Complete Fictional Works of Washington Irving (Illustrated)

by Washington Irving

The heart of Boabdil shrank from all connection with a man who had sought his life, and whom he regarded as the murderer of his kindred. He accepted one half of the kingdom as an offer from the nation, not to be rejected by a prince who scarcely held possession of the ground he stood on. He asserted, nevertheless, his absolute right to the whole, and only submitted to the partition out of anxiety for the present good of his people. He assembled his handful of adherents and prepared to hasten to Loxa. As he mounted his horse to depart, Hamet Aben Zarrax stood suddenly before him. “Be true to thy country and thy faith,” cried he; “hold no further communication with these Christian dogs. Trust not the hollow-hearted friendship of the Castilian king; he is mining the earth beneath thy feet. Choose one of two things: be a sovereign or a slave — thou canst not be both.”

  Boabdil ruminated on these words; he made many wise resolutions, but he was prone always to act from the impulse of the moment, and was unfortunately given to temporize in his policy. He wrote to Ferdinand, informing him that Loxa and certain other cities had returned to their allegiance, and that he held them as vassal to the Castilian Crown, according to their convention. He conjured him, therefore, to refrain from any meditated attack, offering free passage to the Spanish army to Malaga or any other place under the dominion of his uncle.*

  * Zurita, lib. 20, c. 68.

  Ferdinand turned a deaf ear to the entreaty and to all professions of friendship and vassalage. Boabdil was nothing to him but as an instrument for stirring up the flames of civil war. He now insisted that he had entered into a hostile league with his uncle, and had consequently forfeited all claims to his indulgence; and he prosecuted with the greater earnestness his campaign against the city of Loxa.

  “Thus,” observes the worthy Fray Antonio Agapida, “thus did this most sagacious sovereign act upon the text in the eleventh chapter of the evangelist St. Luke, that ‘a kingdom divided against itself cannot stand.’ He had induced these infidels to waste and destroy themselves by internal dissensions, and finally cast forth the survivor, while the Moorish monarchs by their ruinous contests made good the old Castilian proverb in cases of civil war, ‘El vencido vencido, y el vencidor perdido’ (the conquered conquered, and the conqueror undone).”*

  * Garibay, lib. 40, c. 33.

  CHAPTER XXXVIII.

  HOW KING FERDINAND HELD A COUNCIL OF WAR AT THE ROCK OF THE LOVERS.

  The royal army on its march against Loxa lay encamped one pleasant evening in May in a meadow on the banks of the river Yeguas, around the foot of a lofty cliff called the Rock of the Lovers. The quarters of each nobleman formed as it were a separate little encampment, his stately pavilion, surmounted by his fluttering pennon, rising above the surrounding tents of his vassals and retainers. A little apart from the others, as it were in proud reserve, was the encampment of the English earl. It was sumptuous in its furniture and complete in all its munitions. Archers and soldiers armed with battleaxes kept guard around it, while above the standard of England rolled out its ample folds and flapped in the evening breeze.

  The mingled sounds of various tongues and nations were heard from the soldiery as they watered their horses in the stream or busied themselves round the fires which began to glow here and there in the twilight — the gay chanson of the Frenchman, singing of his amours on the pleasant banks of the Loire or the sunny regions of the Garonne; the broad guttural tones of the German, chanting some doughty “krieger lied” or extolling the vintage of the Rhine; the wild romance of the Spaniard, reciting the achievements of the Cid and many a famous passage of the Moorish wars; and the long and melancholy ditty of the Englishman, treating of some feudal hero or redoubtable outlaw of his distant island.

  On a rising ground, commanding a view of the whole encampment, stood the ample and magnificent pavilion of the king, with the banner of Castile and Aragon and the holy standard of the cross erected before it. In this tent there assembled the principal commanders of the army, having been summoned by Ferdinand to a council of war on receiving tidings that Boabdil had thrown himself into Loxa with a considerable reinforcement. After some consultation it was determined to invest Loxa on both sides: one part of the army should seize upon the dangerous but commanding height of Santo Albohacen in front of the city, while the remainder, making a circuit, should encamp on the opposite side.

  No sooner was this resolved upon than the marques of Cadiz stood forth and claimed the post of danger in behalf of himself and those cavaliers, his companions-in-arms, who had been compelled to relinquish it by the general retreat of the army on the former siege. The enemy had exulted over them as if driven from it in disgrace. To regain that perilous height, to pitch their tents upon it, and to avenge the blood of their valiant compeer, the master of Calatrava, who had fallen upon it, was due to their fame: the marques demanded, therefore, that they might lead the advance and secure that height, engaging to hold the enemy employed until the main army should take its position on the opposite side of the city.

  King Ferdinand readily granted his permission, upon which the count de Cabra entreated to be admitted to a share of the enterprise. He had always been accustomed to serve in the advance, and now that Boabdil was in the field and a king was to be taken, he could not content himself with remaining in the rear. Ferdinand yielded his consent, for he was disposed to give the good count every opportunity to retrieve his late disaster.

  The English earl, when he heard there was an enterprise of danger in question, was hot to be admitted to the party, but the king restrained his ardor. “These cavaliers,” said he, “conceive that they have an account to settle with their pride; let them have the enterprise to themselves, my lord: if you follow these Moorish wars long, you will find no lack of perilous service.”

  The marques of Cadiz and his companions-in-arms struck their tents before daybreak; they were five thousand horse and twelve thousand foot, and marched rapidly along the defiles of the mountains, the cavaliers being anxious to strike the blow and get possession of the height of Albohacen before the king with the main army should arrive to their assistance.

  The city of Loxa stands on a high hill between two mountains on the banks of the Xenil. To attain the height of Albohacen the troops had to pass over a tract of rugged and broken country and a deep valley intersected by those canals and watercourses with which the Moors irrigated their lands: they were extremely embarrassed in this part of their march, and in imminent risk of being cut up in detail before they could reach the height.

  The count de Cabra, with his usual eagerness, endeavored to push across this valley in defiance of every obstacle: he, in consequence, soon became entangled with his cavalry among the canals, but his impatience would not permit him to retrace his steps and choose a more practicable but circuitous route. Others slowly crossed another part of the valley by the aid of pontoons, while the marques of Cadiz, Don Alonso de Aguilar, and the count de Urena, being more experienced in the ground from their former campaign, made a circuit round the bottom of the height, and, winding up it, began to display their squadrons and elevate their banners on the redoubtable post which in their former siege they had been compelled so reluctantly to abandon.

  CHAPTER XXXIX.

  HOW THE ROYAL ARMY APPEARED BEFORE THE CITY OF LOXA, AND HOW IT WAS RECEIVED; AND OF THE DOUGHTY ACHIEVEMENTS OF THE ENGLISH EARL.

  The advance of the Christian army upon Loxa threw the wavering Boabdil el Chico into one of his usual dilemmas, and he was greatly perplexed between his oath of allegiance to the Spanish sovereigns and his sense of duty to his subjects. His doubts were determined by the sight of the enemy glittering upon the height of Albohacen and by the clamors of the people to be led forth to battle. “Allah,” exclaimed he, “thou knowest my heart: thou knowest I have been true in my faith to this Christian monarch. I have offered to hold Loxa as his vassal, but he has preferred to approach it as an enemy: on his head be the infraction of our treaty!”

  Boabdil was not wanting in courage; he only needed decision. When he h
ad once made up his mind he acted vigorously; the misfortune was, he either did not make it up at all or he made it up too late. He who decides tardily generally acts rashly, endeavoring to make up by hurry of action for slowness of deliberation. Boabdil hastily buckled on his armor and sallied forth surrounded by his guards, and at the head of five hundred horse and four thousand foot, the flower of his army. Some he detached to skirmish with the Christians, who were scattered and perplexed in the valley, and to prevent their concentrating their forces, while with his main body he pressed forward to drive the enemy from the height of Albohacen before they had time to collect there in any number or to fortify themselves in that important position.

  The worthy count de Cabra was yet entangled with his cavalry among the watercourses of the valley when he heard the war-cries of the Moors and saw their army rushing over the bridge. He recognized Boabdil himself, by his splendid armor, the magnificent caparison of his steed, and the brilliant guard which surrounded him. The royal host swept on toward the height of Albohacen: an intervening hill hid it from his sight, but loud shouts and cries, the din of drums and trumpets, and the reports of arquebuses gave note that the battle had begun.

  Here was a royal prize in the field, and the count de Cabra unable to get into the action! The good cavalier was in an agony of impatience; every attempt to force his way across the valley only plunged him into new difficulties. At length, after many eager but ineffectual efforts, he was obliged to order his troops to dismount, and slowly and carefully to lead their horses back along slippery paths and amid plashes of mire and water where often there was scarce a foothold. The good count groaned in spirit and sweat with mere impatience as he went, fearing the battle might be fought and the prize won or lost before he could reach the field. Having at length toilfully unravelled the mazes of the valley and arrived at firmer ground, he ordered his troops to mount, and led them full gallop to the height. Part of the good count’s wishes were satisfied, but the dearest were disappointed: he came in season to partake of the very hottest of the fight, but the royal prize was no longer in the field.

  Boabdil had led on his men with impetuous valor, or rather with hurried rashness. Heedlessly exposing himself in the front of the battle, he received two wounds in the very first encounter. His guards rallied round him, defended him with matchless valor, and bore him bleeding out of the action. The count de Cabra arrived just in time to see the loyal squadron crossing the bridge and slowly conveying their disabled monarch toward the gate of the city.

  The departure of Boabdil made no difference in the fury of the battle. A Moorish warrior, dark and terrible in aspect, mounted on a black charger, and followed by a band of savage Gomeres, rushed forward to take the lead. It was Hamet el Zegri, the fierce alcayde of Ronda, with the remnant of his once-redoubtable garrison. Animated by his example, the Moors renewed their assaults upon the height. It was bravely defended, on one side by the marques of Cadiz, on another by Don Alonso de Aguilar, and as fast as the Moors ascended they were driven back and dashed down the declivities. The count de Urena took his stand upon the fatal spot where his brother had fallen; his followers entered with zeal into the feelings of their commander, and heaps of the enemy sunk beneath their weapons — sacrifices to the manes of the lamented master of Calatrava.

  The battle continued with incredible obstinacy. The Moors knew the importance of the height to the safety of the city; the cavaliers felt their honors staked to maintain it. Fresh supplies of troops were poured out of the city: some battled on the height, while some attacked the Christians who were still in the valley and among the orchards and gardens to prevent their uniting their forces. The troops in the valley were gradually driven back, and the whole host of the Moors swept around the height of Albohacen. The situation of the marques de Cadiz and his companions was perilous in the extreme: they were a mere handful, and, while fighting hand to hand with the Moors who assailed the height, were galled from a distance by the crossbows and arquebuses of a host that augmented each moment in number. At this critical juncture King Ferdinand emerged from the mountains with the main body of the army, and advanced to an eminence commanding a full view of the field of action. By his side was the noble English cavalier, the earl of Rivers. This was the first time he had witnessed a scene of Moorish warfare. He looked with eager interest at the chance-medley fight before him, where there was the wild career of cavalry, the irregular and tumultuous rush of infantry, and where Christian and Moor were intermingled in deadly struggle. The high blood of the English knight mounted at the sight, and his soul was stirred within him by the confused war-cries, the clangor of drums and trumpets, and the reports of arquebuses. Seeing that the king was sending a reinforcement to the field, he entreated permission to mingle in the affray and fight according to the fashion of his country. His request being granted, he alighted from his steed: he was merely armed “en blanco” — that is to say, with morion, back-piece, and breast-plate — his sword was girded by his side, and in his hand he wielded a powerful battleaxe. He was followed by a body of his yeomen armed in like manner, and by a band of archers with bows made of the tough English yew tree. The earl turned to his troops and addressed then briefly and bluntly, according to the manner of his country. “Remember, my merry men all,” said he, “the eyes of strangers are upon you; you are in a foreign land, fighting for the glory of God and the honor of merry old England!” A loud shout was the reply. The earl waved his battleaxe over his head. “St. George for England!” cried he, and to the inspiring sound of this old English war-cry he and his followers rushed down to the battle with manly and courageous hearts.* They soon made their way into the midst of the enemy, but when engaged in the hottest of the fight they made no shouts nor outcries. They pressed steadily forward, dealing their blows to right and left, hewing down the Moors and cutting their way with their battleaxes like woodmen in a forest; while the archers, pressing into the opening they made, plied their bows vigorously and spread death on every side.

  * Cura de los Palacios.

  When the Castilian mountaineers beheld the valor of the English yeomanry, they would not be outdone in hardihood. They could not vie with them in weight or bulk, but for vigor and activity they were surpassed by none. They kept pace with them, therefore, with equal heart and rival prowess, and gave a brave support to the stout Englishmen.

  The Moors were confounded by the fury of these assaults and disheartened by the loss of Hamet el Zegri, who was carried wounded from the field. They gradually fell back upon the bridge; the Christians followed up their advantage, and drove them over it tumultuously. The Moors retreated into the suburb, and Lord Rivers and his troops entered with them pell-mell, fighting in the streets and in the houses. King Ferdinand came up to the scene of action with his royal guard, and the infidels were driven within the city walls. Thus were the suburbs gained by the hardihood of the English lord, without such an event having been premeditated.*

  * Cura de los Palacios, MS.

  The earl of Rivers, notwithstanding he had received a wound, still urged forward in the attack. He penetrated almost to the city gate, in defiance of a shower of missiles that slew many of his followers. A stone hurled from the battlements checked his impetuous career: it struck him in the face, dashed out two of his front teeth, and laid him senseless on the earth. He was removed to a short distance by his men, but, recovering his senses, refused to permit himself to be taken from the suburb.

  When the contest was over the streets presented a piteous spectacle, so many of their inhabitants had died in the defence of their thresholds or been slaughtered without resistance. Among the victims was a poor weaver who had been at work in his dwelling at this turbulent moment. His wife urged him to fly into the city. “Why should I fly?” said the Moor—”to be reserved for hunger and slavery? I tell you, wife, I will await the foe here, for better is it to die quickly by the steel than to perish piecemeal in chains and dungeons.” He said no more, but resumed his occupation of weaving, and in the in
discriminate fury of the assault was slaughtered at his loom.*

  * Pulgar, part 3, c. 58.

  The Christians remained masters of the field, and proceeded to pitch three encampments for the prosecution of the siege. The king, with the great body of the army, took a position on the side of the city next to Granada; the marques of Cadiz and his brave companions once more pitched their tents upon the height of Santo Albohacen; but the English earl planted his standard sturdily within the suburb he had taken.

  CHAPTER XL.

  CONCLUSION OF THE SIEGE OF LOXA.

  Having possession of the heights of Albohacen and the suburb of the city, the Christians were enabled to choose the most favorable situations for their batteries. They immediately destroyed the stone bridge by which the garrison had made its sallies, and they threw two wooden bridges across the river and others over the canals and streams, so as to establish an easy communication between the different camps.

  When all was arranged a heavy fire was opened upon the city from various points. They threw not only balls of stone and iron, but great carcasses of fire, which burst like meteors on the houses, wrapping them instantly in a blaze. The walls were shattered and the towers toppled down by tremendous discharges from the lombards. Through the openings thus made they could behold the interior of the city — houses tumbling or in flames, men, women, and children flying in terror through the streets, and slaughtered by the shower of missiles sent through the openings from smaller artillery and from crossbows and arquebuses.

  The Moors attempted to repair the breaches, but fresh discharges from the lombards buried them beneath the ruins of the walls they were mending. In their despair many of the inhabitants rushed forth into the narrow streets of the suburbs and assailed the Christians with darts, scimetars, and poniards, seeking to destroy rather than defend, and heedless of death in the confidence that to die fighting with an unbeliever was to be translated at once to Paradise.