MEASURES OF DON RODERICK ON HEARING OF THE INVASION.—EXPEDITION OF
ATAULPHO.—VISION OF TARIC.
When Don Roderick heard that legions of turbaned troops had poured into
the land from Africa, he called to mind the visions and predictions of
the necromantic tower, and great fear came upon him. But, though sunk
from his former hardihood and virtue, though enervated by indulgence,
and degraded in spirit by a consciousness of crime, he was resolute of
soul, and roused himself to meet the coming danger. He summoned a hasty
levy of horse and foot, amounting to forty thousand; but now were felt
the effects of the crafty council of Count Julian, for the best of the
horses and armour intended for the public service had been sent into
Africa, and were really in possession of the traitors. Many nobles, it
is true, took the field with the sumptuous array with which they had
been accustomed to appear at tournaments and jousts; but most of their
vassals were destitute of weapons, and cased in cuirasses of leather, or
suits of armour almost consumed by rust. They were without discipline
or animation; and their horses, like themselves, pampered by slothful
peace, were little fitted to bear the heat, the dust, and toil, of long
campaigns.
This army Don Roderick put under the command of his kinsman Ataulpho,
a prince of the royal blood of the Goths, and of a noble and generous
nature; and he ordered him to march with all speed to meet the foe, and
to recruit his forces on the way with the troops of Theodomir.
In the meantime, Taric el Tuerto had received large re-enforcements from
Africa, and the adherents of Count Julian, and all those discontented
with the sway of Don Roderick, had flocked to his standard; for many were
deceived by the representations of Count Julian, and thought that the
Arabs had come to aid him in placing the sons of Witiza upon the throne.
Guided by the count, the troops of Taric penetrated into various parts
of the country, and laid waste the land; bringing back loads of spoil to
their stronghold at the rock of Calpe.
The prince Ataulpho marched with his army through Andalusia, and was
joined by Theodomir with his troops; he met with various detachments of
the enemy foraging the country, and had several bloody skirmishes; but he
succeeded in driving them before him, and they retreated to the rock of
Calpe, where Taric lay gathered up with the main body of his army.
The prince encamped not far from the bay which spreads itself out before
the promontory. In the evening he despatched the veteran Theodomir, with
a trumpet, to demand a parley of the Arab chieftain, who received the
envoy in his tent, surrounded by his captains. Theodomir was frank and
abrupt in speech, for the most of his life had been passed far from
courts. He delivered, in round terms, the message of the Prince Ataulpho;
upbraiding the Arab general with his wanton invasion of the land, and
summoning him to surrender his army, or to expect no mercy.
The single eye of Taric el Tuerto glowed like a coal of fire at this
message. “Tell your commander,” replied he, “that I have crossed the
strait to conquer Spain, nor will I return until I have accomplished my
purpose. Tell him I have men skilled in war, and armed in proof, with
whose aid I trust soon to give a good account of his rabble host.”
A murmur of applause passed through the assemblage of Moslem captains.
Theodomir glanced on them a look of defiance, but his eye rested on a
renegado Christian, one of his own ancient comrades, and a relation of
Count Julian. “As to you, Don Greybeard,” said he, “you who turn apostate
in your declining age, I here pronounce you a traitor to your God, your
king, and country; and stand ready to prove it this instant upon your
body, if field be granted me.”
The traitor knight was stung with rage at these words, for truth rendered
them piercing to the heart. He would have immediately answered to the
challenge, but Taric forbade it, and ordered that the Christian envoy
should be conducted from the camp. “’Tis well,” replied Theodomir; “God
will give me the field which you deny. Let yon hoary apostate look to
himself to-morrow in the battle, for I pledge myself to use my lance upon
no other foe until it has shed his blood upon the native soil he has
betrayed.” So saying, he left the camp; nor could the Moslem chieftains
help admiring the honest indignation of this patriot knight, while they
secretly despised his renegado adversary.
The ancient Moorish chroniclers relate many awful portents, and strange
and mysterious visions, which appeared to the commanders of either army
during this anxious night. Certainly it was a night of fearful suspense,
and Moslem and Christian looked forward with doubt to the fortune of the
coming day. The Spanish sentinel walked his pensive round, listening
occasionally to the vague sounds from the distant rock of Calpe, and
eyeing it as the mariner eyes the thunder cloud, pregnant with terror and
destruction. The Arabs, too, from their lofty cliffs beheld the numerous
camp-fires of the Christians gradually lighted up, and saw that they were
a powerful host; at the same time the night breeze brought to their ears
the sullen roar of the sea which separated them from Africa. When they
considered their perilous situation, an army on one side, with a whole
nation aroused to re-enforce it, and on the other an impassable sea, the
spirits of many of the warriors were cast down, and they repented the day
when they had ventured into this hostile land.
Taric marked their despondency, but said nothing. Scarce had the first
streak of morning light trembled along the sea, however, when he
summoned his principal warriors to his tent. “Be of good cheer,” said
he: “Allah is with us, and has sent his prophet to give assurance of
his aid. Scarce had I retired to my tent last night, when a man of a
majestic and venerable presence stood before me. He was taller by a palm
than the ordinary race of men: his flowing beard was of a golden hue,
and his eyes were so bright that they seemed to send forth flashes of
fire. I have heard the Emir Bahamet, and other ancient men, describe the
prophet, whom they had seen many times while on earth, and such was his
form and lineament. ‘Fear nothing, O Taric, from the morrow,’ said he,
‘I will be with thee in the fight. Strike boldly, then, and conquer.
Those of thy followers who survive the battle will have this land for
an inheritance; for those who fall, a mansion in paradise is prepared,
and immortal houris await their coming.’ He spake and vanished; I heard
a strain of celestial melody, and my tent was filled with the odours of
Arabia the Happy.” “Such,” say the Spanish chroniclers, “was another of
the arts by which this arch son of Ishmael sought to animate the hearts
of his followers;” and the pretended vision had been recorded by the
Arabian writers as a veritable occurrence. Marvellous, indeed, was the
effect produced by it upon the infidel soldiery, who now cried out with
eagerness to be led against the foe.