HOW QUEEN ISABELLA TOOK A VIEW OF THE CITY OF GRANADA, AND HOW HER
CURIOSITY COST THE LIVES OF MANY CHRISTIANS AND MOORS.
The royal encampment lay so distant 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 city whose
beauty was so renowned throughout the world; and the marques 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.
On the morning of June the 18th a magnificent and powerful train issued
from the Christian camp. The advanced guard was composed of legions of
cavalry, heavily armed, looking like moving masses of polished steel.
Then came the king and queen, with the prince and princess and the
ladies of the court, surrounded by the royal body-guard, sumptuously
arrayed, composed of the sons of the most illustrious houses of Spain;
after these was the rear-guard, 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
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 toward the hamlet of Zubia, built on the skirts of the
mountain 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 marques of Villena, the count Urena, and Don Alonso de
Aguilar fled off with their battalions, and were soon seen glittering
along the side of the mountain above the village. In the mean time, the
marques of Cadiz, the count de Tendilla, the count de Cabra, and Don
Alonso Fernandez, senior of Alcaudrete 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 amid shady groves, anticipating the time when the Catholic
sovereigns should be enthroned within its walls and its courts shine
with the splendor 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 battle, and 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 colors, and the caparisons of their steeds flamed with gold
and embroidery. This was the favorite squadron of Muza, composed of
the flower of the youthful cavaliers of Granada. Others succeeded, some
heavily armed, others “a la gineta” with lance and buckler, and lastly
came the legions of foot-soldiers with arquebuse and crossbow and spear
and scimetar.
When the queen saw this army issuing from the city she sent to
the marques of Cadiz, and forbade any attack upon the enemy or the
acceptance of any challenge to a skirmish, for she was loth that her
curiosity should cost the life of a single human being.
The marques promised to obey, though sorely against his will, and it
grieved the spirit of the Spanish cavaliers to be obliged to remain
with sheathed sword’s 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 scimetars and
defying various cavaliers to single combat; but Ferdinand had rigorously
prohibited all duels of the kind, and they dared not transgress his
orders under his very eye.
Here, however, the worthy Fray Antonio Agapida, in his enthusiasm for
the triumphs of the faith, records the following incident, which we fear
is not sustained by any grave chronicler of the times, but rests merely
on tradition or the authority of certain poets and dramatic writers
who have perpetuated the tradition in their works: While this grim and
reluctant tranquillity prevailed along the Christian line, says Agapida,
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 huge buckler and a ponderous lance; his
scimetar 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 Hernan Perez del Pulgar had affixed to
the door of the mosque! A burst of horror and indignation broke
forth from the army. Hernan 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, 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 dextrous 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: his horse made a wide career before he could
recover, 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 where about to make a swoop; his 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 scimetar. But
if Garcilasso was inferior to him in power, he was superior in agility:
many of his blows he parried; others he received upon his Flemish
shield, 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, endeavored to wrest him from his saddle. They both fell to
earth: the Moor placed his knee upon 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 on as a
signal of triumph amid the rapturous shouts of the Christian army.*
* The above incident has been commemorated in old Spanish ballads,
and made the subject of a scene in an old Spanish drama ascribed by some
to Lope de Vega.
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 to 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 marques of
Cadiz.
The gallant marques 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 princess, 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 endeavored to rally them. Some took
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. Upward of two thousand
were either 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.*
* Cura de los Palacios, cap. 101; Zurita, lib. 20, c. 88.
Such was the brief but bloody action which was known among the Christian
warriors by the name of “the Queen’s Skirmish;” for when the marques 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 it was all 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 skirmish as they had ever
witnessed.
The gayety of this gentle pass at arms, however, was somewhat marred
by a rough reverse in the evening. Certain of the Christian cavaliers,
among whom were the count de Urena, Don Alonso Aguilar, his brother
Gonsalvo of Cordova, Diego Castrillo, commander of Calatrava, and others
to the number of fifty, remained in ambush near Armilla, expecting the
Moors would sally forth at night to visit the scene of battle and to
bury their dead. They were discovered by a Moor who had climbed an elm
tree to reconnoitre, and who hastened into the city to give notice
of their ambush. Scarce had night fallen when the cavaliers found
themselves surrounded by a host which in the darkness seemed
innumerable. The Moors attacked them with sanguinary fury to revenge
the disgrace of the morning. The cavaliers fought to every disadvantage,
overwhelmed by numbers, ignorant of the ground, perplexed by thickets
and by the water-courses of the gardens, the sluices of which were
all thrown open. Even retreat was difficult. The count de Urena was
surrounded and in imminent peril, from which he was saved by two of his
faithful followers at the sacrifice of their lives. Several
cavaliers lost their horses, and were themselves put to death in the
water-courses. Gonsalvo of Cordova came near having his own illustrious
career cut short in this obscure skirmish. He had fallen into a
water-course, whence he extricated himself, covered with mud and so
encumbered with his armor that he could not retreat. Inigo de Mendoza, a
relative of his brother Alonso, seeing his peril, offered him his horse.
“Take it, senor,” said he, “for you cannot save yourself on foot, and I
can; but should I fall take care of my wife and daughters.”
Gonsalvo accepted the devoted offer, mounted the horse, and had made
but few paces when a lamentable cry caused him to turn his head, and
he beheld the faithful Mendoza transfixed by Moorish lances. The four
principal cavaliers already named, with several of their followers,
effected their retreat and reached the camp in safety; but this
nocturnal reverse obscured the morning’s triumph. Gonsalvo remembered
the last words of the devoted Mendoza, and bestowed a pension on his
widow and marriage portions on his daughters.*
* The account of this nocturnal affair is from Peter Martyr, lib. 4,
Epist. 90, and Pulgar, Hazanas del Gran Capitan, page 188, as cited by
Alcantara, Hist. Granada, tom. 4, cap. 18.
To commemorate the victory of which she had been an eye-witness, Queen
Isabella afterward erected a monastery in the village of Zubia dedicated
to St. Francisco, which still exists, and in its garden is a laurel
planted by her hands.*
* The house whence the king and queen contemplated the battle is
likewise to be seen at the present day. It is in the first street to
the right on entering the village from the Vega, and the royal arms are
painted on the ceilings. It is inhabited by a worthy farmer, Francisco
Garcia, who in showing the house to the writer refused all compensation
with true Spanish pride, offering, on the contrary, the hospitalities
of his mansion. His children are versed in the old Spanish ballads about
the exploits of Hernan Perez del Pulgar and Garcilasso de la Vega.