his charger forward, but stopped when about twenty yards off and
dismounted, approaching his wife with deep respect. Although devotedly
attached to each other, King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella were yet
independent sovereigns, and the great Queen was the last person in the
world to abate any of the honors and dignity due to her country and
herself as its Queen.
Prince Juan and every one else dismounted.
The King, first taking off his plumed helmet and sweeping the
ground with it, bowed low to his wife. Queen Isabella, who had also
dismounted, removing her hat from her head, revealed her beautiful
chestnut hair, coifed with jewels, and returned the King's bow
ceremoniously. Then walking toward each other, they met, and the
King kissed the Queen formally on the cheek, as one sovereign kisses
another on meeting. When that was over, however, the King and Queen
embraced and kissed heartily as husband and wife. Prince Juan, after
ceremoniously saluting his mother, was also kissed and embraced. The
young Princess Katharine was then clasped in the arms of her father and
her brother.
Then, again remounting, the two processions united and took their way
toward Santa Fé. The loud acclaims increased as the joint armies of
Castile and Arragon beheld the Queen whom they both adored; and, long
after the procession had become a mere moving speck in the distance,
the far-off sound of cheers and of swords drawn and driven back to
their scabbards still floated across the little plain.
The sight of Ferdinand in all his splendor impressed Diego deeply; but
when his young eyes fell upon Queen Isabella a feeling of reverence
stole into his heart which could only be compared with what he felt
for his father. Here was a woman, a Queen, a saint, a gentlewoman, the
soul of courtesy, the model of integrity, proud where she should be
proud, meek where she should be meek, nobly ambitious for her country,
the mother of her people, ready to lead her soldiers in battle like a
king, and then kneeling by them and binding up their wounds as would a
mother--Diego's mind was lofty enough to render full tribute to this
Queen, one of the most glorious women who ever lived.
IV
THE LAST SIGH OF THE MOOR
The short November afternoon was melting into twilight when Diego and
Don Felipe, with Fray Piña, took their way on horseback across the
plateau to the town of Santa Fé. The plain was still thronged with
persons going homeward after the great spectacle of the day, and with
those who dwelt in Santa Fé or were encamped outside.
The Admiral had engaged lodgings for the party in a tall, old house,
one of those in the original small town where he himself lodged. It
was in a crooked and retired street, but Diego and Don Felipe were
delighted to find that one window of the room which they shared
together, under the roof, looked toward the plain upon which were
encamped the armies of Castile and Arragon, while another gave a
view of the deep and narrow valley that lay between Santa Fé and
the beleaguered city of Granada. Directly before them lay the "Gate
of Justice," one of the main gates of the city, and from its towers
they could hear, in the clear November air, the shrill cry of the
muezzin, the Moslem call to prayer. "Prayer is better than sleep--than
sleep--than sleep."
After the traveler's supper, at which were present the Admiral and his
friend, Alonzo de Quintanilla, Diego and Don Felipe were willing enough
to go to their room. They felt as if they were living under a spell of
enchantment. The splendid personages they had seen, the great events of
which they were to be spectators, the pomp and glory of war, impressed
their young imaginations powerfully. Although tired with their long day
of travel and excitement, they could not sleep. So an hour passed. They
rose at last, and, as they were gazing out of the window toward the
camp, at ten o'clock they noticed in the middle of the camp, lying a
mile away, a great mass of flame shoot skyward. Instantly the camp was
roused, and there was a great commotion in the town. De Quintanilla
ran out of the house and, mounting his horse, still standing at the
door, galloped away toward the camp. The fire, though violent, soon
burned itself out, and in an hour De Quintanilla returned with the
news that the beautiful tents erected by the King for Queen Isabella,
the Princess Katharine, and their suites, had mysteriously caught fire
while the Queen was at prayer in the tent arranged as a chapel. She had
made an almost miraculous escape, and by her courage and presence of
mind not a life had been lost, although the splendid row of tents, hung
with rich brocades and gorgeously furnished, were only a heap of ashes.
"The Queen," said De Quintanilla, to the listening group, "showed as
ever the spirit of ten men-at-arms, being composed and even smiling,
and saying that the humblest tent in the army is enough to shelter her,
for she is a soldier like the rest of the army."
The next morning Diego and Don Felipe were not surprised when Fray Piña
began at once the same routine that had been followed at La Rabida
and at the castle of Langara. It was irksome to them and tantalizing
to be held down to books and studies in their narrow little room,
while living in the midst of a great camp with all its charms and
fascinations for brave and imaginative boys. But they knew too much to
appeal against it, for Fray Piña's stern rule was upheld by the Admiral
and by Doña Christina. Still they enjoyed their new life and felt as if
they were living every minute of it.
The arrival of Queen Isabella had put new vigor into everything. The
armies were impatient to take the city of Granada by storm; but King
Ferdinand, a capable soldier, would not consider this. From spies and
the Moorish prisoners occasionally captured, both the King and the
Queen knew that there was utter demoralization within the walls of
Granada. The weak and effeminate spirit of the Moorish King, Boabdil,
would not listen to the counsels of those who were willing to die with
honor in an attempt to break out of the city. His eldest son, a boy
of seven, had been captured by the Spaniards when an effort was made
secretly to transport the child to the coast. This had broken the heart
of Boabdil. He had no idea of civilized warfare, and would not believe
the messages sent him that the boy was well cared for, and Queen
Isabella charged herself with his welfare. The word "Kismet"--"It is
fate," paralyzed King Boabdil. He waited where his ancestors had fought
boldly and had taken desperate chances with unshaken courage.
Although there was still hard fighting to be done, the presence of
the Queen and her ladies led to many splendid entertainments, jousts,
and tilts. Neither Diego nor Don Felipe, nor any of their party, saw
anything of these brilliant gaieties. The Admiral lived in retirement,
except when he went to attend men in power, whose understanding and
approval of his plans he wished to secure before making his final
appeal to the sovereigns after the city should have fallen. He soon
found that, although King Ferdinand was not averse to the enterprise,
he was quite willing to let the money for the expedition come out of
the coffers of Castile instead of Arragon, and that the ships should
be named by Castilians. Alonzo de Quintanilla was a hard-working
accountant who went to his daily labor early and remained late. In
the evening he, and the Admiral, Fray Piña, and the two lads, supped
together; their talk was not of festivals, but of the chances of the
great voyage of the Admiral.
Sometimes, however, the party was increased by the presence of Luis de
St. Angel, also an accountant of the Queen, and Father Diego de Deza,
tutor to Prince Juan and one of the most scientific men of the age. To
him, in later life, the Admiral bore tribute in writing as one of the
two men without whom he could never have got the support of the Court
of Spain in his enterprise. The second man so immortalized was Juan
Perez.
With the two ecclesiastics and Alonzo de Quintanilla the Admiral held
long conferences, not only on scientific subjects, but on the best
method of urging his plan upon the King and the Queen when the time
should be ripe.
It was plain to the quick intelligence of Diego and Don Felipe that the
two ecclesiastics, both of them able mathematicians and astronomers,
frankly conceded the superiority in mathematics and astronomy to the
Admiral, and their faith in his ideas was strengthened continually by
the evidences of his extraordinary attainments, as well as his great
natural powers and lofty and unsullied character.
There were two others who sometimes joined this circle of remarkable
men. One was Don Tomaso, who brought with him the beautiful knight,
Ponce de Leon. In spite of his surpassing good looks, Ponce de Leon was
an intelligent man, and had, for his own pleasure, studied navigation.
He would talk much with the Admiral and Fray Piña, studying maps and
making astronomical calculations, while the Daredevil Knight, twirling
his mustaches, clanking his sword, and rattling his great spurs, would
charm Diego and Don Felipe with stories of jousts at arms, for the
favor of the ladies, and splendid balls at which those same ladies
danced with gallant gentlemen.
Doña Christina was in attendance upon Queen Isabella, who, with the
King, lived in the midst of the camp in tents almost as splendid as
those which had been destroyed by fire the first night of the Queen's
arrival. It was arranged that Don Felipe should visit his mother once a
week; and the first visit he paid Doña Christina he asked permission
to bring Diego, which was granted. This gave Diego great joy. Not only
did he wish to see the kind and gentle Doña Christina, but he longed
ardently to see the splendid encampment, and the great Queen, for whom
he had a reverence and affection dating back to the days of his first
visit to La Rabida, and to whom he looked as the one person who would
open the way of glory to his father.
On the appointed day the two youths, with Fray Piña, set out on foot
for the camp. They were both dressed alike, suitably, but with much
simplicity. As the two started off from the door of their lodgings
Diego looked back, and a sudden pang went to his heart. His father,
who stood watching him, was shabbily dressed, although with that
extraordinary neatness which always distinguished him. It suddenly
came home to Diego the patient sacrifices made for him by his father,
and a passionate desire welled up in his heart that some day he might
repay that father, so noble in every way, and yet with the tenderness
of a woman. But more cheerful thoughts filled Diego's ardent young
mind as he and Don Felipe, with Fray Piña, passed through the great
encampment and finally came to the tents occupied by the Queen and her
ladies. Doña Christina received them with the greatest kindness, making
courteous inquiries of the Admiral and expressing much satisfaction
when Fray Piña told her of the good conduct of Don Felipe and Diego.
"You shall be rewarded," said Doña Christina. "In an hour the Queen
sets forth to review the Castilian troops, and, if Fray Piña will
permit, you may both see that splendid sight."
The heart of Diego leaped with joy, and he and Don Felipe exchanged
delighted glances.
It was not Doña Christina's duty to attend the Queen that day. When the
blowing of the silver trumpets in the clear December noon announced
that the Queen was about to issue from her tent, Fray Piña and the two
lads went out and stood at a respectful distance watching the splendid
sight. The Queen's charger, a superb war horse, was led out, and a
brilliant array of knights and the gorgeous body-guard awaited her.
Queen Isabella issued from her tent escorted by her ladies. She wore
a handsome but simple riding costume and the same light but beautiful
corselet and arm-pieces of glittering chain mail. On her delicate, fair
head was a small and resplendent casque with purple plumes. She was
that day the sovereign and the soldier. As she caught sight of Fray
Piña she bowed to him courteously and spoke a word to Doña Christina,
who beckoned to Fray Piña and the two youths. Diego could have shouted
for joy when he found himself approaching the Queen. She spoke first to
Fray Piña, and then to Don Felipe, saying:
"I am pleased to hear, Don Felipe, that your conduct is good and that
you have learned how to obey, which is a necessary thing for all who
wish to live creditably in the world."
Then, turning to Diego, she said, sweetly:
"And this is Diego, the son of the great captain whom I esteem highly.
I remember this youth as a little lad when first his father came to me
at Cordova seven years ago."
Then the remembrance of Diego falling asleep on the steps of the dais
came to the Queen, and she smiled, saying:
"You were but a little lad then, and fell asleep with your head upon my
knee. All youths of your age are dear to me, for in them I see the hope
of Spain."
With that the great Queen bowed in dismissal, and, mounting, showed
perfect horsemanship as she put her horse to the gallop and rode off,
followed by her retinue.
The two boys, with Fray Piña, scampered through the camp and were able
to reach a point where they had a full view of the Castilian troops
drawn up in splendid order upon the open plain. The Queen's appearance
was greeted with thundering cheers, with the clash of lances in the
bright air, the joyous rattling of swords in their scabbards and salvos
of artillery, and the playing of the national hymn. Queen Isabella rode
up and down the ranks inspecting everything with a keen eye and sharp
judgment, questioning the officers with the knowledge of a king as
well as of a queen. When the inspection was over, the troops marched
past, saluting their sovereign; and the Queen, with the great standard
of Castile held above her, gracefully acknowledged every salute. The
march-past over, the Queen then visited the sick quarters of the camp,
going through the hospital tents, cheering and encouraging the poor
inmates. When this was over and the Queen, with her retinue, returned
to the royal tents, it was late in the afternoon. Fray Piña and the two
lads were already in Doña Christina's tent to see the Queen dismount.
Doña Christina, within the tent, opened the door. She held by the hand
a little black-eyed, dark-skinned, sad-looking boy about the age of
little Fernando.
"This," she said, to Fray Piña, in Spanish, which the child did not
understand, "is the son of King Boabdil, held as a hostage. Every day
the Queen has the little boy brought to her, or visits him privately to
show him some kindness. To-day she will come into this tent to speak to
him."
In another minute the Queen entered unceremoniously from the adjoining
tent. The little boy's sad face brightened as he saw her, and, letting
go of Doña Christina's hand, he went willingly to the Queen and
respectfully kissed her hand. The Queen, putting her arm around his
shoulder, gave him a little toy, a horse, carved and painted, and
said to him a few words in the Moorish tongue. The boy, silent and
undemonstrative, was yet not unfeeling, and his face showed a faint
pleasure.
The Queen then entered into a short conversation with Fray Piña. She
was fond of the society of learned men, and always treated them with
much respect. Fray Piña, with quick art, brought in the name of the
Admiral, saying that Father de Deza and himself profited much by the
Admiral's superior scientific knowledge.
"We are but postulants, madam," he said, "in mathematics and astronomy
when compared with the Genoese navigator. This Father de Deza and I
often say to each other."
The Queen looked fixedly at Fray Piña, showing herself impressed by
such words from such men. Then, in a few moments, she left the tent,
accompanied by Doña Christina, who still held the little prisoner by
the hand.
Diego and Don Felipe then walked back through the sharp December
afternoon to their lodgings in the town. The brilliant military
spectacle they had seen made them long for more of the same kind. They
were at the age when they chafed for action, not realizing how little
prepared they were for it and that the stern rule under which they
lived was the best school for them. Still, so strong was the pressure
brought to bear upon them by Fray Piña and by the Admiral that they did
well at their studies.
Meanwhile, they were not the only ones whose patience was painfully
tried. The Admiral had the promise of the King and the Queen that as
soon as the struggle with the Moors was over they would arrange for
the great voyage. It was only a question of time now when the city of
Granada must surrender. The arrival of the Queen had put new force into
an attack already vigorous. The Spaniards gave the Moors no rest by day
or night. First at one gate and then at another, they made desperate
assaults, overwhelming the Moorish troops and driving them back with
terrible loss into the city.
The Admiral, hoping that his sublime projects would immediately follow
the fall of Granada, was eager to make his arrangements that he might
begin his voyage early in the summer. But at the moment when, after
eighteen years of desperate and determined struggle, the dayspring of
hope was at hand, an unexpected difficulty arose. Fernando de Talavera,
Archbishop of Toledo, who was destined to be the first Archbishop of
Granada, a man of honesty, but without enthusiasm, who had heretofore
befriended the Admiral, strongly opposed the honors which the Admiral
claimed in the event of his success. Diego and Don Felipe knew this,
not from the mouth of the Admiral, who scorned to make any complaint,
but from the conversation of those around them. Diego saw his father go
forth every day to wait in the anterooms of the great, who seemed to
have no time to listen to him. The events passing before them were so
brilliant and dazzling that they put off the more stupendous thing, the
discovery of a new world. Every day, in the evening, when the Admiral
returned, he showed unbroken patience; but Diego knew that no progress
had been made. Once he heard his father say to Fray Piña:
"I will wait here patiently until the fall of the city. If then no one
will listen to me, I shall leave Spain, and another country shall have
the glory of my discoveries."
All through December the cordon was tightened around the city, the loss
inflicted on the Moors greater, their sorties more desperate and more
disastrous. It was hoped that by Christmas the standard of the Cross
would float over the great mosque in the Alhambra; but still the city
held out desperately. On Christmas Day, however, an adventure happened
that thrilled Diego and Don Felipe and all who saw it. On that day the
fighting had been unusually severe all around the city of Granada,
except on the plateau of the Gate of Justice, which faced Santa Fé.
At midday, as the Admiral, with Fray Piña and Diego and Don Felipe,
stood at an open window watching the fighting, they saw three carts,
apparently loaded with provisions, steal out of a small ravine close
to the Gate of Justice, and then trot rapidly to the gate. The carts
were evidently seen and their burdens noted, for the postern-gate was
instantly opened. The first cart entered and became at once wedged in
such a manner that the gate could not be shut. Suddenly a knight clad
in a light and glittering chain armor and mounted on a superb black
horse dashed up the acclivity, followed by fifteen other knights,
all picked men. The Admiral and Fray Piña recognized the leader, the
gallant Hernando Perez del Pulgar, a cousin of the Prior, Juan Perez,
and a man renowned for his daring even among the fearless and brilliant
knights of Spain. He carried on his lance-head a fluttering piece of
linen; and, dashing at the narrow opening, his horse leaped over the
cart, and was followed by another knight, whom Diego and Don Felipe saw
was Don Tomaso de Gama. Fourteen other knights rode into the gateway
and disappeared.
"What does it mean?" said Diego, turning to Fray Piña.
"It means, I fear," replied Fray Piña, "that those sixteen gallant
gentlemen are lost to Spain; they will never return."
"I think they will," replied the Admiral. "Hernando Perez del Pulgar
is a daring man, but prudent withal. He has not entered the Moorish
city to be trapped along with his companions; some of them will return."
As the Admiral spoke they saw the carts push slowly through the gateway
and become strongly jammed with each other.
"See," said the Admiral, "the gate remains open. There is a stratagem,
you may depend."
By that time the word had sped from mouth to mouth through the town of
Santa Fé and among the encamped soldiers of what was going on, and,
like the Admiral, all saw that the postern-gate was purposely blocked
and kept open by the supposed food-carts. Thus all eyes were fixed upon
the open gateway, visible in the bright noon. The King and the Queen
had been informed, and had come from their tents, surrounded by the
court, to watch the exciting event happening before their eyes. Ten
minutes passed, ten minutes of agonized tension and breathless anxiety,
and then the black charger of Del Pulgar appeared before the open gate,
and, making a magnificent leap over the carts, which acted as a wedge
in the gate, the knight appeared shouting the battle-cry of Spain:
"Santiago for Spain!"
He still carried his lance; but the fluttering piece of white linen was
no longer there. He dashed down the declivity, followed by the fifteen
knights, their numbers counted by tens of thousands of anxious eyes. As
the last of the sixteen men leaped the cart a great cry went up from
the city and camps of Santa Fé:
"Santiago, Santiago for Spain!" burst from the watching multitudes.
Many of the women were weeping with excitement and triumph. As the
sixteen men disappeared in the valley Don Felipe found himself clasping
Diego, both of them shouting in their high, boyish voices:
"Santiago, Santiago for Spain!"
At that moment Alonzo de Quintanilla burst into the room with the great
news.
"The brave knight, Del Pulgar," he said, "meaning to do honor to Christ
on this Christmas Day, had a Christian prayer painted on a piece
of linen to nail upon the doors of the great mosque in Granada. He
arranged a stratagem by which a gate of the city should be open, and
then, riding in with his companions, he galloped up to the door of the
great mosque and nailed upon it with his dagger the Christian prayer.
The Moors were so taken by surprise that they could not stop him. Not
one of the sixteen knights received a scratch."
The eyes of the Admiral shone bright. He loved deeds of valor, and the
daring of the young knights pleased him well.
While the elders of the party were discussing the splendid dash of Del
Pulgar and the possibilities of the siege, Diego, who was standing at
the open window, silently motioned to Don Felipe to join him. They
saw a Moorish officer ride out from the Gate of Justice and walk his
horse up and down the plateau of the Vega. He wore the heavy turban,
under which the Moors had a small steel skull-cap, and he had on a
breastplate and his arm-pieces of solid armor. He carried no lance or
shield, but only a great curved sword, such as the Moors used. His
horse was a milk-white Arabian with a long and flowing mane and tail,
dyed purple at the ends. From the horse's tail floated, tied with
bands of red and yellow, the Spanish colors, a piece of white linen. A
cry of rage and horror went up from the watching multitudes of Santa
Fé; it was the Christian prayer that had been nailed to the door of the
mosque by Hernando Perez del Pulgar, and which the Moorish warrior had
torn down and was dragging at his horse's heels in full sight of the
Christian city and armies.
The Admiral and Fray Piña and Alonzo de Quintanilla turned to the
window and saw what was happening. Great crowds were already assembled,
and the streets of Santa Fé and the walls of Granada were black with
people. The Moorish warrior passed slowly toward the edge of the
valley, or rather ravine, and, reining up his horse, dashed an iron
glove as far as he could throw it toward Santa Fé. The challenge did
not remain long unanswered. Across the bridge of the Xeni and up the
rocky roadway a Spanish cavalier was seen urging his horse.
"That is Manuel Garcilosa," said Alonzo de Quintanilla. "I know him
well. He is not of noble birth; but, by Heaven! he will be ennobled if
he rescues the Christian prayer from the Moor."