CHAPTER VI
THE MOORISH WAR 1481–1483
“A people that for generations had lived to fight.” This summary of the Castilian race explains the fervour of enthusiasm with which the project of renewed war against Granada was greeted. Other nations, similarly exhausted by misgovernment and internal strife, might have welcomed a period of peace, which would enable them to pursue industry and commerce undisturbed; but neither Isabel nor her subjects regarded the matter in this light.
To them, the establishment of justice and order and the restoration of the royal finances were but a prelude to the great crusade, that every Castilian king inherited from his ancestors. It was a duty no true son of the Church would dare to neglect; and even the sluggish Henry IV. had made a pretence of raising the Christian banners. No less than three incursions into Moorish territory had been organized at the beginning of his reign; though by royal orders the army confined its attention to a work of pillage and robbery amongst the villages scattered over the fruitful “Vega.”
“The King was pitiful and not cruel,” says Enriquez del Castillo in excuse. “He said that life has no price nor equivalent ... and thus it did not please him that his men should take part in skirmishes or open battles.”
Such a policy awoke anger and derision in Castilian hearts, the more so that large quantities of money had been raised by means of a bull of indulgence, especially granted by the Pope for the purposes of a holy crusade. According to one of the chronicles, the sum realized was over a hundred million maravedis, of which very little went to its professed object. Henry quickly wearied of the display and pageantry that had alone reconciled him to camp life; and he had neither the fanaticism nor love of glory that could have held him to his task when this outward glamour faded.
Moreover he soon began to suspect that his worst enemies were amongst his own followers; and the picked Moorish guard that he adopted for his protection became the scandal of all the faithful. “He eats, drinks, and clothes himself after Moorish fashion,” wrote a Bohemian who visited his Court; and we have already noticed that the conspirators of Burgos began their complaints by censuring the open infidelity of those nearest to the royal person. Orthodoxy proved a convenient weapon for rebellious nobles; but it did not prevent the chivalry of Murcia and Andalusia from accepting the hospitality of the Sultan of Granada, when they wished to settle their private quarrels undisturbed.
The kingdom of the Moors which had once embraced the whole peninsula, save the mountains in the north-west, had shrunk to somewhat less than two hundred leagues; but this area comprised all that was best in soil and atmosphere. In its fertile valleys was ample pasturage for flocks of sheep; in the depths of its mountains, no lack of the ore and metals that its furnaces converted with unrivalled skill into ornaments and weapons. Its plains, protected from the northern winds by snow-capped mountain peaks, and preserved from the ill effects of the sun by a careful system of irrigation, were covered with maize and other grains, producing between them a perpetual harvest. Its villages nestled amidst vineyards and olive-groves; oranges, citrons, and figs grew in its orchards; here and there were plantations of mulberry trees. The silk woven in the looms of Granada could stand comparison with the coveted fabrics of Bagdad and the Orient, and with Moorish tissues, velvets, and brocades, found ready purchasers in Venetian markets, through the medium of thriving ports on the Mediterranean, such as Velez-Malaga and Almeria.
By these same ports, the rulers of Granada could receive assistance from their Mahometan allies on the African coast, whether in the shape of provisions or of men, though of the latter they possessed sufficient for any ordinary campaign. Not only did the healthy climate and abundance of food tend to a natural increase of the population, but for centuries there had been a steady influx of Mahometan refugees from the provinces reconquered by the Spaniards.
It has been estimated that towards the end of the fifteenth century, the population of Granada was between three or four millions, and was capable of sending into the field a force of 8000 horse and 25,000 foot. The Moors, whether supple Arab or hardy Berber, were as fine soldiers as they were skilful artisans and traders. Trained to shoot from early boyhood, their archers had no match with the cross-bow; while their lightly armed cavalry could manœuvre on the wide plains, or make their way by narrow mountain paths, to the utter discomfiture of the crusader in his heavy mail.
These were facts the Christian army was to learn to its cost during ten years of unceasing war. They were not unknown beforehand to the more seasoned warriors; but the peaceful character of the old Sultan Ismail, and his readiness to pay the yearly tribute to Castile of 20,000 doblas of gold rather than take advantage of Henry IV.’s weakness, had aroused the latent scorn felt for the Infidel by a hot-headed younger generation.
In 1476, Aben Ismail died; and his successor, Muley Abul Hacen, a chieftain already famous in his own land for various daring raids into Christian territory, ceased to send the required tribute to Castile. When the ambassadors of Ferdinand and Isabel came before him to remonstrate, he replied haughtily:
“Go, tell your sovereigns that the kings of Granada, who were wont to pay tribute, are dead. In my kingdom there is no coin minted save scimitars and iron-tipped lances.”
[Illustration:
SPANISH HALBERDIER, FIFTEENTH CENTURY
FROM “SPANISH ARMS AND ARMOUR”
REPRODUCED BY COURTESY OF THE AUTHOR, MR. A. F. CALVERT ]
The sovereigns, who were in Seville at the time delivering justice, received his message with indignation. “I will tear the seeds from this pomegranate one by one,” exclaimed Ferdinand, punning on the meaning of the word “granada.” But he and Isabel were still busy with the Portuguese war and the task of restoring order in Andalusia. They therefore dissembled their real feelings, and consented to a temporary treaty, in which there was no mention of the disputed tribute; but they did not cease from this time to redouble their preparations for the inevitable crusade. In the end it was Muley Hacen who was to set the spark to the mine.
Just over the Andalusian border, not many leagues distant from the Moorish stronghold of Ronda, stood the fortress of Zahara, which had been stormed in old days by the King’s grandfather and namesake “Don Fernando de Antequera.” Raised on a height, surmounted by a fortress, and approached only by slippery mountain paths, its Christian defenders believed it almost impregnable, and had allowed themselves to grow careless in their outpost duty. One night in the year 1481, when the truce between Castile and Granada still held good, a band of Moors led by Muley Hacen himself drew near under cover of the darkness. The wind and rain were blowing in a hurricane across the mountain peaks, but the Moors, heedless of its violence, placed their ladders against the rocks above them, and scaled the ill-protected walls. Then they poured into the town. The sound of their trumpets, as scimitar in hand they cleared the narrow streets, was the first warning of their presence; and the inhabitants of Zahara awoke to find themselves faced by death or slavery.
It seemed to the affrighted inhabitants [says Washington Irving in his vivid _Conquest of Granada_] as if the fiends of the air had come upon the wings of the wind, and possessed themselves of tower and turret. The war-cry resounded on every side, shout answering shout, above, below, on the battlements of the castle, in the streets of the town; the foe was in all parts, wrapped in obscurity but acting in concert by the aid of preconcerted signals. Starting from sleep, the soldiers were intercepted, and cut down, as they rushed from their quarters, or, if they escaped, they knew not where to assemble or where to strike. Wherever lights appeared, the flashing scimitar was at its deadly work, and all who attempted resistance fell beneath its edge. In a little while the struggle was at an end.... When the day dawned it was piteous to behold this once prosperous community, which had lain down to rest in peaceful security, now crowded together without distinction of age, or rank, or sex, and almost without raiment during the severity of a winter storm.
The next day the unhappy prisoners, first fruits of the Moorish triumphs, were led back in chains to the capital; but the sight of their misery aroused not so much rejoicing amongst the people as pity and dismay. Courtiers might crowd to the palace of the Alhambra to congratulate their warrior sovereign, but the general feeling of foreboding found vent in the cries of an old dervish, as he wandered through the streets wringing his hands:
Woe to Granada! Its fall is at hand. Desolation shall dwell in its palaces, its strong men shall fall beneath the sword, its children and its maidens shall be led into captivity. Zahara is but a type of Granada.
In Medina del Campo, where the news of the disaster reached Ferdinand and Isabel, there was burning indignation, and demands on all sides for instant revenge. The gallant Don Rodrigo Ponce de Leon, Marquis of Cadiz, took upon himself the task of retaliation. Having learned from the “Asistente” of Seville, Don Diego de Merlo, that the town of Alhama, only eight leagues from the Moorish capital and a regular granary and storehouse for the neighbourhood, was ill-defended and quite unprepared for any attack, he collected a considerable force both of horse and foot, and set off at their head to effect its capture. Pushing forward by night, and hiding at daybreak in whatever cover was afforded by ravines and woods, on March 1, 1482, he arrived at his destination, unperceived. He then selected some picked men; and these under the command of Diego de Merlo, placed their ladders against the steepest part of the citadel, from which attack would be least expected, and scaling the walls slew the sentries whom they found on guard. Soon they had opened the gates to admit the Marquis and their companions, and all within Alhama was in confusion.
The Moors, waked from their sleep, fought desperately to preserve the town itself from the fate of the citadel, throwing up barriers in the streets, and maintaining a heavy cross-bow fire upon their assailants, whenever they tried to emerge from the shelter of the gates. It seemed for a time as if the Christian forces could make no headway; and some of the captains counselled that the citadel and all the houses within reach should be fired and the order for retreat should be sounded.
To this the Marquis replied with a stern negative. They had not made such a splendid capture merely to reduce it to ashes; and he promised his soldiers that once the city was taken he would allow them to put it to the sack and keep what booty fell to their swords. Encouraged by this prospect his troops made a breach in the wall of the citadel on the side towards Alhama, and swarming through this opening and the main gateway in great numbers, they succeeded in beating back their enemies and destroying the barriers.
[Illustration:
SPANISH CROSSBOWMAN, FIFTEENTH CENTURY
FROM “SPANISH ARMS AND ARMOUR”
REPRODUCED BY COURTESY OF THE AUTHOR, MR. A. F. CALVERT ]
_Ay de mi Alhama!_ “Woe is me Alhama!” was the cry in Granada, when wounded fugitives brought news of the fate that had overtaken their town. Muley Abul Hacen said little, but, putting himself at the head of some 3000 horse and 50,000 infantry, advanced on Alhama to exact vengeance on the Christians who had so daringly crossed his frontier. As he approached the walls, his troops uttered groans of mingled fury and horror, for the ground lay strewn with the dead bodies of their countrymen, thrown out by those within the walls to the mercy of vultures and pariah dogs.
The Marquis had made what preparations for defence he could, but he had begun to realize that his situation was rather desperate. Not only was he separated from his country by a wide stretch of hostile territory, from which he could expect no provisions, but the food stored within the town had been much of it squandered or destroyed during the sack. Large quantities of grain had been deliberately burned by the Castilian soldiery who, hearing it rumoured that they were about to retreat, determined to leave nothing intact for their enemies. In the weeks that followed, when the forces of Muley Hacen ranged themselves round the walls, and his engineers turned aside the stream that supplied Alhama with water, the Christians, fighting by day and night, half-starved and tortured with thirst, were to pay dearly for their recklessness.
Messengers had been dispatched at once to Andalusia and Medina del Campo, bearing news of the victory but demanding instant succour, lest glory should be dimmed in even more signal defeat. Leaving Isabel to send out letters and enroll captains and troops throughout Castile, Ferdinand hastened south to Cordova; but it was only to find that he came too late, and that help was already well on its way to the beleaguered city. This prompt action was due to no less a person than the Duke of Medina-Sidonia who, having received a piteous letter from the Marquesa de Cadiz in which she described her husband’s plight, generously put his old enmity aside and went to his rival’s assistance.
Bernaldez the chronicler, more often called the Curate of Los Palacios, who was an eye-witness of much of the Moorish war and knew Andalusia well, once described the Duke and Marquis as “the two columns on which the province rested.” Their combined retinues provided an army that Muley Hacen, with his hastily collected troops, dared not face; and the Duke arrived before the gates of Alhama, as the last of the Moorish banners dipped below the far horizon. It was a meeting worthy of a chronicler’s pen, when with hands clasped the gallant young Marquis and his former enemy pledged eternal friendship amid the applause and shouting of their troops. Alhama was saved.
Its maintenance was a different matter, for hardly had the Duke and the Marquis of Cadiz, leaving Diego de Merlo and a strong garrison behind them, departed for Cordova, than Muley Abul Hacen made a new and more strenuous attack on his old fortress. From every side the Moors swarmed up by ladders or projecting masonry and hurled themselves upon the ramparts. The Christians thrust them back only to face a fresh avalanche; and when at length, after a prolonged struggle, some seventy warriors who had made their entrance unnoticed were hemmed in and cut down, the garrison although victorious was both exhausted and dismayed. Fresh help must come from Cordova or they were lost.
The advisability of burning and deserting Alhama, as a too costly capture, was warmly advocated in the royal councils; but Isabel who had arrived at Cordova would not hear of it. Every war, she declared, must have its heavy expenses; and, since she and the King were determined on the conquest of Granada at all costs, the surrender of the first city they had gained could appear nothing but cowardice.
Then the King [we are told] and the Cardinal of Spain and all his host came to the city of Alhama, and they built up the fortifications and supplied it with all things necessary for its defence.
It was not the last time that Isabel was to spur the lagging energies of the Christian army to fresh enthusiasm and endeavours.
In the meantime Muley Abul Hacen was called on to cope with serious trouble at home, as well as a campaign against foreign invaders. For this the mixed character of the Moorish population could partly account. The haughty Arab, with his sense of racial and mental superiority, had not after centuries amalgamated well either with his Berber ally of African origin, or with the Spanish _muladies_, that suspected sect whose ancestors had changed their religion with their masters in the old days of Moorish conquest, thus cutting off their descendants from their natural kith and kin.
Belief in “one God and Mahomet as His Prophet,” alone held together these heterogeneous peoples, whose mutual suspicion proved ever fertile soil for plots and rebellions. Had the latter depended for their source only on race hatred, Muley Hacen, prompt, cunning, and pitiless, might have proved their match. It was that curse of Eastern politics, the quarrels of the harem, that acting on his sensual nature betrayed his statesmanship.
When well advanced in middle age, the Sultan had fallen a victim to a slave girl of Christian origin and had raised her to the position of his favourite wife, the Arabs calling her for her beauty “Zoraya,” or “Light of the Morning.” This woman, who was as ambitious and unscrupulous as she was fair, made common cause with a certain Emir, Cacim Venegas, a descendant of an old Cordovan family, to ruin all who opposed their power; and to their machinations had been due the horrible massacre of the Abencerrages in the Alhambra, whose name still marks the scene of the crime.
Chief of Zoraya’s enemies was the deposed favourite of the harem, “Aixa,” “the Pure,” a Moorish lady of high birth and spotless character, whose son, Abu Abdallah, more often alluded to by the chroniclers as “Boabdil,” was universally regarded as his father’s heir. To bring about his death and thus prevent his accession was the main object of Zoraya’s life; but her rival was well aware of this and, taking advantage of the fall of Alhama and the consequent loss of Muley Hacen’s reputation as a general, she laid her schemes for placing the sceptre in Boabdil’s hands.
The Sultan learnt of the plot on his return to Granada; and, determining to exact vengeance at his leisure, he imprisoned his wife and son in one of the strong towers of the Alhambra. All seemed lost; but Aixa, inspired by the courage of despair, knotted together the gaily coloured scarves that she and her ladies were wont to wear, and by this rope let down Boabdil from her window to the banks of the Darro. Here some attendants, who had been secretly warned, awaited him; and the Moorish prince, setting spurs to his horse, went swiftly to Guadix, a town perched amid the mountains of the Alpujarras.
[Illustration:
ARMS BELONGING TO BOABDIL
FROM LAFUENTE’S “HISTORIA GENERAL DE ESPAÑOLA,” VOL. VII. ]
The standard of rebellion was raised; and Muley Hacen, returning one day from the gardens beyond the city walls, where he had been dallying in idleness with Zoraya, found the gates closed against him. The people, who had secretly hated him for his tyranny, now despised him, and had therefore readily welcomed Boabdil, when he came riding from Guadix to usurp the throne. The old Sultan was forced to fly, but his spirit was far from broken; and, being joined not only by Cacim Venegas and all his clan of relations and followers, but also by his brother, the renowned warrior, Abdallah “El Zagal,” “the Bold,” he determined to have his revenge.
One night, soon after dark, he appeared unexpectedly before the city, and, scaling with his men the walls of the Alhambra, fell upon the sleeping inhabitants sword in hand, sparing in his rage neither grey-beards, women, nor children. For hours the fight raged through the narrow streets, dimly lit from the windows above by hanging lanterns and guttering torches. It was war to the death and no quarter was given; but though Muley Hacen and his brother fought with a courage that equalled their ferocity, the sympathy of the people was with their enemies, and with difficulty at last they made their escape. Malaga, on the shores of the Mediterranean, became their new capital; and thus, just at a time when union was most needed, the kingdom of Granada was divided against itself.
The final triumph of the Christian forces, though undoubtedly hastened by the divisions amongst their enemies, was not to prove an easy achievement; for the capture of Alhama and its subsequent successful defence were soon counterbalanced by two disasters. In both cases the cause was a self-confidence on the part of the Castilian commanders, that blinded them to the ordinary precautions of warfare.
Ferdinand, in the later years of his life, was regarded by his fellow sovereigns as a model of sagacity and caution; but we have already noticed the strain of romance and daring that rendered his youth the less responsible if the more attractive. Nothing exasperated him so much as to be told it was a king’s place to remain in safety and to allow his generals to fight for him; and it had been a bitter moment when he arrived at Cordova and found his intended relief-expedition had been forestalled by the Duke of Medina-Sidonia. He had perforce contented himself with meeting the party on their return at the border town of Antequera; but he waited impatiently for a response to the Queen’s letters that would enable him to take the initiative on his own account. In time it came, and the sturdy mountaineers of Biscay and Guizpucoa, to whose help he had once gone against the French, now joined his banner along with the levies of Galicia and Estremadura, and cavaliers from New and Old Castile.
Having collected his army, Ferdinand crossed the Moorish border late in June, 1482, while Isabel dispatched a fleet to patrol the Western Mediterranean and prevent assistance from Africa reaching Muley Hacen in his retreat at Malaga. The objective of the Christian army was the town of Loja, whose capture would ensure safe communication with Alhama. It lay to the north-west of that outpost in a deep valley traversed by the river Genil, almost like a gateway to the Vega of Granada; and its wealth and natural beauty of situation in the midst of frowning mountains had won for it the name of “the flower amongst the thorns.”
The Christian forces, eager to pluck this flower and heedless of the dangers in the path, advanced with rash haste between the ridges. Ferdinand in his anxiety to approach the city pitched his camp on uneven ground amid the surrounding olive-groves, in a position wholly to the disadvantage of either his cavalry or artillery. At the earnest entreaties of the Marquis of Cadiz and the Duke of Villahermosa, who had preached caution from the first, an attempt was made to rectify these mistakes, but it proved too late.
Aliator, the Governor of Loja, who was father-in-law of the young Sultan Boabdil, had been on the watch from the first for any opportunity of throwing the besiegers into confusion. He therefore skilfully arranged an ambush; and, some of the Christians falling into it, a sudden panic spread through the camp, that had begun to realize the perils of its locality. Only a hasty retreat saved Castile from a general massacre of her leading chivalry, nay even the loss of the King himself; while many a gallant warrior, such as the Master of Calatrava, came by his death. Ferdinand, in disgust at his ignominious five days’ siege and the failure of his tactics, departed to Cordova, leaving the command of the frontier in other hands.
Early in February, 1483, the Christians once more took the offensive, hoping to wipe out their previous defeat by some victory of unprecedented magnitude. Alonso de Cardenas, the Master of Santiago, who had been placed in command of the border country in the neighbourhood of Ecija, had learned through certain of his scouts that, once an army had pierced the mountains near Ajarquia, it would find itself in a fertile plain, not far removed from the city of Malaga. Here would be a new _vega_, stocked with fat herds and with opulent towns and villages, providing spoils for its conquerors even more alluring than the riches of Alhama. In vain the Marquis of Cadiz protested that these scouts were renegade Moors and should not be trusted; the daring of the enterprise had won the assent of Alonso de Cardenas and the other commanders against their better judgment, while the bait of pillage was eagerly swallowed by the ordinary soldiery.
From Antequera the army set out on its journey through the mountains, more than three thousand horse and a thousand foot with the banners of Seville, Cordova, Jerez, and other principal cities of Andalusia, waving in their midst. Rarely had more famous names graced a military enterprise: the Master of Santiago, hero of the Portuguese war; the Marquis of Cadiz, victor of Alhama, with some five more of the warlike house of Ponce de Leon; the Count of Cifuentes now Asistente of Seville; and Don Alonso de Aguilar, a renowned general whose star has somewhat paled before the brilliance of his younger brother’s fame, Gonsalvo de Cordova—the “Great Captain.” Behind these warriors and their troops came a heterogeneous crowd of merchants and adventurers, their pockets well stocked with gold for barter, and their hands ready for any robbery that would bring them profit so long as the swords of those in front had cleared a way to it in safety.
The selfish motives, that in most hearts prompted the undertaking, were clearly shown on the first day’s march through the mountains. High above them, ridge on ridge, stretched ragged peaks bare of all save the most meagre vegetation; the roadway on the slope below became a mere track, winding through ravines and stony river-beds. Here and there were human habitations; but the peasantry, warned by the glitter of spear and helmet, had long climbed to distant heights or hidden with their cattle in secret caves. The Castilians, picking their way in disorderly fashion between marsh and boulder, revenged themselves for the lack of booty by firing the deserted villages and huts until night fell; for of easy ground or promised _vega_ there was no sign. Then in the darkness came the sound of stones and rocks clattering down the mountainside. Some of the horses were struck and, with others frightened by the noise, bolted or stumbled; lights began to appear along the ridge; and showers of poisoned arrows to descend; missiles from which the Christians, unable to retaliate, could find no adequate protection. A crowning touch was put to the ever-growing horror, when it was discovered that Muley Hacen, having learned of the invasion by means of beacon fires, had sent his brother “El Zagal” and Abul Cacim Venegas to the assistance of the mountaineers.
[Illustration:
ALHAMBRA, COURT OF LIONS
FROM A PHOTOGRAPH BY ANDERSON, ROME ]
Conscious of their helpless plight, the Castilians turned and fled. “Into such evil case were they fallen,” says the chronicler, “that none listened to the sound of the trumpet, nor followed a banner, nor paid attention to those who were his leaders.”
The Moors, hanging on their rear, and descending in swarms from the ridges above, broke between the lines, preventing one commander from assisting another; while many of the scouts, either of evil intention or from sheer terror, advised ways of escape that ended in impassable ravines or mere goat-tracks across the peaks. But a small portion of the gallant army that had set out with such self-confidence from Antequera returned safe from the “Heights of Slaughter,” as these mountains were ever afterwards known.
The Master of Santiago, finding it impossible to rally his forces, borrowed a horse from his servants, and in the darkness escaped by secret footpaths.
“I turn my back not on the Moors,” he exclaimed, “but on a country that for our sins has shown itself hostile.”
The Marquis of Cadiz and Don Alonso de Aguilar, after many detours and wanderings, also found their way to Antequera; but the former had lost his three brothers and two nephews; while the Count of Cifuentes, and others of the Christian army, almost to the number of a thousand, were captured and led to Malaga.
This defeat [says the Curate of Los Palacios] was marvellous for the small band of Moors by whom it was inflicted. It would seem that Our Lord consented, because robbery or merchandise rather than His service had been the thought of the majority. For many of the same acknowledged that they went not to fight against the Infidels, as good Christians who had confessed their sins and received the Sacrament, and made their will, and wished to fight against their enemies and conquer them for the sake of the Holy Catholic Faith;—for but few of them had this desire.
The shame and sorrow, aroused by the retreat from Loja, was as nothing to the lamentations over this new disaster. There was scarcely a man or a woman in Andalusia, it was said, who had not cause to weep; but Castilian fortunes had touched their lowest depth.
“The good are punished for a time,” says the Curate of Los Palacios, “because they have neglected God; but always He returns to succour and console them.”
The victory of Ajarquia had redounded to the credit of Muley Hacen, and still more to that of his brother “El Zagal,” with the result that the popularity of Boabdil began to wane. Necessity demanded that the young Sultan should take some steps to show his ability as a general; and, since he was neither devoid of courage nor ambition, in April, 1483, the gates of Granada were opened to permit the exodus of himself and the flower of his nobility at the head of a picked army of horse and foot. His plan of campaign was, marching through the _vega_, to cross the Genil near Loja, where he would be reinforced by his father-in-law, Aliator, and then on again beyond the Christian frontier, till he arrived at Lucena in Andalusia, the object of his attack.
So much he achieved without difficulty; but the more superstitious of his following shook their heads. Had not the King’s horse stumbled in the very gateway of Granada, causing his master to shiver his lance against the arch above? Had not a fox, also, rushed scatheless through the army, almost in front of Boabdil himself, without suffering hurt from the many arrows aimed at her? These were ill omens.
More disconcerting for military minds was the bold defiance of Don Diego Fernandez de Cordova, the youthful Governor of Lucena. The Moors had hoped to surprise the town, but it was obvious news of their coming had preceded them; for hardly had they spread through the immediate neighbourhood, burning and pillaging, than Don Diego and a small force of Christians flung open the gates and began to attack them. This they would hardly have dared to do, had they believed themselves unsupported; and Boabdil and Aliator, looking behind them to account for this temerity, saw to their horror the sun glittering on Christian spears and banners.
It was the Count of Cabra, uncle of Don Fernandez, with a troop of not more than two hundred horse and double that number of foot; but the sound of his trumpets re-echoing in the hills, and the curve of the road by which he came, as it descended to the plain, lent to his host a phantom size. The Moors at any rate believed it the whole Christian army, and at the first onslaught their infantry broke and fled. The cavalry still continued the battle fiercely, till the arrival of Don Alonso de Aguilar with reinforcements from Antequera, and the death of Aliator deprived them of the last hope of victory. Then defeat became a rout; and some, surrendering, begged for mercy, while others, missing the ford across the river in their hurry to escape, were drowned in the heavy flood. A few returned to Loja, but their king was not amongst them. Crouching amongst the low bushes by the waterside, his scimitar struck from his hand, Boabdil, “the Unfortunate” as astrologers had proclaimed him at his birth, was forced to surrender, and led a captive to the city he had meant to conquer.
The question of his fate was a matter for profound discussion in Castilian councils. At first it was suggested that he should be placed under lock and key in some inaccessible fortress; but the Marquis of Cadiz pointed out that no decision could give Muley Hacen greater pleasure. Better far than to remove Boabdil from Granada was to send him back to his kingdom as a vassal of the Christian sovereigns, that he might continue to foment discord amongst his own nation.
This advice pleased Ferdinand and Isabel, and soon the humiliating terms, on which the Prince should receive his liberty, were drawn up and signed. Boabdil did homage to the rulers of Castile, consenting to pay an annual tribute of twelve thousand doblas of gold, and to surrender four hundred Christian captives. Most galling of all, he publicly promised to appear at the Castilian Court, whenever summoned, and to allow the Christian armies free passage through his territory, in their campaigns against Muley Hacen and “El Zagal.” Having surrendered his own son and those of his principal nobles as hostages for his good faith, he returned to his own kingdom, free; yet bound by chains that were to cost him his kingdom and hold him in perpetual bondage.
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