Thrice had Fadrique and Heimbert almost forced their way to a rampart
in the fortifications, and thrice had they been repulsed with their
men into the valley below by the fierce opposition of the Turks. The
Mussulmans shouted after the retreating foe, clashed their weapons with
the triumph of victory, and with a scornful laugh asked whether they
would not come up again to give heart and brain to the scimitar and
their limbs to the falling beams of wood. The two captains, gnashing
their teeth with fury, arranged their ranks anew; for after three vain
assaults they had to move closer together to fill the places of the
slain and the mortally wounded. Meanwhile a murmur ran through the
Christian army that a witch was fighting among their foes and helping
them to conquer.
Duke Alba rode to the point of attack, and looked scrutinizingly at the
breach they had made. “Not yet broken through the enemy here!” said
he, shaking his head, “I am surprised. From two such youths, and such
troops, I should have expected it.” “Do you hear that? Do you hear
that?” exclaimed the two captains, as they paced along their lines
repeating the general’s words. The soldiers shouted loudly, and demanded
to be once more led against the enemy; even those who were mortally
wounded shouted, with a last effort, “Forward, comrades!” The great Alba
at once sprang like an arrow from his horse, wrested a partisan from
the stiff hand of one of the slain, and standing in front of the two
companies he cried, “I will take part in your glory. In the name of God
and of the blessed Virgin, forward, my children!”
And joyfully they rushed up the hill, every heart beating with
confidence, while the war-cry was raised triumphantly; some even began
already to shout “Victory! victory!” and the Mussulmans paused and
wavered. Suddenly, like the vision of an avenging angel, a maiden,
dressed in purple garments embroidered with gold appeared in the Turkish
ranks, and those who were terrified before again shouted “Allah!”
calling at the same time, “Zelinda, Zelinda!” The maiden, however, drew
a small box from under her arm, and opening it she breathed into it
and hurled it down among the Christian troops. And forth from the fatal
chest there burst a whole fire of rockets, grenades, and other fearful
messengers of death. The startled soldiers paused in their assault.
“Forward!” cried Alba. “Forward!” cried the two captains; but a flaming
arrow just then fastened on the duke’s plumed hat and hissed and
crackled round his head, so that the general fell fainting down the
height. Then the German and Spanish infantry fled uncontrollably from
the fearful ascent. Again the storm had been repulsed. The Mussulmans
shouted, and like a fatal star Zelinda’s beauty shone in the midst of
the flying troops.
When Alba opened his eyes, Heimbert was standing over him, with his
mantle, arm, and face scorched with the fire, which he had not only just
extinguished on his general’s head, but by throwing himself over him he
had saved him from a second body of flame rolled down the height in the
same direction. The duke was thanking his youthful deliverer when some
soldiers came up, looking for him, to apprise him that the Saracen power
was beginning an attack on the opposite wing of the army. Without losing
a word Alba threw himself on the first horse brought him and galloped
away to the spot where the most threatening danger summoned him.
Fadrique stood with his glowing eye fixed on the rampart, where the
brilliant form of Zelinda might be seen, with a two-edged spear, ready
to be hurled, uplifted by her snow-white arm, and raising her voice,
now in encouraging tones to the Mussulmans in Arabic, and again speaking
scornfully to the Christians in Spanish. At last Fadrique exclaimed,
“Oh, foolish being! she thinks to daunt me, and yet she places herself
before me, an alluring and irresistible war-prize!”
And as if magic wings had sprung from his shoulders, he began to fly up
the height with such rapidity that Alba’s violent descent seemed but
a lazy snail’s pace. Before any one was aware, he was already on the
height, and wresting spear and shield from the maiden, he had seized
her in his arms and was attempting to bear her away, while Zelinda in
anxious despair clung to the palisade with both her hands. Her cry for
help was unavailing, partly because the Turks imagined that the magic
power of the maiden was annihilated by the almost equally wondrous deed
of the youth, and partly also because the faithful Heimbert, quickly
perceiving his comrade’s daring feat, had led both troops to a renewed
attack, and now stood by his side on the height, fighting hand to hand
with the defenders. This time the fury of the Mussulmans, weakened as
they were by superstition and surprise, could avail nothing against
the heroic advance of the Christian soldiers. The Spaniards and Germans
speedily broke through the enemy, assisted by the watchful squadrons of
their army. The Mohammedans fled with frightful howling, the battle with
its stream of victory rolled ever on, and the banner of the holy German
empire and that of the royal house of Castile waved victorious over the
glorious battle-field before the walls of Tunis.