which, like most of the Spanish swords, was a Toledo blade, made of the
finest strength and temper.
Arrived on the plateau, Garcilosa stopped to breathe his horse, a noble
chestnut. Man and horse stood motionless, as if cast in bronze. The
Moor advanced warily, his horse at the trot. Garcilosa, his sword in
rest, seemed waiting for the onslaught. When the Moorish warrior was
within twenty yards of Garcilosa, he gave his horse the spur, and the
chestnut sprang forward like an arrow released from the bow. The Moor
also put spurs to his horse to meet the shock, but Garcilosa was too
quick for him. The Arabian horse swerved a little, answering a touch of
the bridle; but the chestnut, dashing full at him, man and horse were
ridden down. The white horse had fallen upon his master; but with the
intelligence of the Arabian he struggled to his feet in an instant.
The Moorish warrior rose, too, as Garcilosa dismounted. Then followed
a desperate combat on foot. The Moor was the heavier man; the Spanish
gentleman the more active. They fought in a narrow circle, the clashing
of their swords ringing out in the clear December air. Blood streamed
from the faces of both, and presently the Moor was seen to stagger.
Garcilosa suddenly gave his antagonist a thrust upon the sword-arm
which brought him to the ground. Then, running to the Arabian, which
stood perfectly still, Garcilosa, first tearing away the Christian
prayer and putting it in his breast, took his Toledo blade and cut off
the flowing tail of the Arabian horse. Cries resounded from the people
on the walls of the city. The horse was of the breed of the Prophet
Mohammed, and to cut off his tail was reckoned sacrilege.
The Moor still lay insensible on the ground; and Garcilosa, vaulting
into the saddle upon the white horse, gave his own chestnut steed a
thwack with the sword, which sent him flying back down the road he
knew, followed by his master on the Arabian steed, hard galloping. Once
more shouts and cries of "Santiago, Santiago for Spain!" rent the air.
[Illustration: GARCILOSA SUDDENLY GAVE HIS ANTAGONIST A THRUST UPON THE
SWORD-ARM]
When Garcilosa rode into Santa Fé he was met by a messenger from the
King and the Queen. With Del Pulgar he received the thanks of both and
the cheers of the men and the tears of the women. That day Garcilosa
was ennobled, becoming Don Garcilosa del Vega, in commemoration of the
spot on which he fought his gallant fight.
On January 1, 1492, the offer of surrender was made by King Boabdil.
The following day the Moorish king and all his followers passed out
of Granada and left Spain free from the foreign invaders after nearly
eight hundred years. The joy and triumph of the day inspired every
heart, even the torturing soul of the great Admiral, who was forgotten
and overlooked in the universal excitement. All the highest nobles
and grandees of Spain--the warriors, the statesmen, the scholars, all
that made Spain great--were assembled on that January day to see the
surrender of Boabdil. Only one man, and he the greatest of them all,
was not provided with a place and a position. That was the Admiral,
Christobal Colon. Diego, however, sharing as he did everything with Don
Felipe, was enabled by the thoughtfulness of Doña Christina to see the
inspiring spectacle.
The surrender of King Boabdil to the Spanish sovereigns was to take
place near a little stone building, until that time a Mohammedan
mosque. On that day it had been consecrated as a Christian chapel, the
chapel of San Sebastian.
Early in the morning the two lads, with Fray Piña, walked through the
town, which was wild with jubilation, down the rocky path to the place
assigned for them. Already vast crowds of persons were assembled. The
Spaniards had taken possession of the city the day before, and Fernando
de Talavera had been created Archbishop of Granada. To him was allotted
the honor of raising the standard of Spain over the great mosque,
now to become a Christian cathedral. Some expressed pity for the
unfortunate Moorish king; but Fray Piña, a man of lion heart, had only
contempt for him.
"He has no courage," said Fray Piña, to the two lads, watching the
enormous concourse coming together and the marching across the plain
of the armies of Castile and Arragon. "Instead of showing his people
an example of fortitude in adversity, he mounted his mule and rode all
through the streets of Granada beating his breast and tearing his beard
and wailing: 'Woe is me! Woe is me!' and inciting the people to shrieks
and bewailing. Do you think our great Queen Isabella in the place of
the Moorish king would have so acted? No; she would have met disaster
with the same calmness that she meets triumph. No cry would have come
from her lips, no beating of the breast, no tearing of the hair. She
would have been the same great queen in defeat as well as in triumph."
Every moment in the bright January day the multitude grew larger and
more brilliant. The sound of martial music filled the air as the
victorious armies assembled and the sun glittered upon the casques,
the shining arms, and the splendid standards. Presently the royal
procession appeared. The King and the Queen, with their son, Prince
Juan, and their daughter, the Princess Katharine, all superbly
mounted and surrounded by a magnificent train of nobles, knights, and
ecclesiastics, rode across the plain toward the little chapel by the
side of the rocky road. As Diego and Don Felipe were watching the
glorious sight they heard Doña Christina's voice close by them. She was
leaning out of a closed litter, with the curtains slightly drawn back.
Within the litter a glimpse could be caught of the little Moorish boy,
the son of King Boabdil.
Fray Piña, with Don Felipe and Diego, obeying a signal from Doña
Christina, advanced to the litter.
"The Queen," whispered Doña Christina, "directed that the little boy
be brought here, so at the moment of King Boabdil's surrender the poor
King may have a moment's joy in seeing his child alive and well. Remain
by me until the Queen calls for me."
The King and the Queen were now approaching very near. The face of King
Ferdinand shone with triumph; and Queen Isabella, although calmness and
dignity itself, had a glorious light in her eyes and a flush in her
cheek deeper than any one had ever seen there before. Her patriotism as
a Castilian, her pride as a sovereign, her earnestness as a Christian,
were all exalted by the driving forth from her kingdom of the enemies
of the people and of the Christian religion. It was, indeed, a
stupendous event for Spain.
The sound of music, the cheering, and all excited conversation quickly
ceased, as from the Gate of Justice of the city on the heights came
forth a cavalcade. A silence like death seemed to fall upon the world,
which was broken by a sudden, loud crash of masonry. At the request
of King Boabdil, the gate behind him had been forever closed by the
destruction of the towers of masonry on each side of the gateway,
thus blocking it up forever. Every heart was thrilled by the sound,
preternaturally loud in the clear January day. The procession of the
conquered wound its slow way down the hillside, across the bridge, and
up again, until it reached the Spanish sovereigns. Then Boabdil, a
miserable, downcast object, without dignity or fortitude, slipped from
his horse and would have prostrated himself upon the ground and kissed
the hand of King Ferdinand; but this the King magnanimously forbore,
himself dismounting as did the Queen, out of courtesy to the fallen
monarch. At the same time the Moorish vizier handed to King Ferdinand
the keys of the city of Granada. The King passed them to Queen
Isabella, as Granada was in the territory claimed by Castile. These
the Queen in turn gave to Prince Juan, heir to the thrones of Castile
and Arragon, who handed them in his turn to the Count de Tendila,
the new Spanish governor of the city of Granada. At that moment Doña
Christina, slipping from the litter and holding by the hand the little
Moorish prince, led him to the Queen and placed his hand in hers. As
King Boabdil made his obeisance to her, Queen Isabella placed the hand
of the child in that of the father. The little boy gave a sharp cry of
joy, and the poor weeping Boabdil caught his son to his breast. Then,
in the midst of a death-like silence, every eye saw rising slowly
over the citadel of Granada the red and yellow standard of Spain, the
Gonfalon, until it floated over the flag of the Crescent, which came
down quickly. A great shout that seemed to shake the earth, a crashing
of music, a roaring of artillery, broke forth as if the whole world
rejoiced. The King and the Queen, going into the Christian chapel of
San Sebastian, until that morning a Moorish mosque, fell on their
knees and gave thanks to God for the liberation of their country from
the invader and for the triumph of the Christian religion.
The event was up to that time the most glorious in the history of Spain
and the most important. But a day was about to dawn for Spain more
brilliant, more imposing, more full of triumph than any country on the
globe has ever known, a day never yet surpassed in all the countries
upon which the sun has risen since.
V
THE SPLENDOR OF THE DAWN
The Spanish court, the army, and the whole nation gave itself up to
gladness at the driving from Spanish soil of the Moorish invaders. The
city of Granada had to be invested, its government established, the
people who remained provided for, and all of the vast details settled
of a new acquisition. The court remained at Santa Fé, although often
giving audiences and holding splendid functions in the magnificent
palace of the Alhambra in the city of Granada. There were great reviews
of troops, receptions of ambassadors, gorgeous religious ceremonials
in the consecration of the Moorish mosques into Christian churches.
Through it all Diego and Don Felipe pursued their quiet, studious life
under the stern rule of Fray Piña. Every day the Admiral went upon his
usual round, visiting those persons who were interested in his scheme
and those in power whom he hoped to interest in it. Father Diego de
Deza and Alonzo de Quintanilla remained his steadfast friends. At last,
one day, a fortnight after the surrender of Granada, De Quintanilla
brought the joyful news that the King and the Queen were prepared to
redeem their promise to the Admiral, that when the war with the Moors
had reached a conclusion they would assist him in his enterprise.
Diego and Don Felipe were wild with delight. To them it seemed as if
the voyage were already made and concluded, the Admiral returning
loaded with honors and Diego made a grandee of Spain. They watched
the Admiral set forth, plainly but suitably dressed, and with that
incomparable air of dignity and composure that always made him a marked
man. All during the morning Fray Piña found his pupils inattentive and
more disposed to reverie than work; but under his sharp admonition they
were compelled to pay attention.
It was a little after noon when the sound of steps was heard upon the
stairs, and the Admiral and Alonzo de Quintanilla entered the room. De
Quintanilla appeared deeply agitated, and for the first time there were
indications of subdued anger on the Admiral's part; but his voice, in
speaking, was composed.
"All is over," he said to Fray Piña; "I have appeared for the last time
before the great council. They recognize the value of my enterprise;
but under the leadership of Fernando de Talavera, the Archbishop of
Granada, an honest man but narrow, they declare that my claims are
extravagant and should not be allowed. I, in my turn, declared that if
I return I shall give to Spain far more than what I claim--the title of
Admiral of the Ocean Seas and Viceroy and Captain-General of all the
lands I discover, and my son Diego to be page-in-waiting to Prince Juan
in my absence and to become a grandee of Spain if I return successful.
If the spirit of pride be in this, it is a just and honorable pride.
I ask only what I shall acquire by my own strength. Those things have
been refused me in advance. Now, after nine years of effort, I shall
make no further appeal to the Court of Spain. Perhaps the King of
France will be as generous and more just than the sovereigns of Spain."
The shock of painful surprise kept all silent until Fray Piña spoke in
a low voice.
"This is indeed a calamitous decision for Spain."
"True," said Alonzo de Quintanilla, "but I will say that the Admiral's
course is but just. He treated with the representatives of the King and
the Queen with a noble haughtiness, proving himself their equal, and
demanded firmly, as they recognized the magnificence of his scheme,
that he, at least, should have those honors which must go to some
one. Shall he, the discoverer, be under the authority of a viceroy or
another admiral? They thought he would be intimidated, that in his
anxiety to carry the matter through he would yield what he thought his
due; but he would not."
And then, growing scarlet in the face, De Quintanilla suddenly brought
his fist down on the table and shouted:
"Upon the heads of those persons, and especially upon the Archbishop
of Granada, will lie the loss of a new world to Spain!"
The Admiral remained silent for a moment, and then with his usual
calmness began to make arrangements for his immediate departure with
Diego for France. Diego and Don Felipe were stunned. They knew not
until the moment of separation came how quickly and strongly the bond
of brotherhood had been forged between them. Their elders left them
alone, the Admiral telling Diego to pack at once his few books and
clothes, as they were to mount and ride within three hours. It took but
a short time to collect Diego's books and clothes, Don Felipe helping,
and neither lad saying much. It seemed to them an eternal separation,
and it was indeed doubtful if they would ever meet again. Don Felipe
drew from his finger a little ring made of two hoops entwined. He took
them apart and, placing one on Diego's finger, he put the other back on
his own.
"As long as we wear each the half of this ring," he said, "we shall be
friends still, no matter how far separated."
At last, with his small belongings packed in a portmanteau and his
cloak around him, Diego with Don Felipe went down the stair, their
arms entwined about each other's shoulders. At the door stood a horse
for the Admiral and another for Diego, both equipped for hard travel.
There were but three persons to say farewell to the Admiral--Fray
Piña, Alonzo de Quintanilla, and Luis de St. Angel, controller of the
ecclesiastical revenues. All showed marks of the deepest grief and
chagrin at the loss of the honor and glory for which they had hoped
for their country. No word of remonstrance was said, however, as the
Admiral made his farewells. No one could have judged from his composure
that this meant the wreck and ruin of eighteen years of constant and
earnest effort, nine of which had been spent in Spain. The farewells
were soon said, Diego and Don Felipe kissing each other on the cheek
silently. As Diego flung himself into the saddle and rode off, tears
were dropping upon his face; but he said no word.
They rode rapidly in the cold January afternoon and were soon clear of
the town. Many persons recognized the Admiral and looked after him
curiously, not understanding the meaning of his sudden departure. When
the Admiral and Diego reached the highroad they rode still faster.
The sky was overcast, and a fine, small rain began to fall. They met
few travelers, and those mostly seeking shelter. When they had ridden
nearly an hour and were nearing the pass at the foot of the mountain
of Elvira, where many desperate battles had been fought between the
Moors and the Christians, the tears were still dropping upon Diego's
face; the whole world seemed dark to him. The Admiral then said to him,
gently:
"I see you have a good heart, for you are still grieving for Don
Felipe."
"Yes," answered Diego, "and for you, my father."
"It is as God wills," replied the Admiral, upon whose lips those words
were often heard.
The gorge grew dark in the winter twilight, and the rough road was
slippery with rain and snow. They had just crossed the bridge of Pinos
when behind them they heard the clattering of horses' hoofs coming at
a sharp gallop. Neither the Admiral nor Diego turned to see who was
coming. Suddenly, the rider, on his steaming horse, came alongside and,
laying a bold hand upon the Admiral's bridle, brought the horse back
on his haunches. In the gloom of the evening the Daredevil Knight, Don
Tomaso de Gama, was recognized.
"I come, Christobal Colon, with the command of her Majesty, the Queen,
that you are to turn about and ride back to Santa Fé with me--now--this
instant--in the present moment."
Even as Don Tomaso spoke he turned the head of the Admiral's horse
around; but the Admiral checked him.
"I honor and respect her Majesty, the Queen," he said, sharply; "but I
owe her no allegiance. I was born a subject of the Duke of Genoa, and I
am a naturalized subject of the King of Portugal."
"That is all very well, Christobal Colon, born a subject of the Duke of
Genoa and a naturalized subject of the King of Portugal, but I have ten
good men-at-arms within a stone's throw, and if you will not ride back
with me holding the reins in your own hand you shall ride back with
your hands tied behind your back and a man-at-arms on each side of you
holding your bridle."
At that Diego heard what he had known but seldom in his life, a clear
laugh from the grave Admiral. The impudence of the young knight, the
threat of force against a man accustomed to command all, like the
Admiral, could not but move to laughter. Don Tomaso, suiting the action
to the word, gave the Admiral's horse a sharp cut, and before they knew
it all three were trotting rapidly back across the bridge. The Admiral
held the reins in his own hands; but the Daredevil Knight kept a firm
grip upon the bridle.
"And for what does her Majesty, the Queen, wish me to return?" asked
the Admiral.
"I do not know," responded Don Tomaso. "I have not been accustomed
to ask the King and the Queen their reasons; but I know that Luis de
St. Angel went straight to her Majesty, Queen Isabella, and told her
plainly that she was throwing away the greatest honor and glory that
ever awaited any sovereign and any country in not granting you the
terms to which you were justly entitled, and that you must be brought
back to Santa Fé by force, if necessary. He was reinforced by that
stern tutor of Prince Juan, Father de Deza. After a short conference
with the Queen, St. Angel and De Quintanilla ran to me and said:
"'Go you and fetch Christobal Colon back, and tell him all shall be
as he wishes. We send you, knowing you to be a daring fellow, and
not to be overawed by Christobal Colon, as most men are.' So here
I am, carrying back the Admiral of the Ocean Seas, the Viceroy and
Captain-General of all the lands you discover, and your son, Don Diego,
grandee of the first rank in Spain."
Diego listened, almost dazed by Don Tomaso's words. Presently the
Admiral spoke as the horses kept up their sharp trot through the pass,
growing darker every moment.
"Where are your ten men-at-arms, Don Tomaso?"
"I have no men-at-arms," answered Don Tomaso, coolly, "but I have a
good harquebus; if you ask for my order, this shall be my order."
At that Don Tomaso drew his harquebus and leveled it straight at the
Admiral, who laughed again and put it aside.
"I wish you were a seaman, Don Tomaso," he said. "I should make you my
first lieutenant."
After riding for nearly an hour in the darkness they saw the lights
of Santa Fé, and soon they were clattering through the streets. The
Admiral was about to take the way to his lodgings when the Daredevil
Knight again laid his hand upon the bridle.
"No," he said, "we cross the Vega and ride straight to the Queen's
pavilion, where her Majesty awaits you." Then, having assumed the
direction of the Admiral, the Daredevil Knight also gave orders to
Diego. "Go you," he said, "back to your lodgings. Your father will
return sometime before midnight--perhaps."
Diego leaned over and caught his father's hand and kissed it. He had no
words in which to express the tumult of joy and pride in his soul.
Ten minutes afterward he dismounted from his spent and dripping horse
in front of the lodgings he had left only a few hours before. The next
moment he was dashing up the long, dark, narrow stairs. He stopped for
a moment outside the door of the little room in which he had lived and
studied for many weeks with Don Felipe and softly opened the door. Don
Felipe sat at the table, upon which a rushlight burned, making a little
glow in the darkness. He was neither reading nor writing, but leaning
his head upon his hands, looking the image of forlornness. Diego
slipped in softly and threw himself upon Don Felipe.
"All is as we wished!" he shouted. "It is glorious, glorious, I tell
you! When the Queen heard my father was indeed gone she sent Don Tomaso
galloping after him, who brought him back. The Queen will do for my
father all he asks. He is now on his way to the Queen, and you and I,
Don Felipe, are here together once more!"
In one day the whole face of the world seemed to have changed for
Diego. The Admiral, who, but a little while before, could count on
only a few steady friends like Alonzo de Quintanilla and Luis de St.
Angel, both accountants to the Queen, and Father de Deza, was now
treated with the greatest outward respect by all. Fernando de Talavera,
Archbishop of Granada, withdrew his opposition to the Admiral, which
had been based solely upon what he considered too high honors to be
demanded in the event of success. He believed in the Admiral as a great
navigator and looked for the success of the expedition.
One of the points tenaciously upheld by the Admiral was that certain
honors should be given his sons, especially Diego, as the elder.
That the enterprise would result in immortal glory for himself the
Admiral never doubted; but with the passionate love of his children
was the natural desire that they should have a place and a degree of
consideration. For this reason, after many long consultations with
Father de Deza, tutor to Prince Juan, the Admiral had required that
Diego should be ennobled by the title of Don and should be made a
page-in-waiting to Prince Juan. It was by this steadfast maintenance of
the dignity of his position that the Admiral, a foreigner and penniless
but for the Queen's pension, made it apparent that he understood in
advance the enormous gift he was about to make to Spain. All he asked
for Diego was conceded to him at once on his return to Santa Fé.
At any other time the thought of the singular change in his life from
poverty and uncertainty into a footing of equality with the grandees of
Spain would have impressed Diego more deeply; but the thought uppermost
in his mind was the great voyage upon which his father was to set
forth. Everything seemed small beside it.
It seemed to Diego and Don Felipe as if they had entered upon a new
world since the pleasant autumn days at La Rabida.
They had witnessed one of the greatest and most splendid events of
the age in the driving-out of the Moors from Spain, and they were
brought close to the contemplation of an enterprise so vast that the
imagination was bewildered. In the midst of it they lived the ordinary
life of youths of their age under a strict master and stern discipline,
but they saw and heard men and things that fall to the lot of few young
souls.