
was in hot pursuit of the enemy. He
overtook him at a stream called Riancal,
and they continued to press on the skirts
of the flying army during the remainder
of the day. The pursuit was almost as
hazardous as the battle; for had the
enemy at any time recovered from their
panic, they might, by a sudden reaction,
have overwhelmed the small force of
their pursuers. To guard against this
peril, the wary count kept his battalion
always in close order, and had a body
of a hundred chosen lances in the advance.
The Moors kept up a Parthian
retreat. Several times they turned to
make battle; but seeing this solid body

of steeled warriors pressing upon them,
they again took to flight.

The main retreat of the army was
along the valley watered by the Xenil,
and opening through the mountains of
Algaringo to the city of Loxa. The
alarm-fires of the preceding night had
roused the country. Every man snatched
sword and buckler from the wall; and
the towns and villages poured forth their
warriors to harass the retreating foe.
Ali Atar kept the main force of the army
together, and turned fiercely from time
to time upon his pursuers. He was like
a wolf hunted through a country he had
often made desolate by his maraudings.

The alarm of this invasion had reached
the city of Antequera, where were several
of the cavaliers who had escaped from
the carnage in the mountains of Malaga.
Their proud minds were festering with
their late disgrace, and their only prayer
was for vengeance on the infidels. No
sooner did they hear of the Moors being
over the border, than they were armed
and mounted for action. Don Alonzo
de Aguilar led them forth: a small body
of but forty horsemen, but all cavaliers
of prowess, and thirsting for revenge.
They came upon the foe on the banks
of the Xenil, where it winds through the
valleys of Cordova. The river, swelled
by the late rains, was deep and turbulent,
and only fordable at certain places. The
main body of the army was gathered
in confusion on the banks, endeavouring
to ford the stream, protected by the cavalry
of Ali Atar.

No sooner did the little band of Alonzo
de Aguilar come in sight of the Moors,
than fury flashed from their eyes. "Remember
the mountains of Malaga!" they
cried to each other as they rushed to
combat. Their charge was desperate,
but was gallantly resisted. A scrambling
and bloody fight ensued, hand to hand,
and sword to sword, sometimes on land,
sometimes in the water; many were
lanced on the banks; others, throwing
themselves into the river, sunk with the
weight of their armour, and were
drowned. Some, grappling together,
fell from their horses, but continued their
struggle in the waves, and helm and turban
rolled together down the stream.
The Moors were by far the superior in
number, and among them were many
warriors of rank; but they were disheartened
by defeat, while the Christians were
excited even to desperation.

Ali Atar alone preserved all his fire
and energy amid his reverses. He had
been enraged at the defeat of the army,
the loss of the king, and the ignominious
flight he had been obliged to make,
through a country which so often had
been the scene of his exploits; but to be
thus impeded in his flight, and harassed
and insulted by a mere handful of warriors,
roused the violent passions of the
old Moor to perfect frenzy.

He had marked Don Alonso de Aguilar
dealing his blows, says Agapida, with
the pious vehemence of a righteous
knight, who knows that in every wound
inflicted upon the infidels, he is doing
God service. Ali Atar spurred his steed
along the bank of the river, to come upon
Don Alonso by surprise. The back of
that warrior was towards him; and collecting
all his force, the Moor hurled his
lance, to transfix him on the spot. The
lance was not thrown with the usual accuracy
of Ali Atar. It tore away a part
of the cuirass of Don Alonso, but failed
to inflict a wound. The Moor rushed
upon Don Alonso with his cimeter; but
the latter was on the alert, and parried
his blow. They fought desperately upon
the borders of the river, alternately pressing
each other into the stream, and
fighting their way again up the bank.
Ali Atar was repeatedly wounded; and
Don Alonso, having pity on his age,
would have spared his life. He called
upon him to surrender. "Never," cried
Ali Atar, "to a Christian dog." The
words were scarce out of his mouth,
when the sword of Don Alonso clove his
turbaned head, and sank deep into the
brain. He fell dead without a groan:
his body rolled into the Xenil; nor was
it ever found and recognised.[32] Thus fell
Ali Atar, who had long been the terror
of Andalusia. As he had hated and
warred upon the Christians all his life,
so he died in the very act of bitter hostility.

The fall of Ali Atar put an end to the
transient stand of the cavalry. Horse

and foot mingled together in the desperate
struggle across the Xenil, and
many were trampled down, and perished
beneath the waves. Don Alonso and his
band continued to harass them, until they
crossed the frontier; and every blow
struck home to the Moors seemed to
lighten the load of humiliation and sorrow,
which had weighed heavy on their
hearts.

In this disastrous rout, the Moors lost
upwards of five thousand killed and made
prisoners, many of whom were of the
most noble lineages of Granada. Numbers
fled to rocks and mountains, where
they were subsequently taken. This
battle was called by some the battle of
Lucena; by others, the battle of the
Moorish king, because of the capture of
Boabdil. Twenty-two banners fell into
the hands of the Christians, and were
carried to Vaena, and hung up in the
church, where, says an historian of after
times, they remain to this day. Once a
year, on the day of St. George, they are
borne about in procession by the inhabitants,
who at the same time give thanks
to God, for this signal victory granted to
their forefathers.

Great was the triumph of the Count
de Cabra, when, on returning from the
pursuit of the enemy, he found that the
Moorish king had fallen into his hands.
When the unfortunate Boabdil was
brought before him, however, and he
beheld him a dejected captive, whom,
but shortly before, he had seen in royal
splendour, surrounded by his army, the
generous heart of the count was touched
by sympathy. He said every thing that
became a courteous and Christian knight,
to comfort him; observing, that the same
mutability of things which had suddenly
destroyed his recent prosperity, might
cause his present misfortunes as rapidly
to pass away; since, in this world,
nothing is stable, and even sorrow has
its allotted term.

Thus consoling him by gentle and
soothing words, and observing towards
him the honour and reverence that his
dignity and his misfortunes inspired, he
conducted him a prisoner to his strong
castle of Vaena.

CHAPTER XVII.

The sentinels looked out from the
watchtowers of Loxa, along the valley
of the Xenil, which passes through the
mountains of Algaringo. They looked,
to behold the king returning in triumph,
at the head of his shining host, laden
with the spoil of the unbeliever. They
looked, to behold the standard of their
warlike idol, the fierce Ali Atar, borne
by the chivalry of Loxa, ever foremost
in the wars of the border.

In the evening of the 21st of April,
they described a single horseman, urging
his faltering steed along the banks of
the river. As he drew near, they perceived,
by the flash of arms, that he was
a warrior; and, on nearer approach, by
the richness of his armour, and the caparison
of his steed, they knew him to
be a warrior of rank.

He reached Loxa faint and aghast;
his Arabian courser covered with foam
and dust and blood, panting and staggering
with fatigue, and gashed with
wounds. Having brought his master
in safety, he sunk down and died before
the gate of the city. The soldiers at
the gate gathered round the cavalier, as
he stood, mute and melancholy, by his
expiring steed. They knew him to be
the gallant Cidi Caleb, nephew of the
chief alfaqui of the albaycen of Granada.
When the people of Loxa beheld
this noble cavalier thus alone, haggard
and dejected, their hearts were filled with
fearful forebodings.

"Cavalier," said they, "how fares it
with the king and army?" He cast his
hand mournfully towards the land of the
Christians. "There they lie!" exclaimed
he: "the heavens have fallen upon them!
all are lost! all dead!"[33]

Upon this, there was a great cry of
consternation among the people, and
loud wailings of women; for the flower
of the youth of Loxa were with the
army. An old Moorish soldier, scarred
in many a border battle, stood leaning
on his lance by the gateway. "Where
is Ali Atar?" demanded he eagerly.

"If he still live, the army cannot be
lost!"

"I saw his turban cloven by the
Christian sword," replied Cidi Caleb.
"His body is floating in the Xenil."

When the soldier heard these words,
he smote his breast, and threw dust upon
his head; for he was an old follower of
Ali Atar.

The noble Cidi Caleb gave himself no
repose; but, mounting another steed, hastened
to carry the disastrous tidings to
Granada. As he passed through the
villages and hamlets, he spread sorrow
around; for their chosen men had followed
the king to the wars.

When he entered the gates of Granada,
and announced the loss of the
king and army, a voice of horror went
throughout the city. Every one thought
but of his own share in the general
calamity, and crowded round the bearer
of ill tidings. One asked after a father,
another after a brother, some after a
lover, and many a mother after her son.
His replies were still of wounds and
death. To one he replied, "I saw thy
father pierced with a lance, as he defended
the person of the king." To
another, "Thy brother fell wounded under
the hoofs of the horses; but there
was no time to aid him, for the Christian
cavalry were upon us." To a third, "I
saw the horse of thy lover covered with
blood, and galloping without his rider."
To a fourth, "Thy son fought by my
side on the banks of the Xenil: we were
surrounded by the enemy, and driven into
the stream. I heard him call aloud upon
Allah in the midst of the waters: when
I reached the other bank, he was no
longer by my side!"

The noble Cidi Caleb passed on, leaving
Granada in lamentation. He urged
his steed up the steep avenue of trees
and fountains, that leads to the Alhambra,
nor stopped until he arrived before
the gate of justice. Ayxa, the mother
of Boabdil, and Morayma, his beloved
and tender wife, had daily watched,
from the tower of the Gomeres, to behold
his triumphant return. Who shall
describe their affliction, when they heard
the tidings of Cidi Caleb? The sultana
Ayxa spake not much, but sate as one
entranced in wo. Every now and then
a deep sigh burst forth; but she raised
her eyes to heaven. "It is the will of
Allah!" said she; and with these words
she endeavoured to repress the agonies
of a mother's sorrow. The tender Morayma
threw herself on the earth, and
gave way to the full turbulence of her
feelings, bewailing her husband and her
father. The high-minded Ayxa rebuked
the violence of her grief. "Moderate
these transports, my daughter," said
she; "remember, magnanimity should
be the attribute of princes: it becomes
not them to give way to clamorous sorrow,
like common and vulgar minds."
But Morayma could only deplore her
loss with the anguish of a tender woman.
She shut herself up in her mirador,
and gazed all day with streaming
eyes upon the vega. Every object before
her recalled the causes of her affliction.
The river Xenil, which ran
shining amidst the groves and gardens,
was the same on the banks of which
had perished her father, Ali Atar: before
her lay the road to Loxa, by which
Boabdil had departed in martial state,
surrounded by the chivalry of Granada.
Ever and anon she would burst into an
agony of grief. "Alas, my father!"
she would exclaim, "the river runs
smiling before me, that covers thy mangled
remains! who will gather them to
an honoured tomb, in the land of the
unbeliever? And thou, oh, Boabdil!
light of my eyes! joy of my heart!
life of my life! Wo the day, and wo
the hour, that I saw thee depart from
these walls! The road by which thou
hast departed is solitary: never will it
be gladdened by thy return! The
mountain thou hast traversed lies like
a cloud in the distance, and all beyond
it is darkness!"

The royal minstrels were summoned,
to assuage the sorrows of the queen:
they attuned their instruments to cheerful
strains; but, in a little while, the
anguish of their hearts prevailed, and
turned their songs to lamentations.

"Beautiful Granada!" they exclaimed,
"how is thy glory faded! The vivarrambla
no longer echoes to the tramp
of steed and sound of trumpet; no
longer is it crowded with thy youthful
nobles, eager to display their prowess

in the tourney and the festive tilt of
reeds. Alas! the flower of thy chivalry
lies low in a foreign land! The soft
note of the lute is no longer heard in
thy mournful streets, the lively castanet
is silent upon thy hills, and the graceful
dance of the zambra is no more seen
beneath thy bowers! Behold, the Alhambra
is forlorn and desolate! In
vain do the orange and myrtle breathe
their perfumes into its silken chambers;
in vain does the nightingale sing within
its groves; in vain are its marble halls
refreshed by the sound of fountains and
the gush of limpid rills! Alas! the
countenance of the king no longer
shines within those halls; the light of
the Alhambra is set for ever!"

Thus all Granada, say the Arabian
chroniclers, gave itself up to lamentations;
there was nothing but the voice
of wailing from the palace to the cottage.
All joined to deplore their youthful
monarch, cut down in the freshness
and promise of his youth. Many feared
that the prediction of the astrologer was
about to be fulfilled, and that the downfall
of the kingdom would follow the
death of Boabdil; while all declared,
that had he survived, he was the very
sovereign calculated to restore the realm
to its ancient prosperity and glory.

CHAPTER XVIII.

An unfortunate death atones with the
world for a multitude of errors. While
the populace thought their youthful monarch
had perished in the field, nothing
could exceed their grief for his loss, and
their adoration of his memory: when,
however, they learned, that he was still
alive, and had surrendered himself captive
to the Christians, their feelings underwent
an instant change. They decried
his talents as a commander, his
courage as a soldier. They railed at
his expedition, as rash and ill-conducted;
and they reviled him, for not having dared
to die on the field of battle, rather than
surrender to the enemy.

The alfaquis, as usual, mingled with
the populace, and artfully guided their
discontents. "Behold," exclaimed they,
"the prediction is accomplished, which
was pronounced at the birth of Boabdil!
He has been seated on the throne, and
the kingdom has suffered downfall and
disgrace by his defeat and captivity.
Comfort yourselves, oh Moslems! The
evil day has passed by: the fates are
satisfied; the sceptre, which has been
broken in the feeble hand of Boabdil,
is destined to resume its former power
and sway, in the vigorous grasp of Aben
Hassan."

The people were struck with the wisdom
of these words. They rejoiced,
that the baleful prediction, which had so
long hung over them, was at an end;
and declared, that none but Muley Aben
Hassan had the valour and capacity necessary
for the protection of the kingdom
in this time of trouble.

The longer the captivity of Boabdil
continued, the greater grew the popularity
of his father. One city after
another renewed allegiance to him: for
power attracts power, and fortune creates
fortune. At length he was enabled to
return to Granada, and establish himself
once more in the Alhambra. At his
approach, his repudiated spouse, the sultana
Ayxa, gathered together the family
and treasures of her captive son, and
retired with a handful of the nobles into
the albaycen, the rival quarter of the
city, the inhabitants of which still retained
feelings of loyalty to Boabdil.
Here she fortified herself, and held the
semblance of a court, in the name of
her son. The fierce Muley Aben Hassan
would have willingly carried fire
and sword into this factious quarter of
the capital; but he dared not confide in
his new and uncertain popularity. Many
of the nobles detested him for his past
cruelty; and a large portion of the soldiery,
beside many of the people of his
own party, respected the virtues of Ayxa
la Horra, and pitied the misfortunes of
Boabdil. Granada, therefore, presented
the singular spectacle of two sovereignties
within the same city, The old king
fortified himself in the lofty towers of
the Alhambra, as much against his own
subjects as against the Christians: while
Ayxa, with the zeal of a mother's affection,
which waxes warmer and warmer
towards her offspring when in adversity,

still maintained the standard of Boabdil
on the rival fortress of the alcazaba;
and kept his powerful faction alive
within the walls of the albaycen.

CHAPTER XIX.

The unfortunate Boabdil remained a
prisoner, closely guarded in the castle of
Vaena. From the towers of his prison
he beheld the town below filled with
armed men; and the lofty hill on which
it was built, girdled by massive walls
and ramparts, on which a vigilant watch
was maintained, night and day. The
mountains around were studded with
watchtowers, overlooking the lonely
roads which led to Granada; so that a
turban could not stir over the border
without the alarm being given, and the
whole country put on the alert. Boabdil
saw that there was no hope of escape from
such a fortress, and that any attempt to
rescue him would be equally in vain.
His heart was filled with anxiety, as he
thought on the confusion and ruin which
his captivity must cause in his affairs;
while sorrows of a softer kind overcame
his fortitude, as he thought on the evils
it might bring upon his family.

The Count de Cabra, though he maintained
the most vigilant guard over his
royal prisoner, yet treated him with
profound deference. He had appointed
the noblest apartments in the castle
for his abode, and sought in every
way to cheer him during his captivity.
A few days only had passed away,
when missives arrived from the Castilian
sovereigns. Ferdinand had been transported
with joy at hearing of the capture
of the Moorish monarch, seeing
the deep and politic uses that might be
made of such an event: but the magnanimous
spirit of Isabella was filled with
compassion for the unfortunate captive.
Their messages to Boabdil were full of
sympathy and consolation; breathing
that high and gentle courtesy, which
dwells in noble minds.

This magnanimity in his foe cheered
the dejected spirit of the captive monarch.
"Tell my sovereigns, the king and the
queen," said he to the messenger, "that
I cannot be unhappy, being in the power
of such high and mighty princes; especially
since they partake so largely of
that grace and goodness, which Allah
bestows upon the monarchs whom he
greatly loves. Tell them, further, that
I had long thought of submitting myself
to their sway, to receive the kingdom of
Granada from their hands, in the same
manner that my ancestor received it
from King John II., father of the gracious
queen. My greatest sorrow, in this my
captivity, is, that I must appear to do
that from force, which I would fain have
done from inclination."

In the mean time, Muley Aben Hassan,
finding the faction of his son still
formidable in Granada, was anxious to
consolidate his power, by gaining possession
of the person of Boabdil. For
this purpose, he sent an embassy to the
catholic monarchs, offering large terms
for the ransom, or rather the purchase,
of his son; proposing, among other conditions,
to release the Count of Cifuentes,
and nine other of the most distinguished
captives, and to enter into a treaty of confederacy
with the sovereigns. Neither
did the implacable father make any scruple
of testifying his indifference, whether
his son were delivered up alive or dead,
so that his person were placed assuredly
within his power.

The humane heart of Isabella revolted
at the idea of giving up the unfortunate
prince into the hands of his most unnatural
and inveterate enemy. A disdainful
refusal was therefore returned to the old
monarch, whose message had been
couched in a vaunting spirit. He was
informed, that the Castilian sovereigns
would listen to no proposals of peace
from Muley Aben Hassan, until he
should lay down his arms, and offer
them in all humility. Overtures in a
different spirit were made by the mother
of Boabdil, the sultana Ayxa la Horra,
with the concurrence of the party which
still remained faithful to him. It was
thereby proposed, that Mahomet Abdalla,
otherwise called Boabdil, should hold his
crown as vassal to the Castilian sovereigns;
paying an annual tribute, and
releasing seventy Christian captives annually
for five years: that he should
moreover pay a large sum upon the spot
for his ransom, and at the same time

give freedom to four hundred Christians,
to be chosen by the king: that he should
also engage to be always ready to render
military aid; and should come to the
Cortes, or assemblage of nobles and distinguished
vasals of the crown; whenever
summoned. His only son, and the
sons of twelve distinguished Moorish
houses, were to be delivered as hostages.

King Ferdinand was at Cordova when
he received this proposition; Queen Isabella
was absent at the time. He was
anxious to consult her in so momentous
an affair; or rather he was fearful of
proceeding too precipitately, and not
drawing from this fortunate event all the
advantage of which it was susceptible.
Without returning any reply, therefore,
to the mission, he sent missives to the
castle of Vaena, where Boabdil remained
in courteous durance of the brave Count
de Cabra, ordering, that the captive
monarch should be brought to Cordova.

The Count de Cabra set out with his
illustrious prisoner; but when he arrived
at Cordova, King Ferdinand declined
seeing the Moorish monarch.

He was still undetermined what course
to pursue; whether to retain him prisoner,
set him at liberty on ransom, or
treat him with politic magnanimity; and
each course would require a different
kind of reception. Until this point should
be resolved, therefore, he gave him in
charge to Martin de Alarcon, alcayde of
the ancient fortress of Porcuna, with
orders to guard him strictly, but to treat
him with the distinction and deference
due to a prince. These commands were
strictly obeyed, and, with the exception
of being restrained in his liberty, the
monarch was as nobly entertained as he
could have been in his royal palace at
Granada.

In the mean time, Ferdinand availed
himself of this critical moment, while
Granada was distracted with factions
and dissensions, and before he had concluded
any treaty with Boabdil, to make
a puissant and ostentatious inroad into
the very heart of the kingdom, at the
head of his most illustrious nobles. He
sacked and destroyed several towns and
castles, and extended his ravages to the
very gates of Granada. Old Muley
Aben Hassan did not venture to oppose
him. His city was filled with troops;
but he was uncertain of their affection.
He dreaded, that should he sally forth,
the gates of Granada might be closed
against him by the faction of the albaycen.

"The old Moor stood on the lofty
tower of the Alhambra," says Antonio
Agapida, "grinding his teeth, and foaming
like a tiger shut up in his cage, as
he beheld the glittering battalions of the
Christians wheeling about the vega, and
the standard of the cross shining forth
from amidst the smoke of infidel villages
and hamlets. The most catholic king,"
continues Agapida, "would gladly have
persevered in this righteous ravage; but
his munitions began to fail. Satisfied,
therefore, with having laid waste the
country of the enemy, and insulted old
Muley Aben Hassan in his very capital,
he returned to Cordova, covered with
laurels, and his army loaded with spoils;
and now bethought himself of coming to
an immediate decision in regard to his
royal prisoner."

CHAPTER XX.

A stately conversation was held by
King Ferdinand, in the ancient city of
Cordova, composed of several of the most
reverend prelates and renowned cavaliers
of the kingdom, to determine upon the
fate of the unfortunate Boabdil.

Don Alonso de Cardenas, the worthy
Master of Santiago, was one of the first
who gave his counsel. He was a pious
and zealous knight, rigid in his devotion
to the faith; and his holy zeal had been
inflamed to peculiar vehemence since his
disastrous crusade among the mountains
of Malaga. He inveighed with ardour
against any compromise or compact with
the infidels. The object of this war, he
observed, was not the subjection of the
Moors, but their utter expulsion from the
land, so that there might no longer remain
a single stain of Mahometanism
throughout Christian Spain. He gave it
as his opinion, therefore, that the captive
king ought not to be set at liberty.

Rodrigo Ponce de Leon, the valiant
Marquis of Cadiz, on the contrary, spoke

warmly for the release of Boabdil. He
pronounced it a measure of sound policy,
even if done without conditions. It would
tend to keep up the civil war in Granada,
which was as a fire consuming the entrails
of the enemy, and effecting more
for the interests of Spain, without expense,
than all the conquests of its arms.

The grand cardinal of Spain, Don
Pedro Gonzalez de Mendoza, coincided
in opinion with the Marquis of Cadiz.
"Nay," added that pious prelate and
politic statesman, "it would be sound
wisdom to furnish the Moor with men
and money, and all other necessaries to
promote the civil war in Granada: by
this means would be produced great benefit
to the service of God; since we are
ussured by his infallible word, that `a
kingdom divided against itself cannot
stand.' "[34]

Ferdinand weighed these counsels in
his mind, but was slow in coming to a
decision. "He was religiously attentive
to his own interests," observes Fray
Antonio Agapida; "knowing himself to
be but an instrument of Providence in
this holy war; and that, therefore, in
consulting his own advantage, he was
promoting the interests of the faith."
The opinion of Queen Isabella relieved
him from his perplexity. That high-minded
princess was zealous for the promotion
of the faith, but not for the extermination
of the infidels. The Moorish
kings had held their thrones as vassals
to her progenitors: she was content, at
present, to accord the same privilege,
and that the royal prisoner should be
liberated, on condition of becoming a
vassal to the crown. By this means
might be effected the deliverance of many
Christians captive, who were languishing
in Moorish chains.

King Ferdinand adopted the magnanimous
measure recommended by the
queen, but he accompanied it with several
shrewd conditions; exacting tribute, military
services, and safe passage and
maintenance for Christian troops throughout
the places which should adhere to
Boabdil. The captive king readily submitted
to these stipulations; and swore,
after the manner of his faith, to observe
them with exactitude. A truce was arranged
for two years, during which the
Castilian sovereigns engaged to maintain
him on his throne, and to assist him in
recovering all places which he had lost
during his captivity.

When Boabdil el Chico had solemnly
agreed to this arrangement in the castle
of Porcuna, preparations were made to
receive him in Cordova in regal style.
Superb steeds, richly caparisoned, and
raiment of brocade and silk, and the
most costly cloths, with all other articles
of sumptuous array, were furnished to
him, and to fifty Moorish cavaliers, who
had come to treat for his ransom, that
he might appear in state befitting the
monarch of Granada, and the most distinguished
vassal of the Christian sovereigns.
Money, also, was advanced, to
maintain him in suitable grandeur during
his residence at the Castilian court, and
his return to his dominions. Finally, it
was ordered by the sovereigns, that,
when he came to Cordova, all the nobles
and dignitaries of the court should go
forth to receive him.

A question now arose among certain
of those ancient and experienced men,
who grow gray about a court in the profound
study of forms and ceremonials;
with whom a point of punctilio is as a
vast political right, and who contract a
sublime and awful idea of the external
dignity of the throne. Certain of these
court sages propounded the momentous
question, whether the Moorish monarch,
coming to do homage as a vassal, ought
not to kneel, and kiss the hand of the
king. "This was immediately decided
in the affirmative, by a large number of
ancient cavaliers, accustomed," says
Antonio Agapida, "to the lofty punctilio
of our most dignified court and transcendant
sovereigns." The king, therefore,
was informed, by those who arranged
the ceremonials, that, when the Moorish
monarch appeared in his presence, he
was expected to extend his royal hand to
receive the kiss of homage.

"I should certainly do so," replied
King Ferdinand, "were he at liberty, and
in his own kingdom: but I certainly shall
not do so, seeing that he is a prisoner,
and in mine."

The courtiers loudly applauded the

magnanimity of this reply; though many
condemned it in secret, as savouring of
too much generosity towards an infidel;
and the worthy Jesuit, Fray Antonio
Agapida, fully concurs in their opinion.

The Moorish king entered Cordova with
his little train of faithful knights, and escorted
by all the nobility and chivalry of
the Castilian court. He was conducted
with great state and ceremony to the
royal palace. When he came in presence
of King Ferdinand, he knelt, and offered
to kiss his hand, not merely in homage
as his subject, but in gratitude for his
liberty. Ferdinand declined the token of
vassalage, and raised him graciously
from the earth. An interpreter began, in
the name of Boabdil, to laud the magnanimity
of the Castilian monarch, and to
promise the most implicit submission.
"Enough," said King Ferdinand, interrupting
the interpreter in the midst of his
harangue; "there is no need of these
compliments. I trust in his integrity,
that he will do every thing becoming a
good man and a good king." With these
words, he received Boabdil el Chico into
his royal friendship and protection.

CHAPTER XXI.

In the month of August, a noble Moor,
of the race of the Abencerrages, arrived
with a splendid retinue at the city of
Cordova, bringing with him the son of
Boabdil el Chico, and other of the noble
youths of Granada, as hostages for the
fulfilment of the terms of ransom. When
the Moorish king beheld his son, his only
child, who was to remain in his stead, a
sort of captive in a hostile land, he folded
him in his arms, and wept over him.
"Wo the day that I was born!" exclaimed
he, "and evil the star that presided
at my birth! well was I called El
Zogoybi, or `the unlucky:' for sorrow
is heaped upon me by my father, and
sorrow do I transmit to my son!"

The afflicted heart of Boabdil, however,
was soothed by the kindness of the
Christian sovereigns, who received the
hostage prince with a tenderness suited
to his age, and a distinction worthy of his
rank.

They delivered him in charge to the
worthy alcayde Martin de Alarcon, who
had treated his father with such courtesy,
during his confinement in the castle of
Porcuna; giving orders, that, after the
departure of the latter, his son should
be entertained with great honour and
princely attention in the same fortress.

On the 2d of September, a guard of
honour assembled at the gate of the mansion
of Boabdil to escort him to the frontiers
of his kingdom. He pressed his
child to his heart at parting; but he
uttered not a word, for there were many
Christian eyes to behold his emotion.
He mounted his steed, and never turned
his head to look again upon the youth!
but those who were near him observed
the vehement struggle that shook his
frame, wherein the anguish of the father
had well nigh subdued the studied equanimity
of the king.

Boabdil el Chico and King Ferdinand
sallied forth, side by side, from Cordova,
amidst the acclamations of a prodigious
multitude. When they were a short
distance from the city, they separated,
with many gracious expressions on the
part of the Castilian monarch, and many
thankful acknowledgments from his late
captive, whose heart had been humbled
by adversity. Ferdinand departed for
Guadalupe, and Boabdil for Granada.
The latter was accompanied by a guard
of honour; and the viceroys of Andalusia,
and the generals on the frontier,
were ordered to furnish him with escorts,
and to show him all possible honour on
his journey. In this way, he was conducted,
in royal state, through the country
he had entered to ravage, and was
placed in safety in his own dominions.

He was met on the frontier, by the
principal nobles and cavaliers of his
court, who had been secretly sent by his
mother, the sultana Ayxa, to escort him
to the capital.

The heart of Boabdil was lifted up for
a moment, when he found himself in his
own territories, surrounded by Moslem
knights, with his own standards waving
over his head; and he began to doubt the
predictions of the astrologers. He soon
found cause, however, to moderate his
exultation. The loyal train, which had
come to welcome him, was but scanty in
number; and he missed many of his most

zealous and obsequious courtiers. He
had returned, indeed, to his kingdom;
but it was no longer the devoted kingdom
he had left. The story of his
vassalage to the Christian sovereigns had
been made use of by his father to ruin
him with his people. He had been represented
as a traitor to his country, a
renegado to his faith, and as leagued
with the enemies of both to subdue the
Moslems of Spain to the yoke of Christian
bondage. In this way the mind of
the public had been turned from him.
The greater part of the nobility had
thronged round the throne of his father
in the Alhambra; and his mother, the
resolute sultana Ayxa, with difficulty
maintained her faction in the opposite
towers of the alcazaba.

Such was the melancholy picture of
affairs given to Boabdil by the courtiers
who had come forth to meet him. They
even informed him, that it would be an
enterprise of difficulty and danger to
make his way back to the capital, and
regain a little court which still remained
faithful to him in the heart of the city.
The old tiger, Muley Aben Hassan, lay
couched within the Alhambra, and the
walls and gates of the city were strongly
guarded by his troops. Boabdil shook
his head at these tidings. He called to
mind the ill omen of his breaking his
lance against the gate of Elvira, when
issuing forth so vaingloriously with his
army, which he now saw clearly foreboded
the destruction of that army, on which he
had so confidently relied. "Henceforth,"
said he, "let no man have the impiety to
scoff at omens."

Boabdil approached his capital by
stealth, and in the night, prowling about
its walls like an enemy seeking to destroy,
rather than a monarch returning to his
throne. At length he seized upon a postern-gate
of the albaycen, a part of the
city which had always been in his favour.
He passed rapidly through the streets,
before the populace were aroused from
their sleep, and reached in safety the fortress
of the alcazaba. Here he was received
into the embraces of his intrepid
mother, and his favourite wife Morayma.
The transports of the latter, on the safe
return of her husband, were mingled with
tears; for she thought of her father, Ali
Atar, who had fallen in his cause; and of
her only son, who was left a hostage in
the hands of the Christains.

The heart of Boabdil, softened by his
misfortunes, was moved by the changes
in every thing round him; but his mother
called up his spirit. "This," said she,
"is no time for tears and fondness: a king
must think of his sceptre and his throne,
and not yield to softness like common
men. Thou hast done well, my son, in
throwing thyself resolutely into Granada:
it must depend upon thyself whether thou
remain here a king or a captive."

The old king, Muley Aben Hassan,
had retired to his couch that night, in
one of the strongest towers of the Alhambra;
but his restless anxiety kept
him from repose. In the first watch of
the night, he heard a shout faintly rising
from the quarter of the albaycen, which
is on the opposite side of the deep valley
of the Darro. Shortly afterwards, horsemen
came galloping up the hill that leads
to the main gate of the Alhambra, spreading
the alarm, that Boabdil had entered
the city, and possessed himself of the
alcazaba.

In the first transports of his rage, the
old king would have struck the messenger
to earth. He hastily summoned
his counsellors and commanders, exhorting
them to stand by him in this critical
moment; and, during the night, made
every preparation to enter the albaycen,
sword in hand, in the morning.

In the mean time, the sultana Ayxa
had taken prompt and vigorous measures
to strengthen her party. The albaycen
was in the part of the city filled by the
lower orders. The return of Boabdil
was proclaimed throughout the streets,
and large sums of money were distributed
among the populace. The nobles,
assembled in the alcazaba, were promised
honours and rewards by Boabdil, as soon
as he should be firmly seated on the
throne. These well-timed measures had
the customary effect; and by daybreak
all the motley populace of the albaycen
were in arms.

A doleful day succeeded. All Granada
was a scene of tumult and horror.
Drums and trumpets resounded in every
part; all business was interrupted; the
shops were shut, and the doors barricadoed.

Armed bands paraded the streets;
some shouting for Boabdil, and some for
Muley Aben Hassan. When they encountered
each other, they fought furiously,
and without mercy; every public
square became a scene of battle. The
great mass of the lower orders was in
favour of Boabdil; but it was a multitude
without discipline or lofty spirit. Part of
the people was regularly armed; but the
greater number had sallied forth with the
implements of their trade. The troops
of the old king, among whom were
many cavaliers of pride and valour, soon
drove the populace from the squares.
They fortified themselves, however, in
the streets, and lanes, which they barricadoed.
They made fortresses of their
houses, and fought desperately from the
windows and the roofs; and many a
warrior of the highest blood of Granada
was laid low by plebeian hands, and plebeian
weapons, in this civil brawl.

It was impossible that such violent
convulsions should last long in the heart
of a city. The people soon longed for
repose, and a return to their peaceful
occupations; and the cavaliers detested
these conflicts with the multitude, in
which there were all the horrors of
war, without its laurels. By the interference
of the alfaquis, an armistice was at
length effected. Boabdil was persuaded,
that there was no dependence upon the inconstant
favour of the multitude, and was
prevailed upon to quit a capital, where
he could only maintain a precarious seat
upon his throne, by a perpetual and
bloody struggle. He fixed his court at
the city of Almeria, which was entirely
devoted to him; and which at that time
vied with Granada in splendour and importance.
This compromise of grandeur
for tranquillity, however, was sorely
against the counsel of his proud-spirited
mother, the sultana Ayxa. Granada
appeared in her eyes the only legitimate
seat of dominion; and she observed,
with a smile of disdain, that he was not
worthy of being called a monarch, who
was not master of his capital.

CHAPTER XXII.

Though Muley Aben Hassan had regained
undivided sway over the city of
Granada; and the alfaquis, by his command,
had denounced his son Boabdil as
an apostate, and as one doomed by Heaven
to misfortune; still the latter had
many adherents among the common
people. Whenever, therefore, any act
of the old monarch was displeasing to
the turbulent multitude, they were prone
to give him a hint of the slippery nature
of his standing, by shouting out the
name of Boabdil el Chico. Long experience
had instructed Muley Aben Hassan
in the character of the inconstant people
over whom he ruled. "Allah achbar!"
exclaimed he, "God is great! but a successful
inroad into the country of the unbelievers
will make more converts to my
cause, than a thousand texts of the Koran,
expounded by ten thousand alfaquis."

At this time, King Ferdinand was
absent from Andalusia on a distant expedition,
with many of his troops. The
moment was favourable for a foray;
and Muley Aben Hassan cast about his
thoughts for a leader to conduct it. Ali
Atar, the terror of the border, the
scourge of Andalusia, was dead; but
there was another veteran general,
scarcely inferior to him for predatory
warfare. This was old Bexir, the gray
and crafty alcayde of Malaga; and the
people under his command were ripe for
an expedition of the kind. The signal
defeat and slaughter of the Spanish
knights, in the neighbouring mountains,
had filled the people of Malaga with
vanity and self-conceit: they had attributed
to their own valour the defeat
which had been caused by the nature of
the country. Many of them wore the
armour, and paraded in public with the
horses, of the unfortunate cavaliers slain
on that occasion; which they vauntingly
displayed as the trophies of their boasted
victory. They had talked themselves
into a contempt for the chivalry of Andalusia,
and were impatient for an opportunity
to overrun a country defended by
such troops. This Muley Aben Hassan
considered a favourable state of mind to

insure a daring inroad; and he sent
orders to old Bexir, to gather together
his people, and the choicest warriors of
the borders, and to carry fire and sword
into the very heart of Andalusia. The
wary old Bexir immediately despatched
his emissaries among the alcaydes of the
border towns, calling upon them to assemble,
with their troops, at the city of
Ronda, close upon the Christian frontier.

Ronda was the most virulent nest of
Moorish depredators in the whole border
country. It was situated in the midst of
the wild Serrania, or chain of mountains
of the same name, which are uncommonly
lofty, broken, and precipitous. It
stood on an almost isolated rock, nearly
encircled by a deep valley, or rather
chasm, through which ran the beautiful
river called Rio Verde. The Moors of
this city were the most active, robust,
and warlike of all the mountaineers;
and their very children discharged the
cross-bow with unerring aim. They
were incessantly harassing the rich
plains of Andalusia; their city abounded
with Christian spoils; and their deep
dungeons were crowded with Christian
captives, who might sigh in vain for
deliverance from this impregnable fortress.
Such was Ronda in the time of
the Moors; and it has ever retained
something of the same character, even
to the present day. Its inhabitants continue
to be among the boldest, fiercest,
and most adventurous of the Andalusian
mountaineers; and the Serrania de
Ronda is famous, as the most dangerous
resort of the bandit and the contrabandista.

Hamet Zeli, surnamed El Zegri, was
the commander of this belligerent city
and its fierce inhabitants. He was of
the tribe of the Zegris, and one of the
most proud and daring of that warlike
race. Besides the inhabitants of Ronda,
he had a legion of African Moors in his
immediate service. They were of the
tribe of the Gomeres; mercenary troops,
whose hot African blood had not yet
been tempered by the softer living of
Spain; and whose whole business was
to fight. These he kept always well
armed and well appointed. The rich
pasturage of the valley of Ronda produced
a breed of horses, famous for
strength and speed; no cavalry, therefore,
was better mounted than the band
of Gomeres. Rapid on the march, and
fierce in the attack, it would sweep down
upon the Andalusian plains like a sudden
blast from the mountains, and pass
away as suddenly, before there was time
for pursuit.

There was nothing that stirred up the
spirit of the Moors of the frontier more
thoroughly than the idea of a foray.
The summons of Bexir was gladly
obeyed by the alcaydes of the border
towns; and in a little while there was a
force of fifteen hundred horse, and four
thousand foot, the very pith and marrow
of the surrounding country, assembled
within the walls of Ronda. The people
of the place anticipated with eagerness
the rich spoils of Andalusia, that were
soon to crowd their gates. Throughout
the day, the city resounded with the noise
of kettledrum and trumpet; the high-mettled
steeds stamped and neighed in
their stalls, as if they shared the impatience
for the foray; while the Christian
captives sighed, as the varied din of preparation
reached to their rocky dungeons,
denoting that a fresh assault was preparing
against their countrymen.

The infidel host sallied forth, full of
spirits; anticipating an easy ravage, and
abundant booty. They encouraged each
other in a contempt for the prowess of
the foe. Many of the warriors of Malaga,
and of some of the mountain towns,
had insultingly arrayed themselves in the
splendid armour of the Christian knights,
slain or taken prisoners in the famous
massacre; and some of them rode the
Andalusian steeds which had been captured
on that occasion.

The wary Bexir had concerted his
plans so secretly and expeditiously, that
the Christian towns of Andalusia had not
the least suspicion of the storm that had
gathered beyond the mountains. The
vast and rocky range of the Serrania de
Ronda extended like a screen, covering
all their movements from observation.

The army made its way as rapidly as
the rugged nature of the mountains would
permit, guided by Hamet el Zegri, the
bold alcayde of Ronda, who knew every
pass and defile. Not a drum, nor the
clash of a cymbal, nor the blast of a

trumpet, was permitted to be heard. The
mass of war rolled quietly on, as the
gathering cloud to the brow of the mountains,
intending to burst down, like the
thunderbolt, upon the plain.

Never let the most wary commander
fancy himself secure from discovery;
for rocks have eyes, and trees have ears,
and the birds of the air have tongues, to
betray the most secret enterprise. There
chanced, at this time, to be six Christian
scouts prowling about the savage heights
of the Serrania de Ronda. They were
of that kind of lawless ruffians who infest
the borders of belligerent countries, ready
at any time to fight for pay, or prowl for
plunder. The wild mountain passes of
Spain have ever abounded with loose,
rambling vagabonds of the kind: soldiers
in war, robbers in peace; guides, guards,
smugglers, or cut-throats, according to
the circumstances of the case.

"These six marauders," says Fray
Antonio Agapida, "were, on this occasion,
chosen instruments, sanctified by
the righteousness of their cause. They
were lurking among the mountains, to
entrap Moorish cattle, or Moorish prisoners;
both of which were equally
saleable in the Christian market."

They had ascended one of the loftiest
cliffs, and were looking out, like birds of
prey, ready to pounce upon any thing
that might offer in the valley, when they
described the Moorish army emerging from
a mountain glen. They watched it in
silence, as it wound below them, remarking
the standards of the various towns,
and the pennons of the commanders.
They hovered about on its march, skulking
from cliff to cliff, until they saw the
route by which it intended to enter the
Christian country. They then dispersed,
each making his way, by secret passes of
the mountains, to some different alcayde,
that they might spread the alarm far and
wide, and each get a separate reward.

One hastened to Luis Fernandez Puerto
Carrero, the same valiant alcayde who
had repulsed Muley Ahen Hassan from
the walls of Alhama, and who now commanded
at Ecija, in the absence of the
Master of Santiago. Others roused the
town of Utrera, and the places of that
neighbourhood, putting them all on the
alert.

Puerto Carrero was a cavalier of consummate
vigour and activity. He immediately
sent couriers to the alcaydes of
the neighbouring fortresses, to Herman
Carrello, captain of a body of the Holy
Brotherhood, and to certain knights of
the order of Alcantara. Puerto Carrero
was the first to take the field. Knowing
the hard and hungry service of these
border scampers, he made every man
take a hearty repast, and see that his
horse was well shod, and perfectly appointed.
Then, all being refreshed, and
in valiant heart, he sallied forth to seek
the Moors. He had but a handful of
men, the retainers of his household, and
troops of his captaincy; but they were
well armed and mounted, and accustomed
to the sudden rouses of the border, men
with whom the cry of "Arm and out! to
horse and to the field!" was sufficient at
any time to put them in a fever of animation.

While the northern part of Andalusia
was thus on the alert, one of the scouts
had hastened southward, to the city of
Xeres, and given the alarm to the valiant
Marquis of Cadiz. When the marquis
heard that the Moor was over the border,
and that the standard of Malaga was
in the advance, his heart bounded with a
momentary joy; for he remembered the
massacre in the mountains, where his
valiant brothers had been mangled before
his eyes. The very authors of his calamity
were now at hand, and he flattered
himself that the day of vengeance had
arrived.

He made a hasty levy of his retainers,
and of the fighting men of Xeres, and
hurried off, with three hundred horse and
two hundred foot, all resolute men, and
panting for revenge.

In the mean time the veteran Bexir
had accomplished his march, as he imagined,
undiscovered. From the opening
of the craggy defiles, he pointed out the
fertile plains of Andalusia, and regaled
the eyes of his soldiery with the rich
country they were about to ravage. The
fierce Gomeres of Ronda were flushed
with joy at the sight; and even their
steeds seemed to prick up their ears, and
snuff the breeze, as they beheld the
scenes of their frequent forays.

When they came to where the mountain

defile opened into the low land,
Bexir divided his force into three parts:
one, composed of foot-soldiers, and of
such as were weakly mounted, he left to
guard the pass; being too experienced a
veteran not to know the importance of
securing a retreat. A second body he
placed in ambush, among the groves and
thickets on the banks of the river Lopera.
The third, consisting of light cavalry, he
sent forth to ravage the Campiña, or
great plain of Utrera. Most of this
latter force was composed of the fiery
Gomeres of Ronda, mounted on the fleet
steeds bred among the mountains. It
was led by the bold alcayde Hamet el
Zegri, who was ever eager to be foremost
in the foray.

Little suspecting that the country on
both sides was on the alarm, and rushing
from all directions, to close upon them in
the rear, this fiery troop dashed forward,
until they came within two leagues of
Utrera. Here they scattered themselves
about the plain, careering round the great
herds of cattle, and flocks of sheep, and
sweeping them in droves, to be hurried
to the mountains.

While they were thus dispersed in
every direction, a troop of horse, and
body of foot, from Utrera, came suddenly
upon them. The Moors rallied together
in small parties, and endeavoured to defend
themselves: but they were without
a leader; for Hamet el Zegri was at a
distance, having, like a hawk, made a
wide circuit in pursuit of prey. The
marauders soon gave way, and fled towards
the ambush on the banks of the
Lopera, being hotly pursued by the men
of Utrera.

When they reached the Lopera, the
Moors in ambush rushed forth, with furious
cries; and the fugitives, recovering
courage from this reinforcement, rallied,
and turned upon their pursuers. The
Christians stood their ground, though
greatly inferior in number. Their lances
were soon broken, and they came to
sharp work with sword and cimeter.
The Christians fought valiantly, but were
in danger of being overwhelmed. The
bold Hamet had collected a handful of
his scattered Gomeres; and, leaving his
prey, had galloped towards the scene of
action. His little troop of horsemen had
reached the crest of a rising ground, at
no great distance, when trumpets were
heard in another direction, and Luis Fernandez
Puerto Carrero, and his followers,
came galloping into the field, and charged
upon the infidels in flank.

The Moors were astounded, at finding
war thus breaking upon them from various
quarters of what they had expected
to find an unguarded country. They
fought for a short time with desperation,
and resisted a vehement assault from the
knights of Alcantara, and the men-atarms
of the Holy Brotherhood. At length
the veteran Bexir was struck from his
horse by Puerto Carrero, and taken prisoner,
and the whole force gave way and
fled. In their flight they separated, and
took two roads to the mountains; thinking,
by dividing their forces, to distract
the enemy. The Christians were too
few to separate. Puerto Carrero kept
them together, pursuing one division of
the enemy with great slaughter. This
battle took place at the fountain of the
fig-tree, near to the Lopera. Six hundred
Moorish cavaliers were slain, and many
taken prisoners. Much spoil was collected
on the field, with which the Christians
returned in triumph to their homes.

The larger body of the enemy had
retreated along a road, leading more to
the south, by the banks of the Guadalete.
When they reached that river, the sound
of pursuit had died away; and they rallied,
to breathe and refresh themselves
on the margin of the stream. Their force
was reduced to about a thousand horse,
and a confused multitude of foot. While
they were scattered, and partly dismounted,
on the banks of the Guadalete, a fresh
storm of war burst upon them from an
opposite direction. It was the Marquis
of Cadiz, leading on his household troops,
and the fighting men of Xeres. When
the Christian warriors came in sight of
the Moors, they were roused to fury at
beholding many of them arrayed in the
armour of the cavaliers who had been
slain among the mountains of Melaga.
Nay, some, who had been in that defeat,
beheld their own armour, which they had
cast away in their flight, to enable themselves
to climb the mountains. Exasperated
at the sight, they rushed upon the
foe, with the ferocity of tigers, rather

than the temperate courage of cavaliers.
Each man fell as if he were avenging
the death of a relative, or wiping out his
own disgrace. The good marquis himself
beheld a powerful Moor bestriding the
horse of his brother Beltran: giving a
cry of rage and anguish at the sight, he
rushed through the thickest of the enemy,
attacked the Moor with resistless fury,
and, after a short combat, hurled him
breathless to the earth.

The Moors, already vanquished in
spirit, could not withstand the assault of
men thus madly excited. They soon
gave way, and fied for the defile of the
Scrrania de Ronda, where the body of
troops had been stationed to secure a
retreat. These, seeing them come galloping
wildly up the defile, with Christian
banners in pursuit, and the flash of weapons
at their deadly work, thought all
Andalusia was upon them, and fled, without
awaiting an attack. The pursuit
continued among glens and defiles; for
the Christian warriors, eager for revenge,
had no compassion on the foe.

When the pursuit was over, the Marquis
of Cadiz and his followers reposed
themselves upon the banks of the Guadalete,
where they divided the spoil. Among
this were found many rich corslets, helmets,
and weapons, the Moorish trophies
of the defeat in the mountains of Malaga.
Several were claimed by their owners,
others were known to have belonged to
noble cavaliers, who had been slain, or
taken prisoners. There were several
horses also, richly caparisoned, which
had pranced proudly with the unfortunate
warriors, as they sallied out of Antequera
upon that fatal expedition. Thus the exultation
of the victors was dashed with
melancholy, and many a knight was seen
lamenting over the helmet or corslet of
some loved companion in arms.

The good Marquis of Cadiz was resting
under a tree, on the banks of the
Guadalete, when the horse, which had
belonged to his slaughtered brother Beltran,
was brought to him. He laid his
hand upon the mane, and looked wistfully
at the empty saddle. His bosom
heaved with violent agitation, and his lip
quivered, and was pale. "Ay de mi, mi
hermano!" "Wo is me, my brother!"
was all that he said, for the grief of a
warrior has not many words. He looked
around on the field strewn with the bodies
of the enemy; and, in the bitterness
of his wo, he felt consoled by the idea,
that his brother had not been unrevenged.[35]

CHAPTER XXIII.

The hold alcayde of Ronda, Hamet el
Zegri, had careered wide over the campiña
of Utrera, encompassing the flocks
and herds, when he heard the burst of
war at a distance. There were with him
but a handful of his Gomeres. He saw
the scamper and pursuit afar off, and
beheld the Christian horsemen spurring
madly on towards the ambuscade, on the
banks of the Lopera. Hamet tossed his
hand triumphantly aloft for his men to
follow him. "The Christian dogs are
ours!" said he as he put spurs to his
horse, to take the enemy in rear.

The little band which followed Hamet
scarcely amounted to thirty horsemen.
They spurred across the plain, and
reached a rising ground, just as the force
of Puerto Carrero had charged with sound
of trumpet upon the flank of the party in
ambush. Hamet beheld the headlong
rout of the army with rage and consternation.
They found the country was
pouring forth its legions from every quarter,
and perceived that there was no
safety but in precipitate flight. But which
way to fly? an army was between him
and the mountain pass: all the forces of
the neighbourhood were rushing to the
borders; the whole route by which he
had come was, by this time, occupied by
the foe. He checked his steed, rose in
his stirrups, and rolled a stern and
thoughtful eye over the country; then,
sinking into his saddle, he seemed to
commune for a moment with himself.
Turning quickly to his troop, he singled

out a renegado Christian, a traitor to his
religion and his king. "Come hither,"
said Hamet: "thou knowest all the secret
passes of this country?" "I do,"
replied the renegado. "Dost thou know
any circuitous route, solitary and untravelled,
by which we can pass wide within
these troops, and reach the Serrania?"
The renegado paused: "Such a route I
know, but it is full of peril; for it leads
through the heart of the Christian land."
"It is well," said Hamet: "the more
dangerous in appearance, the less it will
be suspected. Now, hearken to me. Ride
by my side. Thou seest this purse of
gold and this cimeter. Take us, by the
route thou hast mentioned, safe to the
pass of the Serrania, and this purse shall
be thy reward: betray us, and this cimeter
shall cleave thee to the saddlebow."[36]

The renegado obeyed, trembling. They
turned off from the direct road to the
mountains, and struck southward towards
Lebrixa, passing by the most solitary
roads, and along those deep ramblas and
ravines by which the country is intersected.
It was indeed a daring course.
Every now and then they heard the distant
sound of trumpets, and the alarm-bells
of towns and villages, and found
that the war was still hurrying to the
borders. They hid themselves in thickets
and the dry beds of rivers, until the
danger had passed by, and then resumed
their course. Hamet el Zegri rode on in
silence, his hand upon his cimeter, and
his eyes upon the renegado guide, prepared
to sacrifice him on the least sign
of treachery; while his band followed,
gnawing their lips with rage, at having
thus to skulk through a country they had
come to ravage.

When night fell they struck into more
practicable roads, always keeping wide
of the villages and hamlets, lest the
watchdogs should betray them. In this
way they passed, in deep midnight, by
Acros, crossed the Guadalete, and effected
their retreat to the mountains. The
day dawned as they made their way up
the savage defiles. Their comrades had
been hunted up these very glens by the
enemy. Every now and then they came
to where there had been a partial fight,
or a slaughter of the fugitives; and the
rocks were red with blood, and strewed
with mangled bodies. The alcayde of
Ronda was almost frantic with rage at
seeing many of his bravest warriors,
lying stiff and stark, a prey to the hawks
and vultures of the mountains. Now and
then some wretched Moor would crawl
out of a cave or glen, whither he had
fled for refuge; for, in the retreat, many
of the horsemen had abandoned their
steeds, thrown away their armour, and
clambered up the cliffs, where they
could not be pursued by the Christian
cavalry.

The Moorish army had sallied forth
from Ronda amidst shouts and acclamations;
but wailings were heard within
its walls as the alcayde and his broken
band returned, without banner or trumpet,
and haggard with famine and fatigue.
The tidings of their disaster had preceded
them, borne by the fugitives of the army.
No one ventured to speak to the stern
Hamet el Zegri as he entered the city,
for they saw a dark cloud gathered upon
his brow.

"It seemed," says the pious Antonio
Agapida, "as if Heaven meted out this
defeat, in exact retribution for the ills
inflicted upon the Christian warriors in
the heights of Malaga." It was equally
signal and disastrous. Of the brilliant
array of Moorish chivalry, which descended
so confidently into Andalusia,
not more than two hundred escaped.
The choicest troops of the frontier were
either taken or destroyed: the Moorish
garrisons enfeebled, and many alcaydes
and cavaliers of noble lineage carried
into captivity, who were afterwards
obliged to redeem themselves with heavy
ransoms.

This was called the battle of Lopera,
and was fought on the 17th of September,
1483. Ferdinand and Isabella were at Vittoria,
in Old Castile, when they received
news of the victory, and the standards
taken from the enemy. They celebrated
the event with processions, illuminations,
and other festivities. Ferdinand sent to
the Marquis of Cadiz the royal raiment
which he had worn on that day, and conferred
on him, and on all those who
should inherit his title, the privilege of

wearing royal robes on our Lady's day
in September, in commemoration of this
victory.

Queen Isabella was equally mindful of
the great services of Don Luis Fernandez
Puerto Carrero. Besides many encomiums
and favours, she sent to his wife
the royal vestments and robe of brocade
which she had worn on the same day, to
be worn by her, during her life, on the
anniversary of that battle.[37]

CHAPTER XXIV.

In the midst of the bustle of warlike
affairs, the worthy chronicler Fray Antonio
Agapida pauses to note, with curious
accuracy, the distinguished reception
given to the Count de Cabra, and his
nephew, the alcayde de los Donzeles, at
the stately and ceremonious court of Castile,
in reward for the capture of the
Moorish king Boabdil.

"The court," he observes, "was held,
at the time, in the ancient Moorish palace
of the city of Cordova; and the ceremonials
were arranged by that venerable
prelate Don Pedro Gonzalez de Mendoza,
Bishop of Toledo, and Grand Cardinal of
Spain.

"It was on Wednesday, the fourteenth
of October," continues the precise Antonio
Agapida, "that the good Count de
Cabra, according to arrangement, appeared
at the gate of Cordova. Here he
was met by the grand cardinal, and the
Duke of Villahermosa, illegitimate brother
of the king, together with many of
the first grandees and prelates of the
kingdom. By this august train was he
attended to the palace, amidst triumphant
strains of martial music, and the shouts
of a prodigious multitude.

"When the count arrived in presence
of the sovereigns, who were seated in
state, on a dais, or raised part of the
hall of audience, they both arose. The
king advanced exactly five steps toward
the count, who knelt, and kissed his
majesty's hand; but the king would
not receive him as a mere vassal, but
embraced him with affectionate cordiality.
The queen, also, advanced two steps, and
received the count with a countenance
full of sweetness and benignity. After
he had kissed her hand, the king and
queen returned to their thrones; and
cushions being brought, they desired the
worthy count to be seated in their presence."
This last circumstance is written
in large letters, and followed by several
notes of admiration, in the manuscript
of the worthy Fray Antonio Agapida;
who considers the extraordinary privilege
of sitting in the presence of the
catholic sovereigns an honour well worth
fighting for.

"The good count took his seat at a
short distance from the king; and near
him was seated the Duke of Najera, then
the Bishop of Palencia, then the Count
of Aguilar, the Count Luna, and Don
Gutiere de Cardenas, senior commander
of Leon.

"On the side of the queen were seated
the Grand Cardinal of Spain, the Duke of
Villahermosa, the Count of Monte Rey,
and the Bishops of Jaen and Cuenca,
each in the order in which they are
named. The Infanta Isabella was prevented,
by indisposition, from attending
this ceremony.

"And now festive music resounded
through the sumptuous hall; and, behold,
twenty ladies of the queen's retinue entered,
magnificently attired; upon which
twenty youthful cavaliers, very gay and
galliard in their array, stepped forth;
and, each taking his fair partner, they
commenced a stately dance. The court,
in the mean time," observes Fray Antonio
Agapida, "looked on with lofty and
becoming gravity.

"When the dance was concluded, the
king and queen rose, to retire to supper,
and dismissed the court with many gracious
expressions. He was then attended,
by all the grandees present, to the
palace of the grand cardinal, where they
partook of a sumptuous banquet.

"On the following Saturday, the alcayde
de los Donzeles was received
likewise with great honours; but the
ceremonies were so arranged, as to be a
degree less in dignity than those shown
to his uncle; the latter being considered
the principal actor in this great achievement.
Thus, the grand cardinal and the

Duke of Villahermosa did not meet him
at the gate of the city, but received him
in the palace, and entertained him in
conversation until summoned to the sovereigns.

"When the alcayde de los Donzeles
entered the presence-chamber, the king
and queen rose from their chairs; but,
without advancing, they embraced him
graciously, and commanded him to be
seated next to the Count de Cabra.

"The Infanta Isabella came forth to
this reception, and took her seat beside
the queen. When the court were all
seated, the music again sounded through
the hall, and the twenty ladies came
forth, as on the preceding occasion,
richly attired, but in different raiment.
They danced, as before; and the Infanta
Isabella, taking a young Portuguese
damsel for a partner, joined in the dance.
When this was concluded, the king and
queen dismissed the alcayde de los Donzeles
with great courtesy, and the court
broke up."

The worthy Fray Antonio Agapida
here indulges in a long eulogy on the
scrupulous discrimination of the Castilian
court, in the distribution of its honours
and rewards; by which means every
smile, and gesture, and word, of the
sovereigns had its certain value, and conveyed
its equivalent of joy to the heart
of the subject: "a matter well worthy
the study," says he, "of all monarchs;
who are too apt to distribute honours
with a heedless caprice, that renders
them of no avail.

"On the following Sunday, both the
Count de Cabra and the alcayde de los
Donzeles were invited to sup with the
sovereigns. The court, that evening,
was attended by the highest nobility, arrayed
with that cost and splendour for
which the Spanish nobility of those days
was renowned.

"Before supper, there was a stately
and ceremonious dance, befitting the dignity
of so august a court. The king led
forth the queen, in grave and graceful
measure; the Count de Cabra was honoured
with the hand of the Infanta Isabella;
and the alcayde de los Donzeles
danced with a daughter of the Marquis
de Astorga.

"The dance being concluded, the
royal party repaired to the supper-table,
which was placed on an elevated part of
the saloon. Here, in full view of the
court, the Count de Cabra and the alcayde
de los Donzeles supped at the same table
with the king, the queen, and the infanta.
The royal family were served by the
Marquis of Villena. The cup-bearer to
the king was his nephew, Fadrique de
Toledo, son to the Duke of Alva. Don
Alonso de Estañiga had the honour of
fulfilling that office for the queen, and
Tello de Aguilar for the infanta. Other
cavaliers of rank and distinction waited
on the count and the alcayde de los Donzeles.
At one o'clock, the two distinguished
guests were dismissed, with many
courteous expressions, by the sovereigns.[38]

"Such," says Fray Antonio Agapida,
"were the great honours, paid at our
most exalted and ceremonious court, to
these renowned cavaliers. But the gratitude
of the sovereigns did not end here.
A few days afterwards, they bestowed
upon them large revenues for life, and
others to descend to their heirs; with the
privilege, for them and their descendants,
to prefix the title of Don to their names.
They gave them, moreover, as armorial
bearings, a Moor's head crowned, with a
golden chain round the neck, in a sanguine
field, and twenty-two banners round
the margin of the escutcheon. Their
descendants, of the houses of Cabra and
Cordova, continue to bear these arms at
the present day, in memorial of the victory
of Lucena, and the capture of Boabdil
el Chico."

CHAPTER XXV.

The valiant Roderigo Ponce de Leon,
Marquis of Cadiz, was one of the most
vigilant of commanders. He kept in his
pay a number of converted Moors, to
serve as adalides or armed guides. These
mongrel Christians were of great service
in procuring information. Availing themselves

of their Moorish character and
tongue, they penetrated into the enemy's
country, prowled about the castles and
fortresses, noticed the state of the walls,
the gates, and towers; the strength of
their garrisons, and the vigilance or negligence
of their commanders. All this
they reported minutely to the marquis;
who thus knew the state of every fortress
upon the frontier, and when it might be
attacked with advantage. Besides the
various towns and cities over which he
held a feudal sway, he had always an
armed force about him, ready for the
field. A host of retainers fed in his hall,
who were ready to follow him to danger,
and death itself, without inquiring who,
or why, they fought. The armories of
his castles were supplied with helms, and
cuirasses, and weapons of all kinds,
ready burnished for use; and his stables
were filled with hardy steeds, that could
stand a mountain scamper.

The marquis was aware, that the late
defeat of the Moors, on the banks of the
Lopera, had weakened their whole frontier;
for many of the castles and fortresses
had lost their alcaydes and their
choicest troops. He sent out his war-hounds,
therefore, upon the range, to ascertain
where a successful blow might
be struck; and they soon returned with
word, that Zahara was weakly garrisoned,
and short of provisions.

This was the very fortress which,
about two years before, had been stormed
by Muley Aben Hassan; and its capture
had been the first blow of this eventful
war. It had ever since remained a
thorn in the side of Andalusia. All the
Christians had been carried away captive,
and no civil population had been
introduced in their stead. There were
no women or children in the place. It
was kept up as a mere military post,
commanding one of the most important
passes of the mountains, and was a stronghold
of Moorish marauders. The marquis
was animated by the idea of regaining
this fortress for his sovereigns, and
wresting from the old Moorish king this
boasted trophy of his prowess.

He sent missives, therefore, to the
brave Luis Fernandez Puerto Carrero,
who had distinguished himself in the late
victory, and to Juan Almaraz, captain of
the men-at-arms of the Holy Brotherhood,
informing them of his designs, and inviting
them to meet him with their forces
on the banks of the Guadalete.

"It was on the day," says Fray Antonio
Agapida, "of the glorious apostles
St. Simon and Judas, the 28th of October,
in the year of grace 1483, that this chosen
hand of Christian soldiers assembled, suddenly
and secretly, at the appointed place.
Their forces, when united, amounted to
six hundred horse and fifteen hundred
foot. Their gathering-place was at the
entrance of the defile leading to Zahara.
That ancient town, renowned in Moorish
warfare, is situated in one of the roughest
passes of the Serrania de Ronda. It is
built round the craggy cone of a hill, on
the lofty summit of which is a strong
castle. The country around is broken
into deep barrancas or ravines, some of
which approach its very walls. The
place had, until recently, been considered
impregnable; but," as the worthy Fray
Antonio Agapida observes, "the walls of
impregnable fortresses, like the virtue of
self-confident saints, have their weak
points of attack."

The Marquis of Cadiz advanced with
his little army in the dead of the night,
marching silently up the deep and dark
defiles of the mountains, and stealing up
the ravines, which extended to the walls
of the town. Their approach was so
noiseless, that the Moorish sentinels
upon the walls heard not a voice or a
foot fall. The Marquis was accompanied
by his old escalador, Ortega de Prado,
who had distinguished himself at the
scaling of Alhama. This hardy veteran
was stationed, with ten men, furnished
with scaling-ladders, in a cavity among
the rocks, close to the walls: at a little
distance seventy men were hid in a
ravine, to be at hand to second him,
when he should have fixed his ladders.
The rest of the troops were concealed in
another ravine, commanding a fair approach
to the gate of the fortress. A
shrewd and wary adalide, well acquainted
with the place, was appointed to give signals;
and was so stationed, that he could
be seen by the various parties in ambush,
but was hidden from the garrison.

The remainder of the night passed
away in profound quiet. The Moorish

sentinels could be heard tranquilly patrolling
the walls, in perfect security.
The day dawned, and the rising sun began
to shine against the lofty peaks of
the Serrania de Ronda. The sentinels
looked, from their battlements, over a
savage but quiet mountain country, where
not a human being was stirring. They
little dreamed of the mischief that lay
lurking in every ravine and chasm of
the rocks around them. Apprehending
no danger of surprise in broad day, the
greater part of the soldiers abandoned
the walls and towers, and descended into
the city.

By orders of the marquis, a small
body of light cavalry passed along the
glen, and, turning round a point of rock,
showed themselves before the town.
They skirred the fields almost to the
gates, as if by way of bravado, and to
defy the garrison to a skirmish. The
Moors were not slow in replying to it.
About seventy horse and a number of
foot, who had guarded the walls, sallied
forth impetuously, thinking to make easy
prey of these insolent marauders. The
Christian horsemen fled for the ravine; the
Moors pursued them down the hill, until
they heard a great shouting and tumult
behind them. Looking round, they beheld
their town assailed, and a scaling party
mounting the walls, sword in hand.
Wheeling about, they galloped furiously
for the gate. The Marquis of Cadiz and
Luis Fernandez Puerto Carrero rushed
forth at the same time, with their ambuscade,
and endeavoured to cut them off, but
the Moors succeeded in throwing themselves
within the walls.

While Puerto Carrero stormed at the
gate the marquis put spurs to his horse,
and galloped to the support of Ortega de
Prado and his scaling party. He arrived
at a moment of imminent peril, when the
party was assailed by fifty Moors, armed
with cuirasses and lances, who were on
the point of thrusting them from the
walls. The marquis sprang from his
horse, mounted a ladder, sword in hand,
followed by a number of his troops, and
made a vigorous attack upon the enemy.[39]
They were soon driven from the walls,
and the gates and towers remained in
possession of the Christians. The Moors
defended themselves for a short time in
the street; but at length took refuge in
the castle, the walls of which were strong,
and capable of holding out until relief
should arrive. The marquis had no
desire to carry on a siege, and he had not
provisions sufficient for many prisoners:
he granted them, therefore, favourable
terms. They were permitted, on leaving
their arms behind them, to march out,
with as much of their effects as they
could carry; and it was stipulated, that
they should pass over to Barbary. The
marquis remained in the place, until both
town and castle were put in a perfect
state of defence, and strongly garrisoned.

Thus did Zahara return once more
into the possession of the Christians, to
the great confusion of old Muley Aben
Hassan; who, having paid the penalty of
his ill-timed violence, was now deprived
of its vaunted fruits. The Castilian
sovereigns were so gratified by this
achievement of the valiant Ponce de
Leon, that they authorized him, thenceforth,
to entitle himself Duke of Cadiz
and Marquis of Zahara. The warrior,
however, was so proud of the original
title, under which he had so often signalized
himself, that he gave it the precedence,
and always signed himself
Marquis Duke of Cadiz. As the reader
may have acquired the same predilection,
we shall continue to call him by his
ancient title.

CHAPTER XXVI.

In this part of his chronicle the worthy
Fray Antonio Agapida indulges in triumphant
exultation over the downfall of
Zahara. "Heaven sometimes speaks,"
says he, "through the mouths of false
prophets, for the confusion of the wicked.
By the fall of the fortress was the prediction
of the santon of Granada in some
measure fulfilled, that the ruins of Zahara
should fall upon the heads of the
infidels."

Our zealous chronicler scoffs at the
Moorish alcayde, who lost his fortress by
surprise, in broad daylight; and contrasts
the vigilance of the Christian governor

of Alhama, the town taken in
retaliation for the storming of Zahara.

The important post of Alhama was at
this time confided, by King Ferdinand,
to Don Diego Lopez de Mendoza, Count
de Tendilla; a cavalier of noble blood,
brother to the grand cardinal of Spain.
He had been instructed by the king, not
merely to maintain his post, but also to
make sallies, and lay waste the surrounding
country. His fortress was critically
stationed. It was within seven leagues
of Granada, and at no great distance from
the warlike city of Loxa. It was nestled
in the lap of the mountains, commanding
the high road to Malaga, and a view over
the extensive vega. Thus situate, in the
heart of the enemy's country, surrounded
by foes ready to assail him, and a rich
country for him to ravage, it behoved this
cavalier to be for ever on the alert. He was
in fact an experienced veteran, a shrewd
and wary officer, and a commander amazingly
prompt and fertile in expedients.

On assuming the command, he found,
that the garrison consisted but of one
thousand men, horse and foot. They
were hardy troops, seasoned in rough
mountain campaigning; but reckless and
dissolute, as soldiers are apt to be, when
accustomed to predatory warfare. They
would fight hard for booty, and then
gamble it heedlessly away, or squander
it in licentious revellings. Alhama
abounded with hawking, sharping, idle
hangers-on, eager to profit by the vices
and follies of the garrison. The soldiers
were oftener gambling and dancing beneath
the walls, than keeping watch upon
the battlements; and nothing was heard
from morning till night, but the noisy
contest of cards and dice, mingled with
the sound of the bolero or fandango, the
drowsy strumming of the guitar, and the
rattling of the castanets; while often the
whole was interrupted by the loud brawl
and fierce and bloody contest.

The Count de Tendilla set himself
vigorously to reform these excesses.
He knew, that laxity of morals is generally
attended by neglect of duty; and
that the least breach of discipline, in the
exposed situation of his fortress, might
be fatal. "Here is but a handful of
men," said he: "it is necessary that
each man should be a hero."

He endeavoured to awaken a proper
ambition in the minds of his soldiers, and
to instil into them the high principles of
chivalry. "A just war," he observed,
"is often rendered wicked and disastrous
by the manner in which it is conducted:
for the righteousness of the cause is not
sufficient to sanction the profligacy of the
means; and the want of order and subordination
among the troops may bring
ruin and disgrace upon the best concerted
plans." But we cannot describe the
character and conduct of this renowned
commander in more forcible language
than that of Fray Antonio Agapida, excepting,
that the pious father places, in
the foreground of his virtues, his hatred
of the Moors.

"The Count de Tendilla," says he,
"was a mirror of Christian knighthood:
watchful, abstemious, chaste, devout, and
thoroughly filled with the spirit of the
cause. He laboured incessantly and
strenuously for the glory of the faith, and
the prosperity of their most catholic
majesties; and, above all, he hated the
infidels with a pure and holy hatred.
This worthy cavalier discountenanced
all idleness, rioting, chambering, and
wantonness, among his soldiers. He
kept them constantly to the exercise of
arms, making them adroit in the use of
their weapons and management of their
steeds, and prompt for the field at a
moment's notice. He permitted no sound
of lute, or harp, or song, or other loose
minstrelsy, to be heard in his fortress;
debauching the ear and softening the
valour of the soldier: no other music was
allowed but the wholesome rolling of the
drums and braying of the trumpet, and
such like spirit-stirring instruments, as
fill the mind with thoughts of iron war.
All wandering minstrels, sharping pedlers,
sturdy trulls, and other camp trumpery,
were ordered to pack up their
baggage, and were drummed out of the
gates of Alhama. In place of such rabble,
he introduced a train of holy friars,
to inspirit his people by exhortation, and
prayer, and choral chanting; and to spur
them on to fight the good fight of faith.
All games of chance were prohibited,
except the game of war; and this he
laboured, by vigilance and vigour, to reduce
to a game of certainty. Heaven

smiled upon the efforts of this righteous
cavalier. His men became soldiers at
all points, and terrors to the Moors. The
good count never set forth on a ravage
without observing the rights of confession,
absolution, and communion, and
obliging his followers to do the same.
Their banners were blessed by the holy
friars whom he maintained in Alhama;
and, in this way, success was secured to
his arms; and he was enabled to lay
waste the land of the heathen.

"The fortress of Alhama," continues
Fray Antonio Agapida, "overlooked,
from its lofty site, a great part of the
fertile vega, watered by the Cazin and
the Xenil. From this he made frequent
sallies, sweeping away the flocks and
herds from the pasture, the labourer
from the field, and the convoy from the
road; so that it was said by the Moors,
that a beetle could not crawl across the
vega without being seen by the Count
de Tendilla. The peasantry, therefore,
were fain to betake themselves to watchtowers
and fortified hamlets, where they
shut up their cattle, garnered their corn,
and sheltered their wives and children.
Even there they were not safe: the
count would storm these rustic fortresses
with fire and sword; make captives
of their inhabitants; carry off the
corn, the oil, the silks, and cattle; and
leave the ruins blazing and smoking,
within the very sight of Granada.

"It was a pleasing and refreshing
sight," continues the good father, "to
behold the pious knight and his followers
returning from one of these crusades,
leaving the rich land of the infidel
in smoking desolation behind them.
To behold the long line of mules and
asses, laden with the plunder of the
Gentiles, the hosts of captive Moors,
men, women, and children; droves of
sturdy beeves, lowing kine, and bleating
sheep; all winding up the steep acclivity
to the gates of Alhama, pricked on by
the catholic soldiery. His garrison thus
thrived on the fat of the land and the
spoil of the infidel: nor was he unmindful
of the pious fathers, whose blessings
crowned his enterprises with success; a
large portion of the spoil was always
dedicated to the church, and the good
friars were ever ready at the gates to
hail him on his return, and receive the
share allotted them. Besides these allotments,
he made many votive offerings,
either in time of peril or on the eve of a
foray; and the chapels of Alhama were
resplendent with chalices, crosses, and
other precious gifts, made by this catholic
cavalier."

Thus eloquently does the venerable
Fray Antonio Agapida dilate in praise
of the good Count de Tendilla; and
other historians, of equal veracity but
less unction, agree in pronouncing him
one of the ablest of Spanish generals.
So terrible, in fact, did he become in the
land, that the Moorish peasantry could
not venture a league from Granada or
Loxa, to labour in the fields, without peril
of being carried into captivity. The people
of Granada clamoured against Muley
Aben Hassan for suffering his lands to
be thus outraged and insulted, and demanded
to have this bold marauder shut
up in his fortress. The old monarch
was roused by their remonstrances. He
sent forth powerful troops of horse to
protect the country during the season
that the husbandmen were abroad in the
fields. These troops patrolled, in formidable
squadrons, in the neighbourhood
of Alhama, keeping strict watch upon
its gates, so that it was impossible for
the Christians to make a sally, without
being seen and interrupted.

While Alhama was thus blockaded by
a roving force of Moorish cavalry, the
inhabitants were awakened one night,
by a tremendous crash, that shook the
fortress to its foundations. The garrison
flew to arms, supposing it some
assault of the enemy. The alarm
proved to have been caused by a rapture
of a portion of the wall, which,
undermined by heavy rains, had suddenly
given way, leaving a large chasm
yawning towards the plain.

The Count de Tendilla was for a time
in great anxiety. Should this breach be
discovered by the blockading horsemen,
they would arouse the country. Granada
and Loxa would pour out an overwhelming
force, and they would find
his walls ready sapped for an assault.
In this fearful emergency, the count displayed
his noted talent for expedients.
He ordered a quantity of linen cloth to

be stretched in front of the breach,
painted in imitation of stone, and indented
with battlements, so as, at a
distance, to resemble the other parts of
the walls. Behind this screen, he employed
workmen, day and night, in repairing
the fracture. No one was permitted
to leave the fortress, lest information
of its defenceless plight should be
carried to the Moors. Light squadrons
of the enemy were seen hovering about
the plain, but none approached near
enough to discover the deception; and
thus, in the course of a few days, the
wall was rebuilt stronger than before.

There was another expedient of this
shrewd veteran, which greatly excites
the marvel of Agapida. "It happened,"
he observes, "that this catholic cavalier
at one time was destitute of gold and
silver, wherewith to pay the wages of
his troops; and the soldiers murmured
greatly, seeing that they had not the
means of purchasing necessaries from
the people of the town. In this dilemma,
what does this most sagacious commander?
He takes him a number of
little morsels of paper, on which he
inscribed various sums, large and small,
according to the nature of the case, and
signs them with his own hand and name.
These did he give to the soldiery, in
earnest of their pay. How! you will
say, are soldiers to be paid with scraps
of paper? Even so, I answer, and well
paid too, as I will presently make manifest:
for the good count issued a proclamation,
ordering the inhabitants of
Alhama to take these morsels of paper
for the full amount thereon inscribed,
promising to redeem them, at a future
time, with silver and gold, and threatening
a severe punishment, to all who
should refuse. The people, having full
confidence in his words, and trusting,
that he would be as willing to perform
the one promise, as he certainly was
able to perform the other, took these
curious morsels of paper without hesitation
or demur.

"Thus, by a subtle and most miraculous
kind of alchymy, did this catholic
cavalier turn worthless paper into precious
gold, and make his late impoverished
garrison abound in money."

It is but just to add, that the Count
de Tendilla redeemed his promises like
a loyal knight; and this miracle, as it
appeared in the eyes of Fray Antonio
Agapida, is the first instance on record
of paper money, which has since inundated
the civilized world with unbounded
opulence.

CHAPTER XXVII.

The Spanish cavaliers, who had survived
the memorable massacre among
the mountains of Malaga, although they
had repeatedly avenged the death of
their companions, yet could not forget
the horror and humiliation of their defeat.
Nothing would satisfy them but
to undertake a second expedition of the
kind, to carry fire and sword throughout
a wide part of the Moorish territories,
and to leave all those regions, which
had triumphed in their disaster, a black
and burning monument of their vengeance.
Their wishes accorded with
the policy of the king, who desired to
lay waste the country, and destroy the
resources of the enemy; every assistance
was therefore given, to promote
and accomplish their enterprise.

In the spring of 1484, the ancient
city of Antequera again resounded with
arms. Numbers of the same cavaliers,
who had assembled there so gaily the
preceding year, again came wheeling
into the gates, with their steeled and
shining warriors, but with a more dark
and solemn brow than on that disastrous
occasion; for they had the recollection
of their slaughtered friends present to
their minds, whose deaths they were to
avenge.

In a little while there was a chosen
force of six thousand horse and twelve
thousand foot assembled in Antequera,
many of them the very flower of Spanish
chivalry, troops of the established
military and religious orders, and of the
Holy Brotherhood.

Every precaution had been taken to
provide this army with all things needful
for its extensive and perilous inroad.
Numerous surgeons accompanied it, who
were to attend upon the sick and wounded,
without charge, being paid for their

services by the queen. Isabella also,
in her considerate humanity, provided
six spacious tents, furnished with beds,
and all things requisite for the wounded
and infirm. These continued to be used
in all great expeditions throughout the
war, and were called the Queen's Hospital.
The worthy father, Fray Antonio
Agapida, vaunts this benignant provision
of the queen, as the first introduction
of a regular camp hospital in
campaigning service.

Thus thoroughly prepared, the cavaliers
issued forth from Antequera in
splendid and terrible array, but with
less exulting confidence and vaunting
ostentation than on their former foray:
and this was the order of the army.

Don Alonso de Aguilar led the advanced
guard, accompanied by Don
Diego Fernandez de Cordova, alcayde
de los Donzeles, and Luis Fernandez
Puerto Carrero, Count of Palma, with
their household troops. They were
followed by Juan de Merlo, Juan de
Almara, and Carlos de Biezman, of the
Holy Brotherhood, with the men-at-arms
of their captaincies.

The second battalion was commanded
by the Marquis of Cadiz and the Master
of Santiago, with the cavaliers of Santiago,
and the troops of the house of
Ponce de Leon: with these also went
the senior commander of Calatrava, and
the knights of that order, and various
other cavaliers and their retainers.

The right wing of this second battalion
was led by Gonsalvo de Cordova,
afterwards renowned as grand captain
of Spain: the left wing, by Diego Lopez
de Avila. They were accompanied by
several cavaliers, and certain captains of
the Holy Brotherhood, with their menat-arms.

The Duke of Medina Sidonia and the
Count de Cabra commanded the third
battalion, with the troops of their respective
houses. They were accompanied
by other commanders of note, with
their forces.

The rearguard was brought up by the
senior commander and knights of Alcantara,
followed by the Andalusian chivalry,
from Xeres, Ecija, and Carmona.

Such was the army that issued forth
from the gates of Antequera, on one of
the most extensive talas, or devastating
inroads, that ever laid waste the kingdom
of Granada.

The army entered the Moorish territory
by the way of Alora, destroying
all the cornfields, vineyards, and orchards,
and plantations of olives, round
that city. It then proceeded through
the rich valleys and fertile uplands of
Coin, Cazaraboncla, Almexia, and Cartama,
and, in ten days, all those fertile
regious were a smoking and frightful
desert. From hence it pursued its slow
and destructive course, like the stream
of lava of a volcano, through the regions
of Pupiana, and Alhendin, and so
on to the vega of Malaga, laying waste
the groves of olives and almonds, and
the fields of grain, and destroying every
green thing. The Moors of some of
those places interceded in vain for their
groves and fields, offering to deliver up
their Christian captives. One part of the
army blockaded the towns, while the
other ravaged the surrounding country.
Sometimes the Moors sallied forth desperately
to defend their property, but
were driven back to their gates with
slaughter, and their suburbs pillaged and
burnt. It was an awful spectacle at
night, to behold the volumes of black
smoke, mingled with lurid flames, that
rose from the burning suburbs, and the
women on the walls of the town, wringing
their hands, and shrieking at the
desolation of their dwellings.

The destroying army, on arriving at
the sea-coast, found vessels lying off
shore, laden with all kinds of provisions
and munitions for its use, which had
been sent from Seville and Xeres. It
was thus enabled to continue its desolating
career. Advancing to the neighbourhood
of Malaga, it was bravely
assailed by the Moors of that city, and
there was severe skirmishing for a whole
day; but while the main part of the
army encountered the enemy, the rest
ravaged the whole vega, and destroyed
all the mills. As the object of the expedition
was not to capture places, but
merely to burn, ravage, and destroy, the
host, satisfied with the mischief they
had done in the vega, turned their backs
upon Malaga, and again entered the
mountains. They passed by Coin, and

through the regions of Allagagna, and
Gatero, and Alhamin; all which were
likewise desolated. In this way did
they make the circuit of that chain of
rich and verdant valleys, the glory of
those mountains, and the pride and delight
of the Moors. For forty days did
they continue on, like a consuming fire,
leaving a smoking and howling waste to
mark their course, until, weary with the
work of destruction, and having fully
sated their revenge for the massacre of
the Axarquia, they returned in triumph
to the meadows of Antequera.

In the month of June, King Ferdinand
took command in person of this destructive
army. He increased its force; and
he added to its means of mischief several
lombards, and other heavy artillery, intended
for the battering of towns, and
managed by engineers from France and
Germany. With these, the Marquis of
Cadiz assured the king, he would soon
be able to reduce the Moorish fortresses.
They were only calculated for defence
against the engines anciently used in
warfare. Their walls and towers were
high and thin, depending on their rough
and rocky situations. The stone and
iron balls, thundered from the lombards,
would soon tumble them in ruins upon
the heads of their defenders.

The fate of Alora speedily proved the
truth of this opinion. It was strongly
posted on a rock, washed by a river.
The artillery soon battered down two of
the towers, and a part of the wall. The
Moors were thrown into consternation at
the vehemence of the assault, and the
effect of these tremendous engines upon
their vaunted bulwarks. The roaring of
the artillery, and the tumbling of the
walls, terrified the women; who beset
the alcayde with vociferous supplications
to surrender. The place was given up
on the 20th of June, on condition that
the inhabitants might depart with their
effects. The people of Malaga, as yet
unacquainted with the power of this battering
ordnance, were so incensed at
those of Alora, for what they considered
a tame surrender, that they would not
admit them into their city.

A similar fate attended the town of
Setenil, built on a lofty rock, and esteemed
impregnable. Many times had
it been besieged under former Christian
kings, but never had it been taken.
Even now, for several days, the artillery
was directed against it without effect;
and many of the cavaliers murmured at
the Marquis of Cadiz, for having counselled
the king to attack this unconquerable
place.[40]

On the same night that these reproaches
were uttered, the marquis
directed the artillery himself. He levelled
the lombards at the bottom of the
walls, and at the gates. In a little while,
the gates were battered to pieces; a great
breach was effected in the walls; and the
Moors were fain to capitulate. Twenty-four
Christian captives, who had been
taken in the defeat of the mountains of
Malaga, were rescued from the dungeons
of this fortress, and hailed the Marquis
of Cadiz as their deliverer.

Needless is it to mention the capture
of various other places, which surrendered
without waiting to be attacked.
The Moors had always shown great
bravery and perseverance in defending
their towns; they were formidable in
their sallies and skirmishes, and patient
in enduring hunger and thirst when besieged:
but this terrible ordnance, which
demolished their walls with such ease
and rapidity, overwhelmed them with
confusion and dismay, and rendered vain
all resistance. King Ferdinand was so
struck with the force of this artillery,
that he ordered the number of lombards
to be increased; and these potent engines
had henceforth a great influence on the
fortunes of the war.

The last operation of this year, so
disastrous to the Moors, was an inroad
by King Ferdinand, in the latter part of
summer, into the vega; in which he
ravaged the country, burned two villages
near to Granada, and destroyed
the mills close to the very gates of the
city.

Old Muley Aben Hassan was overwhelmed
with dismay at this desolation;
which, during the whole year, had been
raging throughout his territories, and
now reached to the walls of his capital.
His fierce spirit was broken by misfortunes
and infirmity: he offered to purchase

a peace, and to hold his crown as
a tributary vassal. Ferdinand would
listen to no propositions; the absolute
conquest of Granada was the great
object of the war; and he was resolved
never to rest content without its complete
fulfilment. Having supplied and strengthened
the garrisons of the places he had
taken in the heart of the Moorish territories,
he enjoined their commanders to
render every assistance to the younger
Moorish king, in the civil war against
his father. He then returned with his
army to Cordova, in great triumph;
closing a series of ravaging campaigns,
that had filled the kingdom of Granada
with grief and consternation.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

During this year of sorrow and disaster
to the Moors, the younger king,
Boabdil, most truly called the unfortunate,
held a diminished and feeble court
in the maritime city of Almeria. He
retained little more than the name of
king; and was supported, in even this
shadow of royalty by the countenance
and treasures of the Castilian sovereigns.
Still he trusted that, in the fluctuation of
events, the inconstant nation might once
more return to his standard, and replace
him on the throne of the Alhambra.

His mother, the high-spirited sultana
Ayxa la Horra, endeavoured to rouse
him from this passive state. "It is a
feeble mind," said she, "that waits for
the turn of fortune's wheel; the brave
mind seizes upon it, and turns it to its
purpose. Take the field, and you may
drive danger before you; remain cowering
at home, and it besieges you in your
dwelling. By a bold enterprise, you may
regain your splendid throne in Granada;
by passive forbearance, you will forfeit
even this miserable throne in Almeria."

Boabdil had not the force of soul to
follow these courageous counsels; and,
in a little time, the evils his mother had
predicted fell upon him.

Old Muley Aben Hassan was almost
extinguished by age and infirmity. He
had nearly lost his sight, and was completely
bed-ridden. His brother Abdalla,
surnamed El Zagal, or "the valiant," the
same who had assisted in the massacre of
the Spanish chivalry among the mountains
of Malaga, was commander-in-chief
of the Moorish armies; and gradually
took upon himself most of the cares of
sovereignty. Among other things, he
was particularly zealous in espousing
his brother's quarrel with his son; and
he prosecuted it with such vehemence,
that many affirmed there was something
more than fraternal sympathy at the bottom
of his zeal.

The disasters and disgraces inflicted
on the country by the Christians, during
this year, had wounded the national feelings
of the people of Almeria; and many
had felt indignant, that Boabdil should
remain passive at such a time; or rather,
should appear to make a common cause
with the enemy. His uncle Abdalla diligently
fomented this feeling by his agents.
The same arts were made use of, that had
been successful in Granada. Boabdil was
secretly, but actively, denounced by the
alfaquis as an apostate, leagued with the
Christians against his country and his
early faith. The affections of the populace
and soldiery were gradually alienated
from him, and a deep conspiracy
concerted for his destruction. In the
month of February, 1485, El Zagal suddenly
appeared before Almeria, at the
head of a troop of horse. The alfaquis
were prepared for his arrival, and the
gates were thrown open to him. He
entered, with his band, and galloped to
the citadel. The alcayde would have
made resistance; but the garrison put
him to death, and received El Zagal with
acclamations. El Zagal rushed through
the apartments of the alcazar, but he
sought in vain for Boabdil. He found
the sultana Ayxa la Horra in one of the
saloons, with Ben Ahagete, a younger
brother of the monarch, a valiant Abencerrage,
and several attendants, who
rallied round them to protect them.
"Where is the traitor Boabdil?" exclaimed
El Zagal. "I know no traitor
more perfidious than thyself," exclaimed
the intrepid sultana: "and I trust my
son is in safety, to take vengeance on
thy treason." The rage of El Zagal
was without bounds, when he learned
that his intended victim had escaped.

In his fury he slew the prince, Ben
Ahagete: and his followers fell upon
and massacred the Abencerrage and
attendants. As to the proud sultana,
she was borne away prisoner, and loaded
with revilings; as having upheld her
son in his rebellion, and fomented a civil
war.

The unfortunate Boabdil had been apprised
of his danger by a faithful soldier,
just in time to make his escape. Throwing
himself on one of the fleetest horses
of his stables, and followed by a handful
of adherents, he had galloped, in the
confusion, out of the gates of Almeria.
Several of the cavalry of El Zagal, who
were stationed without the walls, perceived
his flight, and attempted to pursue
him. Their horses were jaded with travel,
and he soon left them far behind.
But whither was he to fly? Every fortress
and castle in the kingdom was
closed against him. He knew not whom
among the Moors to trust; for they had
been taught to detest him, as a traitor
and an apostate. He had no alternative
but to seek refuge among the Christians,
his hereditary enemies. With a heavy
heart, he turned his horse's head towards
Cordova. He had to lurk, like a fugitive,
through a part of his own dominions;
nor did he feel himself secure until he
had passed the frontier, and beheld the
mountain barrier of his country towering
behind him. Then it was that he became
conscious of his humiliating state:
a fugitive from his throne; an outcast
from his nation; a king without a kingdom.
He smote his breast in an agony
of grief. "Evil indeed," exclaimed he,
"was the day of my birth; and truly
was I named El Zogoybi, the unlucky!"

He entered the gates of Cordova with
downcast countenance, and with a train
of only forty followers. The sovereigns
were absent; but the cavaliers of Andalusia
manifested that sympathy in the
misfortunes of the monarch, that becomes
men of lofty and chivalrous souls. They
received him with the greatest distinction,
attended him with the utmost courtesy;
and he was honourably entertained by
the civil and military commanders of
that ancient city.

In the mean time, El Zagal put a new
alcayde over Almeria, to govern in the
name of his brother; and having strongly
garrisoned the place, he repaired to Malaga,
where an attack of the Christians was
apprehended. The young monarch being
driven out of the land, and the old monarch
blind and bed-ridden, El Zagal, at
the head of the armies, was virtually the
sovereign of Granada. The people were
pleased with having a new idol to look
up to, and a new name to shout forth;
and El Zagal was hailed with acclamations,
as the main hope of the nation.

CHAPTER XXIX.

The great effect of the battering ordnance,
in demolishing the Moorish fortresses,
in the preceding year, induced
King Ferdinand to procure a powerful
train for the campaign of 1485; in the
course of which he resolved to assault
some of the most formidable holds of
the enemy. An army of nine thousand
cavalry and twenty thousand infantry assembled
at Cordova early in the spring;
and the king took the field on the 5th of
April. It had been determined, in secret
council, to attack the city of Malaga, that
ancient and important seaport, on which
Granada depended for foreign aid and
supplies. It was thought proper previously,
however, to get possession of
various towns and fortresses in the
valleys of Santa Maria and Cartama,
through which pass the roads to Malaga.

The first place assailed was the town
of Benamaquex. It had submitted to the
catholic sovereigns in the preceding year,
but had since renounced its allegiance.
King Ferdinand was enraged at the rebellion
of the inhabitants. "I will make
their punishment," said he, "a terror to
others: they shall be loyal through force,
if not through faith." The place was
carried by storm; one hundred and eight
of the principal inhabitants were either
put to the sword or hanged on the battlements.
The rest were carried into captivity.[41]

The towns of Coin and Cartama were
besieged on the same day; the first by a

division of the army led on by the Marquis
of Cadiz; the second by another
division, commanded by Don Alonso de
Aguilar, and Luis Fernandez Puerto
Carrero, the brave senior of Palma. The
king, with the rest of the army, remained
posted between the two places, to render
assistance to either division. The batteries
opened upon both places at the
same time; and the thunder of the lombards
was mutually heard from one camp
to the other. The Moors made frequent
sallies, and a valiant defence; but they
were confounded by the tremendous uproar
of the batteries, and the destruction
of their walls. In the mean time, the
alarm-fires gathered together the Moorish
mountaineers of the Serrania, who assembled
in great numbers in the city of
Monda, about a league from Coin.

They made several attempts to enter
the besieged town, but in vain; they
were each time intercepted and driven
back by the Christians, and were reduced
to gaze at a distance, in despair, on the
destruction of the place. While thus
situated, there rode one day into Monda
a fierce and haughty Moorish chieftain,
at the head of a band of swarthy African
horsemen. It was Hamet el Zegri, the
fiery-spirited alcayde of Ronda, at the
head of his band of Gomeres. He had
not yet recovered from the rage and mortification
of his defeat on the banks of
the Lopera, in the disastrous foray of old
Bexir, when he had been obliged to steal
back to his mountains, with the loss of
his bravest followers. He had ever since
panted for revenge. He now rode among
the host of warriors assembled at Monda.
"Who among you," cried he, "feels
pity for the women and children of Coin,
exposed to captivity and death? Whoever
he is, let him follow me, who am
ready to die as a Moslem for the relief
of Moslems!" So saying, he seized a
white banner, and, waving it over his
head, rode forth from the town, followed
by the Gomeres. Many of the warriors,
roused by his words and his example,
spurred resolutely after his banner. The
people of Coin, being prepared for this
attempt, sallied forth as they saw the
white banner, and made an attack upon
the Christian camp; and, in the confusion
of the moment, Hamet and his followers
galloped into the gates. This
reinforcement animated the besieged, and
Hamet exhorted them to hold out obstinately
in defence of life and the town.
As the Gomeres were veteran warriors,
the more they were attacked, the harder
they fought.

At length, a great breach was made
in the walls; and Ferdinand, who was
impatient of the resistance of the place,
ordered the Duke of Naxera and the
Count of Benavente to enter with their
troops; and, as their forces were not
sufficient, he sent word to Luis de Cerda,
Duke of Medina Celi, to send a part of
his people to their assistance.

The feudal pride of the duke was
roused at this demand. "Tell my lord
the king," said the haughty grandee,
"that I have come to succour him with
my household troops. If my people are
ordered to any place, I am to go with
them; but if I am to remain in the camp,
they must remain with me: for troops
cannot serve without their commander,
nor their commander without his troops."

The reply of the high-spirited grandee
perplexed the cautious Ferdinand, who
knew the jealous pride of his powerful
nobles. In the mean time, the people
of the camp, having made all preparations
for the assault, were impatient to be
led forward. Upon this Pero Ruyz de
Alarcon put himself at their head, and,
seizing their mantas, or portable bulwarks,
and their other defences, they
made a gallant assault, and fought their
way in at the breach. The Moors were
so overcome by the fury of their assault,
that they retreated fighting to the square
of the town. Pero Ruyz de Alarcon
thought the place was carried, when suddenly
Hamet and his Gomeres came
scouring through the streets with wild
war-cries, and fell furiously upon the
Christians. The latter were, in their
turn, beaten back; and, while attacked
in front by the Gomeres, were assailed
by the inhabitants with all kinds of missiles,
from their roofs and windows.
They at length gave way, and retreated
through the breach. Pero Ruyz de
Alarcon still maintained his ground in
one of the principal streets. The few
cavaliers that stood by him urged him to
fly: "No," said he, "I came here to

fight, and not to fly!" He was presently
surrounded by the Gomeres. His companions
fled for their lives. Before they
fled, they saw him covered with wounds,
but still fighting desperately for the fame
of a good cavalier.[42]

The resistance of the inhabitants,
though aided by the valour of the Gomeres,
was of no avail. The battering
artillery of the Christians demolished
their walls; combustibles were thrown
into their town, which set it on fire in
various places, and they were at length
compelled to capitulate. They were permitted
to depart with their effects, and
the Gomeres with their arms. Hamet el
Zegri and his African band sallied forth,
and rode proudly through the Christian
camp; nor could the Spanish cavaliers
refrain from regarding with admiration
that haughty warrior and his devoted
and dauntless adherents.

The capture of Coin was accompanied
by that of Cartama. The fortifications
of the latter were repaired and garrisoned;
but Coin being too extensive to be
defended by a moderate force, its walls
were demolished. The siege of these
places struck such terror into the surrounding
country, that the Moors of
many of the neighbouring towns abandoned
their homes, and fled, with such
of their effects as they could carry away:
upon which the king gave orders to demolish
their walls and towers.

King Ferdinand now left his camp and
his heavy artillery near Cartama, and
proceeded with his lighter troops to reconnoitre
Malaga. By this time the
secret plan of attack, arranged in the
council of war at Cordova, was known
to all the world. The vigilant warrior,
El Zagal, had thrown himself into the
place. He had put all the fortifications,
which were of vast strength, into a state
of defence, and had sent orders to the
alcaydes of the mountain towns to hasten
with their forces to his assistance.

The very day that King Ferdinand
appeared before the place, El Zagal sallied
forth to receive him at the head of a
thousand cavalry, the choicest warriors
of Granada. A hot skirmish took place
among the gardens and olive trees near
the city. Many were killed on both
sides, and this gave the Christians a
sharp foretaste of what they might expect,
if they attempted to besiege the
place.

When the skirmish was over, the
Marquis of Cadiz had a private conference
with the king. He represented the
difficulty of besieging Malaga with their
present force, especially as their plans
had been discovered and anticipated, and
the whole country was marching over
the mountains to oppose them. The
marquis, who had secret intelligence
from all quarters, had received a letter
from Juceph Xerife, a Moor of Ronda, of
Christian lineage, apprising him of the
situation of that important place and its
garrison, which at that moment laid it
open to attack; and the marquis was
urgent with the king to seize upon this
critical moment, and secure a place,
which was one of the most powerful
Moorish fortresses on the frontiers, and,
in the hands of Hamet el Zegri, had
been the scourge of Andalusia. The
good marquis had another motive for his
advice, becoming a true and loyal knight.
In the deep dungeons of Ronda languished
several of his companions in arms,
who had been captured in the defeat in
the Axarquia. To break their chains,
and restore them to liberty and light, he
felt to be his peculiar duty, as one of
those who had most promoted that disastrous
enterprise.

King Ferdinand listened to the advice
of the marquis. He knew the importance
of Ronda, which was considered one of
the keys of the kingdom of Granada;
and he was disposed to punish the inhabitants,
for the aid they had rendered to
the garrison at Coin. The siege of Malaga,
therefore, was abandoned for the
present, and preparations made for a
rapid and secret move against the city
of Ronda.

CHAPTER XXX.

The bold Hamet el Zegri, the alcayde
of Ronda, had returned sullenly to his
stronghold after the surrender of Coin.
He had fleshed his sword in battle with
the Christians; but his thirst for vengeance

was still unsatisfied. Hamet
gloried in the strength of his fortress
and the valour of his people. A fierce
and warlike populace was at his command;
his signal-fires would summon all
the warriors of the Serrania; his Gomeres
almost subsisted on the spoils of
Andalusia; and in the rock on which
his fortress was built were hopeless dungeons,
filled with Christian captives, who
had been carried off by these war-hawks
of the mountains.

Ronda was considered as impregnable.
It was situate in the heart of wild and
rugged mountains, and perched upon an
isolated rock, crested by a strong citadel,
with triple walls and towers. A deep
ravine, or rather a perpendicular chasm
of rocks, of frightful depth, surrounded
three parts of the city; through this
flowed the Rio Verde, or Green River.
There were two suburbs to the city, fortified
by walls and towers, and almost
inaccessible, from the natural asperity of
the rocks. Around this rugged city were
deep rich valleys, sheltered by the mountains,
refreshed by constant streams,
abounding with grain and the most delicious
fruits, and yielding verdant meadows;
in which was reared a renowned
breed of horses, the best in the whole
kingdom for a foray.

Hamet el Zegri had scarcely returned
to Ronda, when he received intelligence,
that the Christian army was marching
to the siege of Malaga, and orders from
El Zagal to send troops to his assistance.
Hamet sent a part of his garrison for
that purpose. In the mean time, he
meditated an expedition to which he was
stimulated by pride and revenge. All
Andalusia was now drained of its troops:
there was an opportunity, therefore, for
an inroad, by which he might wipe out
the disgrace of his defeat at the battle of
Lopera. Apprehending no danger to his
mountain city, now that the storm of
war had passed down into the vega of
Malaga, he left but a remnant of his
garrison to man its walls; and, putting
himself at the head of his band of Gomeres,
swept down suddenly into the
plains of Andalusia. He careered, almost
without resistance, over those vast
campiñas, or pasture-lands, which form
a part of the domains of the Duke of
Medina Sidonia. In vain the bells were
rung, and the alarm-fires kindled; the
band of Hamet had passed by before any
force could be assembled; and was only
to be traced, like a hurricane, by the devastation
it had made.

Hamet regained in safety the Serrania
de Ronda, exulting in his successful inroad.
The mountain glens were filled
with long droves of cattle, and flocks of
sheep, from the campiñas of Medina
Sidonia. There were mules, too, laden
with the plunder of the villages; and
every warrior had some costly spoil of
jewels for his favourite mistress.

As El Zegri drew near to Ronda, he
was roused from his dream of triumph
by the sound of heavy ordnance, bellowing
through the mountain defiles. His
heart misgave him: he put spurs to his
horse, and galloped in advance of his
lagging cavalgada. As he proceeded,
the noise of the ordnance increased,
echoing from cliff to cliff. Spurring his
horse up a craggy height, which commanded
an extensive view, he beheld,
to his consternation, the country about
Ronda white with the tents of a besieging
army. The royal standard, displayed
before a proud encampment,
showed that Ferdinand himself was present;
while the incessant blaze and
thunder of artillery, and the volumes of
overhanging smoke, told the work of
destruction that was going on.

The royal army had succeeded in
coming upon Ronda by surprise, during
the absence of its alcayde, and most of
its garrison; but its inhabitants were
warlike, and defended themselves bravely,
trusting that Hamet and his Gomeres
would soon return to their assistance.

The fancied strength of their bulwarks
had been of little avail against the batteries
of the besiegers. In the space of
four days, three towers, and great masses
of the walls which defended the suburbs,
were battered down, and the suburbs
taken and plundered. Lombards and
other heavy ordnance were now levelled
at the walls of the city, and stones and
missiles of all kinds hurled into the
streets. The very rock on which the
city stood shook with the thunder of
the artillery; and the Christian captives,

deep within its dungeons, hailed the sound
as the promise of deliverance.

When Hamet el Zegri beheld his city
thus surrounded and assailed, he called
upon his men to follow him and make
a desperate attempt to cut their way
through to its relief. They proceeded
stealthily through the mountains, until
they came to the nearest heights above
the Christian camp. When night fell,
and part of the army was sunk in sleep,
they descended the rocks, and rushing
suddenly upon the weakest part of the
camp, endeavoured to break their way
through, and gain the city. The camp
was too strong to be forced; they were
driven back to the crags of the mountains,
whence they defended themselves
by showering down darts and stones
upon their pursuers.

Hamet now lighted alarm-fires about
the heights; his standard was joined by
the neighbouring mountaineers, and by
troops from Malaga. Thus reinforced,
he made repeated assaults upon the
Christians, cutting off all stragglers from
the camp. All his attempts, however,
to force his way into the city were fruitless.
Many of his bravest men were
slain, and he was obliged to retreat into
the fastnesses of the mountains.

In the mean while, the distress of
Ronda was hourly increasing. The Marquis
of Cadiz, having possession of the
suburbs, was enabled to approach to the
very foot of the perpendicular precipice,
rising from the river, on the summit of
which the city is built. At the foot of
this rock is a living fountain of limpid
water, gushing into a great natural basin.
A secret mine led down from within the
city to this fountain, by several hundred
steps, cut in the solid rock. From this
the city obtained its chief supply of
water; and the steps were deeply worn
by the weary feet of Christian captives
employed in the painful labour. The
Marquis of Cadiz discovered this subterranean
passage, and directed his pioneers
to countermine it through the solid
body of the rock. They pierced to the
shaft; and, stopping it up, deprived the
city of the benefit of this precious fountain.

While the brave Marquis of Cadiz was
thus pressing the siege with zeal, and
glowing with the generous thoughts of
soon delivering his companions in arms
from the Moorish dungeons, far other
were the feelings of the alcayde, Hamet
el Zegri. He smote his breast, and
gnashed his teeth, in impotent fury, as
he beheld, from the mountain cliffs, the
destruction of the city. Every thunder
of the Christian ordnance seemed to
batter against his heart. He saw tower
after tower tumbling by day, and at
night the city blazed like a volcano.
"They fired not merely stones from
their ordnance," says a chronicler of the
times, "but likewise great balls of iron,
cast in moulds, which demolished every
thing they struck." They threw also
balls of tow, steeped in pitch and oil and
gunpowder, which, when once on fire,
were not to be extinguished, and which
set the houses in flames.

Great was the horror of the inhabitants.
They knew not where to flee for
refuge: their houses were in a blaze, or
shattered by the ordnance. The streets
were perilous, from the falling ruins
and the bounding balls, which dashed to
pieces every thing they encountered. At
night the city looked like a fiery furnace:
the cries and wailings of the women
were heard between the thunders of the
ordnance, and reached even to the Moors
on the opposite mountains, who answered
them by yells of fury and despair.

All hope of external succour being at
an end, the inhabitants of Ronda were
compelled to capitulate. Ferdinand was
easily prevailed upon to grant them favourable
terms. The place was capable
of longer resistance; and he feared for
the safety of his camp, as the forces
were daily augmenting on the mountains,
and making frequent assaults. The inhabitants
were permitted to depart with
their effects, either to Barbary or elsewhere;
and those who chose to reside
in Spain had lands assigned them, and
were indulged in the exercise of their
religion.

No sooner did the place surrender,
than detachments were sent to attack
the Moors, who hovered about the neighbouring
mountains. Hamet el Zegri,
however, did not remain, to try a fruitless
battle. He gave up the game as
lost, and retreated with his Gomeres,

filled with grief and rage, but trusting
to fortune to give him future vengeance.

The first care of the good Marquis of
Cadiz, on entering Ronda, was to deliver
his unfortunate companious in arms from
the dungeons of the fortress. What a
difference in their looks, from the time,
when, flushed with health and hope, and
arrayed in military pomp, they had
sallied forth upon the mountain foray!
Many of them were almost naked, with
irons at their ankles, and beards reaching
to their waists. Their meeting with
the marquis was joyful, yet it had the
look of grief; for their joy was mingled
with many bitter recollections. There
was an immense number of other captives,
among whom were several young
men of noble families, who, with filial
piety, had surrendered themselves prisoners
in place of their fathers.

The captives were all provided with
mules, and sent to the queen at Cordova.
The humane heart of Isabella melted at
the sight of the piteous cavalcade. They
were all supplied by her with food and
raiment, and money to pay their expenses
to their homes. Their chains were hung
as pious trophies against the exterior of
the church of St. Juan de los Reyes in
Toledo, where the Christian traveller
may regale his eyes with the sight of
them at this very day.

Among the Moorish captives was a
young infidel maiden of great beauty,
who desired to become a Christian, and
to remain in Spain. She had been inspired
with the light of the true faith,
through the ministry of a young man,
who had been a captive in Ronda. He
was anxious to complete his good work
by marrying her. The queen consented
to their pious wishes, having first taken
care that the young maiden should be
properly purified by the holy sacrament
of baptism.

"Thus this pestilent nest of warfare
and infidelity, the city of Ronda," says
the worthy Fray Antonio Agapida, "was
converted to the true faith by the thunder
of our artillery. An example which was
soon followed by Casanbonelas, Alarbella,
and other towns in these parts;
insomuch that, in the course of this expedition,
no less than seventy-two places
were rescued from the vile sect of Mahomet,
and placed under the benignant domination
of the cross."

CHAPTER XXXI.

The people of Granada were a versatile,
unsteady race, and exceedingly given
to make and unmake kings. They had,
for a long time, vacillated between old
Muley Aben Hassan and his son, Boabdil
el Chico; sometimes setting up the
one, sometimes the other, and sometimes
both at once, according to the pinch and
pressure of external evils. They found,
however, that the evils still went on increasing,
in defiance of every change;
and were at their wits' end to devise
some new combination or arrangement,
by which an efficient government might
be wrought out of two bad kings.

When the tidings arrived of the fall of
Ronda, and the consequent ruin of the
frontier, a tumultuous assemblage took
place in one of the public squares. As
usual, the people attributed the misfortunes
of the country exclusively to the
faults of their rulers; for the populace
never imagine, that any part of their
miseries can originate with themselves.
A crafty alfaqui, named Alyme Mazer,
who had watched the current of their
discontents, rose, and harangued them.

"You have been choosing and changing,"
said he, "between two monarchs;
and who and what are they? Muley
Aben Hassan for one; a man worn out
by age and infirmities; unable to sally
forth against the foe, even when ravaging
to the very gates of the city: and Boabdil
el Chico for the other; an apostate,
a traitor, a deserter from his throne, a
fugitive among the enemies of his nation;
a man futed to misfortune, and proverbially
named `the unlucky.'

"In a time of overwhelming war, like
the present, he only is fit to sway a
sceptre who can wield a sword. Would
you seek such a man? You need not
look far. Allah has sent such a one, in
this time of distress, to retrieve the fortunes
of Granada. You already know
whom I mean. You know it can be no
other than your general, the invincible
Abdalla; whose surname of El Zagal has

become a watchword in battle, rousing
the courage of the faithful, and striking
terror into the unbelievers."

The multitude received the words of
the alfaqui with acclamations; they were
delighted with the idea of a third king
over Granada; and Abdalla el Zagal,
being of the royal family, and already in
the virtual exercise of royal power, the
measure had nothing in it that appeared
either rash or violent. A deputation was
therefore sent to El Zagal at Malaga,
inviting him to repair to Granada, to
receive the crown.

El Zagal expressed great surprise and
repugnance, when the mission was announced
to him; and nothing but his
patriotic zeal for the public safety, and
his fraternal eagerness to relieve the aged
Aben Hassan from the cares of government,
prevailed upon him to accept the
offer of the crown. Leaving, therefore,
Rodovan de Vanegas, one of the bravest
Moorish generals, in command of Malaga,
he departed for Granada, attended by
three hundred trusty cavaliers.

Old Muley Aben Hassan did not wait
for the arrival of his brother. Unable
any longer to buffet with the storms of
the times, his only solicitude was to seek
some safe and quiet harbour of repose.
In one of the deep valleys which indent
the Mediterranean coast, and which are
shut up, on the land side, by stupendous
mountains, stood the little city of Almunecar.
The valley was watered by the
river Frio, and abounded with fruits, with
grain, and with pasturage. The city
was strongly fortified; and the garrison
and alcayde were devoted to the old monarch.
This was the place chosen by
Muley Aben Hassan for his asylum. His
first care was to send thither all his treasures;
his next, to take refuge there himself;
his third, that his sultana Zorayna,
and their two sons, should follow him.

In the mean time, Muley Abdalla el
Zagal pursued his journey towards the
capital, attended by his three hundred
cavaliers. The road from Malaga to
Granada winds close by Alhama, and is
commanded by that fortress. This had
been a most perilous pass for the Moors
during the time that Alhama was commanded
by the Count de Tendilla. Not
a traveller could escape his eagle eye;
and his garrison was ever ready for a
sally. The Count de Tendilla, however,
had been relieved from this arduous post;
and it had been given in charge to Don
Gutiere de Padilla, clavero or treasurer
of the order of Calatrava: an easy, indulgent
man, who had with him three
hundred gallant knights of his order, beside
other mercenary troops. The garrison
had fallen off in discipline; the
cavaliers were hardly in fight and daring
in foray, but confident in themselves,
and negligent of proper precautions. Just
before the journey of El Zagal, a number
of these cavaliers, with several soldiers
of fortune of the garrison, in all one hundred
and seventy men, had sallied forth
to harass the Moorish country, during
its present distracted state; and having
ravaged the valleys of the Sierra Nevada,
or snowy mountains, were returning to
Alhama, in gay spirits, and laden with
booty.

As El Zagal passed through the neighbourhood
of Alhama, he recollected the
ancient perils of the road, and sent light
corredors in advance, to inspect each
rock and ravine where a foe might lurk
in ambush. One of these scouts, overlooking
a narrow valley, which opened
upon the road, described a troop of horsemen,
on the banks of a little stream.
They were dismounted, and had taken
the bridles from their steeds, that they
might crop the fresh grass on the banks
of the river. The horsemen were scattered
about; some reposing in the shade
of rocks and trees, others gambling for
the spoil they had taken. Not a sentinel
was posted to keep guard; every thing
showed the perfect security of men who
consider themselves beyond the reach of
danger.

These careless cavaliers were, in fact,
the knights of Calatrava, with a part of
their companions in arms, returning from
their foray. A part of their force had
passed on with the cavalgada; ninety of
the principal cavaliers had halted, to repose
and refresh themselves in this valley.
El Zagal smiled with ferocious joy,
when he heard of their negligent security.
"Here will be trophies," said he,
"to grace our entrance into Granada."
Approaching the valley with cautious
silence, he wheeled into it at full speed,

at the head of his troop, and attacked the
Christians so suddenly and furiously, that
they had not time to put the bridles upon
their horses, or even to leap into the saddles.
They made a confused but valiant
defence, fighting among the rocks, and
in the rugged bed of the river. Their
defence was useless; seventy-nine were
slain, the remaining eleven were taken
prisoners.

A party of the Moors galloped in pursuit
of the cavalgada: they soon overtook
it, winding slowly up a bill. The horsemen,
who convoyed it, perceiving the
enemy at a distance, made their escape,
and left the spoil to be retaken by the
Moors.

El Zagal gathered together his captives
and his booty, and proceeded, elate with
success, to Granada. He paused before
the gate of Elvira; for as yet he had not
been proclaimed king. This ceremony
was immediately performed; for the fame
of his recent exploit had preceded him,
and had intoxicated the minds of the
giddy populace.

He entered Granada in a sort of triumph.
The eleven captive knights of
Calatrava walked in front. Next were
paraded the ninety captured steeds, bearing
the armour and weapons of their late
owners, and mounted by as many Moors.
Then came seventy Moorish horsemen,
with as many Christian heads hanging
at their saddle-bows. Muley Abdalla el
Zagal followed, surrounded by a number
of distinguished cavaliers, richly attired;
and the pageant was closed by a long cavalgada
of the flocks, and herds, and other
booty, recovered from the Christians.[43]

The populace gazed with almost savage
triumph at these captive cavaliers, and
the gory heads of their companions;
knowing them to have been part of the
formidable garrison of Alhama, so long
the scourge of Granada, and the terror
of the vega. They hailed this petty triumph
as an auspicious opening of the
reign of their new monarch. For several
days the names of Muley Aben Hassan
and Boabdil el Chico were never
mentioned but with contempt; and the
whole city resounded with the praises of
El Zagal, or "the valiant."

CHAPTER XXXII.

The elevation of a bold and active
veteran to the throne of Granada, in
place of its late bedridden king, made a
vast difference in the aspect of the war,
and called for some blow that should
dash the confidence of the Moors in their
new monarch, and animate the Christians
to fresh exertions.

Don Diego de Cordova, the brave
Count de Cabra, was at this time in his
castle of Vaena, where he kept a wary
eye upon the frontier. It was now the
latter part of August; and he grieved,
that the summer should pass away without
any inroad into the country of the
foe. He sent out his scouts on the prowl,
and they brought him word, that the important
post of Moclin was but weakly
garrisoned. This was a castellated town,
strongly situate upon a high mountain,
partly surrounded by thick forests, and
partly girdled by a river. It defended
one of the rugged and solitary passes by
which the Christians were wont to make
their inroads; insomuch that the Moors,
in their figurative way, denominated it
the shield of Granada.

The Count de Cabra sent word to the
monarchs of the feeble state of the garrison,
and gave it as his opinion, that,
by a secret and rapid expedition, the
place might be surprised. King Ferdinand
asked the advice of his counsellors.
Some cautioned him against the sanguine
temperament of the count, and his heedlessness
of danger. Moclin, they observed,
was near to Granada, and might
be promptly reinforced. The opinion of
the count, however, prevailed; the king
considering him almost infallible in matters
of border warfare, since his capture
of Boabdil el Chico.

The king departed from Cordova, therefore,
and took post at Alcala la Real, for
the purpose of being near to Moclin. The
queen also proceeded to Vaena, accompanied
by her children, Prince Juan and
the Princess Isabella, and her great counsellor
in all matters, public and private,
spiritual and temporal, the venerable
grand cardinal of Spain.

Nothing could exceed the pride and
satisfaction of the loyal Count de Cabra,
when he saw this stately train winding
along the dreary mountain roads, and
entering the gates of Vaena. He received
his royal guests with all due ceremony,
and lodged them in the best apartments
that the warrior castle afforded; being
the same that had formerly been occupied
by the royal captive Boabdil.

King Ferdinand had concerted a wary
plan to insure the success of the enterprise.
The Count de Cabra and Don
Martin Alonso de Montemayor were to
set forth with their troops, so as to reach
Moclin by a certain hour, and to intercept
all who should attempt to enter, or
should sally from the town. The Master
of Calatrava, the troops of the grand cardinal
commanded by the Count of Buendia,
and the forces of the Bishop of Jaen,
led by that belligerent prelate, amounting
in all to four thousand horse and six
thousand foot, were to set off in time to
co-operate with the Count de Cabra, so
as to surround the town. The king was
to follow with his whole force, and encamp
before the place.

And here the worthy Padre Fray Antonio
Agapida breaks forth into a triumphant
eulogy of the pious prelates,
who thus mingled personally in these
scenes of warfare. "As this was a holy
crusade," says he, "undertaken for the
advancement of the faith, and the glory
of the church, so was it always countenanced
and upheld by saintly men. For
the victories of their most catholic majesties
were not followed, like those of
more worldly sovereigns, by erecting castles
and towers, and appointing aleaydes
and garrisons, but by founding of convents
and cathedrals, and the establishment
of wealthy bishoprics. Wherefore
their majesties were always surrounded,
in court or camp, in the cabinet or in the
field, by a crowd of ghostly advisers, inspiriting
them to the prosecution of this
most righteous war. Nay, the holy men
of the church did not scruple, at times,
to buckle on the cuirass over the cassock,
to exchange the crosier for the lance;
and thus, with corporal hands, and temporal
weapons, to fight the good fight of
the faith."

But to return from this rhapsody of
the worthy friar. The Count de Cabra,
being instructed in the complicated arrangements
of the king, marched forth
at midnight to execute them punetually.
He led his troops by the little river, which
winds below Vaena, and so up the wild
defiles of the mountains; marching all
night, and stopping only in the heat of
the following day, to repose under the
shadowy cliffs of a deep barranca, calculating
to arrive at Moclin exactly in
time to co-operate with the other forces.

The troops had scarcely stretched
themselves on the earth to take repose,
when a scout arrived, bringing word, that
El Zagal had suddenly sallied out of Granada,
with a strong force, and had encamped
in the vicinity of Moclin. It
was plain, that the wary Moor had received
information of the intended attack.
This, however, was not the idea that presented
itself to the mind of the Count de
Cabra. He had captured one king: here
was a fair opportunity to secure another.
What a triumph, to lodge a second captive
monarch in his castle of Vaena!
What a prisoner to deliver into the hands
of his royal mistress! Fired with the
thought, the good count forgot all the arrangements
of the king; or rather, blinded
by former success, he trusted every
thing to courage and fortune; and thought
that, by one hold swoop, he might again
bear off the royal prize, and wear his
laurels without competition. His only
fear was, that the Master of Calatrava,
and the belligerent bishop, might come
up in time to share the glory of the victory.
So ordering every one to horse,
this hot-spirited cavalier pushed on for
Moclin, without allowing his troops the
necessary time for repose.[44]

The evening closed as the count arrived
in the neighbourhood of Moclin. It was
the full of the moon, and a bright and
cloudless night. The count was marching
through one of those deep valleys or
ravines, worn in the Spanish mountains
by the brief but tremendous torrents,
which prevail during the autumnal rains.
It was walled, on both sides, by lofty and
almost perpendicular cliffs; but the strong
gleams of moonlight that penetrated to the
bottom of the glen, glittered on the armour

of the squadrons, as they silently passed
through it. Suddenly the warcry of the
Moors rose in various parts of the valley.
"El Zagal! El Zagal!" was shouted
from every cliff, accompanied by showers
of missiles, that struck down several of
the Christian warriors. The count lifted
up his eyes, and beheld, by the light
that prevailed, every cliff glistening with
Moorish soldiery. The deadly shower
fell thickly round him; and the shining
armour of his followers made them fair
objects for the aim of the enemy. The
count saw his brother Gonzalo struck
dead by his side; his own horse sunk
under him, pierced by four Moorish
lances; and he received a wound in the
hand from an arquebuse. He remembered
the horrible massacre of the mountains
of Malaga, and feared a similar
catastrophe. There was no time to
pause. His brother's horse, freed from
his slaughtered rider, was running at
large; seizing the reins, he sprang into
the saddle, called upon his men to follow
him, and, wheeling round, retreated out
of the fatal valley.

The Moors, rushing down from the
heights, pursued the retreating Christians.
The chase endured for a league; but it
was a league of rough and broken ground,
where the Christians had to turn and fight
at almost every step. In these short but
fierce combats, the enemy lost many
cavaliers of note; but the loss of the
Christians was infinitely more grievous,
comprising numbers of the noblest warriors
of Vaena and its vicinity. Many
of the Christians, disabled by wounds, or
exhausted by fatigue, turned aside, and
endeavoured to conceal themselves among
rocks and thickets, but never more rejoined
their companions; being slain or
captured by the Moors, or perishing in
their wretched retreats.

The arrival of the troops led by the
Master of Calatrava and the Bishop of
Jaen, put an end to the rout. El Zagal
contented himself with the laurels he had
gained; and, ordering the trumpets to
call off his men from the pursuit, returned
in great triumph to Moclin.[45]

Queen Isabella was at Vaena, awaiting
in great anxiety, the result of the expedition.
She was in a stately apartment
of the castle, looking towards the road
that winds through the mountains from
Moclin, and regarding the watchtowers,
that crowned the neighbouring heights,
in hopes of favourable signals. The
prince and princess, her children, were
with her, and her venerable counsellor, the
grand cardinal. All shared in the anxiety
of the moment. At length couriers were
seen riding down towards the town.
They entered its gates; but, before they
reached the castle, the nature of their
tidings was known to the queen, by the
shrieks and wailings that rose from the
streets below. The messengers were
soon followed by wounded fugitives, hastening
home to be relieved, or to die
among their friends and families. The
whole town resounded with lamentations,
for it had lost the flower of its youth, and
its bravest warriors. Isabella was a
woman of courageous soul, but her feelings
were overpowered by the spectacle
of wo which presented itself on every
side. Her maternal heart mourned over
the death of so many loyal subjects, who,
so shortly before, had rallied round her
with devoted affection; and, losing her
usual self-command, she sunk into deep
despondency.

In this gloomy state of mind, a thousand
apprehensions crowded upon her.
She dreaded the confidence which this
success would impart to the Moors. She
feared, also, for the important fortress of
Alhama, the garrison of which had not
been reinforced since its foraging party
had been cut off by this same El Zagal.
On every side the queen saw danger and
disaster, and feared that a general rout
was about to attend the Castilian arms.

The grand cardinal comforted her with
both spiritual and worldly counsel. He
told her to recollect, that no country was
ever conquered, without occasional reverses
to the conquerors; that the Moors
were a warlike people, fortified in a rough
and mountainous country where they
never could be conquered by her ancestors;
and that, in fact, her armies had
already, in three years, taken more cities
than those of any of her predecessors had
been able to do in twelve. He concluded
by offering to take the field, with three
thousand cavalry, his own retainers, paid

and maintained by himself, and either
hasten to the relief of Alhama, or undertake
any other expedition her majesty
might command. The discreet words of
the cardinal soothed the spirit of the
queen, who always looked to him for
consolation, and she soon recovered her
usual equanimity.

Some of the counsellors of Isabella, of
that politic class who seek to rise by the
faults of others, were loud in their censures
of the rashness of the count. The
queen defended him with prompt generosity.
"The enterprise," said she,
"was rash; but not more rash than that
of Lucena, which was crowned with success,
and which we have all applauded,
as the height of heroism. Had the Count
de Cabra succeeded in capturing the
uncle, as he did the nephew, who is there
that would not have praised him to the
skies?"

The magnanimous words of the queen
put a stop to all invidious remarks in her
presence; but certain of the courtiers,
who had envied the count the glory
gained by his former achievements, continued
to magnify, among themselves, his
present imprudence; and we are told by
Fray Antonio Agapida, that they sneeringly
gave the worthy cavalier the
appellation of "Count de Cabra, the
king-catcher."

Ferdinand had reached the place on
the frontier called the Fountain of the
King, within three leagues of Moclin,
when he heard of the late disaster. He
greatly lamented the precipitation of the
count, but forebore to express himself
with severity; for he knew the value of
that loyal and valiant cavalier.[46] He held
a council of war to determine what course
was to be pursued. Some of his cavaliers
advised him to abandon the attempt
upon Moclin, the place being strongly
reinforced, and the enemy inspirited by
his recent victory. Certain old Spanish
hidalgos reminded him, that he had but
a few Castilian troops in his army, without
which staunch soldiery his predecessors
never presumed to enter the
Moorish territory; while others remonstrated,
that it would be beneath the
dignity of the king to retire from an
enterprise on account of the defeat of a
single cavalier and his retainers. In this
way, the king was distracted by a multitude
of counsellors; when fortunately a
letter from the queen put an end to his
perplexities. Proceed we, in the next
chapter, to relate what was the purport of
that letter.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

"Happy are those princes," exclaims
the worthy Padre Fray Antonio Agapida,
"who have women and priests to advise
them; for in these dwelleth the spirit of
counsel!" While Ferdinand and his
captains were confounding each other in
their deliberations at the Fountain of the
King, a quiet but deep little council of war
was held in the state-apartment of the old
castle of Vaena, between Queen Isabella,
the venerable Pedro Gonzalez de Mendoza,
Grand Cardinal of Spain, and Don
Garcia Osorio, the belligerent bishop of
Jaen. This last worthy prelate, who
had exchanged his mitre for a helm, no
sooner beheld the defeat of the enterprise
against Moclin, than he turned the reins
of his sleek, stall-fed steed, and hastened
back to Vaena, full of a project for the
employment of the army, the advancement
of the faith, and the benefit of his
own diocese. He knew that the actions
of the king were influenced by the opinions
of the queen; and that the queen
always inclined a listening ear to the
councils of saintly men. He laid his
plans, therefore, with the customary
wisdom of his cloth, to turn the ideas of
the queen into the proper channel; and
this was the purport of the worthy
bishop's suggestions.

The bishopric of Jaen had for a long
time been harassed by two Moorish
castles, the scourge and terror of all that
part of the country. They were situate
on the frontiers of the kingdom of Granada,
about four leagues from Jaen, in a
deep, narrow, and rugged valley, surrounded
by lofty mountains. Through
this valley runs the Rio Frio, or "cold
river," in a deep channel, between high
precipitous rocks. On each side of the
stream rise two vast rocks, nearly perpendicular,

within a stone's-throw of each
other; blocking up the narrow gorge of
the valley. On the summits of these
rocks stood the two formidable castles of
Cambil and Albahar, fortified with battlements
and towers of great height and
thickness. They were connected together
by a bridge, thrown from rock to
rock across the river. The road which
passed through the valley traversed this
bridge, and was completely commanded
by these castles. They stood, like two
giants of romance, guarding the pass and
dominating the valley.

The kings of Granada, knowing the
importance of these castles, kept them
always well garrisoned and victualled, to
stand a siege; with fleet steeds and hard
riders, to forage the country of the
Christians. The warlike race of the
Abencerrages, the troops of the royal
household, and others of the choicest
chivalry of Granada, made them their
strongholds, from whence to sally forth
on those predatory and roving enterprises
which were the delight of the Moorish
cavaliers. As the wealthy bishopric of
Jaen lay immediately at hand, it suffered
more peculiarly from these marauders.
They drove off the fat beeves, and the
flocks of sheep from the pastures, and
swept the labourers from the field. They
scoured the country to the very gates of
Jaen; so that the citizens could not venture
from their walls without the risk of
being borne off captive to the dungeons of
these castles.

The worthy bishop, like a good pastor,
beheld, with grief of heart, his fat
bishopric daily waxing leaner and leaner,
and poorer and poorer; and his holy ire
was kindled at the thought, that the possessions
of the church should thus be at
the mercy of a crew of infidels.

It was the urgent counsel of the bishop,
therefore, that the military force thus
providentially assembled in the neighbourhood,
since it was apparently foiled
in its attempt upon Moclin, should be
turned against these insolent castles, and
the country delivered from their domination.
The grand cardinal supported the
suggestion of the bishop, and declared,
that he had long meditated the policy of
a measure of the kind. Their united
opinions found favour with the queen,
and she despatched a letter on the subject
to the king. It came just in time to relieve
him from the distraction of a multitude
of counsellors, and he immediately
undertook the reduction of the castles.

The Marquis of Cadiz was, accordingly,
sent in advance, with two thousand
horse, to keep watch upon the garrisons,
and prevent all entrance or exit until the
king should arrive with the main army
and the battering artillery. The queen,
to be near at hand in case of need, moved
her quarters to the city of Jaen, where
she was received with martial honours
by the belligerent bishop, who had
buckled on his cuirass, and girded on
his sword, to fight in the cause of his
diocese.

In the mean time, the Marquis of Cadiz
arrived in the valley, and completely shut
up the Moors within their walls. The
castles were under the command of Mahomet
Lentin ben Usef, an Abencerrage,
and one of the bravest cavaliers of Granada.
In his garrisons were many troops of
the fierce African tribe of Gomeres. Mahomet
Lentin, confident in the strength
of his fortresses, smiled, as he looked
down from his battlements, upon the
Christian cavalry, perplexed in the rough
and narrow valley. He sent forth skirmishing
parties to harass them; and
there were many sharp combats between
small parties and single knights; but the
Moors were driven back to the castles;
and all attempts to send intelligence of
their situation to Granada were intercepted
by the vigilance of the Marquis of
Cadiz.

At length the legions of the royal
army came pouring, with fluttering banner
and vaunting trumpet, along the
defiles of the mountains. They halted
before the castles; but the king could
not find room, in the narrow and rugged
valley, to form his camp: he had to
divide it into three parts, which were
posted on different heights, and his tents
whitened the sides of the neighbouring
hills. When the encampment was formed,
the army remained gazing idly at the
castles. The artillery was upwards of
four leagues in the rear, and without
artillery all attack would be in vain.

The alcayde, Mahomet Lentin, knew
the nature of the road by which the artillery

had to be brought. It was merely
a rugged path, at times scaling almost
perpendicular crags and precipices, up
which it was utterly impossible for wheel-carriages
to pass; neither was it in the
power of man or beast to draw up the
lombards and other ponderous ordnance.
He felt assured, therefore, that they never
could be brought to the camp; and, without
their aid, what could the Christians
effect against his rock-built castles? He
scoffed at them, therefore, as he saw their
tents by day, and their fires by night,
covering the surrounding heights. "Let
them linger here a little while longer,"
said he, "and the autumnal torrents will
wash them from the mountains."

While the alcayde was thus closely
mewed up within his walls, and the Christians
lay inactive in their camp, he noticed,
one calm autumnal day, the sound
of implements of labour echoing among
the mountains, and now and then the
crash of a fallen tree, or a thundering
report, as if some rock had been heaved
from its bed, and hurled into the valley.
The alcayde was on the battlements of
his castle, surrounded by his knights.
"Methinks," said he, "these Christians
are making war upon the rocks and trees
of the mountains, since they find our castles
unassailable."

The sounds did not cease even during
the night; every now and then the Moorish
sentinel, as he paced the battlements,
heard some crash echoing among the
heights. The return of day explained
the mystery. Scarcely did the sun shine
against the summits of the mountains,
than shouts burst from the cliffs opposite
to the castles, and were answered
from the camp with joyful sound of
kettledrums and trumpets.

The astonished Moors lifted up their
eyes, and beheld, as it were, a torrent of
war breaking out of the narrow defile.
There was a multitude of men with pickaxes,
spades, and bars of iron, clearing
away every obstacle, while behind them
slowly moved along great teams of oxen,
dragging heavy ordnance, and all the
munitions of battering warfare.

"What cannot women and priests
effect, when they unite in counsel!"
exclaims again the worthy Antonio Agapida.
The queen had held another consultation
with the grand cardinal, and
the belligerent Bishop of Jaen. It was
clear, that the heavy ordnance could
never be conveyed to the camp by the
regular road of the country, and on this
must depend every hope of success. It
was suggested, however, by the zealous
bishop, that another road might be opened
through a more practicable part of
the mountains. It would be an undertaking
extravagant and chimerical with
ordinary means, and, therefore, unlooked-for
by the enemy; but what could not
kings do, who had treasures and armies
at command?

The project struck the enterprising
spirit of the queen. Six thousand men,
with pickaxes, crowbars, and every other
necessary implement, were set to work,
day and night, to break a road through
the very centre of the mountains. No
time was to be lost; for it was rumoured,
that El Zagal was about to march with a
mighty host to the relief of the castles.
The bustling Bishop of Jaen acted as
pioneer, to mark the route and superintend
the labourers; and the grand cardinal
took care that the work should never
languish through lack of money.[47]

"When kings' treasures," says Fray
Antonio Agapida, "are dispensed by
priestly hands, there is no stint, as the
glorious annals of Spain bear witness."
Under the guidance of these ghostly men,
it seemed as if miracles were effected.
Almost an entire mountain was levelled,
valleys filled up, trees hewn down, rocks
broken and overturned; in short, all the
obstacles, which nature had heaped
around, entirely and promptly vanquished.
In little more than twelve days this
gigantic work was accomplished, and the
ordnance dragged to the camp, to the
great triumph of the Christians, and confusion
of the Moors.[48]

No sooner was the heavy artillery arrived
than it was disposed in all haste
upon the neighbouring heights. Francisco
Ramirez de Madrid, the first engineer
in Spain, superintended the batteries,
and soon opened a destructive fire upon
the castles.

When the valiant alcayde, Mahomet

Lentin, found his towers tumbling about
him, and his bravest men dashed from
the walls, without the power of inflicting
a wound upon the foe, his haughty spirit
was greatly exasperated. "Of what
avail," said he, "is all the prowess of
knighthood against these cowardly engines,
that murder from afar?"

For a whole day a tremendous fire
kept thundering upon the castle of Albahar.
The lombards discharged large
stones, which demolished two of the
towers, and all the battlements which
guarded the portal. If any Moors
attempted to defend the walls, or repair
the breaches, they were shot down by
ribadoquines, and other small pieces of
artillery. The Christian soldiery issued
forth from the camp, under cover of this
fire, and, approaching the castles, discharged
flights of arrows and stones
through the openings made by the ordnance.

At length, to bring the siege to a conclusion,
Francisco Ramirez elevated some
of the heaviest artillery on a mount, that
rose in form of a cone or pyramid, on the
side of the river near to Albahar, and commanded
both castles. This was an operation
of great skill and excessive labour,
but it was repaid by complete success;
for the Moors did not dare to wait until
this terrible battery should discharge its
fury. Satisfied that all further resistance
was vain, the valiant alcayde made
signal for a parley. The articles of
capitulation were soon arranged. The
alcayde and his garrison were permitted
to return in safety to the city of
Granada, and the castles were delivered
into the possession of King Ferdinand,
on the day of the festival of St. Matthew,
in the month of September. They were
immediately repaired, strongly garrisoned,
and given in charge to the city
of Jaen.

The effects of this triumph were immediately
apparent. Quiet and security
once more settled upon the bishopric.
The husbandmen tilled their fields in
peace, the herds and flocks fattened unmolested
in the pastures, and the vineyards
yielded corpulent skinsful of rosy
wine. The good bishop enjoyed, in the
gratitude of his people, the approbation
of his conscience, the increase of his
revenues, and the abundance of his
table, a reward for all his toils and
perils. "This glorious victory," exclaims
Fray Antonio Agapida, "achieved
by such extraordinary management and
infinite labour, is a shining example of
what a bishop can effect for the promotion
of the faith, and the good of his
diocese."

CHAPTER XXXIV.

While these events were taking place
on the northern frontier of the kingdom
of Granada, the important fortress of
Alhama was neglected, and its commander,
Don Gutiere de Padilla, clavero
of Calatrava,[49] reduced to great perplexity.
The remnant of the foraging
party which had been surprised and massacred
by the fierce El Zagal, when on his
way to Granada to receive the crown,
had returned in confusion and dismay to
the fortress. They could only speak of
their own disgrace, being obliged to
abandon their cavalgada, and to fly,
pursued by a superior force. Of the
flower of their party, the gallant knights
of Calatrava, who had remained behind
in the valley, they knew nothing. A
few days cleared up the mystery, and
brought tidings of their steeds, led in
triumph into the gates of Granada; and
their bleeding heads borne at the saddlebows
of the warriors of El Zagal. Their
fellow-knights, who formed a part of the
garrison, were struck with horror at the
dismal story, and panted to revenge their
death. Their number, however, was too
much reduced by the loss to take the
field; for the vega swarmed with the
troops of El Zagal. They could not
even venture forth to forage for provisions;
and the defeat of the Count de
Cabra having interrupted their customary
supplies, they were reduced to such extremity,
that they had to kill several of
their horses for food.

Don Gutiere de Padilla, clavero of
Calatrava, the commander of the fortress,
was pondering one day over the

gloomy state of affairs, when a Moor was
brought before him, who had applied at
the gate for an audience. He bore a
budget, and appeared to be one of those
itinerant merchants who wandered about
the country in those days, hanging on
the skirts of armies, to purchase the
spoils of the soldiery, and who would
pretend to sell amulets, trinkets, and
perfumes, but would often draw forth
from their wallets articles of great rarity
and value: rich shawls, chains of gold,
necklaces of pearls and diamonds, and
costly gems, the plunder of camps and
cities. The Moor approached the clavero
with a mysterious look. "Senior,"
said he, "I would speak with you alone;
I have a precious jewel to dispose of."
"I need no jewels," said the clavero, abruptly;
"take thy wares to the soldiery."
"By the blood of him who died on the
cross," exclaimed the Moor, with earnest
solemnity, "do not turn a deaf ear to my
offer: the jewel I have to sell would be
to you of inestimable value, and you
alone can be the purchaser."

The clavero was moved by the earnestness
of the Moor, and perceived, that,
under the figurative language common to
his countrymen, he concealed some meaning
of importance. He made a sign,
therefore, to his attendants to withdraw.
The Moor looked after them, until the
door closed; then advancing cautiously,
"What will you give me," said he, "if
I deliver the fortress of Zalea into your
hands?"

Zalea was a strong town about two
leagues distant, which had been a hostile
and dangerous neighbour to Alhama; its
warriors laying ambuscades to surprise
the knights of Calatrava, when out upon
a forage, and to intercept and cut off
their supplies and cavalgadas.

The clavero looked with mingled surprise
and distrust at this itinerant pedler,
who thus offered to traffic for a warlike
town. "Thou talkest," said he, "of selling
me Zalea; what means hast thou of
making good the sale?" "I have a
brother in the garrison," replied the
Moor, "who for a proper sum paid down,
will admit a body of troops by night into
the citadel."

"And for a sum of gold, then," said
the clavero, regarding him with stern
scrutiny, "thou art prepared to betray
thy people and thy faith?"

"I abjure them and their faith," replied
the Moor: "my mother was a Castilian
captive; her people shall be my people,
and her religion my religion."

The cautious clavero still distrusted
the sincerity of this mongrel Moor and
piebald Christian. "What assurance,"
continued he, "have I, that thou wilt
deal more truely with me, than with the
alcayde of the fortress thou wouldst
betray? To me thou hast no tie of
fealty, to him thou owest thy allegiance."

"I owe him no allegiance!" cried the
Moor, fire flashing from his eyes: "the
alcayde is a tyrant, a dog! he has robbed
me of my merchandise, stripped me of
my lawful booty, and ordered me the
bastinado, because I dared to complain.
May the curse of God light upon me, if
I rest contented, until I have ample vengeance!"

"Enough," said the clavero; "I will
trust to thy vengeance, even more than
to thy Christianity."

Don Gutiere now summoned a council
of his principal knights. They were all
eager for the enterprise, as a mode of
revenging the death of their companions,
and wiping off the stigma cast upon the
order by the late defeat. Spies were
sent to reconnoitre Zalea, and to communicate
with the brother of the Moor; the
sum to be paid as a recompense was
adjusted, and every arrangement made
for the enterprise.

On the appointed night, a party of
cavaliers set out under the guidance of
the Moor. When they came near to
Zalea, their leader bound the hands of
the guide behind his back, and pledged
his knightly word to strike him dead on
the least sign of treachery; he then bade
him lead the way. It was midnight,
when they arrived in silence under the
walls of the citadel. At a low signal, a
ladder of ropes was let down: Gutiere
Muñoz and Pedro de Alvardo were the
first to ascend, followed by half a dozen
others. They surprised the guards, cut
them down, threw them over the wall,
and gained possession of a tower. The
alarm was given, the whole citadel was
in confusion, but already the knights of
Calatrava were in every part. They

called to each other to remember their
brethren massacred in the valley of the
vega, and their bloody heads borne in
triumph to Granada. They fought with
sanguinary fury; most of the half-armed
and bewildered garrison were put to the
sword; the rest were taken prisoners; in
an hour they were masters of the citadel,
and the town submitted of course.

They found the magazines stored with
all kinds of provisions, with which they
loaded an immense train of beasts of
burden, for the relief of the famishing
garrison of Alhama.

Thus did the gallant knights of Calatrava
gain the strong town of Zalea, with
scarcely any loss, and atone for the
inglorious defeat sustained by their companions.
Large reinforcements and supplies
from the sovereigns arriving soon
after, strengthened them in their own
fortress, and enabled them to keep possession
of their new conquest. This
gallant affair took place about the same
time as the capture of Cambil and Albahar;
and these two achievements gave a
prosperous termination to the chequered
events of this important year. Ferdinand
and Isabella retired for the winter to
Alcala de Henares, where the queen, on
the 16th of December, gave birth to the
infanta Catherine, afterwards spouse to
Henry VIII. of England.

CHAPTER XXXV.

The personal exploits with which El
Zagal had commenced his reign, in surprising
the knights of Calatrava, and defeating
the Count de Cabra, had given
him a transient popularity, which he had
promoted by feasts and tournaments, and
other public rejoicings, in which the
Moors delighted. Knowing, however,
the uncertain nature of the people over
whom he reigned, he feared some capricious
revolution in favour of his deposed
brother, Muley Aben Hassan. That
once fiery old monarch was now blind
and bedridden, and lived in a kind of
durance in the city of Almuneçar. He
was treated, however, with deference
and attention; for the garrison had been
originally appointed by himself. El
Zagal, having now a little leisure during
the interval of the campaigns, became
suddenly solicitous about the death of his
brother, and had him removed to Salobreña,
for the benefit of purer and more
salubrious air.

The small town of Salobreña was
situate on a lofty hill, that rose out of the
centre of a beautiful and fertile valley on
the Mediterranean coast. It was protected
by a strong castle, built by the
Moorish kings, as a place of deposit for
their treasures. Here also they sent
such of their sons and brothers as might
endanger the security of their reign.
They lived here, prisoners at large, in a
state of voluptuous repose, under a serene
sky, in a soft climate and luxuriant
valley. The palace was adorned with
fountains, and delicious gardens, and perfumed
baths; a harem of beauties was at
the command of the royal captives, and
music and the dance beguiled the lagging
hours. Nothing was denied them but
the liberty to depart; that alone was
wanting to render the abode a perfect
paradise.

Notwithstanding the extreme salubrity
of the air, and the assiduous attentions of
the commander, who was devoted to El
Zagal, and had been particularly charged
by him to be watchful over the health of
his brother, the old monarch had not
been here many days before he expired.
There was nothing surprising in this
event; for life with him had long glimmered
in the socket; but the measures
immediately taken by El Zagal roused
the suspicions of the public. With indecent
haste, he ordered that the treasures
of the deceased should be packed upon
mules, and conveyed to Granada, where
he took possession of them to the exclusion
of the children. The sultana Zorayna,
and her two sons, were imprisoned
in the Alhambra, in the tower of Comares;
the same place, where, by her
instigation, the virtuous Ayxa la Horra
and her son Boabdil had once been confined.
There she had leisure to ruminate
on the disappointment of all her schemes,
perfidiously executed, for the advancement
of those sons, who were her fellow-prisoners.
The corpse of old Muley
Aben Hassan was also brought to Granada;
not in state, like the remains of a
once powerful sovereign, but transported

ignominiously on a mule. It received
no funeral honours, but was borne obscurely
to the grave by two Christian
captives, and deposited in the Royal
Osario or charnel-house.[50]

No sooner were the people well assured
that old Muley Aben Hassan was
dead and buried, than they all with one
accord, began to deplore his loss, and
extol his memory. They admitted, that
he had been fierce and cruel, but then he
had been brave: it was true, he had
pulled down this war upon their heads;
but he had himself also been crushed by
it. In a word, he was dead; and his
death atoned for every fault: for a king,
just deceased, is generally either a hero
or a saint. In proportion as they ceased
to hate Muley Aben Hassan, they began
to hate his brother El Zagal. The manner
of the old king's death, the eagerness
to seize upon his treasures, the scandalous
neglect of his corpse, and the imprisonment
of his sultana and children,
all filled the public mind with dark suspicions;
and the name of El Zagal was
often coupled with the epithets of fratricide,
in the low murmurings of the
people.

As the public must always have some
leading person to like, as well as to hate,
there began once more to be an inquiry
after Boabdil el Chico. That unfortunate
monarch was living at Cordova, under
the shade of the cold friendship of Ferdinand,
who had ceased to regard him with
much attention, when he was no longer
useful to his interests. No sooner, however,
did the public favour once more
incline towards him, than the kindness
of the catholic monarch immediately revived.
He furnished him with money
and means again to elevate his standard,
and create a division in the Moorish
power. By this assistance, Boabdil established
the shadow of a court, at Velez
el Blanco, a strong frontier town on the
confines of Murcia, where he remained,
as it were, with one foot over the border,
and ready to draw that back, at a moment's
warning. His presence, however,
gave new life to his faction in Granada.
It is true, the more courtly and opulent
inhabitants of the quarter of the Alhambra
still rallied round the throne of El
Zagal, as the great seat of power; but
then the inhabitants of the albaycen, the
poorest part of the community, who had
nothing to risk, and nothing to lose, were
almost unanimous in favour of the indigent
Boabdil. So it is in this wonderful
system of sublunary affairs; the rich
befriend the rich, the powerful stand by
the powerful, while the poor enjoy the
sterile assistance of their fellows: thus,
each one seeking his kind, the admirable
order of all things is maintained, and a
universal harmony prevails.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

Great and glorious was the style with
which the catholic sovereigns opened
another year's campaign of this eventful
war. It was like commencing another
act of stately and heroic drama, where
the curtain rises to the inspiring sound
of martial melody, and the whole stage
glitters with the array of warriors and
the pomp of arms. The ancient city of
Cordova was the place appointed by the
sovereigns for the assemblage of the
troops; and, early in the spring of 1486,
the fair valley of the Guadalquiver resounded
with the shrill blast of trumpet,
and the impatient neighing of the warhorse.
In this splendid era of Spanish
chivalry there was a rivalship among
the nobles, who most should distinguish
himself by the splendour of his appearance,
and the number and equipments of
his feudal followers. Every day beheld
some cavalier of note, the representative
of some proud and powerful house, entering
the gates of Cordova with sound of
trumpet, and displaying his banner and
device, renowned in many a contest. He
would appear in sumptuous array, surrounded
by pages and lackeys, no less
gorgeously attired, and followed by a
host of vassals and retainers, horse and
foot, all admirably equipped in burnished
armour.

Such was the state of Don Inigo Lopez
de Mendoza, Duke del Infantado; who
may be cited as a picture of a warlike
noble of those times. He brought with
him five hundred men-at-arms of his

household, equipped and mounted á la
geneta and á la guisa. The cavaliers
who attended him were both magnificently
armed and dressed. The housings
of fifty of his horses were of rich cloth,
embroidered with gold; and others were
of brocade. The sumpter-mules had
housings of the same, with halters of
silk; while the bridles, head-pieces, and
all the harnessing, glittered with silver.

The camp equipage of these noble and
luxurious warriors was equally magnificent.
Their tents were gay pavilions,
of various colours, fitted up with silken
hangings, and decorated with fluttering
pennons. They had vessels of gold
and silver for the service of their tables,
as if they were about to engage in a
course of stately feasts and courtly
revels, instead of the stern encounters of
rugged and mountainous warfare. Sometimes
they passed through the streets of
Cordova at night, in splendid cavalcade,
with great numbers of lighted torches,
the rays of which, falling upon polished
armour, and nodding plumes, and silken
scarfs, and trappings of golden embroidery,
filled all beholders with admiration.[51]

But it was not the chivalry of Spain
alone which thronged the streets of Cordova.
The fame of this war had spread
throughout Christendom: it was considered
a kind of crusade; and catholic
knights from all parts hastened to signalize
themselves in so holy a cause.
There were several valiant chevaliers
from France, among whom the most distinguished
was Gaston de Léon, seneschal
of Toulouse. With him came a
gallant train, well armed and mounted,
and decorated with rich surcoats and
panaches of feathers. These cavaliers,
it is said, eclipsed all others in the light
festivities of the court. They were devoted
to the fair; but not after the solemn
and passionate manner of the Spanish
lovers; they were gay, gallant, and
joyous, in their amours, and captivated
by the vivacity of their attacks. They
were at first held in light estimation by
the grave and stately Spanish knights,
until they made themselves to be respected
by their wonderful prowess in
the field.

The most conspicuous of the volunteers,
however, who appeared in Cordova
on this occasion, was an English
knight of royal connexion. This was
the Lord Scales, Earl of Rivers, related
to the Queen of England, wife of Henry
VII. He had distinguished himself, in
the preceding year, at the battle of Bosworth
Field, where Henry Tudor, then
Earl of Richmond, overcame Richard
III. That decisive battle having left the
country at peace, the Earl of Rivers, retaining
a passion for warlike scenes, repaired
to the Castilian court, to keep his
arms in exercise in a campaign against
the Moors. He brought with him a hundred
archers, all dexterous with the
long-bow and the cloth-yard arrow;
also two hundred yeomen, armed cap-àpié,
who fought with pike and battle-axe;
men robust of frame, and of prodigious
strength.

The worthy Padre Fray Antonio Agapida
describes this stranger knight and
his followers with his accustomed accuracy
and minuteness. "This cavalier,"
he observes, "was from the island of
England, and brought with him a train
of his vassals; men who had been hardened
in certain civil wars which had
raged in their country. They were a
comely race of men, but too fair and
fresh for warriors; not having the sunburnt,
martial hue of our old Castilian
soldiery. They were huge feeders, also,
and deep carousers; and could not accommodate
themselves to the sober diet
of our troops, but must fain eat and
drink after the manner of their own
country. They were often noisy and
unruly, also, in their wassail; and their
quarter of the camp was prone to be a
scene of loud revel and sudden brawl.
They were withal of great pride; yet it
was not like our inflammable Spanish
pride: they stood not much upon the
pundonor and high punctilio, and rarely
drew the stiletto in their disputes: but
their pride was silent and contumelious.
Though from a remote and somewhat
barbarous island, they yet believed themselves
the most perfect men upon earth;
and magnified their chieftain, the Lord
Scales, beyond the greatest of our grandees.
With all this, it must be said of
them, that they were marvellous good

men in the field, dexterous archers, and
powerful with the battle-axe. In their
great pride and self-will, they always
sought to press in the advance, and take
the post of danger, trying to outvie our
Spanish chivalry. They did not rush
forward fiercely, or make a brilliant
onset, like the Moorish and Spanish
troops, but they went into the fight deliberately,
and persisted obstinately, and
were slow to find out when they were
beaten. Withal, they were much esteemed,
yet little liked, by our soldiery,
who considered them staunch companions
in the field, yet coveted but little
fellowship with them in the camp.

"Their commander, the Lord Scales,
was an accomplished cavalier, of gracious
and noble presence, and fair speech. It
was a marvel to see so much courtesy
in a knight brought up so far from our
Castilian court. He was much honoured
by the king and queen, and found great
favour with the fair dames about the
court; who, indeed, are rather prone to
be pleased with foreign cavaliers. He
went always in costly state, attended by
pages and esquires, and accompanied by
noble young cavaliers of his country,
who had enrolled themselves under his
banner, to learn the gentle exercise of
arms. In all pageants and festivals,
the eyes of the populace were attracted
by the singular bearing and rich array
of the English earl and his train, who
prided themselves in always appearing
in the garb and manner of their country;
and were indeed something very magnificent,
delectable, and strange to behold."

The worthy chronicler is no less elaborate
in his description of the masters
of Santiago, Calatrava, and Alcantara,
and their valiant knights; armed at all
points, and decorated with the badges
of their orders. "These," he affirms,
"were the flower of Christian chivalry.
Being constantly in service, they became
more steadfast and accomplished in discipline
than the irregular and temporary
levies of the feudal nobles. Calm,
solemn, and stately, they sat like towers
upon their powerful chargers. On parades,
they manifested none of the show
and ostentation of the other troops.
Neither, in battle, did they endeavour
to signalize themselves by any fiery
vivacity, or desperate and vainglorious
exploit; every thing with them was
measured and sedate; yet it was observed,
that none were more warlike
in their appearance in the camp, or
more terrible for their achievements in
the field."

The gorgeous magnificence of the Spanish
nobles found but little favour in the
eyes of the sovereigns. They saw that
it caused a competition in expense, ruinous
to cavaliers of moderate fortune;
and they feared that a softness and
effeminacy might thus be introduced,
incompatible with the stern nature of
the war. They signified their disapprobation
to several of the principal
noblemen, and recommended a more
sober and soldierlike display while in
actual service.

"These are rare troops for a tourney,
my lord," said Ferdinand to the Duke
del Infantado, as he beheld his retainers
glittering in gold and embroidery: "but
gold, though gorgeous, is soft and yielding:
iron is the metal for the field."

"Sire," replied the duke, "if my men
parade in gold, your majesty will find
they fight with steel." The king smiled,
but shook his head; and the duke treasured
up his speech in his heart.

It remains now to reveal the immediate
object of this mighty and chivalrous preparation;
which had, in fact, the gratification
of a royal pique at bottom. The
severe lesson which Ferdinand had received
from the veteran Ali Atar, before
the walls of Loxa, though it had been of
great service in rendering him wary in
his attacks upon fortified places, yet
rankled sorely in his mind; and he had
ever since held Loxa in peculiar odium.
It was, in truth, one of the most belligerent
and troublesome cities on the
borders; incessantly harassing Andalusia
by its incursions. It also intervened
between the Christian territories
and Alhama, and other important places,
gained in the kingdom of Granada. For
all these reasons, King Ferdinand had
determined to make another grand attempt
upon this warrior city; and for
this purpose he had summoned to the
field his most powerful chivalry.

It was in the month of May that the

king sallied from Cordova, at the head
of his army. He had twelve thousand
cavalry, and forty thousand foot-soldiers,
with crossbows, lances, and arquebuses.
There were six thousand pioneers, with
hatchets, pickaxes, and crowbars, for
levelling roads. He took with him, also,
a great train of lombards and other heavy
artillery; with a body of Germans,
skilled in the service of ordnance, and
the art of battering walls.

"It was a glorious spectacle," says
Fray Antonio Agapida, "to behold this
pompous pageant issuing forth from Cordova:
the pennons and devices of the
proudest houses of Spain, with those of
gallant stranger knights, fluttering above
a sea of crests and plumes; to see it
slowly moving, with flash of helmet,
and cuirass, and buckler, across the
ancient bridge, and reflected in the
waters of the Guadalquivir: while the
neigh of steed, and the blast of trumpet,
vibrated in the air, and resounded to the
distant mountains. But, above all,"
concludes the good father, with his accustomed
zeal, "it was triumphant to
behold the standard of the faith every
where displayed; and to reflect, that this
was no worldly-minded army, intent upon
some temporal scheme of ambition or
revenge; but a Christian host, bound on
a crusade to extirpate the vile seed of
Mahomet from the land, and to extend
the pure dominion of the church."

CHAPTER XXXVII.

While perfect unity of object, and
harmony of operation, gave power to
the Christian arms, the devoted kingdom
of Granada continued a prey to internal
feuds. The transient popularity of El
Zagal had declined ever since the death
of his brother, and the party of Boabdil
el Chico was daily gaining strength.
The albaycen and the Alhambra were
again arrayed against each other in
deadly strife, and the streets of unhappy
Granada were daily dyed in the blood of
her children.

In the midst of these dissensions,
tidings arrived of the formidable army
assembling at Cordova. The rival factions
paused in their infatuated brawls,
and were roused to a temporary sense of
the common danger. They forthwith
resorted to their old expedient of new-modelling
their government, or rather,
of making and unmaking kings. The
elevation of El Zagal to the throne had
not produced the desired effect. What,
then, was to be done? Recall Boabdil
el Chico, and acknowledge him again as
sovereign? While they were in a popular
tumult of deliberation, Hamet Aben
Zarrax, surnamed El Santo, arose among
them. This was the same wild, melancholy
man, who had predicted the woes
of Granada. He issued from one of the
caverns of the adjacent height, which
overhangs the Darro, and has since
been called the Holy Mountain. His
appearance was more haggard than
ever; for the unheeded spirit of prophecy
seemed to have turned inwardly,
and preyed upon his vitals. "Beware,
O Moslems!" exclaimed he, "of men,
who are eager to govern, yet are unable
to protect! Why slaughter each other
for El Chico or El Zagal? Let your
kings renounce their contests, and unite
for the salvation of Granada, or let them
be deposed!"

Hamet Aben Zarrax had long been
revered as a saint; he was now considered
an oracle. The old men and
nobles immediately consulted together
how the two rival kings might be
brought to accord. They had tried
most expedients: it was now determined
to divide the kingdom between them;
giving Granada, Malaga, Velez Malaga,
Almeri, Alumneçar, and their dependencies,
to El Zagal, and the residue to
Boabdil el Chico. Among the cities
granted to the latter, Loxa was particularly
specified, with a condition that he
should immediately take command of it
in person; for the council thought the
favour he enjoyed with the Castilian
monarchs might avert the threatened
attack.

El Zagal readily accorded to this arrangement.
He had been hastily elevated
to the throne by an ebullition of
the people, and might be as hastily cast
down again. It secured him one half of
a kingdom to which he had no hereditary
right, and he trusted to force or

fraud to gain the other half hereafter.
The wily old monarch even sent a deputation
to his nephew, making a merit of
offering him cheerfully the half, which
he had thus been compelled to relinquish,
and inviting him to enter into an
amicable coalition for the good of the
country.

The heart of Boabdil shrunk from all
connexion with a man who had sought
his life, and whom he regarded as the
murderer of his kindred. He accepted
one half of the kingdom as an offer from
the nation, not to be rejected by a prince,
who scarcely held possession of the
ground he stood on. He asserted, nevertheless,
his absolute right to the whole,
and only submitted to the partition out
of anxiety for the present good of his
people. He assembled his handful of
adherents, and prepared to hasten to
Loxa. As he mounted his horse to depart,
Hamet Aben Zarrax stood suddenly
before him. "Be true to thy country
and thy faith," cried he, "hold no further
communication with these Christian dogs.
Trust not the hollow-hearted friendship
of the Castilian king: he is mining the
earth beneath thy feet. Choose one of
two things: be a sovereign or a slave;
thou canst not be both!"

Boabdil ruminated on these words: he
made many wise resolutions; but he was
prone always to act from the impulse of
the moment, and was unfortunately given
to temporize in his policy. He wrote to
Ferdinand, informing him that Loxa and
certain other cities had returned to their
allegiance, and that he held them as
vassal to the Castilian crown, according
to their convention. He conjured him,
therefore, to refrain from any meditated
attack, offering free passage to the Spanish
army to Malaga, or any other place
under the dominion of his uncle.[52]

Ferdinand turned a deaf ear to the
entreaty, and to all professions of friendship
and vassalage. Boabdil was nothing
to him, but as an instrument for
stirring up the flames of civil discord.
He now insisted, that he had entered
into a hostile league with his uncle, and
had, consequently, forfeited all claims to
his indulgence; and he prosecuted with
greater earnestness his campaign against
the city of Loxa.

"Thus," observes the worthy Fray
Antonio Agapida, "did this most sagacious
sovereign act upon the text in the
eleventh chapter of the evangelist St.
Luke, that `a kingdom divided against
itself cannot stand.' He had induced
these infidels to waste and destroy themselves
by internal dissensions, and finally
cast forth the survivor; while the Moorish
monarchs, by their ruinous contests,
made good the old Castilian proverb in
cases of civil war, `El vencido vencido,
y el vencidor perdido,' the conquered conquered,
and the conqueror undone."[53]

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

The royal army, on its march against
Loxa, lay encamped, one pleasant evening
in May, in a meadow, on the banks
of the river Yeguas, around the foot of a
lofty cliff, called the Rock of the Lovers.
The quarters of each nobleman, formed,
as it were, a separate little encampment;
his stately pavilion, surmounted by his
fluttering pennon, rising above the surrounding
tents of his vassals and retainers.
A little apart from the others,
as it were in proud reserve, was the encampment
of the English earl. It was
sumptuous in its furniture, and complete
in its munitions. Archers, and soldiers
armed with battle-axes, kept guard around
it; while above, the standard of England
rolled out its ample folds, and flapped in
the evening breeze.

The mingled sounds of various tongues
and nations were heard from the soldiery,
as they watered their horses in the stream,
or busied themselves round the fires which
began to glow, here and there, in the
twilight: the gay chanson of the Frenchman,
singing of his amours on the pleasant
banks of the Loire, or the sunny
regions of the Garonne; the broad guttural
tones of the German, chanting
some doughty kriegerlied, or extolling
the vintage of the Rhine; the wild romance
of the Spaniard, reciting the
achievements of the Cid, and many a

famous passage of the Moorish wars; and
the long and melancholy ditty of the Englishman,
treating of some feudal hero or
redoubtable outlaw of his distant island.

On a rising ground, commanding a
view of the whole encampment, stood the
ample and magnificent pavilion of the
king, with the banner of Castile and
Aragon, and the holy standard of the
cross erected before it. In this tent
were assembled the principal commanders
of the army, having been summoned
by Ferdinand to a council of war, on
receiving tidings that Boabdil had thrown
himself into Loxa, with a considerable
reinforcement. After some consultation,
it was determined to invest Loxa on both
sides: one part of the army was to seize
upon the dangerous but commanding
height of Santo Albohacin, in front of the
city; while the remainder, making a circuit,
should encamp on the opposite side.

No sooner was this resolved upon,
than the Marquis of Cadiz stood forth,
and claimed the post of danger, on behalf
of himself and those cavaliers, his companions
in arms, who had been compelled
to relinquish it by the general retreat of
the army on the former siege. The
enemy had exulted over them, as if
driven from it in disgrace. To regain
that perilous height, to pitch their tents
upon it, and to avenge the blood of their
valiant compeer, the Master of Calatrava,
who had fallen upon it, was due to their
fame: the marquis demanded, therefore,
that they might lead the advance, and
secure the height, engaging to hold the
enemy employed, until the main army
should take its position on the opposite
side of the city.

King Ferdinand readily granted his
permission, upon which the Count de
Cabra begged to be admitted to a share
of the enterprise. He had always been
accustomed to serve in the advance;
and now that Boabdil was in the field,
and a king was to be taken, he could not
content himself with remaining in the
rear. Ferdinand yielded his consent;
for he was disposed to give the good
count every opportunity to retrieve his
late disaster.

The English earl, when he heard there
was a work of danger in question, was
eager to be of the party; but the king
restrained his ardour. "These cavaliers,"
said he, "conceive that they have
an account to settle with their pride.
Let them have the enterprise to themselves,
my lord: if you follow these
Moorish wars long, you will find no lack
of perilous service."

The Marquis of Cadiz and his companions
in arms struck their tents before
daybreak. They were five thousand
horse, and twelve thousand foot, and
they marched rapidly along the defiles
of the mountains; the cavaliers being
anxious to strike the blow, and get possession
of the height of Albohacin, before
the king, with the main army, should
arrive to their assistance.

The city of Loxa stands on a high
hill, between two mountains, on the banks
of the Xenil. To attain the height in
question, the troops had to pass over a
tract of country, rugged and broken,
and a deep valley, intersected by the
canals and water-courses, with which
the Moors irrigated their lands. They
were extremely embarrassed in this part
of their march, and in imminent risk of
being cut up in detail, before they could
reach the height. The Count de Cabra,
with his usual eagerness, endeavoured
to push across this valley, in defiance of
every obstacle. He, in consequence,
soon became entangled with his cavalry
among the canals; but his impatience
would not permit him to retrace his steps,
and choose a more practicable but circuitous
route. Others slowly crossed
another part of the valley by the aid of
pontoons; while the Marquis of Cadiz,
Don Alonso de Aguilar, and the Count
de Ureña, being more experienced in the
ground, from their former compaign,
made a circuit round the bottom of the
height, and, thus ascending, began to
display their squadrons, and elevate their
banners, on the redoubtable post, which,
in the former siege, they had been compelled
so reluctantly to abandon.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

The advance of the Christian army
upon Loxa threw the wavering Boabdil

el Chico into one of his usual dilemmas;
and he was greatly perplexed between
his oath of allegiance to the Spanish
sovereigns, and his sense of duty to his
subjects. His doubts were determined
by the sight of the enemy, glittering upon
the height of Albohacin, and by the clamours
of the people to be led forth to
battle. "Allah!" exclaimed he, "thou
knowest my heart; thou knowest I have
been true in my faith to this Christian
monarch! I have offered to hold Loxa
as his vassal, but he has preferred to approach
it as an enemy: on his head be
the infraction of our treaty!"

Boabdil was not wanting in courage;
he only needed decision. When he had
once made up his mind, he acted vigorously.
The misfortune was, he either
did not make it up at all, or he made it up
too late. He who decides tardily, generally
acts rashly; endeavouring to compensate,
by hurry of action, for slowness
of deliberation. Boabdil hastily buckled
on his armour, and sallied forth, surrounded
by his guards, and at the head
of five hundred horse, and four thousand
foot, the flower of his army. Some he
detached to skirmish with the Christians,
who were scattered and perplexed in the
valley, and to prevent their concentrating
their forces; while, with his main
body, he pressed forward, to drive the
enemy from the height of Albohacin,
before they had time to collect there in
any number, or to fortify themselves in
that important position.

The worthy Count de Cabra was yet
entangled, with his cavalry, among the
water-courses of the valley, when he
heard the war-cries of the Moors, and
saw their army rushing over the bridge.
He recognised Boabdil himself by his
splendid armour, the magnificent caparison
of his steed, and the brilliant guard
which surrounded him. The royal host
swept on towards the height. An intervening
hill hid it from his sight; but
loud shouts and cries, the din of drums
and trumpets, and the reports of arquebuses,
gave note that the battle had
begun.

Here was a royal prize in the field,
and the Count de Cabra unable to share
in the action! The good cavalier was
in an agony of impatience. Every attempt
to force his way across the valley
only plunged him into new difficulties.
At length, after many eager but ineffectual
efforts, he was obliged to order his
troops to dismount, and slowly and carefully
to lead their horses back, along
slippery paths, and amid plashes of
mire and water, where often there was
scarcely a foothold. The good count
groaned in spirit, and was in a profuse
sweat with mere impatience as he went,
fearing the battle might be fought, and
the prize won or lost, before he could
reach the field. Having at length toilfully
unravelled the mazes of the valley,
and arrived at firmer ground, he ordered
his troops to mount, and led them full
gallop to the height. Part of the good
count's wishes were satisfied, but the
dearest were disappointed. He came in
season to partake of the very hottest of
the fight, but the royal prize was no
longer in the field.

Boabdil had led on his men with impetuous
valour, or rather with hurried
rashness. Heedlessly exposing himself
in the front of battle, he received two
wounds in the very first encounter. His
guards rallied round him, defended him
with matchless valour, and bore him
bleeding out of the action. The Count
de Cabra arrived just in time to see the
loyal squadron crossing the bridge, and
slowly conveying their disabled monarch
towards the gate of the city.

The departure of Boabdil made no difference
in the fury of the contest. A
Moorish warrior, dark and terrible in
aspect, mounted on a black charger, and
followed by a band of savage Gomeres,
rushed forward to take the lead. It was
Hamet el Zegri, the fierce alcayde of
Ronda, with the remnant of his once
redoubtable garrison. Animated by his
example, the Moors renewed their assaults
upon the height. It was bravely
defended on one side by the Marquis of
Cadiz, on another by Don Alonso de
Aguilar; and as fast as the Moors ascended,
they were driven back and dashed
down the declivities. The Count de
Ureña took his stand upon the fatal spot
where his brother had fallen. His followers
entered with zeal into the feelings
of their commander, and heaps of the
enemy sunk beneath their weapons, sacrifices

to the manes of the lamented
Master of Calatrava.

The battle continued with incredible
obstinacy. The Moors knew the importance
of the height to the safety of
the city; the cavaliers felt their honours
staked to maintain it. Fresh supplies of
troops were poured out of the city; some
battled on the height, while some attacked
the Christians who were still in the valley,
and among the orchards and gardens,
to prevent their uniting their forces.
The troops in the valley were gradually
driven back, and the whole host of the
Moors swept around the Albohacin. The
situation of the Marquis of Cadiz and his
companions was perilous in the extreme;
they were a mere handful; and while
they were fighting hand to hand with the
Moors who assailed the height, they were
galled from a distance by the crossbows
and arquebuses of a host, that augmented
each moment in number. At this critical
juncture, King Ferdinand emerged from
the mountains with the main body of the
army, and advanced to an eminence commanding
a full view of the field of action.
By his side was the noble English cavalier,
the Earl of Rivers. This was the
first time he had witnessed a scene of
Moorish warfare. He looked with eager
interest at the chance-medley fight before
him,—the wild career of cavalry, the
irregular and tumultuous rush of infantry,
and Christian helm and Moorish
turban intermingling in deadly struggle.
His high blood mounted at the sight; and
his very soul was stirred within him, by
the confused war-cries, the clangour of
drums and trumpets, and the reports of
arquebuses, that came echoing up the
mountains. Seeing the king was sending
a reinforcement to the field, he entreated
permission to mingle in the affray, and
fight according to the fashion of his
country. His request being granted, he
alighted from his steed. He was merely
armed en blanco, that is to say, with
morion, back-piece, and breast-plate; his
sword was girded by his side, and in his
hand he wielded a powerful battle-axe.

He was followed by a body of his
yeomen, armed in like manner, and by a
band of archers, with bows made of the
tough English yew-tree. The earl turned
to his troops, and addressed them briefly
and bluntly, according to the manner of
his country. "Remember, my merry
men all," said he, "the eyes of strangers
are upon you; you are in a foreign land,
fighting for the glory of God and the
honour of merry old England!" A loud
shout was the reply. The earl waved
his battle-axe over his head. "St. George
for England!" cried he; and to the inspiring
sound of this old English war-cry,
he and his followers rushed down to
the battle, with manly and courageous
hearts.[54]

They soon made their way into the
midst of the enemy; but, when engaged
in the hottest of the fight, they made no
shouts or outcries. They pressed steadily
forward, dealing their blows to right and
left, hewing down the Moors, and cutting
their way with their battle-axes, like
woodmen in a forest; while the archers,
pressing into the opening they made,
plied their bows vigorously, and spread
death on every side.

When the Castilian mountaineers beheld
the valour of the English yeomanry,
they would not be outdone in hardihood.
They could not vie with them in weight
and bulk, but for vigour and activity
they were surpassed by none. They
kept pace with them, therefore, with
equal heart and rival prowess, and gave
a brave support to the stout islanders.

The Moors were confounded by the
fury of these assaults, and disheartened
by the loss of Hamet el Zegri, who was
carried wounded from the field. They
gradually fell back upon the bridge; the
Christians followed up their advantage,
and drove them over it tumultuously.
The Moors retreated into the suburb, and
Lord Rivers and his troops entered with
them pellmell, fighting in the streets and
in the houses. King Ferdinand came up
to the scene of action with his royal
guard, and the infidels were all driven
within the city walls. Thus were the
suburbs gained by the hardihood of the
English lord, without such an event having
been premeditated.[55]

The Earl of Rivers, notwithstanding
he had received a wound, still urged
forward in the attack. He penetrated
almost to the city gate, in defiance of a

shower of missiles, that slew many of his
followers. A stone, hurled from the battlements,
checked his impetuous career.
It struck him in the face, dashed out two
of his front teeth, and laid him senseless
on the earth. He was removed to a short
distance by his men; but, recovering his
senses, refused to permit himself to be
taken from the suburb.

When the contest was over, the streets
presented a piteous spectacle, so many of
their inhabitants had died in the defence
of their thresholds, or been slaughtered
without resistance. Among the victims
was a poor weaver, who had been at
work in his dwelling at this turbulent
moment. His wife urged him to fly into
the city. "Why should I fly?" said the
Moor, "to be reserved for hunger and
slavery? I tell you, wife, I will abide
here; for better is it to die quickly by
the steel, than to perish peacemeal in
chains and dungeons." He said no more,
but resumed his occupation of weaving;
and, in the indiscriminate fury of the
assault, was slaughtered at his loom.[56]

The Christians remained masters of
the field, and proceeded to pitch three
encampments for the prosecution of the
siege. The king, with the great body of
the army, took a position on the side of
the city next to Granada. The Marquis
de Cadiz and his brave companions once
more pitched their tents upon the height
of Santo Albohacin; but the English earl
planted his standard sturdily within the
suburb he had taken.

CHAPTER XL.

Having possession of the heights of
Albohacin, and the suburb of the city,
the Christians were enabled to choose
the most favourable situations for their
batteries. They immediately destroyed
the stone bridge, by which the garrison
had made its sallies; and they threw two
wooden bridges across the river, and
others over the canals and streams, so as
to establish an easy communication between
the different camps.

When all was arranged, a heavy fire
was opened upon the city from various
points. They threw not only balls of
stone and iron, but great careases of fire,
which burst like meteors on the houses,
wrapping them instantly in a blaze. The
walls were shattered, and the towers
toppled down by tremendous discharges
from the lombards. Through the openings
thus made, they could behold the
interior of the city; houses tumbling
down or in flames; men, women, and
children flying in terror through the
streets, and slaughtered by the shower
of missiles sent through these openings
from smaller artillery, and from crossbows
and arquebuses.

The Moors attempted to repair the
breaches; but fresh discharges from the
lombards buried them beneath the ruins
of the walls they were mending. In their
despair, many of the inhabitants rushed
forth into the narrow streets of the suburbs,
and assailed the Christians with
darts, cimeters, and poniards; seeking
to destroy rather than defend, and heedless
of death, in the confidence, that to
die fighting with an unbeliever was to be
translated at once to paradise.

For two nights and a day this awful
scene continued: when certain of the
principal inhabitants began to reflect
upon the hopelessness of resistance.
Their king was disabled; their principal
captains were either killed or wounded;
their fortifications little better than heaps
of ruins. They had urged the unfortunate
Boabdil to the conflict; they now
clamoured for a capitulation. A parley
was procured from the Christian monarch,
and the terms of surrender were
soon adjusted. They were to yield up
the city immediately, with all the Christian
captives, and to sally forth with as
much of their property as they could
take with them. The Marquis of Cadiz,
on whose honour and humanity they had
great reliance, was to escort them to
Granada, to protect them from assault
or robbery. Such as chose to remain in
Spain were to be permitted to reside in
Castile, Aragon, or Valencia. As to
Boabdil el Chico, he was to do homage
as vassal to King Ferdinand; but no
charge was to be urged against him, of
having violated his former pledge. If he
should yield up all pretensions to Granada,
the title of Duke of Guadix was to

be assigned him, and the territory thereto
annexed, provided it should be recovered
from El Zagal within six months.

The capitulation being arranged, they
gave as hostages the alcayde of the city,
and the principal officers, together with
the sons of their late chieftain, the veteran
Ali Atar. The warriors of Loxa then
issued forth, humbled and dejected, at
having to surrender those walls, which
they had so long maintained with valour
and renown; and the women and children
filled the air with lamentations, at
being exiled from their native homes.

Last came forth Boabdil, most truly
called El Zogoybi, the unlucky. Accustomed,
as he had been, to be crowned
and uncrowned; to be ransomed, and
treated as a matter of bargain, he had
acceded of course to the capitulation.
He was enfeebled by his wounds, and had
an air of dejection; yet, it is said, his
conscience acquitted him of a breach of
faith towards the Castilian sovereigns;
and the personal valour he had displayed
had caused a sympathy for him among
many of the Christian cavaliers. He
kneeled to Ferdinand, according to the
forms of vassalage, and then departed in
melancholy mood for Priego, a town
about three leagues distant. Ferdinand
immediately ordered Loxa to be repaired
and strongly garrisoned. He was greatly
clated at the capture of this place, in
consequence of his former defeat before
its walls. He passed great encomiums
upon the commanders who had distinguished
themselves; and historians dwell
particularly upon his visit to the tent of
the English earl. His majesty consoled
him for the loss of his teeth, by the consideration,
that he might otherwise have
been deprived of them by natural decay:
whereas the lack of them would now be
esteemed a beauty rather than a defect;
serving as a trophy of the glorious cause
in which he had been engaged.

The earl replied, "that he gave thanks
to God and to the holy Virgin for being
thus honoured by a visit from the most
potent king in Christendom; that he accepted,
with all gratitude, his gracious
consolation for the loss he had sustained;
though he held it little to lose two teeth
in the service of God, who had given him
all."

"A speech," says Fray Antonio Agapida,
"full of most courtly wit and Christian
piety; and one only marvels that it
should be made by a native of an island
so far distant from Castile."

CHAPTER XLI.

King Ferdinand followed up his victory
at Loxa by laying seige to the strong
town of Illora. This redoubtable fortress
was perched upon a high rock, in the
midst of a spacious valley. It was within
four leagues of the Moorish capital; and
its lofty castle, keeping vigilant watch
over a wide circuit of country, was termed
the Right Eye of Granada.

The alcayde of Illora was one of the
bravest of the Moorish commanders, and
made every preparation to defend his fortress
to the last extremity. He sent the
women and children, the aged and infirm,
to the metropolis. He placed barricadoes
in the suburbs, opened doors of communication
from house to house, and picrced
their walls with loop-holes, for the discharge
of crossbows, arquebuses, and
other missiles.

King Ferdinand arrived before the
place with all his forces. He stationed
himself upon the hill of Encinilla, and
distributed the other encampments in various
situations, so as to invest the fortress.
Knowing the valiant character of
the alcayde, and the desperate courage
of the Moors, he ordered the encampments
to be fortified with trenches and
palisadoes, the guards to be doubled, and
sentinels to be placed in all the watchtowers
of the adjacent heights.

When all was ready, the Duke del Infantado
demanded the attack. It was his
first campaign; and he was anxious to
disprove the royal insinuation made
against the hardihood of his embroidered
chivalry. King Ferdinand granted his
demand, with a becoming compliment to
his spirit. He ordered the Count de Cabra
to make a simultaneous attack upon
a different quarter. Both chiefs led forth
their troops. Those of the duke were in
fresh and brilliant armour, richly ornamented,
and as yet uninjured by the service
of the field. Those of the count
were weatherbeaten veterans, whose armour

was dinted and hacked in many a
hard-fought battle. The youthful duke
blushed at the contrast. "Cavaliers!"
cried he, "we have been reproached
with the finery of our arms: let us prove,
that a trenchant blade may rest in a
gilded sheath. Forward! to the foe!
and I trust in God, that, as we enter this
affray knights well accoutred, so we shall
leave it cavaliers well proved!" His
men responded by eager acclamations,
and the duke led them forward to the assault.
He advanced under a tremendous
shower of stones, darts, balls, and arrows;
but nothing could check his career. He
entered the suburb sword in hand; his
men fought furiously, though with great
loss; for every dwelling had been turned
into a fortress. After a severe conflict,
he succeeded in driving the Moors into
the town, about the same time that the
other suburb was carried by the Count
de Cabra and his veterans. The troops
of the Duke del Infantado came out of
the contest thinned in number, and covered
with blood, and dust, and wounds.
They received the highest encomiums of
the king; and there was never afterwards
any sneer at their embroidery.

The suburbs being taken, three batteries,
each furnished with eight large
lombards, were opened upon the fortress.
The damage and havoc were tremendous;
for the fortifications had not been
constructed to withstand such engines.
The towers were overthrown; the walls
battered to pieces; the interior of the
place was all exposed; houses demolished,
and many people slain. The Moors
were terrified by the tumbling ruins and
the tremendous din. The alcayde had
resolved to defend the place unto the last
extremity. He beheld it a heap of rubbish;
there was no prospect of aid from
Granada; his people had lost all spirit
to fight, and were vociferous for a surrender.
With a reluctant heart he capitulated.
The inhabitants were permitted
to depart with all their effects, excepting
their arms; and were escorted in safety,
by the Duke del Infantado and the Count
de Cabra, to the bridge of Pinos, within
two leagues of Granada.

King Ferdinand gave directions to repair
the fortifications of Illora, and to
place it in a strong state of defence. He
left, as alcayde of the town and fortress,
Gonsalvo de Cordova, younger brother
of Don Alonso de Aguilar. This gallant
cavalier was captain of the royal guards
of Ferdinand and Isabella, and gave already
proofs of that prowess, which afterwards
rendered him so renowned.

CHAPTER XLII.

The war of Granada, however poets
may embroider it with the flowers of their
fancy, was certainly one of the sternest
of those iron conflicts, which have been
celebrated under the name of holy wars.
The worthy Fray Antonio Agapida
dwells with unsated delight upon the
succession of rugged mountain enterprises,
bloody battles, and merciless
sackings and ravages, which characterize
it; yet we find him, on one occasion,
pausing, in the full career of victory
over the infidels, to detail a stately pageant
of the catholic sovereigns.

Immediately on the capture of Loxa,
Ferdinand had written to Isabella, soliciting
her presence at the camp, that he
might consult with her as to the disposition
of their newly-acquired territories.

It was in the early part of June that
the queen departed from Cordova, with
the Princess Isabella, and numerous ladies
of her court. She had a glorious
attendance of cavaliers and pages, with
many guards and domestics. There
were forty mules for the use of the queen,
the princess, and their train.

As this courtly cavalcade approached
the Rock of the Lovers, on the banks of
the river Yeguas, they beheld a splendid
train of knights advancing to meet them.
It was headed by the accomplished cavalier,
the Marquis Duke de Cadiz, accompanied
by the adelantado of Andalusia.
He had left the camp the day after
the capture of Illora, and advanced thus
far to receive the queen and escort her
over the borders. The queen received
the marquis with distinguished honour,
for he was esteemed as the mirror of
chivalry. His actions in this war had
become the theme of every tongue, and

many hesitated not to compare him, in
prowess, to the immortal Cid.[57]

Thus gallantly attended, the queen
entered the vanquished frontier of Granada,
journeying securely along the pleasant
banks of the Xenil, so lately subject
to the scourings of the Moors. She
stopped at Loxa, where she administered
aid and consolation to the wounded, distributing
money among them for their
support, according to their rank.

The king, after the capture of Illora,
had removed his camp before the fortress
of Moclin, with an intention of besieging
it. Thither the queen proceeded, still
escorted through the mountain roads by
the Marquis of Cadiz. As Isabella drew
near to the camp, the Duke del Infantado
issued forth a league and a half to
receive her, magnificently arrayed, and
followed by all his chivalry in glorious
attire. With him came the standard of
Seville, borne by the men-at-arms of that
renowned city, and the prior of St. Juan,
with his followers. They arranged themselves
in order of battle on the left of the
road by which the queen was to pass. The
worthy Agapida is loyally minute in his
description of the state and grandeur of
the catholic sovereigns. The queen rode
a chestnut mule, seated in a magnificent
saddle chair, decorated with silver gilt.
The housings of the mule were of fine
crimson cloth; the borders embroidered
with gold; the reins and headpiece were
of satin, curiously embossed with needlework
of silk, and wrought with golden
letters. The queen wore a brial or royal
skirt of velvet, under which were others
of brocade; a scarlet mantle, ornamented
in the moresco fashion, and a black hat
embroidered round the crown and brim.

The infanta was likewise mounted on
a chestnut mule, richly caparisoned.
She wore a brial or skirt of black brocade,
and a black mantle, ornamented
like that of the queen.

When the royal cavalcade passed by
the chivalry of the Duke del Infantado,
which was drawn out in battle array,
the queen made a reverence to the standard
of Seville, and ordered it to pass to
the right hand. When she approached
the camp, the multitude ran forth to meet
her, with great demonstrations of joy;
for she was universally beloved by her
subjects. All the battalions sallied forth
in military array, bearing the various
standards and banners of the camp,
which were lowered in salutation as she
passed.

The king now appeared, in royal state,
mounted on a superb chestnut horse, and
attended by many grandees of Castile.
He wore a jubon or close vest of crimson
cloth, with cuisses or short skirts of
yellow satin; a loose cassock of brocade,
a rich Moorish cimeter, and a hat with
plumes. The grandees who attended
him were arrayed with wonderful magnificence,
each according to his taste and
invention.

"These high and mighty princes,"
says Antonio Agapida, "regarded each
other with great deference as allied sovereigns,
rather than with connubial familiarity
as mere husband and wife, when
they approached each other: therefore,
before embracing, they made three profound
reverences; the queen taking off
her hat, and remaining in a silk net or
cawl, with her face uncovered. The
king then approached, and embraced
her, and kissed her respectfully on the
cheek. He also embraced his daughter
the princess, and, making the sign of
the cross, he blessed her, and kissed her
on the lips."[58]

The good Agapida seems scarcely to
have been more struck with the appearance
of the sovereigns, than with that of
the English earl. "He followed," says
he, "immediately after the king, with
great pomp, and in an extraordinary
manner, taking precedence of all the
rest. He was mounted, á la guisa, or
with long stirrups, on a superb chestnut
horse, with trappings of azure silk, which
reached to the ground. The housings
were of mulberry, powdered with stars
of gold. He was armed in proof, and
wore over his armour a short French
mantle of black brocade. He had a
white French hat with plumes; and carried
on his left arm a small round buckler,
banded with gold. Five pages attended
him, apparelled in silk and brocade,
and mounted on horses sumptuously

caparisoned. He had also a train of
followers, attired after the fashion of his
country."

He advanced in a chivalrous and courteous
manner, making his reverences
first to the queen and infanta, and afterwards
to the king. Queen Isabella received
him graciously, complimenting
him on his courageous conduct at Loxa,
and condoling with him on the loss of
his teeth. The earl, however, made light
of his disfiguring wound; saying, that
"our blessed Lord, who had built all
that house, had opened a window there,
that he might see more readily what
passed within."[59] Whereupon, the worthy
Fray Antonio Agapida is more than ever
astonished at the pregnant wit of this
island cavalier. The earl continued some
little distance by the side of the royal
family, complimenting them all with
courteous speeches, his steed curveting
and caracoling, but managed with great
grace and dexterity, leaving the grandees
and the people at large not more filled
with admiration at the strangeness and
magnificence of his state, than at the excellence
of his horsemanship.[60]

To testify her sense of the gallantry
and services of this noble English knight,
who had come from so far to assist in
their wars, the queen sent him, the next
day, presents of twelve horses, with
stately tents, fine linen, two beds, with
coverings of gold brocade, and many
other articles of great value.

Having refreshed himself as it were,
with the description of this progress of
Queen Isabella to the camp, and the glorious
pomp of the catholic sovereigns, the
worthy Antonio Agapida returns, with
renewed relish, to his pious work of discomfiting
the Moors.[61]

CHAPTER XLIII.

"The catholic sovereigns," says Fray
Antonio Agapida, "had by this time
closely clipped the right wing of the
Moorish vulture." In other words, most
of the strong fortresses along the western
frontier of Granada had fallen beneath
the Christian artillery. The army now
lay encamped before the town of Moclin,
on the frontier of Jaen, one of the most
stubborn fortresses of the border. It
stood on a high rocky hill, the base of
which was nearly girdled by a river. A
thick forest protected the back part of
the town towards the mountain. Thus
strongly situate, it domineered, with its
frowning battlements and massive towers,
over all the mountain passes into that
part of the country, and was called the
Shield of Granada. It had a double
arrear of blood to settle with the Christians.
Two hundred years before, a
Master of Santiago and all his cavaliers
had been lanced by the Moors before its
gates. It had recently made terrible
slaughter among the troops of the good
Count de Cabra, in his precipitate attempt
to entrap the old Moorish monarch. The
pride of Ferdinand had been piqued, by
being obliged, on that occasion, to recede
from his plan, and abandon the concerted
attack on the place. He was now prepared
to take a full revenge.

El Zagal, the old warrior, king of
Granada, anticipating a second attempt,
had provided the place with ample munitions
and provision; had ordered trenches
to be dug, and additional bulwarks thrown
up, and caused all the old men, the
women, and the children, to be removed
to the capital.

Such was the strength of the fortress,
and the difficulties of its position, that
Ferdinand anticipated much trouble in
reducing it, and made every preparation
for a regular siege. In the centre of his
camp were two great mounds, one of
sacks of flour, the other of grain, which
were called the royal granary. Three
batteries of heavy ordnance were opened
against the citadel and principal towers,
while smaller artillery, engines for the
discharge of missiles, arquebuses, and

crossbows, were distributed in various
places, to keep up a fire into any breach
that might be made, and upon those of
the garrison who should appear on the
battlements.

The lombards soon made an impression
on the works, demolishing a part of
the wall, and tumbling down several of
those haughty towers, which, from their
height, had been impregnable before the
invention of gunpowder. The Moors
repaired their walls as well as they were
able, and, still confiding in the strength
of their situation, kept up a resolute defence,
firing down from their lofty battlements
and towers upon the Christian
camp. For two nights and a day an
incessant fire was kept up, so that there
was not a moment in which the roaring
of ordnance was not heard, or some
damage sustained by the Christians or
the Moors. It was a conflict, however,
more of engineers and artillerists than of
gallant cavaliers; there was no sally of
troops, or shock of armed men, or rush
and charge of cavalry. The knights
stood looking on with idle weapons,
waiting until they should have an opportunity
of signalizing their prowess,
by scaling the walls or storming the
breaches. As the place, however, was
assailable only in one part, there was
every prospect of a long and obstinate
resistance.

The engines, as usual, discharged not
only balls of stone and iron to demolish
the walls, but flaming balls of inextinguishable
combustibles, designed to set
fire to the houses. One of these, which
passed high through the air, like a meteor,
sending out sparks, and crackling as it
went, entered the window of a tower,
which was used as a magazine of gunpowder.
The tower blew up, with a tremendous
explosion; the Moors who were
upon its battlements, were hurled into the
air, and fell mangled in various parts of
the town; and the houses in its vicinity
were rent and overthrown, as with an
earthquake.

The Moors, who had never witnessed
an explosion of this kind, ascribed the
destruction of the tower to a miracle.
Some, who had seen the descent of the
flaming ball, imagined that the fire had
fallen from heaven, to punish them for
their pertinacity. The pious Agapida
himself believes that this fiery missive
was conducted by divine agency, to confound
the infidels—an opinion in which
he is supported by other catholic historians.[62]

Seeing heaven and earth, as it were,
combined against them, the Moors lost
all heart, and capitulated; and were permitted
to depart with their effects, leaving
behind all arms and munitions of war.

"The catholic army," says Antonio
Agapida, "entered Moclin in solemn
state, not as a licentious host, intent upon
plunder and desolation, but as a band of
Christian warriors, coming to purify and
regenerate the land. The standard of
the cross, that ensign of this holy crusade,
was borne in the advance, followed
by the other banners of the army. Then
came the king and queen, at the head
of a vast number of armed cavaliers.
They were accompanied by a band of
priests and friars, with the choir of the
royal chapel, chanting the canticle Te
Deum laudamus. As they were moving
through the streets in this solemn manner,
every sound hushed, excepting the
anthem of the choir, they suddenly heard
issuing, as it were from under ground, a
chorus of voices chanting the solemn
response, Benedictum qui venit in nomine
Domini.[63] The procession paused
in wonder. The sounds arose from
Christian captives, and among them
several priests, who were confined in
subterraneous dungeons."

The heart of Isabella was greatly
touched: she ordered the captives to be
drawn forth from their cells; and was
still more moved at beholding, by their
wan, discoloured, and emaciated appearance,
how much they had suffered.
Their hair and beards were overgrown
and shagged; they were wasted by
hunger, and were half naked, and in
chains. She ordered that they should
be clothed and cherished, and money
furnished them to bear them to their
homes.[64]

Several of the captives were brave
cavaliers, who had been wounded and

made prisoners in the defeat of the Count
de Cabra, by El Zagal, in the preceding
year. There were also found other
melancholy traces of that disastrous
affair. On visiting the narrow pass,
where the defeat had taken place, the
remains of several Christian warriors
were found in thickets, or hidden behind
rocks, or in the clefts of the mountains.
There were some who had been struck
from their horses, and wounded too
severely to fly. They had crawled
away from the scene of action, and concealed
themselves to avoid falling into
the hands of the enemy, and had thus
perished miserably and alone. The remains
of those of note were known by
their armour and devices, and were
mourned over by their companions, who
had shared the disasters of that day.[65]

The queen had these remains piously
collected, as the relies of so many martyrs
who had fallen in the cause of the
faith. They were interred, with great
solemnity, in the mosques of Moclin,
which had been purified, and consecrated
to Christian worship. "There," says
Antonio Agapida, "rest the hones of
those truly catholic knights, in the holy
ground, which, in a manner, had been
sanctified by their blood; and all pilgrims,
passing through those mountains,
offer up prayers and masses for the repose
of their souls."

The queen remained for some time at
Moclin, administering comfort to the
wounded and the prisoners, bringing the
newly acquired territory into order, and
founding churches and monasteries, and
other pious institutions. "While the
king marched in front, laying waste the
land of the Philistines," says the figurative
Antonio Agapida, "Queen Isabella
followed his traces, as the binder follows
the reaper, gathering the rich harvest
that has fallen beneath his sickle. In
this she was greatly assisted by the counsels
of that cloud of bishops, friars, and
clergymen, besides other saintly personages,
which continually surrounded her,
garnering the first fruits of this infidel
land into the granaries of the church."
Leaving her thus piously employed, the
king pursued his career of conquest, determined
to lay waste the vega, and carry
fire and sword to the very gates of Granada.

CHAPTER XLIV.

Muley Abdalla El Zagal had been
under a spell of ill fortune, ever since the
suspicious death of the old king his brother.
Success had deserted his standard,
and, with his fickle subjects, want of success
was one of the greatest crimes in a
sovereign. He found his popularity declining,
and he lost all confidence in his
people. The Christian army marched
in open defiance through his territories,
and sat down deliberately before his fortresses;
yet he dared not lead forth his
legions to oppose them, lest the inhabitants
of the albaycen, ever ripe for a revolt,
should rise, and shut the gates of
Granada against his return.

Every few days some melancholy
train entered the metropolis, the inhabitants
of some captured town, bearing the
few effects that had been spared them,
and weeping and bewailing the desolation
of their homes. When the tidings arrived,
that Illora and Moclin had fallen,
the people were seized with consternation.
"The right eye of Granada is
extinguished!" exclaimed they; "the
shield of Granada is broken! what shall
protect us from the inroad of the foe?"
When the survivors of the garrisons of
those towns arrived, with downcast looks,
bearing the marks of battle, and destitute
of arms and standards, the populace reviled
them in their wrath: but they answered,
"We fought as long as we had
force to fight, or walls to shelter us; but
the Christians laid our towers and battlements
in ruins, and we looked in vain
for aid from Granada."

The alcaydes of Illora and Moclin
were brothers; they were alike in
prowess, and the bravest among the
Moorish cavaliers. They had been the
most distinguished in all tilts and tourneys
which graced the happier days of
Granada, and had distinguished themselves
in the sterner conflicts of the field.
Acclamation had always followed their
banners, and they had long been the

delight of the people. Now, when they
returned, after the capture of their fortresses,
they were followed by the unsteady
populace with execrations. The
hearts of the alcaydes swelled with
indignation; they found the ingratitude
of their countrymen still more intolerable
than the hostility of the Christians.
Tidings came, that the enemy was advancing
with his triumphant legions, to
lay waste the country about Granada.
Still El Zagal did not dare to take the
field. The two alcaydes of Illora and
Moclin stood before him. "We have
defended your fortresses," said they,
"until we were almost buried under
their ruins; and, for our reward, we
receive scoffs and revilings. Give us,
O king, an opportunity in which knightly
valour may signalize itself; not shut up
behind stone walls, but in the open conflict
of the field! The enemy approaches
to lay our country desolate. Give us
men to meet him in the advance; and
let shame light upon our heads, if we be
found wanting in the battle!"

The two brothers were sent forth with
a large force of horse and foot. El
Zagal intended, should they be successful,
to issue out with his whole force;
and, by a decisive victory, repair the
losses he had suffered. When the people
saw the well known standards of the
brothers going forth to battle, there was
a feeble shout; but the alcaydes passed
on with stern countenances; for they
knew the same voices would curse them
were they to return unfortunate. They
cast a farewell look upon fair Granada,
and upon the beautiful fields of their
infancy, as if for these they were willing
to lay down their lives, but not for
an ungrateful people.

The army of Ferdinand had arrived
within two leagues of Granada, at the
bridge of Pinos, a pass famous in the
wars of the Moors and Christians for
many a bloody conflict. It was the pass
by which the Castilian monarchs generally
made their inroads, and was capable
of great defence, from the ruggedness
of the country, and the difficulty of the
bridge. The king, with the main body
of the army, had attained the brow of a
hill, when they beheld the advanced
guard, under the Marquis of Cadiz and
the Master of Santiago, furiously attacked
by the enemy in the vicinity of the
bridge. The Moors rushed to the assault
with their usual shouts, but with more
than usual ferocity. There was a hard
struggle at the bridge, both parties knowing
the importance of the pass. The
king particularly noted the prowess of
two Moorish cavaliers, alike in arms and
devices, and who, by their bearing and
attendance, he perceived to be commanders
of the enemy. They were the
two brothers, the alcaydes of Illora and
Moclin. Wherever they turned, they
carried confusion and death into the
ranks of the Christians; but they fought
with desperation rather than valour.
The Count de Cabra, and his brother,
Don Martin de Cordova, pressed forward
with eagerness against them; but, having
advanced too precipitately, were surrounded
by the foe, and in imminent
danger. A young Christian knight, seeing
their peril, hastened with his followers
to their relief. The king recognised
him for Don Juan de Aragon,
Count of Ribargoza, his own nephew;
for he was illegitimate son of the Duke
of Villahermosa, illegitimate brother of
King Ferdinand. The splendid armour
of Don Juan, and the sumptuous caparison
of his steed, rendered him a brilliant
object of attack. He was assailed on all
sides, and his superb steed slain under
him; yet still he fought valiantly, bearing
for a while the brunt of the fight, and
giving the exhausted forces of the Count
de Cabra time to recover breath.

Seeing the peril of these troops, and
the general obstinacy of the contest, the
king ordered the royal standard to be
advanced, and hastened with all his
forces to the relief of the Count de
Cabra. At his approach the enemy
gave way, and retreated towards the
bridge. The two Moorish commanders
endeavoured to rally their troops, and
animate them to defend this pass to the
utmost. They used prayers, remonstrances,
menaces; but nearly in vain.
They could only collect a scanty handful
of cavaliers. With these they planted
themselves at the head of the bridge, and
disputed it inch by inch. The fight was
hot and obstinate; for but few could contend
hand to hand; yet many discharged

crossbows and arquebuses on the banks.
The river was covered with the floating
bodies of the slain. The Moorish band
of cavaliers was almost entirely cut to
pieces; the two brothers fell, covered
with wounds, upon the bridge they had
so resolutely defended. They had given
up the battle for lost, but had determined
not to return alive to ungrateful Granada.
When the people of the capital heard how
devotedly they had fallen, they lamented
greatly their deaths, and extolled their
memory. A column was erected to their
honour in the vicinity of the bridge, which
long went by the name of "The tomb of
the brothers."

The army of Ferdinand now marched
on, and established its camp in the vicinity
of Granada. The worthy Agapida
gives many triumphant details of the
ravages committed in the vega, which
was again laid waste; the grain, fruits,
and other productions of the earth destroyed;
and that earthly paradise rendered
a dreary desert. He narrates
several fierce but ineffectual sallies and
skirmishes of the Moors in defence of
their favourite plain; among which one
deserves to be mentioned, as it records
the achievement of one of the saintly
heroes of this war.

During one of the movements of the
Christian army near the walls of Granada,
a battalion of fifteen hundred cavalry,
and a large force of foot, had sallied from
the city, and posted themselves near some
gardens, which were surrounded by a canal,
and traversed by ditches, for the purpose
of irrigation.

The Moors beheld the Duke del Infantado
pass by with his two splendid
battalions; one of men-at-arms, the
other of light cavalry, armed á la
geneta. In company with him, but following
as a rearguard, was Don Garcia
Osorio, the belligerent Bishop of Jaen,
attended by Francisco Bovadillo, the corregidor
of his city, and followed by two
squadrons of men-at-arms, from Jaen,
Andujar, Ubeda, and Baza.[66] The success
of the preceding year's campaign
had given the good bishop an inclination
for warlike affairs; and he had once
more buckled on his cuirass.

The Moors were much given to stratagem
in warfare. They looked wistfully
at the magnificent squadrons of the Duke
del Infantado; but their martial discipline
precluded all attack. The good bishop
promised to be a more easy prey. Suffering
the duke and his troops to pass
unmolested, they approached the squadrons
of the bishop; and making a pretended
attack, skirmished slightly, and
fled in apparent confusion. The bishop
considered the day his own; and,
seconded by his corregidor Bovadillo,
followed with valorous precipitation.
The Moors fled into the Huerta del
Rey, or orchard of the king. The
troops of the bishop followed hotly after
them. When the Moors perceived their
pursuers fairly embarrassed among the
intricacies of the garden, they turned
fiercely upon them, while some of their
number threw open the sluices of the
Xenil. In an instant, the canal which
encircled, and the ditches which traversed
the garden, were filled with
water, and the valiant bishop and his
followers found themselves overwhelmed
by a deluge.[67] A scene of great confusion
succeeded. Some of the men of
Jaen, stoutest of heart and hand, fought
with the Moors in the garden, while
others struggled with the water, endeavouring
to escape across the canal, in
which attempt many horses were drowned.
Fortunately the Duke del Infantado
perceived the snare into which his companions
had fallen, and despatched his
light cavalry to their assistance. The
Moors were compelled to flight, and
driven along the road of Elvira up to
the gates of Granada. Several Christian
cavaliers perished in this affray;
the bishop himself escaped with difficulty,
having slipped from his saddle in crossing
the canal, but saved himself by holding
on to the tail of his charger. This
perilous achievement seems to have
satisfied the good bishop's belligerent
propensities. "He retired on his laurels,"
says Agapida, "to his city of
Jaen, where, on the fruition of all good
things, he gradually waxed too corpulent
for his corslet, which was hung up in
the hall of his episcopal palace; and we

hear no more of his military deeds
throughout the residue of the holy war
of Granada."[68]

King Ferdinand having completed his
ravage of the vega, and kept El Zagal
shut up in his capital, conducted his army
back through the pass of Lope, to rejoin
Queen Isabella at Moclin. The fortresses
lately taken being well garrisoned and
supplied, he gave the command of the
frontier to his cousin, Don Fadrique de
Toledo, afterwards so famous in the
Netherlands as the Duke of Alba. The
campaign being thus completely crowned
with success, the sovereigns returned in
triumph to the city of Cordova.

CHAPTER XLV.

No sooner did the last squadron of
Christian cavalry disappear behind the
mountain of Elvira, and the note of its
trumpets die away upon the ear, than the
long-suppressed wrath of old Muley El
Zagal burst forth. He determined no
longer to be half a king, reigning over a
divided kingdom in a divided capital; but
to exterminate by any means, fair or foul,
his nephew Boabdil and his confederates.
He turned furiously upon those, whose
factious conduct had deterred him from
sallying upon the foe. Some he punished
by confiscations, others by banishment,
others by death. Once undisputed monarch
of the entire kingdom, he trusted
to his military skill to retrieve his fortune,
and drive the Christians over the
frontier.

Boabdil, however, had again retired to
Velez el Blanco, on the confines of Murcia,
where he could avail himself, in case
of emergency, of any assistance or protection
afforded him by the policy of
Ferdinand. His defeat had blighted his
reviving fortunes, for the people considered
him as inevitably doomed to misfortune.
Still, while he lived, El Zagal
knew he would be a rallying-point for
faction, and liable, at any moment, to be
elevated into power by the capricious
multitude. He had recourse, therefore,
to the most perfidious means to compass
his destruction. He sent ambassadors to
him, representing the necessity of concord,
for the salvation of the kingdom;
and even offering to resign the title of
king, and to become subject to his sway,
on receiving some estate, on which he
could live in tranquil retirement. But,
while the ambassadors bore these words
of peace, they were furnished with poisoned
herbs, which they were to administer
secretly to Boabdil; and, if they
failed in this attempt, they had pledged
themselves to despatch him openly, while
engaged in conversation. They were
instigated to this treason by promises of
great reward, and by assurances from
the alfaquis, that Boabdil was an apostate,
whose death would be acceptable to
Heaven.

The young monarch was secretly apprised
of the concerted treason, and refused
an audience to the ambassadors.
He denounced his uncle as the murderer
of his father and his kindred, and the
usurper of his throne, and vowed never
to relent in hostility to him, until he
should place his head on the walls of the
Alhambra.

Open war again broke out between the
two monarchs, though feebly carried on,
in consequence of their mutual embarrassments.
Ferdinand again extended
his assistance to Boabdil, ordering the
commanders of his fortresses to aid him
in all enterprises against his uncle, and
against such places as refused to acknowledge
him as king. And Don Juan
de Benavides, who commanded in Loxa,
even made inroads, in his name, into the
territories of Almeria, Baza, and Guadix,
which owned allegiance to El Zagal.

The unfortunate Boabdil had three
great evils to contend with; the inconstancy
of his subjects, the hostility of his
uncle, and the friendship of Ferdinand.
The last was by far the most baneful;
his fortunes withered under it. He was
looked upon as the enemy of his faith
and of his country. The cities shut their
gates against him. The people cursed
him. Even the scanty band of cavaliers,
who had hitherto followed his ill-starred
banner, began to desert him; for he had

not wherewithal to reward, or even to
support them. His spirits sank with his
fortune; and he feared that, in a little
time, he should not have a spot of earth
whereon to place his standard, or an adherent
to rally under it.

In the midst of his despondency, he
received a message from his lion-hearted
mother, the sultana Ayxa la Horra.
"For shame," said she, "to linger about
the borders of your kingdom, when a
usurper is seated in your capital! Why
look abroad for perfidious aid, when you
have loyal hearts beating true to you in
Granada? The albaycen is ready to
throw open its gates to receive you.
Strike home vigorously. A sudden blow
may mend all, or make an end. A
throne, or a grave! for a king, there is
no honourable medium."

Boabdil was of an undecided character:
but there are circumstances which bring
the most wavering to a decision, and,
when once resolved, they are apt to act
with a daring impulse, unknown to
steadier judgments. The message of
the sultana roused him from a dream.
Granada, beautiful Granada! with its
stately Alhambra, its delicious gardens,
its gushing and limpid fountains, sparkling
among groves of orange, citron, and
myrtle, rose before him. "What have
I done," exclaimed he, "that I should be
an exile from this paradise of my forefathers,
a wanderer and fugitive in my
own kingdom, while a murderous usurper
sits proudly upon my throne? Surely,
Allah will befriend the righteous cause:
one blow, and all may be my own!"

He summoned his scanty band of cavaliers.
"Who is ready to follow his
monarch unto the death?" said he; and
every one laid his hand upon his cimeter.
"Enough!" said he: "let each man arm
himself, and prepare his steed in secret,
for an enterprise of toil and peril: if we
succeed, our reward is empire!"

CHAPTER XLVI.

"In the hand of God," exclaims an old
Arabian chronicler, "is the destiny of
princes; he alone giveth empire. A
single Moorish horseman, mounted on a
fleet Arabian steed, was one day traversing
the mountains which extend between
Granada and the frontiers of
Murcia. He galloped swiftly through
the valleys, but paused and looked out
cautiously from the summit of every
height. A squadron of cavaliers followed
warily at a distance. There were
fifty lances. The richness of their armour
and attire showed them to be warriors of
noble rank, and their leader had a lofty
and prince-like demeanour." The squadron
thus described by the Arabian chronicler
was the Moorish king Boabdil and
his devoted followers.

For two nights and a day they pursued
their adventurous journey, avoiding all
populous parts of the country, and
choosing the most solitary passes of the
mountains. They suffered severe hardships
and fatigues; but they suffered
without a murmur. They were accustomed
to ragged campaigning, and their
steeds were of generous and unyielding
spirit. It was midnight, and all was dark
and silent, as they descended from the
mountains, and approached the city of
Granada. They passed along quietly
under the shadow of its walls, until they
arrived near the gate of the albaycen.
Here Boabdil ordered his followers to
hall, and remain concealed. Taking but
four or five with him, he advanced resolutely
to the gate, and knocked with
the hilt of his cimeter. The guards demanded
who sought to enter at that
unseasonable hour. "Your king!" exclaimed
Boabdil: "open the gate, and
admit him."

The guards held forth a light, and
recognised the person of the youthful
monarch. They were struck with sudden
awe, and threw open the gates, and
Boabdil and his followers entered unmolested.
They galloped to the dwellings
of the principal inhabitants of the
albaycen; thundering at their portals,
and summoning them to rise, and take
arms for their rightful sovereign. The
summons was instantly obeyed; trumpets
resounded throughout the streets; the
gleam of torches and the flash of arms
showed the Moors hurrying to their
gathering-places; and by daybreak the
whole force of the albaycen was rallied
under the standard of Boabdil. Such

was the success of this sudden and desperate
act of the young monarch; for we
are assured by contemporary historians,
that there had been no previous concert
or arrangement. "As the guards opened
the gate of the city to admit him," observes
a pious chronicler, "so God opened
the hearts of the Moors to receive him as
their king."[69]

In the morning early, the tidings of
this event roused El Zagal from his
slumbers in the Alhambra. The fiery
old warrior assembled his guard in haste,
and made his way sword in hand, to the
albaycen, hoping to come upon his
nephew by surprise. He was vigorously
met by Boabdil and his adherents, and
driven back into the quarter of the Alhambra.
An encounter took place between
the two kings in the square before
the principal mosque. Here they
fought, hand to hand, with implacable
fury, as though it had been agreed to
decide their competition for the crown
by single combat. In the tumult of this
chance-medley affray, however, they
were separated, and the party of El
Zagal was ultimately driven from the
square.

The battle raged for some time in the
streets and places of the city; but finding
their powers of mischief cramped within
such narrow limits, both parties sallied
forth into the fields, and fought beneath
the walls until evening. Many fell on
both sides; and at night each party
withdrew into its quarter, until the morning
gave them light to renew the unnatural
conflict. For several days, the
two divisions of the city remained like
hostile powers arrayed against each
other. The party of the Alhambra was
more numerous than that of the albaycen,
and contained most of the nobility and
chivalry; but the adherents of Boabdil
were men hardened and strengthened by
labour, and habitually skilled in the exercise
of arms.

The albaycen underwent a kind of
siege by the forces of El Zagal: they
effected breaches in the walls, and made
repeated attempts to carry it sword in
hand, but were as often repulsed. The
troops of Boabdil, on the other hand,
made frequent sallies; and, in the conflicts
which took place, the hatred of the
combatants rose to such a pitch of fury,
that no quarter was given on either side.

Boabdil perceived the inferiority of his
force. He dreaded, also, that his adherents,
being for the most part tradesmen
and artisans, would become impatient
of this interruption of their gainful
occupations and disheariened by these
continual scenes of carnage. He sent
missives, therefore, in all haste, to Don
Fadrique de Toledo, who commanded
the Christian forces on the frontier, entreating
his assistance.

Don Fadrique had received orders
from the politic Ferdinand to aid the
youthful monarch in all his contests with
his uncle. He advanced, therefore, with
a body of troops near to Granada; but,
wary lest some treachery might be intended,
he stood for some time aloof,
watching the movements of the parties.
The furious and sanguinary nature of
the conflicts, which distracted unhappy
Granada, soon convinced him, that there
was no collusion between the monarchs.
He sent Boabdil, therefore, a reinforcement
of Christian foot-soldiers and arquebusiers,
under Fernan Alvarez de
Sotomayor, alcayde of Colomara. This
was as a firebrand thrown in to light up
anew the flames of war in the city, which
remained raging between the Moorish
inhabitants for the space of fifty days.

CHAPTER XLVII.

Hitherto the events of this renowned
war have been little else than a succession
of brilliant but brief exploits, such
as sudden forays and wild skirmishes
among the mountains, or the surprisal of
castles, fortresses, and frontier towns.
We approach now to more important
and prolonged operations, in which ancient
and mighty cities, the bulwarks of
Granada, were invested by powerful
armies, subdued by slow and regular
sieges, and thus the capital left naked
and alone.

The glorious triumphs of the catholic
sovereigns, says Fray Antonio Agapida,
had resounded throughout the East, and
filled all heathenesse with alarm. The

Grand Turk, Bajazet II. and his deadly
foe the Grand Soldan of Egypt, suspending
for a time their bloody feuds,
entered into a league to protect the religion
of Mahomet and the kingdom of
Granada from the hostilities of the Christians.
It was concerted between them, that
Bajazet should send a powerful armada
against the island of Sicily, then appeartaining
to the Spanish crown, for the
purpose of distracting the attention of
the Castilian sovereigns, while at the
same time, great bodies of troops should
be poured into Granada from the opposite
coast of Africa.

Ferdinand and Isabella received timely
intelligence of these designs. They resolved
at once to carry the war into the
seaboard of Granada, to possess themselves
of its ports, and thus, as it were,
to bar the gates of the kingdom against
all external aid. Malaga was to be the
main object of attack: it was the principal
seaport of the kingdom, and almost
necessary to its existence. It had long
been the seat of opulent commerce,
sending many ships to the coasts of
Syria and Egypt. It was also the great
channel of communication with Africa,
through which were introduced supplies
of money, troops, arms, and steeds, from
Tunis, Tripoli, Fez, Tremezan, and
other Barbary powers. It was emphatically
called, therefore, the Hand and
Mouth of Granada.

Before laying siege to this redoubtable
city, however, it was deemed necessary
to secure the neighbouring city of Velez
Malaga, and its dependent places, which
might otherwise harass the besieging
army.

For this important campaign, the nobles
of the kingdom were again summoned to
take the field with their forces, in the
spring of 1487. The menaced invasion
of the infidel powers of the East had
awakened new ardour in the bosoms of
all true Christian knights, and so zealously
did they respond to the summons
of the sovereigns, that an army of
twenty thousand cavalry, and fifty thousand
foot, the flower of Spanish warriors,
led by the bravest of Spanish
cavaliers, thronged the renowned city
of Cordova at the appointed time.

On the night before this mighty host
set forth upon its march, an earthquake
shook the city. The inhabitants, awakened
by the shaking of the walls and
rocking of the towers, fled to the courts
and squares, fearing to be overwhelmed
by the ruins of their dwellings. The
earthquake was most violent in the
quarter of the royal residence, the site
of the ancient palace of the Moorish
kings. Many looked upon this as an
omen of some impending evil, but Fray
Antonio Agapida, in that infallible spirit
of divination which succeeds an event,
plainly reads in it a presage, that the
empire of the Moors was about to be
shaken to its centre.

It was on Saturday, the eve of the
Sunday of Palms, says a worthy and
loyal chronicler of the times, that the
most catholic monarch departed with his
army to render service to heaven, and
make war upon the Moors.[70] Heavy
rains had swelled all the streams, and
rendered the roads deep and difficult.
The king therefore divided his host into
two bodies. In one he put all the artillery,
guarded by a strong body of
horse, and commanded by the master of
Alcantara, and Martin Alonso, senior of
Montemayor. This division was to proceed
by the road through the valleys,
where pasturage abounded for the oxen
which drew the ordnance.

The main body of the army was led
by the king in person. It was divided
into numerous battalions, each commanded
by some distinguished cavalier.
The king took the rough and perilous
road of the mountains; and few mountains
are more rugged and difficult than
those of Andalusia. The roads are mere
mule-paths, straggling amidst rocks and
along the verge of precipices, clambering
vast craggy heights, or descending
into frightful chasms and ravines,
with scanty and uncertain foothold for
either man or steed. Four thousand
pioneers were sent in advance, under
the alcayde de los Donzeles, to conquer,
in some degree, the asperities of the
road. Some had pickaxes and crows,
to break the rocks; some implements to
construct bridges over the mountain torrents;
while it was the duty of others to

lay stepping-stones in the smaller streams.
As the country was inhabited by fierce
Moorish mountaineers, Don Diego de
Castrillo was despatched, with a body of
horse and foot, to take possesion of the
heights and passes. Notwithstanding
every precaution, the royal army suffered
excessively on its march. At one
time, there was no place to encamp for
five leagues of the most toilsome and
mountainous country, and many of the
beasts of burden sank down and perished
on the road.

It was with the greatest joy, therefore,
that the royal army emerged from these
stern and frightful defiles, and came to
where they looked down upon the vega
of Velez Malaga. The region before
them was one of the most delectable to
the eye that ever was ravaged by an
army. Sheltered from every rude blast
by a screen of mountains, and sloping
and expanding to the south, this lovely
valley was quickened by the most generous
sunshine, watered by the silver
meanderings of the Velez, and refreshed
by cooling breezes from the Mediterranean.
The sloping hills were covered
with vineyards and olive-trees, the distant
fields waved with grain, or were
verdant with pasturage, while around
the city were delightful gardens, the
favourite retreat of the Moors, where
their white pavilions gleamed among
groves of oranges, citrons, and pomegranates,
and were surmounted by stately
palms, those plants of southern growth,
bespeaking a generous climate and a
cloudless sky.

In the upper part of this delightful
valley the city of Velez Malaga reared
its warrior battlements, in stern contrast
to the landscape. It was built on the declivity
of a steep and insulated hill, and
strongly fortified by walls and towers.
The crest of the hill rose high above
the town into a mere crag, inaccessible
on every other side, and crowned by a
powerful castle, which domineered over
the surrounding country. Two suburbs
swept down into the valley, from the
skirts of the town, and were defended
by bulwarks and deep ditches. The
vast ranges of gray mountains, often
capped with clouds, which rose to the
North, were inhabited by a hardy and
warlike race, whose strong fortresses of
Comares, Camillas, Competa, and Benemarhorga
frowned down from cragged
heights.

At the time that the Christian host
arrived in sight of this valley, a squadron
was hovering on the smooth sea
before it, displaying the banner of Castile.
This was commanded by the Count
of Trevento, and consisted of four armed
galleys, convoying a number of caravels,
laden with supplies for the army.

After surveying the ground, King Ferdinand
encamped on the side of a mountain,
which advanced close to the city,
and was the last of a rugged sierra, or
chain of heights, that extended quite to
Granada. On the summit of this mountain,
and overlooking the camp, was a
Moorish town, powerfully fortified, called
Bentomiz, and which, from its vicinity,
had been considered capable of yielding
great assistance to Velez Malaga. Several
of the generals remonstrated with
the king for choosing a post so exposed
to assaults from the mountaineers. Ferdinand
replied, that he should thus cut
off all communication between the town
and the city; and that, as to the danger,
his soldiers must keep the more vigilant
guard against surprise.

King Ferdinand rode forth, attended
by several cavaliers, and a small number
of cuirassiers, appointing the various
stations of the camp. While a body of
foot-soldiers were taking possession, as
an advanced guard, of an important
height which overlooked the city, the
king retired to a tent to take refreshment.
While at table, he was startled
by a sudden uproar, and, looking forth,
beheld his soldiers flying before a superior
force of the enemy. The king
had on no other armour but a cuirass.
Seizing a lance, however, he sprang upon
his horse, and galloped to protect the
fugitives, followed by his handful of
knights and cuirassiers. When the
Spaniards saw the king hastening to
their aid, they turned upon their pursuers.
Ferdinand, in his eagerness,
threw himself into the midst of the foe.
One of his grooms was killed beside
him; but before the Moor who slew him
could escape, the king transfixed him
with his lance. He then sought to draw

his sword, which hung at his saddle-bow,
but in vain. Never had he been exposed
to such peril: he was surrounded by the
enemy, without a weapon wherewith to
defend himself.

In this moment of awful jeopardy,
the Marquis of Cadiz, the Count de
Cabra, the adelantado of Murcia, with
two other cavaliers, named Garcilasso
de la Vega and Diego de Atayde, came
galloping to the scene of action, and,
surrounding the king, made a loyal
rampart of their bodies against the
assaults of the Moors. The horse of
the marquis was pierced by an arrow,
and that worthy cavalier exposed to
imminent danger: but, with the aid of
his valorous companions, he quickly put
the enemy to flight, and pursued them
with slaughter to the very gates of the
city.

When these loyal warriors returned
from the pursuit, they remonstrated
with the king for exposing his life in
personal conflict, seeing that he had so
many valiant captains, whose business
it was to fight. They reminded him,
that the life of a prince was the life of his
people, and that many a brave army was
lost by the loss of its commander. They
entreated him, therefore, in future to protect
them with the force of his mind in
the cabinet, rather than his arm in the
field.

Ferdinand acknowledged the wisdom
of their advice, but declared, that he
could not see his people in peril without
venturing his person to assist them: a
reply, say the old chroniclers, which
delighted the whole army, inasmuch as
they saw, that he not only governed
them as a good king, but protected them
as a valiant captain. Ferdinand, however,
was conscious of the extreme peril
to which he had been exposed, and made
a vow never again to venture into battle
without having his sword girt to his
side.[71]

When this achievement of the king
was related to Isabella, she trembled
amidst her joy at his safety; and afterwards,
in memorial of the event, she
granted to Velez Malaga, as the arms of
the city, the figure of the king on horseback,
with a groom lying dead at his
feet, and the Moors flying.[72]

The camp was formed, but the artillery
was yet on the road, advancing with infinite
labour at the rate of merely a
league a day; for heavy rains had converted
the streams of the valleys into
raging torrents, and completely broken
up the roads. In the mean time King
Ferdinand ordered an assault on the
suburbs of the city. They were carried,
after a sanguinary conflict of six hours,
in which many Christian cavaliers were
killed and wounded, and among the latter
Don Alvaro of Portugal, son of the Duke
of Braganza. The suburbs were then
fortified towards the city with trenches
and palisades, and garrisoned by a chosen
force under Don Fadrique de Toledo.
Other trenches were digged round the
city, and from the suburbs to the royal
camp, so as to cut off all communication
with the surrounding country.

Bodies of troops were also sent to take
possession of the mountain passes, by
which the supplies for the army had to
be brought. The mountains, however,
were so steep and rugged, and so full of
defiles and lurking-places, that the Moors
could sally forth and retreat in perfect
security, frequently sweeping down upon
Christian convoys, and bearing off both
booty and prisoners to their strongholds.
Sometimes the Moors would light fires
at night on the sides of the mountains,
which would be answered by fires from
the watchtowers and fortresses. By these
signals they would concert assaults upon
the Christian camp, which, in consequence,
was obliged to be continually on
the alert, and ready to fly to arms.

King Ferdinand flattered himself, that
the manifestation of his force had struck
sufficient terror into the city, and that,
by offers of clemency, it might be induced
to capitulate. He wrote a letter,
therefore, to the commanders, promising,
in case of immediate surrender, that all
the inhabitants should be permitted to
depart with their effects; but threatening
them with fire and sword if they persisted
in defence. This letter was despatched
by a cavalier named Carvajal,

who, putting it on the end of a lance,
gave it to the Moors who were on the
walls of the city. The commanders replied,
that the king was too noble and
magnanimous to put such a threat in
execution, and that they should not surrender,
as they knew the artillery could
not be brought to the camp, and they
were promised succour by the king of
Granada.

At the same time that he received this
reply, the king learned, that at the strong
town of Comares, upon a height about
two leagues distant from the camp, a
large number of warriors had assembled
from the Axarquia, the same mountains
in which the Christian cavaliers had been
massacred in the beginning of the war;
and that others were daily expected, for
this rugged sierra was capable of furnishing
fifteen thousand fighting men.

King Ferdinand felt that his army,
thus disjointed and enclosed in an enemy's
country, was in a perilous situation,
and that the utmost discipline and vigilance
were necessary. He put the camp
under the strictest regulations, forbidding
all gaming, blasphemy, or brawl, and
expelling all loose women, and their attendant
bully-ruffians, the usual fomenters
of riot and contention among soldiery.
He ordered that none should sally forth
to skirmish without permission from their
commanders; that none should set fire
to the woods of the neighbouring mountains,
and that all word of security given
to Moorish places or individuals should
be inviolably observed. These regulations
were enforced by severe penalties,
and had such salutary effect, that, though
a vast host of various people was collected
together, not an opprobrious epithet
was heard, nor a weapon drawn in
quarrel.

In the mean time the cloud of war
went on gathering about the summits of
the mountains: multitudes of the fierce
warriors of the sierra descended to the
lower heights of Bentomiz, which overhung
the camp, intending to force their
way into the city. A detachment was
sent against them, which, after sharp
fighting, drove them to the higher cliffs
of the mountain, where it was impossible
to pursue them.

Ten days had elapsed since the encampment
of the army, yet still the
artillery had not arrived. The lombards
and other heavy ordnance were left, in
despair, at Antequera; the rest came
groaning slowly through the narrow valleys,
which were filled with long trains
of artillery and cars laden with munitions.
At length part of the smaller
ordnance arrived within half a league of
the camp, and the Christians were animated
with the hopes of soon being able
to make a regular attack upon the fortifications
of the city.

CHAPTER XLVIII.

While the standard of the cross waved
on the hills before Velez Malaga, and
every height and cliff bristled with hostile
arms, the civil war between the factions
of the Alhambra and the albaycen, or
rather between El Zagal and El Chico,
continued to convulse the city of Granada.

The tidings of the investment of Velez
Malaga at length roused the attention of
the old men and the alfaquis, whose
heads were not heated by the daily broils.
They spread themselves through the city,
and endeavoured to arouse the people to
a sense of their common danger.

"Why," said they, "continue these
brawls between brethren and kindred?
What battles are these, where even
triumph is ignominious, and the victor
blushes and conceals his scars? Behold
the Christians ravaging the land won by
the valour and blood of your forefathers,
dwelling in the houses they have built,
sitting under the trees they have planted,
while your brethren wander about, houseless
and desolate. Do you wish to seek
your real foe? He is encamped on the
mountains of Bentomiz. Do you want a
field for the display of your valour? You
will find it before the walls of Velez
Malaga."

When they had roused the spirit of the
people, they made their way to the rival
kings, and addressed them with like remonstrances.
Hamet Aben Zarrax, the
inspired santon, reproached El Zagal
with his blind and senseless ambition.
"You are striving to be king," said he

bitterly, "yet suffer the kingdom to be
lost."

El Zagal found himself in a perplexing
dilemma. He had a double war to wage,
with the enemy without and the enemy
within. Should the Christians gain possession
of the sea-coast, it would be ruinous
to the kingdom; should he leave
Granada to oppose them, his vacant
throne might be seized on by his nephew.
He made a merit of necessity: and, pretending
to yield to the remonstrances of
the alfaquis, endeavoured to compromise
with Boabdil. He expressed deep concern
at the daily losses of the country,
caused by the dissensions of the capital;
an opportunity now presented itself to
retrieve all by a blow. The Christians
had, in a manner, put themselves in a
tomb between the mountains; nothing
remained but to throw the earth upon
them. He offered to resign the title of
king, to submit to the government of his
nephew, and fight under his standard;
all he desired was to hasten to the relief
of Velez Malaga, and to take full vengeance
on the Christians.

Boabdil spurned his proposition as the
artifice of a hypocrite and a traitor.
"How shall I trust a man," said he,
"who has murdered my father and my
kindred by treachery, and repeatedly
sought my own life, both by violence
and stratagem?"

El Zagal foamed with rage and vexation;
but there was no time to be lost.
He was beset by the alfaquis and the
nobles of his court; the youthful cavaliers
were hot for action; the common
people loud in their complaints that the
richest cities were abandoned to the
enemy. The old warrior was naturally
fond of fighting; he saw also, that to
remain inactive would endanger both
crown and kingdom, whereas a successful
blow would secure his popularity in
Granada. He had a much more powerful
force than his nephew, having lately
received reinforcements from Baza,
Guadix, and Almeria; he could march,
therefore, with a large force, and yet
leave a strong garrison in the Alhambra.
He formed his measures accordingly, and
departed suddenly in the night, at the
head of one thousand horse and twenty
thousand foot. He took the most unfrequented
roads along the chain of mountains
extending from Granada to the
height of Bentomiz, and proceeded with
such rapidity, as to arrive there before
King Ferdinand had notice of his approach.

The Christians were alarmed one evening
by the sudden blazing of great fires
on the mountain, about the fortress of
Bentomiz. By the ruddy light they beheld
the flash of weapons and the array
of troops, and they heard the distant
sound of Moorish drums and trumpets.
The fires of Bentomiz were answered by
fires on the towers of Velez Malaga.
The shouts of "El Zagal! El Zagal!"
echoed along the cliffs and resounded
from the city, and the Christians found
that the old warrior-king of Granada was
on the mountain above their camp.

The spirits of the Moors were suddenly
raised to a pitch of the greatest exultation,
while the Christians were astonished to
see this storm of war ready to burst upon
their heads. The Count de Cabra, with
his accustomed eagerness when there was
a king in the field, would fain have scaled
the heights, and attacked El Zagal before
he had time to form his camp; but Ferdinand,
who was more cool and wary,
restrained him. To attack the height
would be to abandon the siege. He
ordered every one, therefore, to keep
vigilant watch at his post, and to stand
ready to defend it to the utmost, but on
no account to sally forth and attack the
enemy.

All night the signal-fires kept blazing
along the mountains, rousing and animating
the whole country. The morning
sun rose over the lofty summit of Bentomiz
on a scene of martial splendour.
As its rays glanced down the mountain,
they lighted up the white tents of the
Christian cavaliers, cresting its lower
prominences, their pennons and ensigns
fluttering in the morning breeze. The
sumptuous pavilion of the king, with the
holy standard of the cross, and the royal
banners of Castile and Aragon, dominated
the encampment. Beyond lay the
city, its lofty castle and numerous towers
glistening with arms; while above all,
and just on the profile of the height, in
the full blaze of the rising sun, were
descried the tents of the Moor, his turbaned

troops clustering about them, and his
infidel banners floating against the sky.
Columns of smoke rose where the night-fire
had blazed, and the clash of the
Moorish cymbal, the bray of the trumpet,
and the neigh of steeds, were faintly
heard from those airy heights. So pure
and transparent is the atmosphere in this
region, that every object can be distinctly
seen at a great distance, and the Christians
were able to behold the formidable
hosts of foes that were gathering on the
summits of the surrounding mountains.

One of the first measures of the Moorish
king was to detach a large force
under Rodovan de Vanegas, alcayde of
Granada, to fall upon the convoy of
ordnance, which stretched for a great
distance through the mountain defiles.
Ferdinand had anticipated this attempt,
and sent the commander of Leon with a
body of horse and foot to reinforce the
master of Alcantara. El Zagal, from
his mountain height, beheld the detachment
issue from the camp, and immediately
recalled Rodovan de Vanegas.
The armies now remained quiet for a
time, the Moor looking grimly down
upon the Christian camp, like a tiger
meditating a bound upon his prey. The
Christians were in fearful jeopardy; a
hostile city below them, a powerful army
above them, and on every side mountains
filled with implacable foes.

After El Zagal had maturely consulted
the situation of the Christian camp, and
informed himself of all the passes of the
mountain, he conceived a plan to surprise
the enemy, which he flattered himself
would ensure their ruin, and perhaps
the capture of King Ferdinand. He wrote
a letter to the alcayde of the city, commanding
him, in the dead of the night,
on a signal-fire being made from the
mountain, to sally forth with all his
troops, and fall furiously upon the camp.
The king would, at the same time, rush
down with his army from the mountain,
and assail it on the opposite side, thus
overwhelming it at the hour of deep repose.
This letter he despatched by a
renegado Christian, who knew all the
secret roads of the country, and, if taken,
could pass himself for a Christian who
had escaped from captivity.

The fierce El Zagal, confident in the
success of his stratagem, looked down
upon the Christians as his devoted victims.
As the sun went down, and the
long shadows of the mountains stretched
across the vega, he pointed with exultation
to the camp below, apparently unconscious
of the impending danger.
"Allah achbar!" exclaimed he, "God is
great! Behold, the unbelievers are delivered
into our hands! their king and
choicest chivalry will soon be at our
mercy. Now is the time to show the
courage of men, and by one glorious
victory retrieve all that we have lost.
Happy he who falls fighting in the cause
of the prophet: he will at once be transported
to the paradise of the faithful, and
surrounded by immortal houries! Happy
he who shall survive victorious: he will
behold Granada, an earthly paradise,
once more delivered from its foes, and
restored to all its glory!" The words
of El Zagal were received with acclamations
by his troops, who waited impatiently
for the appointed hour to pour
down from their mountain-hold upon the
Christians.

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.

CHAPTER L.

The daring spirit of the old warrior,
Muley Abdalla El Zagal, in sallying
forth to defend his territories, while he
left an armed rival in his capital, had
struck the people of Granada with admiration.
They recalled his former exploits,
and again anticipated some hardy
achievement from his furious valour.
Couriers from the army reported its
formidable position on the height of Bentomiz.
For a time there was a pause in
the bloody commotions of the city; all
attention was turned to the blow about to
be struck at the Christian camp. The
same considerations, which diffused anxiety
and terror through Cordova, swelled
every bosom with exulting confidence in
Granada. The Moors expected to hear
of another massacre, like that in the
mountains of Malaga. "El Zagal has
again entrapped the enemy!" was the
cry. "The power of the unbelievers is
about to be struck to the heart; and we
shall soon see the Christian king led
captive to the capital!" Thus the name
of El Zagal was on every tongue. He
was extolled as the saviour of the country,
the only one worthy of wearing the
Moorish crown. Boabdil was reviled as
basely remaining passive while his country
was invaded; and so violent became
the clamour of the populace, that his adherents
trembled for his safety.

While the people of Granada were
impatiently looking for tidings of the

anticipated victory, scattered horsemen
come spurring across the vega. They
were fugitives from the Moorish army,
and brought the first incoherent account
of its defeat. Every one who attempted
to tell the tale of this unaccountable panic
and dispersion was as if bewildered by
the broken recollection of some frightful
dream. He knew not how or why it
came to pass. He talked of a battle in
the night among rocks and precipices,
by the glare of bale-fires; of multitudes
of armed foes in every pass, seen by
gleams and flashes; of the sudden horror
that seized upon the army at daybreak,
its headlong flight and total dispersion.
Hour after hour the arrival of
other fugitives confirmed the story of ruin
and disgrace.

In proportion to their recent vaunting
was the humiliation that now fell upon
the people of Granada. There was a
universal burst, not of grief, but indignation.

They confounded the leader with the
army; the deserted with those who had
abandoned him; and El Zagal, from
being their idol, became the object of
their execration. He had sacrificed the
army; he had disgraced the nation; he
had betrayed the country. He was a
dastard, a traitor, he was unworthy to
reign!

On a sudden, one among the multitude
cried out, "Long live Boabdil el Chico!"
The cry was echoed on all sides, and
every one shouted, "Long live Boabdil
el Chico! long live the legitimate king of
Granada! and death to all usurpers!"
In the excitement of the moment they
thronged to the albaycen, and those, who
had lately besieged Boabdil with arms,
now surrounded his palace with acclamations.
The keys of the city and of all
the fortresses were laid at his feet; he
was borne in state to the Alhambra, and
once more seated, with all due ceremony,
on the throne of his ancestors.

Boabdil had by this time become so
accustomed to be crowned and uncrowned
by the multitude, that he put no great
faith in the duration of their loyalty.

He knew that he was surrounded by
hollow hearts, and that most of the
courtiers of the Alhambra were secretly
devoted to his uncle. He ascended the
throne as the rightful sovereign, who had
been dispossessed of it by usurpation, and
he ordered the heads of four of the principal
nobles to be struck off, who had been
most zealous in support of the usurper.
Executions of this kind were matters of
course on any change of Moorish government,
and Boabdil was extolled for his
moderation and humanity, in being content
with so small a sacrifice. The factions
were awed into obedience; the
populace, delighted with any change,
extolled Boabdil to the skies, and the
name of Muley Abdalla el Zagal was
for a time a byword of scorn and opprobrium
throughout the city.

Never was any commander more astonished
and confounded by a sudden
reverse than El Zagal. The evening
had seen him with a powerful army at
his command, his enemy within his grasp,
and victory about to cover him with
glory, and to consolidate his power. The
morning beheld him a fugitive among the
mountains; his army, his prosperity, his
power, all dispelled he knew not how;
gone like a dream of the night. In vain
had he tried to stem the headlong flight
of the soldiery. He saw his squadrons
breaking and dispersing among the cliffs
of the mountains, until, of all his host,
only a handful of cavaliers remained
faithful to him. With these he made a
gloomy retreat towards Granada, but
with a heart full of foreboding. When
he drew near the city, he paused on the
banks of the Xenil, and sent forth scouts
to collect intelligence. They returned
with dejected countenances. "The gates
of Granada," said they, "are closed
against you. The banner of Boabdil
floats on the tower of the Alhambra."

El Zagal turned his steed, and departed
in silence. He retreated to the town of
Almuneçar, and from thence to Almeria,
places which still remained faithful to
him. Restless and uneasy at being so
distant from the capital, he again changed
his abode and repaired to the city of
Guadix, within a few leagues of Granada.
Here he remained, endeavouring to rally
his forces, and preparing to avail himself
of any change in the fluctuating politics
of the metropolis.

CHAPTER LI.

The people of Velez Malaga had beheld
the camp of Muley Abdalla el Zagal
covering the summit of Bentomiz, and
glittering in the last rays of the setting
sun. During the night they had been
alarmed and perplexed by signal fires on
the mountain, and by the distant sound
of battle. When the morning broke, the
Moorish army had vanished as if by enchantment.
While the inhabitants were
lost in wonder and conjecture, a body of
cavalry, the fragment of the army saved
by Rodovan de Vanegas, the brave alcayde
of Granada, came galloping to the
gates. The tidings of this strange discomfiture
of the host filled the city with
consternation; but Rodovan exhorted the
people to continue their resistance. He
was devoted to El Zagal, and confident
in his skill and prowess; and felt assured,
that he would soon collect his scattered
forces, and return with fresh troops
from Granada. The people were comforted
by the words and encouraged by
the presence of Rodovan, and they had
still a lingering hope, that the heavy artillery
of the Christians might be locked
up in the impassable defiles of the mountains.
This hope was soon at an end.
The very next day they beheld long laborious
lines of ordnance slowly moving
into the Spanish camp; lombards, ribadoquines,
catapultas, and cars laden with
munitions, while the escort, under the
brave master of Alcantara, wheeled in
great battalions into the camp, to augment
the force of the besiegers.

The intelligence, that Granada had
shut its gates against El Zagal, and that
no reinforcements were to be expected,
completed the despair of the inhabitants;
even Rodovan himself lost confidence,
and advised capitulation.

The terms were arranged between the
alcayde and the noble Count de Cifuentes.
The latter had been prisoner of Rodovan
at Granada, who had treated him with
chivalrous courtesy. They had conceived
a mutual esteem for each other,
and met as ancient friends.

Ferdinand granted favourable conditions;
for he was eager to proceed against
Malaga. The inhabitants were permitted
to depart with their effects, except their
arms, and to reside, if they chose it, in
Spain, in any place distant from the sea.
One hundred and twenty Christians of
both sexes were rescued from captivity
by the surrender of Velez Malaga, and
were sent to Cordova, where they were
received with great tenderness by the
queen, and her daughter the Infanta Isabella,
in the famous cathedral, in the midst
of public rejoicings for the victory.

The capture of Velez Malaga was followed
by the surrender of Bentomiz, Comares,
and all the towns and fortresses
of the Axarquia, which were strongly
garrisoned, and discreet and valiant cavaliers
appointed as their alcaydes. The
inhabitants of nearly forty towns of the
Alpuxarra mountains also sent deputations
to the Castilian sovereigns, taking
the oath of allegiance as Mudixares, or
Moslem vassals.

About the same time came letters from
Boabdil el Chico, announcing to the sovereigns
the revolution of Granada in his
favour. He solicited kindness and protection
for the inhabitants who had returned
to their allegiance, and for those
of all other places which should renounce
allegiance to his uncle. By this means,
he observed, the whole kingdom of Granada
would soon be induced to acknowledge
his sway, and would be held by
him in faithful vassalage to the Castilian
crown.

The catholic sovereigns complied with
his request. Protection was immediately
extended to the inhabitants of Granada,
permitting them to cultivate their fields
in peace, and to trade with the Christian
territories in all articles excepting arms,
being provided with letters of surety from
some Christian captain or alcayde. The
same favour was promised to all other
places that within six months should renounce
El Zagal and come under allegiance
to the younger king. Should
they not do so within that time, the sovereigns
threatened to make war upon them
and conquer them for themselves. This
measure had a great effect in inducing
many to return to the standard of Boabdil.

Having made every necessary arrangement
for the government and security of
the newly conquered territory, Ferdinand

turned his attention to the great object of
his campaign, the reduction of Malaga.

CHAPTER LII.

The city of Malaga lies in the lap of
a fertile valley, surrounded by mountains,
excepting on the part which lies open to
the sea. As it was one of the most important,
so it was one of the strongest
cities of the Moorish kingdom. It was
fortified by walls of prodigious strength,
studded with a great number of huge
towers. On the land side it was protected
by a natural barrier of mountains, and,
on the other, the waves of the Mediterranean
beat against the foundations of
its massive bulwarks.

At one end of the city, near the sea,
on a high mound, stood the alcazaba or
citadel, a fortress of great strength. Immediately
above this rose a steep and
rocky mount, on the top of which, in old
times, had been a pharos, or lighthouse,
from which the height derived its name
of Gibralfaro.[73]
It was at present crowned
by an immense castle, which, from its
lofty and cragged situation, its vast walls
and mighty towers, was deemed impregnable.
It communicated with the alcazaba
by a covered way, six paces broad,
leading down between two walls, along
the profile or ridge of the rock. The
castle of Gibralfaro commanded both
citadel and city, and was capable, if both
were taken, of maintaining a siege.

Two large suburbs adjoined the city:
in the one towards the sea were dwelling-houses
of the most opulent inhabitants,
adorned with hanging gardens; the
other, on the land side, was thickly peopled,
and surrounded by strong walls and
towers.

Malaga possessed a brave and numerous
garrison, and the common people
were active, hardy, and resolute; but the
city was rich and commercial, and under
the habitual control of numerous opulent
merchants, who dreaded the ruinous consequences
of a siege. They were little
zealous for the warlike renown of their
city, and longed rather to participate in
the enviable security of property, and the
lucrative privileges of safe traffic with
the Christian territories, granted to all
places which declared for Boabdil. At
the head of these gainful citizens was
Ali Dordux, a mighty merchant, of uncounted
wealth, whose ships traded to
every port of the Levant, and whose
word was a law in Malaga.

Ali Dordux assembled the most opulent
and important of his commercial
brethren, and they repaired in a body to
the alcazaba, where they were received
by the alcayde, Albozen Connexa, with
that deference generally shown to men
of their great local dignity and power of
purse. Ali Dordux was ample and
stately in his form, and fluent and emphatic
in his discourse. His eloquence
had an effect, therefore, upon the alcayde,
as he represented the hopelessness of a
defence of Malaga, the misery that must
attend a siege, and the ruin that must
follow a capture by force of arms. On
the other hand, he set forth the grace
that might be obtained from the Castilian
sovereigns by an early and voluntary
acknowledgment of Boabdil as king, the
peaceful possession of their property, and
the profitable commerce with the Christian
ports that would be allowed them.
He was seconded by his weighty and important
coadjutors; and the alcayde, accustomed
to regard them as the arbiters
of the affairs of the place, yielded to their
united counsels. He departed, therefore,
with all speed, to the Christian camp,
empowered to arrange a capitulation with
the Castilian monarch, and in the mean
time his brother remained in command
of the alcazaba.

There was, at this time, as alcayde,
in the old crag-built castle of Gibralfaro,
a warlike and fiery Moor, an implacable
enemy of the Christians. This was no
other than Hamet Zeli, surnamed El
Zegri, the once formidable alcayde of
Ronda, and the terror of its mountains.
He had never forgiven the capture of his
favourite fortress, and panted for vengeance
on the Christians. Notwithstanding
his reverses, he had retained the favour
of El Zagal, who knew how to appreciate
a bold warrior of the kind, and
had placed him in command of this important
fortress of Gibralfaro.

Hamet el Zegri had gathered round
him the remnant of his band of Gomeres,
with others of the same tribe. These
fierce warriors were nestled, like so many
war-hawks, about their lofty cliff. They
looked down with martial contempt upon
the commercial city of Malaga, which
they were placed to protect; or rather,
they esteemed it only for its military importance
and its capability of defence.
They held no communion with its trading,
gainful inhabitants, and even considered
the garrison of the alcazaba as
their inferiors. War was their pursuit
and passion; they rejoiced in its turbulent
and perilous scenes; and, confident
in the strength of the city, and above all,
of their castle, they set at defiance the
menace of Christian invasion. There
were among them, also, many apostate
Moors, who had once embraced christianity,
but had since recanted, and had
fled from the vengeance of the inquisition.
These were desperadoes, who had
no mercy to expect, should they again
fall into the hands of the enemy.

Such were the fierce elements of the
garrison of Gibralfaro; and its rage
may easily be conceived at hearing, that
Malaga was to be given up without a
blow; that they were to sink into Christian
vassals, under the intermediate sway
of Boabdil el Chico, and that the alcayde
of the alcazaba had departed to arrange
the terms of capitulation.

Hamet el Zegri determined to avert,
by desperate means, the threatened degradation.
He knew that there was a
large party in the city faithful to El
Zagal, being composed of warlike men,
who had taken refuge from the various
mountain towns which had been captured.
Their feelings were desperate as their
fortunes, and, like Hamet, they panted
for revenge upon the Christians. With
these he had a secret conference, and
received assurances of their adherence to
him in any measures of defence. As to
the council of the peaceful inhabitants,
he considered it unworthy the consideration
of a soldier, and he spurned at the
interference of the wealthy merchant, Ali
Dordux, in matters of warfare.

"Still," said Hamet el Zegri, "let us
proceed regularly." So he descended
with his Gomeres to the citadel, entered
it suddenly, put to death the brother of
the alcayde and such of the garrison as
made any demur, and then summoned
the principal inhabitants to deliberate on
measures for the welfare of the city.[74]

The wealthy merchants again mounted
to the citadel, excepting Ali Dordux, who
refused to obey the summons. They
entered with hearts filled with awe, for
they found Hamet surrounded by his
grim African guard, and all the array of
military power, and they beheld the
bloody traces of the recent massacre.

Hamet el Zegri rolled a dark and
searching eye upon the assembly.—
"Who," said he, "is loyal and devoted
to Muley Abdalla el Zagal?" Every one
present asserted his loyalty. "Good!"
said Hamet, "and who is ready to prove
his devotion to his sovereign by defending
this his important city to the last
extremity?" Every one present expressed
his readiness. "Enough," observed
Hamet: the "alcayde, Albozen
Connexa, has proved himself a traitor to
his sovereign and to you all; for he has
conspired to deliver the place to the
Christians. It behoves you to choose
some other commander, capable of defending
your city against the approaching
enemy." The assembly declared
unanimously, that there could be none so
worthy of the command as himself. So
Hamet el Zegri was appointed alcayde of
Malaga, and immediately proceeded to
man the forts and towers with his partisans,
and to make every preparation for
a desperate resistance.

Intelligence of these occurrences put
an end to the negotiations between King
Ferdinand and the superseded alcayde
Albozen Connexa, and it was supposed
there was no alternative but to lay siege
to the place. The Marquis of Cadiz,
however, found at Velez a Moorish cavalier
of some note, a native of Malaga,
who offered to tamper with Hamet el
Zegri for the surrender of the city; or,
at least, of the castle of Gibralfaro.
The marquis communicated this to the
king. "I put this business and the key
of my treasury into your hand," said
Ferdinand: "act, stipulate, and disburse,
in my name, as you think proper."

The marquis armed the Moor with his
own lance, cuirass, and target, and
mounted him on one of his own horses.
He equipped also, in similar style, another
Moor, his companion and relation.
They bore secret letters to Hamet from
the marquis, offering him the town of
Coin in perpetual inheritance, and four
thousand doblas in gold, if he would
deliver up Gibralfaro: together with
large sums to be distributed among his
officers and soldiers; and he held out
unlimited rewards for the surrender of
the city.[75]

Hamet had a warrior's admiration for
the Marquis of Cadiz, and received his
messengers with courtesy, in his fortress
of Gibralfaro. He even listened to their
propositions with patience, and dismissed
them in safety, though with an absolute
refusal. The marquis thought his reply
was not so peremptory as to discourage
another effort. The emissaries were
despatched therefore, a second time, with
further propositions. They approached
Malaga in the night; but found the guards
doubled, patrols abroad, and the whole
place on the alert. They were discovered,
pursued, and only saved themselves by
the fleetness of their steeds, and their
knowledge of the passes of the mountains.

Finding all attempts to tamper with
the faith of Hamet el Zegri utterly futile,
King Ferdinand publicly summoned the
city to surrender; offering the most
favourable terms in case of immediate
compliance, but threatening captivity to
all the inhabitants in case of resistance.

The message was delivered in presence
of the principal inhabitants, who, however,
were too much in awe of the stern
alcayde to utter a word. Hamet el
Zegri then rose haughtily, and replied,
that the city of Malaga had not been
confided to him to be surrendered, but
defended; and the king should witness
how he acquitted himself of his charge.[76]

The messengers returned with formidable
accounts of the force of the garrison,
the strength of the fortifications,
and the determined spirit of the commander
and his men. The king immediately
sent orders to have the heavy
artillery forwarded from Antequera; and,
on the seventh of May, marched with his
army towards Malaga.

CHAPTER LIII.

The army of Ferdinand advanced in
lengthened line, glittering along the foot
of the mountains which border the Mediterranean;
while a fleet of vessels,
freighted with heavy artillery and warlike
munitions, kept pace with it, at a
short distance from the land, covering
the sea with a thousand gleaming sails.
When Hamet el Zegri saw this force
approaching, he set fire to the houses of
the suburbs which adjoined the walls,
and sent forth three battalions to encounter
the advance guard of the enemy.

The Christian army drew near to the
city at that end where the castle and
rocky height of Gibralfaro defend the
seaboard. Immediately opposite to the
castle, and about two bow-shots' distance,
and between it and the high chain of
mountains, was a steep and rocky hill,
commanding a pass through which the
Christians must march to penetrate to
the vega, and surround the city. Hamet
el Zegri ordered the three battalions to
take their stations, one on this hill, another
in the pass near the castle, and a
third on the side of the mountain near
the sea.

A body of Spanish foot-soldiers of the
advance guard, sturdy mountaineers of
Gallicia, sprang forward to climb the side
of the height next the sea; at the same
time a number of cavaliers and hidalgos
of the royal household attacked the
Moors who guarded the pass below. The
Moors defended their posts with obstinate
valour. The Gallicians were repeatedly
overpowered and driven down the hill,
but as often rallied; and, being reinforced
by the hildalgos and cavaliers, returned
to the assault. This obstinate struggle
lasted for six hours. The strife was of
a deadly kind, not merely with crossbows
and arquebuses, but hand to hand,
with swords and daggers: no quarter
was claimed or given on either side:
they fought not to make captives, but to
slay. It was but the advance guard of
the Christian army that was engaged: so

narrow was the pass along the coast,
that the army could proceed only in file.
Horse and foot, and beasts of burden,
were crowded one upon another, impeding
each other, and blocking up the
narrow and rugged defile. The soldiers
heard the uproar of the battle, the sound
of trumpets, and the war-cries of the
Moors, but tried in vain to press forward
to the assistance of their companions.

At length a body of foot-soldiers of the
Holy Brotherhood climbed, with great
difficulty, the steep side of the mountain
which overhung the pass, and advanced
with seven banners displayed. The
Moors, seeing this force above them,
abandoned the pass in despair.

The battle was still raging on the
height. The Gallicians, though supported
by Castilian troops, under Don Hurtado
de Mendoza, and Garcilasso de la Vega,
were severely pressed, and roughly
handled by the Moors. At length a
brave standard-bearer, Luys Mazedo by
name, threw himself into the midst of the
enemy, and planted his banner on the
summit. The Gallicians and the Castilians,
stimulated by this noble self-devotion,
followed him, fighting desperately,
and the Moors were at length driven to
their castle of Gibralfaro.[77]

This important height being taken, the
pass lay open to the army: but by this
time, evening was advancing, and the
host was too weary and exhausted to
seek proper situations for the encampment.
The king, attended by several
grandees and cavaliers, went the rounds
at night, stationing outposts towards the
city, and guards and patrols to give the
alarm on the least movement of the
enemy. All night the Christians lay
upon their arms, lest there should be
some attempt to sally forth and attack
them.

When the morning dawned, the king
gazed with admiration at this city, which
he hoped soon to add to his dominions.
It was surrounded on one side by vineyards,
gardens, and orchards, which
covered the hills with verdure; on the
other side its walls were bathed by
the smooth and tranquil sea. Its vast
and lofty towers and prodigious castles
showed the labours of magnanimous men,
in former times, to protect their favourite
abode. Hanging gardens, groves of
oranges, citrons, and pomegranates, with
tall cedars and stately palms, were mingled
with the stern battlements and
towers, bespeaking the opulence and
luxury that reigned within.

In the mean time the Christian army
poured through the pass, and throwing
out its columns, and extending its lines,
took possession of every vantage-ground
around the city. King Ferdinand surveyed
the ground, and appointed the
stations of the different commanders.

The important mount, which had cost
so violent a struggle, and which faced the
powerful fortress of Gibralfaro, was given
in charge to Roderigo Ponce de Leon,
the Marquis of Cadiz, who in all sieges
claimed the post of danger. He had
several noble cavaliers, with their retainers,
in his encampment, which consisted
of fifteen hundred horse, and fourteen
thousand foot; and extended from
the summit of the mount to the margin
of the sea, completely blocking up the
approach to the city on that side. From
this post a line of encampments extended
quite round the city to the seaboard, fortified
by bulwarks and deep ditches; while
a fleet of armed ships and galleys
stretched before the harbour, so that the
place was completely invested by sea
and land. The various parts of the
valley now resounded with the din of
preparation, and were filled with artificers
preparing warlike engines and
munitions; armourers and smiths, with
glowing forges and deafening hammers;
carpenters and engineers constructing
machines wherewith to assail the walls;
stonecutters shaping stone balls for the
ordnance; and burners of charcoal preparing
fuel for the furnaces and forges.

When the encampment was formed,
the heavy ordnance was landed from the
ships, and mounted in various parts of
the camp. Five huge lombards were
placed on the mount commanded by the
Marquis of Cadiz, so as to bear upon the
castle of Gibralfaro.

The Moors made strenuous efforts to
impede these preparations. A heavy
fire was kept up from their ordnance

upon the men employed in digging
trenches or constructing batteries, so that
the latter had to work principally in the
night. The royal tents had been stationed
conspicuously and within reach
of the Moorish batteries, but were so
warmly assailed that they had to be removed
behind a hill.

When the works were completed, the
Christian batteries opened in return, and
kept up a tremendous cannonade, while
the fleet, approaching the land, assailed
the city vigorously on the opposite side.

It was a glorious and delectable sight,
observes Fray Antonio Agapida, to behold
this infidel city thus surrounded by
sea and land by a mighty Christian force.
Every mound in its circuit was, as it
were, a little city of tents, bearing the
standard of some renowned catholic
warrior. Besides the warlike ships and
galleys which lay before the place, the
sea was covered with innumerable sails,
passing and repassing, appearing and
disappearing, being engaged in bringing
supplies for the subsistence of the army.
It would have seemed a vast spectacle
contrived to recreate the eye, had not the
volleying bursts of flame and smoke
from the ships, which appeared to lie
asleep on the quiet sea, and the thunder
of ordnance from camp and city, from
tower and battlement, told the deadly
warfare that was waging.

At night the scene was far more direful
than in the day. The cheerful light
of the sun was gone; there was nothing
but the flashes of artillery, or the baleful
gleams of combustibles thrown into the
city, and the conflagration of the houses.
The fire kept up from the Christian batteries
was incessant; there were seven
great lombards, in particular, called the
Seven Sisters of Ximenes, which did tremendous
execution. The Moorish ordnance
replied in thunder from the walls;
Gibralfaro was wrapped in volumes of
smoke, rolling about its base; and Hamet
el Zegri and his Gomeres looked out with
triumph upon the tempest of war they
had awakened. "Truly they were so
many demons incarnate," says the pious
Fray Antonio Agapida, "who were permitted
by Heaven to enter into and possess
this infidel city for its perdition."

CHAPTER LIV.

The attack on Malaga by sea and
land was kept up for several days with
tremendous violence, but without producing
any great impression, so strong
were the ancient bulwarks of the city.
The Count de Cifuentes was the first to
signalize himself by any noted achievement.
A main tower of the suburb had
been shattered by the ordnance, and the
battlements demolished, so as to yield no
shelter to its defenders. Seeing this, the
count assembled a gallant band of cavaliers
of the royal household, and advanced
to take it by storm. They applied
scaling-ladders, and mounted, sword in
hand. The Moors, having no longer
battlements to protect them, descended
to a lower floor, and made furious resistance
from the windows and loopholes.
They poured down boiling pitch
and rosin, and hurled stones and darts
and arrows on the assailants. Many of
the Christians were slain; their ladders
were destroyed by flaming combustibles,
and the count was obliged to retreat from
before the tower. On the following day
he renewed the attack with superior force,
and, after a severe combat succeeded
in planting his victorious banner on the
tower.

The Moors now assailed the tower in
their turn. They undermined the part
towards the city, placed props of wood
under the foundation, and, setting fire to
them, drew off to a distance. In a little
while the props gave way, the foundation
sank, the tower was rent, part of its wall
fell with a tremendous noise, many of
the Christians were thrown out headlong,
and the rest were laid open to the missiles
of the enemy.

By this time, however, a breach had
been made in the wall adjoining the
tower; and troops poured in to the assistance
of their comrades. A continued
battle was kept up for two days and a
night by reinforcements from camp and
city. The parties fought backwards
and forwards through the breach of the
wall with alternate success, and the vicinity
of the town was strewed with the
dead and wounded. At length the Moors
gradually gave way, disputing every inch

of ground, until they were driven into
the city; and the Christians remained
masters of the greater part of the suburb.

This partial success, though gained
with great toil and bloodshed, gave
temporary animation to the Christians.
They soon found, however, that the attack
on the main works of the city was a
much more arduous task. The garrison
contained veterans who had served in
many of the towns captured by the Christians.
They were no longer confounded
and dismayed by the battering ordnance
and other strange engines of foreign invention,
and had become expert in parrying
their effects, in repairing breaches,
and erecting counterworks.

The Christians, accustomed of late to
speedy conquests of Moorish fortresses,
became impatient of the slow progress of
the siege. Many were apprehensive of
a scarcity of provisions, from the difficulty
of subsisting so numerous a host in
the heart of the enemy's country, where
it was necessary to transport supplies
across rugged and hostile mountains, or
subjected to the uncertainties of the seas.
Many were also alarmed at the pestilence
which broke out in the neighbouring
villages, and some were so overcome by
these apprehensions, as to abandon the
camp and return to their homes.

Several of the loose and worthless
hangers-on, that infest all great armies,
hearing these murmurs, thought that the
siege would soon be raised, and deserted
to the enemy, hoping to make their fortunes.
They gave exaggerated accounts
of the alarms and discontents of the army,
and represented the troops as daily returning
home in bands. Above all, they
declared, that the gunpowder was nearly
exhausted, so that the artillery would
soon be useless. They assured the Moors,
therefore, that, if they persisted in their
defence a little longer, the king would be
obliged to draw off his forces, and abandon
the siege.

The reports of these renegadoes gave
fresh courage to the garrison. They
made vigorous sallies upon the camp,
harassing it by night and day, and obliging
every part to be guarded with the
most painful vigilance. They fortified
the weak part of their walls with ditches
and palisadoes, and gave every manifestation
of a determined and unyielding
spirit.

Ferdinand soon received intelligence
of the reports which had been carried to
the Moors. He understood, that they
had been informed, likewise, that the
queen was alarmed for the safety of the
camp, and had written repeatedly, urging
him to abandon the siege. As the best
means of disproving all these falsehoods,
and of destroying the vain hopes of the
enemy, Ferdinand wrote to the queen,
entreating her to come and take up her
residence in the camp.

CHAPTER LV.

Great was the enthusiasm of the
army, when they beheld their patriot
queen advancing in state, to share the
toils and dangers of her people. Isabella
entered the camp, attended by the dignitaries,
and the whole retinue of her court,
to manifest that this was no temporary
visit. On one side of her was her
daughter, the infanta; on the other, the
grand cardinal of Spain; and Hernando
de Talavera, the prior of Praxo, confessor
to the queen, followed, with a great train
of prelates, courtiers, cavaliers, and ladies
of distinction. The cavalcade moved in
calm and stately order through the camp,
softening the iron aspect of war by this
array of courtly grace and female beauty.

Isabella had commanded, that, on her
coming to the camp, the horrors of war
should he suspended, and fresh offers of
peace made to the enemy. On her arrival,
therefore, there had been a cessation
of firing throughout the camp. A
messenger was at the same time despatched
to the besieged, informing them
of her being in the camp, and of the determination
of the sovereigns to make it
their settled residence, until the city
should be taken. The same terms were
offered, in case of immediate surrender,
that had been granted to Velez Malaga,
but the inhabitants were threatened with
captivity and the sword, should they persist
in their defence.

Hamet el Zegri received this message
with haughty contempt, and dismissed
the messenger without deigning a reply.

"The Christian sovereigns," said he,
"have made this offer, in consequence of
their despair. The silence of their batteries
proves the truth of what has been
told us, that their powder is exhausted.
They have no longer the means of demolishing
our walls; and, if they remain
much longer, the autumnal rains will
interrupt their convoys, and fill their
camp with famine and disease. The
first storm will disperse their fleet, which
has no neighbouring port of shelter.
Africa will then be open to us, to procure
reinforcements and supplies."

The words of Hamet el Zegri were
hailed as oracular by his adherents.
Many of the peaceful part of the community,
however, ventured to remonstrate,
and to implore him to accept the
proffered mercy. The stern Hamet
silenced them with a terrific threat. He
declared, that whoever should talk of
capitulating, or should hold any communication
with the Christians, should
be put to death. His fierce Gomeres,
like true men of the sword, acted upon
the menace of their chieftain as upon a
written law, and, having detected several
of the inhabitants in secret correspondence
with the enemy, they set upon
and slew them, and then confiscated their
effects. This struck such terror into the
citizens, that those who had been loudest
in their murmurs became suddenly mute,
and were remarked as evincing the
greatest bustle and alacrity in the defence
of the city.

When the messenger returned to the
camp, and reported the contemptuous
reception of the royal message, King
Ferdinand was exceedingly indignant.
Finding the cessation of firing, on the
queen's arrival, had encouraged a belief
among the enemy that there was a
scarcity of powder in the camp, he ordered
a general discharge from every
battery. This sudden burst of war from
every quarter soon convinced the Moors
of their error, and completed the confusion
of the citizens, who knew not which
most to dread, their assailants or their
defenders, the Christians or the Gomeres.

That evening the sovereigns visited
the encampment of the Marquis of Cadiz,
which commanded a view over a great
part of the city and the camp. The
tent of the Marquis was of great magnitude,
furnished with hangings of rich
brocade, and French cloth of the rarest
texture. It was in the oriental style, and,
as it crowned the height, with the surrounding
tents of other cavaliers, all
sumptuously furnished, presented a gay
and silken contrast to the opposite towers
of Gibralfaro. Here a splendid collation
was served up to the sovereigns; and
the courtly revel that prevailed in this
chivalrous encampment, the glitter of pageantry,
and the bursts of festive music,
made more striking the gloom and silence
that reigned over the dark Moorish
castle.

The Marquis of Cadiz, while it was
yet light, conducted his royal visiters to
every point that commanded a view of
the warlike scene below. He caused the
heavy lombards also to be discharged,
that the queen and the ladies of the court
might witness the effect of those tremendous
engines. The fair dames were
filled with awe and admiration, as the
mountain shook beneath their feet with the
thunder of the artillery, and they beheld
great fragments of the Moorish walls tumbling
down the rocks and precipices.

While the good marquis was displaying
these things to his royal guests, he
lifted up his eyes, and to his astonishment,
beheld his own banner hanging
out from the nearest tower of Gibralfaro.
The blood mantled in his cheek, for it
was a banner which he had lost at the
time of the memorable massacre of the
heights of Malaga. To make this taunt
more evident, several of the Gomeres
displayed themselves upon the battlements,
arrayed in the helmets and cuirasses
of some of the cavaliers, slain or
captured on that occasion.[78] The Marquis
of Cadiz restrained his indignation,
and held his peace; but several of his
cavaliers vowed loudly to revenge this
cruel bravado on the ferocious garrison
of Gibralfaro.

CHAPTER LVI.

The Marquis of Cadiz was not a cavalier
that readily forgave an injury or

an insult. On the morning after the
royal banquet, his batteries opened a
tremendous fire upon Gibralfaro. All
day the encampment was wrapped in
wreaths of smoke; nor did the assault
cease with the day, but throughout the
night there was an incessant flashing
and thundering of the lombards, and the
following morning the assault rather increased
than slackened in its fury. The
Moorish bulwarks were no proof against
these formidable engines. In a few days
the lofty tower, on which the taunting
banner had been displayed, was shattered;
a smaller tower, in its vicinity,
reduced to ruins; and a great breach
made in the intervening walls.

Several of the hot-spirited cavaliers
were eager for storming the breach sword
in hand; others, more cool and wary,
pointed out the rashness of such an attempt;
for the Moors, working indefatigably
in the night, had digged a deep
ditch within the breach, and had fortified
it with palisadoes and a high breastwork.
All, however, agreed, that the
camp might safely be advanced near to
the ruined walls, and that it ought to be
so placed, in return for the insolent defiance
of the enemy.

The Marquis of Cadiz felt the temerity
of the measure; but he was unwilling to
damp the zeal of these high-spirited cavaliers;
and, having chosen the post of
danger in the camp, it did not become
him to decline any service, merely because
it might appear perilous. He
ordered his outposts, therefore, to be
advanced within a stone's throw of the
breach, but exhorted the soldiers to maintain
the utmost vigilance.

The thunder of the batteries had
ceased; the troops, exhausted by two
nights' fatigue and watchfulness, and apprehending
no danger from the dismantled
walls, were half of them asleep, the
rest were scattered about in negligent
security. On a sudden, upwards of two
thousand Moors sallied forth from the
castle, led on by Abraham Zenete, the
principal captain under Hamet. They
fell with fearful havoc upon the advance
guard, slaying many of them in their
sleep, and putting the rest to headlong
flight. The marquis was in his tent,
about a bow-shot distance, when he heard
the tumult of the onset, and beheld his
men flying in confusion. He rushed
forth, followed by his standard-bearers.
"Turn again, cavaliers!" exclaimed he;
"turn again! I am here, Ponce de Leon!
To the foe! to the foe!" The flying
troops stopped at hearing his well-known
voice, rallied under his banner, and
turned upon the enemy. The encampment
by this time was roused; several
cavaliers from the adjoining stations had
hastened to the scene of action, with a
number of Gallicians, and soldiers of the
Holy Brotherhood. An obstinate and
bloody contest ensued. The ruggedness
of the place, the rocks, chasms, and declivities,
broke it into numerous combats.
Christian and Moor fought hand to hand,
with swords and daggers; and often,
grappling and struggling, rolled together
down the precipices.

The banner of the marquis was in
danger of being taken. He hastened to its
rescue, followed by some of his bravest
cavaliers. They were surrounded by
the enemy, and several of them cut down.
Don Diego Ponce de Leon, brother to
the marquis, was wounded by an arrow;
and his son-in-law, Luis Ponce, was likewise
wounded: they succeeded, however,
in rescuing the banner, and bearing it off
in safety. The battle lasted for an hour:
the height was covered with killed and
wounded; and the blood flowed in streams
down the rocks. At length, Abraham
Zenete being disabled by the thrust of a
lance, the Moors gave way, and retreated
to the castle.

They now opened a galling fire from
their battlements and towers, approaching
the breaches, so as to discharge their
crossbows and arquebuses into the advance
guard of the encampment. The
marquis was singled out: the shot fell
thick about him, and one passed through
his buckler, and struck upon his cuirass,
but without doing him any injury. Every
one now saw the danger and inutility of
approaching the camp thus near to the
castle; and those who had counselled it
were now urgent that it should be withdrawn.
It was accordingly removed
back to its original ground, from which
the marquis had most reluctantly advanced
it. Nothing but his valour and
timely aid had prevented this attack from

ending in a total rout of all that part of
the army.

Many cavaliers of distinction fell in
this contest; but the loss of none was
felt more deeply than that of Ortega de
Prado, captain of escaladors. He was
one of the bravest men in the service;
the same who had devised the first successful
blow of the war, the storming of
Alhama, where he was the first to plant
and mount the scaling-ladders. He had
always been high in the favour and confidence
of the noble Ponce de Leon, who
knew how to appreciate and avail himself
of the merits of all able and valiant
men.[79]

CHAPTER LVII.

Great were the exertions now made,
both by the hesiegers and the besieged,
to carry on this contest with the utmost
vigour. Hamet el Zegri went the rounds
of the walls and towers, doubling the
guards, and putting every thing into the
best posture of defence. The garrison
was divided into parties of a hundred, to
each of which a captain was appointed.
Some were to patrol; others to sally
forth, and skirmish with the enemy;
and others to hold themselves ready
armed and in reserve. Six albatozas,
or floating batteries, were manned, and
armed with pieces of artillery, to attack
the fleet.

On the other hand, the Castilian sovereigns
kept open a communication, by
sea, with various parts of Spain, from
which they received provisions of all
kinds. They ordered supplies of powder,
also, from Valencia, Barcelona, Sicily,
and Portugal. They made great preparations
for storming the city. Towers
of wood were constructed, to move on
wheels, each capable of holding one
hundred men. They were furnished
with ladders, to be thrown from their
summits to the tops of the walls; and
within those ladders others were ineased,
to be let down for the descent of the
troops into the city. There were gallipagos,
or tortoises, also; being great
wooden shields covered with hides, to
protect the assailants, and those who
undermined the walls.

Secret mines were commenced in various
places. Some were intended to reach
to the foundations of the walls, which were
to be propped up with wood, ready to be
set on fire; others were to pass under
the walls, and remain ready to be broken
open so as to give entrance to the besiegers.
At these mines the army worked
day and night; and during these secret
preparations, the ordnance kept up a fire
upon the city, to divert the attention of
the besieged.

In the mean time, Hamet el Zegri displayed
wonderful vigour and ingenuity in
defending the city, and in repairing, or
fortifying by deep ditches, the breaches
made by the enemy. He noted, besides,
every place where the camp might be
assailed with advantage; and gave the besieging army no repose, night or day.
While his troops sallied on the land, his
floating batteries attacked the besiegers
on the sea; so that there was incessant
skirmishing. The tents, called the queen's
hospital, were crowded with wounded;
and the whole army suffered, from constant
watchfulness and fatigue. To guard
against the sudden assaults of the Moors,
the trenches were deepened, and palisadoes
erected in front of the camp; and
in that part facing Gibralfaro, where
the rocky heights did not admit of such
defences, a high rampart of earth was
thrown up. The cavaliers Garcilasso
de la Vega, Juan de Zuniga, and Diego
de Atayde, were appointed to go the
rounds, and keep vigilant watch, that
these fortifications were maintained in
good order.

In a little while, Hamet discovered the
mines secretly commenced by the Christians.
He immediately ordered countermines.
The soldiers mutually worked
until they met, and fought hand to hand,
in these subterranean passages. The
Christians were driven out of one of their
mines; fire was set to the wooden framework,
and the mine destroyed. Encouraged
by this success, the Moors
attempted a general attack upon the
mines and the besieging fleet. The
battle lasted for six hours, on land and

water, above and below ground, on bulwark
and in trench and mine. The
Moors displayed wonderful intrepidity;
but were finally repulsed at all points,
and obliged to retire into the city, where
they were closely invested, without the
means of receiving any assistance from
abroad.

The horrors of famine were now added
to the other miseries of Malaga. Hamet
el Zegri, with the spirit of a man bred
up to war, considered every thing as subservient
to the wants of the soldier, and
ordered all the grain in the city to be
gathered and garnered up for the sole
use of those who fought. Even this was
dealt out sparingly; and each soldier received
four ounces of bread in the morning,
and two in the evening, for his daily
allowance.

The wealthy inhabitants, and all those
peacefully inclined, mourned over a resistance,
which brought destruction upon
their houses, death into their families,
and which they saw must end in their
ruin and captivity. Still, none of them
dared to speak openly of capitulation, or
even to manifest their grief, lest they
should awaken the wrath of their fierce
defenders. They surrounded their civic
champion, Ali Dordux, the great and
opulent merchant, who had buckled on
shield and cuirass, and taken spear in
hand for the defence of his native city;
and with a large body of the braver citizens,
had charge of one of the gates
and a considerable portion of the walls.
Drawing Ali Dordux aside, they poured
forth their griefs to him in secret.
"Why," said they, "should we suffer
our native city to be made a mere bulwark
and fighting-place for foreign barbarians
and desperate men? They have
no families to care for, no property to
lose, no love for the soil, and no value
for their lives. They fight to gratify a
thirst for blood, or a desire for revenge;
and will fight on until Malaga be made
a ruin, and its people slaves. Let us
think and act for ourselves, our wives,
and our children. Let us make private
terms with the Christians before it is too
late, and so save ourselves from destruction."

The bowels of Ali Dordux yearned
towards his fellow-citizens. He bethought
him also of the sweet security
of peace, and the bloodless, yet gratifying,
triumphs of gainful commerce. The
idea likewise of a secret negotiation or
bargain with the Castilian sovereigns,
for the redemption of his native city,
was more conformable to his accustomed
habits than this violent appeal to arms;
for though he had, for a time, assumed
the warrior, he had not forgotten the merchant.
Ali Dordux communed, therefore,
with the citizen-soldiers under his command,
and they readily conformed to his
opinion. Concerting together, they wrote
a proposition to the Castilian sovereigns,
offering to admit the army into the part
of the city intrusted to their care, on
receiving assurance of protection for the
lives and property of the inhabitants.
This writing they delivered to a trusty
emissary, to take to the Christian camp;
appointing the hour and place of his return,
that they might be ready to admit
him unperceived.

The Moor made his way in safety to
the camp, and was admitted to the presence
of the sovereigns. Eager to gain
the city without further cost of blood or
treasure, they gave a written promise to
grant the conditions; and the Moor set
out joyfully on his return. As he approached
the walls where Ali Dordux
and his confederates were waiting to
receive him, he was described by a patrolling
band of Gomeres, and considered
a spy coming from the camp of
the besiegers. They issued forth, and
seized him, in sight of his employers,
who gave themselves up for lost. The
Gomeres had conducted him nearly to
the gate, when he escaped from their
grasp, and fled. They endeavoured to
overtake him, but were encumbered with
armour; he was lightly clad, and he fled
for his life. One of the Gomeres paused,
and, levelling his crossbow, let fly a bolt,
which pierced the fugitive between the
shoulders: he fell, and was nearly within
their grasp; but rose again, and, with a
desperate effort, attained the Christian
camp. The Gomeres gave over the pursuit,
and the citizens returned thanks to
Allah for their deliverance from this
fearful peril. As to the faithful messenger,
he died of his wound, shortly
after reaching the camp, consoled with

the idea, that he had preserved the secret
and the lives of his employers.

CHAPTER LVIII.

The sufferings of Malaga spread sorrow
and anxiety among the Moors; and
they dreaded lest this beautiful city, once
the bulwark of the kingdom, should fall
into the hands of the unbelievers. The
old warrior-king, Abdalla el Zagal, was
still sheltered in Guadix, where he was
slowly gathering together his shattered
forces. When the people of Guadix
heard of the danger and distress of
Malaga, they urged to be led to its relief;
and the alfaquis admonished El
Zagal not to desert so righteous and
loyal a city in its extremity. His own
warlike nature made him feel a sympathy
for a place that made so gallant
a resistance; and he despatched as powerful
a reinforcement as he could spare,
under conduct of a chosen captain, with
orders to throw themselves into the city.

Intelligence of this reinforcement
reached Boabdil el Chico, in his royal
palace of the Alhambra. Filled with
hostility against his uncle, and desirous
of proving his loyalty to the Castilian
sovereigns, he immediately sent forth a
superior force of horse and foot, to intercept
the detachment. A sharp conflict
ensued; the troops of El Zagal were
routed with great loss, and fled back in
confusion to Guadix.

Boabdil, not being accustomed to victories,
was flushed with this melancholy
triumph. He sent tidings of it to the
Castilian sovereigns, accompanied with
rich silks, boxes of Arabian perfume, a
cup of gold richly wrought, and a female
captive of Rebeda, as presents to the
queen; and four Arabian steeds, magnificently
caparisoned, a sword and dagger
richly mounted, and several albornozes
and other robes, sumptuously embroidered,
for the king. He entreated them, at
the same time, always to look upon him
with favour, as their devoted vassal.

Boabdil was fated to be unfortunate
even in his victories. His defeat of the
forces of his uncle, destined to the relief
of unhappy Malaga, shocked the feelings,
and cooled the loyalty, of many of his
best adherents. The mere men of traffic
might rejoice in their golden interval of
peace, but the chivalrous spirits of Granada
spurned a security purchased by
such sacrifices of pride and affection.
The people at large, having gratified
their love of change, began to question,
whether they had acted generously by
their old fighting monarch. "El Zagal,"
said they, "was fierce and bloody, but
then he was true to his country; he was
an usurper, but then he maintained the
glory of the crown which he usurped.
If his sceptre was a rod of iron to his
subjects, it was a sword of steel against
their enemies. This Boabdil sacrifices
religion, friends, country, every thing,
to a mere shadow of royalty, and is
content to hold a rush for a sceptre."

These factious murmurs soon reached
the ears of Boabdil, and he apprehended
another of his customary reverses. He
sent in all haste to the Castilian sovereigns,
beseeching military aid to keep
him on his throne. Ferdinand graciously
complied with a request so much in unison
with his policy. A detachment of one
thousand cavalry, and two thousand infantry,
were despatched, under the command
of Don Fernandez Gonsalez of
Cordova, subsequently renowned as the
grand captain. With this succour, Boabdil
expelled from the city all those who
were hostile to him, and in favour of his
uncle. He felt secure in these troops,
from their being distinct, in manners,
language, and religion, from his subjects;
and compromised with his pride,
in thus exhibiting that most unnatural
and humiliating of all regal spectacles,
a monarch supported on his throne by
foreign weapons, and by soldiers hostile
to his people.

Nor was Boabdil el Chico the only
Moorish sovereign that sought protection
from Ferdinand and Isabella. A splendid
galley, with lateen sails, and several
banks of oars, came one day into the
harbour of Malaga, displaying the standard
of the crescent, but likewise a
white flag in sign of amity. An ambassador
landed from it within the Christian
lines. He came from the King of
Tremezan, and brought presents similar
to those of Boabdil, consisting of Arabian
coursers, with bits, stirrups, and

other furniture of gold, together with
costly Moorish mantles: for the queen
there were sumptuous shawls, robes, and
silken stuffs, ornaments of gold, and exquisite
oriental perfumes.

The King of Tremezan had been
alarmed at the rapid conquests of the
Spanish arms, and startled by the descent
of several Spanish cruisers on the
coast of Africa. He craved to be considered
a vassal to the Castilian sovereigns,
and that they would extend such
favour and security to his ships and
subjects as had been shown to other
Moors, who had submitted to their sway.
He requested a painting of their arms,
that he and his subjects might recognise
and respect their standard, whenever they
encountered it. At the same time he
implored their clemency towards unhappy
Malaga, and that its inhabitants might
experience the same favour that had
been shown towards the Moors of other
captured cities.

This embassy was graciously received
by the Castilian sovereigns. They granted
the protection required, ordering their
commanders to respect the flag of Tremezan,
unless it should be found rendering
assistance to the enemy. They
sent also to the Barbary monarch their
royal arms, moulded in escutcheons of
gold a hand's-breadth in size.[80]

While thus the chances of assistance
from without daily decreased, famine
raged in the city. The inhabitants were
compelled to eat the flesh of horses, and
many died of hunger. What made the
sufferings of the citizens the more intolerable
was, to behold the sea covered
with ships, daily arriving with provisions
for the besiegers. Day after day, also,
they saw herds of fat cattle and flocks
of sheep driven into the camp. Wheat
and flour were piled in large mounds in
the centre of the encampments, glaring
in the sunshine, and tantalizing the
wretched citizens, who, while they and
their children were perishing with hunger,
beheld prodigal abundance reigning
within a bow-shot of their walls.

CHAPTER LIX.

There lived at this time, in a hamlet
in the neighbourhood of Guadix, an
ancient Moor, of the name of Abraham
Algerbi. He was a native of Guerba,
in the kingdom of Tunis, and had for
several years led the life of a santon or
hermit. The hot sun of Africa had
dried his blood, and rendered him of an
exalted yet melancholy temperament.
He passed most of his time in meditation,
prayer, and rigorous abstinence,
until his body was wasted, and his mind
bewildered, and he fancied himself favoured
with divine revelations. The
Moors, who have a great reverence for
all enthusiasts of the kind, looked upon
him as inspired, listened to all his ravings
as veritable prophecies, and denominated
him El Santo, or "the saint."

The woes of the kingdom of Granada
had long exasperated the gloomy spirit
of this man; and he had beheld with indignation
this beautiful country wrested
from the dominion of the faithful, and
becoming a prey to the unbelievers. He
had implored the blessing of Allah on
the troops which issued forth from Guadix
for the relief of Malaga; but when he
saw them return, routed and scattered
by their own countrymen, he retired to
his cell, shut himself up from the world,
and was plunged for a time in the blackest
gloom.

On a sudden he made his appearance
again in the streets of Guadix; his face
haggard, his form emaciated, but his eye
beaming with fire. He said, that Allah
had sent an angel to him, in the solitude
of his cell, revealing to him a mode of
delivering Malaga from its perils, and
striking horror and confusion into the
camp of the unbelievers. The Moors listened
with eager credulity to his words:
four hundred of them offered to follow
him even to the death, and to obey implicitly
his commands. Of this number
many were Gomeres, anxious to relieve
their countrymen, who formed part of
the garrison of Malaga.

They traversed the kingdom by the
wild and lonely passes of the mountains,
concealing themselves in the day, and

travelling only in the night, to elude the
Christian scouts. At length they arrived
at the mountains which tower above
Malaga; and, looking down, beheld the
city completely invested, a chain of encampments
extending round it from shore
to shore, and a line of ships blockading
it by sea, while the continual thunder of
artillery, and the smoke rising in various
parts, showed, that the siege was pressed
with great activity. The hermit scanned
the encampments warily from his lofty
height. He saw, that the part of the
encampment of the Marquis of Cadiz,
which was at the foot of the height, and
on the margin of the sea, was the most
assailable, the rocky soil not admitting
ditches or palisadoes. Remaining concealed
all day, he descended with his
followers at night to the sea-coast, and
approached silently to the outworks.
He had given them their instructions:
they were to rush suddenly upon the
camp, fight their way through, and throw
themselves into the city.

It was just at the gray of the dawning,
when objects are obscurely visible, that
they made this desperate attempt. Some
sprang suddenly upon the sentinels;
others rushed into the sea, and got round
the works; others clambered over the
breastworks. There was sharp skirmishing;
a great part of the Moors were
cut to pieces, but about two hundred
succeeded in getting into the gates of
Malaga.

The santon took no part in the conflict,
nor did he endeavour to enter the
city. His plans were of a different nature.
Drawing apart from the battle, he
threw himself on his knees, on a rising
ground, and, lifting his hands to Heaven,
appeared to be absorbed in prayer. The
Christians, as they were searching for
fugitives in the clefts of the rocks, found
him at his devotions. He stirred not at
their approach, but remained fixed as a
statue, without changing colour, or moving
a muscle. Filled with surprise not
unmixed with awe, they took him to the
Marquis of Cadiz. He was wrapped in
a coarse albornoz, or Moorish mantle;
his beard was long and grizzled, and
there was something wild and melancholy
in his look, that inspired curiosity.

On being examined, he gave himself
out as a saint, to whom Allah had revealed
the events that were to take place
in that siege. The marquis demanded
when and how Malaga was to be taken.
He replied, that he knew full well; but
he was forbidden to reveal those important
secrets, except to the king and
queen. The good marquis was not more
given to superstitious fancies than other
commanders of his time; yet there seemed
something singular and mysterious
about this man: he might have some
important intelligence to communicate;
so he was persuaded to send him to the
king and queen. He was conducted to
the royal tent, surrounded by a curious
multitude, exclaiming, "El Moro Santo!"
for the news had spread through the
camp, that they had taken a Moorish
prophet.

The king, having dined, was taking
his siesta, or afternoon's sleep, in his
tent: and the queen, though curious to
see this singular being, yet, from a natural
delicacy and reserve, delayed until
the king should be present. He was
taken, therefore, to an adjoining tent, in
which were Doña Beatrix de Bovadilla,
Marchioness of Moya, and Don Alvaro
of Portugal, son of the Duke of Braganza,
with two or three attendants. The Moor,
ignorant of the Spanish tongue, had not
understood the conversation of the guards,
and supposed, from the magnificence of
the furniture, and the silken hangings,
that this was the royal tent. From the
respect paid by the attendants to Don
Alvaro and the marchioness, he concluded
that they were the king and
queen.

He now asked for a draught of water.
A jar was brought to him, and the guard
released his arm, to enable him to drink.
The marchioness perceived a sudden
change in his countenance, and something
sinister in the expression of his
eye, and shifted her position to a more
remote part of the tent. Pretending to
raise the water to his lips, the Moor
unfolded his albornoz so as to grasp a
cimeter, which he wore concealed beneath;
then, dashing down the jar, he
drew his weapon, and gave Don Alvaro
a blow on the head, that struck him to
the earth, and nearly deprived him of
life. Turning upon the marchioness, he

then made a violent blow at her, but in
his eagerness and agitation, his cimeter
caught in the drapery of the tent; the
force of the blow was broken, and the
weapon struck harmless upon some golden
ornaments of her head-dress.[81]

Ruy Lopez de Toledo, treasurer to the
queen, and Juan de Belalcazar, a sturdy
friar, who were present, grappled and
struggled with the desperado; and immediately
the guards who had conducted
him from the Marquis of Cadiz fell upon
him, and cut him to pieces.[82]

The king and queen, brought out of
their tents by the noise, were filled with
horror when they learned the imminent
peril from which they had escaped. The
mangled body of the Moor was taken by
the people of the camp, and thrown into
the city from a catapult. The Gomeres
gathered up the body, with deep reverence,
as the remains of a saint; they
washed and perfumed it, and buried it
with great honour and loud lamentations.
In revenge of his death, they slew one
of their principal Christian captives; and,
having tied his body upon an ass, they
drove the animal forth into the camp.

From this time there was appointed an
additional guard around the tents of the
king and queen, composed of twelve hundred
cavaliers of rank of the kingdoms
of Castile and Aragon. No person was
admitted to the royal presence armed.
No Moor was allowed to enter the camp
without a previous knowledge of his
character and business; and on no account
was any Moor to be introduced
into the presence of the sovereigns.

An act of treachery of such a ferocious
nature gave rise to a train of gloomy
apprehensions. There were many cabins
and sheds about the camp, constructed of
branches of trees, which had become dry
and combustible; and fears were entertained,
that they might be set on fire by
the Mudixares, or Moorish vassals, who
visited the army. Some even dreaded,
that attempts might be made to poison
the wells and fountains. To quiet these
dismal alarms, all Mudixares were ordered
to leave the camp; and all loose
idle loiterers, who could not give a good
account of themselves, were taken into
custody.

CHAPTER LX.

Among those followers of the santon
that had effected their entrance into the
city was a dark African, of the tribe of
Gomeres, who was likewise a hermit, or
dervise, and passed among the Moors for
a holy and inspired man. No sooner
were the mangled remains of his predecessor
buried with the honours of martyrdom,
than this dervise elevated himself
in his place, and professed to be
gifted with the spirit of prophecy. He
displayed a white banner, which he assured
the Moors was sacred; that he
had retained it for twenty years, for
some signal purpose; and that Allah
had revealed to him, that under that
banner the inhabitants of Malaga should
sally forth upon the camp of the unbelievers,
put it to utter rout, and banquet
upon the provisions in which it abounded.[83]
The hungry and credulous Moors
were elated at this prediction, and cried
out to be led forth at once to the attack;
but the dervise told them the time was
not yet arrived, for every event had its
allotted day in the decrees of fate; they
must wait patiently, therefore, until the
appointed time should be revealed to him
by Heaven. Hamet el Zegri listened to
the dervise with profound reverence, and
his example had great effect in increasing
the awe and deference of his followers.
He took the holy man up into his stronghold
of Gibralfaro, consulted him on all
occasions, and hung out his white banner
on the loftiest tower, as a signal of encouragement
to the people of the city.

In the mean time, the prime chivalry
of Spain was gradually assembling before
the walls of Malaga. The army which
had commenced the siege had been worn
out by extreme hardships, having had to
construct immense works, to dig trenches
and mines, to mount guard by sea and
land, to patrol the mountains, and to
sustain incessant conflicts. The sovereigns
were obliged therefore to call upon

various distant cities, for reinforcements
of horse and foot. Many nobles, also,
assembled their vassals, and repaired, of
their own accord, to the royal camp.

Every little while, some stately galley
or gallant caravel would stand into the
harbour, displaying the well-known banner
of some Spanish cavalier, and thundering
from its artillery a salutation to
the sovereigns, and a defiance to the
Moors. On the land side also reinforcements
would be seen, winding down the
mountains to the sound of drum and
trumpet, and marching into the camp
with glistening arms, as yet unsullied by
the toils of war.

One morning the whole sea was whitened
by the sails, and vexed by the oars
of ships and galleys bearing towards the
port. One hundred vessels, of various
kinds and sizes, arrived; some armed
for warlike service, others deep-freighted
with provisions. At the same time, the
clangour of drum and trumpet bespoke
the arrival of a powerful force by land,
which came pouring in lengthening columns
into the camp.

This mighty reinforcement was furnished
by the Duke of Medina Sidonia,
who reigned like a petty monarch over
his vast possessions. He came with this
princely force a volunteer to the royal
standard, not having been summoned by
the sovereigns, and he brought moreover
a loan of twenty thousand doblas
of gold.

When the camp was thus powerfully
reinforced, Isabella advised, that new
offers of an indulgent kind should be
made to the inhabitants; for she was
anxious to prevent the miseries of a protracted
siege, or the effusion of blood that
must attend a general attack. A fresh
summons was therefore sent for the city
to surrender, with a promise of life,
liberty and property, in case of immediate
compliance, but denouncing all the horrors
of war, if the defence were obstinately
continued.

Hamet el Zegri again rejected the offer
with scorn. His main fortifications as
yet were but little impaired, and were
capable of holding out much longer; he
trusted to the thousand evils and accidents
that beset a besieging army, and
to the inclemencies of the approaching
season; and it is said he, as well as his
followers, had an infatuated belief in the
predictions of the dervise.

The worthy Fray Antonio Agapida
does not scruple to affirm, that the pretended
prophet of the city was an arch
necromancer, or Moorish magician; "of
which there be countless many," says
he, "in the filthy sect of Mahomet;" and
that he was leagued with the prince of
the powers of the air, to endeavour to
work the confusion and defeat of the
Christian army. The worthy father asserts
also, that Hamet employed him in
a high tower of Gibralfaro, which commanded
a wide view over sea and land,
where he wrought spells and incantations,
with astrolabes and other diabolical instruments,
to defeat the Christian ships
and forces, whenever they were engaged
with the Moors.

To the potent spells of this sorcerer he
ascribes the perils and losses sustained
by a party of cavaliers of the royal
household, in a desperate combat to gain
two towers of the suburb, near the gate
of the city called La Puerta de Granada.
The Christians, led on by Ruy Lopez
de Toledo, the valiant treasurer of the
queen, took, and lost, and retook the
towers, which were finally set on fire by
the Moors, and abandoned to the flames
by both parties. To the same malignant
influence he attributes the damage done
to the Christian fleet, which was so
vigorously assailed by the albatozas, or
floating-batteries, of the Moors, that one
ship of the Duke of Medina Sidonia was
sunk, and the rest were obliged to retire.

"Hamet el Zegri," says Fray Antonio
Agapida, "stood on the top of the high
tower of Gibralfaro, and beheld this injury
wrought upon the Christian force;
and his proud heart was puffed up. And
the Moorish necromancer stood beside
him. And he pointed out to him the
Christian host below, encamped on every
eminence around the city, and covering
its fertile valley, and the many ships
floating upon the tranquil sea; and he
bade him be strong of heart, for that, in
a few days, all this mighty fleet would
be scattered by the winds of Heaven;
and that he should sally forth, under
guidance of the sacred banner, and attack
this host, and utterly defeat it, and make

spoil of those sumptuous tents; and Malaga
should be triumphantly revenged
upon her assailants. So the heart of
Hamet was hardened like that of Pharaoh,
and he persisted in setting at defiance
the Catholic sovereigns, and their
army of saintly warriors."

CHAPTER LXI.

Seeing the infatuated obstinacy of the
besieged, the Christians now approached
their works to the walls, gaining one
position after another, preparatory to a
general assault. Near the barrier of
the city was a bridge with four arches,
defended at each end by a strong and
lofty tower, by which a part of the army
would have to pass in making a general
attack. The commander-in-chief of the
artillery, Francisco Ramirez de Madrid,
was ordered to take possession of this
bridge. The approach to it was perilous
in the extreme, from the exposed situation
of the assailants, and the numbers of
Moors that garrisoned the towers. Francisco
Ramirez, therefore, secretly excavated
a mine leading beneath the first
tower, and placed a piece of ordnance,
with its mouth upwards, immediately
under the foundation, with a train of
powder to produce an explosion at the
necessary moment.

When this was arranged he advanced
slowly with his forces in face of the
towers, erecting bulwarks at every step,
and gradually gaining ground, until he
arrived near to the bridge. He then
planted several pieces of artillery in his
works, and began to better the tower.
The Moors replied bravely from their
battlements; but in the heat of the combat
the piece of ordnance under the
foundation was discharged. The earth
was rent open, a part of the tower overthrown,
and several of the Moors torn to
pieces: the rest took to flight, overwhelmed
with terror at this thundering
explosion bursting beneath their feel, and
at beholding the earth vomiting flames
and smoke; for never before had they
witnessed such a stratagem in warfare.
The Christians rushed forward and took
possession of the abandoned post, and
immediately commenced an attack upon
the other tower, at the opposite end of
the bridge, to which the Moors had retired.
An incessant fire of crossbows
and arquebuses was kept up between the
rival towers, volleys of stones were discharged,
and no one dared to venture
upon the intermediate bridge.

Francisco de Ramirez at length renewed
his former mode of approach,
making bulwarks as he advanced, while
the Moors at the other end swept the
bridge with their artillery. The combat
was long and bloody, ferocious on the
part of the Moors, patient and persevering
on the part of the Christians. By
slow degrees they accomplished their
progress across the bridge, drove the
enemy before them, and remained masters
of this important pass.

For this valiant and skilful achievement,
King Ferdinand, after the surrender
of the city, conferred the dignity of
knighthood upon Francisco Ramirez, in
the tower which he had so gloriously
gained.[84] The worthy padre, Fray Antonio
Agapida, indulges in more than a
page of extravagant eulogy, upon this
invention of blowing up the foundation of
the tower by a piece of ordnance, which
he affirms to be the first instance on record
of gunpowder being used in a mine.

CHAPTER LXII.

While the dervise was deluding the
garrison of Malaga with vain hopes, the
famine increased to a terrible degree.
The Gomeres ranged about the city as
though it had been a conquered place;
taking by force whatever they found eatable
in the houses of the peaceful citizens,
and breaking open vaults and
cellars, and demolishing walls, wherever
they thought provisions might be concealed.

The wretched inhabitants had no
longer bread to cat; the horse-flesh also
now failed them; and they were fain
to devour skins and hides toasted at
the fire, and to assuage the hunger of
their children with vine-leaves, cut up

and fried in oil. Many perished of
famine or of the unwholesome food with
which they endeavoured to relieve it;
and many took refuge in the Christian
camp, preferring captivity to the horrors
which surrounded them.

At length the sufferings of the inhabitants
became so great, as to conquer
even their fears of Hamet and his Gomeres.
They assembled before the
house of Ali Dordux, the wealthy merchant,
whose stately mansion was at the
foot of the hill of the alcazaba; and they
urged him to stand forth as their leader,
and to intercede with Hamet el Zegri for
a surrender. Ali Dordux was a man of
courage as well as policy; he perceived
also that hunger was giving boldness to
the citizens, while he trusted it was subduing
the fierceness of the soldiery. He
armed himself therefore, cap-a-pié, and
undertook this dangerous parley with
the alcayde. He associated with him an
alfaqui, named Abrahen Alharis, and an
important inhabitant, named Amar ben
Amar; and they ascended to the fortress
of Gibralfaro, followed by several
of the trembling merchants.

They found Hamet El Zegri, not, as
before, surrounded by ferocious guards,
and all the implements of war; but in a
chamber of one of the lofty towers, at a
table of stone, covered with scrolls, and
traced with strange characters and mystic
diagrams; while instruments of singular
and unknown form lay about the
room. Beside Hamet el Zegri stood the
prophetic dervise, who appeared to have
been explaining to him the mysterious
inscriptions of the scrolls. His presence
filled the citizens with awe; for even Ali
Dordux considered him a man inspired.

The alfaqui, Abrahen Alharis, whose
sacred character gave him boldness to
speak, now lifted up his voice, and addressed
Hamet el Zegri. "We implore
you," said he solemnly, "in the name of
the most powerful God, no longer to persist
in a vain resistance, which must end
in our destruction; but deliver up the
city, while clemency is yet to be obtained.
Think how many of our warriors have
fallen by the sword; do not suffer those
who survive to perish by famine. Our
wives and children cry to us for bread,
and we have none to give them. We
see them expire in lingering agony before
our eyes, while the enemy mocks
our misery by displaying the abundance
of his camp. Of what avail is our defence?
Are our walls, peradventure,
more strong than the walls of Ronda?
Are our warriors more brave than the
defenders of Loxa? The walls of Ronda
were thrown down, and the warriors of
Loxa had to surrender. Do we hope for
succour? From whence are we to receive
it? The time for hope has gone
by. Granada has lost its power: it no
longer possesses chivalry, commanders,
or a king. Boabdil sits a vassal in the
degraded walls of the Alhambra: El
Zagal is a fugitive, shut up within the
walls of Gundix. The kingdom is divided
against itself: its strength is gone, its
pride fallen, its very existence at an end.
In the name of Allah, we conjure thee,
who art our captain, be not our direst
enemy; but surrender these ruins of our
once happy Malaga, and deliver us from
these overwhelming horrors."

Such was the supplication forced from
the inhabitants by the extremity of their
sufferings. Hamet el Zegri listened to
the alfaqui without anger; for he respected
the sanctity of his office. His heart,
too, was at that moment lifted up with a
vain confidence. "Yet a few days of
patience," said he, "and all these evils
will suddenly have an end. I have been
conferring with this holy man, and find
that the time of our deliverance is at
hand. The decrees of fate are inevitable:
it is written in the book of destiny,
that we shall sally forth, and destroy the
camp of the unbelievers, and banquet
upon those mountains of grain, which
are piled up in the midst of it. So Allah
hath promised, by the mouth of this his
prophet. Allah achbar! God is great!
Let no man oppose the decrees of Heaven!"

The citizens heard with profound reverence;
for no true Moslem pretends to
struggle against whatever is written in
the book of fate. Ali Dordux, who had
come prepared to champion the city, and
to brave the ire of Hamet, humbled himself
before this holy man, and gave faith
to his prophecies as the revelations of
Allah. So the deputies returned to the
citizens, and exhorted them to be of good

cheer. "A few days longer," said they,
"and our sufferings are to terminate.
When the white banner is removed from
the tower, then look out for deliverance;
for the hour of sallying forth will have
arrived." The people retired to their
houses with sorrowful hearts. They
tried in vain to quiet the cries of their
famishing children; and day by day,
and hour by hour, their anxious eyes
were turned to the sacred banner, which
still continued to wave on the tower of
Gibralfaro.

CHAPTER LXIII.

"The Moorish necromancer," observes
the worthy Fray Antonio Agapida,
"remained shut up in the tower of
Gibralfaro, devising devilish means to
work mischief and discomfiture upon
the Christians. He was daily consulted
by Hamet el Zegri, who had great faith
in those black and magic arts, which he
had brought with him from the bosom of
heathen Africa."

From the account given of this dervise
and his incantations by the worthy
father, it would appear, that he was an
astrologer, and was studying the stars,
and endeavouring to calculate the day
and hour when a successful attack might
be made upon the Christian camp.

Famine had now increased to such a
degree as to distress even the garrison of
Gibralfaro; although the Gomeres had
seized upon all the provisions they could
find in the city. Their passions were
sharpened by hunger; and they became
restless and turbulent, and impatient for
action.

Hamet el Zegri was one day in council
with his captains, perplexed by the
pressure of events, when the dervise
entered among them. "The hour of
victory," exclaimed be, "is at hand!
Allah has commanded that to-morrow
morning ye shall sally forth to the fight.
I will bear before you the sacred banner,
and deliver your enemies into your
hands. Remember, however, that ye
are but instruments in the hands of
Allah, to take vengeance on the enemies
of the faith. Go into battle, therefore,
with pure hearts, forgiving each other
all past offences; for those who are
charitable towards each other, will be
victorious over the foe."

The words of the dervise were received
with rapture. All Gibralfaro and
the aleazaba resounded immediately with
the din of arms; and Hamet sent throughout
the towers and fortifications of the
city, and selected the choicest troops and
most distinguished captains for this eventful
combat.

In the morning early, the rumour went
throughout the city, that the sacred banner
had disappeared from the tower of
Gibralfaro, and all Malaga was roused
to witness the sally that was to destroy
the unbelievers. Hamet descended from
his stronghold, accompanied by his principal
captain, Abrahen Zenete, and followed
by his Gomeres. The dervise led
the way, displaying the white banner,
the sacred pledge of victory. The multitude
shouted, "Allah achbar!" and
prostrated themselves before the banner
as it passed. Even the dreaded Hamet
was hailed with praises; for, in their
hope of speedy relief through the prowess
of his arm, the populace forgot every
thing but his bravery. Every bosom in
Malaga was agitated by hope and fear;
the old men, the women, and children,
and all who went not forth to battle,
mounted on tower, and battlement, and
roof, to watch a combat that was to decide
their fate.

Before sallying forth from the city, the
dervise addressed the troops; reminding
them of the holy nature of this enterprise,
and warning them not to forget the protection
of the sacred banner by any unworthy
act. They were to press forward,
fighting valiantly, and granting no
quarter. The gate was then thrown
open, and the dervise issued forth, followed
by the army. They directed their
assault upon the encampments of the
Master of Santiago and the Master of
Calatrava, and came upon them so suddenly,
that they killed and wounded several
of the guards. Abrahen Zenete made
his way into one of the tents, where he
beheld several Christian striplings, just
starting from their slumber. The heart
of the Moor was suddenly touched with
pity for their youth, or, perhaps, he

scorned the weakness of the foe. He
smote them with the flat, instead of the
edge, of his sword. "Away, imps,"
cried he, "away to your mothers!" The
fanatic dervise reproached him with his
clemency. "I did not kill them," replied
Zenete, "because I saw no beards!"[85]

The alarm was given in the camp, and
the Christians rushed from all quarters
to defend the gates of the bulwarks. Don
Pedro Puerto Carrero, senior of Moguer,
and his brother, Don Alonso Pacheco,
planted themselves, with their followers,
in the gateway of the encampment of the
Master of Santiago, and bore the whole
brunt of the battle until they were reinforced.
The gate of the encampment of
the Master of Calatrava was, in like
manner, defended by Lorenzo Saurez de
Mendoza. Hamet el Zegri was furious
at being thus checked, where he had expected
a miraculous victory. He led his
troops repeatedly to the attack, hoping
to force the gates before succour should
arrive. They fought with vehement ardour,
but were as often repulsed; and
every time they returned to the assault,
they found their enemies doubled in number.
The Christians opened a crossfire
of all kinds of missiles from their bulwarks;
the Moors could effect but little
damage upon a foe thus protected behind
their works, while they themselves were
exposed from head to foot. The Christians
singled out the most conspicuous
cavaliers, the greater part of whom were
either slain or wounded. Still the Moors,
infatuated by the predictions of the prophet,
fought desperately and devotedly;
and they were furious to revenge the
slaughter of their leaders. They rushed
upon certain death, endeavouring madly
to scale the bulwarks, or force the gates;
and fell amidst showers of darts and
lances, filling the ditches with their mangled
bodies.

Hamet el Zegri raged along the front
of the bulwarks, seeking an opening for
attack. He gnashed his teeth with fury,
as he saw so many of his chosen warriors
slain around him. He seemed to
have a charmed life; for, though constantly
in the hottest of the fight, amidst
showers of missiles, he still escaped uninjured.
Blindly confiding in the prophecy
of victory, he continued to urge on his
devoted troops. The dervise, too, ran
like a maniac through the ranks, waving
his white banner, and inciting the Moors,
by bowlings rather than by shouts. In
the midst of his frenzy, a stone from a
catapult struck him on the head, and
dashed out his bewildered brains.[86]

When the Moors beheld their prophet
slain, and his banner in the dust, they
were seized with despair, and fled in confusion
to the city. Hamet el Zegri made
some effort to rally them, but was himself
confounded by the fall of the dervise.
He covered the flight of his broken forces,
turning repeatedly upon their pursuers,
and slowly making his retreat into the
city.

The inhabitants of Malaga witnessed
from their walls, with trembling anxiety,
the whole of this disastrous conflict. At
the first onset, on seeing the guards of
the camp put to flight, they exclaimed,
"Allah has given us the victory!" and
they sent up shouts of triumph. Their
exultation, however, was turned into
doubt, when they beheld their troops repulsed
in repeated attacks. They could
perceive, from time to time, some distinguished
warrior laid low, and others
brought back bleeding to the city. When,
at length, the sacred banner fell, and the
routed troops came flying to the gates,
pursued and cut down by the foe, horror
and despair seized upon the populace.

As Hamet el Zegri entered the gates,
he was greeted with loud lamentations.
Mothers, whose sons had been slain,
shrieked curses after him as he passed.
Some, in the anguish of their hearts,
threw down their famishing babes before
him, exclaiming, "Trample on them with
thy horse's feet, for we have no food to
give them, and we cannot endure their
cries!" All heaped execrations on his
head as the cause of the woes of Malaga.

The warlike part of the citizens, also,
and many warriors, who, with their wives
and children, had taken refuge in Malaga
from the mountain fortresses, now joined
in the popular clamour; for their hearts
were overcome by the sufferings of their
families.

Hamet el Zegri found it impossible to
withstand this torrent of lamentations,
curses, and reproaches. His military
ascendancy was at an end; for most of
his officers, and the prime warriors of
his African band, had fallen in this disastrous
sally. Turning his back, therefore,
upon the city, and abandoning it to
its own councils, he retired, with the
remnant of his Gomeres, to his stronghold
in the Gibralfaro.

CHAPTER LXIV.

The people of Malaga, being no longer
overawed by Hamet el Zegri and his
Gomeres, turned to Ali Dordux, the magnanimous
merchant, and put the fate of
the city into his hands. He had already
gained the alcaydes of the castle of the
Genoese and of the citadel into his party;
and, in the late confusion, had gained the
sway over these important fortresses. He
now associated himself with the alfaqui,
Abrahen Alhariz, and four of the principal
inhabitants; and, forming a provisional
junta, they sent heralds to the Christian
sovereigns, offering to surrender the city
on certain terms, protecting the persons
and property of the inhabitants, permitting
them to reside as Mudixares, or
tributary vassals, either in Malaga or
elsewhere.

When these heralds arrived at the
camp, and made known their mission,
the anger of Ferdinand was kindled.
"Return to your fellow-citizens," said he,
"and tell them, that the day of grace is
gone by. They have persisted in a fruitless
defence, until they are driven by
necessity to capitulate: they must surrender
unconditionally, and abide the fate
of the vanquished. Those who merit
death shall suffer death; those who merit
captivity shall be made captives."

This stern reply spread consternation
among the people of Malaga; but Ali
Dordux comforted them, and undertook
to go in person, and pray for favourable
terms. When the people beheld this
great merchant, who was so eminent in
their city, departing with his associates
on this mission, they plucked up heart,
for they said, "Surely the Christian king
will not turn a deaf ear to such a man
as Ali Dordux!"

Ferdinand, however, would not even
admit the ambassadors to his presence.
"Send them to the devil," said he, in a
great passion, to the commander of Leon.
"I will not see them. Let them get back
to their city. They shall all surrender
to my mercy as vanquished enemies."[87]

To give emphasis to this reply, he
ordered a general discharge from all the
artillery and batteries, and there was a
great shout throughout the camp, and all
the lombards and catapultas, and other
engines, thundered furiously upon the
city, doing great damage.

Ali Dordux and his companions returned
with downcast countenances, and
could scarce make the reply of the Christian
sovereign be heard, for the roaring
of the artillery, the tumbling of the walls,
and the cries of women and children.
The citizens were greatly astonished and
dismayed, when they found the little
respect paid to their most eminent man;
but the warriors who were in the city
exclaimed, "What has this merchant to
do with questions between men of battle?
Let us not address the enemy as abject
suppliants, who have no power to injure;
but as valiant men who have weapons in
their hands."

So they despatched another message to
the Christian sovereigns offering to yield
up the city, and all their effects, on condition
of being secured in their personal
liberty. Should this be denied, they declared,
that they would hang from the
battlements fifteen hundred Christian captives,
male and female; that they would
put all their old men, their women and
children, into the citadel, set fire to the
city, and sally forth sword in hand, to
fight until the last gasp. "In this way,"
said they, "the Spanish sovereigns shall
gain a bloody victory, and the fall of
Malaga be renowned while the world
endures."

Various debates now took place in the
Christian camp. Many of the cavaliers
were exasperated against Malaga for its
long resistance, which had caused the
death of many of their relations and favourite
companions. It had long been a

stronghold for Moorish depredators, and
the mart where most of the warriors
captured in the Axarquia had been exposed
in triumph, and sold to slavery.
They represented, moreover, that there
were many Moorish cities yet to be besieged;
and that an example ought to be
made of Malaga, to prevent all obstinate
resistance hereafter. They advised, therefore,
that all the inhabitants should be
put to the sword![88]

The humane heart of Isabella revolted
at such sanguinary councils. She insisted,
that their triumph should not be
disgraced by cruelty. Ferdinand, however,
was inflexible in refusing to grant
any preliminary terms; insisting on an
unconditional surrender. The people of
Malaga now abandoned themselves to
paroxysms of despair. On the one side,
they saw famine and death; on the other,
slavery and chains. The mere men of
the sword, who had no families to protect,
were loud for signalizing their fall by
some illustrious action. "Let us sacrifice
our Christian captives, and then destroy
ourselves!" cried some. "Let us put all
the women and children to death, set fire
to the city, fall on the Christian camp,
and die sword in hand!" cried others.

Ali Dordux gradually made his voice
be heard amidst the general clamour.
He addressed himself to the principal
inhabitants, and to those who had children.
"Let those who live by the sword die by
the sword," cried he; "but let us not
follow their desperate counsels. Who
knows what sparks of pity may be
awakened in the bosoms of the Christian
sovereigns, when they behold our unoffending
wives and daughters, and our
helpless little ones! The Christian queen,
they say, is full of mercy."

At these words the hearts of the unhappy
people of Malaga yearned over
their families; and they empowered Ali
Dordux to deliver up the city to the
mercy of the Castilian sovereigns.

The merchant now went to and fro,
and had several communications with
Ferdinand and Isabella; and interested
several principal cavaliers in his cause.
And he sent rich presents to the king and
queen, of oriental merchandise, silks,
and stuffs of gold, and jewels, and precious
stones, and spices, and perfumes,
and many other rare and sumptuous
things, which he had accumulated in his
great tradings with the East; and he
gradually found favour in the eyes of the
sovereigns.[89] Finding that there was
nothing to be obtained for the city, he
now like a prudent man and able merchant,
began to negotiate for himself and
his immediate friends.

He represented, that, from the first,
they had been desirous of yielding up the
city; but had been prevented by warlike
and high-handed men, who had threatened
their lives. He entreated, therefore,
that mercy might be extended to them,
and that they might not be confounded
with the guilty.

The sovereigns had accepted the presents
of Ali Dordux: how could they
turn a deaf ear to his petition? So they
granted a pardon to him, and to forty
families which he named; and it was
agreed, that they should be protected in
their lives and property, and permitted
to reside in Malaga as Mudixares or
Moslem vassals; and to follow their customary
pursuits.[90] All this being arranged,
Ali Dordux delivered up twenty of the
principal inhabitants, to remain as hostages
until the whole city should be placed
in the possession of the Christians.

Don Gutiere de Cardenas, senior commander
of Leon, now entered the city,
armed cap-a-pié, on horseback, and took
possession, in the name of the Castilian
sovereigns. He was followed by his
retainers, and by the captains and cavaliers
of the army; and in a little while the
standards of the cross, and of the blessed
Santiago, and of the catholic sovereigns,
were elevated on the principal tower of
the alcazaba. When these standards
were beheld from the camp, the queen,
and the princes, and the ladies of the
court, and all the royal retinue, knelt
down, and gave thanks and praises to the
holy Virgin, and to Santiago, for this
great triumph of the faith; and the bishops
and other clergy who were present, and
the choristers of the royal chapel, chanted
Te Deum laudamus, and Gloria in excelsis.

CHAPTER LXV.

No sooner was the city delivered up,
than the wretched inhabitants implored
permission to purchase bread for themselves
and their children, from the heaps
of grain, which they had so often gazed
at wistfully from their walls. Their
prayer was granted; and they issued
forth, with the famished eagerness of
starving men. It was piteous to behold
the struggles of these unhappy people,
as they contended who first should have
their necessities relieved.

"Thus," says the pious Fray Antonio
Agapida, "thus are the predictions of
false prophets sometimes permitted to be
verified; but always to the confusion of
those who trust in them; for the words of
the Moorish necromancer came to pass,
that they should eat of those heaps of
bread: but they ate of them in humiliation
and defeat, and with sorrow and
bitterness of heart."

Dark and fierce were the feelings of
Hamet el Zegri, as he looked down from
the castle of Gibralfaro, and beheld the
Christian legions pouring into the city,
and the standard of the cross supplanting
the crescent on the citadel. "The people
of Malaga," said he, "have trusted to a
man of trade, and he has trafficked them
away; but let us not suffer ourselves to
be bound, hand and foot, and delivered
up as part of his bargain. We have yet
strong walls around us, and trusty weapons
in our hands. Let us fight until
buried beneath the last tumbling tower
of Gibralfaro; or, rushing down from
among its ruins, carry havoc among the
unbelievers, as they throng the streets of
Malaga!"

The fierceness of the Gomeres, however,
was broken. They could have
died in the breach, and their castle been
assailed; but the slow advances of famine
subdued their strength without rousing
their passions, and sapped the force both
of soul and body. They were almost
unanimous for a surrender.

It was a hard struggle for the proud
spirit of Hamet to bow itself to ask for
terms. Still he trusted, that the valour
of his defence would gain him respect in
the eyes of a chivalrous foe. "Ali,"
said he, "has negotiated like a merchant:
I will capitulate as a soldier." He sent
a herald, therefore, to Ferdinand, offering
to yield up his castle, but demanding a
separate treaty. The Castilian sovereign
sent a laconic and stern reply: "He
shall receive no terms, but such as have
been granted to the community of Malaga."

For two days Hamet el Zegri remained
brooding in his castle, after the
city was in possession of the Christians.
At length, the clamours of his followers
compelled him to surrender. When the
broken remnant of this fierce African
garrison descended from their cragged
fortress, they were so worn by watchfulness,
famine and battle, yet carried such
a lurking fury in their eyes, that they
looked more like fiends than men. They
were all condemned to slavery, excepting
Abrahen Zenete. The instance of clemency
which he had shown in refraining
to harm the Spanish striplings on the
last sally from Malaga, won him favourable
terms. It was cited as a magnanimous
act by the Spanish cavaliers; and
all admitted, that, though a Moor in blood,
he possessed the Christian heart of a Castilian
hidalgo.[91]

As to Hamet el Zegri, on being asked,
what moved him to such hardened obstinacy,
he replied, "When I undertook my
command, I pledged myself to fight in
defence of my faith, my city, and my
sovereign, until slain or made prisoner;
and depend upon it, had I had men to
stand by me, I should have died fighting,
instead of thus tamely surrendering
myself, without a weapon in my hand."

"Such," says the pious Fray Antonio
Agapida, "were the diabolical hatred,
and stiffnecked opposition, of this infidel
to our holy cause. But he was justly
served by our most catholic and high-minded
sovereign, for his pertinacious
defence of the city; for Ferdinand ordered,
that he should be loaded with chains,
and thrown into a dungeon."[92]

CHAPTER LXVI.

One of the first cares of the conquerors,
on entering Malaga, was to
search for Christian captives. Nearly
sixteen hundred, men and women, were
found, and among them were persons of
distinction. Some of them had been ten,
fifteen, and twenty years in captivity.
Many had been servants to the Moors, or
labourers on public works, and some had
passed their time in chains and dungeons.
Preparations were made to celebrate their
deliverance as a Christian triumph. A
tent was erected, not far from the city, and
furnished with an altar, and all the solemn
decorations of a chapel. Here the king
and queen waited to receive the Christian
captives. They were assembled in the
city, and marshalled forth in piteous procession.
Many of them had still the chains
and shackles on their legs. They were
wasted with famine, their hair and beards
overgrown and matted, and their faces
pale and haggard from long confinement.
When they beheld themselves restored to
liberty and surrounded by their countrymen,
some stared wildly about, as if in a
dream, others gave way to frantic transports,
but most of them wept for joy.
All present were moved to tears by so
touching a spectacle. When the procession
arrived at what is called the Gate of
Granada, it was met by a great concourse
from the camp, with crosses and pennons,
who turned and followed the captives,
singing hymns of praise and thanksgiving.
When they came in presence of the king
and queen, they threw themselves on
their knees, and would have kissed their
feet, as their saviours and deliverers; but
the sovereigns prevented such humiliation,
and graciously extended to them their
hands. They then prostrated themselves
before the altar, and all present joined
them in giving thanks to God for their
liberation from this cruel bondage. By
orders of the king and queen, their chains
were then taken off, and they were clad in
decent raiment, and food was set before
them. After they had ate and drank,
and were refreshed and invigorated, they
were provided with money, and all things
necessary for their journey, and sent joyfully
to their homes.

While the old chroniclers dwell with
becoming enthusiasm on this pure and
affecting triumph of humanity, they go
on, in a strain of equal eulogy, to describe
a spectacle of a different nature.
It so happened, that there were found in
the city twelve of those renegado Christains,
who had deserted to the Moors, and
conveyed false intelligence during the
siege. A barbarous species of punishment
was inflicted upon them, borrowed, it is
said, from the Moors, and peculiar to
these wars. They were tied to stakes,
in a public place, and horsemen exercised
their skill in transpiercing them with
pointed reeds, hurled at them while careering
at full speed, until the miserable
victims expired beneath their wounds.
Several apostate Moors, also, who, having
embraced Christianity, had afterwards
relapsed into their early faith, and had
taken refuge in Malaga from the vengeance
of the Inquisition, were publicly
burnt. "These," says an old Jesuit historian,
exultingly, "these were the tilts of
reeds, and the illuminations most pleasing
for this victorious festival, and for the
catholic piety of our sovereigns!"[93]

When the city was cleansed from the
impurities and offensive odours which
had collected during the siege, the
bishops, and other clergy who accompanied
the court, and the choir of the royal
chapel, walked in procession to the principal
mosque, which was consecrated,
and entitled Santa Maria de la Incarnacion.
This done, the king and queen
entered the city, accompanied by the
Grand Cardinal of Spain, and the principal
nobles and cavaliers of the army, and
heard a solemn mass. The church was
then elevated into a cathedral, and Malaga
was made a bishopric, and many of
the neighbouring towns were comprehended
in its diocese. The queen took
up her residence in the alcazaba, in the
apartments of her valiant treasurer Ruy
Lopez, whence she had a view of the
whole city; but the king established his

quarters in the warrior castle of Gibralfaro.

And now came to be considered the
disposition of the Moorish prisoners. All
those who were strangers in the city,
and had either taken refuge there, or had
entered to defend it, were at once considered
slaves. They were divided into
three lots. One was set apart for the
service of God, in redeeming captives
from bondage, either in the kingdom of
Granada, or in Africa; the second lot
was divided among those who had aided,
either in field or cabinet, in the present
siege, according to their rank; the third
was appropriated to defray, by their
sale, the great expenses incurred in the
reduction of the place. A hundred of
the Gomeres were sent as presents to
Pope Innocent VIII., and were led in
triumph through the streets of Rome,
and afterwards converted to Christianity.
Fifty Moorish maidens were sent to the
Queen Joanna of Naples, sister to King
Ferdinand, and thirty to the Queen of
Portugal. Isabella made presents of
others to the ladies of her household,
and of the noble families of Spain.

Among the inhabitants of Malaga were
four hundred and fifty Moorish Jews, for
the most part women, speaking the Arabic
language, and dressed in the Moorish
fashion. These were ransomed by a
wealthy Jew of Castile, farmer-general
of the royal revenues derived from the
Jews of Spain. He agreed to make up,
within a certain time, the sum of twenty
thousand doblas or pistoles of gold; all
money and jewels of the captives being
taken in payment. They were sent to
Castile in two armed galleys.

As to the great mass of Moorish inhabitants,
they implored that they might
not be scattered and sold into captivity,
but might be permitted to ransom themselves
by an amount paid within a certain
time. Upon this King Ferdinand took
the advice of certain of his ablest counsellors.
They said to him, if you hold
out a prospect of hopeless captivity, the
infidels will throw all their gold and
jewels into the wells and pits, and you
will lose the greater part of the spoil; but
if you fix a general rate of ransom, and
receive their money and jewels in payment,
nothing will be destroyed. The
king relished greatly this advice; and it
was arranged, that all the inhabitants
should be ransomed at the general rate
of thirty doblas or pistoles in gold for
each individual, male or female, large or
small; that all their gold, jewels, and
other valuables, should be received immediately,
in part payment of the general
amount; and that the residue should be
paid within eight months; that, if any of
the number actually living should die in
the interim, their ransom should nevertheless
be claimed. If, however, the
whole of the amount were not discharged
at the expiration of the eight months,
they should all be considered and treated
as slaves.

The unfortunate Moors were eager to
catch at the least hope of future liberty,
and consented to these hard conditions.
The most rigorous precautions were taken
to exact them to the uttermost. The
inhabitants were numbered by houses
and families, and their names taken down.
Their most precious effects were made
up into parcels, and sealed and inscribed
with their names; and they were ordered
to repair with them to certain large corrales
or enclosures, adjoining the alcazaba,
which were surrounded by high
walls, and overlooked by watchtowers;
to which places the cavalgadas of Christian
captives had usually been driven, to
be confined until the time of sale, like
cattle in a market. The Moors were
obliged to leave their houses, one by one:
all their money, necklaces, bracelets and
anklets of gold, pearl, coral, and precious
stones, were taken from them at the
threshold, and their persons so rigorously
searched, that they carried off
nothing concealed.

Then might be seen old men, and helpless
women, and tender maidens, some of
high birth and gentle condition, passing
through the streets, heavily burdened,
towards the alcazaba. As they left their
homes, they smote their breasts, and
wrung their hands, and raised their
weeping eyes to Heaven in anguish;
and this is recorded as their plaint:
"Oh, Malaga! city renowned and beautiful!
where now is the strength of thy castles!
where the grandeur of thy towers!
of what avail have been thy mighty
walls for the protection of thy children!

Behold them driven from thy pleasant
abodes, doomed to drag out a life of
bondage in a foreign land, and to die far
from the home of their infancy! What
will become of thy old men and matrons
when their gray hairs shall be no longer
reverenced! what will become of thy
maidens, so delicately reared, and tenderly
cherished, when reduced to hard
and menial servitude! Behold, thy once
happy families are scattered asunder,
never again to be united! Sons are separated
from their fathers, husbands from
their wives, and tender children from their
mothers. They will bewail each other
in foreign lands; but their lamentations
will be the scoff of the stranger. Oh,
Malaga! city of our birth! who can behold
thy desolation, and not shed tears
of bitterness!"[94]

When Malaga was completely secured,
a detachment was sent against two fortresses
near the sea, called Mexas and
Osuna; which had frequently harassed
the Christian camp. The inhabitants
were threatened with the sword, unless
they instantly surrendered. They claimed
the same terms that had been granted
to Malaga; imagining them to be, freedom
of person, and security of property.
Their claim was granted. They were
transported to Malaga with all their
riches; and, on arriving there, were
overwhelmed with consternation at finding
themselves captives. "Ferdinand,"
observes Fray Antonio Agapida, "was a
man of his word: they were shut up in
the alcazaba, with the people of Malaga,
and shared their fate."

The unhappy captives remained thus
crowded in the court-yards of the alcazaba,
like sheep in a fold, until they
could be sent by sea and land to Seville.
They were then distributed about in city
and country, each Christian family having
one or more to feed and maintain as
a servant, until the term fixed for the
payment of the residue of the ransom
should expire. The captives had obtained
permission, that several of their number
should go about among the Moorish
towns of the kingdom of Granada, collecting
contributions to aid in the purchase
of their liberties; but these towns
were too much impoverished by the war,
and engrossed by their own distresses, to
lend a listening ear. So the time expired,
without the residue of the ransom being
paid; and all the captives of Malaga, to
the number, as some say, of eleven, and
others, to fifteen thousand, became slaves!
"Never," exclaims the worthy Fray Antonio
Agapida, in one of his usual bursts
of zeal and loyalty, "never has there
been recorded a more adroit and sagacious
arrangement than this made by the
catholic monarch, by which he not only
secured all the property, and half of the
ransom, of these infidels, but finally got
possession of their persons into the bargain.
This truly may be considered one
of the greatest triumphs of the pious and
politic Ferdinand, and as raising him
above the generality of conquerors, who
have merely the valour to gain victories,
but lack the prudence and management
necessary to turn them to account."

CHAPTER LXVII.

The western part of the kingdom of
Granada had now been conquered by
the Christian arms. The seaport of Malaga
was captured; the fierce and warlike
inhabitants of the Serrania de Rouda,
and the other mountain-holds of the frontier,
were all disarmed, and reduced to
peaceful and laborious vassalage. Their
haughty fortresses, which had so long
overawed the valleys of Andalusia, now
displayed the standard of Castile and
Aragon; the watchtowers, which crowned
every height, and from which the
infidels had kept a vulture eye on the
Christian territories, were now either
dismantled, or garrisoned with catholic
troops. "What signalized and sanctified
this great triumph," adds the worthy
Fray Antonio Agapida, "were the emblems
of ecclesiastical domination which
every where appeared. In every direction
arose stately convents and monasteries,
those fortresses of the faith, garrisoned
by its spiritual soldiery of monks and
friars. The sacred melody of Christian
bells was again heard among the mountains,
calling to early matins, or sounding

the angelus at the solemn hour of
evening."

While this part of the kingdom was
thus reduced by the Christian sword, the
central part, round the city of Granada,
forming the heart of the Moorish territory,
was held in vassalage of the Castilian
monarch, by Boabdil, surnamed El Chico.

That unfortunate prince lost no occasion,
by acts of homage, and by professions
that must have been foreign to his
heart, to propitiate the conquerors of his
country. No sooner had he heard of the
capture of Malaga, than he sent congratulations
to the Catholic sovereigns, accompanied
with presents of horses, richly
caparisoned, for the king; and precious
cloth of gold, and oriental perfumes, for
the queen. His congratulations, and
his presents, were received with the utmost
graciousness; and the shortsighted
prince, lulled by the temporary and politic
forbearance of Ferdinand, flattered
himself that he was securing the lasting
friendship of that monarch.

The policy of Boabdil had its transient
and superficial advantages. The portion
of Moorish territory under his immediate
sway had a respite from the calamities
of war. The husbandmen cultivated
their luxuriant fields in security, and the
vega of Granada once more blossomed
like the rose. The merchants again carried
on a gainful traffic, and the gates of
the city were thronged with beasts of
burden, bringing the rich products of
every clime. Yet, while the people of
Granada rejoiced in their teeming fields
and crowded marts, they secretly despised
the policy which had procured them these
advantages, and held Boabdil for little
better than an apostate and an unbeliever.

Muley Abdalla el Zagal was now the
hope of the unconquered part of the kingdom;
and every Moor, whose spirit was
not quite subdued with his fortunes,
lauded the valour of the old monarch,
and his fidelity to the faith, and wished
success to his standard.

El Zagal, though he no longer sat
enthroned in the Alhambra, yet reigned
over more considerable domains than his
nephew. His territories extended from
the frontier of Jaen, along the borders of
Murcia, to the Mediterranean, and reached
into the centre of the kingdom. On
the northeast he held the cities of Baza
and Guadix, situate in the midst of fertile
regions. He had the important seaport
of Almeria, also, which at one time rivalled
Granada itself in wealth and population.
Besides these, his territories
included a great part of the Alpuxarra
mountains, which extend across the kingdom,
and shoot out branches towards the
sea-coast. This mountainous region was
a stronghold of wealth and power. Its
stern and rocky heights, rising to the
clouds, seemed to set invasion at defiance;
yet within their rugged embraces
were sheltered delightful valleys, of the
happiest temperature and richest fertility.
The cool springs, and limpid rills, which
gushed out in all parts of the mountains,
and the abundant streams, which, for a
great part of the year, were supplied by
the Sierra Nevada, spread a perpetual
verdure over the skirts and slopes of the
hills, and, collecting in silver rivers in
the valleys, wound along among plantations
of mulberry trees, and groves of
oranges and citrons, of almonds, figs,
and pomegranates. Here was produced
the finest silk of Spain, which gave employment
to thousands of manufacturers.
The sunburnt sides of the hills, also,
were covered with vineyards. The abundant
herbage of the mountain ravines,
and the rich pasturage of the valleys,
fed vast flocks and herds; and even the
arid and rocky bosoms of the heights
teemed with wealth, from the mines of
various metals with which they were
impregnated. In a word, the Alpuxarra
mountains had ever been the great source
of revenue to the monarchs of Granada.
The inhabitants, also, were hardy and
warlike; and a sudden summons from
the Moorish king could at any time call
forth fifty thousand fighting men from
their rocky fortresses.

Such was the rich, but rugged, fragment
of an empire, which remained under
the sway of the old warrior monarch,
El Zagal. The mountain barriers by
which it was locked up had protected it
from most of the ravages of war, and El
Zagal prepared himself, by strengthening
every fortress, to battle fiercely for its
maintenance.

The catholic sovereigns saw, that fresh

troubles and toils awaited them. The
war had to be carried into a new quarter,
demanding immense expenditures; and
new ways and means must be devised,
to replenish their exhausted coffers.
"As this was a holy war, however,"
says Fray Antonio Agapida, "and peculiarly
redounded to the prosperity of
the church, the clergy were full of zeal,
and contributed vast sums of money and
large bodies of troops. A pious fund
was also produced from the first-fruits of
that glorious institution, the Inquisition.

"It so happened, that, about this time,
there were many families of wealth and
dignity in the kingdoms of Aragon and
Valencia, and the principality of Catalonia,
whose forefathers had been Jews,
but had been converted to Christianity.
Notwithstanding the outward piety of
these families, it was surmised, and soon
came to be strongly suspected, that many
of them had a secret hankering after
Judaism; and it was even whispered, that
some of them practised Jewish rites in
private.

"The catholic monarch," continues
Agapida, "had a righteous abhorrence
of all kinds of heresy, and a fervent zeal
for the faith. He ordered, therefore, a
strict investigation of the conduct of these
pseudo-Christians. Inquisitors were sent
into these provinces for the purpose, who
proceeded with their accustomed zeal.
The consequence was that many families
were convicted of apostacy from the
Christian faith, and of the private practice
of Judaism. Some, who had grace and
policy sufficient to reform in time, were
again received into the Christian fold,
after being severely muleted, and condemned
to heavy penance; others were
burnt at auto da fés, for the edification
of the public; and their property was
confiscated for the good of the state.

"As these Hebrews were of great
wealth, and had an hereditary passion
for jewelry, there was found abundant
store in their possession of gold and
silver, of rings, and necklaces, and strings
of pearl, and coral, and precious stones:
treasures easy of transportation, and
wonderfully adapted for the emergencies
of war. In this way," concludes the
pious Agapida, "these backsliders, by
the all-seeing contrivances of Providence,
were made to serve the righteous cause
which they had so treacherously deserted;
and their apostate wealth was sanctified
by being devoted to the service of Heaven
and the crown, in this holy crusade
against the infidels."

It must be added, however, that these
pious financial expedients received some
check from the interference of Queen
Isabella. Her penetrating eyes discovered,
that many enormities had been
committed under colour of religious zeal,
and many innocent persons accused by
false witnesses of apostacy, either through
malice, or a hope of obtaining their
wealth. She caused strict investigation,
therefore, into the proceedings which
had been held; many of which were reversed,
and suborners punished in proportion
to their guilt.[95]

CHAPTER LXVIII.

"Muley Abdalla el Zagal," says
the venerable Jesuit father, Pedro Abarca,
"was the most venomous Mahometan in
all Morisma;" and the worthy Fray Antonio
Agapida most devoutly echoes his
opinion. "Certainly," adds the latter,
"none ever opposed a more heathenish
and diabolical obstinacy to the holy inroads
of the cross and sword."

El Zagal felt that it was necessary to
do something to quicken his popularity
with the people; and that nothing was
more effectual than a successful inroad.
The Moors loved the stirring call to arms,
and a wild foray among the mountains;
and delighted more in a hasty spoil,
wrested with hard fighting from the Christians,
than in all the steady and certain
gains secured by peaceful traffic.

There reigned at this time a careless
security along the frontier of Jaen. The
alcaydes of the Christian fortresses were
confident of the friendship of Boabdil el
Chico; and they fancied his uncle too
distant, and too much engrossed by his
own perplexities, to think of molesting
them. On a sudden, El Zagal issued out
of Guadix with a chosen band, passed

rapidly through the mountains which
extend behind Granada, and fell, like a
thunderbolt, upon the territories in the
neighbourhood of Alcala la Real.

Before the alarm could be spread, and
the frontier roused, he had made a wide
career of destruction through the country;
sacking and burning villages, sweeping
off flocks and herds, and carrying away
captives. The warriors of the frontier
assembled; but El Zagal was already
far on his return through the mountains;
and he re-entered the gates of Guadix in
triumph, his army laden with Christian
spoil, and conducting an immense cavalgada.
Such was one of the fierce El
Zagal's preparations for the expected
invasion of the Christian king: exciting
the warlike spirit of his people, and gaining
for himself a transient popularity.

King Ferdinand assembled his army at
Murcia in the spring of 1488. He left
that city on the fifth of June, with a flying
camp of four thousand horse, and
fourteen thousand foot. The Marquis of
Cadiz led the van, followed by the
adelantado of Murcia. The army entered
the Moorish frontier by the seacoast,
spreading terror through the land;
wherever it appeared, the towns surrendered
without a blow, so great was the
dread of experiencing the woes which
had desolated the opposite frontier. In
this way Vera, Velez el Rubico, Velez
el Blanco, and many towns of inferior
note, to the number of sixty, yielded at
the first summons.

It was not until it approached Almeria,
that the army met with resistance. This
important city was commanded by the
Prince Zelim, a relation of El Zagal. He
led forth his Moors bravely to the encounter,
and skirmished fiercely with the
advance guard in the gardens near the
city. King Ferdinand came up with the
main body of the army, and called off
his troops from the skirmish. He saw,
that to attack the place with his present
force was fruitless: having reconnoitred
the city and its environs, therefore,
against a future campaign, he retired
with his army and marched towards
Baza.

The old warrior, El Zagal, was himself
drawn up in the city of Baza, with
a powerful garrison. He felt confidence
in the strength of the place, and rejoiced
when he heard that the Christian king
was approaching.

In the valley in front of Baza there
extended a great tract of gardens, like a
continued grove, and intersected by
canals and water-courses. In this he
stationed a powerful ambuscade of arquebusiers,
and crossbow-men. The vanguard
of the Christian army came
marching gaily up the valley, with great
sound of drum and trumpet, and led on
by the Marquis of Cadiz, and the adelantado
of Murcia. As they drew near,
El Zagal sallied forth with horse and
foot, and attacked them, for a time, with
great spirit. Gradually falling back, as
if pressed by their superior valour, he
drew the exulting Christians among the
gardens. Suddenly the Moors in ambuscade
burst from their concealment, and
opened such a terrible fire in flank and
rear, that many of the Christians were
slain, and the rest thrown into confusion.
King Ferdinand arrived in time to see
the disastrous situation of his troops,
and gave signal to the vanguard to retire.

El Zagal did not permit the foe to
draw off unmolested. Ordering out fresh
squadrons, he fell upon the rear of the
retreating troops with loud and triumphant
shouts, driving them before him
with dreadful havoc. The old war-cry
of "El Zagal! El Zagal!" was again
vociferated by the Moors, and was reechoed
with transport from the walls of
the city. The Christians were for a time
in imminent peril of a complete rout;
when fortunately the adelantado of Murcia
threw himself, with a large body of
horse and foot, between the pursuers and
the pursued, covering the retreat of the
latter, and giving them time to rally.
The Moors were now attacked so vigorously
in turn that they gave over the unequal
contest, and drew back slowly into
the city. Many valiant cavaliers were
slain in the skirmish; among the number
of whom was Don Philip of Aragon,
master of the chivalry of Saint George of
Montesor. He was illegitimate son of
the king's illegitimate brother Don Carlos,
and his death was greatly bewailed by
Ferdinand. He had formerly been archbishop
of Palmero; but had doffed the
cassock for the cuirass; and had thus,

according to Fray Antonio Agapida,
gained a glorious crown of martyrdom,
by falling in this holy war.

The warm reception of his advance
guard, by the old warrior El Zagal,
brought King Ferdinand to a pause. He
encamped on the banks of the neighbouring
river Guadalentin, and began to consider,
whether he had acted wisely in
undertaking this campaign with his present
force. His late successes had
probably rendered him over-confident.
El Zagal had again schooled him into
his characteristic caution. He saw that
the old warrior was too formidably ensconced
in Baza, to be dislodged by any
thing except a powerful army, and battering
artillery; and he feared, that
should he persist in his invasion, some
disaster might befall his army, either
from the enterprise of the foe, or from
a pestilence which prevailed in various
parts of the country.

Ferdinand retired therefore from before
Baza, as he had on a former occasion
from before Loxa, all the wiser for
a wholesome lesson in warfare, but by
no means grateful to those who had given
it; and with a solemn determination to
have his revenge upon his teachers.

He now took measures for the security
of the places gained in this campaign,
placing in them strong garrisons, well
armed and supplied, charging their alcaydes
to be vigilant in their posts, and
to give no rest to the enemy. The whole
of the frontier was placed under the command
of the brave Luis Fernandez Puerto
Carrero. As it was evident, from the
warlike character of El Zagal, that there
would be abundance of active service and
hard fighting, many hidalgos and young
cavaliers, eager for distinction, remained
with Puerto Carrero.

All these dispositions being made,
King Ferdinand closed the dubious campaign
of this year; not, as usual, by returning
in triumph, at the head of his
army, to some important city of his dominious;
but by disbanding the troops,
and repairing to pray at the cross of
Caravaca.

CHAPTER LXIX.

"While the pious King Ferdinand,"
observes Fray Antonio Agapida, "was
humbling himself before the cross, and
devoutly praying for the destruction of
his enemies, that fierce pagan, El Zagal,
depending merely on his arm of flesh
and his sword of steel, pursued his diabolical
outrages upon the Christians."
No sooner was the invading army disbanded,
than El Zagal sallied forth from
his stronghold, and carried fire and sword
into all those parts that had submitted to
the Spanish yoke. The castle of Nixar,
being carelessly guarded, was taken by
surprise, and its garrison put to the
sword. The old warrior raged with sanguinary
fury about the whole frontier,
attacking convoys, slaying, wounding,
and making prisoners, and coming by
surprise upon the Christians, wherever
they were off their guard.

The alcayde of the fortress of Callar,
confiding in the strength of its walls and
towers, and on its difficult situation,
being built on the summit of a lofty hill,
and surrounded by precipices, ventured
to absent himself from his post. The
vigilant El Zagal was suddenly before it
with a powerful force. He stormed the
town, sword in hand, fought the Christians
from street to street, and drove
them, with great slaughter, to the citadel.
Here a veteran captain, by the name of
Juan de Avalos, a grayheaded warrior,
scarred in many a battle, assumed the
command, and made an obstinate defence.
Neither the multitude of the enemy, nor
the vehemence of their attacks, though
led on by the terrible El Zagal himself,
had power to shake the fortitude of this
doughty old soldier.

The Moors undermined the outer walls,
and one of the towers of the fortress, and
made their way into the exterior court.
The alcayde manned the tops of his
towers; pouring down melted pitch, and
showering darts, arrows, stones, and all
kinds of missiles, upon the assailants.
The Moors were driven out of the court;
but, being reinforced with fresh troops,
returned repeatedly to the assault. For
five days the combat was kept up. The

Christians were nearly exhausted; but
they were sustained by the cheerings of
their staunch old alcayde; and they
feared death from the cruel El Zagal,
should they surrender. At length the
approach of a powerful force, under
Puerto Carrero, relieved them from this
fearful peril. El Zagal abandoned the
assault; but set fire to the town in his
rage and disappointment, and retired to
his stronghold of Guadix.

The example of El Zagal roused his
adherents to action. Two bold Moorish
alcaydes, Ali Atar and Yza Atar, commanding
the fortresses of Alhenden and
Salobrenna, laid waste the country of
the subjects of Boabdil, and the places
which had recently submitted to the
Christians. They swept off the cattle,
carried off captives, and harassed the
whole of the newly conquered frontier.

The Moors, also, of Almeria, and Tavernas,
and Pulchena, made inroads into
Murcia, and carried fire and sword into
its most fertile regions; while on the opposite
frontier, among the wild valleys
and rugged recesses of the Sierra Bermeja,
or Red Mountains, many of the
Moors, who had lately submitted, again
flew to arms. The Marquis of Cadiz
suppressed, by timely vigilance, the rebellion
of the mountain town of Gausen,
situate on a high peak, almost among
the clouds; but others of the Moors fortified
themselves in rock-built towers and
castles, inhabited solely by warriors,
whence they carried on a continual war
of forage and depredation; sweeping suddenly
down into the valleys, and carrying
off flocks, and herds, and all kinds
of booty, to these eagle nests, to which
it was perilous and fruitless to pursue
them.

The worthy Fray Antonio Agapida
closes his story of this chequered year
in quite a different strain from those
triumphant periods, with which he is
accustomed to wind up the victorious
campaigns of the sovereigns. "Great
and mighty," says this venerable chronicler,
"were the floods and tempests,
which prevailed throughout the kingdom
of Castile and Aragon about this time.
It seemed as though the windows of
heaven were again opened, and a second
deluge overwhelming the face of nature.
The clouds burst, as it were, in cataracts
upon the earth; torrents rushed down
from the mountains, overflowing the
valleys. Brooks were swelled into raging
rivers; houses were undermined; mills
were swept away by their own streams;
the affrighted shepherds saw their flocks
drowned in the midst of the pasture, and
were fain to take refuge for their lives in
towers and high places. The Guadalquivir,
for a time, became a roaring and
tumultuous sea; inundating the immense
plain of the Tablada, and filling the fair
city of Seville with affright.

"A vast black cloud moved over the
land accompanied by a hurricane and a
trembling of the earth. Houses were
unroofed, the walls and battlements of
fortresses shaken, and lofty towers rocked
to their foundations. Ships, riding at
anchor, were either stranded or swallowed
up. Others, under sail, were
tossed to and fro upon mountain waves,
and cast upon the land; where the whirlwind
rent them in pieces; and scattered
their fragments in the air. Doleful was
the ruin, and great the terror, where this
baleful cloud passed by; and it left a
long track of desolation over sea and
land. Some of the faint-hearted," adds
Antonio Agapida, "looked upon this tumult
of the elements as a prodigious
event, out of the course of nature. In
the weakness of their fears, they connected
it with those troubles which occurred
in various places; considering it
a portent of some great calamity, about
to be wrought by the violence of the
bloody-handed El Zagal and his fierce
adherents."

CHAPTER LXX.

The stormy winter had passed away,
and the spring of 1489 was advancing;
yet the heavy rains had broken up the
roads; the mountain brooks were swollen
to raging torrents: and the late shallow
and peaceful rivers were deep, turbulent,
and dangerous. The Christian troops
had been summoned to assemble in early
spring, on the frontiers of Jaen, but were
slow in arriving at the appointed place.
They were entangled in the miry defiles

of the mountains, or fretted impatiently
on the banks of impassable floods. It
was late in the month of May before they
assembled in sufficient force to attempt
the proposed invasion; when, at length,
a valiant army, of thirteen thousand
horse and forty thousand foot, marched
merrily over the border. The queen remained
at the city of Jaen, with the princeroyal
and the princesses, her children;
accompanied and supported by the venerable
Cardinal of Spain, and those reverend
prelates who assisted in her councils
throughout this holy war. The plan of
king Ferdinand was to lay siege to the
city of Baza, the key of the remaining
possessions of the Moor. That important
fortress taken, Guadix and Almeria
must soon follow; and then the power of
El Zagal would be at an end. As the
catholic king advanced, he had first to secure
various castles and strongholds in
the vicinity of Baza, which might otherwise
harass his army. Some of these
made obstinate resistance; especially the
town of Cuxar. The Christians assailed
the walls with various machines, to sap
them and batter them down. The brave
alcayde, Hubec Adalgar, opposed force
to force, and engine to engine. He manned
his towers with his bravest warriors,
who rained down an iron shower upon
the enemy; and he linked caldrons together
by strong chains, and cast fire
from them, consuming the wooden engines
of their assailants, and those who
managed them. The siege was protracted
for several days. The bravery of the
alcayde could not save his fortress from
an overwhelming foe, but it gained him
honourable terms. Ferdinand permitted
the garrison and the inhabitants to repair
with their effects to Baza; and the valiant
Hubec Adalgar marched forth with the
remnant of his force, and took the way
to that devoted city.

The delays, which had been caused to
the invading army by these various circumstances,
had been diligently improved
by the old Moorish monarch, El Zagal;
who felt that he was now making his last
stand for empire; and that this campaign
would decide, whether he should continue
a king, or sink into a vassal.

El Zagal was but a few leagues from
Baza, at the city of Guadix. This last
was the most important point of his remaining
territories, being a kind of bulwark
between them and the hostile city
of Granada, the seat of his nephew's
power. Though he heard of the tide of
war, therefore, that was collecting, and
rolling towards the city of Baza, he dared
not go in person to its assistance. He
dreaded that, should he leave Guadix,
Boabdil would attack him in rear, while
the Christian army was battling with him
in front. El Zagal trusted in the great
strength of Baza, to defy any violent assaults;
and he profited by the delays of
the Christian army, to supply it with
all possible means of defence. He sent
thither all the troops he could spare from
his garrison of Guadix, and despatched
missives throughout his territories, calling
upon all true Moslems to hasten to
Baza, to make a devoted stand in defence
of their homes, their liberties, and their
religion. The cities of Tavernas and
Purchena, and the surrounding heights
and valleys, responded to his orders, and
sent forth their fighting men to the field.
The rocky fastnesses of the Alpuxarras
resounded with the din of arms. Troops
of horse and bodies of foot-soldiers were
seen winding down the rugged cliffs and
defiles of those marble mountains, and
hastening towards Baza. Many brave
cavaliers of Granada, also, spurning the
quiet and security of Christian vassalage,
secretly left the city, and hastened to join
their fighting countrymen. The great
dependence of El Zagal, however, was
upon the valour and loyalty of his cousin
and brother-in-law, Cidi Yahye Alnazar
Aben Zelim, who was alcayde of Almeria;
a cavalier experienced in warfare,
and redoubtable in the field. He wrote
to him, to leave Almeria, and repair, with
all speed, at the head of his troops to
Baza. Cidi Yahye departed immediately,
with ten thousand of the bravest Moors
in the kingdom. These were, for the
most part, hardy mountaineers, tempered
to sun and storm, and tried in many a
combat. None equalled them for a sally
or a skirmish. They were adroit in executing
a thousand stratagems, ambuscades,
and evolutions. Impetuous in their
assaults, yet governed in their utmost fury
by a word or sign from their commander,
at the sound of a trumpet they would

cheek themselves in the midst of their
career, and wheel off and disperse; and,
at another sound of a trumpet, they would
as suddenly re-assemble, and return to
the attack. They were upon the enemy
when least expected, coming like a rushing
blast, spreading havoc and consternation,
and then passing away in an instant;
so that, when one recovered from the
shock, and looked around, behold, nothing
was to be seen or heard of this tempest
of war, but a cloud of dust, and the clatter
of retreating troops!

When Cidi Yahye led his train of ten
thousand valiant warriors into the gates
of Baza, the city rung with acclamations;
and for a time the inhabitants thought
themselves secure. El Zagal also felt a
glow of confidence, notwithstanding his
own absence from the city. "Cidi Yahye,"
said he, "is my cousin and my brother-in-law,
related to me by blood and marriage:
he is a second self: happy is that
monarch who has his kinsmen to command
his armies!" With all these reinforcements,
the garrison of Baza amounted
to above twenty thousand men. There
were at this time three principal leaders
in the city; Mohammed ben Hassan, surnamed
the Veteran, who was military
governor, or alcayde, an old Moor, of
great experience and discretion. The
second was Hamet Abu Ali, who was
captain of the troops stationed in the
place; and the third was Hubec Adalgar,
the valiant alcayde of Cuxar, who had
repaired hither with the remains of his
garrison. Over all these Cidi Yahye exercised
a supreme command, in consequence
of his being of the blood royal,
and in the special confidence of Muley
Abdalla el Zagal. He was eloquent and
ardent in council, and fond of striking
and splendid achievements; but he was a
little prone to be carried away by the excitement
of the moment, and the warmth
of his imagination. The councils of war
of these commanders, therefore, were
more frequently controlled by the opinions
of the old alcayde, Mohammed ben
Hassan, for whose shrewdness, caution,
and experience, Cidi Yahye himself felt
the greatest deference.

The city of Baza was situate in a
spacious valley, eight leagues in length
and three in breadth, called the Hoya or
basin of Baza. It was surrounded by a
range of mountains, called the Sierra of
Xabalcohol; the streams of which, collecting
themselves into two rivers, watered
and fertilized the country. The city
was built in the plain; but one part of it
was protected by the rocky precipices of
the mountain, and by a powerful citadel;
the other part was defended by
massive walls, studded with immense
towers. It had suburbs towards the
plain, imperfectly fortified by earthen
walls. In front of these suburbs extended
a tract of orchards and gardens,
nearly a league in length, so thickly
planted as to resemble a continued
forest. Here every citizen, who could
afford it, had his little plantation, and
his garden of fruit, and flowers, and
vegetables; watered by canals and rivulets,
and dominated by a small tower, to
serve for recreation or defence. This
wilderness of groves and gardens, intersected
in all parts by canals and runs of
water, and studded by above a thousand
small towers, formed a kind of protection
to this side of the city; rendering all approach
extremely difficult and perplexed,
and affording covert to the defenders.

While the Christian army had been
detained before the frontier posts, the
city of Baza had been a scene of hurried
and unremitting preparation. All the
grain of the surrounding valley, though
yet unripe, was hastily reaped, and horne
into the city, to prevent it from yielding
sustenance to the enemy. The country
was drained of all its supplies. Flocks
and herds were driven, bleating and bellowing,
into the gates. Long trains of
beasts of burden, some laden with food,
others with lances, darts, and arms of
all kinds, kept pouring into the place.
Already there were munitions collected
sufficient for a siege of fifteen months;
yet still the eager and hasty preparation
was going on, when the army of Ferdinand
came in sight. On one side might
be seen scattered parties of foot and
horse, spurring to the gates; and muleteers,
hurrying forward their burdened
animals; all anxious to get under shelter
before the gathering storm. On the other
side, the cloud of war came sweeping
down the valley; the roll of drum, or
clang of trumpet, resounding occasionally

from its deep bosom, or the bright
glance of arms flashing forth like vivid
lightning from its columns. King Ferdinand
pitched his tents in the valley,
beyond the green labyrinth of gardens.
He sent his heralds to summon the city
to surrender, promising the most favourable
terms, in case of immediate compliance;
and avowing, in the most solemn
terms, his resolution never to abandon
the siege, until he had possession of the
place.

Upon receiving this summons, the
Moorish commanders held a council of
war. The prince Cidi Yahye, indignant
at the menace of the king, was for retorting
by a declaration, that the garrison
never would surrender, but would
fight until buried under the ruins of the
walls. "Of what avail," said the veteran
Mohammed, "is a declaration of the
kind, which we may falsify by our
deeds? Let us threaten what we know
we can perform; and let us endeavour
to perform more than we threaten." In
conformity to the advice of Mohammed
ben Hassan, therefore, a laconic reply
was sent to the Christian monarch,
thanking him for his offer of favourable
terms, but informing him, that they were
placed in the city to defend, not to surrender
it.

CHAPTER LXXI.

When the reply of the Moorish commanders
was brought to King Ferdinand,
he prepared to press the siege with the
utmost vigour. Finding the camp too
far from the city, and that the intervening
orchards afforded shelter for the
sallies of the Moors, he determined to
advance it beyond the gardens, in the
space between them and the suburbs,
where his batteries would have full play
upon the city walls. A detachment was
sent in advance, to take possession of
the gardens, and to keep a check upon
the suburbs, opposing any sally, while
the encampment should be formed and
fortified. The various commanders entered
the orchards at different points.
The young cavaliers marched fearlessly
forward, but the experienced veterans
foresaw infinite peril in the mazes of this
verdant labyrinth. The Master of St.
Jago, as he led his troops into the centre
of the gardens, exhorted them to keep by
one another, and to press forward, in defiance
of all difficulty or danger; assuring
them, that God would give them the victory,
if they attacked hardily and persisted
resolutely.

Scarcely had they entered the verge of
the orchards, when a din of drums and
trumpets, mingled with war-cries, was
heard from the suburbs, and a legion of
Moorish warriors on foot poured forth.
They were led on by the Prince Cidi
Yahye. He saw the imminent danger
of the city, should the Christians gain
possession of the orchards. "Soldiers,"
he cried, "we fight for life and liberty,
for our families, our country, our religion:[96]
nothing is left for us to depend
upon but the strength of our hands, the
courage of our hearts, and the almighty
protection of Allah!" The Moors answered
with shouts of war, and rushed
to the encounter. The two hosts met in
the middle of the gardens. A chance-medley
combat ensued, with lances, arquebuses,
crossbows, and cimeters. The
perplexed nature of the ground, cut up
and intersected by canals and streams,
the closeness of the trees, the multiplicity
of towers and petty edifices, gave greater
advantages to the Moors, who were on
foot, than to the Christians, who were on
horseback. The Moors, too, knew the
ground, all its alleys and passes; and
were thus enabled to lurk, to sally forth,
to attack and retreat, almost without injury.

The Christian commanders, seeing
this, ordered many of the horsemen to
dismount, and fight on foot. The battle
then became fierce and deadly, each disregarding
his own life, provided he could
slay his enemy. It was not so much a
general battle, as a multitude of petty
actions; for every orchard and garden
had its distinct contest. No one could
see further than the little scene of fury
and bloodshed around him, or knew how
the general battle fared. In vain the
captains exerted their voices; in vain the
trumpets brayed forth signals and commands:

all was confounded and unheard
in the universal din and uproar; no one
kept to his standard, but fought as his
own fury or fear dictated.

In some places, the Christians had the
advantage; in others, the Moors. Often
a victorious party, pursuing the vanquished,
came upon a superior and
triumphant force of the enemy, and
the fugitives turned back upon them in
an overwhelming wave. Some broken
remnants, in their terror and confusion,
fled from their own countrymen, and
sought refuge among their enemies, not
knowing friend from foc in the obscurity
of the groves. The Moors were more
adroit in these wild skirmishings, from
their flexibility, lightness, and agility,
and the rapidity with which they would
disperse, rally, and return again to the
charge.[97]

The hardest fighting was about the
small garden towers and pavilions,
which served as so many petty fortresses.
Each party by turns gained
them, defended them fiercely, and were
driven out. Many of the towers were
set on fire, and increased the horrors of
the fight, by the wreaths of smoke and
flame in which they wrapped the groves,
and by the shricks of those who were
burning.

Several of the Christian cavaliers, bewildered
by the uproar and confusion,
and shocked at the carnage which prevailed,
would have led their men out of
the action; but they were entangled in a
labyrinth, and knew not which way to
retreat. While in this perplexity, the
standard-bearer of one of the squadrons
of the grand cardinal had his arm carried
off by a cannon-ball; the standard
was well nigh falling into the hands of
the enemy, when Rodrigo de Mendoza,
an intrepid youth, natural son of the
grand cardinal, rushed to its rescue,
through a shower of balls, lances, and
arrows; and, bearing it aloft, dashed
forward with it into the hottest of the
combat, followed by his shouting soldiers.
King Ferdinand, who remained
in the skirts of the orchard, was in
extreme anxiety. It was impossible to
see much of the action, for the multiplicity
of trees, and towers, and wreaths of
smoke; and those who were driven out
defeated, or came out wounded and exhausted,
gave different accounts, according
to the fate of the partial conflicts in
which they had been engaged. Ferdinand
exerted himself to the utmost to animate
and encourage his troops to this blind encounter,
sending reinforcements of horse
and foot to those points where the battle
was most sanguinary and doubtful.
Among those that were brought forth
mortally wounded was Don Juan de
Lara, a youth of uncommon merit,
greatly prized by the king, beloved by
the army, and recently married to Doña
Catalina de Urrea, a young lady of distinguished
beauty.[98] They laid him at
the foot of a tree, and endeavoured to
stanch and bind up his wounds with a
scarf which his bride had wrought for
him: but his life-blood flowed too profusely;
and while a holy friar was yet
administering to him the last sacred
offices of the church, he expired, almost
at the feet of his sovereign.

On the other hand, the veteran alcayde,
Mohammed Ben Hassan, surrounded
by a little band of chieftains,
kept an anxious eye upon the scene of
combat, from the walls of the city. For
nearly twelve hours the battle had raged
without intermission. The thickness of
the foliage hid all the particulars from
their sight; but they could see the flash
of swords, and glance of helmets, among
the trees. Columns of smoke rose in
every direction, while the clash of arms,
the thundering of ribadoquines and arquebuses,
the shouts and cries of the
combatants, and the groans and supplications
of the wounded, bespoke the
deadly conflict that was waging in the
bosom of the groves. They were barassed
too by the shricks and lamentations of
the Moorish women and children, as their
wounded relatives were brought bleeding
from the scene of action, and were stunned
by a general outcry of wo, on the part of
the combatants, as the body of Redoun
Zalfarga, a renegade Christian, and one
of the bravest of their generals, was
borne breathless into the city.

At length the din of battle approached

nearer to the skirts of the orchards.
They beheld their warriors driven out
from among the groves, by fresh squadrons
of the enemy; and, after disputing
the ground inch by inch, obliged to retire
to a place between the orchards and
the suburbs, which was fortified with
palisadoes.

The Christians immediately planted opposing
palisadoes, and established strong
outposts near to the retreat of the Moors;
while, at the same time, King Ferdinand
ordered that his encampment should be
pitched within the hard-won orchards.

Mohammed ben Hassan sallied forth
to the aid of the Prince Cidi Yahye, and
made a desperate attempt to dislodge the
enemy from this formidable position; but
the night had closed, and the darkness
rendered it impossible to make any impression.
The Moors, however, kept up
constant assaults and alarms throughout
the night, and the weary Christians, exhausted
by the toils and sufferings of
the day, were not allowed a moment of
repose.[99]

CHAPTER LXXII.

The morning sun rose upon a piteous
scene before the walls of Baza. The
Christian outposts, harassed throughout
the night, were pale and haggard; while
the multitude of slain, which lay before
their palisadoes, showed the fierce attacks
they had sustained, and the bravery of
their defence.

Beyond them lay the groves and gardens
of Baza; once the favourite resorts
for recreation and delight, now a scene
of horror and desolation. The towers
and pavilions were smoking ruins; the
canals and water-courses were discoloured
with blood, and choked with the bodies
of the slain. Here and there the ground,
deep-dinted with the tramp of man and
steed, and plashed and slippery with
gore, showed where there had been some
fierce and mortal conflict; while the
bodies of Moors and Christians, ghastly
in death, lay half concealed among the
matted and trampled shrubs, and flowers,
and herbage.

Amidst these sanguinary scenes arose
the Christian tents, which had been hastily
pitched among the gardens in the
preceding evening. The experience of
the night, however, and the forlorn
aspect of every thing in the morning,
convinced King Ferdinand of the perils
and hardships to which his camp must
be exposed, in its present situation; and,
after a consultation with his principal
cavaliers, he resolved to abandon the
orchards.

It was a dangerous movement to extricate
his army from so entangled a situation,
in the face of so alert and daring
an enemy. A bold front was therefore
kept up towards the city. Additional
troops were ordered to the advanced
posts, and works begun, as if for a settled
encampment. Not a tent was struck
in the gardens; but in the mean time the
most active and unremitting exertions
were made to remove back all the baggage
and furniture of the camp to the
original station.

All day the Moors beheld a formidable
show of war maintained in front of the
gardens; while in the rear, the tops of
the Christian tents, and the pennons of
the different commanders, were seen
rising above the groves. Suddenly, towards
evening, the tents sunk and disappeared;
the outposts broke up their stations,
and withdrew; and the whole
shadow of an encampment was fast
vanishing from their eyes.

The Moor saw, too late, the subtile
manœuvre of King Ferdinand. Cidi
Yahye again sallied forth, with a large
force of horse and foot, and pressed furiously
upon the Christians. The latter,
however, experienced in Moorish attack,
retired in close order: sometimes turning
upon the enemy, and driving them to their
barricadoes, and then pursuing their retreat.
In this way the army was extricated,
without much further loss, from
the perilous labyrinth of the gardens.
The camp was now out of danger, but
it was, also, too distant from the city to
do mischief; while the Moors could sally
forth, and return, without hinderance.
The king called a council of war, to
consider in what manner to proceed.
The Marquis of Cadiz was for abandoning
the siege for the present; the place

being too strong, too well garrisoned and
provided, and too extensive, to be either
carried by assault, reduced by famine,
or invested by their limited forces: while,
in lingering before it, the army would be
exposed to the usual maladies and sufferings
of besieging enemies; and, when
the rainy season came on, would be shut
up by the swelling of the two rivers.
He recommended instead, that the king
should throw garrisons of horse and foot
into all the towns captured in the neighbourhood;
and leave them to keep up a
predatory war upon Baza, while he should
overrun and ravage all the country; so
that, in the following year, Almeria and
Guadix, having all their subject towns
and territories taken from them, might
be starved into submission.

Don Gutiere de Cardenas, senior commander
of Lara, on the other hand,
maintained, that to abandon the siege
would be construed by the enemy into a
sign of weakness and irresolution. It
would give new spirits to the partisans
of El Zagal; and would gain to his
standard many of the wavering subjects
of Boabdil, if it did not encourage
the fickle populace of Granada to open
rebellion. He advised, therefore, that the
siege should be prosecuted with vigour.

The pride of Ferdinand pleaded in
favour of the last opinion: for it would
be doubly humiliating again to return
from a campaign in this part of the
Moorish kingdom, without striking a
blow. But when he reflected on all that
his army had suffered, and on all that
they must still suffer, should the siege
continue, especially from the difficulty
of obtaining a regular supply of provisions
for so numerous a host, across
a great extent of rugged and mountainous
country, he determined to consult
the safety of his people, and to adopt the
advice of the Marquis of Cadiz.

When the soldiery heard that the king
was about to raise the siege in mere consideration
for their sufferings, they were
filled with generous enthusiasm; and entreated,
as with one voice, that the siege
might never be abandoned until the city
surrendered.

Perplexed by conflicting counsels, the
king despatched messengers to the queen,
at Jaen, requesting her advice. Posts
had been stationed between them in such
manner, that missives from the camp
could reach the queen within ten hours.
Isabella sent instantly her reply. She
left the policy of raising, or continuing,
the siege, to the decision of the king and
his captains; but, should they determine
to persevere, she pledged herself, with
the aid of God, to forward them men,
money, provisions, and all other supplies,
until the city should be taken.

The reply of the queen determined
Ferdinand to persevere; and when his
determination was made known to the
army, it was hailed with as much joy as
if it had been tidings of a victory.

CHAPTER LXXIII.

The Moorish prince, Cidi Yahye, had
received intelligence of the doubts and
discussions in the Christian camp, and
flattered himself with hopes, that the
besieging army would soon retire in despair;
though the veteran alcayde, Mohammed,
shook his head with incredulity
at the suggestion. A sudden movement
next morning in the Christian camp
seemed to confirm the sanguine hopes
of the prince. The tents were struck,
the artillery and baggage were conveyed
away, and bodies of soldiers began to
march along the valley. The momentary
gleam of triumph was soon dispelled.
The catholic king had merely divided
his host into two camps, the more effectually
to distress the city. One, consisting
of four thousand horse, and eight
thousand foot, with all the artillery and
battering engines, took post on the side
of the city towards the mountain. This
was commanded by the valiant Marquis
of Cadiz, with whom were Don Alonso
de Aguilar, Luis Fernandez Puerto Carrero,
and many other distinguished cavaliers.

The other camp was commanded by
the king; having six thousand horse,
and a great host of foot-soldiers, the
hardy mountaineers of Biscay, Guipuscoa,
Gallicia, and the Asturias. Among
the cavaliers who were with the king,
were the brave Count de Tendilla, Don
Rodrigo de Mendoza, and Don Alonso

de Cardenas, Master of Santiago. The
two camps were wide asunder, on opposite
sides of the city; and between them
lay the thick wilderness of orchards.
Both camps were therefore fortified by
great trenches, breastworks, and palisadoes.
The veteran Mohammed, as he
saw these two formidable camps, glittering
on each side of the city, and noted
the well known pennons of renowned
commanders fluttering above them, still
comforted his companions. "These
camps," said he, "are too far removed
from each other for mutual succour and
co-operation; and the forest of orchards
is as a gulf between them." This consolation
was but of short continuance.
Scarcely were the Christian camps fortified,
when the ears of the Moorish garrison
were startled by the sound of innumerable
axes, and the crash of falling
trees. They looked with anxiety from
their highest towers; and, behold, their
favourite groves were sinking beneath
the blows of the Christian pioneers!
The Moors sallied forth with fiery zeal
to protect their beloved gardens, and the
orchards in which they so much delighted.
The Christians, however, were too
well supported to be driven from their
work. Day after day, the gardens became
the scene of incessant and bloody
skirmishings. Still the devastation of
the groves went on; for King Ferdinand
was too well aware of the necessity of
clearing away this screen of woods, not
to bend all his forces to the undertaking.
It was a work, however, of gigantic toil
and patience. The trees were of such
magnitude, and so closely set together,
and spread over so wide an extent, that,
notwithstanding four thousand men were
employed, they could scarcely clear a
strip of land ten paces broad, within a
day: and such were the interruptions,
from the incessant assaults of the Moors,
that it was full forty days before the orchards
were completely levelled.

The devoted city of Baza now lay
stripped of its beautiful covering of
groves and gardens, at once its ornament,
its delight, and its protection. The
besiegers went on slowly and surely, with
almost incredible labours, to invest and
isolate the city. They connected their
camps by a deep trench across the plain,
a league in length, into which they diverted
the waters of the mountain streams.
They protected this trench by palisadoes,
fortified by fifteen castles, at regular distances.
They dug a deep trench also,
two leagues in length, across the mountain,
in the rear of the city, reaching
from camp to camp, and fortified it on
each side with walls of earth and stone,
and wood. Thus the Moors were enclosed
on all sides by trenches, palisadoes,
walls, and castles; so that it was
impossible for them to sally beyond this
great line of circumvallation, nor could
any force enter to their succour. Ferdinand
made an attempt likewise to cut
off the supply of water from the city:
"for water," observes the worthy Agapida,
"is more necessary to these infidels
than bread; as they make use of it
in repeated daily ablutions, enjoined by
their damnable religion, and employ it
in baths, and in a thousand other idle
and extravagant modes, of which we
Spaniards and Christians make but little
account."

There was a noble fountain of pure
water, which gushed out at the foot of
the hill Albohacen, just behind the city.
The Moors had almost a superstitious
fondness for this fountain, and daily depended
upon it for their supplies. Receiving
intimation from some deserters
of the plan of King Ferdinand to get
possession of this precious fountain, they
sallied forth at night, and threw up
such powerful works upon the impending
hill, as to set all attempts of the Christian
assailants at defiance.

CHAPTER LXXIV.

The siege of Baza, while it displayed
the skill and science of the Christian
commanders, gave but little scope for
the adventurous spirit and fiery valour
of the young Spanish cavaliers. They
repined at the tedious monotony and dull
security of their fortified camp; and
longed for some soul-stirring exploit of
difficulty and danger. Two of the most
spirited to the youthful cavaliers were
Francisco de Bazan, and Antonio de
Cueva, the latter of whom was son to

the Duke of Albuquerque. As they
were one day seated on the ramparts of
the camp, and venting their impatience
at this life of inaction, they were overheard
by a veteran adalid, one of those
scouts, or guides, who are acquainted
with all parts of the country. "Señores,"
said he, "if you wish for a service of
peril and profit, if you are willing to
pluck the fiery old Moor by the beard, I
can lead you to where you may put your
mettle to the proof. Hard by the city of
Guadix are certain hamlets, rich in booty:
I can conduct you by a way in which you
may come upon them by surprise; and,
if you are as cool in the head as you are
hot in the spur, you may bear off your
spoils from under the very eyes of old
El Zagal." The idea of thus making
booty at the very gates of Guadix pleased
the hot-spirited youths. These predatory
excursions were frequent about this time;
and the Moors of Padul, Alhenden, and
other towns of the Alpuxarras, had recently
harassed the Christian territories
by expeditions of the kind. Francisco
de Bazan and Antonio de Cueva soon
found other young cavaliers of their age
ready to join them in the adventure;
and, in a little while, they had nearly
three hundred horse and two hundred
foot, ready equipped, and eager for the
foray.

Keeping their destination secret, they
sallied out of the camp, on the edge of an
evening, and, guided by the adalid, made
their way by starlight through the most
secret roads of the mountains. In this
way they pressed on rapidly day and
night, until, early one morning before
cock-crowing, they fell suddenly upon
the hamlets, made prisoners of the inhabitants,
sacked the houses, ravaged the
fields, and, sweeping through the meadows,
gathered together all the flocks
and herds. Without giving themselves
time to rest, they set out upon their return,
making with all speed for the mountains,
before the alarm should be given, and
the country roused.

Several of the herdsmen, however,
had fled to Guadix, and carried tidings of
the ravage to El Zagal. The beard of
old Muley trembled with rage. He immediately
sent out six hundred of his
choicest horse and foot, with orders to
recover the booty, and to bring those
insolent marauders captive to Guadix.

The Christian cavaliers were urging
their cavalgada of cattle and sheep up a
mountain as fast as their own weariness
would permit; when, looking back, they
beheld a great cloud of dust, and presently
descried the turbaned host hot
upon their traces.

They saw that the Moors were superior
in number; they were fresh also,
both man and steed: whereas both they
and their horses were fatigued by two
days and two nights of hard marching.
Several of the horsemen, therefore,
gathered round the commanders, and
proposed, that they should relinquish
their spoil, and save themselves by flight.
The captains, Francisco de Bazan and
Antonio de Cueva, spurned at such
craven counsel. "What!" cried they,
"abandon our prey without striking a
blow! Leave our foot-soldiers too in
the lurch, to be overwhelmed by the
enemy? If any one gives such counsel
through fear, he mistakes the course of
safety; for there is less danger in presenting
a bold front to a foe, than in
turning a dastard back; and fewer men
are killed in a brave advance, than in a
cowardly retreat."

Some of the cavaliers were touched by
these words, and declared that they would
stand by the foot-soldiers, like true companions
in arms. The great mass of the
party, however, were volunteers, brought
together by chance, who received no pay,
nor had any common tie to keep them
together in time of danger. The pleasure
of the expedition being over, each
thought but of his own safety, regardless
of his companions. As the enemy
approached, the tumult of opinions increased;
and every thing was in confusion.
The captains, to put an end to
the dispute, ordered the standard-bearer
to advance against the Moors; well
knowing that no true cavalier would
hesitate to follow and defend his banner.
The standard-bearer hesitated; the troops
were on the point of taking to flight.
Upon this, a cavalier of the royal guards,
named Hernando Perez del Pulgar, alcayde
of the fortress of Salar, rode to
the front. He took off a handkerchief
which he wore round his head, after the

Andalusian fashion, and, tying it to the
end of his lance, elevated it in the air"Cavaliers,"
cried he, "why do you
take weapons in your hands, if you depend
upon your feet for safety? This
day will determine who is the brave man,
and who the coward. He who is disposed
to fight shall not want a standard;
let him follow this handkerchief!" So
saying, he waved his banner, and spurred
bravely against the Moors. His example
shamed some, and filled others with
generous emulation. All turned with
one accord, and, following the valiant
Pulgar, rushed with shouts upon the
enemy.

The Moors scarcely waited to receive
the shock of their encounter. Seized
with a sudden panic, they took to flight,
and were pursued for a great distance
with great slaughter. Three hundred of
their dead strewed the road, and were
stripped and despoiled by the conquerors;
many were taken prisoners; and the
Christian cavaliers returned in triumph
to the camp, with a long cavalgada of
sheep and cattle, and mules laden with
booty, and bearing before them the singular
standard, which had conducted
them to victory.

When King Ferdinand was informed of
the gallant action of Hernando Perez del
Pulgar, he immediately conferred on him
the honour of knighthood; and ordered,
that, in memory of his achievements, he
should bear for arms a lance with a
handkerchief, together with a castle, and
twelve lions. This is but one of many
hardy and heroic deeds, done by that
brave cavalier, in the wars against the
Moors; by which he gained great renown,
and the distinguished appellation
of "El de las hazañas," or, "he of the
exploits."[100]

CHAPTER LXXV.

The old Moorish king El Zagal
mounted a tower, and looked out eagerly,
to enjoy the sight of the Christian
marauders, brought captive into the
gates of Guadix; but his spirits fell,
when he beheld his own troops stealing
back in the dusk of the evening in
broken, dejected parties.

The fortune of war bore hard against
the old monarch. His mind was harassed
by the disastrous tidings brought each
day from Baza, of the sufferings of the
inhabitants, and the numbers of the garrison
slain in the frequent skirmishes.
He dared not go in person to the relief of
the place; for his presence was necessary
in Guadix, to keep a check upon his
nephew in Granada. He made efforts to
send reinforcements and supplies; but
they were intercepted, and either captured
or driven back. Still his situation
was, in some respects, preferable to that
of his nephew Boabdil. The old monarch
was battling like a warrior on the
last step of his throne. El Chico remained,
a kind of pensioned vassal, in
the luxurious abode of the Alhambra.
The chivalrous part of the inhabitants of
Granada could not but compare the
generous stand made by the warriors of
Baza, for their country and their faith,
with their own time-serving submission
to the yoke of an unbeliever. Every
account they received of the wars of
Baza wrung their hearts with agony;
every account of the exploits of its devoted
defenders brought blushes to their
cheeks. Many stole forth secretly with
their weapons, and hastened to join the
besieged; and the partisans of El Zagal
wrought upon the patriotism and passions
of the remainder, until another of those
conspiracies was formed, that were continually
menacing the unsteady throne of
Granada. It was concerted by the conspirators,
to assail the Alhambra on a
sudden; to slay Boabdil; to assemble all
the troops, and march to Guadix; where,
being reinforced by the garrison of that
place, and led on by the old warrior monarch,
they might fall, with overwhelming
power, upon the Christian army before
Baza.

Fortunately for Boabdil, he discovered
the conspiracy in time, and had the heads
of the leaders struck off, and placed upon
the walls of the Alhambra: an act of
severity, unusual with the mild and
wavering monarch, which struck terror

into the disaffected, and produced a kind
of mute tranquillity throughout the city.

King Ferdinand had full information
of all these movements and measures
for the relief of Baza, and took timely
precautions to prevent them. Bodies of
horsemen held watch in the mountain
passes, to prevent all supplies, and to
intercept any generous volunteers from
Granada; and watchtowers were erected,
or scouts placed, on any commanding
height, to give the alarm, at the least
sign of a hostile turban.

The Prince Cidi Yahye and his brave
companions in arms were thus gradually
walled up, as it were, from the rest of the
world. A line of towers, the battlements
of which bristled with troops, girdled their
city; and behind the intervening bulwarks
and palisadoes passed and repassed continual
bodies of troops. Week after
week, and month after month, glided
away; but Ferdinand waited in vain for
the garrison to be either terrified or
starved into surrender. Every day they
sallied forth with the spirit and alacrity
of troops high fed, and flushed with confidence.
"The Christian monarch," said
the veteran Mohammed ben Hassan,
"builds his hopes upon our growing
faint and desponding: we must manifest
unusual cheerfulness and vigour. What
would be rashness in other service, becomes
prudence with us." The Prince
Cidi Yahye agreed with him in opinion;
and sallied forth, with his troops, upon
all kinds of hare-brained exploits. They
laid ambushes, concerted surprises, and
made the most desperate assaults. The
great extent of the Christian works rendered
them weak in many parts. Against
these the Moors directed their attacks;
suddenly breaking into them, making a
hasty ravage, and bearing off their booty,
in triumph, to the city. Sometimes they
would sally forth, by the passes and clefts
of the mountain in the rear of the city,
which it was difficult to guard, and, hurrying
down into the plain, would sweep
off all cattle and sheep that were grazing
near the suburbs, and all stragglers from
the camp.

These partisan sallies brought on many
sharp and bloody encounters; in some of
which, Don Alonso de Aguilar and the
alcayde de los Donzeles distinguished
themselves greatly. During one of these
hot skirmishes, which happened on the
skirts of the mountain about twilight, a
valiant cavalier, named Martin Galindo,
beheld a powerful Moor dealing deadly
blows about him, and making great havoc
among the Christians. Galindo pressed
forward, and challenged him to single
combat. The Moor, who was of the
valiant tribe of the Abencerrages, was
not slow in answering the call. Couching
their lances, they rushed furiously
upon each other. At the first shock, the
Moor was wounded in the face, and
borne out of his saddle. Before Galindo
could check his steed, and turn from his
career, the Moor sprang upon his feet,
recovered his lance, and, rushing upon
him, wounded him in the head and the
arm. Though Galindo was on horseback,
and the Moor on foot, yet such was
the prowess and address of the latter, that
the Christian knight, being disabled in
the arm, was in the utmost peril, when
his comrades hastened to his assistance.
At their approach, the valiant pagan
retreated slowly up the rocks, keeping
them at bay, until he found himself
among his companions.

Several of the young Spanish cavaliers,
stung by the triumph of this Moslem
knight, would have challenged others of
the Moors to single combat; but King
Ferdinand prohibited all vaunting encounters
of the kind. He forbade his
troops, also, to provoke skirmishes; well
knowing, that the Moors were more dexterous
than most people in this irregular
mode of fighting, and were better acquainted
with the ground.

CHAPTER LXXVI.

"While the holy Christian army,"
says Fray Antonio Agapida, "was thus
beleaguering this infidel city of Baza,
there rode into the camp, one day, two
reverend friars of the order of Saint
Francis. One was of portly person, and
authoritative air. He bestrode a goodly
steed, well conditioned, and well caparisoned;
while his companion rode behind
him, upon a humble hack, poorly
accoutred; and, as he rode, he scarcely

raised his eyes from the ground, but
maintained a meek and lowly air.

The arrival of two friars in the camp
was not a matter of much note; for, in
these holy wars, the church militant continually
mingled in the affray, and helmet
and cowl were always seen together; but
it was soon discovered, that these worthy
saints errant were from a far country,
and on a mission of great import. They
were, in truth, just arrived from the Holy
Land; being two of the saintly men who
kept vigil over the sepulchre of our blessed
Lord at Jerusalem. He, of the tall
and portly form, and commanding presence,
was Fray Antonio Millan, prior of
the Franciscan convent in the Holy City.
He had a full and florid countenance, a
sonorous voice, and was round, and
swelling, and copious, in his periods,
like one accustomed to harangue, and to
be listened to with deference. His companion
was small and spare in form,
pale of visage, and soft, and silken, and
almost whispering, in speech. "He had
a humble and lowly way," said Agapida;
"evermore bowing the head, as became
one of his calling. Yet he was one of
the most active, zealous, and effective
brothers of the convent; and, when he
raised his small black eye from the earth,
there was a keen glance out of the corner,
which showed, that, though harmless as
a dove, he was, nevertheless, as wise as
a serpent."

These holy men had come on a momentous
embassy, from the Grand Soldan
of Egypt; or, as Agapida terms him, in
the language of the day, the Soldan of
Babylon. The league, which had been
made between that potentate and his arch
foe, the Grand Turk, Bajazet II., to unite
in arms for the salvation of Granada, as
has been mentioned in a previous chapter
of this chronicle, had come to nought.
The infidel princes had again taken up
arms against each other, and had relapsed
into their ancient hostility. Still
the Grand Soldan, as head of the whole
Moslem sect, considered himself bound
to preserve the kingdom of Granada
from the grasp of unbelievers. He despatched,
therefore, these two holy friars,
with letters to the Castilian sovereigns,
as well as to the pope, and to the King of
Naples; remonstrating against the evils
done to the Moors of the kingdom of
Granada, who were of his faith and
kindred: whereas, it was well known,
that great numbers of Christians were
indulged and protected in the full enjoyment
of their property, their liberty, and
their faith, in his dominions. He insisted,
therefore, that this war should cease;
that the Moors of Granada should be
reinstated in the territory of which they
had been dispossessed: otherwise, he
threatened to put to death all the Christians
beneath his sway, to demolish their
convents and temples, and to destroy the
Holy Sepulchre.

This fearful menace had spread consternation
among the Christians of Palestine;
and when the intrepid Fray Antonio
Millan and his lowly companions departed
on their mission, they were accompanied
far from the gates of Jerusalem by an
anxious throng of brethren and disciples,
who remained watching them with tearful
eyes, as they journeyed over the plains
of Judea.

These holy ambassadors were received
with great distinction by King Ferdinand;
for men of their cloth had ever high honour
and consideration in his court. He
had long and frequent conversations with
them, about the Holy Land, the state of
the Christian church in the dominions of
the Grand Soldan, and of the policy and
conduct of that arch infidel towards it.
The portly prior of the Franciscan convent
was full, and round, and oratorical
in his replies, and the king expressed
himself much pleased with the eloquence
of his periods: but the politic monarch
was observed to lend a close and attentive
ear to the whispering voice of the
lowly companion; "whose discourse,"
adds Agapida, "though modest and low,
was clear and fluent, and full of subtle
wisdom."

These holy friars had visited Rome in
their journeying, where they had delivered
the letter of the Soldan to the
sovereign pontiff. His holiness had written
by them to the Castilian sovereigns,
requesting to know what reply they had
to offer to this demand of the oriental
potentate.

The King of Naples also wrote to
them on the subject, but in wary terms.
He inquired into the cause of this war

with the Moors of Granada, and expressed
great marvel at its events; "as if,"
says Agapida, "both were not notorious
throughout all the Christian world. Nay,"
adds the worthy friar, with becoming indignation,
"he uttered opinions savouring
of little better than damnable heresy; for
he observed, that although the Moors
were of a different sect, they ought not
to be maltreated without just cause; and
hinted, that, if the Castilian sovereigns
did not suffer any crying injury from the
Moors, it would be improper to do any
thing which might draw great damage
upon the Christians: as if, when once
the sword of the faith was drawn, it ought
ever to be sheathed, until this scum of
heathendom were utterly destroyed, or
driven from the land. But this monarch,"
he continues, "was more kindly disposed
towards the infidels, than was honest and
lawful in a Christian prince, and was at
that very time in league with the Soldan,
against their common enemy, the Grand
Turk."

These pious sentiments of the truly
catholic Agapida are echoed by Padre
Mariana, in his history;[101] but the worthy
chronicler, Pedro Abarca, attributes the
interference of the King of Naples, not
to lack of orthodoxy in religion, but to
an excess of worldly policy; he being
apprehensive, that, should Ferdinand
conquer the Moors of Granada, he might
have time and means to assert a claim
of the house of Aragon to the crown of
Naples.

"King Ferdinand," continues the worthy
father Pedro Abarca, "was no less
master of dissimulation than his cousin
of Naples; so he replied to him with the
utmost suavity of manner; going into a
minute and patient vindication of the
war, and taking great apparent pains to
inform him of those things, which all the
world knew, but of which the other pretended
to be ignorant."[102] At the same
time, he soothed his solicitude about the
fate of the Christians in the empire of the
Grand Soldan; assuring him that the
great revenue extorted from them in rents
and tributes, would be a certain protection
against the threatened violence.

To the pope, he made the usual vindication
of the war; that it was for the
recovery of ancient territory usurped by
the Moors, for the punishment of wars
and violences inflicted upon the Christians;
and, finally, that it was a holy
crusade, for the glory and advancement
of the church.

"It was a truly edifying sight," says
Agapida, "to behold these friars, after
they had had their audience of the king,
moving about the camp, always surrounded
by nobles and cavaliers of high
and martial renown. These were insatiable
in their questions about the Holy
Land, the state of the sepulchre of our
Lord, and the sufferings of the devoted
brethren who guarded it, and the pious
pilgrims who resorted there to pay their
vows. The portly prior of the convent
would stand, with lofty and shining
countenance, in the midst of these iron
warriors, and declaim with resounding
eloquence on the history of the sepulchre;
but the humble brother would ever
and anon sigh deeply, and, in low tones,
utter some late of suffering and outrage,
at which his steel-clad hearers would
grasp the hilts of their swords, and mutter
between their clenched teeth prayers for
another crusade."

The pious friars, having finished their
mission to the king, and been treated
with all due distinction, took their leave,
and wended their way to Jaen, to visit
the most catholic of queens. Isabella,
whose heart was the seat of piety, received
them as sacred men, invested with
more than human dignity. During their
residence at Jaen, they were continually
in the royal presence; the respectable
prior of the convent moved and melted
the ladies of the court by his florid
rhetoric; but his lowly companion was
observed to have continual access to the
royal ear. "That saintly and soft-spoken
messenger," says Agapida, "received the
reward of his humility; for the queen,
moved by his frequent representations,
made in all modesty and lowliness of
spirit, granted a yearly sum in perpetuity
of one thousand ducats in gold for
the support of the monks of the convents
of the Holy Sepulchre."[103]

Moreover, on the departure of these
holy ambassadors, the excellent and most
catholic queen delivered to them a veil
devoutly embroidered with her own royal
hands, to be placed over the Holy Sepulchre.
A precious and inestimable present,
which called forth a most eloquent
tribute of thanks from the portly prior,
but which brought tears into the eyes of
his lowly companion.[104]

CHAPTER LXXVII.

It has been the custom to laud the
conduct and address of King Ferdinand
in this most arduous and protracted war;
but the sage Agapida is more disposed to
give credit to the counsels and measures
of the queen, who, he observes, though
less ostensible in action, was in truth the
very soul, the vital principle, of this great
enterprise. While King Ferdinand was
bustling in his camp, and making a
glittering display with his gallant chivalry;
she, surrounded by her saintly
counsellors, in the episcopal palace of
Jaen, was devising ways and means to
keep the king and his army in existence.
She had pledged herself to provide a
supply of men and money, and provisions,
until the city should be taken. The
hardships of the siege caused a fearful
waste of life; but the supply of men was
the least difficult part of her undertaking.
So beloved was the queen by the chivalry
of Spain, that, on her calling on them for
assistance, not a grandee or cavalier,
that yet lingered at home, but either
repaired in person or sent forces to the
camp; the ancient and warlike families
vied with each other, in marshalling
forth their vassals; and thus the besieged
Moors beheld each day fresh troops arriving
before their city, and new ensigns
and pennons displayed, emblazoned with
arms well known to the veteran warriors.

But the most arduous task was to keep
up a regular supply of provisions. It
was not the army alone that had to be
supported, but also the captured towns
and their garrisons; for the whole country
round them had been ravaged, and
the conquerors were in danger of starving
in the midst of the land they had desolated.
To transport what was daily
required for such immense numbers was
a gigantic undertaking, in a country
where there was neither water-conveyance
nor roads for carriages. Every
thing had to be borne by beasts of burden,
over rugged and broken paths of the
mountains, and through dangerous defiles,
exposed to the attacks and plunderings of
the Moors.

The wary and calculating merchants
accustomed to supply the army, shrunk
from engaging, at their own risk, in so
hazardous an undertaking. The queen
therefore hired fourteen thousand beasts
of burden, and ordered all the wheat and
barley to be bought up in Andalusia,
and in the domains of the knights of Santiago
and Calatrava. She distributed
the administration of these supplies
among able and confidential persons.
Some were employed to collect the grain,
others to take it to the mills, others to
superintend the grinding and delivery,
and others to convey it to the camp. To
every two hundred animals a muleteer
was allotted, to take charge of them on
the route. Thus great lines of convoys
were in constant movement traversing the
mountains to and fro, guarded by large
bodies of troops, to defend them from
hovering parties of the Moors. Not a
single day's intermission was allowed;
for the army depended upon the constant
arrival of these supplies for daily food.
The grain, when brought into the camp,
was deposited in an immense granary,
and sold to the army at a fixed price,
which was never either raised or lowered. |

Incredible were the expenses incurred
in this business; but the queen had
ghostly advisers, thoroughly versed in
the art of getting at the resources of the
country. Many worthy prelates opened
the deep purses of the church, and furnished
loans from the revenues of their
disoceses and convents; and their pious
contributions were eventually rewarded
by Providence a hundredfold. Merchants
and other wealthy individuals, confident
of the punctual faith of the queen, advanced
large sums on the security of her
word: many noble families lent their
plate without waiting to be asked. The
queen, also, sold certain annual rents in
inheritance, at great sacrifices, assigning
the revenues of towns and cities for the
payment. Finding all this insufficient to
satisfy the enormous expenditure, she
sent her gold and plate, and all her
jewels to the cities of Valencia and Barcelona,
where they were pledged for a
great amount of money; which was immediately
appropriated to keep up the
supplies of the army.

Thus, through the wonderful activity,
judgment, and enterprise of this heroic
and magnanimous woman, a great host,
encamped in the heart of a warlike country,
accessible only over mountain roads,
was maintained in continual abundance:
nor was it merely supplied with the necessaries
and comforts of life. The powerful
escorts drew merchants and artificers from
all parts, to repair, as if in caravans, to
this great military market. In a little while
the camp abounded with tradesmen and
artists of all kinds, to administer to the
luxury and ostentation of the youthful
chivalry. Here might be seen cunning
artificers in steel, and accomplished
armourers, achieving those rare and
sumptuous helmets and cuirasses richly
gilt, inlaid, and embossed, in which the
Spanish cavaliers delighted; saddlers,
and harness-makers, and horse-milliners
also, whose tents glittered with gorgeous
housings and caparisons. The merchants
spread forth their sumptuous silks, cloths,
brocades, fine linen, and tapestry. The
tents of the nobility were prodigally
decorated with all kinds of the richest
stuffs, and dazzled the eye with their
magnificence: nor could the grave looks
and grave speeches of King Ferdinand
prevent his youthful cavaliers from vying
with each other in the splendour of their
dresses and caparisons, on all occasions
of parade and ceremony.

CHAPTER LXXVIII.

While the Christian camp, thus gay
and gorgeous, spread itself out like a
holiday pageant before the walls of Baza;
while a long line of beasts of burden,
laden with provisions and luxuries, were
seen descending the valley from morning
till night, and pouring into the camp a
continued stream of abundance, the unfortunate
garrison found their resources
rapidly wasting away, and famine already
began to pinch the peaceful part of the
community.

Cidi Yahye had acted with great spirit
and valour, as long as there was any
prospect of success; but he began to lose
his usual fire and animation, and was
observed to pace the walls of Baza with
a pensive air, casting many a wistful
look towards the Christian camp, and
sinking into profound reveries and cogitations.
The veteran alcayde, Mohammed
ben Hassan, noticed these desponding
moods, and endeavoured to rally the
spirits of the prince. "The rainy season
is at hand," would he cry: "the floods
will soon pour down from the mountains;
the rivers will overflow their banks, and
inundate the valleys. The Christian king
already begins to waver; he dares not
linger and encounter such a season, in a
plain cut up by canals and rivulets. A
single wintry storm from our mountains
would wash away his canvass city, and
sweep off those gay pavilions, like
wreaths of snow before the blast."

The Prince Cidi Yahye took heart at
these words, and counted the days as
they passed, until the stormy season
should commence. As he watched the
Christian camp, he beheld it one morning
in universal commotion. There was
an unusual sound of hammers in every
part, as if some new engines of war
were constructing. At length, to his
astonishment, the walls and roofs of
houses began to appear above the bulwarks.
In a little while there were
above a thousand edifices of wood and

plaster erected, covered with tiles, taken
from the demolished towers of the orchards,
and bearing pennons of various
commanders and cavaliers; while the
common soldiery constructed huts of
clay and branches of trees, and thatched
them with straw. Thus, to the dismay
of the Moors, within four days the light
tents and gay pavilions, which had
whitened the hills and plains, passed
away like summer clouds; and the unsubstantial
camp assumed the solid appearance
of a city laid out into streets
and squares. In the centre rose a large
edifice, which overlooked the whole, and
the royal standard of Aragon and Castile,
proudly floating above it, showed it to be
the palace of the king.[105]

Ferdinand had taken the sudden resolution
thus to turn his camp into a city,
partly to provide against the approaching
season, and partly to convince the Moors
of his fixed determination to continue the
siege. In their haste to erect their
dwellings, however, the Spanish cavaliers
had not properly considered the nature
of the climate. For the greater part of
the year there scarcely falls a drop of
rain on the thirsty soil of Andalusia: the
ramblas, or dry channels of the torrents,
remain deep and arid gashes and clefts
in the sides of the mountains. The
perennial streams shrink up to mere
threads of water, which tinkling down
the bottoms of the deep barrancas or
ravines, scarcely feed and keep alive the
rivers of the valleys. The rivers, almost
lost in their wide and naked beds, seem
like thirsty rills, winding in serpentine
mazes through deserts of sand and
stones; and so shallow and tranquil in
their course, as to be forded in safety in
almost every part. One autumnal tempest
of rain, however, changes the whole
face of nature. The clouds break in
deluges among the vast congregation of
mountains. The ramblas are suddenly
filled with raging floods, the tinkling
rivulets swell to thundering torrents, that
come roaring down from the mountains,
precipitating great masses of rocks in
their career. The late meandering river
spreads over its once naked bed, lashes
its surges against the banks, and rushes,
like a wide and foaming inundation,
through the valley.

Scarcely had the Christians finished
their slightly built edifices, when an
autumnal tempest of this kind came scouring
from the mountains. The camp was
immediately overflowed. Many of the
houses, undermined by the floods or
beaten by the rain, crumbled away, and
fell to the earth, burying man and beast
beneath their ruins. Several valuable
lives were lost, and great numbers of
horses and other animals perished. To
add to the distress and confusion of the
camp, the daily supply of provisions suddenly
ceased; for the rain had broken up
the roads, and rendered the rivers impassable.
A panic seized upon the army,
for the cessation of a single day's supply
produced a scarcity of bread and provender.
Fortunately the rain was but
transient. The torrents rushed by, and
ceased; the rivers shrunk back again to
their narrow channels; and the convoys,
that had been detained upon their banks,
arrived safely in the camp.

No sooner did Queen Isabella hear of
this interruption of her supplies, than,
with her usual vigilance and activity,
she provided against its recurrence. She
despatched six thousand foot-soldiers,
under the command of experienced officers,
to repair the roads, and to make
causeways and bridges, for the distance
of seven Spanish leagues. The troops,
also, who had been stationed in the
mountains by the king, to guard the
defiles, made two paths, one for the convoys
going to the camp, and the other
for those returning, that they might not
meet and impede each other. The
edifices which had been demolished by
the late floods, were rebuilt in a firmer
manner, and precautions were taken to
protect the camp from future inundations.

CHAPTER LXXIX.

When King Ferdinand beheld the ravage
and confusion produced by a single
autumnal storm, and bethought him of all
the maladies to which a besieging camp

is exposed, in inclement seasons, he began
to feel his compassion kindling for the
suffering people of Baza, and an inclination
to grant them more favourable terms.
He sent, therefore, several messages to
the alcayde, Mohammed ben Hassan,
offering liberty of person and security of
property for the inhabitants, and large
rewards for himself, if he would surrender
the city. The veteran Mohammed was
not to be dazzled by the splendid offers of
the monarch. He had received exaggerated
accounts of the damage done to
the Christian camp by the late storm, and
of the sufferings and discontents of the
army, in consequence of the transient
interruption of supplies. He considered
the overtures of Ferdinand as proofs of
the desperate state of his affairs. "A
little more patience," said the shrewd old
warrior, "and we shall see this cloud of
Christian locusts driven away before the
winter storms. When they once turn
their backs, it will be our lot to strike;
and, with the help of Allah, the blow
shall be decisive." He sent a firm though
courteous refusal to the Christian monarch;
and, in the mean time, animated
his companions to sally forth, with more
spirit than ever, to attack the Spanish
outposts, and those labouring in the
trenches. The consequence was a daily
occurrence of the most daring and bloody
skirmishes, that cost the lives of many of
the bravest and most adventurous cavaliers
of either army.

In one of these sallies, near three hundred
horse and two thousand foot mounted
the heights behind the city, to capture the
Christians who were employed upon the
works. They came by surprise upon a
body of guards, esquires of the Count de
Ureña; killed some, put the rest to flight,
and pursued them down the mountain,
until they came in sight of a small force
under the Count de Tendilla and Gonsalvo
of Cordova. The Moors came rushing
down with such fury, that many of the
men of the Count de Tendilla betook
themselves to flight. The brave count
considered it less dangerous to fight than
to flee. Bracing his buckler, therefore,
and grasping his trusty weapon, he stood
his ground with his accustomed prowess.
Gonsalvo of Cordova ranged himself by
his side; and marshalling the troops
which remained with them, a valiant
front was made to the Moors.

The infidels pressed them hard, and
were gaining the advantage, when Alonso
de Aguilar, hearing of the danger of his
brother Gonsalvo, flew to his assistance,
accompanied by the Count of Ureña and
a body of their troops. A hot contest
ensued, from cliff to cliff and glen to glen.
The Moors were fewer in number; but
they excelled in the dexterity and lightness
requisite for these scrambling skirmishes.
They were at length driven
from their vantage-ground, and pursued
by Alonso de Aguilar and his brother
Gonsalvo to the very suburbs of the city;
leaving many of the bravest of their men
upon the field.

Such was one of innumerable rough
encounters, which were daily taking
place; in which many brave cavaliers
were slain, without any apparent benefit
to either party. The Moors, notwithstanding
repeated defeats and losses,
continued to sally forth daily with astonishing
spirit and vigour; and the
obstinacy of their defence seemed to
increase with their sufferings.

The Prince Cidi Yahye was ever foremost
in these sallies; but he grew daily
more despairing of success. All the
money in the military chest was expended,
and there was no longer wherewithal
to pay the hired troops. Still
the veteran Mohammed ben Hassan undertook
to provide for this emergency.
Summoning the principal inhabitants, he
represented the necessity of some exertion
and sacrifice on their part, to maintain
the defence of the city. "The enemy,"
said he, "dreads the approach of winter,
and our perseverance drives him to despair.
A little longer, and he will leave
you in quiet enjoyment of your homes and
families. But our troops must be paid,
to keep them in good heart. Our money
is exhausted, and all our supplies are cut
off. It is impossible to continue our defence
without your aid."

Upon this the citizens consulted together;
and they collected all their
vessels of gold and silver, and brought
them to Mohammed ben Hassan. "Take
these," said they, "and coin them, or
sell them, or pledge them for money,
wherewith to pay the troops." The

women of Baza, also, were seized with
generous emulation. "Shall we deck
ourselves with gorgeous apparel," said
they, "when our country is desolate,
and its defenders in want of bread?" So
they took their collars, and bracelets,
and anklets, and other ornaments of gold,
and all their jewels, and placed them in
the hands of the veteran alcayde. "Take
these spoils of our vanity," said they;
"and let them contribute to the defence of
our homes and families. If Baza be delivered,
we need no jewels to grace our
rejoicing; and if Baza falls, of what
avail are ornaments to the captive?"

By these contributions was Mohammed
enabled to pay the soldiery, and to carry
on the defence of the city with unabated
spirit. Tidings were speedily conveyed
to King Ferdinand of this generous devotion
on the part of the people of Baza,
and the hopes which the Moorish commanders
gave them, that the Christian
army would soon abandon the siege in
despair. "They shall have a convincing
proof of the fallacy of such hopes," said
the politic monarch. So he wrote forthwith
to Queen Isabella, praying her to
come to the camp in state, with all her
train and retinue; and publicly to take
up her residence there for the winter.
By these means, the Moors would be
convinced of the settled determination of
the sovereigns to persist in the siege until
the city should surrender; and he trusted
they would be brought to speedy capitulation.

CHAPTER LXXX.

Mohammed ben Hassan still encouraged
his companions, with hopes that
the royal army would soon relinquish the
siege; when they heard one day shouts
of joy from the Christian camp, and
thundering salvos of artillery. Word
was brought at the same time, from the
sentinels on the watchtowers, that a
Christian army was approaching down
the valley. Mohammed and his fellow-commanders
ascended one of the highest
towers of the walls, and beheld in truth
a numerous force, in shining array, descending
the hills; and heard the distant
clangour of the trumpets, and the faint
swell of the triumphant music. As the
host drew nearer, they descried a stately
dame, magnificently attired, whom they
soon discovered to be the queen. She
was riding on a mule; the sumptuous
trappings of which were resplendent with
gold, and reached to the ground. On her
right hand rode her daughter, the Princess
Isabella, equally splendid in her array:
on her left, the venerable grand cardinal
of Spain. A noble train of ladies and
cavaliers followed her, together with pages
and esquires, and a numerous guard of
hidalgos of high rank, arrayed in superb
armour. When the veteran Mohammed
ben Hassan beheld that this was the
Queen Isabella, arriving in state to take
up her residence in the camp, his heart
failed him. He shook his head mournfully,
and, turning to his captains, "Cavaliers,"
said he, "the fate of Baza is
decided!"

The Moorish commanders remained
gazing, with a mingled feeling of grief
and admiration, at this magnificent pageant,
which foreboded the fall of their
city. Some of the troops would have
sallied forth in one of their desperate
skirmishes, to attack the royal guard;
but the Prince Cidi Yahye forbade them:
nor would he allow any artillery to be
discharged, or any molestation or insult
to be offered: for the character of Isabella
was venerated even by the Moors; and
most of the commanders possessed that
high and chivalrous courtesy which
belongs to heroic spirits; for they were
among the noblest and bravest cavaliers
of the Moorish nation.

The inhabitants of Baza, when they
learned, that the Christian queen was
approaching the camp, eagerly sought
every eminence that could command a
view of the plain; and every battlement,
and tower, and mosque, was covered with
turbaned heads, gazing at the glorious
spectacle. They beheld King Ferdinand
issue forth in royal state, attended by the
Marquis of Cadiz, the Master of Santiago,
the Duke of Alva, the Admiral of Castile,
and many other nobles of renown; while
the whole chivalry of the camp, sumptuously
arrayed, followed in his train, and
the populace rent the air with acclamations
at the sight of the patriot queen.

When the sovereigns had met and embraced
each other, the two hosts mingled
together, and entered the camp in martial
pomp; and the eyes of the infidel beholders
were dazzled by the flash of
armour, the splendour of golden caparisons,
the gorgeous display of silks, and
brocades, and velvets, of tossing plumes
and fluttering banners. There was at
the same time a triumphant sound of
drums and trumpets, clarions and sackbuts,
mingled with the sweet melody of
the dulcimer, which came swelling in
bursts of harmony, that seemed to rise
up to the heavens.[106]

"On the arrival of the queen," says
the historian Hernando del Pulgar, who
was present at the time, "it was marvellous
to behold how, all at once, the
rigour and turbulence of war were softened,
and the storm of passion sunk into a
calm. The sword was sheathed, the
crossbow no longer launched its deadly
shafts, and the artillery, which had
hitherto kept up an incessant uproar, now
ceased its thundering. On both sides
there was still a vigilant guard kept up,
the sentinels bristled the walls of Baza
with their lances, and the guards patrolled
the Christian camp; but there was no
sallying forth to skirmish, nor any wanton
violence nor carnage."

Prince Cidi Yahye saw, by the arrival
of the queen, that the Christians were
determined to continue the siege; and he
knew that the city would have to capitulate.
He had been prodigal of the lives
of his soldiers, as long as he thought a
military good was to be gained by the
sacrifice; but he was sparing of their
blood in a hopeless cause, and wary of
exasperating the enemy by an obstinate,
hopeless defence.

At the request of Prince Cidi Yahye, a
parley was granted, and the master commander
of Leon, Don Gutiere de Cardenas,
was appointed to confer with the
valiant alcayde Mohammed. They met
at an appointed place, within view of
both camp and city, honourably attended
by cavaliers of either army. Their
meeting was highly courteous; for they
had learned from rough encounters in the
field, to admire each other's prowess.
The commander of Leon, in an earnest
speech, pointed out the hopelessness of
any further defence, and warned Mohammed
of the ills which Malaga had
incurred by its obstinacy. "I promise,
in the name of my sovereign," said he,
"that, if you surrender immediately, the
inhabitants shall be treated as subjects,
and protected in property, liberty, and
religion. If you refuse, you, who are
now renowned as an able and judicious
commander, will be chargeable with the
confiscations, captivities, and deaths,
which may be suffered by the people of
Baza."

The commander ceased, and Mohammed
returned to the city, to consult with
his companions. It was evident, that all
further resistance was hopeless; but the
Moorish commanders felt, that a cloud
might rest upon their names should they,
of their own discretion, surrender so important
a place, without its having sustained
an assault. Prince Cidi Yahye
requested permission, therefore, to send
an envoy to Guadix, with a letter to the
old monarch, El Zagal, treating of the
surrender. The request was granted;
a safe conduct assured to the envoy, and
the veteran alcayde, Mohammed ben
Hassan, departed upon this momentous
mission.

CHAPTER LXXXI.

The old warrior king was seated in
an inner chamber of the castle of Guadix,
much cast down in spirit, and ruminating
on his gloomy fortunes, when an
envoy from Baza was announced, and
the veteran alcayde Mohammed stood
before him. El Zagal saw disastrous
tidings written in his countenance. "How
fares it with Baza?" said he, summoning
up his spirits to the question. "Let this
inform thee," replied Mohammed; and
he delivered into his hands the letter
from the Prince Cidi Yahye. This letter
spoke of the desperate situation of Baza,
the impossibility of holding out longer,
without assistance from El Zagal, and
the favourable terms offered by the Castilian
sovereigns. Had it been written
by any other person, El Zagal might
have received it with distrust and indignation;

but he confided in Cidi Yahye
as in a second self; and the words of his
letter sunk deep in his heart. When he
had finished reading it, he sighed deeply,
and remained for some time lost in
thought, with his head drooping upon his
bosom. Recovering himself at length,
he called together the alfaquis, and the
old men of Guadix; and, communicating
the tidings from Baza, solicited their
advice. It was a sign of sore trouble of
mind and dejection of heart, when El
Zagal sought the advice of others; but
his fierce courage was tamed, for he saw
the end of his power approaching. The
alfaquis and the old men did but increase
the distraction of his mind by a variety
of counsels, none of which appeared of
any avail; for, unless Baza were succoured,
it was impossible that it should
hold out, and every attempt to succour it
had proved ineffectual.

El Zagal dismissed his council in despair,
and summoned the veteran Mohammed
before him. "Allah achbar!" exclaimed
he, "God is great; there is but
one God, and Mahomet is his prophet!
Return to my cousin, Cidi Yahye; tell
him, it is out of my power to aid him;
he must do as seems to him for the best.
The people of Baza have performed
deeds worthy of immortal fame: I cannot
ask them to encounter further ills
and perils, in maintaining a hopeless defence."

The reply of El Zagal determined the
fate of the city. Cidi Yahye and his fellow-commanders
immediately capitulated,
and were granted the most favourable
terms. The cavaliers and soldiers, who
had come from other parts to the defence
of the place, were permitted to depart
freely, with their arms, horses and effects.
The inhabitants had their choice,
either to depart with their property, or to
dwell in the suburbs, in the enjoyment
of their religion and laws; taking an oath
of fealty to the sovereigns, and paying
the same tribute they had paid to the
Moorish kings. The city and citadel
were to be delivered up in six days;
within which period the inhabitants were
to remove all their effects; and, in the
mean time, they were to place as hostages,
fifteen Moorish youths, sons of the
principal inhabitants, in the hands of the
commander of Leon. When Cidi Yahye
and the alcayde Mohammed came to
deliver up the hostages, among whom
were the sons of the latter, they paid
homage to the king and queen; who received
them with the utmost courtesy
and kindness, and ordered magnificent
presents to be given to them, and likewise
to the other Moorish cavaliers; consisting
of money, robes, horses, and other
things of great value.

The Prince Cidi Yahye was so captivated
by the grace, the dignity, and
generosity of Isabella, and the princely
courtesy of Ferdinand, that he vowed
never again to draw his sword against
such magnanimous sovereigns.

The queen, charmed with his gallant
bearing and his animated profession of
devotion, assured him, that having him
on her side, she already considered the
war terminated, which had desolated the
kingdom of Granada.

Mighty and irresistible are words of
praise from the lips of sovereigns. Cidi
Yahye was entirely subdued by this fair
speech from the illustrious Isabella. His
heart burned with a sudden flame of
loyalty towards the sovereigns. He
begged to be enrolled amongst the most
devoted of their subjects; and in the
fervour of his sudden zeal, engaged, not
merely to dedicate his sword to their
service, but to exert all his influence,
which was great, in persuading his
cousin, Muley Abdalla el Zagal, to surrender
the cities of Guadix and Almeria,
and to give up all further hostilities.
Nay, so powerful was the effect produced
upon his mind by his conversations with
the sovereigns, that it extended even to
his religion; for he became immediately
enlightened as to the heathenish abominations
of the vile sect of Mahomet, and
struck with the truths of Christianity, as
illustrated by such powerful monarchs.
He consented, therefore, to be baptized,
and to be gathered into the fold of the
church. The pious Agapida indulges in
a triumphant strain of exultation, on the
sudden and surprising conversion of this
princely infidel. He considers it one of
the greatest achievements of the catholic
sovereigns; and, indeed, one of the marvellous
occurrences of this holy war.
"But it is given to saints and pious

monarchs," says he, "to work miracles
in the cause of the faith; and such did
the most catholic Ferdinand in the conversion
of the Prince Cidi Yahye."

Some of the Arabian writers have
sought to lessen the wonder of this miracle,
by alluding to great revenues,
granted to the prince and his heirs by
the Castilian monarchs; together with a
territory in Marchena, with towns, lands,
and vassals. "But in this," says Agapida,
"we only see a wise precaution of
King Ferdinand, to clinch and secure the
conversion of his proselyte." The policy
of the catholic monarch was at all times
equal to his piety. Instead also of
vaunting of this great conversion, and
making a public parade of the entry of
the prince into the Church, King Ferdinand
ordered that the baptism should be
performed in private, and kept a profound
secret. He feared, that Cidi Yahye
might otherwise be denounced as an
apostate, and abhorred and abandoned
by the Moors; and thus his influence
destroyed in bringing the war to a
speedy termination.[107]

The veteran Mohammed ben Hassan
was likewise won by the magnanimity
and munificence of the Castilian sovereigns,
and entreated to be received into
their service; and his example was followed
by many other Moorish cavaliers,
whose services were graciously accepted
and munificently rewarded.

Thus after a siege of six months and
twenty days, the city of Baza surrendered,
on the 4th of December, 1489,
the festival of the glorious Santa Barbara;
who is said, in the catholic calendar,
to preside over thunder and lightning,
fire and gunpowder, and all kind of combustible
explosions. The king and queen
made their solemn and triumphal entry
on the following day; and the public joy
was heightened by the sight of upwards
of five hundred Christian captives, men,
women, and children, delivered from the
Moorish dungeons.

The loss of the Christians in this siege,
amounted to twenty thousand men; of
whom seventeen thousand died of disease,
and not a few of mere cold; "a kind of
death," says the historian Mariana, "peculiarly
uncomfortable. But," adds the
venerable Jesuit, "as these latter were
chiefly people of ignoble rank, baggage-carriers
and such like, the loss was not
of great importance."

The surrender of Baza was followed
by that of Almuñecar, Tavernas, and
most of the fortresses of the Alpuxarra
mountains. The inhabitants hoped, by
prompt and voluntary submission, to secure
equally favourable terms with those
granted to the captured city; and the
alcaydes, to receive similar rewards to
those lavished on its commanders; nor
were either of them disappointed. The
inhabitants were permitted to remain as
Mudixares, in the quiet enjoyment of
their property and religion; and as to the
alcaydes, when they came to the camp to
render up their charges, they were received
by Ferdinand with distinguished
favour, and rewarded with presents of
money, in proportion to the importance of
the places they had commanded. Care
was taken by the politic monarch, however,
not to wound their pride, or shock
their delicacy: so these sums were paid,
under colour of arrears due to them, for
their services to the former government.
Ferdinand had conquered by dint of
sword, in the earlier part of the war;
but he found gold as potent as steel in
this campaign of Baza.

With several of these mercenary chieftains
came one, named Ali Aben Fahar;
a seasoned warrior, who had held many
important commands. He was a Moor
of a lofty, stern, and melancholy aspect;
and stood silent and apart, while his
companions surrendered their several
fortresses, and retired laden with treasure.
When it came to his turn to speak,
he addressed the sovereigns with the
frankness of a soldier, but with a tone of
dejection and despair. "I am a Moor,"
said he, "and of Moorish lineage; and
am alcayde of the fair towns and castles
of Purchena and Paterna. These were
intrusted to me to defend; but those that
should have stood by me, have lost all
strength and courage, and seek only for
security. These fortresses, therefore,
most potent sovereigns, are yours, whenever
you will send to take possession of
them."

Large sums of money in gold were immediately

ordered by Ferdinand to be
delivered to the alcayde, as a recompence
for so important a surrender. The Moor,
however, put back the gift with a firm
and haughty demeanour. "I come not,"
said he, "to sell what is not mine, but to
yield what fortune has made yours; and
your majesties may rest assured, that,
had I been properly seconded, death
would have been the price at which I
would have sold my fortresses, and not
the gold you offer me."

The Castilian monarchs were struck
with the lofty and loyal spirit of the
Moor, and desired to engage a man of
such fidelity in their service; but the
proud Moslem could not be induced to
serve the enemies of his nation and his
faith.

"Is there nothing, then," said Queen
Isabella, "that we can do to gratify thee,
and to prove to thee our regard?"
"Yes," replied the Moor; "I have left
behind me, in the towns and valleys
which I have surrendered, many of my
unhappy countrymen, with their wives
and children, who cannot tear themselves
from their native abodes. Give me your
royal word, that they shall be protected in
the peaceable enjoyment of their religion
and their homes." "We promise it,"
said Isabella, "they shall dwell in peace
and security. But for thyself; what dost
thou ask for thyself?" "Nothing," replied
Ali, "but permission to pass unmolested,
with my horses and effects, into
Africa."

The Castilian monarchs would fain
have forced upon him gold and silver,
and superb horses richly caparisoned;
not as rewards, but as marks of personal
esteem: but Ali Aben Fahar declined all
presents and distinctions, as if he thought
it criminal to flourish individually, during
a time of public distress; and disdained
all prosperity that seemed to grow out of
the ruins of his country.

Having received a royal passport, he
gathered together his horses and servants,
his armour and weapons, and all his warlike
effects, bade adieu to his weeping
countrymen, with a brow stamped with
anguish, but without shedding a tear, and,
mounting his Barbary steed, turned his
back upon the delightful valleys of his
conquered country; departing on his
lonely way, to seek a soldier's fortune
amidst the burning sands of Africa.[108]

CHAPTER LXXXII.

Evil tidings never fail by the way
through lack of messengers. They are
wafted on the wings of the wind; and it
is as if the very birds of the air would
bear them to the ear of the unfortunate.
The old king, El Zagal, buried himself
in the recesses of his castle, to hide himself
from the light of day, which no longer
shone prosperously upon him; but every
hour brought missives, thundering at the
gate with the tale of some new disaster.
Fortress after fortress had laid its keys
at the feet of the Christian sovereigns.
Strip by strip of warrior mountain and
green fruitful valley was torn from his
domains, and added to the territories of
the conquerors. Scarcely a remnant remained
to him, except a tract of the Alpuxarras,
and the noble cities of Guadix
and Almeria. No one any longer stood
in awe of the fierce old monarch: the
terror of his frown had declined with his
power. He had arrived at that stage of
adversity, when a man's friends feel emboldened
to tell him hard truths, and to
give him unpalatable advice, and when
his spirit is bowed down to listen quietly,
if not meekly.

El Zagal was seated on his divan, his
whole spirit absorbed in rumination on
the transitory nature of human glory,
when his kinsman and brother-in-law, the
Prince Cidi Yahye, was announced. That
illustrious convert to the true faith, and
the interest of the conquerors of his
country, hastened to Guadix with all the
fervour of a new proselyte, eager to prove
his zeal in the service of Heaven and the
Castilian sovereigns, by persuading the
old monarch to abjure his faith, and surrender
his possessions.

Cidi Yahye still bore the guise of a
Moslem; for his conversion was as yet a
secret. The stern heart of El Zagal softened
at beholding the face of a kinsman,
in his hour of adversity. He folded his
cousin to his bosom, and gave thanks to

Allah, that, amidst all his troubles he had
still a friend and counsellor, on whom he
might rely. Cidi Yahye soon entered
upon the real purpose of his mission.
He represented to El Zagal the desperate
state of affairs, and the irretrievable decline
of Moorish power in the kingdom
of Granada. "Fate," said he, "is
against our arms; our ruin is written in
the heavens: remember the prediction of
the astrologers, at the birth of your nephew
Boabdil. We had hoped that their
prediction was accomplished by his capture
at Lucena; but it is now evident,
that the stars portended, not a temporary
and passing reverse of the kingdom, but
a final overthrow. The constant succession
of disasters, which have attended
our efforts, show, that the sceptre of Granada
is doomed to pass into the hands of
the Christian monarchs. Such," concluded
the prince, emphatically, and with
a pious reverence, "such is the almighty
will of God!"

El Zagal listened to these words in
mute attention, without so much as moving
a muscle of his face, or winking an
eyelid. When the prince had concluded,
he remained for a long time silent and
pensive. At length, heaving a profound
sigh from the very bottom of his heart,
"Alahuma subahana hu!" exclaimed he,
"the will of God be done! Yes, my
cousin, it is but too evident that such is
the will of Allah; and what he wills, he
fails not to accomplish. Had he not decreed
the fall of Granada, this arm, and
this cimeter, would have maintained it."[109]

"What then remains," said Cidi Yahye,
"but to draw the most advantage from
the wreck of empire that is left you? To
persist in a war, is to bring complete desolation
upon the land, and ruin and death
upon its faithful inhabitants. Are you
disposed to yield up your remaining
towns to your nephew, El Chico, that
they may augment his power, and derive
protection from his alliance with the
Christian sovereigns?"

The eye of El Zagal flashed fire at
this suggestion. He grasped the hilt of
his cimeter, and gnashed his teeth in
fury. "Never," cried he, "will I make
terms with that recreant and slave!
Sooner would I see the banners of the
Christian monarchs floating above my
walls, than they should add to the possessions
of the vassal Boabdil."

Cidi Yahye immediately seized upon
this idea, and urged El Zagal to make a
frank and entire surrender. "Trust,"
said he, "to the magnanimity of the
Castilian sovereigns. They will doubtless
grant you high and honourable terms.
It is better to yield to them as friends,
what they must infallibly and before long
wrest from you as enemies: for such,
my cousin, is the almighty will of God!"
"Alahuma subahana hu!" repeated El
Zagal, "the will of God be done!" So
the old monarch bowed his haughty neck,
and agreed to surrender his territories to
the enemies of his faith, rather than suffer
them to augment the Moslem power,
under the sway of his nephew.

Cidi Yahye now returned to Baza, empowered
by El Zagal to treat, on his behalf,
with the Christian sovereigns. The
prince felt a species of exultation, as he
expatiated on the rich relics of empire
which he was authorized to cede. There
was a great part of that line of mountains,
which extends from the metropolis
to the Mediterranean Sea, with its series
of beautiful green valleys, like precious
emeralds set in a golden chain. Above
all these were Guadix and Almeria, two
of the most inestimable jewels in the
crown of Granada.

In return for these possessions, and for
the claim of El Zagal to the rest of the
kingdom, the sovereigns received him
into their friendship and alliance, and
gave him, in perpetual inheritance, the
territory of Alhamin, in the Alpuxarras,
with half of the salinas, or salt-pits, of
Maleha. He was to enjoy the title of
King of Andaraxa, with two thousand
Mudixares, or conquered Moors, for subjects;
and his revenues were to be made
up to the sum of four millions of maravedis:[110]
all these he was to hold as a vassal
of the Castilian crown.

These arrangements being made, Cidi
Yahye returned with them to Muley Abdalla;
and it was concerted, that the
ceremony of surrender and homage
should take place at the city of Almeria.

On the 17th of December, King Ferdinand
departed from Baza, with a part
of his army, and the queen soon followed
with the remainder. Ferdinand passed
in triumph by several of the newly-acquired
towns, exulting in these trophies
of his policy rather than his valour. As
he drew near to Almeria, the Moorish
king came forth to meet him, accompanied
by the Prince Cidi Yahye, and a
number of the principal inhabitants on
horseback. The fierce brow of El Zagal
was clouded with a kind of forced
humility; but there was an impatient
curl of the lip, with now and then a swelling
of the bosom, and an indignant breathing
from the distended nostril. It was
evident he considered himself conquered,
not by the power of man, but by the hand
of heaven; and while he bowed to the
decrees of fate, it galled his proud spirit
to have to humble himself before its mortal
agent. As he approached the Christian
king, he alighted from his horse, and
advanced to kiss his hand, in token of
homage. Ferdinand, however, respected
the royal title which the Moor had held;
and would not permit the ceremony; but,
bending from his saddle, graciously embraced
him, and requested him to remount
his steed.[111] Several courteous
speeches passed between them, and the
fortress and city of Almeria, and all the
remaining territories of El Zagal, were
delivered up in form. When all was accomplished,
the old warrior Moor retired
to the mountains, with a handful of adherents,
to seek his petty territory of
Andaraxa, to bury his humiliation from
the world, and to console himself with
the shadowy title of a king.

CHAPTER LXXXIII.

Who can tell when to rejoice in this
fluctuating world? Every wave of prosperity
has its reacting surge, and we are
often overwhelmed by the very billow
on which we thought to be wafted into
the haven of our hopes. When Jusef
Aben Commixa, the vizier of Boabdil,
surnamed El Chico, entered the royal saloon
of the Alhambra, and announced the
capitulation of El Zagal, the heart of the
youthful monarch leaped for joy. His
great wish was accomplished; his uncle
was defeated and dethroned; and he
reigned without a rival, sole monarch of
Granada. At length he was about to enjoy
the fruits of his humiliation and vassalage.
He beheld his throne fortified
by the friendship and alliance of the Castilian
monarch; there could be no question,
therefore, of its stability. "Allah
achbar!" exclaimed he, "God is great!
Rejoice with me, O Jusef, the stars have
ceased their persecution! Henceforth let
no man call me El Zogoybi!"

In the first moment of his exultation,
Boabdil would have ordered public rejoicings;
but the shrewd Jusef shook his
head. "The tempest has ceased," said
he, "from one point of the heavens, but
it may begin to rage from another. A
troubled sea is beneath us, and we are
surrounded by rocks and quicksands: let
my lord the king defer rejoicings until all
has settled into a calm." El Chico, however,
could not remain tranquil in this day
of exultation. He ordered his steed to be
sumptuously caparisoned, and issuing out
of the gate of the Alhambra, descended
with a glittering retinue along the avenue
of trees and fountains into the city,
to receive the acclamations of the populace.
As he entered the great square of
the vivarrambla, he beheld crowds of
people in violent agitation; but, as he
approached, what was his surprise to hear
groans, and murmurs, and bursts of execration!
The tidings had spread through
Granada, that Muley Abdalla el Zagal
had been driven to capitulate, and that
all his territories had fallen into the
hands of the Christians. No one had
inquired into the particulars, but all Granada
had been thrown into a ferment
of grief and indignation. In the heat of
the moment, old Muley was extolled to
the skies as a patriot prince, who had
fought to the last for the salvation of his
country; as a mirror of monarchs, scorning
to compromise the dignity of his
crown by any act of vassalage. Boabdil,
on the contrary, had looked on exultingly
at the hopeless yet heroic struggle
of his uncle; he had rejoiced in the defeat
of the faithful, and the triumph of

unbelievers. He had aided in the dismemberment
and downfall of the empire.
When they beheld him riding forth in
gorgeous state, in what they considered
a day of humiliation for all true Moslems,
they could not contain their rage,
and, amidst the clamours that prevailed,
Boabdil more than once heard his name
coupled with the epithets of traitor and
renegado.

Shocked and discomfited, the youthful
monarch returned in confusion to the
Alhambra. He shut himself up within
its innermost courts, and remained a
kind of voluntary prisoner, until the
first burst of popular feeling should subside.
He trusted that it would soon pass
away; that the people would be too sensible
of the sweets of peace to repine at
the price at which it was obtained; at
any rate, he trusted to the strong friendship
of the Christian sovereigns to secure
him even against the factions of his subjects.

The first missives from the politic Ferdinand
showed Boabdil the value of his
friendship.

The catholic monarch reminded him
of a treaty which he had made, when
captured in the city of Loxa. By this
he had engaged, that, in case the catholic
sovereigns should capture the cities of
Guadix, Baza, and Almeria, he would
surrender Granada into their hands
within a limited time, and accept in exchange
certain Moorish towns, to be held
by him as their vassal. Ferdinand now
informed him that Guadix, Baza, and
Almeria, had fallen; he called upon him,
therefore, to fulfil his engagement. If
the unfortunate Boabdil had possessed
the will, he had not the power, to comply
with this demand. He was shut up in
the Alhambra, while a tempest of popular
fury raged without. Granada was
thronged by refugees from the captured
towns, many of them disbanded soldiers;
others, broken-down citizens, rendered
fierce and desperate by ruin: all railed
at Boabdil as the real cause of their misfortunes.
How was he to venture forth
in such a storm? above all, how was he
to talk to such men of surrender? In
his reply to Ferdinand, he represented
the difficulties of his situation; and that,
so far from having control over his subjects,
his very life was in danger from
their turbulence. He entreated the king,
therefore, to rest satisfied for the present
with his recent conquests, promising him
that should he be able to regain full empire
over his capital and its inhabitants,
it would be but to rule over them as
vassal to the Castilian crown.

Ferdinand was not to be satisfied with
such a reply. The time was come to
bring his game of policy to a close, and
to consummate his conquest, by seating
himself on the throne of the Alhambra.
Professing to consider Boabdil as a faithless
ally, who had broken his plighted
word, he discarded him from his friendship,
and addressed a second letter, not
to that monarch, but to the commanders
and council of the city. He demanded
a complete surrender of the place, with
all the arms in the possession either
of the citizens, or of others who had recently
taken refuge within its walls. If
the inhabitants should comply with this
summons, he promised them the indulgent
terms which had been granted to
Baza, Guadix, and Almeria: if they
should refuse, he threatened them with
the fate of Malaga.[112]

The message of the catholic monarch
produced the greatest commotion in the
city. The inhabitants of the alcaceria,
that busy hive of traffic, and all others
who had tasted the sweets of gainful
commerce during the late cessation of
hostilities, were for securing their golden
advantages by timely submission: others,
who had wives and children, looked on
them with tenderness and solicitude, and
dreaded, by resistance, to bring upon
them the horrors of slavery. But, on
the other hand, Granada was crowded
with men from all parts, ruined by the
war, exasperated by their sufferings, and
eager only for revenge; with others, who
had been reared amidst hostilities, who
had lived by the sword, and whom a return
of peace would leave without home
or hope. There were others, too, no less
fiery and warlike in their disposition, but
animated by a loftier spirit: valiant and
haughty cavaliers of the old chivalrous
lineages, who had inherited a deadly
hatred to the Christians from a long line

of warrior ancestors, and to whom the
idea was worse than death, that Granada,
illustrious Granada, for ages the seat
of Moorish grandeur and delight, should
become the abode of unbelievers. Among
these cavaliers, the most eminent was
Muza ben Abil Gazan. He was of royal
lineage, of a proud and generous nature,
and a form combining manly strength
and beauty. None could excel him in
the management of the horse, and dexterous
use of all kinds of weapons. His
gracefulness and skill in the tourney was
the theme of praise among the Moorish
dames; and his prowess in the field had
made him the terror of the enemy. He
had long repined at the timid policy of
Boabdil, and had endeavoured to counteract
its enervating effects, and to keep
alive the martial spirit of Granada. For
this reason, he had promoted jousts, and
tiltings with the reed, and all those other
public games which bear the semblance
of war. He endeavoured, also, to inculcate
into his companions in arms those
high chivalrous sentiments, which lead
to valiant and magnanimous deeds, but
which are apt to decline with the independence
of a nation. The generous
efforts of Muza had been in a great measure
successful: he was the idol of the
youthful cavaliers; they regarded him as
a mirror of chivalry, and endeavoured
to imitate his lofty and heroic virtues.

When Muza heard the demand of Ferdinand,
that they should deliver up their
arms, his eye flashed fire. "Does the
Christian king think that we are old
men," said he, "and that staffs will suffice
us? or that we are women, and can
be contented with distaffs? Let him
know, that a Moor is born to the spear
and the cimeter; to career the steed,
bend the bow, and launch the javelin:
deprive him of these, and you deprive
him of his nature. If the Christian king
desires our arms, let him come and win
them; but let him win them dearly. For
my part, sweeter were a grave beneath
the walls of Granada, on a spot I have
died to defend, than the richest couch
within her palaces, carned by submission
to the unbeliever."

The words of Muza were received
with enthusiastic shouts by the warlike
part of the populace. Granada once
more awoke as a warrior shaking off a
disgraceful lethargy. The commanders
and council partook of the public excitement,
and despatched a reply to the
Christian sovereigns, declaring, that
they would suffer death rather than surrender
their city.

CHAPTER LXXXIV.

When King Ferdinand received the
defiance of the Moors, he made preparations
for bitter hostilities. The winter
season did not admit of an immediate
campaign: he contented himself, therefore,
with throwing strong garrisons into
all his towns and fortresses in the neighbourhood
of Granada, and gave the command
of all the frontier of Jaen to Inigo
Lopez de Mendoza, Count of Tendilla,
who had shown such consummate vigilance
and address in maintaining the
dangerous post of Alhama. This renowned
veteran established his head-quarters
in the mountain city of Alcala
la Real, within eight leagues of the city
of Granada, and commanding the most
important passes of that rugged frontier.

In the mean time, the city of Granada
resounded with the stir of war. The
chivalry of the nation had again control
of its councils; and the populace, having
once more resumed their weapons, were
anxious to wipe out the disgrace of their
late passive submission, by signal and
daring exploits.

Muza ben Abil Gazan was the soul of
action. He commanded the cavalry,
which he had disciplined with uncommon
skill. He was surrounded by the
noblest youth of Granada, who had
caught his own generous and martial
fire, and panted for the field; while the
common soldiers, devoted to his person,
were ready to follow him in the most
desperate enterprises. He did not allow
their courage to cool for want of action.
The gates of Granada once more poured
forth legions of light scouring cavalry,
which skirred the country up to the very
gates of the Christian fortresses; sweeping
off flocks and herds. The name of
Muza became formidable throughout the
frontier. He had many encounters with

the enemy, in the rough passes of the
mountains; in which the superior lightness
and dexterity of his cavalry gave
him the advantage. The sight of his
glistening legion, returning across the
vega with long cavalgadas of booty, was
hailed by the Moors as a revival of their
ancient triumphs; but when they beheld
Christian banners, borne into their gates
as trophies, the exultation of the light-minded
populace was beyond all bounds.
The winter passed away, the spring advanced;
yet Ferdinand delayed to take
the field. He knew the city of Granada
to be too strong and populous to be taken
by assault, and too full of provisions to
be speedily reduced by siege. "We must
have patience and perseverance," said
the politic monarch. "By ravaging the
country this year, we shall produce a
scarcity the next; and then the city may
be invested with effect."

An interval of peace, aided by the
quick vegetation of a prolific soil and
happy climate, had restored the vega to
all its luxuriance and beauty. The green
pastures on the borders of the Xenil were
covered with flocks and herds. The
blooming orchards gave promise of
abundant fruit; and the open plain was
waving with ripening corn. The time was
at hand to put in the sickle and reap the
golden harvest, when, suddenly, a torrent
of war came sweeping down from the
mountains; and Ferdinand, with an
army of five thousand horse and twenty
thousand foot, appeared before the walls
of Granada. He had left the queen and
princess at the fortress of Moclin; and
came, attended by the Duke of Medina
Sidonia, the Marquis of Cadiz, the Marquis
de Villena, the Counts of Ureña and
Cabras, Don Alonso de Aguilar, and
other renowned cavaliers. On this occasion
King Ferdinand, for the first time,
led his son, Prince Juan, into the field;
and bestowed upon him the dignity of
knighthood. As if to stimulate him to
grand achievements, the ceremony took
place on the banks of the grand canal,
almost beneath the embattled walls of
that warlike city, the object of such
daring enterprises; and in the midst of
that famous vega, which had been the
field of so many chivalrous exploits.
High above them shone resplendent the
red towers of the Alhambra, rising from
amidst delicious groves, with the standard
of Mahomet waving defiance to the Christian
arms.

The Duke of Medina Sidonia, and the
valiant Rodrigo Ponce de Leon, Marquis
of Cadiz, were sponsors; and all the
chivalry of the camp were assembled on
the occasion. The prince, after he had
been knighted, bestowed the same honour
on several youthful cavaliers of high rank,
just entering, like himself, on the career
of arms.

Ferdinand did not loiter in carrying
his desolating plans into execution. He
detached parties in every direction to
scour the country. Villages were sacked,
burnt and destroyed; and the lovely vega
once more was laid waste with fire and
sword. The ravage was carried so close
to Granada, that the city was wrapped in
the smoke of its hamlets and gardens.
The dismal cloud rolled up the hill, and
hung about the towers of the Alhambra;
where the unfortunate Boabdil still remained,
shut up from the indignation
of his subjects. The hapless monarch
smote his breast, as he looked down
from his mountain palace on the desolation
effected by his late ally. He dared
not even show himself in arms among
the populace; for they cursed him, as
the cause of the miseries brought anew
to their doors. The Moors, however,
did not suffer the Christians to carry on
their ravages as unmolested as in former
years. Muza incited them to incessant
sallies. He divided his cavalry into
small squadrons, each led by a daring
commander. They were taught to hover
round the Christian camp; to harass it
from various and opposite quarters, cutting
off convoys and straggling detachments;
to waylay the army in its
ravaging expeditions, lurking among
rocks and passes of the mountains, or
in hollows and thickets of the plain; and
practising a thousand stratagems and
surprises.

The Christian army had one day
spread itself out, rather unguardedly,
in its foraging about the vega. As the
troops commanded by the Marquis de
Villena approached the skirts of the
mountains, they beheld a number of
Moorish peasants, hastily driving a herd

of cattle into a narrow glen. The soldiers,
eager for booty, pressed in pursuit
of them. Scarcely had they entered
the glen, when shouts arose from every
side, and they were furiously attacked
by an ambuscade of horse and foot.
Some of the Christians took to flight;
others stood their ground, and fought
valiantly. The Moors had the vantage
ground. Some showered darts and arrows
from the clefts of the rocks; others
fought hand to hand, on the plain; while
their cavalry, rapid as lightning in their
movements, carried havoc into the midst
of the Christian forces. The Marquis
de Villena, with his brother, Don Alonso
de Pacheco, at the first onset of the
Moors, spurred into the hottest of the
fight. They had scarce entered, when
Don Alonso was struck lifeless from his
horse, before the eyes of his brother.
Estevan de Suzon, a gallant captain,
fell, fighting bravely by the side of the
marquis; who remained with his chamberlain
Solier, and a handful of knights,
surrounded by the enemy. Several cavaliers,
from other parts of the army,
hastened to their assistance; when King
Ferdinand, seeing that the Moors had
the vantage ground, and that the Christians
were suffering severely, gave signal
for retreat. The marquis obeyed
slowly and reluctantly; for his heart
was full of grief and rage at the death
of his brother. As he was retiring, he
beheld his faithful chamberlain, Solier,
defending himself bravely against six
Moors. The marquis turned, and rushed
to his rescue. He killed two of the
enemy with his own hand, and put the
rest to flight. One of the Moors, however,
in retreating, rose in his stirrups,
and, hurling his lance at the marquis,
wounded him in the right arm, and crippled
him for life.

In consequence of this wound, the
marquis was ever after obliged to write
his signature with his left hand, though
capable of managing his lance with his
right. The queen demanded one day
of him, why he had adventured his life
for that of a domestic. "Does not
your majesty think," replied he, "that
I ought to risk one life for him, who
would have adventured three for me,
had he possessed them?" The queen
was charmed with the magnanimity of
the reply; and often quoted the marquis,
as setting an heroic example to the chivalry
of the age.

Such was one of the many ambuscades
concerted by Muza; nor did he
hesitate, at times, to present a bold front
to the Christian forces, and defy them
in the open field. King Ferdinand soon
perceived, however, that the Moors seldom
provoked a battle without having
the advantage of ground; and that,
though the Christians generally appeared
to have the victory, they suffered the
greatest loss; for retreating was a part
of the Moorish system, by which they
would draw their pursuers into confusion,
and then turn upon them with a
more violent and fatal attack. He commanded
his captains, therefore, to decline
all challenges to skirmish, and to pursue
a secure system of destruction; ravaging
the country, and doing all possible injury
to the enemy, with slight risk to themselves.

CHAPTER LXXXV.

About two leagues from Granada, on
an eminence commanding an extensive
view of the vega, stood the strong Moorish
castle of Roma; a great place of
refuge and security. Hither the neighbouring
peasantry drove their flocks and
herds, and hurried with their most precious
effects, on the irruption of a Christian
force; and any foraging or skirmishing
party from Granada, on being
intercepted in their return, threw themselves
into Roma, manned its embattled
towers, and set the enemy at defiance.
The garrison were accustomed to these
sudden claims upon their protection; to
have parties of Moors clattering up to
their gates, so hotly pursued, that there
was barely time to throw open the portal,
receive them within, and shut out their
pursuers: while the Christian cavaliers
had many a time reined in their panting
steeds at the very entrance of the barbacan,
and retired, cursing the strong
walls of Roma, that robbed them of
their prey.

The late ravages of Ferdinand, and
the continual skirmishings in the vega,

had roused the vigilance of the castle.
One morning early, as the sentinels kept
watch upon the battlements, they beheld
a cloud of dust advancing rapidly from
a distance. Turbans and Moorish weapons
soon caught their eyes; and as the
whole approached, they descried a drove
of cattle, urged on in great haste, and
conveyed by one hundred and forty
Moors, who led with them two Christian
captives in chains.

When the cavalgada had arrived near
to the castle, a Moorish cavalier of noble
and commanding mien, and splendid attire,
rode up to the foot of the tower,
and entreated admittance. He stated,
that they were returning with rich booty,
from a foray into the lands of the Christians;
but that the enemy was on their
traces, and they feared to be overtaken
before they could reach Granada. The
sentinels descended in all haste, and
flung open the gates. The long cavalgada
defiled into the courts of the castle,
which were soon filled with lowing and
bleating flocks and herds, with neighing
and stamping steeds, and with fierce-looking
Moors from the mountains. The
cavalier who had asked admission, was
the chief of the party; he was somewhat
advanced in life, of a lofty and
gallant bearing, and had with him a son,
a young man of great fire and spirit.
Close by them followed the two Christian
captives, with looks cast down and
disconsolate.

The soldiers of the garrison had
roused themselves from their sleep, and
were busily occupied attending to the
cattle, which crowded the courts; while
the foraging party distributed themselves
about the castle, to seek refreshment
or repose. Suddenly a shout arose,
that was echoed from court-yard, and
hall, and battlements. The garrison,
astonished and bewildered, would have
rushed to their arms, but found themselves,
almost before they could make
resistance, completely in the power of
an enemy.

The pretended foraging party consisted
of Mudixares, Moors tributary to the
Christians; and the commanders were
the Prince Cidi Yahye, and his son,
Alnayer. They had hastened from the
mountains, with this small force, to aid
the catholic sovereigns during their summer's
campaign; and they had concerted
to surprise that important castle, and present
it to King Ferdinand, as a gage of
their faith, and the first-fruits of their
devotion.

The politic monarch overwhelmed his
new converts and allies with favours and
distinctions, in return for this important
acquisition; but he took care to despatch
a strong force of veterans, and genuine
Christian troops, to man the fortress.

As to the Moors who had composed
the garrison, Cidi Yahye remembered
that they were his countrymen, and
could not prevail upon himself to deliver
them into Christian bondage. He set
them at liberty, and permitted them to
repair to Granada; "a proof," says the
pious Agapida, "that his conversion was
not entirely consummated, but that there
were still some lingerings of the infidel
in his heart." His lenity was far from
procuring him indulgence in the opinions
of his countrymen: on the contrary,
the inhabitants of Granada, when they
learned from the liberated garrison the
stratagem by which Roma had been captured,
cursed Cidi Yahye for a traitor,
and the garrison joined in the malediction.

But the indignation of the people of
Granada was destined to be aroused to
tenfold violence. The old warrior, Muley
Abdalla el Zagal, had retired to his little
mountain territory, and for a short time
endeavoured to console himself, with his
petty title of King of Andaraxa. He
soon grew impatient, however, of the
quiet and inaction of his mimic kingdom.
His fierce spirit was exasperated by being
shut up within such narrow limits; and
his hatred rose to downright fury against
Boabdil, whom he considered as the
cause of his downfall. When tidings
were brought him, that King Ferdinand
was laying waste the vega, he took a
sudden resolution: assembling the whole
disposable force of his kingdom, which
amounted but to two hundred men, he
descended from the Alpuxarras, and
sought the Christian camp; content to
serve as vassal to the enemy of his faith
and his nation, so that he might see
Granada wrested from the sway of his
nephew.

In his blind passion, the old wrathful
monarch injured his own cause, and
strengthened that of his adversary. The
Moors of Granada had been clamorous
in his praise, extolling him as a victim
to his patriotism, and had refused to believe
all reports of his treaty with the
Christians; but when they beheld from
the walls of the city his banner mingling
with the banners of the unbelievers,
and arrayed against his late people,
and the capital he had commanded,
they broke forth into curses and revilings,
and heaped all kinds of stigmas upon his
name.

Their next emotion was in favour of
Boabdil. They gathered under the walls
of the Alhambra, and hailed him as their
only hope, as the sole dependence of the
country. Boabdil could scarcely believe
his senses, when he heard his name mingled
with praises, and greeted with acclamations.
Encouraged by this unexpected
gleam of popularity, he ventured forth
from his retreat, and was received with
rapture. All his past errors were attributed
to the hardships of his fortune, and
the usurpation of his tyrant uncle; and
whatever breath the populace could spare
from uttering curses on El Zagal was
expended in shouts in honour of El Chico.

CHAPTER LXXXVI.

For thirty days had the vega been
overrun by the Christian forces, and
that vast plain, lately so luxuriant and
beautiful, was become a wide scene of
desolation. The destroying army having
accomplished its task, passed over
the bridge of Pinos, and wound up into
the mountains, on the way to Cordova;
bearing away the spoils of towns and
villages, and driving off flocks and
herds, in long dusty columns. The
sound of the last Christian trumpet died
away along the side of the mountain of
Elvira, and not a hostile squadron was
seen glistening in the mournful fields of
the vega.

The eyes of Boabdil el Chico were at
length opened to the real policy of King
Ferdinand; and he saw that he had no
longer any thing to depend upon but
the valour of his arm. No time was to
be lost, in hastening to counteract the
effect of the late Christian ravage, and
in opening the channel for distant supplies
to Granada.

Scarcely had the retiring squadrons of
Ferdinand disappeared among the mountains,
than Boabdil buckled on his armour,
sallied forth from the Alhambra,
and prepared to take the field. When
the populace beheld him actually in arms
against his late ally, both parties thronged
with zeal to his standard. The hardy
inhabitants also of the Sierra Nevada, or
chain of snow-capped mountains, which
rise above Granada, descended from their
heights, and hastened into the city gates,
to proffer their devotion to the youthful
king. The great square of the vivarrambla
shone with the proud array of legions
of cavalry, decked with the colours and
devices of the most ancient Moorish families,
and marshalled forth by the patriot
Muza to follow the king to battle.

It was on the 15th of June that Boabdil
once more issued out from the gates of
Granada on a martial enterprise. A few
leagues from the city, within full view of
it, and at the entrance of the Alpuxarra
mountains, stood the powerful castle of
Alhendin. It was built on an eminence,
rising from the midst of a small town,
and commanding a great part of the
vega, and the main road to the rich
valleys of the Alpuxarras. The castle
was commanded by a valiant Christian
cavalier, named Mendo de Quexada, and
garrisoned by two hundred and fifty
men, all seasoned and experienced warriors.
It was a continual thorn in the
side of Granada. The labourers of the
vega were swept from their fields by its
hardy soldiers, convoys were cut off on
the passes of the mountains; and, as the
garrison commanded a full view of the
gates of the city, no band of merchants
could venture forth on their needful journeys,
without being swooped up by the
war-hawks of Alhendin.

It was against this important fortress
that Boabdil first led his troops. For six
days and nights the fortress was closely
besieged. The alcayde and his veteran
garrison defended themselves valiantly;
but they were exhausted by fatigue and
constant watchfulness: for the Moors,

being continually relieved by fresh troops
from Granada, kept up an unremitted
and vigorous attack. Twice the barbacan
was forced, and twice the assailants
were driven forth headlong with
excessive loss. The garrison, however,
was diminished in number by the killed
and wounded: there were no longer soldiers
sufficient to man the walls and
gateway. The brave alcayde was compelled
to retire, with his surviving force,
to the keep of the castle, in which he
continued to make a desperate resistance.

The Moors now approached the foot
of the tower, under shelter of wooden
screens, covered with wet hides, to ward
off missiles and combustibles. They went
to work vigorously to undermine the
tower, placing props of wood under the
foundations, to be afterwards set on fire,
so as to give the besiegers time to escape
before the edifice should fall. Some of
the Moors plied their crossbows and
arquebuses to defend the workmen, and
to drive the Christians from the wall,
while the latter showered down stones
and darts, and melted pitch, and flaming
combustibles, on the miners.

The brave Mendo de Quexada had
cast many an anxious eye across the
vega, in hopes of seeing some Christian
force hastening to his assistance. Not a
gleam of spear or helm was to be descried;
for no one had dreamed of this
sudden irruption of the Moors. The
alcayde saw his bravest men dead or
wounded around him, while the remainder
were sinking with watchfulness and
fatigue. In defiance of all opposition,
the Moors had accomplished their mine;
the fire was brought before the walls,
that was to be applied to the stanchions,
in case the garrison persisted in defence;
and in a little while the tower would
crumble beneath him, and be rent and
hurled in ruins to the plain. At the very
last moment, and not till then, the brave
alcayde made signal of surrender. He
marched forth with the remnant of this
veteran garrison, who were all made
prisoners. Immediately Boabdil ordered
the walls of the fortress to be razed, and
fire to be applied to the stanchions, that
the place might never again become a
stronghold to the Christians, and a scourge
to Granada. The alcayde and his fellow-captives
were passing in dejected convoy
across the vega, when they heard a tremendous
crash behind them. Turning
to look upon their late fortress, they beheld
nothing but a heap of tumbling
ruins, and a vast column of smoke and
dust, where once had stood the lofty
tower of Alhendin.

CHAPTER LXXXVII.

Boabdil el Chico followed up his
success by capturing the two fortresses
of Marchena and Bulduy; he sent his
alfaquis in every direction to proclaim a
holy war, and to summon all true Moslems,
of town or castle, mountain or
valley, to saddle steed, and buckle on
armour, and hasten to the standard of
the faith. The tidings spread far and
wide, that Boabdil el Chico was once
more in the field, and victorious. The
Moors of various places, dazzled by this
gleam of success, hastened to throw off
their sworn allegiance to the Castilian
crown, and to elevate the standard of
Boabdil; and the youthful monarch flattered
himself, that the whole kingdom
was on the point of returning to its allegiance.

The fiery cavaliers of Granada were
eager to renew those forays into the
Christian lands, in which they had formerly
delighted. A number of them,
therefore, concerted an irruption to the
north into the territory of Jaen, to harass
the country about Quexada. They had
heard of a rich convoy of merchants and
wealthy travellers on the way to the city
of Baeza; and they anticipated a glorious
conclusion to their foray in capturing this
convoy.

Assembling a number of horsemen,
lightly armed, and fleetly mounted, and
one hundred foot-soldiers, these hardy
cavaliers issued forth by night from
Granada, made their way in silence
through the defiles of the mountains,
crossed the frontier without opposition,
and suddenly appeared, as if fallen from
the clouds, in the very heart of the
Christian country.

The mountainous frontier, which separates
Granada from Jaen, was at this
time under the Count de Tendilla, the

same veteran who had distinguished himself
by his vigilance and sagacity, when
commanding the fortress of Alhama. He
held his head-quarters at the city of Alcala
la Real, in its impregnable fortress,
perched high among the mountains, about
six leagues from Granada, and predominating
over all the frontier. From this
cloud-capt hold among the rocks, he kept
an eagle eye upon Granada, and had his
scouts and spies in all directions; so that
a crow could not fly over the border
without his knowledge.

His fortress was a place of refuge for
the Christian captives, who escaped by
night from the Moorish dungeons of Granada.
Often, however, they missed their
way in the defiles of the mountains; and,
wandering about bewildered, either repaired
by mistake to some Moorish town,
or were discovered and retaken at daylight
by the enemy. To prevent these
accidents, the count had a tower built at
his own expense, on the top of one of the
heights near Alcala, which commanded
a view of the vega, and the country
around. Here he kept a light blazing
throughout the night, as a beacon for all
Christian fugitives, to guide them to a
place of safety.

The count was aroused one night from
his repose by shouts and cries, which
came up from the town, and approached
the castle walls. "To arms! to arms!
the Moor is over the border!" was the
cry. A Christian soldier, pale and emaciated,
and who still bore traces of the
Moorish chains, was brought before the
count. He had been taken as guide by
the Moorish cavaliers, who had sallied
from Granada, but had eacaped from
them among the mountains; and after
much wandering, had found his way to
Alcala by the signal-fire.

Notwithstanding the bustle and agitation
of the moment, the Count de Tendilla
listened calmly and attentively to the
account of the fugitive, and questioned
him minutely as to the time of departure
of the Moors, and the direction and rapidity
of their march. He saw, that it was
too late to prevent their incursion and
ravage; but he determined to await them,
and give them a warm reception on their
return. His soldiers were always on the
alert, and ready to take the field at a
moment's warning. Choosing one hundred
and fifty lances, hardy and valiant
men, well disciplined, and well seasoned,
as indeed were all his troops, he issued
forth quietly before break of day, and,
descending through the defiles of the
mountains, stationed his little force in
ambush in a deep barranca, or dry channel
of a torrent, near Barzina, three
leagues only from Granada, on the road
by which the marauders would have to
return. In the mean time, he sent scouts,
to post themselves upon different heights,
and look out for the approach of the
enemy.

All day they remained concealed in
the ravine, and for a great part of the
following night; not a turban, however,
was to be seen, excepting now and then
a peasant returning from his labour, or
a solitary muleteer hastening towards
Granada. The cavaliers of the count
began to grow restless and impatient:
they feared, that the enemy might have
taken some other route, or might have
received intelligence of their ambuscade;
and they urged him to abandon the enterprise,
and return to Alcala. "We are
here," said they, "almost at the gates of
the Moorish capital; our movements may
have been descried, and, before we are
aware, Granada may pour forth its legions
of swift cavalry, and crush us with
an overwhelming force." The Count de
Tendilla, however, persisted in remaining
until the scouts should come in. About
two hours before daybreak there were
signal-fires on certain Moorish watchtowers
of the mountains. While they
were regarding these with anxiety, the
scouts came hurrying into the ravine.
"The Moors are approaching," said
they; "we have reconnoitred them
near at hand. They are between one
and two hundred strong, but encumbered
with many prisoners and much booty."
The Christian cavaliers laid their ears
to the ground, and heard the distant
tramp of horses, and the tread of foot-soldiers.
They mounted their horses,
braced their shields, couched their lances,
and drew near to the entrance of the
ravine where it opened upon the road.

The Moors had succeeded in waylaying
and surprising the Christian convoy
on its way to Baeza. They had

captured a great number of prisoners,
male and female, with great store of
gold and jewels, and sumpter-mules,
laden with rich merchandise. With these
they had made a forced march over the
dangerous parts of the mountains; but
now, being so near to Granda, they
fancied themselves in perfect security.
They loitered along the road, therefore,
irregularly and slowly, some singing,
others laughing and exulting at having
cluded the boasted vigilance of the Count
de Tendilla; while ever and anon was
heard the plaint of some female captive,
bewailing the jeopardy of her honour;
and the heavy sighing of the merchant,
at beholding his property in the grasp of
ruthless spoilers.

The Count de Tendilla waited until
some of the escort had passed the ravine;
then, giving the signal for assault, his
cavaliers set up loud shouts and cries,
and charged furiously into the centre of
the foe. The obscurity of the place, and
the hour, added to the terrors of the surprise.
The Moors were thrown into
confusion. Some rallied, fought desperately,
and fell covered with wounds.
Thirty-six were killed, and fifty-five were
made prisoners; the rest, under cover of
the darkness, made their escape to the
rocks and defiles of the mountains. The
good count unbound the prisoners, gladdening
the hearts of the merchants, by
restoring to them their merchandise;
the female captives also regained their
jewels of which they had been despoiled,
excepting such as had been lost beyond
recovery. Forty-five saddle-horses, of
the choice Barbary breed, remained, as
captured spoils of the Moors, together
with costly armour, and booty of various
kinds. Having collected every thing in
haste, and arranged his cavalgada, the
count urged his way with all speed for
Aleala la Real, lest he should be pursued
and overtaken by the Moors of Granada.
As he wound up the steep ascent to his
mountain city, the inhabitants poured
forth to meet him with shouts of joy.
This triumph was doubly enhanced by
being received at the gates of the city by
his wife, the daughter of the Marquis of
Villena, a lady of distinguished merit,
whom he had not seen for two years
that he had been separated from his
home by the arduous duties of these iron
wars.

CHAPTER LXXXVIII.

King Boabdil found that his diminished
territory was too closely overlooked by
Christian fortresses, like Alcala la Real,
and too strictly watched by vigilant alcaydes,
like the Count of Tendilla, to be
able to maintain itself by internal resources.
His foraging expeditions were
liable to be intercepted and defeated;
while the ravage of the vega had swept
off every thing on which the city depended
for future sustenance. He felt the
want of a sea-port, through which, as
formerly, he might keep open a communication
with Africa, and obtain reinforcements
and supplies from beyond the seas.
All the ports and harbours were in the
hands of the Christians; and Granada
and its remnant of dependent territory
were completely landlocked.

In this emergency, the attention of
Boabdil was called by circumstances to
the seaport of Salobreña. This redoubtable
town has already been mentioned
in this chronicle, as a place deemed impregnable
by the Moors; insomuch that
their kings were accustomed, in time of
peril, to keep their treasures in its citadel.
It was situate on a high rocky hill;
dividing one of those rich little vegas, or
plains, which lie open to the Mediterranean,
but run, like deep green bays, into
the stern bosoms of the mountains. The
vega was covered with beautiful vegetation;
with rice and cotton, with groves
of oranges, citrons, figs, and mulberries,
and with gardens enclosed by hedges of
reeds, of aloes, and the Indian fig. Running
streams of cool water, from the
springs and snows of the Sierra Nevada,
kept this delightful valley continually
fresh and verdant; while it was almost
locked up by mountain barriers and lofty
promontories, that stretched far into the
sea.

Through the centre of this rich vega
the rock of Salobreña reared its rugged
back, nearly dividing the plain, and advancing
to the margin of the sea; with
just a strip of sandy beach at its foot,

laved by the blue waves of the Mediterranean.

The town covered the ridge and sides
of the rocky hill, and was fortified by
strong walls and towers; while on the
highest and most precipitous part stood
the citadel, a huge castle, that seemed to
form a part of the living rock; the massive
ruins of which, at the present day,
attract the gaze of the traveller, as he
winds his way far below, along the road
which passes through the vega.

This important fortress had been intrusted
to the command of Don Francisco
Ramirez de Madrid, captain-general of
the artillery, and the most scientific of
all the Spanish leaders. That experienced
veteran, however, was with the king at
Cordova, having left a valiant cavalier
as alcayde of the place.

Boabdil el Chico had full information
of the state of the garrison, and the absence
of its commander. Putting himself
at the head of a powerful force, therefore,
he departed from Granada, and made
a rapid march through the mountains;
hoping by this sudden movement, to scize
upon Salobreña, before King Ferdinand
could come to its assistance.

The inhabitants of Salobreña were
Mudixares, or Moors, who had sworn allegiance
to the Christians. Still, when
they heard the sound of the Moorish
drums and trumpets, and beheld the squadrons
of their countrymen advancing
across the vega, their hearts yearned towards
the standard of their nation and
their faith. A tumult arose in the place.
The populace shouted the name of Boabdil
el Chico, and, throwing open the gates,
admitted him within the walls.

The Christian garrison was too few in
number to contend for the possession of
the town. They retreated to the citadel,
and shut themselves up within its massive
walls which they considered impregnable.
Here they maintained a desperate
defence, hoping to hold out until
succour should arrive from the neighbouring
fortresses.

The tidings that Salobreña was invested
by the Moorish king, spread along the
coast, and filled the Christians with alarm.
Don Francisco Enriquez, uncle of the
king, commanded the city of Velez Malaga,
about twelve leagues distant, but
separated by ranges of those vast rocky
mountains, which are piled along the
Mediterranean, and tower in steep promontories
and precipices above its waves.

Don Francisco summoned the alcaydes
of his district, to hasten with him to the
relief of this important fortress. A number
of cavaliers and their retainers answered
to his call; among whom was
Fernando Perez del Pulgar, surnamed El
de las Hazañas (he of the exploits); the
same who had signalized himself in a
foray, by elevating a handkerchief on a
lance for a banner, and leading on his
disheartened comrades to victory. As
soon as Don Francisco beheld a little
band collected around him, he set out
with all speed for Salobreña. The march
was rugged and severe; climbing and descending
immense mountains, and sometimes
winding along the edge of giddy
precipices, with the surges of the sea
raging far below. When Don Francisco
arrived with his followers at the lofty
promontory, that stretches along one side
of the little vega of Salobreña, he looked
down with sorrow and anxiety upon
a Moorish army of great force, encamped
at the foot of the fortress; while Moorish
banners, on various parts of the
walls, showed, that the town was already
in possession of the infidels. A solitary
Christian standard alone floated on the
top of the castle keep, indicating that the
brave garrison were hemmed up in their
rock-built citadel.

Don Francisco found it impossible,
with his small force, to make any impression
on the camp of the Moors, or
to get to the relief of the castle. He stationed
his little band upon a rocky height
near the sea, where they were safe from
the assaults of the enemy. The sight of
this friendly banner, waving in their
neighbourhood, cheered the hearts of the
garrison; and he conveyed to them assurance
of speedy succour from the king.
In the mean time Fernando Perez del
Pulgar, who always burned to distinguish
himself by bold and striking exploits, in
the course of a prowling expedition along
the borders of the Moorish camp, remarked
a postern-gate of the castle opening
upon the steep part of the rocky hill,
which looked towards the mountains. A
sudden thought flashed upon the daring

mind of Pulgar. "Who will follow my
banner," said he, "and make a dash for
yonder postern?" A bold proposition,
in time of warfare, never wants for bold
spirits to accept it. Seventy resolute
men immediately stepped forward. Pulgar
put himself at their head. They cut
their way suddenly through a weak part
of the camp, fought up to the gate, which
was cagerly thrown open to receive them,
and succeeded in effecting their entrance
into the fortress, before the alarm of their
attempt had spread through the Moorish
army.

The garrison was roused to new spirit
by this unlooked-for reinforcement, and
were enabled to make a more vigorous
resistance. The Moors had intelligence,
however, that there was a great scarcity
of water in the castle; and they exulted
in the idea, that this additional number
of warriors would soon exhaust the eisterns,
and compel them to surrender.
When Pulgar heard of this hope entertained
by the enemy, he caused a bucket
of water to be lowered from the battlements,
and threw a silver cup in bravado
to the Moors.

The situation of the garrison, however,
was daily growing more and more critical.
They suffered greatly from thirst;
while, to tantalize them in their sufferings,
they beheld limpid streams winding
in abundance through the green plain below
them. They began to fear, that all
succour would arrive too late; when one
day they beheld a little squadron of vessels
far at sea, but standing towards the
shore. There was some doubt at first,
whether it might not be a hostile armament
from Africa; but as it approached,
they descried, to their great joy, the banner
of Castile.

It was a reinforcement, brought in all
haste by the governor of the fortress,
Don Francisco Ramirez. The squadron
anchored at a steep rocky island, which
rises from the very margin of the smooth
sandy beach, directly in front of the rock
of Salobreña, and stretches out into the
sea. On this island Ramirez landed his
men, and was as strongly posted as if in
a fortress. His force was too scanty to
attempt a battle; but he assisted to harass
and distract the besiegers. Whenever
King Boabdil made an attack upon
the fortress, his camp was assailed on
one side by the troops of Ramirez, who
landed from their island, and, on another,
by those of Don Francisco Enriquez,
who swept down from their rock;
while Fernando del Pulgar kept up a
fierce defence from every tower and battlement
of the castle. The attention of
the Moorish king was diverted, also, for
a time, by an ineffectual attempt to relieve
the little port of Adra, that had recently
declared in his favour, but had been recaptured
for the Christians by Cidi Yahye
and his son Alnayer. Thus the unlucky
Boabdil, bewildered on every hand, lost
all the advantage that he had gained by
his rapid march from Granada. While
he was yet besieging the obstinate citadel,
tidings were brought him, that King
Ferdinand was in full march, with a powerful
host, to its assistance. There was
no time for further delay. He made a
furious attack, with all his forces, upon
the castle, but was again repulsed by
Pulgar and his coadjutors; when, abandoning
the siege in despair, he retreated
with his army, lest King Ferdinand should
get between him and his capital. On his
way back to Granada, however, he in
some sort consoled himself for his late
disappointment, by overrunning a part of
the territories and possessions lately assigned
to his uncle El Zagal, and to Cidi
Yahye. He defeated their alcaydes, destroyed
several of their fortresses, burnt
their villages; and, leaving the country
behind him reeking and smoking with
his vengeance, returned with considerable
booty, to repose himself within the
walls of the Alhambra.

CHAPTER LXXXIX.

Scarcely had Boabdil ensconced himself
in his capital, when King Ferdinand,
at the head of seven thousand horse, and
twenty thousand foot, again appeared in
the vega. He had set out in all haste
from Cordova, to the relief of Salobreña;
but hearing on his march that the siege
was raised, he turned with his army, to
make a second ravage round the walls
of devoted Granada. His present forage
lasted fifteen days, in the course of which

every thing that had escaped his former
desolating visit was so completely destroyed,
that scarcely a green thing, or
a living animal was left on the face of
the land. The Moors sallied frequently,
and fought desperately in defence of
their fields; but the work of destruction
was accomplished, and Granada, once
the queen of gardens, was left surrounded
by a desert.

From hence Ferdinand marched to crush
a conspiracy, which had lately manifested
itself in the cities of Guadix, Baza,
and Almeria. These recently conquered
places had entered into secret correspondence
with King Boabdil, inviting him to
march to their gates, promising to rise
upon the Christian garrisons, seize upon
the citadels, and surrender themselves
into his power. The Marquis of Villena
had received notice of the conspiracy,
and suddenly thrown himself, with a
large force, into Guadix. Under pretence
of making a review of the inhabitants,
he made them sally forth into the
fields before the city. When the whole
Moorish population, capable of bearing
arms, was thus without the walls, he
ordered the gates to be closed. He then
permitted them to enter two by two, and
three by three, and to take forth their
wives and children, and effects. The
houseless Moors were fain to make themselves
temporary hovels, in the gardens
and orchards about the city. They were
clamorous in their complaints at being
thus excluded from their homes; but
were told, they must wait with patience,
until the charges against them could be
investigated, and the pleasure of the king
be known.[113]

When Ferdinand arrived at Guadix,
he found the unhappy Moors in their
cabins among the orchards. They
complained bitterly of the deception that
had been practised upon them, and implored
permission to return into the city,
and live peaceably in their dwellings, as
had been promised them in their articles
of capitulation.

King Ferdinand listened graciously to
their complaints. "My friends," said he
in reply, "I am informed, that there has
been a conspiracy among you, to kill my
alcayde and garrison, and to take part
with my enemy, the King of Granada.
I shall make a thorough investigation of
this conspiracy. Those among you, who
shall be proved innocent, shall be restored
to their dwellings; but the guilty shall
incur the penalty of their offences. As I
wish, however, to proceed with mercy as
well as justice, I now give you your
choice, either to depart at once, without
further question, going wherever you
please, and taking with you your families
and effects, under an assurance of safety,
or to deliver up those who are guilty; not
one of whom, I give you my word, shall
escape punishment."

When the people of Guadix heard this,
they communed among themselves, "and,
as most of them," says the worthy Agapida,
"were either culpable, or feared to
be considered so, they accepted the alternative,
and departed sorrowfully, they,
and their wives, and their little ones."
"Thus," in the words of that excellent
and contemporary historian, Andres
Bernaldes, commonly called the Curate
of Los Palacios, "thus did the king
deliver Guadix from the hands of the
enemies of our holy faith, after seven
hundred and seventy years, that it had
been in their possession, even since the
time of Roderick the Goth; and this was
one of the mysteries of our Lord, who
would not consent that the city should
remain longer in the power of the Moors."
A pious and sage remark, which is
quoted with peculiar approbation by the
worthy Agapida.

King Ferdinand offered similar alternatives
to the Moors of Baza, Almeria,
and other cities, accused of participation
in this conspiracy; who generally preferred
to abandon their homes, rather
than incur the risk of an investigation.
Most of them relinquished Spain, as a
country where they could no longer live
in security and independence, and departed
with their families for Africa;
such as remained were suffered to live in
villages and hamlets, and other unwalled
places.[114]

While Ferdinand was thus occupied at
Guadix, dispensing justice and mercy,
and receiving cities in exchange, the old

monarch, Muley Abdulla, surnamed El
Zagal, appeared before him. He was
haggard with care, and almost crazed
with passion. He had found his little
territory of Andaraxa, and his two thousand
subjects, as difficult to govern as
had been the distracted kingdom of Granada.
The charm, which had bound the
Moors to him, was broken, when he appeared
in arms under the banner of Ferdinand.
He had returned from his
inglorious campaign, with his petty army
of two hundred men, followed by the
execrations of the people of Granada, and
the secret repining of those he had led
into the field. No sooner had his subjects
heard of the successes of Boabdil el
Chico, than they seized their arms, assembled
tumultuously, declared for the
young monarch threatening the life of
El Zagal.[115] The unfortunate old king
had with difficulty evaded their fury;
and this last lesson seemed entirely to
have cured him of his passion for sovereignty.
He now entreated Ferdinand to
purchase the towns and castles and other
possessions, which had been granted to
him; offering them at a low rate, and
begging safe passage, for himself and his
followers, to Africa. King Ferdinand
graciously complied with his wishes. He
purchased of him three-and-twenty towns
and villages, in the valleys of Andaraxa
and Alhauren, for which he gave him
five millions of maravedis. El Zagal
relinquished his right to one half of the
salinas, or salt-pits, of Maleha, in favour
of his brother-in-law, Cidi Yahye.
Having thus disposed of his petty empire
and possessions, he packed up all his
treasure, of which he had a great amount,
and, followed by many Moorish families,
passed over to Africa.[116]

And here let us cast an eye beyond
the present period of our chronicle, and
trace the remaining career of El Zagal.
His short and turbulent reign, and disastrous
end, would afford a wholesome
lesson to unprincipled ambition, were not
all ambition of the kind fated to be blind
to precept and example. When he arrived
in Africa, instead of meeting with
kindness and sympathy, he was seized
and thrown in prison by the king of Fez,
as though he had been his vassal. He
was accused of being the cause of the
dissensions and downfall of the kingdom
of Granada; and the accusation being
proved to the satisfaction of the king
of Fez, he condemned the unhappy El
Zagal to perpetual darkness. A basin of
glowing copper was passed before his
eyes, which effectually destroyed his
sight. His wealth, which had probably
been the secret cause of these cruel
measures, was confiscated and seized
by his oppressor, and El Zagal was
thrust forth, blind, helpless, and destitute,
upon the world. In this wretched
condition, the late Moorish monarch
groped his way through the regions of
Tingitania, until he reached the city of
Velez de Gomera. The king of Velez
had formerly been his ally, and felt
some movement of compassion at his
present altered and abject state. He
gave him food and raiment, and suffered
him to remain unmolested in his dominions.
Death, which so often hurries off
the prosperous and happy from the midst
of untasted pleasures, spares, on the
other hand, the miserable, to drain the
last drop of his cup of bitterness. El
Zagal dragged out a wretched existence
of many years, in the city of Velez.
He wandered about, blind and disconsolate,
an object of mingled scorn and pity,
and bearing above his raiment a parchment,
on which was written in Arabic,
"This is the unfortunate king of Andalusia."[117]

CHAPTER XC.

"How is thy strength departed, O
Granada! how is thy beauty withered
and despoiled, O city of groves and fountains!
The commerce that once thronged
thy streets, is at an end; the merchant
no longer hastens to thy gates, with the
luxuries of foreign lands. The cities,
which once paid thee tribute, are wrested
from thy sway; the chivalry, which filled
thy vivarrambla with the sumptuous
pageantry of war, have fallen in many
battles. The Alhambra still rears its

ruddy towers from the midst of groves;
but melancholy reigns in its marble halls,
and the monarch looks down from his
lofty balconies upon a naked waste,
where once had extended the blooming
glories of the vega!"

Such is the lament of the Moorish
writers, over the lamentable state of
Granada, which remained a mere phantom
of its former greatness. The two
ravages of the vega, following so closely
upon each other, had swept off all the
produce of the year, and the husbandman
had no longer the heart to till the field,
seeing that the ripening harvest only
brought the spoiler to his door.

During the winter season, King Ferdinand
made diligent preparations for the
last campaign, that was to decide the fate
of Granada. As this war was waged
purely for the promotion of the Christian
faith, he thought it meet its enemies
should bear the expenses. He levied,
therefore, a general contribution upon all
the Jews throughout his kingdom, by
synagogues and districts, and obliged
them to render in the proceeds at the city
of Seville.[118]

On the 11th of April, Ferdinand and
Isabella departed for the Moorish frontier,
with the solemn determination to lay
close siege to Granada, and never to quit
its walls until they planted the standard
of the faith on the towers of the Alhambra.
Many of the nobles of the kingdom,
particularly those from the parts remote
from the scene of action, wearied by the
toils of war, and foreseeing that this would
be a tedious siege, requiring patience
and vigilance, rather than hardy deeds
of arms, were contented with sending
their vassals, while they stayed at home
themselves, to attend to their domains.
Many cities furnished soldiers at their
cost, and the king took the field with an
army of forty thousand infantry, and ten
thousand horse. The principal captains,
who followed him in this campaign, were
Roderigo Ponce de Leon, the Marquis of
Cadiz, the Master of Santiago, the Marquis
of Villena, the Counts of Tendilla,
Cifuentes, Cabra, and Ureña, and Don
Alonso de Aguilar.

Queen Isabella, accompanied by her
son, the Prince Juan, and by the princesses
Juana, Maria, and Catalina, her daughters,
proceeded to Alcala la Real, the
mountain fortress and stronghold of the
Count de Tendilla. Here she remained,
to forward supplies to the army, and to
be ready to repair to the camp whenever
her presence might be required.

The army of Ferdinand poured into
the vega, by various defiles of the mountains,
and on the 23d of April, the royal
tent was pitched at a village called Los
Ojos de Huescar, about a league and a
half from Granada. At the approach of
this formidable force, the harassed inhabitants
turned pale, and even many of
the warriors trembled, for they felt that
the last desperate struggle was at hand.

Boabdil el Chico assembled his council
in the Alhambra, from the windows of
which they could behold the Christian
squadrons glistening through clouds of
dust, as they poured along the vega.
The utmost confusion and consternation
reigned in the council. Many of the
members, terrified with the horrors impending
over their families, advised Boabdil
to throw himself upon the generosity
of the Christian monarch; even several
of the bravest suggested the possibility
of obtaining honourable terms.

The wazir of the city, Abul Casim
Abdelmelic, was called upon to report the
state of the public means, for sustenance
and defence. There were sufficient provisions,
he said, for a few months' supply,
independent of what might exist in the
possession of merchants, and other rich
inhabitants. "But of what avail," said
he, "is a temporary provision against
the sieges of the Castilian monarch, which
are interminable?"

He produced, also, the lists of men,
capable of bearing arms. "The number,"
said he, "is great; but what can be
expected from mere citizen soldiers?
They vaunt and menace in time of safety.
None are so arrogant when the enemy is
at a distance; but when the din of war
thunders at their gates, they hide themselves
in terror."

When Muza heard these words, he
rose with generous warmth. "What
reason have we," said he "to despair?
The blood of those illustrious Moors, the
ancient conquerors of Spain, still flows

in our veins. Let us be true to ourselves,
and fortune will again be with us. We
have a veteran force, both horse and foot,
the flower of our chivalry; seasoned in
war, and scarred in a thousand battles.
As to the multitude of our citizens, spoken
of so slightly, why should we doubt their
valour? There are twenty thousand
young men, in the fire of youth, for whom
I will engage, that, in the defence of their
homes, they will rival the most hardy
veterans. Do we want provisions? Our
horses are fleet, and our horsemen daring
in foray. Let them scour and scourge
the country of those apostate Moslems
who have surrendered to the Christians.
Let them make inroads into the lands of
our enemies. We shall soon see them
returning with cavalgadas to our gates;
and to a soldier, there is no morsel so
sweet as that wrested with hard fighting
from the foe."

Boabdil el Chico, though he wanted
firm and durable courage, was readily
excited to sudden emotions of bravery.
He caught a glow of resolution from the
noble ardour of Muza. "Do what is
needful," said he to his commanders:
"into your hands I confide the common
safety. You are the protectors of the
kingdom; and, with the aid of Allah,
will revenge the insults of our religion,
the death of our friends and relations,
and the sorrows and sufferings heaped
upon our land."[119]

To every one was now assigned his
separate duty. The wazir had charge of
the arms and provisions, and the enrolling
of the people. Muza was to command
the cavalry, to defend the gates, and to
take the lead in all sallies and skirmishes.
Naim Reduan and Mohammed Aben
Zayda were his adjutants; Abdel Kerim
Zegri, and the other captains, were to
guard the walls; and the alcaydes of the
alcazaba, and of the red towers, had
command of the fortresses.

Nothing now was heard but the din of
arms, and the bustle of preparation. The
Moorish spirit, quick to catch fire, was
immediately in a flame; and the populace,
in the excitement of the moment, set at
nought the power of the Christians. Muza
was in all parts of the city, infusing his
own generous zeal into the bosoms of the
soldiery. The young cavaliers rallied
round him as their model; the veteran
warriors regarded him with a soldier's
admiration; the vulgar throng followed
him with shouts; and the helpless part
of the inhabitants, the old men and the
women, hailed him with blessings as their
protector.

On the first appearance of the Christian
army, the principal gates of the city had
been closed, and secured with bars, and
bolts, and heavy chains. Muza now
ordered them to be thrown open. "To
me and my cavaliers," said he, "is intrusted
the defence of the gates: our
bodies shall be their barriers." He stationed
at each gate a strong guard, chosen
from his bravest men. His horsemen
were always completely armed, and
ready to mount at a moment's warning.
Their steeds stood saddled and caparisoned
in the stables, with lance and
buckler beside them. On the least approach
of the enemy, a squadron of
horse gathered within the gate, ready to
dart forth like the bolt from the thundercloud.
Muza made no empty bravado, or
haughty threat: he was more terrible in
deeds than in words; and executed daring
exploits, beyond even the vaunt of the
vain-glorious. Such was the present
champion of the Moors. Had they possessed
many such warriors, or had Muza
risen to power at an earlier period of the
war, the fate of Granada might have
been deferred, and the Moor, for a long
time, have maintained his throne within
the walls of the Alhambra.

CHAPTER XCI.

Though Granada was shorn of its
glories, and nearly cut off from all external
aid, still its mighty castles and
massive bulwarks seemed to set all attack
at defiance. Being the last retreat of
Moorish power, it had assembled within
its walls the remnants of the armies that
had contended, step by step, with the
invaders, in their gradual conquest of the
land. All that remained of highborn
and highbred chivalry was here. All
that was loyal and patriotic was roused

to activity by the common danger; and
Granada, that had so long been lulled
into inaction by vain hopes of security,
now assumed a formidable aspect in the
hour of its despair.

Ferdinand saw, that any attempt to
subdue the city by main force would be
perilous and bloody. Cautious in his
policy, and fond of conquests gained by
art rather than by valour, he resorted to
the plan which had been so successful
with Baza, and determined to reduce the
place by famine. For this purpose, his
armies penetrated into the very heart of
the Alpuxarras; and ravaged the valleys,
and sacked and burned the towns upon
which the city depended for its supplies.
Scouring parties, also, ranged the mountains
behind Granada, and captured every
casual convoy of provisions. The Moors
became more daring as their situation
became more hopeless. Never had Ferdinand
experienced such vigorous sallies
and assaults. Muza, at the head of his
cavalry, harassed the borders of the
camp, and even penetrated into the interior,
making sudden spoil and ravage,
and leaving his course to be traced by
the wounded and slain. To protect his
camp from these assaults, Ferdinand
fortified it with deep trenches and strong
bulwarks. It was of a quadrangular form,
divided into streets, like a city, the troops
being quartered in tents, and in booths,
constructed of bushes and branches of
trees. When it was completed, Queen
Isabella came in state, with all her court,
and the prince and princesses, to be
present at the siege. This was intended,
as on former occasions, to reduce the
besieged to despair, by showing the determination
of the sovereigns to reside in
the camp until the city should surrender.
Immediately after her arrival, the queen
rode forth, to survey the camp and its
environs. Wherever she went, she was
attended by a splendid retinue; and all
the commanders vied with each other in
the pomp and ceremony with which they
received her. Nothing was heard, from
morning until night, but shouts and acclamations,
and bursts of martial music;
so that it appeared to the Moors as if a
continual festival and triumph reigned in
the Christian camp.

The arrival of the queen, however,
and the menaced obstinacy of the siege,
had no effect in damping the fire of the
Moorish chivalry. Muza inspired the
youthful warriors with the most devoted
heroism. "We have nothing left to fight
for," said he, "but the ground we stand
on: when this is lost, we cease to have a
country and a name."

Finding the Christian king forbore to
make an attack, Muza incited his cavaliers
to challenge the youthful chivalry of
the Christian army to single combat, or
partial skirmishes. Scarcely a day passed
without gallant conflicts of the kind, in
sight of the city and the camp. The
combatants rivalled each other in the
splendour of their armour and array, as
well as in the prowess of their deeds.
Their contests were more like the stately
ceremonials of tilts and tournaments,
than the rude combats of the field. Ferdinand
soon perceived, that they animated
the fiery Moors with fresh zeal and
courage, while they cost the lives of
many of his bravest cavaliers: he again,
therefore, forbade the acceptance of any
individual challenges; and ordered that
all partial encounters should be avoided.
The cool and stern policy of the catholic
sovereign bore hard upon the generous
spirits of either army; but roused the
indignation of the Moors, when they
found they were to be subdued in this
inglorious manner. "Of what avail,"
said they, "is chivalry and heroic valour?
the crafty monarch of the Christians has
no magnanimity in warfare: he seeks to
subdue us through the weakness of our
bodies, but shuns to encounter the courage
of our souls!"

CHAPTER XCII.

When the Moorish knights beheld
that all courteous challenges were unavailing,
they sought various means to
provoke the Christian warriors to the
field. Sometimes a body of them, fleetly
mounted, would gallop up to the skirts of
the camp, and try who should hurl his
lance farthest within the barriers; having
his name inscribed on it, or a label
affixed to it, containing some taunting
defiance. These bravadoes caused great

irritation; but still the Spanish warriors
were restrained by the prohibition of the
king.

Among the Moorish cavaliers was one
named Tarfe, renowned for his great
strength and daring spirit; but whose
courage partook of fierce audacity rather
than chivalric heroism. In one of these
sallies, when they were skirting the
Christian camp, this arrogant Moor outstripped
his companions, overleaped the
barriers, and, galloping close to the royal
quarters, launched his lance so far within,
that it remained quivering in the earth,
close by the pavilions of the sovereigns.
The royal guards rushed forth in pursuit;
but the Moorish horsemen were already
beyond the camp, and scouring in a cloud
of dust for the city. Upon wresting the
lance from the earth, a label was found
upon it, importing that it was intended
for the queen.

Nothing could equal the indignation of
the Christian warriors at the insolence of
the bravado, when they heard to whom
the discourteous insult was offered. Fernando
Perez del Pulgar surnamed "he
of the exploits," was present, and resolved
not to be outbraved by this daring infidel.
"Who will stand by me," said he, "in
an enterprise of desperate peril?" The
Christian cavaliers well knew the hair-brained
valour of del Pulgar; yet not one
hesitated to step forward. He chose
fifteen companions, all men of powerful
arm and dauntless heart. In the dead of
the night he led them forth from the
camp, and approached the city cautiously,
until he arrived at a postern-gate, which
opened upon the Darro, and was guarded
by foot-soldiers. The guards, little thinking
of such an unwonted and partial attack,
were for the most part asleep.
The gate was forced, and a confused and
chance-medley skirmish ensued. Fernando
del Pulgar stopped not to take
part in the affray. Putting spurs to his
horse, he galloped furiously through the
streets, striking fire out of the stones at
every bound. Arrived at the principal
mosque, he sprang from his horse, and,
kneeling at the portal, took possession of
the edifice as a Christian chapel, dedicating
it to the blessed Virgin. In testimony
of the ceremony, he took a tablet,
which he had brought with him, on which
was inscribed in large letters, "Ave
Maria," and nailed it to the door of the
mosque with his dagger. This done, he
remounted his steed and galloped back
to the gate. The alarm had been given;
the city was in an uproar; soldiers
were gathering from every direction.
They were astonished at seeing a Christian
warrior speeding from the interior
of the city. Fernando del Pulgar,
overturning some, and cutting down
others, rejoined his companions, who
still maintained possession of the gate,
by dint of hard fighting, and they all
made good their retreat to the camp.
The Moors were at a loss to conjecture
the meaning of this wild and apparently
fruitless assault; but great was their exasperation,
when, on the following day,
they discovered the trophy of hardihood
and prowess, the Ave Maria, thus elevated
in the very centre of the city.
The mosque, thus boldly sanctified by
Fernando del Pulgar, was eventually,
after the capture of Granada, converted
into a cathedral.[120]

CHAPTER XCIII.

The royal encampment lay at such a
distance from Granada, that the general
aspect of the city only could be seen, as
it rose gracefully from the vega, covering
the sides of the hills with palaces and
towers. Queen Isabella had expressed
an earnest desire to behold, nearer at
hand, a place, the beauty of which was
so renowned throughout the world; and
the Marquis of Cadiz, with his accustomed
courtesy, prepared a great military
escort and guard, to protect her and the
ladies of the court, while they enjoyed
this perilous gratification.

It was on the morning after the event
recorded in the preceding chapter, that
a magnificent and powerful train issued
forth from the Christian camp. The
advance guard was composed of legions
of cavalry, heavily armed, that looked
like moving masses of polished steel.
Then came the king and queen, with the
prince and princesses, and the ladies of
the court, surrounded by the royal bodyguard,
sumptuously arrayed, composed
of the sons of the most illustrious houses
of Spain. After these was the rear-guard,
composed of a powerful force of horse
and foot; for the flower of the army
sallied forth that day. The Moors gazed
with fearful admiration at this glorious
pageant, wherein the pomp of the court
was mingled with the terrors of the camp.
It moved along in a radiant line across
the vega, to the melodious thunders of
martial music; while banner, and plume,
and silken scarf, and rich brocade, gave
a gay and gorgeous relief to the grim
visage of iron war that lurked beneath.

The army moved towards the hamlet
of Zubia, built on the skirts of the mountains,
to the left of Granada, and commanding
a view of the Alhambra, and
the most beautiful quarter of the city.
As they approached the hamlet, the
Marquis of Villena, the Count Ureña,
and Don Alonso de Aguilar, filed off
with their battalions, and were soon seen
glittering along the side of the mountain
above the village. In the mean time, the
Marquis of Cadiz, the Count de Tendilla,
the Count de Cabra, and Don Alonso
Fernandez, senior of Alcandrete and
Montemayor, drew up their forces in
battle array on the plain below the hamlet,
presenting a living barrier of loyal
chivalry, between the sovereigns and the
city. Thus securely guarded, the royal
party alighted, and entering one of the
houses of the hamlet, which had been
prepared for their reception, enjoyed a
full view of the city from its terraced
roof. The ladies of the court gazed with
delight at the red towers of the Alhambra,
rising from amidst shady groves,
anticipating the time when the Catholic
sovereigns should be enthroned within its
walls, and its courts shine with the splendour
of Spanish chivalry. "The reverend
prelates and holy friars, who always
surrounded the queen, looked with serene
satisfaction," says Fray Antonio Agapida,
"at this modern Babylon; enjoying
the triumph that awaited them, when
those mosques and minarets should be
converted into churches, and goodly
priests and bishops should succeed to the
infidel alfaquis."

When the Moors beheld the Christians
thus drawn forth in full array in the
plain, they supposed it was to offer them
battle, and they hesitated not to accept
it. In a little while the queen beheld a
body of Moorish cavalry pouring into the
vega, the riders managing their fleet and
fiery steeds with admirable address.
They were richly armed, and clothed in
the most brilliant colours, and the caparisons
of their steeds flamed with gold
and embroidery. This was the favourite
squadron of Muza, composed of the
flower of the youthful cavaliers of Granada:
others succeeded; some heavily
armed, some á la gineta, with lance and
buckler, and lastly came the legions of
foot-soldiers, with arquebuse and crossbow
and spear and cimeter.

When the queen saw the army issuing
from the city, she sent to the Marquis of
Cadiz and forbade any attack upon the
enemy, or the acceptance of any challenge
to a skirmish; for she was loath
that her curiosity should cost the life of
a single human being.

The marquis promised to obey, though
sorely against his will; and it grieved
the spirit of the Spanish cavaliers to be
obliged to remain with sheathed swords,
while bearded by the foe. The Moors
could not comprehend the meaning of
this inaction of the Christians, after having
apparently invited a battle. They
sallied several times from their ranks,
and approached near enough to discharge
their arrows, but the Christians were immovable.
Many of the Moorish horsemen
galloped close to the Christian ranks,
brandishing their lances and cimeters,
and defying various cavaliers to single
combat: but King Ferdinand had rigorously
prohibited all duels of the kind,
and they dared not transgress his orders
under his very eye.

While this grim and reluctant tranquillity
prevailed along the Christian
line, there rose a mingled shout and

sound of laughter, near the gate of the
city. A Moorish horseman, armed at all
points, issued forth, followed by a rabble,
who drew back as he approached the
scene of danger. The Moor was more
robust and brawny than was common
with his countrymen. His visor was
closed; he bore a large buckler and
ponderous lance; his cimeter was of a
Damascus blade, and his richly ornamented
dagger was wrought by an artificer
of Fez. He was known by his
device to be Tarfe, the most insolent, yet
valiant of the Moslem warriors; the same
who had hurled into the royal camp his
lance, inscribed to the queen. As he
rode slowly along in front of the army,
his very steed, prancing with fiery eye
and distended nostril, seemed to breathe
defiance to the Christians. But what
were the feelings of the Spanish cavaliers,
when they beheld tied to the tail of
his steed, and dragged in the dust, the
very inscription, Ave Maria, which Fernando
Perez del Pulgar had affixed to
the door of the mosque! A burst of
horror and indignation broke forth from
the army. Fernando del Pulgar was not
at hand to maintain his previous achievement,
but one of his young companions
in arms, Garcilasso de la Vega by name,
putting spurs to his horse, galloped to the
hamlet of Zubia, threw himself on his
knees before the king, and besought permission
to accept the defiance of this insolent
infidel, and to revenge the insult
offered to our blessed Lady. The request
was too pious to be refused: Garcilasso
remounted his steed; he closed his
helmet, graced by four sable plumes;
grasped his buckler, of Flemish workmanship,
and his lance, of matchless
temper, and defied the haughty Moor in
the midst of his career. A combat took
place, in view of the two armies, and of
the Castilian court. The Moor was
powerful in wielding his weapons, and
dexterous in managing his steed. He
was of larger frame than Garcilasso, and
more completely armed; and the Christians
trembled for their champion. The
shock of their encounter was dreadful;
their lances were shivered, and sent up
splinters in the air. Garcilasso was
thrown back in his saddle, and his horse
made a wide career before he could recover
his position, gather up the reins,
and return to the conflict. They now
encountered each other with swords.
The Moor circled round his opponent as
a hawk circles when about to make a
swoop; his Arabian steed obeyed his
rider with matchless quickness; at every
attack of the infidel, it seemed as if the
Christian knight must sink beneath his
flashing cimeter. But if Garcilasso was
inferior to him in power, he was superior
in agility; many of his blows he parried,
others he received on his Flemish buckler,
which was proof against the Damascus
blade. The blood streamed from
numerous wounds, received by either
warrior. The Moor, seeing his antagonist
exhausted, availed himself of his
superior force; and, grappling, endeavoured
to wrest him from his saddle.
They both fell to the earth; the Moor
placed his knee on the breast of his victim,
and, brandishing his dagger, aimed
a blow at his throat. A cry of despair
was uttered by the Christian warriors,
when suddenly they beheld the Moor
rolling lifeless in the dust! Garcilasso
had shortened his sword, and, as his adversary
raised his arm to strike, had
pierced him to the heart. "It was a
singular and miraculous victory," says
Fray Antonio Agapida; "but the Christian
knight was armed by the sacred
nature of his cause, and the holy Virgin
gave him strength, like another David,
to slay this gigantic champion of the
Gentiles."

The laws of chivalry were observed
throughout the combat; no one interfered
on either side. Garcilasso now despoiled
his adversary; then, rescuing the holy
inscription of "Ave Maria" from its
degrading situation, he elevated it on the
point of his sword, and bore it off as a
signal of triumph, amidst the rapturous
shouts of the Christian army.

The sun had now reached the meridian,
and the hot blood of the Moors was
inflamed by its rays, and by the sight of
the defeat of their champion. Muza
ordered two pieces of ordnance to open
a fire upon the Christians. A confusion
was produced in one part of their ranks.
Muza called the chiefs of the army: "Let
us waste no more time in empty challenges,
let us charge upon the enemy:

he who assaults has always an advantage
in the combat." So saying, he
rushed forward, followed by a large body
of horse and foot, and charged so furiously
upon the advance guard of the
Christians, that he drove it in upon the
battalion of the Marquis of Cadiz. The
gallant marquis now considered himself
absolved from all further obedience to the
queen's commands. He gave the signal
to attack. "Santiago!" was shouted
along the line, and he pressed forward to
the encounter, with his battalion of twelve
hundred lances. The other cavaliers
followed his example, and the battle instantly
became general.

When the king and queen beheld the
armies thus rushing to the combat, they
threw themselves on their knees, and implored
the Holy Virgin to protect her
faithful warriors. The prince and princesses,
the ladies of the court, and the
prelates and friars who were present, did
the same; and the effect of the prayers
of these illustrious and saintly persons
was immediately apparent. The fierceness
with which the Moors had rushed to
the attack was suddenly cooled; they
were bold and adroit for a skirmish, but
unequal to the veteran Spaniards in the
open field. A panic seized upon the
foot-soldiers; they turned, and took to
flight. Muza and his cavaliers in vain
endeavoured to rally them. Some sought
refuge in the mountains; but the greater
part fled to the city, in such confusion,
that they overturned and trampled upon
each other. The Christians pursued
them to the very gates. Upwards of two
thousand were killed, wounded, or taken
prisoners, and the two pieces of ordnance
were brought off, as trophies of the
victory. Not a Christian lance but was
bathed that day in the blood of an infidel.[121]

Such was the brief but sanguinary
action, which was known among the
Christian warriors by the name of the
Queen's Skirmish; for when the Marquis
of Cadiz waited upon her majesty, to
apologize for breaking her commands, he
attributed the victory entirely to her presence.
The queen, however, insisted,
that all was owing to her troops being
led on by so valiant a commander. Her
majesty had not yet recovered from her
agitation at beholding so terrible a scene
of bloodshed; though certain veterans
present pronounced it as gay and gentle
a fight as they had ever witnessed.

To commemorate this victory, the
queen afterwards erected a monastery in
the village of Zubia, dedicated to St.
Francisco; which still exists, and in its
garden is a laurel planted by the hands of
her majesty.[122]

CHAPTER XCIV.

The ravages of war had as yet spared
a little portion of the vega of Granada.
A green belt of gardens and orchards
still flourished round the city, extending
along the banks of the Xenil and the
Darro. They had been the solace and
delight of the inhabitants in their happier
days, and contributed to their sustenance
in this time of scarcity. Ferdinand determined
to make a final and exterminating
ravage to the very walls of the
city, so that there should not remain a
single green thing for the sustenance of
man or beast. The evening of a hot
July day shone splendidly upon the
Christian camp, which was in a bustle of
preparation for the next day's service;
for desperate resistance was expected
from the Moors. The camp made a
glorious appearance in the setting sun.
The various tents of the royal family
and the attendant nobles were adorned
with rich hangings, having sumptuous
devices, and with costly furniture; forming,
as it were, a little city of silk and
brocade, where the pinnacles of pavilions
of various gay colours, surmounted with
waving standards and fluttering pennons,
might vie with the domes and minarets of
the capital they were besieging.

In the midst of this gaudy metropolis,

the lofty tent of the queen domineered
over the rest like a stately palace. The
Marquis of Cadiz had courteously surrendered
his own tent to the queen. It
was the most complete and splended in
Christendom, and had been carried about
with him throughout the war. In the
centre rose a stately alfaneque, or pavilion,
in oriental taste, the rich hangings
being supported by columns of lances,
ornamented with martial devices. This
centre pavilion, or silken tower, was surrounded
by other compartments, some of
painted linen, lined with silk, and all
separated from each other by curtains.
It was one of those camp palaces, which
are raised and demolished in an instant,
like the city of canvass that surrounds
them.

As the evening advanced, the bustle in
the camp subsided. Every one sought
repose, preparatory to the next day's toil.
The king retired early, that he might be
up with the crowing of the cock, to head
the destroying army in person. All stir
of military preparation was hushed in the
royal quarters; the very sound of minstrelsy
was mute: and not the tinkling of
a guitar was to be heard from the tents of
the fair ladies of the court.

The queen had retired to the innermost
part of her pavilion, where she was performing
her orisons before a private altar.
Perhaps the peril, to which the king might
be exposed in the next day's foray, inspired
her with more than usual devotion.
While thus at her prayers, she was suddenly
aroused by a glare of light, and
wreaths of suffocating smoke. In an
instant, the whole tent was in a blaze:
there was a high gusty wind, which
whirled the light flames from tent to tent,
and speedily wrapped them all in one
conflagration.

Isabella had barely time to save herself
by instant flight. Her first thought, on
being extricated from her tent, was for
the safety of the king. She rushed to his
tent; but the vigilant Ferdinand was already
at the entrance of it. Starting
from bed on the first alarm, and fancying
it an assault of the enemy, he had seized
his sword and buckler, and sallied forth
undressed, with his cuirass upon his arm.

The late gorgeous camp was now a
scene of wild confusion. The flames kept
spreading from one pavilion to another,
glaring upon the rich armour and golden
and silver vessels, which seemed melting
in the fervent heat. Many of the soldiery
had erected booths and bowers of branches,
which being dry, crackled and blazed,
and added to the rapid conflagration.
The ladies of the court fled shrieking and
half-dressed, from their tents. There
was an alarm of drum and trumpet, and
a distracted hurry about the camp, of
men half armed.

The Prince Juan had been snatched
out of bed by an attendant, and conveyed
to the quarters of the Count de Cabra,
which were at the entrance of the camp.
The loyal count immediately summoned
his people, and those of his cousin, Don
Alonso de Montemayor, and formed a
guard round the tent in which the prince
was sheltered.

The idea, that this was a stratagem of
the Moors, soon subsided; but it was
feared, that they might take advantage of
it to commence an assault. The Marquis
of Cadiz, therefore, sallied forth with
three thousand horse, to check an advance
from the city. As they passed along it
was one entire scene of hurry and consternation;
some hastening to their posts
at the call of drum and trumpet, some attempting
to save rich effects and glittering
armour, others dragging along terrified
and restive horses.

When they emerged from the camp,
they found the whole firmament illumined.
The flames whirled up in long light
spires; and the air was filled with sparks
and cinders. A bright glare was thrown
upon the city, revealing every battlement
and tower. Turbaned heads were seen
gazing from every roof, and armour
gleamed along the walls; yet not a single
warrior sallied from the gates. The
Moors suspected some stratagem on the
part of the Christians, and kept quietly
within their walls. By degrees the flames
expired, the city faded from sight, all
again became dark and quiet, and the
Marquis of Cadiz returned with his cavalry
to the camp.

CHAPTER XCV.

When the day dawned on the Christian
camp, nothing remained of that beautiful

assemblage of stately pavilions, but heaps
of smouldering rubbish, with helms, and
corslets, and other furniture of war, and
masses of melted gold and silver glittering
among the ashes. The wardrobe of the
queen was entirely destroyed; and there
was an immense loss in plate, jewels,
costly stuffs, and sumptuous armour of
the luxurious nobles. The fire at first
had been attributed to treachery, but, on
investigation, it was proved to be entirely
accidental. The queen, on retiring to
her prayers, had ordered her lady in attendance
to remove a light, burning near
her couch, lest it should prevent her
sleeping. Through heedlessness, the taper
was placed in another part of the tent,
near the hangings, which, being blown
against it by a gust of wind, immediately
took fire.

The wary Ferdinand knew the sanguine
temperament of the Moors, and
hastened to prevent their deriving confidence
from the night's disaster. At break
of day, the drums and trumpets sounded
to arms; and the Christian army issued
from among the smoking ruins of their
camp in shining squadrons, with flaunting
banners, and bursts of martial melodies,
as though the preceding night had been
a time of high festivity, instead of terror.

The Moors had beheld the conflagration
with wonder and perplexity. When
the day broke, and they looked towards
the Christian camp, they saw nothing but
a dark smoking mass. Their scouts
came in with the joyful intelligence, that
the whole camp was a scene of ruin.
Scarce had the tidings spread throughout
the city, than they beheld the Christian
army advancing towards the walls. They
considered it a feint to cover their desperate
situation, and prepare for a retreat.
Boabdil el Chico had one of his impulses
of valour; he determined to take the field
in person, and to follow up this signal
blow, which Allah had inflicted on the
enemy.

The Christian army approached close
to the city, and were laying waste gardens
and orchards, when Boabdil sallied forth,
surrounded by all that was left of the
flower and chivalry of Granada. There
is one place, where even the coward becomes
brave; that sacred spot called
home. What, then, must have been the
valour of the Moors, a people always of
fiery spirit, when the war was thus
brought to their thresholds? They fought
among the scenes of their loves and
pleasures, the scenes of their infancy, and
the haunts of their domestic life. They
fought under the eyes of their wives and
children, their old men and their maidens,
of all that was helpless and all that was
dear to them; for all Granada crowded
on tower and battlement, watching with
trembling heart the fate of this eventful
day.

It was not so much one battle as a
variety of battles. Every garden and
orchard became a scene of deadly contest;
every inch of ground was disputed
by the Moors with an agony of grief and
valour. Every inch of ground that the
Christians advanced, they valiantly maintained;
but never did they advance with
severer fighting, or greater loss of blood.

The cavalry of Muza was in every
part of the field. Wherever it came, it
gave fresh ardour to the fight. The
Moorish soldier, fainting with heat, fatigue,
and wounds, was roused to new
life at the approach of Muza; and even
he, who lay gasping in the agonies of
death, turned his face towards him, and
faintly uttered cheers and blessings as
he passed.

The Christians had by this time gained
possession of various towers near the
city, from whence they had been annoyed
by crosshows and arquebuses.
The Moors, scattered in various actions,
were severely pressed. Boabdil, at the
head of the cavaliers of his guard, displayed
the utmost valour; mingling in
the fight, in various parts of the field,
and endeavouring to inspirit the foot-soldiers
to the combat. But the Moorish
infantry was never to be depended upon.
In the heat of the action a panic seized
upon them. They fled; leaving their
sovereign exposed, with his handful of
cavaliers, to an overwhelming force.
Boabdil was on the point of falling into
the hands of the Christians; when, wheeling
round, with his followers, they all
threw the reins on the necks of their
fleet steeds, and took refuge, by dint of
hoof, within the walls of the city.[123]

Muza endeavoured to retrieve the fortune
of the field. He threw himself
before the retreating infantry; calling
upon them to turn, and fight for their
homes, their families, for every thing
that was sacred and dear to them. It
was all in vain. They were totally
broken and dismayed, and fled tumultuously
for the gates. Muza would fain
have kept the field with his cavalry; but
this devoted band, having stood the brunt
of war throughout this desperate campaign,
was fearfully reduced in number,
and many of the survivors were crippled
and enfeebled by their wounds. Slowly
and reluctantly he retreated to the city,
his bosom swelling with indignation and
despair. When he entered the gates, he
ordered them to be closed, and secured
with bolts and bars; for he refused to
place any further confidence in the archers
and arquebusiers, who were stationed to
defend them; and he vowed never more
to sally forth with foot-soldiers to the
field.

In the mean time, the artillery thundered
from the walls, and checked all
further advances of the Christians. King
Ferdinand, therefore, called off his troops,
and returned in triumph to the ruins of
his camp; leaving the beautiful city of
Granada, wrapped in the smoke of her
fields and gardens, and surrounded by
the bodies of her slaughtered children.

Such was the last sally made by the
Moors in defence of their favourite city.
The French ambassador, who witnessed
it, was filled with wonder at the prowess,
the dexterity, and daring, of the Moslems.
In truth, this whole war was an instance,
memorable in history, of the most persevering
resolution. For nearly ten years
had the war endured, exhibiting an almost
uninterrupted series of disasters to
the Moorish arms. Their towns had
been taken one after another, and their
brethren slain, or led into captivity. Yet
they disputed every city, and town, and
fortress, and castle; nay, every rock
itself, as if they had been inspired by
victories. Wherever they could plant
foot to fight, or find wall or cliff from
whence to launch an arrow, they disputed
their beloved country; and now,
when their capital was cut off from all
relief, and had a whole nation thundering
at its gates, they still maintained defence,
as if they hoped some miracle to interpose
in their behalf. "Their obstinate
resistance," says an ancient chronicler,
"shows the grief with which the Moors
yielded up the vega, which was to them
a paradise and heaven. Exerting all the
strength of their arms, they embraced, as
it were, that most beloved soil, from
which neither wounds, nor defeats, nor
death itself, could part them. They stood
firm, battling for it with the united force
of love and grief; never drawing back
the foot while they had hands to fight,
or fortune to befriend them."[124]

CHAPTER XCVI.

The Moors now shut themselves up
gloomily within their walls. There were
no longer any daring sallies from their
gates; and even the martial clangour of
the drum and trumpet, which had continually
resounded within the warrior
city, was now seldom heard from its
battlements. For a time they flattered
themselves with hopes, that the late conflagration
of the camp would discourage
the besiegers; that, as in former years,
their invasion would end with the summer,
and that they would again withdraw
before the autumnal rains. The measures
of Ferdinand and Isabella soon crushed
these hopes. They gave orders to build
a regular city upon the site of their camp,
to convince the Moors, that the siege was
to endure until the surrender of Granada.
Nine of the principal cities of Spain were
charged with this stupendous undertaking,
and they emulated each other with a
zeal worthy of the cause. "It verily
seemed," says Fray Antonio Agapida,
"as though some miracle operated to aid
this pious work, so rapidly did arise
a formidable city, with solid edifices,
and powerful walls, and mighty towers,
where lately had been seen nothing but
tents and light pavilions. The city was
traversed by two principal streets, in form
of a cross; terminating in four gates,
facing the four winds; and in the centre
was a vast square, where the whole army
might be assembled. To this city it was

proposed to give the name of Isabella, so
dear to the army and the nation; but that
pious princess," adds Antonio Agapida,
"calling to mind the holy cause in which
it was erected, gave it the name of Santa
Fé, or the city of the Holy Faith; and it
remains to this day, a monument of the
piety and glory of the catholic sovereigns."

Hither the merchants soon resorted
from all points. Long trains of mules
were seen every day entering and departing
from its gates; the streets were
crowded with magazines filled with all
kinds of costly and luxurious merchandise;
a scene of bustling commerce and
prosperity took place, while unhappy
Granada remained shut up and desolate.

In the mean time the besieged city
began to suffer the distress of famine.
Its supplies were all cut off. A cavalgada
of flocks and herds, and mules laden
with money, coming to the relief of the
city from the mountains of the Alpuxarras,
was taken by the Marquis of
Cadiz, and led in triumph to the camp,
in sight of the suffering Moors. Autumn
arrived; but the harvests had been swept
from the face of the country; a rigorous
winter was approaching, and the city
was almost destitute of provisions. The
people sank into deep despondency.
They called to mind all that had been
predicted by astrologers at the birth of
their ill-starred sovereign, and all that
had been foretold of the fate of Granada,
at the time of the capture of Zahara.

Boabdil was alarmed by the gathering
dangers from without, and by the clamours
of his starving people. He summoned
a council, composed of the principal
officers of the army, the alcaydes
of the fortresses, the xeques, or sages of
the city, and the alfaquis, or doctors of
the faith. They assembled in the great
hall of audience of the Alhambra, and
despair was painted in their countenances.
Boabdil demanded of them what was to
be done in the present extremity; and
their answer was, "Surrender." The
venerable Abul Cazim Abdelmelic, governor
of the city, represented its unhappy
state. "Our granaries are nearly
exhausted, and no further supplies are to
be expected. The provender for the warhorses
is required as sustenance for the
soldiery; the very horses themselves are
killed for food. Of seven thousand steeds,
which once could be sent into the field,
three hundred only remain. Our city
contains two hundred thousand inhabitants,
old and young, with each a mouth
that calls piteously for bread."

The xeques and principal citizens declared,
that the people could no longer
sustain the labours and sufferings of a
defence: "And of what avail is our defence,"
said they, "when the enemy is
determined to persist in the siege? what
alternative remains, but to surrender, or
to die?"

The heart of Boabdil was touched by
this appeal, and he maintained a gloomy
silence. He had cherished some faint
hope of relief from the Soldan of Egypt,
or the Barbary powers; but it was now
at an end. Even if such assistance were
to be sent, he had no longer a seaport
where it might debark. The counsellors
saw, that the resolution of the king was
shaken, and they united their voices in
urging him to capitulate.

The valiant Muza alone arose in opposition.
"It is yet too early," said he,
"to talk of a surrender. Our means are
not exhausted; we have yet one source
of strength remaining, terrible in its
effects, and which often has achieved
the most signal victory. It is our despair.
Let us rouse the mass of the people;
let us put weapons in their hands;
let us fight the enemy to the very utmost,
until we rush upon the points of their
lances. I am ready to lead the way into
the thickest of their squadrons; and
much rather would I be numbered among
those who fell in the defence of Granada,
than of those who survived to capitulate
for her surrender!"

The words of Muza were without effect,
for they were addressed to broken-spirited
and heartless men, or men perhaps
to whom sad experience had taught
discretion. They were arrived at that
state of public depression, when heroes
and heroism are no longer regarded, and
when old men and their counsels rise
into importance. Boabdil el Chico yielded
to the general voice. It was determined
to capitulate with the Christian
sovereigns, and the venerable Abul Cazim
Abdelmelic was sent forth to the camp,
empowered to treat for terms.

CHAPTER XCVII.

The old governor, Abul Cazim Abdelmelic,
was received with great distinction
by Ferdinand and Isabella, who appointed
Gonsalvo of Cordova, and Fernando de
Zafra, secretary to the king, to confer
with him. All Granada awaited in trembling
anxiety the result of his negotiations.
After repeated conferences, he at
length returned with the ultimate terms
of the catholic sovereigns. They agreed
to suspend all attack for seventy days, at
the end of which time, if no succour
should have arrived to the Moorish king,
the city of Granada was to be surrendered.

All Christian captives were to be liberated
without ransom.

Boabdil and his principal cavaliers were
to take an oath of fealty to the Castilian
crown; and certain valuable territories
in the Alpuxarras mountains were to be
assigned to the Moorish monarch for his
maintenance.

The Moors of Granada were to become
subjects of the Spanish sovereigns,
retaining their possessions, their arms,
and horses, and yielding up nothing but
their artillery. They were to be protected
in the exercise of their religion,
and governed by their own laws, administered
by cadis of their own faith,
under governors appointed by the sovereigns.
They were to be exempted from
tribute for three years, after which term
the pay was to be the same as they had
been accustomed to render to their native
monarchs.

Those who chose to depart for Africa,
within three years, were to be provided
with a passage for themselves and their
effects, free of charge, from whatever
port they should prefer.

For the fulfilment of these articles,
four hundred hostages from the principal
families were required, previous to the
surrender, to be subsequently restored.
The son of the King of Granada, and all
other hostages in the possession of the
Castilian sovereigns, were to be given up
at the same time.

Such were the conditions that the wazir,
Abul Cazim, laid before the council
of Granada, as the best that could be
obtained from the besieging foe.

When the members of the council
found that the awful moment had arrived,
in which they were to sign and
seal the perdition of their empire, and
blot themselves out as a nation, all firmness
deserted them, and many gave way
to tears. Muza alone retained an unaltered
mien. "Leave, seniors," cried he,
"this idle lamentation to helpless women
and children. We are men; we have
hearts, not to shed tender tears, but drops
of blood. I see the spirit of the people
so cast down, that it is impossible to save
the kingdom. Yet there still remains an
alternative for noble minds—a glorious
death! Let us die defending our liberty,
and avenging the woes of Granada! Our
mother Earth will receive her children
into her bosom, safe from the chains and
oppressions of the conqueror; or, should
any fail of a sepulchre to hide his remains,
he will not want a sky to cover
him: Allah forbid it should be said, the
nobles of Granada feared to die in her
defence!"

Muza ceased to speak, and a dead silence
reigned in the assembly. Boabdil
el Chico looked anxiously round, and
scanned every face; but he read in them
all the anxiety of care-worn men, in whose
hearts enthusiasm was dead, and who
had grown callous to every chivalrous
appeal. "Allah achbar! God is great!"
exclaimed he: "there is no God but God,
and Mahomet is his prophet! it is in vain
to struggle against the will of heaven.
Too surely was it written in the book of
fate, that I should be unfortunate, and
the kingdom expire under my rule!"

"Allah achbar! God is great!" echoed
the viziers and alfaquis: "the will of God
be done!" So they all accorded with
the king, that these evils were preordained;
that it was hopeless to contend
with them; and that the terms offered
by the Castilian monarchs were as
favourable as could be expected. When
Muza saw, that they were about to sign
the treaty of surrender, he rose, in violent
indignation. "Do not deceive yourselves,"
cried he, "nor think the Christians
will be faithful to their promises, or
their king as magnanimous in conquest,
as he has been victorious in war. Death

is the least we have to fear: it is the
plundering and sacking of our city, the
profanation of our mosques, the ruin of
our homes, the violation of our wives and
daughters; cruel oppression, bigoted intolerance,
whips and chains; the dungeon,
the fagot, and the stake: such are
the miseries and indignities we shall see
and suffer; at least those grovelling souls
will see them, who now shrink from an
honourable death. For my part, by Allah,
I will never witness them!" With
these words he left the council-chamber,
and strode gloomily through the Court of
Lions, and the outer halls of the Alhambra,
without deigning to speak to the obsequious
courtiers who attended in them.
He repaired to his dwelling, armed himself
at all points, mounted his favourite
war-horse, and issuing forth from the
city by the gate of Elvira, he was never
seen or heard of more.[125]

Such is the account given by Arabian
historians of the exit of Muza ben Abel
Gazan: but the venerable Fray Antonio
Agapida endeavours to clear up the mystery
of his fate. That very evening, a
party of Andalusian cavaliers, somewhat
more than half a score of lances, were
riding along the banks of the Xenil, where
it winds through the vega. They beheld
in the twilight a Moorish warrior approaching,
closely locked up from head
to foot in proof. His visor was closed,
his lance in rest, his powerful charger
barbed, like himself, in steel. The Christians
were lightly armed, with corslet,
helm, and target; for, during the truce,
they apprehended no attack. Seeing,
however, the unknown warrior approach
in this hostile guise, they challenged him
to stand and declare himself.

The Moslem answered not; but, charging
into the midst of them, transfixed
one knight with his lance, and bore him
out of his saddle to the earth. Wheeling
round, he attacked the others with
his cimeter. His blows were furious and
deadly: he seemed regardless of what
wounds he received, so he could but slay.
He was evidently fighting, not for glory,
but revenge; eager to inflict death, but
careless of surviving to enjoy victory.
Nearly one half of the cavaliers fell beneath
his sword, before he received a
dangerous wound, so completely was he
cased in armour of proof. At length he
was desperately wounded; and his steed,
being pierced by a lance, fell to the
ground. The Christians, admiring the
valour of the Moor, would have spared
his life; but he continued to fight upon
his knees, brandishing a keen dagger of
Fez. Finding at length he could no longer
battle, and determined not to be taken
prisoner, he threw himself, with an expiring
exertion, into the Xenil; and his
armour sank him to the bottom of the
stream.

This unknown warrior the venerable
Agapida pronounces to have been Muza
ben Abel Gazan; and says, his horse was
recognised by certain converted Moors
of the Christian camp: the fact, however,
has always remained in doubt.

CHAPTER XCVIII.

The capitulation for the surrender of
Granada was signed on the 25th of November,
1491, and produced a sudden
cessation of those hostilities, which had
raged for so many years. The Christian
and Moor might now be seen mingling
courteously on the banks of the
Xenil and the Darro, where to have met
a few days previous would have produced
a scene of sanguinary contest. Still, as
the Moors might be suddenly aroused
to defence, if, within the allotted term of
seventy days, succours should arrive
from abroad; and as they were at all
times a rash, inflammable people, the
wary Ferdinand maintained a vigilant
watch upon the city and permitted no
supplies of any kind to enter. His garrisons
in the seaports, and his cruisers
in the Straits of Gibraltar, were ordered
likewise to guard against any relief from
the Grand Soldan of Egypt, or the princes
of Barbary.

There was no need of such precautions.
Those powers were either too much engrossed
by their own wars, or too much
daunted by the success of the Spanish
arms, to interfere in a desperate cause;
and the unfortunate Moors of Granada
were abandoned to their fate.

The month of December had nearly

passed away; the famine became extreme;
and there was no hope of any
favourable event within the term specified
in the capitulation. Boabdil saw, that to
hold out to the end of the allotted time
would only be to protract the miseries of
his people. With the consent of his
council, he determined to surrender the
city on the 6th of January. On the 30th
of December he sent his grand vizier,
Jusef Aben Comixa, with the four hundred
hostages, to King Ferdinand to make
known his intention; bearing him, at the
same time, a present of a magnificent
cimeter, and two Arabian steeds, superbly
caparisoned.

The unfortunate Boabdil was doomed
to meet with trouble to the end of his
career. The very next day, the santon,
or dervise, Hamet Aben Zarrax, the same
who had uttered prophecies and excited
commotions on former occasions, suddenly
made his appearance. Whence
he came no one knew: it was rumoured,
that he had been in the mountains of the
Alpuxarras, and on the coast of Barbary,
endeavouring to rouse the Moslems to
the relief of Granada. He was reduced
to a skeleton. His eyes glowed in their
sockets like coals, and his speech was
little better than frantic raving. He
harangued the populace in the streets and
squares; inveighed against the capitulation;
denounced the king and nobles as
Moslems only in name; and called upon
the people to sally forth against the unbelievers,
for that Allah had decreed them
a signal victory.

Upwards of twenty thousand of the
populace seized their arms, and paraded
the streets with shouts and outcries. The
shops and houses were shut up; the king
himself did not dare to venture forth, but
remained a kind of prisoner in the Alhambra.

The turbulent multitude continued running,
and shouting, and howling about
the city, during the day and part of the
night. Hunger and a wintry tempest
tamed their frenzy; and, when morning
came, the enthusiast who had led them on
had disappeared. Whether he had been
disposed of by the emissaries of the king,
or by the leading men of the city, is not
known; his disappearance remaining a
mystery.

The Moorish king now issued from
the Alhambra, attended by his principal
nobles, and harangued the populace. He
set forth the necessity of complying with
the capitulation, from the famine that
reigned in the city, the futility of defence,
and from the hostages having already
been delivered into the hands of the besiegers.

In the dejection of his spirits, the unfortunate
Boabdil attributed to himself the
miseries of the country. "It was my
crime in ascending the throne in rebellion
against my father," said he, mournfully,
"which has brought these woes upon the
kingdom; but Allah has grievously visited
my sins upon my head! For your sake,
my people, I have now made this treaty
to protect you from the sword, your little
ones from famine, your wives and daughters
from the outrages of war, and to
secure you in the enjoyment of your
properties, your liberties, your laws, and
your religion, under a sovereign of happier
destinies than the ill-starred Boabdil!"
The versatile populace were touched by
the humility of their sovereign: they
agreed to adhere to the capitulation; there
was even a faint shout of "Long live
Boabdil the unfortunate!" and they all
returned to their homes in perfect tranquillity.

Boabdil immediately sent missives to
King Ferdinand, apprising him of these
events, and of his fears lest further delay
should produce new tumults. He proposed,
therefore, to surrender the city on
the following day. The Castilian sovereigns
assented with great satisfaction;
and preparations were made, both in city
and camp, for this great event, that was
to seal the fate of Granada.

It was a night of doleful lamentings
within the walls of the Alhambra; for
the household of Boabdil were preparing
to take a last farewell of that delightful
abode. All the royal treasures, and the
most precious effects of the Alhambra,
were hastily packed upon mules; the
beautiful apartments were despoiled, with
tears and wailings, by their own inhabitants.
Before the dawn of day, a
mournful cavalcade moved obscurely out
of a postern-gate of the Alhambra, and
departed through one of the most retired
quarters of the city. It was composed

of the family of the unfortunate Boabdil,
whom he sent off thus privately, that
they might not be exposed to the eyes of
scoffers, or the exultation of the enemy.
The mother of Boabdil, the sultana Ayxa
la Horra, rode on in silence, with dejected
yet dignified demeanour; but his wife
Zorayma, and all the females of his
household, gave way to loud lamentations,
as they gave a last look to their favourite
abode, now a mass of gloomy towers
behind them. They were attended by
the ancient domestics of the household,
and by a small guard of veteran Moors,
loyally attached to the fallen monarch,
and who would have sold their lives
dearly in defence of his family. The
city was yet buried in sleep, as they
passed through its silent streets. The
guards at the gate shed tears as they
opened it for their departure. They
tarried not, but proceeded along the banks
of the Xenil, on the road that leads to the
Alpuxarras, until they arrived at a hamlet,
at some distance from the city, where
they halted, and waited until they should
be joined by King Boabdil.

CHAPTER XCIX.

The sun had scarcely begun to shed
his beams upon the summits of the snowy
mountains which rise above Granada,
when the Christian camp was in motion.
A detachment of horse and foot, led
by distinguished cavaliers, and accompanied
by Hernando de Talavera, bishop of
Avila, proceeded to take possession of the
Alhambra and the towers. It had been
stipulated in the capitulation, that the
detachment sent for the purpose should
not enter by the streets of the city. A
road had, therefore, been opened outside
of the walls, leading by the Puerta de
los Molinos (or the Gate of the Mills) to
the summit of the Hill of Martyrs, and
across the hill to a postern-gate of the
Alhambra.

When the detachment arrived at the
summit of the hill, the Moorish king
came forth from the gate, attended by a
handful of cavaliers, leaving his vizier,
Jusef Aben Comixa, to deliver up the
palace. "Go, senior," said he, to the
commander of the detachment; "go, and
take possession of those fortresses, which
Allah has bestowed upon your powerful
lord, in punishment of the sins of the
Moors!" He said no more, but passed
mournfully on, along the same road by
which the Spanish cavaliers had come;
descending to the vega, to meet the
catholic sovereigns. The troops entered
the Alhambra, the gates of which were
wide open, and all its splendid courts and
halls silent and deserted. In the mean
time, the Christian court and army poured
out of the city of Santa Fé, and advanced
across the vega. The king and queen,
with the prince and princesses, and the
dignitaries and ladies of the court, took
the lead; accompanied by the different
orders of monks and friars, and surrounded
by the royal guards, splendidly
arrayed. The procession moved slowly
forward, and paused at the village of
Armilla, at the distance of half a league
from the city.

The sovereigns waited here with impatience,
their eyes fixed on the lofty tower
of the Alhambra, watching for the appointed
signal of possession. The time,
that had elapsed since the departure of
the detachment, seemed to them more
than necessary for the purpose; and the
anxious mind of Ferdinand began to
entertain doubts of some commotion in
the city. At length they saw the silver
cross, the great standard of this crusade,
elevated on the Torre de la Vela, or great
watchtower, and sparkling in the sunbeams.
This was done by Hernando de
Talavera, bishop of Avila. Beside it was
planted the pennon of the glorious apostle
St. James; and a great shout of "Santiago!
Santiago!" rose throughout the
army. Lastly was reared the royal standard,
by the king of arms; with the shout
of "Castile! Castile! For King Ferdinand
and Queen Isabella!" The words were
echoed by the whole army, with acclamations
that resounded across the vega.
At sight of these signals of possession,
the sovereigns fell upon their knees, giving
thanks to God for this great triumph.
The whole assembled host followed their
example; and the choristers of the royal
chapel broke forth into the solemn anthem
of Te Deum laudamus!

The procession now resumed its march,
with joyful alacrity, to the sound of triumphant

music, until they came to a small
mosque, near the banks of the Xenil, and
not far from the foot of the Hill of Martyrs,
which edifice remains to the present
day consecrated as the hermitage of St.
Sebastian. Here the sovereigns were met
by the unfortunate Boabdil, accompanied
by about fifty cavaliers and domestics.
As he drew near, he would have dismounted,
in token of homage; but Ferdinand
prevented him. He then proffered
to kiss the king's hand, but this sign of
vassalage was likewise declined: whereupon,
not to be outdone in magnanimity,
he leaned forward, and saluted the right
arm of Ferdinand. Queen Isabella, also,
refused to receive this ceremonial of homage;
and, to console him under his adversity,
delivered to him his son, who had
remained as hostage ever since Boabdil's
liberation from captivity. The Moorish
monarch pressed his child to his bosom
with tender emotion, and they seemed
mutually endeared to each other by their
misfortunes.[126]

He then delivered the keys of the city
to King Ferdinand, with an air of mingled
melancholy and resignation. "These
keys," said he, "are the last relics of the
Arabian empire in Spain. Thine, O king,
are our trophics, our kingdom, and our
person! Such is the will of God! Receive
them with the elemency thou hast
promised, and which we look for at thy
hands!"[127]

King Ferdinand restrained his exultation
into an air of serene magnanimity.
"Doubt not our promises," replied he;
"or, that thou shalt regain from our
friendship the prosperity of which the
fortune of war has deprived thee."

On receiving the keys, King Ferdinand
handed them to the queen. She, in her
turn, presented them to her son, Prince
Juan, who delivered them to the Count
de Tendilla; that brave and loyal cavalier
being appointed alcayde of the city,
and captain-general of the kingdom of
Granada.

Having surrendered the last symbol
of power, the unfortunate Boabdil continued
on towards the Alpuxarras, that
he might not behold the entrance of the
Christians into his capital. His devoted
band of cavaliers followed him in gloomy
silence; but heavy sighs burst from their
bosoms, as shouts of joy and strains of
triumphant music were borne on the
breeze from the victorious army.

Having rejoined his family, Boabdil
set forward with a heavy heart for his
allotted residence, in the valley of Porchena.
At two leagues' distance, the
cavalcade, winding into the skirts of the
Alpuxarras, ascended an eminence commanding
the last view of Granada. As
they arrived at this spot, the Moors
paused involuntarily, to take a farewell
gaze at their beloved city, which a few
steps more would shut from their sight for
ever. Never had it appeared so lovely in
their eyes. The sunshine, so bright in
that transparent climate, lighted up each
tower and minaret, and rested gloriously
upon the crowning battlements of the
Alhambra; while the vega spread its
enamelled bosom of verdure below, glistening
with the silver windings of the
Xenil. The Moorish cavaliers gazed with
a silent agony of tenderness and grief,
upon that delicious abode, the scene of
their loves and pleasures. While they
yet looked, a light cloud of smoke burst
forth from the citadel; and, presently, a
peal of artillery, faintly heard, told that
the city was taken possession of, and the
throne of the Moslem kings was lost for
ever. The heart of Boabdil, softened by
misfortunes and overcharged with grief,
could no longer contain itself. "Allah
achbar! God is great!" said he; but the
words of resignation died upon his lips,
and he burst into a flood of tears.

His mother, the intrepid sultana Ayxa
la Horra, was indignant at his weakness.
"You do well," said she, "to weep like
a woman, for what you failed to defend
like a man!"

The vizier Aben Comixa endeavoured
to console his royal master. "Consider,
sire," said he, "that the most signal misfortunes
often render men as renowned as
the most prosperous achievements, provided
they sustain them with magnanimity."
The unhappy monarch, however,
was not to be consoled. His tears continued
to flow. "Allah achbar!" exclaimed
he, "when did misfortunes ever
equal mine!"

From this circumstance, the hill, which

is not far from Padul, took the name of
Fez Allah Achbar; but the point of view
commanding the last prospect of Granada
is known among the Spaniards by the
name of El ultimo suspiro del Moro, or
"the last sigh of the Moor."

CHAPTER C.

When the Castilian sovereigns had
received the keys of Granada, from the
hands of Boabdil el Chico, the royal army
resumed its triumphal march. As it approached
the gates of the city, in all the
pomp of courtly and chivalrous array, a
procession of a different kind came forth
to meet it. This was composed of more
than five hundred Christian captives,
many of whom had languished for years
in Mooorish dungeons. Pale and emaciated,
they came clanking their chains in
triumph, and shedding tears of joy.
They were received with tenderness by
the sovereigns. The king hailed them
as good Spaniards; as men loyal and
brave; as martyrs to the holy cause.
The queen distributed liberal relief among
them with her own hands, and they
passed on before the squadrous of the
army, singing hymns of jubilee.[128]

The sovereigns did not enter the city
on the day of its surrender; but waited
until it should be fully occupied by their
troops, and public tranquillity insured.
The Marquis de Villena, and the Count
de Tendilla, with three thousand cavalry,
and as many infantry, marched in, and
took possession, accompanied by the
proselyte prince, Cidi Yahye, now known
by the Christian appellation of Don Pedro
de Granada, who was appointed chief alguazil
of the city, and had charge of the
Moorish inhabitants; and by his son, the
late Prince Alnayer, now Don Alonso de
Granada, who was appointed admiral of
the fleets. In a little while every battlement
glistened with Christian helms and
lances, the standard of the faith and of
the realm floated from every tower, and
the thundering salvos of the ordnance
told, that the subjugation of the city was
complete.

The grandees and cavaliers now knelt,
and kissed the hands of the king and
queen, and the Prince Juan, and congratulated
them on the acquisition of so great
a kingdom; after which the royal procession
returned in state to Santa Fé.

It was on the 6th of January, the day
of Kings, and the festival of the Epiphany,
that the sovereigns made their triumphal
entry. "The king and queen,"
says the worthy Fray Antonio Agapida,
"looked on this occasion as more than
mortal. The venerable ecclesiastics, to
whose advice and zeal this glorious conquest
ought in a great measure to be attributed,
moved along, with hearts swelling
with holy exultation, but with chastened
and downeast looks of edifying
humility; while the hardy warriors, in
tossing plumes and shining steel, seemed
elevated with a stern joy, at finding themselves
in possession of this object of so
many toils and perils. As the streets
resounded with the tramp of steed, and
swelling peals of music, the Moors buried
themselves in the deepest recesses of their
dwellings. There they bewailed in secret
the fallen glory of their race; but suppressed
their groans, lest they should be
heard by their enemies, and increase
their triumph."

The royal procession advanced to the
principal mosque, which had been consecrated
as a cathedral. Here the sovereigns
offered up prayers and thanksgivings,
and the choir of the royal chapel
chanted a triumphant anthem, in which
they were joined by all the courtiers and
cavaliers. "Nothing," says Fray Antonio
Agapida, "could exceed the thankfulness
to God of the pious King Ferdinand,
for having enabled him to eradicate
from Spain the empire and name of
that accursed heathen race, and for the
elevation of the cross in that city,
wherein the impious doctrines of Mahomet
had so long been cherished. In
the fervour of his spirit, he supplicated
from Heaven a continuance of its grace,
and that this glorious triumph might be
perpetuated."[129] The prayer of the pious
monarch was responded by the people,

and even his enemies were for once convinced
of his sincerity.

When the religious ceremonies were
concluded, the court ascended to the
stately palace of the Alhambra, and entered
by the great gate of justice. The
halls, lately occupied by turbaned infidels,
now rustled with stately dames and
Christian courtiers, who wandered with
eager curiosity over this far-famed palace,
admiring its verdant courts and gushing
fountains, its halls decorated with elegant
arabesques, and storied with inscriptions,
and the splendour of its gilded and brilliantly
painted ceilings.

It had been a last request of the unfortunate
Boabdil, and one which showed
how deeply he felt the transition of his
fate, that no person might be permitted
to enter or depart by the gate of the Alhambra
through which he had sallied
forth to surrender his capital. His request
was granted: the portal was closed up,
and remains so to the present day; a
mute memorial of that event.[130]

The Spanish sovereigns fixed their
throne in the presence-chamber of the
palace, so long the seat of Moorish royalty.
Hither the principal inhabitants of
Granada repaired, to pay them homage,
and kiss their hands, in token of vassalage;
and their example was followed by
deputies from all the towns and fortresses
of the Alpuxarras, which had not hitherto
submitted.

Thus terminated the war of Granada,
after ten years of incessant fighting;
"equalling, says Fray Antonio Agapida,
the far-famed siege of Troy in duration,
and ending, like that, in the capture of
the city." Thus ended, also, the dominion
of the Moors in Spain, after having
endured seven hundred and seventy-eight
years from the memorable defeat
of Roderick, the last of the Goths, on the
banks of the Guadalete. The authentic
Agapida is uncommonly particular in
fixing the epoch of this event. This
great triumph of our holy catholic faith,"
according to his computation, "took
place in the beginning of January, in the
year of our Lord 1492; being 3655
years from the population of Spain by the
patriarch Tubal; 3797 from the general
deluge; 5453 from the creation of the
world, according to Hebrew calculation;
and in the month Rabic, in the 897th
year of the Hegira, or flight of Mahomet:
whom may God confound!" saith the
pious Agapida.

APPENDIX.

FATE OF BOABDIL EL CHICO.

The Chronicle of the Conquest of
Granada is finished: but the reader may
be desirous of knowing the subsequent
fortunes of some of the principal personages.
The unfortunate Boabdil retired
to the valley of Porchena, where a small
but fertile territory had been allotted him;
comprising several towns, with all their
rights and revenues. Great estates had
likewise been bestowed on his vizier,
Jusef Aben Comixa, and his valiant relation
and friend Jusef Venegas, both of
whom resided near him. Were it in the
heart of man, in the enjoyment of present
competence, to forget past splendour,
Boabdil might at length have been happy.
Dwelling in the bosom of a delightful
valley, surrounded by obedient vassals,
devoted friends, and a loving family, he
might have looked back upon his past
career as upon a troubled and terrific
dream; and might have thanked his

stars, that he had at length awaked to
sweet and tranquil security. But the
dethroned prince could never forget, that
he had once been a monarch; and the
remembrance of the regal splendours of
Granada made all present comforts contemptible
in his eyes. No exertions were
spared by Ferdinand and Isabella, to induce
him to embrace the catholic religion:
but he remained true to the faith of his
fathers; and it added not a little to his
humiliation, to live a vassal under Christian
sovereigns.

It is probable, that his residence in
the kingdom was equally irksome to the
politic Ferdinand, who could not feel perfectly
secure in his newly-conquered territories,
while there was one within their
bounds, who might revive pretensions
to the throne. A private bargain was
therefore made, in the year 1496, between
Ferdinand and Jusef Aben Comixa; in
which the latter, as vizier of Boabdil, undertook
to dispose of his master's scanty
territory for eighty thousand ducats of
gold. This, it is affirmed, was done
without the consent or knowledge of
Boabdil; but the vizier probably thought
he was acting for the best. The shrewd
Ferdinand does not appear to have made
any question about the right of the vizier
to make the sale; but paid the money
with secret exultation. Jusef Aben Comixa
loaded the treasure upon mules, and departed
joyfully for the Alpuxarras. He
spread the money in triumph before
Boabdil. "Señor," said he, "I have observed,
that, as long as you live here, you
are exposed to constant peril. The Moors
are rash and irritable. They may make
some sudden insurrection, elevate your
standard as a pretext, and thus overwhelm
you and your friends with utter ruin. I
have observed, also, that you pine away
with grief; being continually reminded
in this country, that you were once its
sovereign, but never more must hope to
reign. I have put an end to these evils.
Your territory is sold. Behold the price
of it. With this gold, you may buy far
greater possessions in Africa, where you
may live in honour and security."

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

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

A crowd of his former subjects witnessed
his embarkation. As the sails
were unfurled, and swelled to the breeze,
and the vessel parted from the land, the
spectators would fain have given him a
parting cheering; but the humble state of
their once proud sovereign forced itself
upon their minds, and the ominous surname
of his youth rose involuntarily to
their tongues. "Farewell, Boabdil! Allah
preserve thee, El Zogoybi!" burst
spontaneously from their lips. The unlucky
appellation sank into the heart of
the expatriated monarch; and tears
dimmed his eyes, as the snowy summits
of the mountains of Granada gradually
faded from his view.

He was received with welcome at the
court of his relation, Muley Ahmed, King
of Fez; and resided for many years in
his territories. How he passed his life,
whether repining or resigned, history
does not mention. The last we find recorded
of him is in the year 1526, thirty-four
years after the surrender of Granada,
when he followed the King of Fez to the
field to quell the rebellion of two brothers,
named Xerifes. The armies came in
sight of each other on the banks of Guadiswed,
at the ford of Bacuba. The river
was deep; the banks were high and
broken. For three days the armies remained
firing at each other across the
stream, neither party venturing to attempt
the dangerous ford.

At length the King of Fez divided his
army into three battalions; the first led
on by his son and by Boabdil el Chico.
They boldly dashed across the ford,
scrambled up the opposite bank, and attempted
to keep the enemy employed,
until the other battalions should have
time to cross. The rebel army, however,

attacked them with such fury, that the
son of the King of Fez and several of the
bravest alcaydes were slain upon the spot,
and multitudes driven back into the river,
which was already crowded with passing
troops. A dreadful confusion took place;
the horse trampled upon the foot; the
enemy pressed on them with fearful
slaughter; those who escaped the sword
perished by the stream. The river was
choked by the dead bodies of men and
horses, and by the scattered baggage of
the army. In this scene of horrible carnage
fell Boabdil, truly called El Zogoybi,
or the unlucky: "an instance," says the
ancient chronicler, "of the scornful
caprice of fortune; dying in defence of
the kingdom of another, after wanting
spirit to die in defence of his own."[131]

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

DEATH
OF
THE MARQUIS OF CADIZ.

The renowned Roderigo Ponce de
Leon, Marquis Duke of Cadiz, was
unquestionably the most distinguished
among the cavaliers of Spain, for his
zeal, enterprise, and heroism, in the
great crusade of Granada. He began
the war by the capture of Alhama; he
was engaged in almost every inroad and
siege of importance during its continuance;
and he was present at the surrender
of the capital, which was the
closing scene of the conquest. The renown
he thus acquired was sealed by
his death, in the forty-eighth year of his
age, which happoned almost immediately
at the close of his triumphs, and before a
leaf of his laurels had time to wither.
He died at his palace, in the city of
Seville, on the twenty-seventh day of
August, 1492, but a few months after
the surrender of Granada, and of an
illness caused by the exposure and fatigues
he had undergone in this memorable
war. That honest chronicler, Andres
Bernaldes, the curate of Los Palacios,
who was a contemporary of the marquis,
draws his portrait from actual knowledge
and observation. "He was universally
cited," says he, "as the most
perfect model of chivalrous virtue of the
age. He was temperate, chaste, and
rigidly devout; a benignant commander,
a valiant defender of his vassals, a great
lover of justice, and an enemy to all
flatterers, liars, robbers, traitors, and
poltroons. His ambition was of a lofty
kind; he sought to distinguish himself
and his family by heroic and resounding
deeds, and to increase the patrimony
of his ancestors by the acquisition of
castles, domains, vassals, and other
princely possessions. His recreations
were all of a warlike nature: he delighted
in geometry, as applied to fortifications,
and spent much time and treasure
in erecting and repairing fortresses.
He relished music, but of a military
kind; the sound of clarious and sackbuts,
of drums and trumpets. Like a
true cavalier, he was a protector of the
sex on all occasions, and an injured
woman never applied to him in vain for
redress. His prowess was so well
known, and his courtesy to the fair,
that the ladies of the court, when they
accompanied the queen to the wars,
rejoiced to find themselves under his
protection; for, wherever his banner
was displayed, the Moors dreaded to adventure.
He was a faithful and devoted
friend, but a formidable enemy; for he
was slow to forgive, and his vengeance
was persevering and terrible.

The death of this good cavalier spread
grief and lamentation throughout all
ranks; for he was universally honoured
and beloved. His relations, dependents,
and companions in arms, put on mourning
for his loss; and so numerous were

they, that half of Seville was clad in
black. None, however, deplored his
death more deeply and sincerely than
his friend and chosen companion, Don
Alonso de Aguilar.

The funeral ceremonies were of the
most solemn and sumptuous kind. The
body of the marquis was arrayed in a
costly shirt, a doublet of brocade, a sayo,
or long robe of black velvet, a marlota, or
Moorish tunic of brocade, that reached to
the feet, and scarlet stockings. His sword,
superbly gilt, was girded to his side, as he
used to wear it when in the field. Thus
magnificently attired, the body was enclosed
in a coffin, which was covered
with black velvet, and decorated with a
cross of white damask. It was then
placed on a sumptuous bier, in the centre
of the great hall of the palace.

Here the duchess made great lamentation
over the body of her lord, in which
she was joined by her train of damsels
and attendants, as well as by the pages
and esquires, and innumerable vassals of
the marquis.

In the close of the evening, just before
the "Ave Maria," the funeral train issued
from the palace. Ten banners were
borne around the bier, the particular
trophies of the marquis, won from the
Moors by his valour in individual enterprises,
before King Ferdinand had commenced
the war of Granada. The procession
was swelled by an immense train
of bishops, priests, and friars of different
orders, together with the civil and military
authorities, and all the chivalry of
Seville; headed by the Count of Cifuentes,
at that time intendente, or commander of
the city. It moved slowly and solemnly
through the strects, stopping occasionally,
and chanting litanies and responses.
Two hundred and forty waxen tapers
shed a light like the day about the bier.
The balconies and windows were crowded
with ladies, who shed tears as the
funeral train passed by; while the women
of the lower classes were loud in their
lamentations, as if bewailing the loss of a
father or a brother. On approaching
the convent of St. Augustine, the monks
came forth with the cross and tapers, and
eight censers, and conducted the body
into the church, where it lay in state until
all the vigils were performed by the
different orders, after which it was deposited
in the family-tomb of the Ponces in
the same church, and the ten banners
were suspended over the sepulchre.[132]

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

THE LEGEND
OF THE
DEATH OF DON ALONSO DE
AGUILAR.

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

For several years after the conquest of
Granada, the country remained feverish
and unquiet. The zealous efforts of the
catholic clergy to effect the conversion of
the infidels, and the pious coercion used
for that purpose by government, exasperated
the stubborn Moors of the mountains.
Several zealous missionaries were
maltreated, and, in the town of Dayrin,
two of them were seized, and exhorted,
with many menaces, to embrace the

Moslem faith. On their resolutely refusing
they were killed with staffs and
stones, by the Moorish women and children,
and their bodies burnt to ashes.[133]

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

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

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

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

He took with him, on this expedition,
his son, Don Pedro de Cordova; a youth
of bold and generous spirit, in the freshness
of his days, and armed and arrayed
with all the bravery of a young Spanish
cavalier. When the populace of Cordova
beheld the veteran father, the warrior of
a thousand battles, leading forth his
youthful son to the field, they bethought
themselves of the family appellation.
"Behold," cried they, "the eagle teaching
his young to fly! Long live the
valiant line of Aguilar!"[134]

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

The Christian commanders arrived,
and pitched their camp before the town
of Monardo; a strong place, curiously
fortified, and situated at the foot of the

highest part of the Sierra Vermeja. Here
they remained for several days, unable to
compel a surrender. They were separated
from the skirt of the mountain by
a deep barranca or ravine, at the bottom
of which flowed a small stream. The
Moors commanded by El Feri, drew
down from their mountain height, and
remained on the opposite side of the
brook, to defend a pass which led up to
their stronghold.

One afternoon, a number of Christian
soldiers, in mere bravado, seized a banner,
crossed the brook, and scrambling up the
opposite bank, attacked the Moors. They
were followed by numbers of their companions;
some in aid, some in emulation,
but most in hope of booty. A sharp
action ensued on the mountain side.
The Moors were greatly superior in
number, and had the vantage-ground.
When the Counts of Ureña and Cifuentes
beheld this skirmish, they asked Don
Alonso de Aguilar his opinion. "My
opinion," said he, "was given at Cordova,
and remains the same. This is a desperate
enterprise. However, the Moors
are at hand; and if they suspect weakness
in us, it will increase their courage
and our peril. Forward then to the
attack, and I trust in God we shall gain
a victory!" So saying, be led his troops
into the battle.[135]

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

Evening was closing: the Christians,
intent upon spoil, had ceased to pursue
the Moors, and the latter were arrested in
their flight by the cries of their wives and
children. Their fierce leader, El Feri,
threw himself before them. "Friends,
soldiers," cried he, "whither do you fly?
whither can you seek refuge, where the
enemy cannot follow you? Your wives,
your children, are behind you; turn and
defend them: you have no chance for
safety, but from the weapons in your
hands!"

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

Night had completely closed. It prevented
the Moors from seeing the smallness
of the force with which they were
contending; and Don Alonso and his cavaliers
dealt their blows so vigorously,
that, aided by the darkness, they seemed
multiplied to ten times their number.
Unfortunately a small cask of gunpowder
blew up near to the scene of action. It
shed a momentary but brilliant light over
all the plain, and on every rock and cliff.
The Moors beheld with surprise, that
they were opposed by a mere handful of
men, and that the greater part of the
Christians were flying from the field.

They put up loud shouts of triumph.
While some continued the conflict with
redoubled ardour, others pursued the
fugitives, hurling after them stones and
darts, and discharging showers of arrows.
Many of the Christians, in their terror
and their ignorance of the mountains,
rushed headlong from the brinks of precipices,
and were dashed in pieces.

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

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

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

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

Thus fell Alonso de Aguilar, the mirror
of Andalusian chivalry; one of the
most powerful grandees of Spain, for
person, blood, estate, and office. For
forty years he had waged successful
wars upon the Moors: in childhood, by
his household and retainers; in manhood,
by the prowess of his arm, and the
wisdom and valour of his spirit. His
pennon had always been foremost in
danger; he had been general of armies,
viceroy of Andalusia, and the author of
glorious enterprises, in which kings were
vanquished, and mighty alcaydes and
warriors laid low. He had slain many
Moslem chiefs with his own arm, and,
among others, the renowned Ali Atar, of
Loxa, fighting foot to foot, on the banks
of the Xenil. His judgment, discretion,
magnanimity, and justice, vied with his
prowess. He was the fifth lord of his
warlike house, that fell in battle with the
Moors. "His soul," observes Padre
Abarea, "it is believed ascended to
heaven, to receive the reward of so
Christian a captain: for that very day
he had armed himself with the sacraments
of confession and communion."[136]

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

It was then that the Christians had
time to breathe, and to ascertain the
dreadful loss they had sustained. Among
the many valiant cavaliers, who had
fallen, was Don Francisco Ramirez of
Madrid, who had been captain-general of
artillery throughout the war of Granada,
and contributed greatly, by his valour
and ingenuity, to that renowned conquest.
But all other griefs and cares
were forgotten in anxiety for the fate of
Don Alonso de Aguilar. His son, Don
Pedro de Cordova, had been brought off
with great difficulty from the battle; and
afterwards lived to be Marquis of Priego.
But of Don Alonso nothing was known,
except that he was left with a handful of
cavaliers, fighting valiantly against an
overwhelming force. As the rising sun
lighted up the red cliffs of the mountains,
the soldiers watched with anxious eyes,
if perchance his pennon might be descried,
fluttering from any precipice or
defile: but nothing of the kind was to be
seen. The trumpet call was repeatedly
sounded: but empty echoes alone replied.
A silence reigned about the mountain
summit, which showed that the
deadly strife was over. Now and then
a wounded warrior came, dragging his
feeble steps from among the cliffs and
rocks; but, on being questioned, he shook
his head mournfully, and could tell nothing
of the fate of his commander.

The tidings of this disastrous defeat,
and of the perilous situation of the survivors,
reached King Ferdinand at Granada.
He immediately marched, at the
head of all the chivalry of his court, to
the mountains of Ronda. His presence,
with a powerful force, soon put an end
to the rebellion. A part of the Moors
were suffered to ransom themselves, and
to embark for Africa; others were made
to embrace Christianity; and those of the
town where the Christian missionaries
had been massacred were sold as slaves.
From the conquered Moors, the mournful
but heroic end of Don Alonso de Aguilar
was ascertained. On the morning after
the battle, when the Moors came to strip
and bury the dead, the body of Don
Alonso was found among those of more
than two hundred of his followers, many
of them alcaydes and cavaliers of distinction.
Though the person of Don
Alonso was well known to the Moors,
being so distinguished among them, both
in peace and war, yet it was so covered
and disfigured with wounds, that it could
with difficulty be recognised. They preserved
it with care, and, on making their
submission, delivered it up to King Ferdinand.
It was conveyed with great
state, to Cordova, amidst the tears and
lamentations of all Andalusia. When
the funeral train entered Cordova, and
the inhabitants saw the coffin, containing
the remains of their favourite hero, and
the war-horse, led in mournful trappings,
on which they had so lately seen him
sally forth from their gates, there was a
general burst of grief throughout the
city. The body was interred with great
pomp and solemnity in the church of St.
Ipolito. Many years afterwards, his
grand-daughter, Doña Catalina of Aguilar
and Cordova, Marchioness of Priego,
caused his tomb to be altered. On examining
the body, the head of a lance
was found among the bones, received,
without doubt, among the wounds of his
last mortal combat. The name of this
accomplished and Christian cavalier has
ever remained a popular theme of the

chronicler and poet; and is endeared to
the public memory by many of the historical
ballads and songs of his country.
For a long time the people of Cordova
were indignant at the brave Count de
Ureña, who, they thought, had abandoned
Don Alonso in his extremity; but
the Castilian monarch acquitted him of
all charge of the kind, and continued him
in honour and office. It was proved,
that neither he nor his people could succour
Don Alonso, or even know of his
peril, from the darkness of the night.
There is a mournful little Spanish ballad,
or romance, which breathes the
public grief on this occasion; and the
populace, on the return of the Count de
Ureña to Cordova, assailed him with one
of its plaintive and reproachful verses: