HOW KING BOABDIL EL CHICO MARCHED OVER THE BORDER.
The defeat of the Christian cavaliers among the mountains of Malaga,
and the successful inroad of Muley Abul Hassan into the lands of Medina
Sidonia, had produced a favorable 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 vigor 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 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 especially 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 these parts, and his very name was a terror throughout the country.
It had become a by-word 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
round his standard, magnificently arrayed in sumptuous armor and rich
embroidery, as though for a festival or a tilt of canes 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
scimetar to his side. His favorite 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,
overlooking the Vega, whence she watched the army as it went in shining
order along the road leading 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, anticipating deeds of prowess that would wither the laurels of
his father. The appearance of Boabdil was well calculated to captivate
the public eye, if we may judge from the description given by the
abbot of Rute in his manuscript history of the House of Cordova. He
was mounted on a superb white charger magnificently caparisoned. His
corselets were of polished steel richly ornamented, studded with gold
nails, and lined with crimson velvet. He wore a steel casque exquisitely
chiselled and embossed; his scimetar and dagger of Damascus were of
highest temper; he had a round buckler at his shoulder and bore a
ponderous lance. In passing through the gate of Elvira, however, he
accidentally broke his lance against the arch. At this certain of his
nobles turned pale and entreated him to turn back, for they regarded
it as an evil omen. Boabdil scoffed at their fears as idle fancies. He
refused to take another spear, but drew forth his scimetar 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 now reiterated their remonstrances against
proceeding; the king, however, was not to be dismayed by these portents,
but continued to march forward.*
* Marmol, Rebel. de los Moros, lib. 1, c. xii., fol. 14.
At Loxa the army was reinforced by old Ali Atar with the chosen horsemen
of his 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 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 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, to elude observation and
come upon Lucena by surprise. Boabdil was inexperienced in warfare, but
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 alarm-fires blazing
upon the mountains. “We are discovered,” said he to Boabdil; “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.