The scattered fugitives of the Christian army spread terror throughout the
land. The inhabitants of the towns and villages gathered around them as
they applied at their gates for food, or laid themselves down, faint and
wounded, beside the public fountains. When they related the tale of their
defeat, old men shook their heads and groaned, and the women uttered cries
and lamentations. So strange and unlooked-for a calamity filled them with
consternation and despair; for it was long since the alarm of war had
sounded in their land: and this was a warfare that carried chains and
slavery, and all kinds of horrors, in its train.
Don Roderick was seated with his beauteous queen, Exilona, in the royal
palace which crowned the rocky summit of Toledo, when the bearer of
ill-tidings came galloping over the bridge of the Tagus. 'What tidings
from the army?' demanded the king, as the panting messenger was brought
into his presence. 'Tidings of great wo!' exclaimed the soldier. 'The
prince has fallen in battle. I saw his head and surcoat upon a Moorish
lance; and the army was overthrown and fled!'
At hearing these words, Roderick covered his face with his hands, and for
some time sat in silence; and all his courtiers stood mute and aghast, and
no one dared to speak a word. In that awful space of time passed before
his thoughts all his errors and his crimes, and all the evil that had been
predicted in the necromantic tower. His mind was filled with horror and
confusion, for the hour of his destruction seemed at hand: but he subdued
his agitation by his strong and haughty spirit; and, when he uncovered his
face, no one could read on his brow the trouble and agony of his heart.
Still, every hour brought fresh tidings of disaster. Messenger after
messenger came spurring into the city, distracting it with new alarms. The
infidels, they said, were strengthening themselves in the land; host after
host were pouring in from Africa: the sea-coast of Andalusia glittered
with spears and scimitars. Bands of turbaned horsemen had overrun the
plains of Sidonia, even to the banks of the Guadiana. Fields were laid
waste, towns and cities plundered, the inhabitants carried into captivity,
and the whole country lay in smoking desolation.
Roderick heard all these tidings with an undaunted aspect; nor did he ever
again betray sign of consternation: but the anxiety of his soul was
evident in his warlike preparations. He issued orders that every noble and
prelate of his kingdom should put himself at the head of his retainers,
and take the field; and that every man capable of bearing arms should
hasten to his standard, bringing whatever horse, and mule, and weapon he
possessed: and he appointed the plain of Cordova for the place where the
army was to assemble. Throwing by, then, all the trappings of his late
slothful and voluptuous life, and arming himself for warlike action, he
departed from Toledo at the head of his guard, composed of the flower of
the youthful nobility. His queen, Exilona, accompanied him; for she craved
permission to remain in one of the cities of Andalusia, that she might be
near her lord in this time of peril.
Among the first who appeared to hail the arrival of the king at Cordova,
was the Bishop Oppas, the secret partisan of the traitor Julian. He
brought with him his two nephews, Evan and Siseburto, the sons of the late
king Witiza; and a great host of vassals and retainers, all well armed and
appointed, for they had been furnished, by Count Julian, with a part of
the arms sent by the king to Africa. The bishop was smooth of tongue, and
profound in his hypocrisy: his pretended zeal and devotion, and the horror
with which he spoke of the treachery of his kinsman, imposed upon the
credulous spirit of the king, and he was readily admitted into his most
secret council.
The alarm of the infidel invasion had spread throughout the land, and
roused the Gothic valor of the inhabitants. On receiving the orders of
Roderick, every town and hamlet, every mountain and valley, had sent forth
its fighting men, and the whole country was on the march toward Andalusia.
In a little while there were gathered together, on the plain of Cordova,
near fifty thousand horsemen, and a countless host of foot-soldiers. The
Gothic nobles appeared in burnished armor, curiously inlaid, and adorned
with chains and jewels of gold, and ornaments of precious stones, and
silken scarfs, and surcoats of brocade, or velvet richly embroidered;
betraying the luxury and ostentation with which they had declined from the
iron hardihood of their warlike sires. As to the common people, some had
lances and shields and swords and crossbows, but the greater part were
unarmed, or provided merely with slings, and clubs studded with nails, and
with the iron implements of husbandry; and many had made shields for
themselves from the doors and windows of their habitations. They were a
prodigious host, and appeared, say the Arabian chroniclers, like an
agitated sea; but, though brave in spirit, they possessed no knowledge of
warlike art, and were ineffectual through lack of arms and discipline.
Several of the most ancient and experienced cavaliers, beholding the state
of the army, advised Don Roderick to await the arrival of more regular
troops, which were stationed in Iberia, Cantabria, and Gallia Gothica; but
this counsel was strenuously opposed by the Bishop Oppas; who urged the
king to march immediately against the infidels. 'As yet,' said he, 'their
number is but limited; but every day new hosts arrive, like flocks of
locusts, from Africa. They will augment faster than we; they are living,
too, at our expense, and, while we pause, both armies are consuming the
substance of the land.'
King Roderick listened to the crafty counsel of the bishop, and determined
to advance without delay. He mounted his war horse, Orelia, and rode among
his troops assembled on that spacious plain, and wherever he appeared he
was received with acclamations; for nothing so arouses the spirit of the
soldier as to behold his sovereign in arms. He addressed them in words
calculated to touch their hearts and animate their courage. 'The
Saracens,' said he, 'are ravaging our land, and their object is our
conquest. Should they prevail, your very existence as a nation is at an
end. They will overturn your altars; trample on the cross; lay waste your
cities; carry off your wives and daughters, and doom yourselves and sons
to hard and cruel slavery. No safety remains for you but in the prowess of
your arms. For my own part, as I am your king, so will I be your leader,
and will be the foremost to encounter every toil and danger.'
The soldiery answered their monarch with loud acclamations, and solemnly
pledged themselves to fight to the last gasp in defence of their country
and their faith. The king then arranged the order of their march: all
those who were armed with cuirasses and coats of mail were placed in the
front and rear; the centre of the army was composed of a promiscuous
throng, without body armor, and but scantily provided with weapons.
When they were about to march, the king called to him a noble cavalier
named Ramiro, and delivering him the royal standard, charged him to guard
it well for the honor of Spain; scarcely, however, had the good knight
received it in his hand, when he fell dead from his horse, and the staff
of the standard was broken in twain. Many ancient courtiers who were
present looked upon this as an evil omen, and counselled the king not to
set forward on his march that day; but, disregarding all auguries and
portents, he ordered the royal banner to be put upon a lance, and gave it
in charge of another standard-bearer; then commanding the trumpets to be
sounded, he departed at the head of his host to seek the enemy.
The field where this great army assembled was called, from the solemn
pledge given by the nobles and the soldiery, _El campo de la verdad_; or,
The field of Truth; a name, says the sage chronicler Abul Cassim, which it
bears even to the present day.
The hopes of Andalusia revived, as this mighty host stretched in
lengthened lines along its fertile plains; from morning until night it
continued to pour along, with sound of drum and trumpet; it was led on by
the proudest nobles and bravest cavaliers of the land, and, had it
possessed arms and discipline, might have undertaken the conquest of the
world.
After a few days' march, Don Roderick arrived in sight of the Moslem army,
encamped on the banks of the Guadalete, where that beautiful stream winds
through the fertile land of Xeres. The infidel host was far inferior in
number to the Christians; but then it was composed of hardy and dexterous
troops, seasoned to war, and admirably armed. The camp shone gloriously in
the setting sun, and resounded with the clash of cymbal, the note of the
trumpet, and the neighing of fiery Arabian steeds. There were swarthy
troops from every nation of the African coast, together with legions from
Syria and Egypt, while the light Bedouins were careering about the
adjacent plain. What grieved and incensed the spirits of the Christian
warriors, however, was to behold, a little apart from the Moslem host, an
encampment of Spanish cavaliers, with the banner of Count Julian waving
above their tents. They were ten thousand in number, valiant and hardy
men, the most experienced of Spanish soldiery, most of them having served
in the African wars; they were well armed and appointed also, with the
weapons of which the count had beguiled his sovereign; and it was a
grievous sight to behold such good soldiers arrayed against their country
and their faith.
The Christians pitched their tents about the hour of vespers, at a short
league distant from the enemy, and remained gazing with anxiety and awe
upon this barbaric host that had caused such terror and desolation in the
land: for the first sight of a hostile encampment in a country disused to
war, is terrible to the newly enlisted soldier. A marvellous occurrence is
recorded by the Arabian chroniclers as having taken place in the Christian
camp; but discreet Spanish writers relate it with much modification, and
consider it a stratagem of the wily Bishop Oppas, to sound the loyalty of
the Christian cavaliers.
As several leaders of the army were seated with the bishop in his tent,
conversing on the dubious fortunes of the approaching contest, an ancient
pilgrim appeared at the entrance. He was bowed down with years, his snowy
beard descended to his girdle, and he supported his tottering steps with a
palmer's staff. The cavaliers rose and received him with great reverence
as he advanced within the tent. Holding up his withered hand, 'Wo, wo to
Spain!' exclaimed he, 'for the vial of the wrath of heaven is about to be
poured out. Listen, warriors, and take warning. Four months since, having
performed my pilgrimage to the sepulchre of our Lord in Palestine, I was
on my return toward my native land. Wearied and wayworn, I lay down one
night to sleep beneath a palm tree, by the side of a fountain, when I was
awakened by a voice saying unto me, in soft accents, 'Son of sorrow, why
sleepest thou?' I opened my eyes, and beheld one of a fair and beauteous
countenance, in shining apparel and with glorious wings, standing by the
fountain; and I said, 'Who art thou who callest upon me in this deep hour
of the night?'
''Fear not,' replied the stranger, 'I am an angel from heaven, sent to
reveal unto thee the fate of thy country. Behold the sins of Roderick have
come up before God, and his anger is kindled against him, and he has given
him up to be invaded and destroyed. Hasten then to Spain, and seek the
camp of thy countrymen. Warn them that such only shall be saved as shall
abandon Roderick; but those who adhere to him shall share his punishment,
and shall fall under the sword of the invader.''
The pilgrim ceased, and passed forth from the tent; certain of the
cavaliers followed him to detain him, that they might converse further
with him about these matters, but he was no where to be found. The
sentinel before the tent said, 'I saw no one come forth, but it was as if
a blast of wind passed by me, and there was a rustling as of dry leaves.'
The cavaliers remained looking upon each other with astonishment. The
Bishop Oppas sat with his eyes fixed upon the ground, and shadowed by his
overhanging brow. At length, breaking silence, in a low and faltering
voice, 'Doubtless,' said he, 'this message is from God; and since he has
taken compassion upon us, and given us notice of his impending judgment,
it behooves us to hold grave council, and determine how best we may
accomplish his will and avert his displeasure.'
The chiefs still remained silent, as men confounded. Among them was a
veteran noble named Pelistes. He had distinguished himself in the African
wars, fighting side by side with Count Julian, but the latter had never
dared to tamper with his faith, for he knew his stern integrity. Pelistes
had brought with him to the camp his only son, who had never drawn a sword
except in tourney. When the young man saw that the veterans held their
peace, the blood mantled in his cheek, and, overcoming his modesty, he
broke forth with a generous warmth: 'I know not, cavaliers,' said he,
'what is passing in your minds, but I believe this pilgrim to be an envoy
from the devil; for none else could have given such dastard and perfidious
counsel. For my own part, I stand ready to defend my king, my country, and
my faith. I know no higher duty than this, and if God thinks fit to strike
me dead in the performance of it, his sovereign will be done!'
When the young man had risen to speak, his father had fixed his eyes upon
him with a grave and stern demeanor, leaning upon a two-handed sword. As
soon as the youth had finished, Pelistes embraced him with a father's
fondness. 'Thou hast spoken well, my son,' said he; 'if I held my peace at
the counsel of this losel pilgrim, it was but to hear thy opinion, and to
learn whether thou wert worthy of thy lineage and of the training I had
given thee. Hadst thou counselled otherwise than thou hast done, hadst
thou shown thyself craven and disloyal, so help me God, I would have
struck off thy head with this weapon which I hold in my hand. But thou
hast counselled like a loyal and a Christian knight, and I thank God for
having given me a son worthy to perpetuate the honors of my line. As to
this pilgrim, be he saint or be he devil, I care not; this much I promise,
that if I am to die in defence of my country and my king, my life shall be
a costly purchase to the foe. Let each man make the same resolve, and I
trust we shall yet prove the pilgrim a lying prophet.' The words of
Pelistes roused the spirits of many of the cavaliers; others, however,
remained full of anxious foreboding, and when this fearful prophecy was
rumored about the camp, as it presently was by the emissaries of the
bishop, it spread awe and dismay among the soldiery.
On the following day, the two armies remained regarding each other with
wary but menacing aspect. About noontide, King Roderick sent forth a
chosen force of five hundred horse and two hundred foot, the best armed of
his host, to skirmish with the enemy, that, by gaining some partial
advantage, they might raise the spirits of the army. They were led on by
Theodomir, the same Gothic noble who had signalised himself by first
opposing the invasion of the Moslems.
The Christian squadrons paraded with flying pennons in the valley which
lay between the armies. The Arabs were not slow in answering their
defiance. A large body of horsemen sallied forth to the encounter,
together with three hundred of the followers of Count Julian. There was
hot skirmishing about the field, and on the banks of the river; many
gallant feats were displayed on either side, and many valiant warriors
were slain. As the night closed in, the trumpets from either camp summoned
the troops to retire from the combat. In this day's action the Christians
suffered greatly in the loss of their distinguished cavaliers; for it is
the noblest spirits who venture most, and lay themselves open to danger;
and the Moslem soldiers had instructions to single out the leaders of the
adverse host. All this is said to have been devised by the perfidious
Bishop Oppas, who had secret communications with the enemy, while he
influenced the councils of the king; and who trusted that by this
skirmishing warfare the power of the Christian troops would be cut off,
and the rest disheartened.
On the following morning, a larger force was ordered out to skirmish, and
such of the soldiery as were unarmed were commanded to stand ready to
seize the horses and strip off the armor of the killed and wounded. Among
the most illustrious of the warriors who fought that day was Pelistes, the
Gothic noble who had sternly checked the tongue of the Bishop Oppas. He
led to the field a large body of his own vassals and retainers, and of
cavaliers trained up in his house, who had followed him to the wars in
Africa, and who looked up to him more as a father than a chieftain. Beside
him was his only son, who now for the first time was fleshing his sword in
battle. The conflict that day was more general and bloody than the day
preceding; the slaughter of the Christian warriors was immense, from their
lack of defensive armour; and as nothing could prevent the flower of the
Gothic chivalry from spurring to the combat, the field was strewed with
the bodies of the youthful nobles. None suffered more, however, than the
warriors of Pelistes. Their leader himself was bold and hardy, and prone
to expose himself to danger; but years and experience had moderated his
early fire; his son, however, was eager to distinguish himself in this,
his first essay, and rushed with impetuous ardor into the hottest of the
battle. In vain his father called to caution him; he was ever in the
advance, and seemed unconscious of the perils that surrounded him. The
cavaliers and vassals of his father followed him with devoted zeal, and
many of them paid for their loyalty with their lives. When the trumpet
sounded in the evening for retreat, the troops of Pelistes were the last
to reach the camp. They came slowly and mournfully, and much decreased in
number. Their veteran commander was seated on his war-horse, but the blood
trickled from the greaves of his armour. His valiant son was borne on the
shields of his vassals; when they laid him on the earth near to where the
king was standing, they found that the heroic youth had expired of his
wounds. The cavaliers surrounded the body and gave utterance to their
grief; but the father restrained his agony, and looked on with the stern
resignation of a soldier.
Don Roderick surveyed the field of battle with a rueful eye, for it was
covered with the mangled bodies of his most illustrious warriors; he saw,
too, with anxiety, that the common people, unused to war, and unsustained
by discipline, were harassed by incessant toils and dangers, and were
cooling in their zeal and courage.
The crafty Bishop Oppas marked the internal trouble of the king, and
thought a favorable moment had arrived to sway him to his purpose. He
called to his mind the various portents and prophecies which had forerun
their present danger. 'Let not my lord the king,' said he, 'make light of
these mysterious revelations, which appear to be so disastrously
fulfilling. The hand of Heaven appears to be against us. Destruction is
impending over our heads. Our troops are rude and unskilful, but slightly
armed, and much cast down in spirit. Better is it that we should make a
treaty with the enemy, and, by granting part of his demands, prevent the
utter ruin of our country. If such counsel be acceptable to my lord the
king, I stand ready to depart upon an embassy to the Moslem camp.'
Upon hearing these words, Pelistes, who had stood in mournful silence,
regarding the dead body of his son, burst forth with honest indignation.
'By this good sword,' said he, 'the man who yields such dastard counsel
deserves death from the hand of his countrymen rather than from the foe;
and, were it not for the presence of the king, may I forfeit salvation if
I would not strike him dead upon the spot.'
The bishop turned an eye of venom upon Pelistes. 'My lord,' said he, 'I
too, bear a weapon, and know how to wield it. Were the king not present
you would not dare to menace, nor should you advance one step without my
hastening to meet you.'
The king interposed between the jarring nobles, and rebuked the
impetuosity of Pelistes, but at the same time rejected the counsel of the
bishop. 'The event of this conflict,' said he, 'is in the hand of God; but
never shall my sword return to its scabbard while an infidel invader
remains within the land.'
He then held a council with his captains, and it was determined to offer
the enemy general battle on the following day. A herald was despatched
defying Taric ben Zeyad to the contest, and the defiance was gladly
accepted by the Moslem chieftain. Don Roderick then formed the plan of
action, and assigned to each commander his several station, after which he
dismissed his officers, and each one sought his tent, to prepare by
diligence or repose for the next day's eventful contest.
Taric ben Zeyad had been surprised by the valor of the Christian cavaliers
in the recent battles, and at the number and apparent devotion of the
troops which accompanied the king to the field. The confident defiance of
Don Roderick increased his surprise. When the herald had retired, he
turned an eye of suspicion on Count Julian. 'Thou hast represented thy
countrymen,' said he, 'as sunk in effeminacy and lost to all generous
impulse: yet I find them fighting with the courage and the strength of
lions. Thou hast represented thy king as detested by his subjects, and
surrounded by secret treason, but I behold his tents whitening the hills
and dales, while thousands are hourly flocking to his standard. Wo unto
thee if thou hast dealt deceitfully with us, or betrayed us with guileful
words.'
Don Julian retired to his tent in great trouble of mind, and fear came
upon him that the Bishop Oppas might play him false; for it is the lot of
traitors ever to distrust each other. He called to him the same page who
had brought him the letter from Florinda, revealing the story of her
dishonor.
'Thou knowest, my trusty page,' said he, 'that I have reared thee in my
household, and cherished thee above all thy companions. If thou hast
loyalty and affection for thy lord, now is the time to serve him. Hie thee
to the Christian camp, and find thy way to the tent of the Bishop Oppas.
If any one ask thee who thou art, tell them thou art of the household of
the bishop, and bearer of missives from Cordova. When thou art admitted to
the presence of the bishop, show him this ring, and he will commune with
thee in secret. Then tell him Count Julian greets him as a brother, and
demands how the wrongs of his daughter Florinda are to be redressed. Mark
well his reply, and bring it word for word. Have thy lips closed, but
thine eyes and ears open; and observe every thing of note in the camp of
the king. So speed thee on thy errand--away, away!'
The page hastened to saddle a Barbary steed, fleet as the wind, and of a
jet black color, so as not to be easily discernible in the night. He
girded on a sword and dagger, slung an Arab bow with a quiver of arrows at
his side, and a buckler at his shoulder. Issuing out of the camp, he
sought the banks of the Guadalete, and proceeded silently along its
stream, which reflected the distant fires of the Christian camp. As he
passed by the place which had been the scene of the recent conflict, he
heard, from time to time, the groan of some expiring warrior who had
crawled among the reeds on the margin of the river; and sometimes his
steed stepped cautiously over the mangled bodies of the slain. The young
page was unused to the sights of war, and his heart beat quick within him.
He was hailed by the sentinels as he approached the Christian camp, and,
on giving the reply taught him by Count Julian, was conducted to the tent
of the Bishop Oppas.
The bishop had not yet retired to his couch. When he beheld the ring of
Count Julian, and heard the words of his message, he saw that the page was
one in whom he might confide. 'Hasten back to thy lord,' said he, 'and
tell him to have faith in me, and all shall go well. As yet I have kept my
troops out of the combat. They are all fresh, well armed, and well
appointed. The king has confided to myself, aided by the princes Evan and
Siseburto, the command of a wing of the army. To-morrow, at the hour of
noon, when both armies are in the heat of action, we will pass over with
our forces to the Moslems. But I claim the compact made with Taric ben
Zeyad, that my nephews be placed in dominion over Spain, and tributary
only to the Caliph of Damascus.' With this traitorous message the page
departed. He led his black steed by the bridle to present less mark for
observation, as he went stumbling along near the expiring fires of the
camp. On passing the last outpost, when the guards were half slumbering on
their arms, he was overheard and summoned, but leaped lightly into the
saddle and put spurs to his steed. An arrow whistled by his ear and two
more stuck in the target which he had thrown upon his back. The clatter of
swift hoofs echoed behind him, but he had learnt of the Arabs to fight and
fly. Plucking a shaft from his quiver, and turning and rising in the
stirrups as his courser galloped at full speed, he drew the arrow to the
head and launched it at his pursuer. The twang of the bow-string was
followed by the crash of armour, and a deep groan, as the horseman tumbled
to the earth. The page pursued his course with further molestation, and
arrived at the Moslem camp before the break of day.
A light had burned throughout the night in the tent of the king, and
anxious thoughts and dismal visions troubled his repose. If he fell into a
slumber, he beheld in his dreams the shadowy phantoms of the necromantic
tower, or the injured Florinda, pale and dishevelled, imprecating the
vengeance of Heaven upon his head. In the mid-watches of the night, when
all was silent except the footstep of the sentinel, pacing before his
tent, the king rose from his couch, and walking forth looked thoughtfully
upon the martial scene before him. The pale crescent of the moon hung over
the Moorish camp, and dimly lighted up the windings of the Guadalete. The
heart of the king was heavy and oppressed; but he felt only for himself,
says Antonio Agapida, he thought nothing of the perils impending over the
thousands of devoted subjects in the camp below him; sleeping, as it were,
on the margin of their graves. The faint clatter of distant hoofs, as if
in rapid flight, reached the monarch's ear, but the horsemen were not to
be descried. At that very hour, and along the shadowy banks of that river,
here and there gleaming with the scanty moonlight, passed the fugitive
messenger of Count Julian, with the plan of the next day's treason.
The day had not yet dawned, when the sleepless and impatient monarch
summoned his attendants and arrayed himself for the field. He then sent
for the venerable Bishop Urbino, who had accompanied him to the camp, and,
laying aside his regal crown, he knelt with head uncovered, and confessed
his sins before the holy man. After this a solemn mass was performed in
the royal tent, and the eucharist administered to the monarch. When these
ceremonies were concluded, he besought the archbishop to depart forthwith
for Cordova, there to await the issue of the battle, and to be ready to
bring forward reinforcements and supplies. The archbishop saddled his mule
and departed just as the faint blush of morning began to kindle in the
east. Already the camp resounded with the thrilling call of the trumpet,
the clank of armor, and the tramp and neigh of steeds. As the archbishop
passed through the camp, he looked with a compassionate heart on this vast
multitude, of whom so many were soon to perish. The warriors pressed to
kiss his hand, and many a cavalier full of youth and fire received his
benediction, who was to lie stiff and cold before the evening.
When the troops were marshalled for the field, Don Roderick prepared to
sally forth in the state and pomp with which the Gothic kings were wont to
go to battle. He was arrayed in robes of gold brocade; his sandals were
embroidered with pearls and diamonds; he had a sceptre in his hand, and he
wore a regal crown resplendent with inestimable jewels. Thus gorgeously
apparelled, he ascended a lofty chariot of ivory, the axle-trees of which
were of silver, and the wheels and pole covered with plates of burnished
gold. Above his head was a canopy of cloth of gold embossed with armorial
devices, and studded with precious stones. This sumptuous chariot was
drawn by milk-white horses, with caparisons of crimson velvet, embroidered
with pearls. A thousand youthful cavaliers surrounded the car; all of the
noblest blood and bravest spirit; all knighted by the king's own hand, and
sworn to defend him to the last.
When Roderick issued forth in this resplendent state, says an Arabian
writer, surrounded by his guards in gilded armour and waving plumes and
scarfs and surcoats of a thousand dyes, it was as if the sun were emerging
in the dazzling chariot of the day from amidst the glorious clouds of
morning.
As the royal car rolled along in front of the squadrons, the soldiers
shouted with admiration. Don Roderick waved his sceptre, and addressed
them from his lofty throne, reminding them of the horror and desolation
which had already been spread through the land by the invaders. He called
upon them to summon up the ancient valor of their race, and avenge the
blood of their brethren. 'One day of glorious fighting,' said he, 'and
this infidel horde will be driven into the sea, or will perish beneath
your swords. Forward bravely to the fight; your families are behind you
praying for your success; the invaders of your country are before you; God
is above to bless his holy cause, and your king leads you to the field.'
The army shouted with one accord, 'Forward to the foe, and death be his
portion who shuns the encounter!'
The rising sun began to shine along the glistening waters of the Guadalete
as the Moorish army, squadron after squadron, came sweeping down a gentle
declivity to the sound of martial music. Their turbans and robes, of
various dyes and fashions, gave a splendid appearance to their host; as
they marched, a cloud of dust arose and partly hid them from the sight,
but still there would break forth flashes of steel and gleams of burnished
gold, like rays of vivid lightning, while the sound of drum and trumpet,
and the clash of Moorish cymbal, were as the warlike thunder within that
stormy cloud of battle.
As the armies drew near each other the sun disappeared among gathering
clouds, and the gloom of the day was increased by the columns of dust
which rose from either host. At length the trumpet sounded for the
encounter. The battle commenced with showers of arrows, stones, and
javelins. The Christian foot-soldiers fought to disadvantage, the greater
part being destitute of helm or buckler. A battalion of light Arabian
horsemen, led by a Greek renegado named Magued el Rumi, careered in front
of the Christian line, launching their darts, and then wheeling off beyond
the reach of the missiles hurled after them. Theodomir now brought up his
seasoned troops into the action, seconded by the veteran Pelistes, and in
a little while the battle became furious and promiscuous. It was glorious
to behold the old Gothic valor shining forth in this hour of fearful
trial. Wherever the Moslems fell, the Christians rushed forward, seized
upon their horses, and stripped them of their armour and their weapons.
They fought desperately and successfully, for they fought for their
country and their faith. The battle raged for several hours; the field was
strown with slain, and the Moors, overcome by the multitude and fury of
their foes, began to falter.
When Taric beheld his troops retreating before the enemy, he threw himself
before them, and, rising in his stirrups, 'Oh, Moslems! conquerors of
Africa!' cried he, whither would you fly? The sea is behind you, the enemy
before; you have no hope but in your valor and the help of God. Do as I do
and the day is ours!'
With these words he put spurs to his horse and sprang among the enemy,
striking to right and left, cutting down and destroying, while his steed,
fierce as himself, trampled upon the foot soldiers and tore them with his
teeth. At this moment a mighty shout arose in various parts of the field;
the noontide hour had arrived. The Bishop Oppas with the two princes, who
had hitherto kept their bands out of the fight, suddenly went over to the
enemy, and turned their weapons upon their astonished countrymen. From
that moment the fortune of the day was changed, and the field of battle
became a scene of wild confusion and bloody massacre. The Christians knew
not whom to contend with, or whom to trust. It seemed as if madness had
seized upon their friends and kinsmen, and that their worst enemies were
among themselves.
The courage of Don Roderick rose with his danger. Throwing off the
cumbrous robes of royalty, and descending from his car, he sprang upon his
steed Orelia, grasped his lance and buckler, and endeavored to rally his
retreating troops. He was surrounded and assailed by a multitude of his
own traitorous subjects, but defended himself with wondrous prowess. The
enemy thickened around him; his loyal band of cavaliers were slain,
bravely fighting in his defence; the last that was seen of the king was in
the midst of the enemy, dealing death at every blow.
A complete panic fell upon the Christians; they threw away their arms and
fled in all directions. They were pursued with dreadful slaughter, until
the darkness of the night rendered it impossible to distinguish friend
from foe. Taric then called off his troops from the pursuit, and took
possession of the royal camp; and the couch which had been pressed so
uneasily on the preceding night by Don Roderick, now yielded sound repose
to his conqueror.
On the morning after the battle, the Arab leader, Taric ben Zeyad, rode
over the bloody field of the Gaudalete, strewed with the ruins of those
splendid armies, which had so lately passed like glorious pageants along
the river banks. There Moor and Christian, horseman and horse, lay gashed
with hideous wounds; and the river, still red with blood, was filled with
the bodies of the slain. The gaunt Arab was as a wolf roaming through the
fold he had laid waste. On every side his eye revelled on the ruin of the
country, on the wrecks of haughty Spain. There lay the flower of her
youthful chivalry, mangled and destroyed, and the strength of her yeomanry
prostrated in the dust. The Gothic noble lay confounded with his vassals;
the peasant with the prince; all ranks and dignities were mingled in one
bloody massacre.
When Taric had surveyed the field, he caused the spoils of the dead and
the plunder of the camp to be brought before him. The booty was immense.
There were massy chains, and rare jewels of gold; pearls and precious
stones; rich silks and brocades, and all other luxurious decorations in
which the Gothic nobles had indulged in the latter times of their
degeneracy. A vast amount of treasure was likewise found, which had been
brought by Roderick for the expenses of the war.
Taric then ordered that the bodies of the Moslem warriors should be
interred; as for those of the Christians, they were gathered in heaps, and
vast pyres of wood were formed, on which they were consumed. The flames of
these pyres rose high in the air, and were seen afar off in the night; and
when the Christians beheld them from the neighboring hills they beat their
breasts and tore their hair, and lamented over them as over the funeral
fires of their country. The carnage of that battle infected the air for
two whole months, and bones were seen lying in heaps upon the field for
more than forty years; nay, when ages had past and gone, the husbandman,
turning up the soil, would still find fragments of Gothic cuirasses and
helms, and Moorish scimitars, the relics of that dreadful fight.
For three days the Arabian horseman pursued the flying Christians, hunting
them over the face of the country; so that but a scanty number of that
mighty host escaped to tell the tale of their disaster.
Taric ben Zeyad considered his victory incomplete so long as the Gothic
monarch survived; he proclaimed great rewards, therefore, to whomsoever
should bring Roderick to him, dead or alive. A diligent search was
accordingly made in every direction, but for a long time in vain; at
length a soldier brought to Taric the head of a Christian warrior, on
which was a cap decorated with feathers and precious stones. The Arab
leader received it as the head of the unfortunate Roderick, and sent it,
as a trophy of his victory, to Musa ben Nosier, who, in like manner,
transmitted it to the caliph at Damascus. The Spanish historians, however,
have always denied its identity.
A mystery has ever hung and ever must continue to hang, over the fate of
King Roderick, in that dark and doleful day of Spain. Whether he went down
amidst the storm of battle, and atoned for his sins and errors by a
patriot grave, or whether he survived to repent of them in hermit exile,
must remain matter of conjecture and dispute. The learned Archbishop
Rodrigo, who has recorded the events of this disastrous field, affirms
that Roderick fell beneath the vengeful blade of the traitor Julian, and
thus expiated with his blood his crime against the hapless Florinda; but
the archbishop stands alone in his record of the fact. It seems generally
admitted that Orelia, the favorite war-horse of Don Roderick, was found
entangled in a marsh on the borders of the Gaudalete, with the sandals and
mantle and royal insignia of the king lying close by him. The river at
this place ran broad and deep, and was encumbered with the dead bodies of
warriors and steeds; it has been supposed therefore, that he perished in
the stream; but his body was not found within its waters.
When several years had passed away, and men's minds, being restored to
some degree of tranquillity, began to occupy themselves about the events
of this dismal day, a rumor arose that Roderick had escaped from the
carnage on the banks of the Gaudalete, and was still alive. It was said,
that having from a rising ground caught a view of the whole field of
battle, and seen that the day was lost, and his army flying in all
directions, he likewise sought his safety in flight. It is added, that the
Arab horsemen, while scouring the mountain in quest of fugitives, found a
shepherd arrayed in the royal robes, and brought him before the conqueror,
believing him to be the king himself. Count Julian soon dispelled the
error. On being questioned, the trembling rustic declared that while
tending his sheep in the folds of the mountains, there came a cavalier on
a horse wearied and spent and ready to sink beneath the spur; that the
cavalier with an authoritative voice and menacing air commanded him to
exchange garments with him, and clad himself in his rude garb of
sheep-skin, and took his crook and his scrip of provisions, and continued
up the rugged defiles of the mountains leading towards Castile, until he
was lost to view.
This tradition was fondly cherished by many, who clung to the belief in
the existence of their monarch as their main hope for the redemption of
Spain. It was even affirmed that he had taken refuge with many of his
host, in an island of the 'Ocean sea,' from whence he might yet return,
once more to elevate his standard, and battle for the recovery of his
throne.
Year after year, however, elapsed and nothing was heard of Don Roderick;
yet, like Sebastian of Portugal, and Arthur of England, his name continued
to be a rallying point for popular faith, and the mystery of his end to
give rise to romantic fables. At length, when generation after generation
had sunk into the grave, and near two centuries had passed and gone,
traces were said to be discovered that threw a light on the final fortunes
of the unfortunate Roderick. At that time, Don Alphonso the Great, King of
Leon, had wrested the city of Viseo in Lusitania from the hands of the
Moslems. As his soldiers were ranging about the city and its environs, one
of them discovered in a field, outside of the walls, a small chapel or
hermitage, with a sepulchre in front, on which was inscribed this epitaph
in Gothic characters:
HIC REQUIESCIT RUDERICUS,
ULTIMUS REX GOTHORUM.
HERE LIES RODERICK,
THE LAST KING OF THE GOTHS.
It has been believed by many that this was the veritable tomb of the
monarch, and that in this hermitage he had finished his days in solitary
penance. The warrior, as he contemplated the supposed tomb of the once
haughty Roderick, forgot all his faults and errors, and shed a soldier's
tear over his memory; but when his thoughts turned to Count Julian, his
patriotic indignation broke forth, and with his dagger he inscribed a rude
malediction on the stone.
'Accursed,' said he, 'be the impious and headlong vengeance of the traitor
Julian. He was a murderer of his king; a destroyer of his kindred; a
betrayer of his country. May his name be bitter in every mouth, and his
memory infamous to all generations.'
Here ends the legend of Don Roderick.