CONFLAGRATION OF THE CHRISTIAN CAMP.--BUILDING OF SANTA FE.
The moors now shut themselves up gloomily within their walls; there
were no longer any daring sallies from their gates, and even the martial
clangor of the drum and trumpet, which had continually resounded within
the warrior city, was now seldom heard from its battlements. In the
midst of this deep despondency a single disaster in the Christian camp
for a moment lit up a ray of hope in the bosom of the Moors.
The setting sun of a hot summer’s day, on the 10th of July, shone
splendidly upon the Christian camp, which was in a bustle of preparation
for the next day’s service, when an attack was meditated on the city.
The camp made a glorious appearance. The various tents of the royal
family and the attendant nobles were adorned with rich hangings and
sumptuous devices and costly furniture, forming, as it were, a little
city of silk and brocade, where the pinnacles of pavilions of various
gay colors, surmounted with waving standards and fluttering pennons,
might vie with the domes and minarets of the capital they were
besieging.
In the midst of this little gaudy metropolis the lofty tent of the queen
domineered over the rest like a stately palace. The marques of Cadiz
had courteously surrendered his own tent to the queen: it was the most
complete and sumptuous in Christendom, and had been carried about with
him throughout the war. In the centre rose a stately alfaneque, or
pavilion, in Oriental taste, the rich hangings being supported by
columns of lances and ornamented with martial devices. This central
pavilion, or silken tower, was surrounded by other compartments, some
of painted linen lined with silk, and all separated from each other
by curtains. It was one of those camp palaces which are raised and
demolished in an instant like the city of canvas which surrounds them.
As the evening advanced the bustle in the camp subsided. Every one
sought repose, preparatory to the next day’s trial. The king retired
early, that he might be up with the crowing of the cock to head the
destroying army in person. All stir of military preparation was hushed
in the royal quarters: the very sound of minstrelsy was mute, and not
the tinkling of a guitar was to be heard from the tents of the fair
ladies of the court.
The queen had retired to the innermost part of her pavilion, where she
was performing her orisons before a private altar: perhaps the peril
to which the king might be exposed in the next day’s foray inspired
her with more than usual devotion. While thus at her prayers she was
suddenly aroused by a glare of light and wreaths of suffocating smoke.
In an instant the whole tent was in a blaze: there was a high gusty
wind, which whirled the light flames from tent to tent and wrapped the
whole in one conflagration.
Isabella had barely time to save herself by instant flight. Her first
thought on being extricated from her tent was for the safety of the
king. She rushed to his tent, but the vigilant Ferdinand was already at
the entrance of it. Starting from bed on the first alarm and fancying it
an assault of the enemy, he had seized his sword and buckler and sallied
forth undressed with his cuirass upon his arm.
The late gorgeous camp was now a scene of wild confusion. The flames
kept spreading from one pavilion to another, glaring upon the rich armor
and golden and silver vessels, which seemed melting in the fervent heat.
Many of the soldiers had erected booths and bowers of branches, which,
being dry, crackled and blazed and added to the rapid conflagration. The
ladies of the court fled, shrieking and half dressed, from their tents.
There was an alarm of drum and trumpet, and a distracted hurry about the
camp of men half armed. The prince Juan had been snatched out of bed by
an attendant and conveyed to the quarters of the count de Cabra, which
were at the entrance of the camp. The loyal count immediately summoned
his people and those of his cousin Don Alonso de Montemayor, and formed
a guard round the tent in which the prince was sheltered.
The idea that this was a stratagem of the Moors soon subsided, but it
was feared they might take advantage of it to assault the camp. The
marques of Cadiz, therefore, sallied forth with three thousand horse to
check any advance from the city. As they passed along the whole camp was
a scene of hurry and consternation--some hastening to their posts at
the call of drum and trumpet; some attempting to save rich effects and
glittering armor from the tents; others dragging along terrified and
restive horses.
When they emerged from the camp they found the whole firmament
illuminated. The flames whirled up in long light spires, and the air was
filled with sparks and cinders. A bright glare was thrown upon the city,
revealing every battlement and tower. Turbaned heads were seen gazing
from every roof, and armor gleamed along the walls, yet not a single
warrior sallied from the gates: the Moors suspected some stratagem
on the part of the Christians and kept quietly within their walls. By
degrees the flames expired; the city faded from sight; all again became
dark and quiet, and the marques of Cadiz returned with his cavalry to
the camp.
When the day dawned on the Christian camp nothing remained of that
beautiful assemblage of stately pavilions but heaps of smouldering
rubbish, with helms and corselets and other furniture of war, and masses
of melted gold and silver glittering among the ashes. The wardrobe
of the queen was entirely destroyed, and there was an immense loss
in plate, jewels, costly stuffs, and sumptuous armor of the luxurious
nobles. The fire at first had been attributed to treachery, but on
investigation it proved to be entirely accidental. The queen on retiring
to her prayers had ordered her lady in attendance to remove a light
burning near her couch, lest it should prevent her sleeping. Through
heedlessness, the taper was placed in another part of the tent near the
hangings, which, being blown against it by a gust of wind, immediately
took fire.
The wary Ferdinand knew the sanguine temperament of the Moors, and
hastened to prevent their deriving confidence from the night’s disaster.
At break of day the drums and trumpets sounded to arms, and the
Christian army issued forth from among the smoking ruins of their camp
in shining squadrons, with flaunting banners and bursts of martial
melody, as though the preceding night had been a time of high festivity
instead of terror.
The Moors had beheld the conflagration with wonder and perplexity.
When the day broke and they looked toward the Christian camp, they saw
nothing but a dark smoking mass. Their scouts came in with the joyful
intelligence that the whole camp was a scene of ruin. In the exultation
of the moment they flattered themselves with hopes that the catastrophe
would discourage the besiegers--that, as in former years, their invasion
would end with the summer and they would withdraw before the autumnal
rains.
The measures of Ferdinand and Isabella soon crushed these hopes. They
gave orders to build a regular city upon the site of their camp, to
convince the Moors that the siege was to endure until the surrender of
Granada. Nine of the principal cities of Spain were charged with the
stupendous undertaking, and they emulated each other with a zeal worthy
of the cause. “It verily seems,” says Fray Antonio Agapida, “as though
some miracle operated to aid this pious work, so rapidly did arise
a formidable city, with solid edifices and powerful walls and mighty
towers, where lately had been seen nothing but tents and light
pavilions. The city was traversed by two principal streets in form of
a cross, terminating in four gates facing the four winds, and in the
centre was a vast square where the whole army might be assembled. To
this city it was proposed to give the name of Isabella, so dear to the
army and the nation, but that pious princess,” adds Antonio Agapida,
“calling to mind the holy cause in which it was erected, gave it the
name of Santa Fe (or the City of the Holy Faith), and it remains to this
day a monument of the piety and glory of the Catholic sovereigns.”
Hither the merchants soon resorted from all points. Long trains of mules
were seen every day entering and departing from its gates; the streets
were crowded with magazines filled with all kinds of costly and
luxurious merchandise; a scene of bustling commerce and prosperity took
place, while unhappy Granada remained shut up and desolate.