CHAPTER XVIII.

THE FIELD OF BATTLE AFTER THE DEFEAT.—THE FATE OF RODERICK.

On the morning after the battle, the Arab leader, Taric ben Zeyad, rode

over the bloody field of the Guadalete, strewed with the ruins of those

splendid armies, which had so lately passed like glorious pageants along

the river banks. There Moor and Christian, horseman and horse, lay gashed

with hideous wounds; and the river, still red with blood, was filled with

the bodies of the slain. The gaunt Arab was as a wolf roaming through

the fold he had laid waste. On every side his eye revelled on the ruin

of the country, on the wrecks of haughty Spain. There lay the flower of

her youthful chivalry, mangled and destroyed, and the strength of her

yeomanry prostrated in the dust. The Gothic noble lay confounded with

his vassals; the peasant with the prince; all ranks and dignities were

mingled in one bloody massacre.

When Taric had surveyed the field, he caused the spoils of the dead and

the plunder of the camp to be brought before him. The booty was immense.

There were massy chains, and rare jewels of gold; pearls and precious

stones; rich silks and brocades, and all other luxurious decorations

in which the Gothic nobles had indulged in the latter times of their

degeneracy. A vast amount of treasure was likewise found, which had been

brought by Roderick for the expenses of the war.

Taric then ordered that the bodies of the Moslem warriors should be

interred; as for those of the Christians, they were gathered in heaps,

and vast pyres of wood were formed, on which they were consumed. The

flames of these pyres rose high in the air, and were seen afar off in the

night; and when the Christians beheld them from the neighbouring hills

they beat their breasts and tore their hair, and lamented over them

as over the funeral fires of their country. The carnage of that battle

infected the air for two whole months, and bones were seen lying in heaps

upon the field for more than forty years; nay, when ages had past and

gone, the husbandman, turning up the soil, would still find fragments of

Gothic cuirasses and helms, and Moorish scimitars, the relics of that

dreadful fight.

For three days the Arabian horsemen pursued the flying Christians,

hunting them over the face of the country; so that but a scanty number of

that mighty host escaped to tell the tale of their disaster.

Taric ben Zeyad considered his victory incomplete so long as the Gothic

monarch survived; he proclaimed great rewards, therefore, to whomsoever

should bring Roderick to him, dead or alive. A diligent search was

accordingly made in every direction, but for a long time in vain; at

length a soldier brought to Taric the head of a Christian warrior, on

which was a cap decorated with feathers and precious stones. The Arab

leader received it as the head of the unfortunate Roderick, and sent it,

as a trophy of his victory, to Muza ben Nosier, who, in like manner,

transmitted it to the caliph at Damascus. The Spanish historians,

however, have always denied its identity.

A mystery has ever hung, and ever must continue to hang, over the fate

of King Roderick, in that dark and doleful day of Spain. Whether he went

down amidst the storm of battle, and atoned for his sins and errors by a

patriot grave, or whether he survived to repent of them in hermit exile,

must remain matter of conjecture and dispute. The learned Archbishop

Rodrigo, who has recorded the events of this disastrous field, affirms

that Roderick fell beneath the vengeful blade of the traitor Julian, and

thus expiated with his blood his crime against the hapless Florinda; but

the archbishop stands alone in his record of the fact. It seems generally

admitted that Orelia, the favourite war-horse of Don Roderick, was found

entangled in a marsh on the borders of the Guadalete, with the sandals

and mantle and royal insignia of the king lying close by him. The river

at this place ran broad and deep, and was encumbered with the dead bodies

of warriors and steeds; it has been supposed, therefore, that he perished

in the stream; but his body was not found within its waters.

When several years had passed away, and men’s minds, being restored

to some degree of tranquillity, began to occupy themselves about the

events of this dismal day, a rumour arose that Roderick had escaped from

the carnage on the banks of the Guadalete, and was still alive. It was

said, that having from a rising ground caught a view of the whole field

of battle, and seen that the day was lost, and his army flying in all

directions, he likewise sought his safety in flight. It is added, that

the Arab horsemen, while scouring the mountains in quest of fugitives,

found a shepherd arrayed in the royal robes, and brought him before the

conqueror, believing him to be the king himself. Count Julian soon

dispelled the error. On being questioned, the trembling rustic declared,

that while tending his sheep in the folds of the mountains, there came a

cavalier on a horse wearied and spent and ready to sink beneath the spur;

that the cavalier with an authoritative voice and menacing air commanded

him to exchange garments with him, and clad himself in his rude garb of

sheep-skin, and took his crook and his scrip of provisions, and continued

up the rugged defiles of the mountains leading towards Castile, until he

was lost to view.[27]

This tradition was fondly cherished by many, who clung to the belief in

the existence of their monarch as their main hope for the redemption of

Spain. It was even affirmed that he had taken refuge, with many of his

host, in an island of the “Ocean sea,” from whence he might yet return,

once more to elevate his standard, and battle for the recovery of his

throne.

Year after year, however, elapsed, and nothing was heard of Don Roderick;

yet, like Sebastian of Portugal, and Arthur of England, his name

continued to be a rallying point for popular faith, and the mystery of

his end to give rise to romantic fables. At length, when generation after

generation had sunk into the grave, and near two centuries had passed

and gone, traces were said to be discovered that threw a light on the

final fortunes of the unfortunate Roderick. At that time, Don Alphonso

the Great, King of Leon, had wrested the city of Viseo in Lusitania from

the hands of the Moslems. As his soldiers were ranging about the city and

its environs, one of them discovered in a field, outside of the walls,

a small chapel or hermitage, with a sepulchre in front, on which was

inscribed this epitaph in Gothic characters:—

HIC REQUIESCIT RUDERICUS,

ULTIMUS REX GOTHORUM.

Here lies Roderick,

The last king of the Goths.

It has been believed by many that this was the veritable tomb of the

monarch, and that in this hermitage he had finished his days in solitary

penance. The warrior, as he contemplated the supposed tomb of the once

haughty Roderick, forgot all his faults and errors, and shed a soldier’s

tear over his memory; but when his thoughts turned to Count Julian, his

patriotic indignation broke forth, and with his dagger he inscribed a

rude malediction on the stone.

“Accursed,” said he, “be the impious and headlong vengeance of the

traitor Julian. He was a murderer of his king; a destroyer of his

kindred; a betrayer of his country. May his name be bitter in every

mouth, and his memory infamous to all generations.”

Here ends the legend of Don Roderick.

ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE FOREGOING LEGEND.

THE TOMB OF RODERICK.

The venerable Sebastiano, Bishop of Salamanca, declares that the

inscription on the tomb at Viseo, in Portugal, existed in his time, and

that he had seen it. A particular account of the exile and hermit life

of Roderick is furnished by Berganza, on the authority of Portuguese

chronicles.

Algunos historiadores Portugueses asseguran, que el Rey Rodrigo, perdida

la battalla, huyo a tierra de Merida, y se recogio en el monasterio de

Cauliniano, en donde, arrepentido de sus culpas, procuro confessarlas con

muchas lagrimas. Deseando mas retiro, y escogiendo por compañero a un

monge llamado Roman, y elevando la Imagen de Nazareth, que Cyriaco monge

de nacion griego avra traido de Jerusalem al monasterio de Cauliniano,

se subio á un monte muy aspero, que estaba sobre el mar, junto al lugar

de Pederneyra. Vivio Rodrigo en compania de el monge en el hueco de una

gruta por espacio de un año; despues se passo a la ermita de san Miguel,

que estaba cerca de Viseo, en donde murio y fue sepultado.

Puedese ver esta relacion en las notas de Don Thomas Tamayo sobre Paulo

deacano. El chronicon de san Millan, que llega hasta el año 883, deze

que, hasta su tiempo, si ignora el fin del Rey Rodrigo. Pocos años

despues el Rey Don Alonzo el Magno, aviéndo ganado la ciudad de Viseo,

encontro en una iglesia el epitafio que en romance dize—aqui yaze

Rodrigo, ultimo Rey de los Godos.—Berganza, l. 1. c. 13.

THE CAVE OF HERCULES.

As the story of the necromantic tower is one of the most famous as well

as least credible points in the history of Don Roderick, it may be well

to fortify or buttress it by some account of another marvel of the city

of Toledo. This ancient city, which dates its existence almost from the

time of the flood, claiming as its founder Tubal, the son of Japhet, and

grandson of Noah[28], has been the warrior hold of many generations,

and a strange diversity of races. It bears traces of the artifices and

devices of its various occupants, and is full of mysteries and subjects

for antiquarian conjecture and perplexity. It is built upon a high rocky

promontory, with the Tagus brawling round its base, and is overlooked

by cragged and precipitous hills. These hills abound with clefts and

caverns; and the promontory itself, on which the city is built, bears

traces of vaults and subterraneous habitations, which are occasionally

discovered under the ruins of ancient houses, or beneath the churches and

convents.

These are supposed by some to have been the habitations or retreats

of the primitive inhabitants; for it was the custom of the ancients,

according to Pliny, to make caves in high and rocky places, and live in

them through fear of floods; and such a precaution, says the worthy Don

Pedro de Roxas, in his history of Toledo, was natural enough among the

first Toledans, seeing that they founded their city shortly after the

deluge, while the memory of it was still fresh in their minds.

Some have supposed these secret caves and vaults to have been places of

concealment of the inhabitants and their treasure, during times of war

and violence; or rude temples for the performance of religious ceremonies

in times of persecution. There are not wanting other, and grave writers,

who give them a still darker purpose. In these caves, say they, were

taught the diabolical mysteries of magic; and here were performed those

infernal ceremonies and incantations, horrible in the eyes of God and

man. “History,” says the worthy Don Pedro de Roxas, “is full of accounts

that the magi taught and performed their magic and their superstitious

rites in profound caves and secret places; because, as this art of the

devil was prohibited from the very origin of Christianity, they always

sought for hidden places in which to practise it.” In the time of the

Moors this art, we are told, was publicly taught at their universities,

the same as astronomy, philosophy, and mathematics, and at no place was

it cultivated with more success than at Toledo. Hence this city has ever

been darkly renowned for mystic science; insomuch that the magic art was

called by the French, and by other nations, the Arte Toledana.

Of all the marvels, however, of this ancient, picturesque, romantic, and

necromantic city, none in modern times surpass the cave of Hercules,

if we may take the account of Don Pedro de Roxas for authentic. The

entrance to this cave is within the church of San Gines, situated in

nearly the highest part of the city. The portal is secured by massive

doors, opening within the walls of the church, but which are kept

rigorously closed. The cavern extends under the city and beneath the bed

of the Tagus to the distance of three leagues beyond. It is, in some

places, of rare architecture, built of small stones curiously wrought,

and supported by columns and arches.

In the year 1546 an account of this cavern was given to the archbishop

and cardinal Don Juan Martinez Siliceo, who, desirous of examining it,

ordered the entrance to be cleaned. A number of persons furnished with

provisions, lanterns, and cords, then went in, and having proceeded

about half a league, came to a place where there was a kind of chapel or

temple, having a table or altar, with several statues of bronze in niches

or on pedestals.

While they were regarding this mysterious scene of ancient worship or

incantation, one of the statues fell, with a noise that echoed through

the cavern, and smote the hearts of the adventurers with terror.

Recovering from their alarm they proceeded onward, but were soon again

dismayed by a roaring and rushing sound that increased as they advanced.

It was made by a furious and turbulent stream, the dark waters of which

were too deep and broad and rapid to be crossed. By this time their

hearts were so chilled they could not seek any other passage by which

they might advance; so they turned back and hastened out of the cave. It

was nightfall when they sallied forth, and they were so much affected

by the terror they had undergone, and by the cold and damp air of the

cavern, to which they were the more sensible from its being in the

summer, that all of them fell sick, and several of them died. Whether

the archbishop was encouraged to pursue his research and gratify his

curiosity, the history does not mention.

Alonzo Telles de Meneses, in his history of the world, records, that not

long before his time a boy of Toledo, being threatened with punishment by

his master, fled and took refuge in this cave. Fancying his pursuer at

his heels, he took no heed of the obscurity or coldness of the cave, but

kept groping and blundering forward, until he came forth at three leagues

distance from the city.

Another and very popular story of this cave, current among the common

people, was, that in its remote recesses lay concealed a great treasure

of gold, left there by the Romans. Whoever would reach this precious

hoard must pass through several caves or grottos; each having its

particular terror, and all under the guardianship of a ferocious dog, who

has the key of all the gates, and watches day and night. At the approach

of any one, he shows his teeth, and makes a hideous growling; but no

adventurer after wealth has had courage to brave a contest with this

terrific cerberus.

The most intrepid candidate on record was a poor man who had lost his

all, and had those grand incentives to desperate enterprise, a wife and

a large family of children. Hearing the story of this cave, he determined

to venture alone in search of the treasure. He accordingly entered, and

wandered many hours, bewildered, about the cave. Often would he have

returned, but the thoughts of his wife and children urged him on. At

length he arrived near to the place where he supposed the treasure lay

hidden; but here, to his dismay, he beheld the floor of the cavern strown

with human bones; doubtless the remains of adventurers like himself, who

had been torn to pieces.

Losing all courage, he now turned and sought his way out of the cave.

Horrors thickened upon him as he fled. He beheld direful phantoms glaring

and gibbering around him, and heard the sound of pursuit in the echoes of

his footsteps. He reached his home overcome with affright; several hours

elapsed before he could recover speech to tell his story, and he died on

the following day.

The judicious Don Pedro de Roxas holds the account of the buried treasure

for fabulous, but the adventure of this unlucky man for very possible;

being led on by avarice, or rather the hope of retrieving a desperate

fortune. He, moreover, pronounces his dying, shortly after coming forth,

as very probable; because the darkness of the cave, its coldness, the

fright at finding the bones, the dread of meeting the imaginary dog, all

joining to operate upon a man who was past the prime of his days, and

enfeebled by poverty and scanty food, might easily cause his death.

Many have considered this cave as intended originally for a sally or

retreat from the city in case it should be taken; an opinion rendered

probable, it is thought, by its grandeur and great extent.

The learned Salazar de Mendoza, however, in his history of the grand

cardinal of Spain, affirms it as an established fact, that it was first

wrought out of the rock by Tubal, the son of Japhet, and grandson of

Noah; and afterwards repaired and greatly augmented by Hercules the

Egyptian, who made it his habitation after he had erected his pillars

at the straits of Gibraltar. Here, too, it is said, he read magic to

his followers, and taught them those supernatural arts by which he

accomplished his vast achievements. Others think that it was a temple

dedicated to Hercules; as was the case, according to Pomponius Mela,

with the great cave in the rock of Gibraltar; certain it is, that it has

always borne the name of “The Cave of Hercules.”

There are not wanting some who have insinuated that it was a work dating

from the time of the Romans, and intended as a cloaca or sewer of the

city; but such a grovelling insinuation will be treated with proper scorn

by the reader, after the nobler purposes to which he has heard this

marvellous cavern consecrated.

From all the circumstances here adduced from learned and reverend

authors, it will be perceived that Toledo is a city fruitful of marvels,

and that the necromantic tower of Hercules has more solid foundation than

most edifices of similar import in ancient history.

The writer of these pages will venture to add the result of his personal

researches respecting the far famed cavern in question. Rambling about

Toledo in the year 1826, in company with a small knot of antiquity

hunters, among whom was an eminent British painter[29], and an English

nobleman[30], who has since distinguished himself in Spanish historical

research, we directed our steps to the church of San Gines, and inquired

for the portal of the secret cavern. The sacristan was a voluble and

communicative man, and one not likely to be niggard of his tongue about

any thing he knew, or slow to boast of any marvel pertaining to his

church; but he professed utter ignorance of the existence of any such

portal. He remembered to have heard, however, that immediately under the

entrance to the church there was an arch of mason work, apparently the

upper part of some subterranean portal; but that all had been covered up,

and a pavement laid down thereon; so that whether it led to the magic

cave or the necromantic tower remains a mystery, and so must remain until

some monarch or archbishop shall again have courage and authority to

break the spell.

FOOTNOTES

[1] Many of the facts in this legend are taken from an old chronicle,

written in quaint and antiquated Spanish, and professing to be a

translation from the Arabian chronicle of the Moor Rasis, by Mohammed,

a Moslem writer, and Gil Parez, a Spanish priest. It is supposed to be

a piece of literary mosaic work, made up from both Spanish and Arabian

chronicles: yet from this work most of the Spanish historians have drawn

their particulars relative to the fortunes of Don Roderick.

[2] Florian de Ocampo, lib. iii. c. 12. Justin Abrev. Trog. Pomp. lib.

xliv. Bleda. Cronica, lib. ii. c. 3.

[3] Chron. de Luitprando, 709. Abarca Anales de Aragon (el Mahometismo,

fol. 5.)

[4] Mariana, Hist. Esp. lib. vi. c. 21.

[5] Perdida de España por Abulcacim Tarif Abentarique, lib. i.

[6] Lope de Vega.

[7] By some she is called Zara.

[8] “Como esta Infanta era muy hermosa, y el Rey [Don Rodrigo] dispuesta

y gentil hombre, entro por medio el amor y aficion, y junto con el

regalo con que la avia mandado hospedar y servir ful causa que el

rey persuadio esta Infanta, que si se tornava a su ley de Christiano

la tomaria por muger, y que la haria señora de sus Reynos. Con esta

persuasion ella fue contenta, y aviendose vuelto Christiana, se caso con

ella, y se celebraron sus bodas con muchas fiestas y regozijos, como era

razon.”—_Abulcasim_, _Conq’st de Espan_, cap. 3.

[9] Condes Espatorios; so called from the drawn swords of ample size and

breadth, with which they kept guard in the antechambers of the Gothic

kings. Comes Spathariorum, custodum corporis Regis Profectus. Hunc et

Propospatharium appellatum existimo.—_Patr. Pant. de Offic. Goth._

[10] Perdida de España por Abulcasim Tarif Abentarique, lib. i. c. 6.

Cronica del Rey Don Rodrigo por el moro Rasis, lib. i. c. 1. Bleda, Cron.

cap. vii.

[11] From the minute account of the good friar, drawn from the ancient

chronicles, it would appear that the walls of the tower were pictured in

mosaic work.

[12] Bleda, Cronica, cap. 7.

[13] Bleda, Cronica, cap. 7.

[14] Bleda, cap. 5.

[15] Bleda, cap. 4.

[16] Beuter, Cron. Gen. de España, lib. i. c. 28. Marmol. Descrip. de

Africa, lib. ii. c. 10.

[17] Bleda, Cron. c. 5.

[18] Conde, Hist. Dom. Arab. part. i. c. 8.

[19] Conde, part i. c. 8.

[20] Perdida de España, por Abulcasim Tarif Abentarique, lib. i. c. 7.

[21] Conde, part i. c. 9.

[22] La Perdida de España, cap. 9. Bleda, lib. ii. c. 8.

[23] This name was given to it subsequently by the Arabs. It signifies

the River of Death. Vide Pedruza, Hist. Granad. p. 3. c. 1.

[24] Bleda, Cronica.

[25] Eutrand. Chron. an. Christ. 714.

[26] This battle is called indiscriminately by historians the battle of

Guadalete, or Xeres, from the neighbourhood of that city.

[27] Bleda, Cron. lib. ii. c. 9. Abulcasim Tarif Abentarique, lib. i. c.

10.

[28] Salazar, Hist. Gran. Cardinal. Prologo, vol. i. plan i.

[29] Mr. D. W—kie.

[30] Lord Mah—n.

LEGEND OF THE SUBJUGATION OF SPAIN.

LEGEND OF THE SUBJUGATION OF SPAIN.[31]

CHAPTER I.

CONSTERNATION OF SPAIN.—CONDUCT OF THE CONQUERORS.—MISSIVES BETWEEN TARIC

AND MUZA.

The overthrow of King Roderick and his army on the banks of the

Guadalete, threw open all southern Spain to the inroads of the moslems.

The whole country fled before them; villages and hamlets were hastily

abandoned; the inhabitants placed their aged and infirm, their wives and

children, and their most precious effects, on mules and other beasts of

burden, and, driving before them their flocks and herds, made for distant

parts of the land; for the fastnesses of the mountains, and for such of

the cities as yet possessed walls and bulwarks. Many gave out, faint

and weary, by the way, and fell into the hands of the enemy; others, at

the distant sight of a turban or a Moslem standard, or on hearing the

clangour of a trumpet, abandoned their flocks and herds, and hastened

their flight with their families. If their pursuers gained upon them,

they threw by their household goods and whatever was of burden, and

thought themselves fortunate to escape, naked and destitute, to a place

of refuge. Thus the roads were covered with scattered flocks and herds,

and with spoil of all kind.

The Arabs, however, were not guilty of wanton cruelty or ravage; on

the contrary, they conducted themselves with a moderation but seldom

witnessed in more civilised conquerors. Taric el Tuerto, though a

thorough man of the sword, and one whose whole thoughts were warlike,

yet evinced wonderful judgment and discretion. He checked the predatory

habits of his troops with a rigorous hand. They were forbidden, under

pain of severe punishment, to molest any peaceable and unfortified towns,

or any unarmed and unresisting people who remained quiet in their homes.

No spoil was permitted to be made excepting in fields of battle, in camps

of routed foes, or in cities taken by the sword.

Taric had little need to exercise his severity; his orders were obeyed

through love, rather than fear, for he was the idol of his soldiery. They

admired his restless and daring spirit, which nothing could dismay. His

gaunt and sinewy form, his fiery eye, his visage seamed with scars, were

suited to the hardihood of his deeds; and when mounted on his foaming

steed, careering the field of battle with quivering lance or flashing

scimitar, his Arabs would greet him with shouts of enthusiasm. But what

endeared him to them more than all was his soldier-like contempt of

gain. Conquest was his only passion; glory the only reward he coveted. As

to the spoil of the conquered, he shared it freely among his followers,

and squandered his own portion with open-handed generosity.

While Taric was pushing his triumphant course through Andalusia, tidings

of his stupendous victory on the banks of the Guadalete were carried to

Muza ben Nozier. Messengers after messengers arrived, vying who should

most extol the achievements of the conqueror and the grandeur of the

conquest. “Taric,” said they, “has overthrown the whole force of the

unbelievers in one mighty battle. Their king is slain; thousands and tens

of thousands of their warriors are destroyed; the whole land lies at our

mercy; and city after city is surrendering to the victorious arms of

Taric.”

The heart of Muza ben Nozier sickened at these tidings, and, instead

of rejoicing at the success of the cause of Islam, he trembled with

jealous fear lest the triumphs of Taric in Spain should eclipse his

own victories in Africa. He despatched missives to the Caliph Waled

Almanzor, informing him of these new conquests, but taking the whole

glory to himself, and making no mention of the services of Taric; or, at

least, only mentioning him incidentally as a subordinate commander. “The

battles,” said he, “have been terrible as the day of judgment; but, by

the aid of Allah, we have gained the victory.”

He then prepared in all haste to cross over into Spain and assume the

command of the conquering army; and he wrote a letter in advance to

interrupt Taric in the midst of his career. “Wherever this letter may

find thee,” said he, “I charge thee halt with thy army and await my

coming. Thy force is inadequate to the subjugation of the land, and

by rashly venturing, thou mayst lose every thing. I will be with thee

speedily, with a reinforcement of troops competent to so great an

enterprise.”

The letter overtook the veteran Taric while in the full glow of

triumphant success; having overrun some of the richest part of

Andalusia, and just received the surrender of the city of Ecija. As he

read the letter, the blood mantled in his sunburnt cheek and fire kindled

in his eye; for he penetrated the motives of Muza. He suppressed his

wrath, however, and turning with a bitter expression of forced composure

to his captains, “Unsaddle your steeds,” said he, “and plant your lances

in the earth; set up your tents and take your repose: for we must await

the coming of the Wali with a mighty force to assist us in our conquest.”

The Arab warriors broke forth with loud murmurs at these words: “What

need have we of aid,” cried they, “when the whole country is flying

before us; and what better commander can we have than Taric to lead us on

to victory?”

Count Julian also, who was present, now hastened to give his traitorous

counsel.

“Why pause,” cried he, “at this precious moment? The great army of the

Goths is vanquished, and their nobles are slaughtered or dispersed.

Follow up your blow before the land can recover from its panic. Overrun

the provinces, seize upon the cities, make yourself master of the

capital, and your conquest is complete.”[32]

The advice of Julian was applauded by all the Arab chieftains, who were

impatient of any interruption in their career of conquest. Taric was

easily persuaded to what was the wish of his heart. Disregarding the

letter of Muza, therefore, he prepared to pursue his victories. For this

purpose he ordered a review of his troops on the plain of Ecija. Some

were mounted on steeds which they had brought from Africa; the rest he

supplied with horses taken from the Christians. He repeated his general

orders, that they should inflict no wanton injury, nor plunder any

place that offered no resistance. They were forbidden also to encumber

themselves with booty, or even with provisions; but were to scour the

country with all speed, and seize upon all its fortresses and strongholds.

He then divided his host into three several armies. One he placed under

the command of the Greek renegado, Magued el Rumi, a man of desperate

courage; and sent it against the ancient city of Cordova. Another was

sent against the city of Malaga, and was led by Zayd ben Kesadi, aided by

the Bishop Oppas. The third was led by Taric himself, and with this he

determined to make a wide sweep through the kingdom.[33]

CHAPTER II.

CAPTURE OF GRANADA.—SUBJUGATION OF THE ALPUXARRA MOUNTAINS.

The terror of the arms of Taric ben Zeyad went before him; and, at the

same time, the report of his lenity to those who submitted without

resistance. Wherever he appeared the towns, for the most part, sent forth

some of their principal inhabitants to proffer a surrender; for they

were destitute of fortifications, and their fighting men had perished in

battle. They were all received into allegiance to the caliph, and were

protected from pillage or molestation.

After marching some distance through the country, he entered one day

a vast and beautiful plain, interspersed with villages, adorned with

groves and gardens, watered by winding rivers, and surrounded by lofty

mountains. It was the famous vega, or plain of Granada, destined to be

for ages the favourite abode of the Moslems. When the Arab conquerors

beheld this delicious vega, they were lost in admiration; for it seemed

as if the prophet had given them a paradise on earth, as a reward for

their services in his cause.

Taric approached the city of Granada, which had a formidable aspect,

seated on lofty hills and fortified with Gothic walls and towers, and

with the red castle or citadel, built in times of old by the Phœnicians

or the Romans. As the Arab chieftain eyed the place, he was pleased with

its stern warrior look, contrasting with the smiling beauty of its vega,

and the freshness and voluptuous abundance of its hills and valleys. He

pitched his tents before its walls, and made preparations to attack it

with all his force.

The city, however, bore but the semblance of power. The flower of its

youth had perished in the battle of the Guadalete; many of the principal

inhabitants had fled to the mountains, and few remained in the city

excepting old men, women, and children, and a number of Jews, which last

were well disposed to take part with the conquerors. The city, therefore,

readily capitulated, and was received into vassalage on favourable terms.

The inhabitants were to retain their property, their laws, and their

religion; their churches and priests were to be respected; and no other

tribute was required of them than such as they had been accustomed to pay

to their Gothic kings.

On taking possession of Granada, Taric garrisoned the towers and castles,

and left as alcayde, or governor, a chosen warrior named Betiz Aben

Habuz, a native of Arabia Felix, who had distinguished himself by his

valour and abilities. This alcayde subsequently made himself king of

Granada, and built a palace on one of its hills; the remains of which may

be seen at the present day.[34]

Even the delights of Granada had no power to detain the active and ardent

Taric. To the east of the city he beheld a lofty chain of mountains,

towering to the sky, and crowned with shining snow. These were the

“Mountains of the Sun and Air;” and the perpetual snows on their summits

gave birth to streams that fertilised the plains. In their bosoms, shut

up among cliffs and precipices, were many small valleys of great beauty

and abundance. The inhabitants were a bold and hardy race, who looked

upon their mountains as everlasting fortresses that could never be taken.

The inhabitants of the surrounding country had fled to these natural

fastnesses for refuge, and driven thither their flocks and herds.

Taric felt that the dominion he had acquired of the plains would be

insecure until he had penetrated and subdued these haughty mountains.

Leaving Aben Habuz, therefore, in command of Granada, he marched with

his army across the vega, and entered the folds of the sierra, which

stretch towards the south. The inhabitants fled with affright on

hearing the Moorish trumpets, or beholding the approach of the turbaned

horsemen, and plunged deeper into the recesses of their mountains. As

the army advanced, the roads became more and more rugged and difficult;

sometimes climbing great rocky heights, and at other times descending

abruptly into deep ravines, the beds of winter torrents. The mountains

were strangely wild and sterile; broken into cliffs and precipices of

variegated marble. At their feet were little valleys enamelled with

groves and gardens, interlaced with silver streams, and studded with

villages and hamlets; but all deserted by their inhabitants. No one

appeared to dispute the inroad of the Moslems, who continued their march

with increasing confidence, their pennons fluttering from rock and

cliff, and the valleys echoing to the din of trumpet, drum, and cymbal.

At length they came to a defile where the mountains seemed to have been

rent asunder to make way for a foaming torrent. The narrow and broken

road wound along the dizzy edge of precipices, until it came to where a

bridge was thrown across the chasm. It was a fearful and gloomy pass;

great beetling cliffs overhung the road, and the torrent roared below.

This awful defile has ever been famous in the warlike history of those

mountains, by the name, in former times, of the Barranco de Tocos, and at

present of the bridge of Tablete. The Saracen army entered fearlessly

into the pass; a part had already crossed the bridge, and was slowly

toiling up the rugged road on the opposite side, when great shouts

arose, and every cliff appeared suddenly peopled with furious foes.

In an instant a deluge of missiles of every sort was rained upon the

astonished Moslems. Darts, arrows, javelins, and stones, came whistling

down, singling out the most conspicuous cavaliers; and at times great

masses of rock, bounding and thundering along the mountain side, crushed

whole ranks at once, or hurled horses and riders over the edge of the

precipices.

It was in vain to attempt to brave this mountain warfare. The enemy were

beyond the reach of missiles, and safe from pursuit; and the horses of

the Arabs were here an incumbrance rather than an aid. The trumpets

sounded a retreat, and the army retired in tumult and confusion, harassed

by the enemy until extricated from the defile. Taric, who had beheld

cities and castles surrendering without a blow, was enraged at being

braved by a mere horde of mountain boors, and made another attempt to

penetrate the mountains, but was again waylaid and opposed with horrible

slaughter.

The fiery son of Ishmael foamed with rage at being thus checked in his

career and foiled in his revenge. He was on the point of abandoning the

attempt, and returning to the vega, when a Christian boor sought his

camp, and was admitted to his presence. The miserable wretch possessed a

cabin and a little patch of ground among the mountains, and offered, if

these should be protected from ravage, to inform the Arab commander of a

way by which troops of horse might be safely introduced into the bosom of

the sierra, and the whole subdued. The name of this caitiff was Fandino,

and it deserves to be perpetually recorded with ignominy. His case is an

instance how much it is in the power, at times, of the most insignificant

being to do mischief, and how all the valour of the magnanimous and the

brave may be defeated by the treason of the selfish and the despicable.

Instructed by this traitor, the Arab commander caused ten thousand foot

soldiers and four thousand horsemen, commanded by a valiant captain,

named Ibrahim Albuxarra, to be conveyed by sea to the little port of

Adra, at the Mediterranean foot of the mountains. Here they landed, and,

guided by the traitor, penetrated to the heart of the sierra, laying

every thing waste. The brave mountaineers, thus hemmed in between two

armies, destitute of fortresses and without hope of succour, were obliged

to capitulate; but their valour was not without avail, for never, even

in Spain, did vanquished people surrender on prouder or more honourable

terms. We have named the wretch who betrayed his native mountains: let

us equally record the name of him whose pious patriotism saved them from

desolation. It was the reverend Bishop Centerio. While the warriors

rested on their arms in grim and menacing tranquillity among the cliffs,

this venerable prelate descended to the Arab tents in the valley, to

conduct the capitulation. In stipulating for the safety of his people, he

did not forget that they were brave men, and that they still had weapons

in their hands. He obtained conditions accordingly. It was agreed that

they should be permitted to retain their houses, lands, and personal

effects; that they should be unmolested in their religion, and their

temples and priests respected; and that they should pay no other tribute

than such as they had been accustomed to render to their kings. Should

they prefer to leave the country and remove to any part of Christendom,

they were to be allowed to sell their possessions; and to take with them

the money, and all their other effects.[35]

Ibrahim Albuxarra remained in command of the territory, and the whole

sierra, or chain of mountains, took his name, which has since been

slightly corrupted into that of the Alpuxarras. The subjugation of

this rugged region, however, was for a long time incomplete; many of

the Christians maintained a wild and hostile independence, living in

green glens and scanty valleys among the heights; and the sierra of the

Alpuxarras has, in all ages, been one of the most difficult parts of

Andalusia to be subdued.

CHAPTER III.

EXPEDITION OF MAGUED AGAINST CORDOVA.—DEFENCE OF THE PATRIOT PELISTES.

While the veteran Taric was making this wide circuit through the land,

the expedition under Magued the renegado proceeded against the city of

Cordova. The inhabitants of that ancient place had beheld the great

army of Don Roderick spreading like an inundation over the plain of the

Guadalquivir, and had felt confident that it must sweep the infidel

invaders from the land. What then was their dismay, when scattered

fugitives, wild with horror and affright, brought them tidings of the

entire overthrow of that mighty host, and the disappearance of the

king! In the midst of their consternation, the Gothic noble, Pelistes,

arrived at their gates, haggard with fatigue of body and anguish of mind,

and leading a remnant of his devoted cavaliers, who had survived the

dreadful battle of the Guadalete. The people of Cordova knew the valiant

and steadfast spirit of Pelistes, and rallied round him as a last hope.

“Roderick is fallen,” cried they, “and we have neither king nor captain:

be unto us as a sovereign; take command of our city, and protect us in

this hour of peril!”

The heart of Pelistes was free from ambition, and was too much broken by

grief to be flattered by the offer of command; but he felt above every

thing for the woes of his country, and was ready to assume any desperate

service in her cause. “Your city,” said he, “is surrounded by walls and

towers, and may yet check the progress of the foe. Promise to stand by

me to the last, and I will undertake your defence.” The inhabitants all

promised implicit obedience and devoted zeal: for what will not the

inhabitants of a wealthy city promise and profess in a moment of alarm?

The instant, however, that they heard of the approach of the Moslem

troops, the wealthier citizens packed up their effects and fled to the

mountains, or to the distant city of Toledo. Even the monks collected

the riches of their convents and churches, and fled. Pelistes, though

he saw himself thus deserted by those who had the greatest interest in

the safety of the city, yet determined not to abandon its defence. He

had still his faithful though scanty band of cavaliers, and a number of

fugitives of the army; in all amounting to about four hundred men. He

stationed guards, therefore, at the gates and in the towers, and made

every preparation for a desperate resistance.

In the mean time, the army of Moslems and apostate Christians advanced,

under the command of the Greek renegado, Magued, and guided by the

traitor Julian. While they were yet at some distance from the city, their

scouts brought to them a shepherd, whom they had surprised on the banks

of the Guadalquivir. The trembling hind was an inhabitant of Cordova, and

revealed to them the state of the place, and the weakness of its garrison.

“And the walls and gates,” said Magued, “are they strong and well

guarded?”

“The walls are high, and of wondrous strength,” replied the shepherd;

“and soldiers hold watch at the gates by day and night. But there is one

place where the city may be secretly entered. In a part of the wall, not

far from the bridge, the battlements are broken, and there is a breach

at some height from the ground. Hard by stands a fig tree, by the aid of

which the wall may easily be scaled.”

Having received this information, Magued halted with his army, and sent

forward several renegado Christians, partisans of Count Julian, who

entered Cordova as if flying before the enemy. On a dark and tempestuous

night, the Moslems approached to the end of the bridge which crosses the

Guadalquivir, and remained in ambush. Magued took a small party of chosen

men, and, guided by the shepherd, forded the stream, and groped silently

along the wall to the place where stood the fig tree. The traitors,

who had fraudulently entered the city, were ready on the wall to render

assistance. Magued ordered his followers to make use of the long folds

of their turbans instead of cords, and succeeded without difficulty in

clambering into the breach.

Drawing their scimitars, they now hastened to the gate which opened

towards the bridge; the guards, suspecting no assault from within, were

taken by surprise, and easily overpowered; the gate was thrown open, and

the army that had remained in ambush rushed over the bridge, and entered

without opposition.

The alarm had by this time spread throughout the city; but already a

torrent of armed men was pouring through the streets. Pelistes sallied

forth with his cavaliers and such of the soldiery as he could collect,

and endeavoured to repel the foe; but every effort was in vain. The

Christians were slowly driven from street to street, and square to

square, disputing every inch of ground; until, finding another body of

the enemy approaching to attack them in rear, they took refuge in a

convent, and succeeded in throwing to and barring the ponderous doors.

The Moors attempted to force the gates, but were assailed with such

showers of missiles from the windows and battlements that they were

obliged to retire. Pelistes examined the convent, and found it admirably

calculated for defence. It was of great extent, with spacious courts and

cloisters. The gates were massive, and secured with bolts and bars; the

walls were of great thickness; the windows high and grated; there was a

great tank or cistern of water, and the friars, who had fled from the

city, had left behind a good supply of provisions. Here, then, Pelistes

proposed to make a stand, and to endeavour to hold out until succour

should arrive from some other city. His proposition was received with

shouts by his loyal cavaliers; not one of whom but was ready to lay down

his life in the service of his commander.

CHAPTER IV.

DEFENCE OF THE CONVENT OF ST. GEORGE BY PELISTES.

For three long and anxious months did the good knight Pelistes and his

cavaliers defend their sacred asylum against the repeated assaults of

the infidels. The standard of the true faith was constantly displayed

from the loftiest tower, and a fire blazed there throughout the night,

as signals of distress to the surrounding country. The watchman from

his turret kept a wary look out over the land, hoping in every cloud of

dust to descry the glittering helms of Christian warriors. The country,

however, was forlorn and abandoned, or if perchance a human being

was perceived, it was some Arab horseman, careering the plain of the

Guadalquivir as fearlessly as if it were his native desert.

By degrees the provisions of the convent were consumed, and the

cavaliers had to slay their horses, one by one, for food. They suffered

the wasting miseries of famine without a murmur, and always met their

commander with a smile. Pelistes, however, read their sufferings in their

wan and emaciated countenances, and felt more for them than for himself.

He was grieved at heart that such loyalty and valour should only lead to

slavery or death, and resolved to make one desperate attempt for their

deliverance. Assembling them one day in the court of the convent, he

disclosed to them his purpose.

“Comrades and brothers in arms,” said he, “it is needless to conceal

danger from brave men. Our case is desperate: our countrymen either know

not or heed not our situation, or have not the means to help us. There

is but one chance of escape; it is full of peril, and, as your leader,

I claim the right to brave it. To-morrow at break of day I will sally

forth and make for the city gates at the moment of their being opened; no

one will suspect a solitary horseman; I shall be taken for one of those

recreant Christians who have basely mingled with the enemy. If I succeed

in getting out of the city, I will hasten to Toledo for assistance. In

all events I shall be back in less than twenty days. Keep a vigilant look

out toward the nearest mountain. If you behold five lights blazing upon

its summit, be assured I am at hand with succour, and prepare yourselves

to sally forth upon the city as I attack the gates. Should I fail in

obtaining aid, I will return to die with you.”

When he had finished, his warriors would fain have severally undertaken

the enterprise, and they remonstrated against his exposing himself

to such peril; but he was not to be shaken from his purpose. On the

following morning, ere the break of day, his horse was led forth,

caparisoned, into the court of the convent, and Pelistes appeared in

complete armour. Assembling his cavaliers in the chapel, he prayed with

them for some time before the altar of the holy Virgin. Then rising, and

standing in the midst of them, “God knows, my companions,” said he,

“whether we have any longer a country; if not, better were we in our

graves. Loyal and true have ye been to me, and loyal have ye been to my

son, even to the hour of his death; and grieved am I that I have no other

means of proving my love for you, than by adventuring my worthless life

for your deliverance. All I ask of you before I go, is a solemn promise

to defend yourselves to the last like brave men and Christian cavaliers,

and never to renounce your faith, or throw yourselves on the mercy of the

renegado Magued, or the traitor Julian.” They all pledged their words,

and took a solemn oath to the same effect before the altar.

Pelistes then embraced them one by one, and gave them his benediction,

and as he did so his heart yearned over them, for he felt towards them,

not merely as a companion in arms and as a commander, but as a father;

and he took leave of them as if he had been going to his death. The

warriors, on their part, crowded round him in silence, kissing his hands

and the hem of his surcoat, and many of the sternest shed tears.

The grey of the dawning had just streaked the east, when Pelistes took

lance in hand, hung his shield about his neck, and, mounting his steed,

issued quietly forth from a postern of the convent. He paced slowly

through the vacant streets, and the tramp of his steed echoed afar in

that silent hour; but no one suspected a warrior, moving thus singly

and tranquilly in an armed city, to be an enemy. He arrived at the gate

just at the hour of opening; a foraging party was entering with cattle

and with beasts of burthen, and he passed unheeded through the throng.

As soon as he was out of sight of the soldiers who guarded the gate, he

quickened his pace, and at length, galloping at full speed, succeeded

in gaining the mountains. Here he paused, and alighted at a solitary

farm-house to breathe his panting steed; but had scarce put foot to

ground when he heard the distant sound of pursuit, and beheld a horseman

spurring up the mountain.

Throwing himself again upon his steed, he abandoned the road and galloped

across the rugged heights. The deep dry channel of a torrent checked

his career, and his horse, stumbling upon the margin, rolled with his

rider to the bottom. Pelistes was sorely bruised by the fall, and his

whole visage was bathed in blood. His horse, too, was maimed and unable

to stand, so that there was no hope of escape. The enemy drew near, and

proved to be no other than Magued the renegado general, who had perceived

him as he issued forth from the city, and had followed singly in pursuit.

“Well met, señor alcayde!” exclaimed he, “and overtaken in good time.

Surrender yourself my prisoner.”

Pelistes made no other reply than by drawing his sword, bracing his

shield, and preparing for defence. Magued, though an apostate, and a

fierce warrior, possessed some sparks of knightly magnanimity. Seeing

his adversary dismounted, he disdained to take him at a disadvantage,

but, alighting, tied his horse to a tree.

The conflict that ensued was desperate and doubtful, for seldom had two

warriors met so well matched or of equal prowess. Their shields were

hacked to pieces, the ground was strewed with fragments of their armour,

and stained with their blood. They paused repeatedly to take breath;

regarding each other with wonder and admiration. Pelistes, however, had

been previously injured by his fall, and fought to great disadvantage.

The renegado perceived it, and sought not to slay him, but to take him

alive. Shifting his ground continually, he wearied his antagonist, who

was growing weaker and weaker from the loss of blood. At length Pelistes

seemed to summon up all his remaining strength to make a signal blow;

it was skilfully parried, and he fell prostrate upon the ground. The

renegado ran up, and, putting his foot upon his sword, and the point

of his scimitar to his throat, called upon him to ask his life; but

Pelistes lay without sense, and as one dead. Magued then unlaced the

helmet of his vanquished enemy, and seated himself on a rock beside him,

to recover breath. In this situation the warriors were found by certain

Moorish cavaliers, who marvelled much at the traces of that stern and

bloody combat.

Finding there was yet life in the Christian knight, they laid him upon

one of their horses, and, aiding Magued to remount his steed, proceeded

slowly to the city. As the convoy passed by the convent, the cavaliers

looked forth and beheld their commander borne along bleeding and a

captive. Furious at the sight, they sallied forth to the rescue, but

were repulsed by a superior force, and driven back to the great portal

of the church. The enemy entered pell-mell with them, fighting from

aisle to aisle, from altar to altar, and in the courts and cloisters

of the convent. The greater part of the cavaliers died bravely, sword

in hand; the rest were disabled with wounds and made prisoners. The

convent, which was lately their castle, was now made their prison, and in

after-times, in commemoration of this event, was consecrated by the name

of St. George of the Captives.

CHAPTER V.

MEETING BETWEEN THE PATRIOT PELISTES AND THE TRAITOR JULIAN.

The loyalty and prowess of the good knight Pelistes had gained him the

reverence even of his enemies. He was for a long time disabled by his

wounds, during which he was kindly treated by the Arab chieftains, who

strove by every courteous means to cheer his sadness and make him forget

that he was a captive. When he was recovered from his wounds they gave

him a magnificent banquet, to testify their admiration of his virtues.

Pelistes appeared at the banquet clad in sable armour, and with a

countenance pale and dejected; for the ills of his country evermore

preyed upon his heart. Among the assembled guests was Count Julian, who

held a high command in the Moslem army, and was arrayed in garments of

mingled Christian and Morisco fashion. Pelistes had been a close and

bosom friend of Julian in former times, and had served with him in the

wars in Africa; but when the Count advanced to accost him with his wonted

amity, he turned away in silence and deigned not to notice him; neither,

during the whole of the repast, did he address to him ever a word, but

treated him as one unknown.

When the banquet was nearly at a close, the discourse turned upon the

events of the war; and the Moslem chieftains, in great courtesy, dwelt

upon the merits of many of the Christian cavaliers who had fallen in

battle, and all extolled the valour of those who had recently perished

in the defence of the convent. Pelistes remained silent for a time, and

checked the grief which swelled within his bosom as he thought of his

devoted cavaliers. At length, lifting up his voice, “Happy are the dead,”

said he, “for they rest in peace, and are gone to receive the reward of

their piety and valour! I could mourn over the loss of my companions in

arms, but they have fallen with honour, and are spared the wretchedness I

feel in witnessing the thraldom of my country. I have seen my only son,

the pride and hope of my age, cut down at my side; I have beheld kindred

friends and followers falling one by one around me, and have become so

seasoned to those losses that I have ceased to weep. Yet there is one man

over whose loss I will never cease to grieve. He was the loved companion

of my youth, and the steadfast associate of my graver years. He was one

of the most loyal of Christian knights. As a friend he was loving and

sincere; as a warrior his achievements were above all praise. What has

become of him, alas! I know not. If fallen in battle, and I knew where

his bones were laid, whether bleaching on the plains of Xeres, or buried

in the waters of the Guadalete, I would seek them out and enshrine them

as the relics of a sainted patriot. Or if, like many of his companions in

arms, he should be driven to wander in foreign lands, I would join him

in his hapless exile, and we would mourn together over the desolation of

our country!”

Even the hearts of the Arab warriors were touched by the lament of the

good Pelistes, and they said—“Who was this peerless friend, in whose

praise thou art so fervent?”

“His name,” replied Pelistes, “was Count Julian.”

The Moslem warriors stared with surprise. “Noble cavalier,” exclaimed

they, “has grief disordered thy senses? Behold thy friend living, and

standing before thee, and yet thou dost not know him! This, this is Count

Julian!”

Upon this, Pelistes turned his eyes upon the count, and regarded him for

a time, with a lofty and stern demeanour; and the countenance of Julian

darkened, and was troubled, and his eye sank beneath the regard of that

loyal and honourable cavalier. And Pelistes said, “In the name of God, I

charge thee, man unknown! to answer. Dost thou presume to call thyself

Count Julian?”

The count reddened with anger at these words. “Pelistes,” said he, “what

means this mockery? Thou knowest me well; thou knowest me for Count

Julian?”

“I know thee for a base impostor!” cried Pelistes. “Count Julian was a

noble Gothic knight; but thou appearest in mongrel Moorish garb. Count

Julian was a Christian, faithful and devout; but I behold in thee a

renegado and an infidel. Count Julian was ever loyal to his king, and

foremost in his country’s cause: were he living, he would be the first

to put shield on neck and lance in rest, to clear the land of her

invaders:—but thou art a hoary traitor! thy hands are stained with the

royal blood of the Goths, and thou hast betrayed thy country and thy

God. Therefore, I again repeat, man unknown! if thou sayest thou art

Count Julian, thou liest! My friend, alas! is dead; and thou art some

fiend from hell, which has taken possession of his body to dishonour

his memory and render him an abhorrence among men!” So saying, Pelistes

turned his back upon the traitor, and went forth from the banquet;

leaving Count Julian overwhelmed with confusion, and an object of scorn

to all the Moslem cavaliers.

CHAPTER VI.

HOW TARIC EL TUERTO CAPTURED THE CITY OF TOLEDO THROUGH THE AID OF THE

JEWS, AND HOW HE FOUND THE FAMOUS TALISMANIC TABLE OF SOLOMON.

While these events were passing in Cordova, the one-eyed Arab general,

Taric el Tuerto, having subdued the city and vega of Granada, and the

Mountains of the Sun and Air, directed his march into the interior of

the kingdom to attack the ancient city of Toledo, the capital of the

Gothic kings. So great was the terror caused by the rapid conquests of

the invaders, that, at the very rumour of their approach, many of the

inhabitants, though thus in the very citadel of the kingdom, abandoned it

and fled to the mountains with their families. Enough remained, however,

to have made a formidable defence; and, as the city was seated on a lofty

rock, surrounded by massive walls and towers, and almost girdled by

the Tagus, it threatened a long resistance. The Arab warriors pitched

their tents in the vega, on the borders of the river, and prepared for a

tedious siege.

One evening, as Taric was seated in his tent meditating on the mode in

which he should assail this rock-built city, certain of the patroles of

the camp brought a stranger before him. “As we were going our rounds,”

said they, “we beheld this man lowered down with cords from a tower,

and he delivered himself into our hands, praying to be conducted to thy

presence, that he might reveal to thee certain things important for thee

to know.”

Taric fixed his eyes upon the stranger: he was a Jewish rabbi, with a

long beard which spread upon his gabardine, and descended even to his

girdle. “What hast thou to reveal?” said he to the Israelite. “What I

have to reveal,” replied the other, “is for thee alone to hear: command

then, I entreat thee, that these men withdraw.” When they were alone

he addressed Taric in Arabic: “Know, O leader of the host of Islam,”

said he, “that I am sent to thee on the part of the children of Israel

resident in Toledo. We have been oppressed and insulted by the Christians

in the time of their prosperity, and now that they are threatened with

siege, they have taken from us all our provisions and our money; they

have compelled us to work like slaves, repairing their walls; and they

oblige us to bear arms and guard a part of the towers. We abhor their

yoke, and are ready, if thou wilt receive us as subjects, and permit

us the free enjoyment of our religion and our property, to deliver the

towers we guard into thy hands, and to give thee safe entrance into the

city.”

The Arab chief was overjoyed at this proposition, and he rendered much

honour to the rabbi, and gave orders to clothe him in a costly robe, and

to perfume his beard with essences of a pleasant odour, so that he was

the most sweet smelling of his tribe; and he said, “Make thy words good,

and put me in possession of the city, and I will do all and more than

thou hast required, and will bestow countless wealth upon thee and thy

brethren.”

Then a plan was devised between them by which the city was to be betrayed

and given up. “But how shall I be secured,” said he, “that all thy tribe

will fulfil what thou hast engaged, and that this is not a stratagem to

get me and my people into your power?”

“This shall be thy assurance,” replied the rabbi: “ten of the principal

Israelites will come to this tent and remain as hostages.”

“It is enough,” said Taric; and he made oath to accomplish all that he

had promised; and the Jewish hostages came and delivered themselves into

his hands.

On a dark night, a chosen band of Moslem warriors approached the part

of the walls guarded by the Jews, and were secretly admitted into a

postern gate and concealed within a tower. Three thousand Arabs were at

the same time placed in ambush among rocks and thickets, in a place on

the opposite side of the river, commanding a view of the city. On the

following morning Taric ravaged the gardens of the valley, and set fire

to the farm-houses, and then, breaking up his camp, marched off as if

abandoning the siege.

The people of Toledo gazed with astonishment from their walls at the

retiring squadrons of the enemy, and scarcely could credit their

unexpected deliverance; before night, there was not a turban nor a

hostile lance to be seen in the vega. They attributed it all to the

special intervention of their patron saint, Leocadia; and the following

day being Palm Sunday, they sallied forth in procession, man, woman, and

child, to the church of that blessed saint, which is situated without the

walls, that they might return thanks for her marvellous protection.

When all Toledo had thus poured itself forth, and was marching with

cross and relic and solemn chaunt towards the chapel, the Arabs, who

had been concealed in the tower, rushed forth and barred the gates of

the city. While some guarded the gates, others dispersed themselves

about the streets, slaying all who made resistance; and others kindled

a fire and made a column of smoke on the top of the citadel. At sight

of this signal the Arabs, in ambush beyond the river, rose with a great

shout, and attacked the multitude who were thronging to the church of St.

Leocadia. There was a great massacre, although the people were without

arms, and made no resistance; and it is said, in ancient chronicles, that

it was the apostate Bishop Oppas who guided the Moslems to their prey,

and incited them to this slaughter. The pious reader, says Fray Antonio

Agapida, will be slow to believe such turpitude; but there is nothing

more venomous than the rancour of an apostate priest; for the best things

in this world, when corrupted, become the worst and most baneful.

Many of the Christians had taken refuge within the church, and had barred

the doors; but Oppas commanded that fire should be set to the portals,

threatening to put every one within to the sword. Happily the veteran

Taric arrived just in time to stay the fury of this reverend renegado.

He ordered the trumpets to call off the troops from the carnage, and

extended grace to all the surviving inhabitants. They were permitted to

remain in quiet possession of their homes and effects, paying only a

moderate tribute; and they were allowed to exercise the rites of their

religion in the existing churches, to the number of seven, but were

prohibited from erecting any others. Those who preferred to leave the

city were suffered to depart in safety, but not to take with them any of

their wealth.

Immense spoil was found by Taric in the alcazar, or royal castle,

situated on a rocky eminence, in the highest part of the city. Among the

regalia treasured up in a secret chamber, were twenty-five regal crowns

of fine gold, garnished with jacynths, amethysts, diamonds, and other

precious stones. These were the crowns of the different Gothic kings who

had reigned in Spain; it having been the usage, on the death of each

king, to deposit his crown in this treasury, inscribing on it his name

and age.[36]

When Taric was thus in possession of the city, the Jews came to him in

procession, with songs and dances, and the sound of timbrel and psaltry,

hailing him as their lord, and reminding him of his promises.

The son of Ishmael kept his word with the children of Israel: they were

protected in the possession of all their wealth, and the exercise of

their religion; and were, moreover, rewarded with jewels of gold, and

jewels of silver, and much monies.[37]

A subsequent expedition was led by Taric against Guadalaxara, which

surrendered without resistance: he moreover captured the city of Medina

Celi, where he found an inestimable table which had formed a part of

the spoil taken at Rome by Alaric, at the time that the sacred city

was conquered by the Goths. It was composed of one single and entire

emerald, and possessed talismanic powers; for tradition affirms that it

was the work of genii, and had been wrought by them for King Solomon the

Wise, the son of David. This marvellous relic was carefully preserved by

Taric, as the most precious of all his spoils, being intended by him as a

present to the caliph; and in commemoration of it, the city was called by

the Arabs, Medina Almeyda; that is to say, “The City of the Table.”[38]

Having made these and other conquests of less importance, and having

collected great quantities of gold and silver, and rich stuffs and

precious stones, Taric returned with his booty to the royal city of

Toledo.

CHAPTER VII.

MUZA BEN NOZIER.—HIS ENTRANCE INTO SPAIN, AND CAPTURE OF CARMONA.

Let us leave for a season the bold Taric in his triumphant progress from

city to city, while we turn our eyes to Muza ben Nozier, the renowned

emir of Almagreb, and the commander-in-chief of the Moslem forces

of the west. When that jealous chieftain had despatched his letter

commanding Taric to pause and await his coming, he immediately made every

preparation to enter Spain with a powerful reinforcement, and to take

command of the conquering army. He left his eldest son, Abdalasis, in

Caervan, with authority over Almagreb, or Western Africa. This Abdalasis

was in the flower of his youth, and beloved by the soldiery for the

magnanimity and the engaging affability which graced his courage.

Muza ben Nozier crossed the strait of Hercules with a chosen force of

ten thousand horse and eight thousand foot, Arabs and Africans. He

was accompanied by his two sons, Meruan and Abdelola, and by numerous

illustrious Arabian cavaliers of the tribe of Koreish. He landed his

shining legions on the coast of Andalusia, and pitched his tents near to

the Guadiana. There first he received intelligence of the disobedience of

Taric to his orders, and that, without waiting his arrival, the impetuous

chieftain had continued his career, and with his light Arab squadrons had

overrun and subdued the noblest provinces and cities of the kingdom.

The jealous spirit of Muza was still more exasperated by these tidings:

he looked upon Taric no longer as a friend and coadjutor, but as an

invidious rival, the decided enemy of his glory; and he determined on

his ruin. His first consideration, however, was to secure to himself a

share in the actual conquest of the land, before it should be entirely

subjugated.

Taking guides, therefore, from among his Christian captives, he set out

to subdue such parts of the country as had not been visited by Taric. The

first place which he assailed was the ancient city of Carmona: it was not

of great magnitude, but was fortified with high walls and massive towers,

and many of the fugitives of the late army had thrown themselves into it.

The Goths had by this time recovered from their first panic; they had

become accustomed to the sight of Moslem troops, and their native courage

had been roused by danger. Shortly after the Arabs had encamped before

their walls, a band of cavaliers made a sudden sally one morning before

the break of day, fell upon the enemy by surprise, killed above three

hundred of them in their tents, and effected their retreat into the city;

leaving twenty of their number dead, covered with honourable wounds, and

in the very centre of the camp.

On the following day they made another sally, and fell on a different

quarter of the encampment: but the Arabs were on their guard, and met

them with superior numbers. After fighting fiercely for a time, they

were routed, and fled full speed for the city, with the Arabs hard upon

their traces. The guards within feared to open the gate, lest with their

friends they should admit a torrent of enemies. Seeing themselves thus

shut out, the fugitives determined to die like brave soldiers rather than

surrender. Wheeling suddenly round, they opened a path through the host

of their pursuers, fought their way back to the camp, and raged about it

with desperate fury until they were all slain, after having killed above

eight hundred of the enemy.[39]

Muza now ordered that the place should be taken by storm. The Moslems

assailed it on all sides, but were vigorously resisted; many were slain

by showers of stones, arrows, and boiling pitch, and many who had mounted

with scaling ladders were thrown headlong from the battlements. The

alcayde, Galo, aided solely by two men, defended a tower and a portion of

the wall; killing and wounding, with a cross-bow, more than eighty of the

enemy. The attack lasted above half a day, when the Moslems were repulsed

with the loss of fifteen hundred men.

Muza was astonished and exasperated at meeting with such formidable

resistance from so small a city; for it was one of the few places, during

that memorable conquest, where the Gothic valour shone forth with its

proper lustre. While the Moslem army lay encamped before the place, it

was joined by Magued the renegado and Count Julian the traitor, with one

thousand horsemen; most of them recreant Christians, base betrayers of

their country, and more savage in their warfare than the Arabs of the

desert. To find favour in the eyes of Muza, and to evince his devotion to

the cause, the count undertook, by wily stratagem, to put this gallant

city in his power.

One evening, just at twilight, a number of Christians, habited as

travelling merchants, arrived at one of the gates, conducting a train of

mules laden with arms and warlike munitions. “Open the gate quickly,”

cried they; “we bring supplies for the garrison, but the Arabs have

discovered, and are in pursuit of us.” The gate was thrown open; the

merchants entered with their beasts of burden, and were joyfully

received. Meat and drink were placed before them; and after they had

refreshed themselves they retired to the quarters allotted to them.

These pretended merchants were Count Julian and a number of his

partisans. At the hour of midnight they stole forth silently, and,

assembling together, proceeded to what was called the Gate of Cordova.

Here setting suddenly upon the unsuspecting guards, they put them to the

edge of the sword, and, throwing open the gates, admitted a great body of

the Arabs. The inhabitants were roused from their sleep by sound of drum

and trumpet, and the clattering of horses. The Arabs scoured the streets;

a horrible massacre was commenced, in which none were spared but such

of the females as were young and beautiful, and fitted to grace the

harems of the conquerors. The arrival of Muza put an end to the pillage

and the slaughter, and he granted favourable terms to the survivors.

Thus the valiant little city of Carmona, after nobly resisting the open

assaults of the infidels, fell a victim to the treachery of apostate

Christians.[40]

CHAPTER VIII.

MUZA MARCHES AGAINST THE CITY OF SEVILLE.

After the capture of Carmona, Muza descended into a noble plain, covered

with fields of grain, with orchards and gardens, through which glided the

soft-flowing Guadalquivir. On the borders of the river stood the ancient

city of Seville, surrounded by Roman walls, and defended by its golden

tower. Understanding from his spies that the city had lost the flower of

its youth in the battle of the Guadalete, Muza anticipated but a faint

resistance. A considerable force, however, still remained within the

place, and what they wanted in numbers they made up in resolution. For

some days they withstood the assaults of the enemy, and defended their

walls with great courage. Their want of warlike munitions, however, and

the superior force and skill of the besieging army, left them no hope

of being able to hold out long. There were two youthful cavaliers of

uncommon valour in the city. They assembled the warriors, and addressed

them. “We cannot save the city,” said they, “but at least we may save

ourselves, and preserve so many strong arms for the service of our

country. Let us cut our way through the infidel force and gain some

secure fortress, from whence we may return with augmented numbers for the

rescue of the city.”

The advice of the young cavaliers was adopted. In the dead of the night

the garrison assembled, to the number of about three thousand; the most

part mounted on horseback. Suddenly sallying from one of the gates,

they rushed in a compact body upon the camp of the Saracens, which was

negligently guarded; for the Moslems expected no such act of desperation.

The camp was a scene of great carnage and confusion; many were slain on

both sides; the two valiant leaders of the Christians fell covered with

wounds, but the main body succeeded in forcing their way through the

centre of the army, and in making their retreat to Beja in Lusitania.

Muza was at a loss to know the meaning of this desperate sally. In the

morning he perceived the gates of the city wide open. A number of ancient

and venerable men presented themselves at his tent, offering submission

and imploring mercy; for none were left in the place but the old, the

infirm, and the miserable. Muza listened to them with compassion, and

granted their prayer; and the only tribute he exacted was three measures

of wheat and three of barley from each house or family. He placed a

garrison of Arabs in the city, and left there a number of Jews to form

a body of population. Having thus secured two important places in

Andalusia, he passed the boundaries of the province, and advanced with

great martial pomp into Lusitania.

CHAPTER IX.

MUZA BESIEGES THE CITY OF MERIDA.

The army of Muza was now augmented to about eighteen thousand horsemen;

but he took with him but few foot soldiers, leaving them to garrison

the conquered towns. He met with no resistance on his entrance into

Lusitania. City after city laid its keys at his feet, and implored to

be received in peaceful vassalage. One city alone prepared for vigorous

defence, the ancient Merida, a place of great extent, uncounted riches,

and prodigious strength. A noble Goth named Sacarus was the governor;

a man of consummate wisdom, patriotism, and valour. Hearing of the

approach of the invaders, he gathered within the walls all the people of

the surrounding country, with their horses and mules, their flocks and

herds, and most precious effects. To insure for a long time a supply of

bread, he filled the magazines with grain, and erected windmills on the

churches. This done, he laid waste the surrounding country to a great

extent, so that a besieging army would have to encamp in a desert.

When Muza came in sight of this magnificent city, he was struck with

admiration. He remained for some time gazing in silence upon its mighty

walls and lordly towers, its vast extent, and the stately palaces and

temples with which it was adorned. “Surely,” cried he, at length, “all

the people of the earth have combined their power and skill to embellish

and aggrandise this city. Allah Achbar! Happy will he be who shall have

the glory of making such a conquest!”

Seeing that a place so populous and so strongly fortified would be

likely to maintain a long and formidable resistance, he sent messengers

to Africa to his son Abdalasis, to collect all the forces that could be

spared from the garrisons of Mauritania, and to hasten and reinforce him.

While Muza was forming his encampment, deserters from the city brought

him word that a chosen band intended to sally forth at midnight and

surprise his camp. The Arab commander immediately took measures to

receive them with a counter surprise. Having formed his plan, and

communicated it to his principal officers, he ordered that, throughout

the day, there should be kept up an appearance of negligent confusion

in his encampment. The outposts were feebly guarded; fires were lighted

in various places, as if preparing for feasting; bursts of music and

shouts of revelry resounded from different quarters, and the whole camp

seemed to be rioting in careless security on the plunder of the land. As

the night advanced, the fires were gradually extinguished, and silence

ensued, as if the soldiery had sunk into deep sleep after the carousal.

In the mean time, bodies of troops had been secretly and silently

marched to reinforce the outposts; and the renegado Magued, with a

numerous force, had formed an ambuscade in a deep stone quarry by which

the Christians would have to pass. These preparations being made, they

awaited the approach of the enemy in breathless silence.

About midnight, the chosen force intended for the sally assembled,

and the command was confided to Count Tendero, a Gothic cavalier of

tried prowess. After having heard a solemn mass, and received the

benediction of the priest, they marched out of the gate with all possible

silence. They were suffered to pass the ambuscade in the quarry without

molestation: as they approached the Moslem camp, every thing appeared

quiet; for the foot soldiers were concealed in slopes and hollows, and

every Arab horseman lay in his armour beside his steed. The sentinels on

the outposts waited until the Christians were close at hand, and then

fled in apparent consternation.

Count Tendero gave the signal for assault, and the Christians rushed

confidently forward. In an instant an uproar of drums, trumpets, and

shrill war cries burst forth from every side. An army seemed to spring

up from the earth; squadrons of horse came thundering on them in front,

while the quarry poured forth legions of armed warriors in their rear.

The noise of the terrific conflict that took place was heard on the city

walls, and answered by shouts of exultation; for the Christians thought

it rose from the terror and confusion of the Arab camp. In a little

while, however, they were undeceived by fugitives from the fight, aghast

with terror, and covered with wounds. “Hell itself,” cried they, “is on

the side of these infidels; the earth casts forth warriors and steeds to

aid them. We have fought, not with men, but devils!”

The greater part of the chosen troops who had sallied were cut to pieces

in that scene of massacre, for they had been confounded by the tempest of

battle which suddenly broke forth around them. Count Tendero fought with

desperate valour, and fell covered with wounds. His body was found the

next morning, lying among the slain, and transpierced with half a score

of lances. The renegado Magued cut off his head and tied it to the tail

of his horse, and repaired with this savage trophy to the tent of Muza;

but the hostility of the Arab general was of a less malignant kind. He

ordered that the head and body should be placed together upon a bier, and

treated with becoming reverence.

In the course of the day, a train of priests and friars came forth from

the city to request permission to seek for the body of the count. Muza

delivered it to them, with many soldier-like encomiums on the valour of

that good cavalier. The priests covered it with a pall of cloth of gold,

and bore it back in melancholy procession to the city, where it was

received with loud lamentations.

The siege was now pressed with great vigour, and repeated assaults were

made, but in vain. Muza saw at length that the walls were too high to be

scaled, and the gates too strong to be burst open without the aid of

engines; and he desisted from the attack until machines for the purpose

could be constructed. The governor suspected from this cessation of

active warfare, that the enemy flattered themselves to reduce the place

by famine; he caused, therefore, large baskets of bread to be thrown from

the wall, and sent a messenger to Muza to inform him that if his army

should be in want of bread, he would supply it, having sufficient corn in

his granaries for a ten years’ siege.[41]

The citizens, however, did not possess the undaunted spirit of their

governor. When they found that the Moslems were constructing tremendous

engines for the destruction of their walls, they lost all courage, and,

surrounding the governor in a clamorous multitude, compelled him to send

forth persons to capitulate.

The ambassadors came into the presence of Muza with awe; for they

expected to find a fierce and formidable warrior in one who had filled

the land with terror: but, to their astonishment, they beheld an ancient

and venerable man, with white hair, a snowy beard, and a pale emaciated

countenance. He had passed the previous night without sleep, and had been

all day in the field: he was exhausted, therefore, by watchfulness and

fatigue; and his garments were covered with dust.

“What a devil of a man is this,” murmured the ambassadors one to another,

“to undertake such a siege when on the verge of the grave! Let us defend

our city the best way we can; surely we can hold out longer than the life

of this greybeard.”

They returned to the city, therefore, scoffing at an invader who seemed

fitter to lean on a crutch than wield a lance; and the terms offered by

Muza, which would otherwise have been thought favourable, were scornfully

rejected by the inhabitants. A few days put an end to this mistaken

confidence. Abdalasis, the son of Muza, arrived from Africa, at the head

of his reinforcement: he brought seven thousand horsemen, and a host of

Barbary archers; and made a glorious display as he marched into the camp.

The arrival of this youthful warrior was hailed with great acclamations;

so much had he won the hearts of the soldiery by the frankness, and

suavity, and generosity of his conduct. Immediately after his arrival, a

grand assault was made upon the city; and several of the huge battering

engines being finished, they were wheeled up, and began to thunder

against the walls.

The unsteady populace were again seized with terror; and, surrounding

their governor with fresh clamours, obliged him to send forth ambassadors

a second time to treat of a surrender. When admitted to the presence of

Muza, the ambassadors could scarcely believe their eyes; or that this was

the same withered, white-headed old man, of whom they had lately spoken

with scoffing. His hair and beard were tinged of a ruddy brown; his

countenance was refreshed by repose, and flushed with indignation; and

he appeared a man in the matured vigour of his days. The ambassadors were

struck with awe. “Surely,” whispered they, one to the other, “this must

be either a devil or a magician, who can thus make himself old and young

at pleasure!”

Muza received them haughtily. “Hence!” said he, “and tell your people I

grant them the same terms I have already proffered, provided the city

be instantly surrendered; but, by the head of Mahomet, if there be any

further delay not one mother’s son of ye shall receive mercy at my hands!”

The deputies returned into the city pale and dismayed. “Go forth! go

forth!” cried they, “and accept whatever terms are offered: of what avail

is it to fight against men who can renew their youth at pleasure? Behold,

we left the leader of the infidels an old and feeble man, and to-day we

find him youthful and vigorous!”[42]

The place was, therefore, surrendered forthwith, and Muza entered it

in triumph. His terms were merciful. Those who chose to remain were

protected in persons, possessions, and religion: he took the property of

those only who abandoned the city, or had fallen in battle, together with

all arms and horses, and the treasures and ornaments of the churches.

Among these sacred spoils was found a cup, made of a single pearl,

which a king of Spain, in ancient times, had brought from the temple

of Jerusalem when it was destroyed by Nebuchadnezzar. This prize was

presented by Muza to the caliph, and placed in the principal mosque of

the city of Damascus.[43]

Muza knew how to esteem merit even in an enemy. When Sacarus, the

governor of Merida, appeared before him, he lauded him greatly for the

skill and courage he had displayed in the defence of his city; and,

taking off his own scimitar, which was of great value, girded it upon

him with his own hands. “Wear this,” said he, “as a poor memorial of my

admiration; a soldier of such virtue and valour is worthy of far higher

honours.”

He would have engaged the governor in his service, or have persuaded

him to remain in the city, as an illustrious vassal of the caliph; but

the noble-minded Sacarus refused to bend to the yoke of the conquerors;

nor could he bring himself to reside contentedly in his country, when

subjected to the domination of the infidels. Gathering together all those

who chose to accompany him into exile, he embarked, to seek some country

where he might live in peace, and in the free exercise of his religion.

What shore these ocean-pilgrims landed upon has never been revealed; but

tradition vaguely gives us to believe that it was some unknown island,

far in the bosom of the Atlantic.[44]

CHAPTER X.

EXPEDITION OF ABDALASIS AGAINST SEVILLE AND THE “LAND OF TADMIR.”

After the capture of Merida, Muza gave a grand banquet to his captains

and distinguished warriors in that magnificent city. At this martial

feast were many Arab cavaliers who had been present in various battles;

and they vied with each other in recounting the daring enterprises

in which they had been engaged, and the splendid triumphs they had

witnessed. While they talked with ardour and exultation, Abdalasis, the

son of Muza, alone kept silence, and sat with a dejected countenance. At

length, when there was a pause, he turned to his father, and addressed

him with modest earnestness. “My lord and father,” said he, “I blush to

hear your warriors recount the toils and dangers they have passed, while

I have done nothing to entitle me to their companionship. When I return

to Egypt, and present myself before the caliph, he will ask me of my

services in Spain; what battle I have gained; what town or castle I have

taken. How shall I answer him? If you love me, then, as your son, give me

a command; intrust to me an enterprise; and let me acquire a name worthy

to be mentioned among men.”

The eyes of Muza kindled with joy at finding Abdalasis thus ambitious of

renown in arms. “Allah be praised!” exclaimed he; “the heart of my son

is in the right place. It is becoming in youth to look upward, and be

aspiring. Thy desire, Abdalasis, shall be gratified.”