THE FALL OF GRANADA: THE MOORISH WAR
1484–1492
The kingdom of Granada had been cut off by land and sea from outward
assistance, her plains and valleys had been ravaged by a foreign foe,
her principal towns were torn by the factions of her ruling family, yet
she turned a defiant, almost mocking gaze on those who had pledged
themselves to her downfall. The thought of this defiance rankled with
the Queen as bitterly as had the contempt shown for her commands by the
young Enriquez.
There was nothing in her nature of the Oriental acceptance of
ill-fortune as the will of a far-seeing Providence. Disaster to her
spelt rather divine wrath visited on human incompetency; and Isabel
looked on even temporary failure as something unclean and abhorrent,
that could only be purified and overcome by perseverance ending in
success. So sincere was her conviction, so wholehearted and untiring her
share in whatever plan of action was laid down, that she could not but
inspire her generals and councillors with something of her own
enthusiasm.
At times her will clashed with Ferdinand’s ambitions, as when in 1484 he
urged her to leave the weary struggle against Granada and help him
regain the counties of Roussillon and Cerdagne; but though in later
years the foreign policy of Aragon was to assume predominance, on this
occasion the interests of Castile were jealously maintained.
Ferdinand argued his cause with no little truth and ability. The death
of Louis XI. in the previous summer had left his son Charles VIII., a
mere boy, as the figurehead of France, to the natural weakening of the
government. Now was the time, before the child developed into a man, to
win back Aragon’s lawful possessions, the Pyrenean counties, whose
sympathies were Spanish rather than French. Isabel did not attempt to
controvert these views. She even admitted that had it been a question of
making war on Granada for the first time, or recovering Roussillon or
Cerdagne, the latter policy would have been undoubtedly the best.
“But,” she continued, “seeing that it is now two years since we began
our war against the Moors, and that during that time we have been put to
great trouble and expense, I hold it as ill-advised that we should
burden ourselves with a fresh campaign elsewhere.”
She then departed southwards with the Cardinal of Spain to arrange for a
renewed invasion of Moorish territory, leaving the King with some
Castilian troops to settle his own projects in the north according to
his fancy. The result was, after due reflection, to bring him back to
her, with his designs on Roussillon and Cerdagne temporarily shelved.
There was nothing petty in the relation of either husband or wife; and
it is probable that the secret of their unanimity of action lay in their
mutual readiness to respond to reason.
It was about this date that their military policy developed a new and
more modern trend. The surprise of Alhama, the expedition to Ajarquia,
and the hasty march to Loja had all been in keeping with the tactics of
earlier crusades. That two out of the three expeditions had failed
showed either a lack of judgment or of courage; and the reckless daring
of the Castilian race forbade even the momentary consideration of the
latter suggestion. Where then did the error lie?
Experience showed that, in spite of her isolation, the kingdom of
Granada would not succumb to ordinary measures of ravage and blockade.
Even in the districts trampled underfoot, and burned and pillaged by
Christian armies, the vegetation hardly awaited the departure of the
invaders to spring up in fresh luxuriance. Ravages that would have made
the plains of Castile a desert were quickly effaced in this land of
sunshine, both by the help of nature and of the industrious inhabitants.
There were, moreover, hidden _vegas_ and tracts of seaboard, protected
on the north both from cold winds and foreign armies by high mountain
ranges, whose southern slopes, with the land stretching beyond them,
were a veritable paradise of fruits and crops. Granada might soon find
her luxury curtailed, but to starve her into submission would be a
Herculean task.
Another lesson learned was the futility of a campaign of midnight
assaults and surprises. These were well enough for a single expedition
that aimed at no more than intimidating the enemy, or establishing a
reputation for heroism amongst the leaders, though it has been shown
such glory could be dearly bought. In scaling walls or planting an
ambush the Castilian had not anything to teach his foe; while the
majority of Moorish fortresses were built in commanding positions by the
entrance to ravines, or were perched on almost inaccessible heights that
gave to the defender with his javelin and cross-bow an enormous
advantage over those scrambling up to the attack from below.
The reduction of such strongholds was a necessary part of the conquest
of Granada; but eight more years were to pass before the task was
completed, and the capital, whose ramparts were a series of fortresses,
was to surrender, subdued not so much by wild valour as by untiring
patience.
During these years the Castilian army lost much of its feudal character,
a transformation to be completed later, on the battlefields of Italy
under the supervision of Gonsalvo de Cordova. The levies of the
principal nobles had been the backbone of the war against the
Portuguese, and still supplied no mean contribution to the Christian
forces in the kingdom of Granada. The military retainers of the Cardinal
of Spain numbered some two thousand men, while, as we have already seen,
a combination of the vassals of the Duke of Medina-Sidonia and Marquis
of Cadiz was sufficient to make Muley Hacen raise the siege of Alhama.
This same Duke, in addition to his land forces, was able, in 1487, to
dispatch a private fleet and convoy of provisions to the royal camp at
Malaga, then suffering from famine; but the wealth and power that could
give these substantial proofs of loyalty were not without their
drawbacks. The patriotic Duke, when touched in his vanity, did not
hesitate to refuse Ferdinand’s commands as to the disposal of his
troops, exclaiming touchily: “I have brought them to his service, but
they shall go nowhere save under my command.”
The sovereigns dealt with such aristocratic independence by their usual
policy of creating a counter-balance. They had established a permanent
troop of soldiers in Galicia, paid by their treasury, to enforce the
sentences of the royal judges in that unruly province; while the natural
sequence of their employment of the Santa Hermandad for the restoration
of order was the dispatch of its well-armed bands to the seat of war.
The royal forces were further recruited by numbers of the robbers and
evildoers, who had created such havoc in Castile in the early years of
the reign. It had been impossible to punish them all, as was shown in
the case of Seville; and now a free pardon was offered to those who
would take their share in the great crusade and turn their love of
violence to patriotic use. Strict regulations prevented them from
yielding to their old habits; for the work of pillage and plunder was
kept within the bounds then considered legitimate, the women and the
camp followers who preyed upon the troops were banished; and even
gambling, a customary pastime of the soldiery and ever-fruitful source
of quarrels, was suppressed.
In addition to the troops already mentioned Ferdinand also possessed
what might be called his own private army, amounting to three thousand
men, personally pledged to his service. It consisted of vassals of the
royal demesnes led by their _adelantados_; an escort of young nobles and
knights and a royal guard of some five hundred _ginetes_, or light
horse, with an equal number of heavily armed cavalry.
As the war grew more serious the purely Spanish troops were augmented by
mercenaries, principally Swiss mountaineers. “Hardy warriors who fight
on foot,” Pulgar describes them, “so resolved never to turn their back
on the enemy that they wear defensive armour only in front, and are thus
able to move with the greater ease.” The Swiss had won their laurels
against Charles the Bold on the fields of Granson and Nanci; but even
farther reaching than their vindication of national independence had
been the triumph in their persons of infantry over cavalry; another blow
struck at the old feudal ideas. In the war of Granada, it is still the
cavalry who hold sway; but the presence of the Swiss foot-soldiers was
not without its influence in the history of Spain, whose infantry,
drilled and disciplined after their method by Gonsalvo de Ayora in the
latter years of Ferdinand’s reign, was to become the admiration and fear
of Europe.
More immediate in its effects was the improvement of the artillery, a
department of war that came under the Queen’s special supervision, and
on which she expended her usual vivid interest and energy. A study of
the almost barren results of the first two years of fighting had made it
obvious that future campaigns must resolve themselves into a war of
sieges, a war whose ultimate issue depended not so much on cavalry or
infantry as on gunners and engineers. Isabel had already summoned from
Germany and Flanders the men most gifted in this particular branch of
military science, placing at their head Francisco Ramirez, a knight of
Madrid, whose knowledge and experience was to win him the nickname “El
Artillero.”
[Illustration:
DOUBLE BREECH-LOADING CANNON, IN BRONZE; USED IN SPAIN FROM THE END OF
THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY
FROM “SPANISH ARMS AND ARMOUR”
REPRODUCED BY COURTESY OF THE AUTHOR, MR. A. F. CALVERT
]
During the campaigns against the Moors in the reign of John II.,
Isabel’s father, the Christian army had been proud of its five
“lombards” or heavy guns; but the growing importance of the artillery
can be estimated, when we learn that in 1486, at the second siege of
Loja, there were twenty lombards in action, while in two of the
batteries placed before Malaga there were eleven heavy pieces, without
counting the smaller ordnance.
Some of the very lombards employed in the attack on Baeza can still be
seen in that city, constructed of thick bars of iron clamped together by
rings of the same metal; while in the fields around the peasants dig up
balls of iron and marble, that once made such havoc of the ramparts.
Beside a modern field-gun these cannon appear ludicrously clumsy. Fixed
so that they could be pointed neither to the right nor left, without
changing the position of the whole machine, and built only to fire
horizontally, the weight of their ammunition prevented the powder used
from igniting quickly; yet compared with the artillery of bygone days
their discharge had the swiftness of the wind. When two lombards could
arrive between them at one hundred and forty shots within the day, their
gunners could proclaim a marvellous achievement; and Isabel looking
round on her formidable batteries could boast, as Prescott has
complimented her, on having “assembled a train of artillery, such as was
probably not possessed at that time by any other European potentate.”
The kingdom of Granada, regardless of her enemy’s heavy guns, still kept
her derisive smile. Fatal to the most solid masonry these lombards might
prove indeed, when once in action, but who should bring them by
river-bed and goat-track to assault fortresses and castles built on
crags, that had hitherto defied the approach even of a battering-ram?
It was a question that might have dismayed the most intrepid of
generals; but Isabel was of the fibre of which Hannibals and Napoleons
are made. She recognized difficulties but to overcome them; and the
actual provision of guns was merely a section of her extensive
preparations. Carpenters, blacksmiths, stone-masons, bricklayers,
colliers, weavers of ropes and baskets; these were but a few of the army
of workmen and engineers who built bridges, filled in valleys, and
levelled heights, that the artillery might reach their destination. At
the head of each department was an official deputed to see that nothing
was lacking to his branch of the work, whether food for the troops,
fodder for the horses, wood for carts and bridges, forges for
iron-moulding, powder fetched from Sicily, Flanders, or Portugal, or
marble and stone to be fashioned into shot.
In the end two thousand gun-carriages, drawn by oxen, lumbered heavily
across the frontier, and soon were winding up the mountains into the
heart of Granada by peak and ridge. Pulgar describes how a road more
than three leagues in length was constructed within twelve days “by the
command and great insistence of the Queen”; while the Curate of Los
Palacios, lost in awe and admiration, declares that “he who had not seen
the passes by which those monstrous lombards and heavy artillery made
their way would have deemed it a thing incredible.”
“The Queen has provided for every need,” wrote the Italian scholar,
Peter Martyr, to the Archbishop of Milan, when at the seat of war before
Baeza; and his letter shows that Isabel’s thoughts were not wholly
occupied with the destruction of the Infidel.
It is well worth while [he adds] to see the four large hospital tents
that her goodness of heart has designed, not only for the succour and
cure of the wounded, but for every imaginable illness. Such is the
number of doctors, chemists, surgeons, and their assistants; such the
organization and energy; such the quantity of supplies that it is in
no way inferior to your Hospital of the Holy Ghost outside the city,
or to the great one in your Milan.
The “Queen’s Hospitals,” as they were called, were in keeping with the
other methods of warfare now adopted by the sovereigns, and show their
intention that the old careless campaigning of the past should cease. On
the one hand the Castilian soldier should be assured in return for his
patriotism of all that foresight and care could do for him; on the other
there should be meted out to the enemy either the prospect of submission
or the alternative of death or slavery. Ferdinand showed himself ready
to grant favourable terms to those cities that opened their gates at his
summons; allowing the inhabitants to seek their fortunes elsewhere with
what goods they could carry, or to remain if they preferred as his
subjects. In the latter case he assured them of his protection, a
promise that he strictly enforced to the admiration of the chroniclers
and dismay of his own troops.
His vengeance on rebellious _mudejares_, as the Moors were called who
had at any time accepted the Castilian yoke, was in inverse ratio to
this clemency, as the smoking ruins of Benemaquez were to bear witness.
And the King [we are told] commanded justice to be executed on those
Moors who were within; and there were put to the sword, or hung, one
hundred and eight of the principal men, and he commanded the rest with
the women and children to be made captive, and that the town should be
burnt and its walls razed to the ground.
Equally drastic was the new campaign of devastation that marked the
trail of the Christian army. No longer were inroads to be made only in
the spring, but instead a perpetual invasion, slackening in the hottest
months when the sun forbade strenuous action, and renewed again with the
coming of autumn, that neither crops nor fruit might have time to
recover from the previous onslaught. For this work of destruction were
set aside thirty thousand foragers, whose task it was, spreading out on
either side of the main army often to the distance of two leagues, to
burn all the mills, orchards, and trees within that area.
“Both to the right and left we lay waste fields, houses, demesnes,
everything in fact that we see,” says a letter of Peter Martyr,
describing the Christian advance on Granada, “and every day we press on
further. Thus the Moors grow more and more enfeebled.”
Such a policy of siege and destruction, carried out with the pitiless
logic that humaner ages have condemned, and backed by the united
resources of Castile and Aragon, though necessarily slow, was certain of
its ultimate success.
As the Marquis of Cadiz had foreseen, the issue was further hastened by
the release of Boabdil, that at once threw the kingdom of Granada into
fresh convulsions of civil war. During the young Sultan’s imprisonment,
his father, Muley Hacen, had appeared in the capital and established
himself in his old palace of the Alhambra, relying on the disgust that
he knew his son’s failure would awaken amongst Moorish patriots.
True to his expectations the majority of the inhabitants received him
joyfully; but the poorest quarter of the city, called the Albaycin where
Aixa had taken refuge on his approach, still maintained its former
allegiance; and thither one dark night came Boabdil with the few Moorish
nobles who had remained faithful to his cause. Before dawn a desperate
struggle was in progress; Boabdil being unable to drive his enemy from
the Alhambra but gaining possession of the Alcazaba, its twin fortress
on the opposite hilltop. At length, when the extermination of one or
other faction seemed the only prospect, an armistice was arranged, by
which Muley Hacen retained Granada, while his son retired with kingly
honours to the port of Almeria on the Mediterranean coast.
Such a settlement could not prove lasting, nor was the young Sultan, in
spite of his personal bravery, the man to alter its terms to his own
advantage. Without strength of purpose either to break his Christian
shackles, or to take the initiative once more against his father, he
remained inactive at his new capital, until the discovery in 1484 of a
plot amongst his garrison to sell him to his uncle “El Zagal” sent him
in hot flight to Cordova. The sovereigns somewhat contemptuously granted
him an asylum. He was a pawn in their game they could not afford to
ignore; but their hatred of the Infidel, combined with the self-reliance
that was so marked a feature of both their characters, inspired them
with little pity for his helplessness.
Muley Hacen, in the meantime, had fallen heir to the ill-luck that
seemed to dog the rulers of Granada; for, in his efforts to satisfy the
popular demand for Moorish victories, his army suffered in the autumn of
1483 a defeat approaching the disaster of Lucena. The fault did not lie
in the calibre of the troops, mainly recruited from the half-savage
Berbers who inhabited the mountains in the neighbourhood of Ronda and
Malaga, nor with its famous commander Hamet “El Zegri,” who lived but to
shed Christian blood. It lay rather, as in the case of the Christian
routs at Ajarquia and Loja, in the futility of an isolated expedition,
with the enemy everywhere on the watch. Surprised and outnumbered by the
levies of Andalusia and the Holy Brotherhood, the Moors after a fierce
struggle on the banks of the Lopera broke and fled, leaving many of
their generals dead or captured. Hamet “El Zegri” himself escaped, but
fifteen of his standards were carried to Vittoria, where the sovereigns
celebrated their triumph by illuminations and religious processions.
The battle of Lopera was followed by the reduction of numerous Moorish
strongholds on the western frontier, that were now too weak to withstand
the Christian advance. Most joyful of all was the recapture of Zahara,
whose fall had marked the original outbreak of the war. This triumph won
for the Marquis of Cadiz, its principal hero, the title “Duke of
Zahara”; but he declined to surrender the name under which he had gained
so many laurels, and compromised by styling himself Marquis-Duke of
Cadiz.
The culminating moment of the campaign was the capture of Ronda in May,
1485. This town, believed by its defenders impregnable, stood on the
summit of a precipice six hundred feet high.
Its walls [says a modern traveller, impressed by the grandeur even of
its ruins] are built on the very edge of the cliff and look as
weather-beaten and as solid. Indeed one could hardly tell where wall
begins and rock ends but for the Moresque arches that span the rents
in the face of the cliff to afford a firm basis for the continuous
fortification.
[Illustration:
RONDA, THE TAJO OR CHASM
FROM A PHOTOGRAPH BY LACOSTE, MADRID
]
To this stronghold Hamet “El Zegri” had retired after his crushing
defeat at Lopera; but, being informed that the Christians were
meditating a second attack on Loja, he hastily sent part of his garrison
to assist “El Zagal” in its defence. This did not, however, satisfy his
own desire for vengeance, and believing that his enemies were occupied
elsewhere he sallied out with a contingent of his fiercest troops to lay
waste the Duchy of Medina-Sidonia. His immediate mission was successful;
but Hamet “El Zegri” soon found his joy turned to ashes. His cunning had
been overreached.
A portion of the Christian army had in truth set out in the direction of
Loja; but the main body, under the command of Ferdinand himself, the
Marquis-Duke of Cadiz, and other great Castilian generals, only waited
till this subterfuge should take effect to march on Ronda. With them
went their deadly train of artillery; and soon the walls and towers were
battered from three sides, without those within being able to retaliate.
Breaches were made, and through these the Castilian chivalry rushed to
the assault, driving before them up the streets the diminished garrison.
At length a knight, more intrepid than the rest, leaping from roof to
roof along the low white houses, planted his banner on the principal
mosque. His action completed the enemy’s despair; and on Ferdinand’s
offer of generous terms the inhabitants surrendered.
Had they known it, even while they bargained, help was on the way; for
Hamet “El Zegri,” driving before him the herds of Medina-Sidonia, was
returning across the mountains, when the sound of distant cannon and
falling masonry caused him and his men to put spurs to their horses. It
was nightfall when they arrived in the neighbourhood of Ronda, and
descending from the mountains, sword in hand, attacked the sleeping
camp. Up and down the precipitous slopes the battle raged, but, fierce
as each onslaught proved, the Castilians beat it back; and “El Zegri,”
at length acknowledging his defeat, withdrew in sullen fury. Ronda had
fallen, and the western frontier of the Moorish kingdom was in Christian
hands.
Such a loss did not help to rebuild Muley Hacen’s military reputation;
indeed there was murmuring in Granada that no land could prosper whose
ruler was almost in his dotage, unable either to lead his armies or to
cope with the work of government. Things would have been different, if
only their King had been a hero like his brother Abdallah “El Zagal,”
“the Valiant.”
Muley Hacen, both weary of war and intrigue and terrified lest the
populace in their anger should clamour for his death, hastily abdicated;
whereupon El Zagal, who had only been awaiting a favourable opportunity
to seize the throne, hurried to the capital. Fortune threw a glamour
over his advent; for, as he passed through the Sierra Nevada, he
surprised by chance a body of Christian knights enjoying a halt in one
of the fertile valleys. These were Knights of the Order of Calatrava,
sent out from Alhama to forage for the garrison; but the success of
their raid had rendered them careless, and no sentry warned them of the
enemy’s approach. Dismounted and scattered, some without arms, and none
fully prepared, they broke before the thunder of the Moorish cavalry;
and “El Zagal” and his men entered Granada with a train of captives and
the heads of those whom they had slain hanging from their saddles.
It was an omen to delight the patriotic; but the new Sultan’s peace of
mind was soon rudely shaken, for Muley Hacen died within the year, and
rumour at once connected his sudden end with the brother who had usurped
his power. Boabdil also, from his refuge at Cordova, declared himself
the undoubted King of Granada now that his father was no more, and the
sovereigns, who saw their way to fomenting new discord amongst their
enemies, instantly offered him any assistance in their power.
Boabdil, Abdallah “El Chico” “the Young,” as he was often called to
distinguish him from his rival Abdallah, “El Zagal,” could count as well
on the support of many Moorish families who hated and feared his uncle;
and though on the whole the chances of the duel were against him, yet
the issue was sufficiently doubtful to make both parties willing to
compromise. In the end a treaty of partition was signed. By this “El
Zagal” kept the seaboard with the important towns of Almeria, Malaga,
and Velez, the mountainous tract of the Alpujarras famous for its
warriors, and half the town of Granada with the palace of the Alhambra.
To Boabdil were left the Alcazaba and poorer quarter of the city, with
all the northern part of the kingdom adjoining Andalusia.
Delighted to be once more sovereign in his own land, the young Sultan
sent to inform his Christian patrons of the settlement he had made,
begging them in virtue of his submission to spare his territories in
their future invasions. Such a concession was far from Ferdinand’s
thoughts; and he replied by denouncing his vassal as a traitor who had
perfidiously allied himself with the open enemies of Castile. At the
same time he and his army advanced on Loja, one of the few important
towns that had been left to Boabdil, and whose possession the Christians
had long desired in order to establish easy communication with their
outpost of Alhama.
The unfortunate Abdallah “El Chico,” victim alike of craft and
circumstances, collected his Moorish supporters and sallied out to the
relief of his city with what show of scorn and defiance he could muster,
hoping by personal bravery to triumph over those whose skill and cunning
he had learned to dread. The ensuing combat, according to the
chronicles, was marked on both sides by striking deeds of valour, but
perhaps the honour of the day rested, amongst the Christians at least,
with an English noble, who had lately joined in the crusade with some
four hundred foot-soldiers of his nation, armed with bows and axes.
This knight, called by his Spanish allies the “Conde de Escalas” from
his family name of Scales, finding the scope for cavalry action too
restricted for his taste, dismounted and led his men to an assault on
the walls of Loja. He was already mounting a ladder, when a stone
well-aimed from above caught him full on the face, hurling him to the
ground, and he was with difficulty extricated and carried to his tent.
Here it was discovered that the blow had deprived him of two of his
front teeth, a loss likely to disturb the equanimity of a cavalier of
fashion however courageous. The Conde de Escalas nevertheless rose to
the occasion; and when the King, going to visit him during his
convalescence as a mark of favour, condoled with him on what he had
suffered, he replied cheerfully: “God Who hath made this building, my
body, hath but opened a door, that He may the more clearly see what
passeth within.” Rewarded for his assistance and valorous deeds by rich
gifts he departed not long afterwards to his own land.
Of the Moors, both Boabdil and his principal general, Hamet “El Zegri,”
were wounded, and after negotiations with the young Gonsalvo de Cordova
on behalf of the Christians, consented to the capitulation of Loja on
the 29th of May, 1486. The terms were sufficiently humiliating to punish
Boabdil well for his supposed perfidy; for he agreed to surrender his
title “King of Granada” and to become merely Duke of Guadix, with the
lordship of that town, if within six months he or his Christian allies
should succeed in wresting it from his uncle. On the latter he promised
to make unceasing war. In contrast to this severity, the inhabitants of
Loja were allowed to depart where they would, carrying with them their
movable property.
The capture of the famous “Flower among the Thorns” opened up a way into
the heart of Granada, of which the Christians were not slow to take
advantage, its possession being quickly followed by the reduction of
several Moorish fortresses of minor importance. To the camp before
Moclin, one of these strongholds, came the Queen herself to share in the
triumph of her army, and with her the Infanta Isabel, now a Princess of
marriageable age.
The Curate of Los Palacios has described the scene of her arrival with a
minute attention to detail that would have made his fortune as a modern
journalist of fashions. From him we know the exact costumes worn, not
only by the Queen and her daughter, but by Ferdinand and the young
English Conde de Escalas who rode in his train, while we are given a
curious little picture of the formal greeting between husband and wife.
Before they embraced, they bent low each of them three times in
reverence, and the Queen took off her hat, so that she remained in her
coif with her face uncovered; and the King came to her and embraced
her and kissed her on the cheek. Afterwards he went to his daughter
and embraced and kissed her also, making the sign of the cross in
token of his blessing.
Isabel remained with the Christian forces for the rest of the campaign;
while in the following spring she and Ferdinand collected a new army at
Cordova, mainly recruited from the levies of Andalusia. It was their
intention to attack the town of Velez-Malaga, now left high and dry, but
then a flourishing seaport, situated at the extremity of a long ridge of
mountains stretching down to the Mediterranean. Its capture would not
only lay bare the fertile valley to the west, but would also insert a
hostile wedge between the important city of Malaga some five miles
distant and the capital, where El Zagal maintained his uneasy throne.
The relations between the rival Sultans had not been improved by the
capitulation of Loja; and soon afterwards an unsuccessful attempt on the
part of the uncle to poison his nephew had led to renewed struggles in
Granada itself. Boabdil, in his eagerness for revenge had appealed to
Ferdinand for help; but the commander of the Christian troops sent to
the scene of action, while pretending to lend support, contented himself
with fomenting the discord that he found, thus encouraging the “King of
the Alhambra” and the “King of the Albaycin” to work their mutual
destruction.
When the news came that the Christian army had pitched its camp before
Velez-Malaga, bringing with it all its heavy guns, “El Zagal” was torn
with indecision. To go to the assistance of the besieged was to leave
his palace of the Alhambra exposed to Boabdil’s attack; to stay was to
sacrifice an important harbour, besides losing his popularity with the
inhabitants of Granada, who looked to him for the deeds of valour
befitting his name. His choice was that of the warrior; and the
despairing inhabitants of Velez-Malaga who were on the point of
surrender rejoiced to see the mountains lit up with bonfires, warning
them of their Sultan’s approach. The Christians on their part were fully
prepared to defend their camp; the bravest of their chivalry under the
Marquis-Duke of Cadiz opposed themselves again and again to the Moorish
onslaughts, until “El Zagal” was beaten back in confusion from
Velez-Malaga as Hamet “El Zegri” had been from Ronda.
The capitulation of the town followed at the end of April, 1487; and
then the Christian army pushed forward to Malaga, a port famous for its
commerce from the days of Phœnician traders. The enthusiasm of the
troops was raised to white heat by success and by the personal bravery
of Ferdinand, who, on one occasion during the late siege, seeing a
company of Castilians about to retreat, had hurled himself on the enemy
armed only with his breastplate and sword. On the remonstrances of his
generals, who besought him in future to remember what his death would
cost them, he replied: “I cannot see my men in difficulties and not go
to their aid.” It was an answer more likely to endear him to Castilian
hearts than any act of legislation.
The courage that inspired the Christians was not lacking in Malaga,
where the fierce Hamet “El Zegri” and his garrison had pledged
themselves to starve rather than yield. The fire of the heavy lombards,
disembarked from the Castilian ships and pointed on the Moorish towers
and ramparts, was answered by cannon equally deadly in their aim; the
mines planted deep behind trenches were met by counter-mines; the
Christian raids on the suburbs by midnight sallies of such unexpected
ferocity that often massacre ensued, until reinforcements at length
drove the invaders back to their walls.
The summer months passed slowly; and hunger and pestilence added their
gaunt spectres to the sufferings of the besieged. In vain Ferdinand,
courting a speedy surrender, sent messengers to offer generous terms,
such as he had granted at Ronda and Loja; in vain he threatened the
alternative of slavery in case of prolonged resistance; in vain the more
peace-loving citizens pleaded with their governor to accept a settlement
that would save the prosperity of their port. Hamet “El Zegri” returned
a scornful refusal. Soon, he declared the rainy season would begin, and
the Christian camp would be turned into a swamp, fit breeding-ground for
death in all its forms. Malaga had only to hold firm to triumph. What
matter if the victory cost her the ruin of her commerce? It was a
question to which garrison and merchants returned a different answer.
In the meanwhile Isabel had appeared in person at the Christian camp,
not, as the Moors expected, to persuade her husband to raise the siege,
but to second his efforts. Her presence was heralded by the fire of all
the guns at once, a thunder that shook Malaga to its foundations and
filled Castilian hearts with pride. Fanaticism was now to play its part
in the history of the siege, persuading Hamet “El Zegri” and his
supporters of divine interposition, when all human aid had failed them.
Their first would-be saviour was a certain Abraham “El Gerbi,” a dervish
of holy life imbued with a hatred of the Christians. This man, gathering
to his standard some four hundred warriors of Guadix, whom he had
inspired with the belief that he was protected by the angels of Mahomet,
led them to an attack on the camp before Malaga. Had his efforts ended
here the incident would have been speedily forgotten, for in spite of
its bravery the band of fanatics was too small to create more than a
momentary panic. Abraham “El Gerbi,” however, was captured alive. No one
suspected in that saintly face and wasted form the man who had planned
the mad expedition; and when the old dervish declared himself a prophet,
and begged for an interview with the King and Queen that he might
explain how Malaga could be taken, the Marquis-Duke of Cadiz led him at
once to headquarters.
There was some delay in seeing the sovereigns, so the prisoner was made
to wait in a neighbouring tent, where a Portuguese Prince, Don Alvaro, a
cousin of the Queen, and Beatriz de Bobadilla, Marchioness of Moya, were
playing chess. Unable to understand Castilian, the dervish believed the
players the object of his fanatical hatred, and, drawing a knife he had
concealed in the folds of his cloak, he attacked the Prince, wounding
him in the head. Next he hurled himself on the Marchioness of Moya, but
before he could achieve his purpose the swords of those standing by had
ended his life. That night the body of Abraham “El Gerbi” was hurled by
Christian catapults into the Moorish town.
It would seem as if Malaga’s faith in dervishes might have been shaken;
but a new prophet shortly appeared, this time within the city, pledging
himself by a certain sacred banner to bring victory to Moorish arms. His
preaching, seconded by Hamet “El Zegri’s” fiery patriotism, stirred the
flagging energy of the besieged to a more desperate sally than any that
had yet been made. Out of the city they poured, the white standard
floating at their head, and before this unexpected avalanche of spears
and scimitars the Christians for the moment quailed; the next, their
courage returning, they closed upon their foes from all sides. The
battle wavered, then a stone from a catapult struck the dervish prophet
down, and with a shout of triumph the Christians saw the sacred banner
fall and drove back the Moors, routed and dismayed, within the walls of
Malaga.
The city was doomed. Even Hamet “El Zegri” acknowledged this, and
leaving the citizens to their fate, withdrew with some of his warriors
into the fortress of the Gibralfaro; but the offers of peace and safety
he had before derided could be no longer claimed. Fanaticism had left
its mark also on the Christian camp; and amongst the Castilian soldiery
the enemy’s entreaties for life and freedom were met by threats of a
general massacre.
Since hunger and not goodwill prompts you to the surrender of your
city [said the Chief Commander, of Leon, replying to an embassy from
Malaga], either defend yourselves or submit to whatever sentence shall
be pleasing to the King and Queen;—to wit, death to those for whom it
is destined, slavery to those for whom slavery.
It was a bitter answer; and only sheer necessity drove Malaga to a
submission from which she could hope so little. Amid fear and wailing,
the capitulation was signed, and on August 20th, the sovereigns made
their triumphal entry into the city. Hamet “El Zegri” still withstood
their power in the Gibralfaro, but treachery amongst his garrison at
length led to his betrayal, and the whole of Malaga lay at the Christian
mercy. Its renegades, where they were discovered, were put to death, and
on the rest of the inhabitants the sovereigns passed the sentence of
perpetual slavery;—so many to be distributed amongst the Castilian
nobles, so many to be sold for the benefit of the treasury, so many
apportioned for the ransom of Christian slaves in Africa. A picked group
of one hundred and eighty warriors were dispatched to the Pope as fruits
of the crusade, while the Queen of Portugal and the Queen of Naples each
received fifty of the fairest maidens.
[Illustration:
MALAGA TO-DAY
FROM A PHOTOGRAPH BY LACOSTE, MADRID
]
“The fate of Malaga,” says Prescott, “may be said to have decided that
of Granada.” Cut off entirely from the western part of the kingdom, that
had proved so valuable a storehouse of men and the necessaries of life,
she lay ringed round by enemies, who only awaited the moment to strike
her death-blow. Yet for this low estate to which she had fallen she
could not hold herself blameless. In her passionate distrust of failure
she had made and unmade her rulers, regardless of the handicap thus
placed upon their actions. “El Zagal” had been right in his fears for
his throne, when he sallied forth to the relief of Velez-Malaga. The
dread of the fickle populace he had left behind him had hung over his
wild encounters with the chivalry of Spain; and when he returned, beaten
but patriotic and valorous as of old, it was to find the gates of the
capital closed against him, and his rival Sultan, not only of the
Albaycin, but the Alhambra. In bitterness of spirit he marched eastwards
to protect the cities of Guadix, Baeza, and Almeria, that still remained
loyal to his cause; and it was against these that the Catholic
sovereigns planned their next campaign.
The early part of the year 1488 they spent in Aragon, settling the
affairs of that kingdom, and receiving the acknowledgment by the
national Cortes of Prince John, now a boy of ten as heir to the Spanish
throne. By June, however, Ferdinand arrived in Murcia and soon pushed
southwards with a large army; but the campaign was not destined to
follow the glorious lines of its predecessor. El Zagal, from his
headquarters at Guadix, and his brother-in-law Cid Haya at Baeza knew
the country well, and were on the watch for the least rash or mistaken
move that their opponents might commit. Several of the smaller
fortresses succumbed to Castilian lombards; but such gains were fully
counterbalanced by a repulse from Almeria, and a well-planned ambush,
from which the Marquis-Duke of Cadiz only extricated himself and his
troops with considerable difficulty and loss.
Ferdinand, despairing of further efforts at the moment, withdrew to
winter at Valladolid; but in the next spring he and Queen Isabel
appeared in Jaen, determined on the reduction of Baeza, the most
important town in eastern Granada. The preparations were on a scale that
surpassed all former efforts of the kind; for the neighbouring country
with its thick orchards and easily flooded rivers was difficult and
treacherous; while the inhabitants were even more hostile to the
Christians than their western compatriots.
The cornfields of Baeza had not ripened at the time of the enemy’s
advance; but the grain was already cut and stored within the city lest
the hated unbelievers should reap it for their own consumption. The
supply of food was but one of the many pressing problems that the
sovereigns were called on to solve; and, as the time passed, Ferdinand
was almost tempted to raise his camp and retire until he should have
made himself master of the surrounding district. To this policy he was
urged by the majority of his generals, who contrasted the massive
fortifications of Baeza, her hardy soldiers, and her stores of
provisions, with the Christian lines, then threatened by inundations of
water and decimated by disease.
Don Gutierre de Cardenas, Commander of Leon, alone protested against a
retreat that would represent the waste of so much labour and money; and
he was to find a staunch supporter in the Queen, who from Jaen implored
her husband not to listen to advice as cowardly as it was mistaken. If
he would continue the campaign, she on her part pledged herself to keep
a line of communication open, pouring daily into the camp all that it
should require in the way of food or ammunition.
The chroniclers have left us minute accounts of her labours to this end,
carried through with the characteristic thoroughness that had so often
brought her success. The purchase of the crops of Andalusia and the
lands belonging to the Military Orders; the transference of this grain
and hay by a procession of fourteen thousand mules to the seat of war
and the outposts already in Christian hands; the repair of the roads,
worn by traffic and the heavy rains, by the vigilance of an army of
engineers, kept ever at hand for the purpose; the enrollment of fresh
troops and workmen to replace those lives lost in the great crusade;
most arduous of all the continual disbursement of the money that came so
slowly again into the royal treasury. At times the attempt to adjust the
balance between demand and supply appeared impossible; and rents and
subsidies failed as expenses grew, but Isabel’s hand on the helm of
affairs never wavered. The crown jewels were pawned to the merchants of
Valencia and Barcelona, but the campaign against Baeza did not slacken.
Ferdinand and his generals, certain of support from their base of
operations, took new heart; and to the dismay of the besieged huts made
of clay and timber began to replace the old tents, and traders to appear
with their merchandise of comforts and luxuries, till the camp gradually
assumed the air of a permanent settlement or village.
To it amongst other strangers came Franciscan friars from the Holy Land,
bearing despatches from the Sultan of Egypt, in which he complained of
the destruction that was being wrought against the Mahometans in Spain.
Unless such hostility ceased, he declared his intention of venting his
wrath on any Christians he might find in Palestine. The sovereigns, in
answer, protested their right to reconquer the kingdom of Granada which
had belonged to their ancestors; but they expressed their willingness to
deal kindly by such Moors as proved themselves good subjects. Not
content with explaining the situation by letter they even sent an
embassy to the Sultan some years later, with Peter Martyr, the young
Italian noble who had been an eye-witness of so much of the war, at its
head; and his eloquence succeeded in establishing friendly relations.
In November, 1489, Isabel herself visited the camp; and Cid Haya, with
that courtesy that often lent so fine a shade to mediæval warfare,
granted a truce that she might go and inspect the farthest trenches and
outposts in safety. Pulgar declares enthusiastically that her advent
changed the whole spirit of the campaign, putting an end to the
vindictive bitterness that had hitherto marked the contest on either
side. Moors and Christians alike were weary of fighting; and Cid Haya,
who had none of Hamet “El Zegri’s” fierce intolerance, recognized that
he was waging a lost cause and decided to make good terms while he was
in a position to do so. At the beginning of December, Baeza capitulated
on the promise of security of life and property for all its defenders
and inhabitants; with the proviso that they might live if they chose as
Castilian subjects, keeping their own religion and laws.
Cid Haya himself was received by the sovereigns with such marked
attention and honour that he was speedily led to abjure his faith and
become a Christian, marrying in later years one of the Queen’s favourite
ladies-in-waiting. His first service to his new masters was to visit his
brother-in-law, “El Zagal,” at Guadix and to persuade him of the
futility of further resistance. Almeria had already surrendered, and but
for Guadix no independent city of importance remained save Granada, with
whom there could be no hope of any alliance.
“El Zagal,” bowing his pride to necessity, agreed to a treaty of
capitulation that left him the title “King of Andaraz” with the district
of that name and a considerable revenue; but he did not possess Cid
Haya’s light-hearted temperament, and soon found life in Spain
intolerable under the new conditions. Determined to break with all that
could remind him of his lost glory, he sold his estates to Ferdinand and
sailed to Africa; but he was to experience worse treatment at the hands
of co-religionists than from his Christian foes. A tale of his wealth
had spread abroad, and the King of Fez at once proceeded to rob and
imprison him. When at length he gained his freedom, “El Zagal,” the once
valiant warrior king, whose name had been the terror of the Andalusian
border, had fallen to beggary, and blind and ragged sought alms from
door to door, until a man who had known him in prosperity took pity on
him and granted him an asylum.
With the conquest of eastern Granada, the Moorish war entered on its
last phase. Boabdil was nominally at peace with Castile; but pretexts
were not lacking to embroil him afresh, as soon as the close of the
struggle with his uncle left Ferdinand and Isabel free to embark on a
fresh campaign.
By the terms of the capitulation of Loja Boabdil had agreed to surrender
his claims to the throne on the capture of Guadix, and to retire to that
city with the title of Duke. The sovereigns now demanded the fulfilment
of this promise; but the outlook had changed since the days when the
young Sultan had been merely doubtful “King of the Albaycin,” and knew
not if the next week would find him in exile. Lord of the whole of
Granada, the prospect of the Duchy of Guadix was not alluring to his
ambitions; nor, had he wished to surrender, was he in a position to do
so. Raised to the throne by all the martial element in the kingdom, that
had not bowed the knee before the Cross, his very life depended on his
popularity with the fierce warriors of the Alpujarras and the rest of
the Moorish soldiery, who for one reason or another were pledged to
maintain the city’s independence.
[Illustration:
BOABDIL, LAST KING OF GRANADA
FROM ALTAMIRA’S “HISTORIA DE ESPAÑOLA”
]
Thus it was that the Christian demands were met by defiance, and the
sovereigns provided with an excuse for prosecuting the war to its bitter
end. The Moorish messengers had found them in Seville, whither they had
gone in April, 1490, to celebrate the betrothal of their daughter Isabel
with Don Alfonso, the heir to the Portuguese throne; but, this
concluded, Ferdinand collected an army and, crossing the Sierra Elvira,
proceeded to ravage the plains of Granada. Within sight of the city he
knighted his son Prince John, on whom so many hopes were centred, that
in this last act of the crusade, inheritance of his race, the boy of
twelve might receive initiation into a great future.
Boabdil, in the meanwhile, had not waited to be attacked; and his
generals, taking the offensive, endeavoured to recapture some of the
smaller fortresses that had fallen into Christian hands, besides
stirring up revolt in the larger towns which had lately surrendered,
such as Guadix and Baeza. Both efforts met with a measure of success;
for many of the Moors, who had faithfully served “El Zagal” throughout
his struggles with his nephew, were so disgusted at seeing his banner in
the Christian camp, and at witnessing the soft complacency of Cid Haya,
that they turned willingly from their old allegiance to the Prince who
offered them deliverance from a foreign yoke.
Their patriotism came too late. The hour had passed when rebellion could
do more than temporarily retard the waning Crescent; and the punishment
of failure was meted out by Ferdinand and his generals with no unsparing
hand. Yet this severity had its semblance of mercy. The inhabitants of
the town in question might choose between exile with their movable
property, or a full judicial inquiry into their conduct. Who were
guilty? The citizens looked at one another and knew that few would be
able to prove complete innocence before a hostile judgment seat, with
racial hatred holding the balance; and their decision was not long in
forming.
From the fairest cities in Granada passed away the population that had
made her fame; and, as the exiles sailed to Africa, Castilians took
possession of their deserted homes. The Curate of Los Palacios, in the
case of Guadix, congratulates himself on Ferdinand’s cleverness in thus
winning this town so completely from the enemies of the Holy Catholic
Faith. “It is one of the mysteries of Our Lord,” he adds, “who would by
no means consent that so noble a city should remain longer in the power
of the Moors.”
Round Granada itself the Christian lines were closing in; and successful
though arduous campaigns into the mountains of the Alpujarras had cut
off the beleaguered city from hope of succour in that direction.
Christian Europe, humbled by the fall of Constantinople, awaited the
issue with expectant joy; and it seemed in this supreme moment as if the
chivalry of both the Crescent and the Cross, conscious of universal
interest, were inspired to a last emulation in the quest of glory. Never
before in the crusade had the sallies of the besieged or the furious
attacks of besiegers exhibited such contempt of personal danger; never
before had schemes emanating from the council-chamber been supplemented
by such deeds of individual bravery.
Chief hero of these days was the young Castilian noble, Hernando de
Pulgar, “He of the Exploits,” as his countrymen proudly named him.
Already in the earlier stages of the war he had earned a reputation for
reckless daring; but the crowning touch to his fame was given by his
midnight entry into Granada with fifteen companions of the same
hazard-loving temperament. Led by a converted Moor, the little band of
Christians scaled the walls and, making their way through the town by
deserted streets, arrived unperceived at the principal mosque. Here
Hernando de Pulgar drew from his pocket a strip of parchment, on which
were inscribed the words dear to every Catholic but anathema to the sons
of Islam, “Ave Maria!” and fixed it by his dagger to the door. Before he
could follow up his intention of setting fire to the neighbouring
houses, he was discovered; but nevertheless he and his friends succeeded
in making their escape by dint of hard riding and a liberal use of their
swords, before the majority of the inhabitants were even aware of their
inroad.
It was an action to fire the imagination of all the young hot-bloods in
the camp; and when in the summer of 1491 Isabel and a number of her
ladies-in-waiting appeared at the seat of war, the incentive to deeds of
prowess was redoubled. The sovereigns, though delighted with Hernando de
Pulgar’s exploit, for which they rewarded him with every mark of honour
and favour, were yet too practical to encourage a needless loss of life.
They had long recognized, as we have seen, that in patience rather than
in daring lay their hope of success; and when a fire broke out in the
Queen’s tent and destroyed a good part of the camp, they determined to
prepare for a long siege and to build more solid accommodation, as they
had done at Baeza.
To this end the Spanish soldier was converted into a workman; and under
his willing hands a city arose, not merely of clay and timber, but of
stone. In shape a square, cut into four by wide crossroads, each quarter
with its fine houses contained a block of marble inscribed with the
names of those cities of Spain that had helped in its construction, the
whole being finished within eighty days from its commencement.
[Illustration:
ALHAMBRA, PATIO DE L’ALBERCA
FROM A PHOTOGRAPH BY ANDERSON, ROME
]
The building of Santa Fé, “Holy Faith,” as Isabel characteristically
christened the city when asked to name it after herself, had been
witnessed from the walls of Granada; and Boabdil’s heart sank within him
at this token of the iron determination he knew and feared. Already
hunger was rife amongst his subjects; and though he might prolong the
siege for months or even longer he realized that only ultimate failure
lay before him. So did his principal councillors, and in October, 1491,
acting on their advice, he entered at last into negotiations for
surrender.
The terms to which both sides finally agreed, besides guaranteeing to
the inhabitants of Granada the safety of their lives and property,
granted them also the free exercise of their religion, laws, and
customs. They were to speak their own language, keep their own schools,
and appoint their own judges and priests, submitting to no Christian
authority save that of the Governor-General of the city. For three years
they were to pay no taxes, and after that date none that should exceed
those that had been ordinarily exacted by their Mahometan rulers. These
rights were to be enjoyed by Jews as well as Moors; while the Christian
captives then in the city were to be exchanged for an equal number of
Moorish slaves. Above all Boabdil stipulated that no partisan or servant
of “El Zagal” should be allowed a share in the government.
The surface value of these conditions was fair enough; treacherously
fair, according to the Moorish warriors still disinclined for peace.
“If you think,” exclaimed one of them, “that the Christians will remain
faithful to what they have promised, or that their sovereign will prove
as generous a conqueror as he has been a valiant enemy, you deceive
yourselves.”
His contemptuous refusal to have part or parcel in the transaction was
echoed through the streets.
“Traitors and cowards all!” cried an old dervish, gathering behind him
the more excitable element of the town; and soon a mob was beating on
the gates of the Alhambra.
Boabdil succeeded in restoring order; but the fear of another riot made
him hastily dispatch a letter to Ferdinand and Isabel, asking them in
view of his critical position to take possession of the town some days
earlier than they had settled. His interest in smoothing out all
difficulties is explained by the secret stipulations affixed to the
general terms of surrender. By these he and his immediate relations were
to keep the lands that already formed their private patrimony, while he
himself was to receive in addition the lordship and revenue of a large
district in the Alpujarras, the sovereigns paying him the sum of thirty
thousand castellanos on the day of their entry.
Thus Boabdil hoped to buy peace, and in the guise of a territorial
magnate to free himself from the unlucky star that had haunted his path
as King.[3] On the 2d of January, 1492, at the signal of a cannon fired
from the Alhambra he left for ever the palace that had been the scene of
so many vicissitudes in his life. At the same moment the Christian army
in festival attire, with banners flying and amid the blare of trumpets
issued from the gates of Santa Fé; the Cardinal of Spain and Don
Gutierre de Cardenas leading the triumphal march that was to end at last
in the goal of all their ambitions.
Footnote 3:
Boabdil, like his uncle “El Zagal,” finally sold his patrimony to the
Catholic sovereigns and sailed to Africa. He was killed in a battle
some years later fighting on behalf of the King of Fez against an
African tribe.
The two Kings met on the banks of the Genil, where Boabdil would have
knelt to kiss the other’s hand, had not Ferdinand with quick courtesy
prevented him. “Take these, Señor, for I and all in the city are thine,”
exclaimed the Moor, as in profound melancholy he yielded up the keys of
his capital. Then he passed on his way. As the turrets of the Alhambra
grew dim behind him, the vanguard of the Christian army crossed its
threshhold; and Ferdinand and Isabel without the gate saw raised on the
Tower of Colmares, first, the silver cross that had been blessed at
Rome, and then the royal banner and the standard of Santiago.
“Granada! Granada! for the sovereigns Don Fernando and Doña Isabel,”
cried the king-at-arms in a loud voice; and the Queen falling on her
knees and all with her, the solemn chant of the _Te Deum_ rose to
Heaven. The object of ten years of arduous warfare was achieved, the
dream of eight centuries realized; and none of those who knelt in
heartfelt thankfulness doubted that the gift was of God.
Four days later, on the 6th of January, 1492, the Feast of the Epiphany,
the Catholic sovereigns made their formal entry into Granada.