THE AMBUSH, THE STRIFE, AND THE CAPTURE.
The dawn was slowly breaking over the wide valley of Granada, as Almamen
pursued his circuitous and solitary path back to the city. He was now in
a dark and entangled hollow, covered with brakes and bushes, from amidst
which tall forest trees rose in frequent intervals, gloomy and breathless
in the still morning air. As, emerging from this jungle, if so it may be
called, the towers of Granada gleamed upon him, a human countenance
peered from the shade; and Almamen started to see two dark eyes fixed
upon his own.
He halted abruptly, and put his hand on his dagger, when a low sharp
whistle from the apparition before him was answered around--behind; and,
ere he could draw breath, the Israelite was begirt by a group of Moors,
in the garb of peasants.
"Well, my masters," said Almamen, calmly, as he encountered the wild
savage countenances that glared upon him, "think you there is aught to
fear from the solitary santon?"
"It is the magician," whispered one man to his neighbour--"let him pass."
"Nay," was the answer, "take him before the captain; we have orders to
seize upon all we meet."
This counsel prevailed; and gnashing his teeth with secret rage, Almamen
found himself hurried along by the peasants through the thickest part of
the copse. At length, the procession stopped in a semicircular patch of
rank sward, in which several head of cattle were quietly grazing, and a
yet more numerous troop of peasants reclined around upon the grass.
"Whom have we here?" asked a voice which startled back the dark blood
from Almamen's cheek; and a Moor of commanding presence rose from the
midst of his brethren. "By the beard of the prophet, it is the false
santon! What dost thou from Granada at this hour?"
"Noble Muza," returned Almamen--who, though indeed amazed that one whom
he had imagined his victim was thus unaccountably become his judge,
retained, at least, the semblance of composure--"my answer is to be given
only to my lord the king; it is his commands that I obey."
"Thou art aware," said Muza, frowning, "that thy life is forfeited
without appeal? Whatsoever inmate of Granada is found without the walls
between sunrise and sunset, dies the death of a traitor and deserter."
"The servants of the Alhambra are excepted," answered the Israelite,
without changing countenance.
"Ah!" muttered Muza, as a painful and sudden thought seemed to cross him,
"can it be possible that the rumour of the city has truth, and that the
monarch of Granada is in treaty with the foe?" He mused a little; and
then, motioning the Moors to withdraw, he continued aloud, "Almamen,
answer me truly: hast thou sought the Christian camp with any message
from the king?"
"I have not."
"Art thou without the walls on the mission of the king?"
"If I be so, I am a traitor to the king should I reveal his secret."
"I doubt thee much, santon," said Muza, after a pause; "I know thee for
my enemy, and I do believe thy counsels have poisoned the king's ear
against me, his people and his duties. But no matter, thy life is spared
a while; thou remainest with us, and with us shalt thou return to the
king."
"But, noble Muza----"
"I have said! Guard the santon; mount him upon one of our chargers; he
shall abide with us in our ambush." While Almamen chafed in vain at his
arrest, all in the Christian camp was yet still. At length, as the sun
began to lift himself above the mountains, first a murmur, and then a
din, betokened warlike preparations. Several parties of horse, under
gallant and experienced leaders, formed themselves in different quarters,
and departed in different ways, on expeditions of forage, or in the hope
of skirmish with the straggling detachments of the enemy. Of these, the
best equipped, was conducted by the Marquess de Villena, and his gallant
brother Don Alonzo de Pacheco. In this troop, too, rode many of the best
blood of Spain; for in that chivalric army, the officers vied with each
other who should most eclipse the meaner soldiery in feats of personal
valour; and the name of Villena drew around him the eager and ardent
spirits that pined at the general inactivity of Ferdinand's politic
campaign.
The sun, now high in heaven, glittered on the splendid arms and gorgeous
pennons of Villena's company, as, leaving the camp behind, it entered a
rich and wooded district that skirts the mountain barrier of the Vega.
The brilliancy of the day, the beauty of the scene, the hope and
excitement of enterprise, animated the spirits of the whole party.
In these expeditions strict discipline was often abandoned, from the
certainty that it could be resumed at need. Conversation, gay and loud,
interspersed at times with snatches of song, was heard amongst the
soldiery; and in the nobler group that rode with Villena, there was even
less of the proverbial gravity of Spaniards.
"Now, marquess," said Don Estevon de Suzon, "what wager shall be between
us as to which lance this day robs Moorish beauty of the greatest number
of its worshippers?"
"My falchion against your jennet," said Don Alonzo de Pacheco, taking up
the challenge.
"Agreed. But, talking of beauty, were you in the queen's pavilion last
night, noble marquess? it was enriched by a new maiden, whose strange and
sudden apparition none can account for. Her eyes would have eclipsed the
fatal glance of Cava; and had I been Rodrigo, I might have lost a crown
for her smile."
"Ay," said Villena, "I heard of her beauty; some hostage from one of the
traitor Moors, with whom the king (the saints bless him!) bargains for
the city. They tell me the prince incurred the queen's grave rebuke for
his attentions to the maiden."
"And this morning I saw that fearful Father Tomas steal into the prince's
tent. I wish Don Juan well through the lecture. The monk's advice is
like the algarroba;--[The algarroba is a sort of leguminous plant common
in Spain]--when it is laid up to dry it may be reasonably wholesome, but
it is harsh and bitter enough when taken fresh."
At this moment one of the subaltern officers rode up to the marquess, and
whispered in his ear.
"Ha!" said Villena, "the Virgin be praised! Sir knights, booty is at
hand. Silence! close the ranks." With that, mounting a little eminence,
and shading his eyes with his hand, the marquess surveyed the plain
below; and, at some distance, he beheld a horde of Moorish peasants
driving some cattle into a thick copse. The word was hastily given, the
troop dashed on, every voice was hushed, and the clatter of mail, and the
sound of hoofs, alone broke the delicious silence of the noon-day
landscape.
Ere they reached the copse, the peasants had disappeared within it. The
marquess marshalled his men in a semicircle round the trees, and sent on
a detachment to the rear, to cut off every egress from the wood. This
done the troop dashed within. For the first few yards the space was more
open than they had anticipated: but the ground soon grew uneven, rugged,
and almost precipitous, and the soil, and the interlaced trees, alike
forbade any rapid motion to the horse. Don Alonzo de Pacheco, mounted on
a charger whose agile and docile limbs had been tutored to every
description of warfare, and himself of light weight and incomparable
horsemanship--dashed on before the rest. The trees hid him for a moment;
when suddenly, a wild yell was heard, and as it ceased uprose the
solitary voice of the Spaniard, shouting, "_Santiago, y cierra_, Espana;
St. Jago, and charge, Spain!"
Each cavalier spurred forward; when suddenly, a shower of darts and
arrows rattled on their armour; and upsprung from bush and reeds, and
rocky clift, a number of Moors, and with wild shouts swarmed around the
Spaniards.
"Back for your lives!" cried Villena; "we are beset--make for the level
ground!"
He turned-spurred from the thicket, and saw the Paynim foe emerging
through the glen, line after line of man and horse; each Moor leading his
slight and fiery steed by the bridle, and leaping on it as he issued from
the wood into the plain. Cased in complete mail, his visor down, his
lance in its rest, Villena (accompanied by such of his knights as could
disentangle themselves from the Moorish foot) charged upon the foe. A
moment of fierce shock passed: on the ground lay many a Moor, pierced
through by the Christian lance; and on the other side of the foe was
heard the voice of Villena--"St. Jago to the rescue!" But the brave
marquess stood almost alone, save his faithful chamberlain, Solier.
Several of his knights were dismounted, and swarms of Moors, with lifted
knives, gathered round them as they lay, searching for the joints of the
armour, which might admit a mortal wound. Gradually, one by one, many of
Villena's comrades joined their leader, and now the green mantle of Don
Alonzo de Pacheco was seen waving without the copse, and Villena
congratulated himself on the safety of his brother. Just at that moment,
a Moorish cavalier spurred from his troop, and met Pacheco in full
career. The Moor was not clad, as was the common custom of the Paynim
nobles, in the heavy Christian armour. He wore the light flexile mail of
the ancient heroes of Araby or Fez. His turban, which was protected by
chains of the finest steel interwoven with the folds, was of the most
dazzling white--white, also, were his tunic and short mantle; on his left
arm hung a short circular shield, in his right hand was poised a long and
slender lance. As this Moor, mounted on a charger in whose raven hue not
a white hair could be detected, dashed forward against Pacheco, both
Christian and Moor breathed hard, and remained passive. Either nation
felt it as a sacrilege to thwart the encounter of champions so renowned.
"God save my brave brother!" muttered Villena, anxiously. "Amen," said
those around him; for all who had ever witnessed the wildest valour in
that war, trembled as they recognised the dazzling robe and coal-black
charger of Muza Ben Abil Gazan. Nor was that renowned infidel mated with
an unworthy foe. "Pride of the tournament, and terror of the war," was
the favourite title which the knights and ladies of Castile had bestowed
on Don Alonzo de Pacheco.
When the Spaniard saw the redoubted Moor approach, he halted abruptly for
a moment, and then, wheeling his horse around, took a wider circuit, to
give additional impetus to his charge. The Moor, aware of his purpose,
halted also, and awaited the moment of his rush; when once more he darted
forward, and the combatants met with a skill which called forth a cry of
involuntary applause from the Christians themselves. Muza received on
the small surface of his shield the ponderous spear of Alonzo, while his
own light lance struck upon the helmet of the Christian, and by the
exactness of the aim rather than the weight of the blow, made Alonzo reel
in his saddle.
The lances were thrown aside--the long broad falchion of the Christian,
the curved Damascus cimiter of the Moor, gleamed in the air. They reined
their chargers opposite each other in grave and deliberate silence.
"Yield thee, sir knight!" at length cried the fierce Moor, "for the motto
on my cimiter declares that if thou meetest its stroke, thy days are
numbered. The sword of the believer is the Key of Heaven and Hell."
--[Such, says Sale, is the poetical phrase of the Mohammedan divines.]
"False Paynim," answered Alonzo, in a voice that rung hollow through his
helmet, "a Christian knight is the equal of a Moorish army!"
Muza made no reply, but left the rein of his charger on his neck; the
noble animal understood the signal, and with a short impatient cry rushed
forward at full speed. Alonzo met the charge with his falchion upraised,
and his whole body covered with his shield; the Moor bent--the Spaniards
raised a shout--Muza seemed stricken from his horse. But the blow of the
heavy falchion had not touched him: and, seemingly without an effort, the
curved blade of his own cimiter, gliding by that part of his antagonist's
throat where the helmet joins the cuirass, passed unresistingly and
silently through the joints; and Alonzo fell at once, and without a
groan, from his horse--his armour, to all appearance, unpenetrated, while
the blood oozed slow and gurgling from a mortal wound.
"Allah il Allah!" shouted Muza, as he joined his friends; "Lelilies!
Lelilies!" echoed the Moors; and ere the Christians recovered their
dismay, they were engaged hand to hand with their ferocious and swarming
foes. It was, indeed, fearful odds; and it was a marvel to the Spaniards
how the Moors had been enabled to harbour and conceal their numbers in so
small a space. Horse and foot alike beset the company of Villena,
already sadly reduced; and while the infantry, with desperate and savage
fierceness, thrust themselves under the very bellies of the chargers,
encountering both the hoofs of the steed and the deadly lance of the
rider, in the hope of finding a vulnerable place for the sharp Moorish
knife,--the horsemen, avoiding the stern grapple of the Spaniard
warriors, harrassed them by the shaft and lance,--now advancing, now
retreating, and performing, with incredible rapidity, the evolutions of
Oriental cavalry. But the life and soul of his party was the indomitable
Muza. With a rashness which seemed to the superstitious Spaniards like
the safety of a man protected by magic, he spurred his ominous black barb
into the very midst of the serried phalanx which Villena endeavoured to
form around him, breaking the order by his single charge, and from time
to time bringing to the dust some champion of the troop by the noiseless
and scarce-seen edge of his fatal cimiter.
Villena, in despair alike of fame and life, and gnawed with grief for his
brother's loss, at length resolved to put the last hope of the battle on
his single arm. He gave the signal for retreat; and to protect his
troop, remained himself, alone and motionless, on his horse, like a
statue of iron. Though not of large frame, he was esteemed the best
swordsman, next only to Hernando del Pulgar and Gonsalvo de Cordova, in
the army; practised alike in the heavy assault of the Christian warfare,
and the rapid and dexterous exercise of the Moorish cavalry. There he
remained, alone and grim--a lion at bay--while his troops slowly
retreated down the Vega, and their trumpets sounded loud signals of
distress, and demands for succour, to such of their companions as might
be within bearing. Villena's armour defied the shafts of the Moors; and
as one after one darted towards him, with whirling cimiter and momentary
assault, few escaped with impunity from an eye equally quick and a weapon
more than equally formidable. Suddenly, a cloud of dust swept towards
him; and Muza, a moment before at the further end of the field, came
glittering through that cloud, with his white robe waving and his right
arm bare. Villena recognised him, set his teeth hard, and putting spurs
to his charger, met the rush. Muza swerved aside, just as the heavy
falchion swung over his head, and by a back stroke of his own cimiter,
shore through the cuirass just above the hip-joint, and the blood
followed the blade. The brave cavaliers saw the danger of their chief;
three of their number darted forward, and came in time to separate the
combatants.
Muza stayed not to encounter the new reinforcement; but speeding across
the plain, was soon seen rallying his own scattered cavalry, and pouring
them down, in one general body, upon the scanty remnant of the Spaniards.
"Our day is come!" said the good knight Villena, with bitter resignation.
"Nothing is left for us, my friends, but to give up our lives--an example
how Spanish warriors should live and die. May God and the Holy Mother
forgive our sins and shorten our purgatory!"
Just as he spoke, a clarion was heard at a distance and the sharpened
senses of the knights caught the ring of advancing hoofs.
"We are saved!" cried Estevon de Suzon, rising on his stirrups. While he
spoke, the dashing stream of the Moorish horse broke over the little
band; and Estevon beheld bent upon himself the dark eyes and quivering
lip of Muza Ben Abil Gazan. That noble knight had never, perhaps, till
then known fear; but he felt his heart stand still, as he now stood
opposed to that irresistible foe.
"The dark fiend guides his blade!" thought De Suzon; "but I was shriven
but yestermorn." The thought restored his wonted courage; and he spurred
on to meet the cimiter of the Moor.
His assault took Muza by surprise. The Moor's horse stumbled over the
ground, cumbered with the dead and slippery with blood, and his uplifted
cimiter could not do more than break the force of the gigantic arm of De
Suzon; as the knight's falchion bearing down the cimiter, and alighting
on the turban of the Mohammedan, clove midway through its folds, arrested
only by the admirable temper of the links of steel which protected it.
The shock hurled the Moor to the ground. He rolled under the saddle-
girths of his antagonist.
"Victory and St. Jago!" cried the knight, "Muza is--"
The sentence was left eternally unfinished. The blade of the fallen Moor
had already pierced De Suzoii's horse through a mortal but undefended
part. It fell, bearing his rider with him. A moment, and the two
champions lay together grappling in the dust; in the next, the short
knife which the Moor wore in his girdle had penetrated the Christian's
visor, passing through the brain.
To remount his steed, that remained at band, humbled and motionless, to
appear again amongst the thickest of the fray, was a work no less rapidly
accomplished than had been the slaughter of the unhappy Estevon de Suzon.
But now the fortune of the day was stopped in a progress hitherto so
triumphant to the Moors.
Pricking fast over the plain were seen the glittering horsemen of the
Christian reinforcements; and, at the remoter distance, the royal banner
of Spain, indistinctly descried through volumes of dust, denoted that
Ferdinand himself was advancing to the support of his cavaliers.
The Moors, however, who had themselves received many and mysterious
reinforcements, which seemed to spring up like magic from the bosom of
the earth--so suddenly and unexpectedly had they emerged from copse and
cleft in that mountainous and entangled neighbourhood--were not
unprepared for a fresh foe. At the command of the vigilant Muza, they
drew off, fell into order, and, seizing, while yet there was time, the
vantage-ground which inequalities of the soil and the shelter of the
trees gave to their darts and agile horse, they presented an array which
Ponce de Leon himself, who now arrived, deemed it more prudent not to
assault. While Villena, in accents almost inarticulate with rage, was
urging the Marquess of Cadiz to advance, Ferdinand, surrounded by the
flower of his court, arrived at the rear of the troops and after a few
words interchanged with Ponce de Leon, gave the signal to retreat.
When the Moors beheld that noble soldiery slowly breaking ground, and
retiring towards the camp, even Muza could not control their ardour.
They rushed forward, harassing the retreat of the Christians, and
delaying the battle by various skirmishes.
It was at this time that the headlong valour of Hernando del Pulgar, who
had arrived with Ponce de Leon, distinguished itself in feats which yet
live in the songs of Spain. Mounted upon an immense steed, and himself
of colossal strength, he was seen charging alone upon the assailants, and
scattering numbers to the ground with the sweep of his enormous two-
handed falchion. With a loud voice, he called on Muza to oppose him; but
the Moor, fatigued with slaughter, and scarcely recovered from the shock
of his encounter with De Suzon, reserved so formidable a foe for a future
contest.
It was at this juncture, while the field was covered with straggling
skirmishers, that a small party of Spaniards, in cutting their way to the
main body of their countrymen through one of the numerous copses held by
the enemy, fell in at the outskirt with an equal number of Moors, and
engaged them in a desperate conflict, hand to hand. Amidst the infidels
was one man who took no part in the affray: at a little distance, he
gazed for a few moments upon the fierce and relentless slaughter of Moor
and Christian with a smile of stern and complacent delight; and then
taking advantage of the general confusion, rode gently, and, as he hoped,
unobserved, away from the scene. But he was not destined so quietly to
escape. A Spaniard perceived him, and, from something strange and
unusual in his garb, judged him one of the Moorish leaders; and presently
Almamen, for it was he, beheld before him the uplifted falchion of a foe
neither disposed to give quarter nor to hear parley. Brave though the
Israelite was, many reasons concurred to prevent his taking a personal
part against the soldier of Spain; and seeing he should have no chance of
explanation, he fairly puts spurs to his horse, and galloped across the
plain. The Spaniard followed, gained upon him, and Almamen at length
turned, in despair and the wrath of his haughty nature.
"Have thy will, fool!" said he, between his grinded teeth, as he griped
his dagger and prepared for the conflict. It was long and obstinate, for
the Spaniard was skilful; and the Hebrew wearing no mail, and without any
weapon more formidable than a sharp and well-tempered dagger, was forced
to act cautiously on the defensive. At length the combatants grappled,
and, by a dexterous thrust, the short blade of Almamen pierced the throat
of his antagonist, who fell prostrate to the ground.
"I am safe," he thought, as he wheeled round his horse; when lo! the
Spaniards he had just left behind, and who had now routed their
antagonists, were upon him.
"Yield, or die!" cried the leader of the troop.
Almamen glared round; no succour was at hand. "I am not your enemy,"
said he, sullenly, throwing down his weapon--"bear me to your camp."
A trooper seized his rein, and, scouring along, the Spaniards soon
reached the retreating army.
Meanwhile the evening darkened, the shout and the roar grew gradually
less loud and loud---the battle had ceased--the stragglers had joined
their several standards and, by the light of the first star, the Moorish
force, bearing their wounded brethren, and elated with success,
re-entered the gates of Granada, as the black charger of the hero of the
day, closing the rear of the cavalry, disappeared within the gloomy
portals.