MARCH OF THE GOTHIC ARMY.—ENCAMPMENT ON THE BANKS OF THE
GUADALETE.—MYSTERIOUS PREDICTIONS OF A PALMER.—CONDUCT OF PELISTES
THEREUPON.
The hopes of Andalusia revived, as this mighty host stretched in
lengthened lines along its fertile plains; from morn 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[23], 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, “Woe, woe 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 towards 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 behoves 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 demeanour, 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 honours 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 rumoured about the camp, as it presently was by the
emissaries of the bishop, it spread awe and dismay among the soldiery.