HOW THE ROYAL ARMY APPEARED BEFORE THE CITY OF LOXA, AND HOW IT WAS
RECEIVED; AND OF THE DOUGHTY ACHIEVEMENTS OF THE ENGLISH EARL.
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 Albohacen and by the clamors 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, endeavoring to make up by hurry of action
for slowness of deliberation. Boabdil hastily buckled on his armor 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 Albohacen 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 recognized Boabdil himself,
by his splendid armor, the magnificent caparison of his steed, and the
brilliant guard which surrounded him. The royal host swept on toward the
height of Albohacen: 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
get into 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 scarce a foothold. The good count
groaned in spirit and 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 valor, or rather with hurried
rashness. Heedlessly exposing himself in the front of the battle, he
received two wounds in the very first encounter. His guards rallied
round him, defended him with matchless valor, 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
toward the gate of the city.
The departure of Boabdil made no difference in the fury of the battle.
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 marques 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 Urena 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 honors 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 height of Albohacen. The situation of the marques de Cadiz and his
companions was perilous in the extreme: they were a mere handful, and,
while fighting hand to hand with the Moors who assailed the height, 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, where there
was the wild career of cavalry, the irregular and tumultuous rush of
infantry, and where Christian and Moor were intermingled in deadly
struggle. The high blood of the English knight mounted at the sight, and
his soul was stirred within him by the confused war-cries, the clangor
of drums and trumpets, and the reports of arquebuses. Seeing that 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 then
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 honor 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.* They soon made their way
into the midst of the enemy, but when engaged in the hottest of the
fight they made no shouts nor 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.
* Cura de los Palacios.
When the Castilian mountaineers beheld the valor of the English
yeomanry, they would not be outdone in hardihood. They could not vie
with them in weight or bulk, but for vigor 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 Englishmen.
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 pell-mell, 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 driven within the city walls. Thus were the suburbs gained
by the hardihood of the English lord, without such an event having been
premeditated.*
* Cura de los Palacios, MS.
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 await the
foe here, for better is it to die quickly by the steel than to perish
piecemeal 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.*
* Pulgar, part 3, c. 58.
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 marques of Cadiz and his brave companions once more pitched
their tents upon the height of Santo Albohacen; but the English earl
planted his standard sturdily within the suburb he had taken.