HOW THE PEOPLE OF GRANADA REWARDED THE VALOR OF EL ZAGAL.
The daring spirit of Muley Abdallah el Zagal in sallying forth to defend
his territories while he left an armed rival in his capital struck the
people of Granada with admiration. They recalled his former exploits,
and again anticipated some hardy achievement from his valor. 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.
We shall soon see the Christian king led captive to the capital.” Thus
was the name of El Zagal on every tongue. He was extolled as the savior
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 clamor of the populace that his
adherents trembled for his safety.
While the people of Granada were impatiently looking out for tidings
of the anticipated victory scattered horsemen came 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 suddenly 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 shouted, “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 Albaycin, 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 (9) usurper. Executions of the kind were matters of course
on any change in Moorish government, and Boabdil was lauded 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 Abdallah
el Zagal was for a time a by-word of scorn and opprobrium throughout the
city.
Never was any commander more astonished and confounded by a sudden
reverse of fortune 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 army. 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.
With these he made a gloomy retreat toward Granada, but with a heart
full of foreboding. As he drew near to 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 Almunecar, and thence to Almeria, which places 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, endeavoring to rally
his forces and preparing to avail himself of any sudden change in the
fluctuating politics of the metropolis.