TERROR OF THE COUNTRY.—RODERICK ROUSES HIMSELF TO ARMS.
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 woe!” 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 valour 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 towards
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 armour, 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 cross-bows,
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 armour, 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 honour 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.[22]