The hosts of King Don Ferdinand were gathered under his banner to
go out and recover Granada from the dominion of the Moors. All the
nobles of Spain were there in their strong shining armour of wrought
steel inlaid with gold. It was St. Michael's day in the morning,
and the king called the principal of them into his tent, and thus
said to them:--"Who will be the knight who, to show his prowess and
to cover his name with glory in succeeding generations, will go up
for me to the Snowy Sierra [96]."
But the nobles looked one on the other, and no one said "I will;"
for if it was a perilous adventure to go, the return was utterly
uncertain. And for the fear that filled them, you could see their
very beards tremble.
Then arose Don Alonso, who was called "of Aguilar," and said, "Good
King, I will go. This enterprise is such as I seek. I have no desire
in life but to die defending my country from the infidel folk; and
may Christ give me the mastery!"
So he put on his armour before the king--his armour all damascened with
gold, and bestrode his noble steed, and slung his broad shield on his
arm, and took in his hand a stout lance with a sharp iron head. Right
valiant he looked in his might as he rode at the head of his troop.
And they crossed the Snowy Sierra and soon came in sight of the
Moors. And the Moors poured down upon them so closely that they were
well-nigh overwhelmed by numbers. Then the Christian ranks gave way,
and began to fly from the face of the Moor.
Now, when brave Don Alonso saw them give way, he called to them
with a mighty voice and said, "Turn! caballeros, turn! Turn back to
the battle; for though they against us be many, a coward still is
he who shows fear! Remember the mighty deeds of your old Castilian
fathers. Better is it here to die in the noble profession of arms,
than to crawl back to your firesides and live a dishonoured life. Thus
dying you will live, for your fame shall be sung throughout Spain;
for life soon comes to an end, but honour dieth never!"
At these generous words they felt their hearts come back; each seemed
filled with a giant's strength, and fought till the Moors stretched
him dead.
Don Alonso remained the last, still brandishing his gory lance, and
ever and anon charging the Moors with an impetuosity none could resist.
But when the Moors saw their heroes thus mown down, wounded and
dead, with one consent they agreed to attack him on all sides at
once. There he sat erect on his charger; his eye was full of fire,
his shield shone bright on his arm--dented, indeed, but not pierced,
and in his hand his stout, unbroken lance. But though his horse was so
high, there lay round him such a heap of slain, that when the Moors
came to the attack, as they climbed on the fallen bodies they found
themselves raised to his level.
On they came with frightful algazara [97]; and, stout in each other's
presence, they charged, and thrust, and charged again. The boldest
ventured in front, but before they came within reach of his lance
their brethren had pierced him from behind; and before he could turn
to repay them, those who had been in front thrust him in the side. And
they thrust his bonny horse, too; and the horse and his rider fell
there, where they stood, crowning the mound of the slain. Sixteen
lances had pierced Don Alonso--pierced him through and through.
But Don Alonso that day had inflicted a loss on the Moors which filled
them with confusion and dismay. Then, from out their ill-guarded camp,
came running a Christian captive; it was she who in days gone by had
brought up the young Don Alonso.
Guided by the instinct of a mother, she at once descried his form as
it lay crowning the heap of the victims of his prowess.
So she fell on his neck and wept, and wept till she swooned away,
and wept when she woke again. And she stroked his long, dark hair,
and his cheek that was ashy pale; and his eyes, that could never more
see her, she closed with a mother's care. Then she wrung her fair,
white hands, and she raised her cry to God; and her cry must have
pierced the clouds as it pierced the hearts of men.
"Don Alonso! my Alonso!" she cried. "Now, God receive thy soul; for
the cruel Moors have killed thee, the Moors of Alpujarra! And now all
Spain shall mourn thee, mourn thee as a mother mourns, lamenting thine
early death! And King Ferdinand shall mourn thee, for he has never a
knight like thee! Aguilar and Montilla shall mourn thee, for they'll
ne'er have a lord like thee! And all the host shall mourn thee, for
not one has a comrade like thee! But the angels in heaven mourn not,
for my boy is among them with joy; for he died resisting the pagans
who devoured his country fair."
So she tried, but in vain, to smile, for her mother's heart was weak;
and in the effort it broke, and she fell icy cold at his feet.
Now an ancient Moor came by, whose beard was long and grey; and she
lay so helpless there, he saw he had nothing to fear, so he drew his
scimitar, and with stealthy steps crept near and severed her dying
head, holding it up by the long dark hair.
By the long dark hair he bore it, to lay at the feet of the king. Now
the Moorish king rejoiced when he knew Don Alonso was dead, Don Alonso
of Aguilar; so he told them to take his body, and that of his mother
as well, and bear to Don Fernando, the king.
And Don Fernando said, "Good service this day was done by Alonso of
Aguilar; and though by the Moors he has died, his memory yet shall
live; his deeds shall clothe every knight, in the fancy of every Moor,
with power to equal the prowess of Alonso of Aguilar."