BATTLE OF CALPE.—FATE OF ATAULPHO.
The grey summits of the rock of Calpe brightened with the first rays of
morning, as the Christian army issued forth from its encampment. The
Prince Ataulpho rode from squadron to squadron, animating his soldiers
for the battle. “Never should we sheath our swords,” said he, “while
these infidels have a footing in the land. They are pent up within yon
rocky mountain, we must assail them in their rugged hole. We have a long
day before us: let not the setting sun shine upon one of their host, who
is not a fugitive, a captive, or a corpse.”
The words of the prince were received with shouts, and the army moved
towards the promontory. As they advanced, they heard the clash of cymbals
and the bray of trumpets, and the rocky bosom of the mountain glittered
with helms and spears and scimitars; for the Arabs, inspired with fresh
confidence by the words of Taric, were sallying forth, with flaunting
banners, to the combat.
The gaunt Arab chieftain stood upon a rock as his troops marched by; his
buckler was at his back, and he brandished in his hand a double-pointed
spear. Calling upon the several leaders by their names, he exhorted them
to direct their attacks against the Christian captains, and especially
against Ataulpho; “for the chiefs being slain,” said he, “their followers
will vanish from before us like the morning mist.”
The Gothic nobles were easily to be distinguished by the splendour of
their arms; but the Prince Ataulpho was conspicuous above all the rest
for the youthful grace and majesty of his appearance, and the bravery
of his array. He was mounted on a superb Andalusian charger, richly
caparisoned with crimson velvet, embroidered with gold. His surcoat
was of like colour and adornment, and the plumes that waved above
his burnished helmet were of the purest white. Ten mounted pages,
magnificently attired, followed him to the field, but their duty was not
so much to fight as to attend upon their lord, and to furnish him with
steed or weapon.
The Christian troops, though irregular and undisciplined, were full of
native courage; for the old warrior spirit of their Gothic sires still
glowed in their bosoms. There were two battalions of infantry, but
Ataulpho stationed them in the rear; “for God forbid,” said he, “that
foot soldiers should have the place of honour in the battle, when I
have so many valiant cavaliers.” As the armies drew nigh to each other,
however, it was discovered that the advance of the Arabs was composed of
infantry. Upon this the cavaliers checked their steeds, and requested
that the foot soldiery might advance and disperse this losel crew,
holding it beneath their dignity to contend with pedestrian foes. The
prince, however, commanded them to charge; upon which, putting spurs to
their steeds, they rushed upon the foe.
The Arabs stood the shock manfully, receiving the horses upon the points
of their lances; many of the riders were shot down with bolts from
cross-bows, or stabbed with the poniards of the Moslems. The cavaliers
succeeded, however, in breaking into the midst of the battalion and
throwing it into confusion, cutting down some with their swords,
transpiercing others with their spears, and trampling many under the
hoofs of their horses. At this moment, they were attacked by a band of
Spanish horsemen, the recreant partisans of Count Julian. Their assault
bore hard upon their countrymen, who were disordered by the contest with
the foot soldiers, and many a loyal Christian knight fell beneath the
sword of an unnatural foe.
The foremost among these recreant warriors was the renegado cavalier
whom Theodomir had challenged in the tent of Taric. He dealt his blows
about him with a powerful arm and with malignant fury, for nothing is
more deadly than the hatred of an apostate. In the midst of his career he
was espied by the hardy Theodomir, who came spurring to the encounter:
“Traitor,” cried he, “I have kept my vow. This lance has been held
sacred from all other foes to make a passage for thy perjured soul.” The
renegado had been renowned for prowess before he became a traitor to his
country, but guilt will sap the courage of the stoutest heart. When he
beheld Theodomir rushing upon him, he would have turned and fled; pride
alone withheld him; and, though an admirable master of defence, he lost
all skill to ward the attack of his adversary. At the first assault
the lance of Theodomir pierced him through and through; he fell to the
earth, gnashed his teeth as he rolled in the dust, but yielded his breath
without uttering a word.
The battle now became general, and lasted throughout the morning with
varying success. The stratagem of Taric, however, began to produce
its effect. The Christian leaders and most conspicuous cavaliers were
singled out, and severally assailed by overpowering numbers. They fought
desperately, and performed miracles of prowess; but fell, one by one,
beneath a thousand wounds. Still the battle lingered on throughout a
great part of the day; and as the declining sun shone through the clouds
of dust, it seemed as if the conflicting hosts were wrapped in smoke and
fire.
The Prince Ataulpho saw that the fortune of battle was against him. He
rode about the field calling out the names of the bravest of his knights,
but few answered to his call; the rest lay mangled on the field. With
this handful of warriors he endeavoured to retrieve the day, when he was
assailed by Tenderos, a partisan of Count Julian, at the head of a body
of recreant Christians. At sight of this new adversary, fire flashed from
the eyes of the prince, for Tenderos had been brought up in his father’s
palace. “Well dost thou, traitor!” cried he, “to attack the son of thy
lord, who gave thee bread; thou, who hast betrayed thy country and thy
God!”
So saying, he seized a lance from one of his pages, and charged furiously
upon the apostate; but Tenderos met him in mid career, and the lance of
the prince was shivered upon his shield. Ataulpho then grasped his mace,
which hung at his saddle bow, and a doubtful fight ensued. Tenderos was
powerful of frame and superior in the use of his weapons, but the curse
of treason seemed to paralyse his arm. He wounded Ataulpho slightly
between the greaves of his armour, but the prince dealt a blow with his
mace that crushed through helm and skull, and reached the brains; and
Tenderos fell dead to the earth, his armour rattling as he fell.
At the same moment a javelin, hurled by an Arab, transpierced the horse
of Ataulpho, which sunk beneath him. The prince seized the reins of the
steed of Tenderos; but the faithful animal, as though he knew him to
be the foe of his late lord, reared and plunged, and refused to let him
mount. The prince, however, used him as a shield to ward off the press of
foes: while, with his sword, he defended himself against those in front
of him. Taric ben Zeyad arrived at the scene of conflict, and paused,
for a moment, in admiration of the surpassing prowess of the prince:
recollecting, however, that his fall would be a death-blow to his army,
he spurred upon him, and wounded him severely with his scimitar. Before
he could repeat his blow, Theodomir led up a body of Christian cavaliers
to the rescue, and Taric was parted from his prey by the tumult of the
fight. The prince sank to the earth, covered with wounds, and exhausted
by the loss of blood. A faithful page drew him from under the hoofs
of the horses, and, aided by a veteran soldier, an ancient vassal of
Ataulpho, conveyed him to a short distance from the field of battle,
by the side of a small stream that gushed out from among rocks. They
stanched the blood that flowed from his wounds, and washed the dust from
his face, and laid him beside the fountain. The page sat at his head, and
supported it on his knees; and the veteran stood at his feet, with his
brow bent, and his eyes full of sorrow. The prince gradually revived, and
opened his eyes. “How fares the battle?” said he. “The struggle is hard,”
replied the soldier, “but the day may yet be ours.”
The prince felt that the hour of his death was at hand, and ordered
that they should aid him to rise upon his knees. They supported him
between them, and he prayed fervently for a short time, when, finding
his strength declining, he beckoned the veteran to sit down beside him
on the rock. Continuing to kneel, he confessed himself to that ancient
soldier; having no priest or friar to perform that office in this hour of
extremity. When he had so done, he sunk again upon the earth, and pressed
it with his lips, as if he would take a fond farewell of his beloved
country. The page would then have raised his head, but found that his
lord had yielded up the ghost.
A number of Arab warriors, who came to the fountain to slake their
thirst, cut off the head of the prince, and bore it in triumph to Taric,
crying, “Behold the head of the Christian leader!” Taric immediately
ordered that the head should be put upon the end of a lance, together
with the surcoat of the prince, and borne about the field of battle, with
the sound of trumpets, atabels, and cymbals.
When the Christians beheld the surcoat, and knew the features of the
prince, they were struck with horror, and heart and hand failed them.
Theodomir endeavoured in vain to rally them; they threw by their weapons
and fled; and they continued to fly, and the enemy to pursue and slay
them, until the darkness of the night. The Moslems then returned, and
plundered the Christian camp, where they found abundant spoil.