The Moor high command rejoiced. The message was an expression of desperation.
“A little more patience,” a Muslim commander said, “and we shall see this cloud of Christian locusts driven away before the winter storms. Once they turn their backs, it will be our turn to strike, and with the help of Allah, the blow will be decisive.”
The apparent stalemate could only be broken by some dramatic surprise, and that was to take place in November with a roll of kettledrums, a flash of color, and a rustle of taffeta in the far distance. Up the valley came a procession of Christian knights in their finest costumes of velvet, silk, and brocade, with colorful plumes flowing from their steel helmets and banners streaming from their lances. And in the midst of this column, dressed in an extravagant gown, accompanied by the Cardinal of Spain and her eldest daughter, Isabel, rode Queen Isabella herself. For all the pomp, the shrill blaring of clarions, clatter of steel and hoofbeat, the queen rode demurely on a mule.
The Moors watched this amazing pageant in awe from the walls. Hotheads implored their superiors to venture out and attack, or at least unleash a volley of artillery to disturb this flaunting of Christian power and elegance. But Cidi Yahye forbade it. It was an enduring irony that among the Moors, for all their desperation, the figure of Queen Isabella was honored almost with reverence. The Moorish soldiers were reduced to the role of gawking spectators, as if this were a field of sport, and they were the fawning audience. They watched meekly as the king greeted his lady.
It was as if the whole army longed for her presence, as if it were her collective lover. The poetry in her honor showed this yearning for this woman and symbol, and the sentiment seemed especially apt during the stalemate at Baza.
My soul is starving. I appeal
For your help. I’m near to dying.
All the world knows
That you alone can heal my predicament.
This psychological masterstroke had an immediate effect. With the arrival of the queen, the passion for conflict waned. There could be no further doubt of the Christian resolve to see the siege through, regardless of weather or season or duration. Within a few days, Cidi Yahye requested a parley. With courtesy and respect two representatives, the master commander of León and the mayor of Baza, met between the lines, in full view of both camps. The king’s legate renewed the offer of liberty and the security for property if the town was honorably surrendered. In his presentation, he was a bit long-winded.
“If you, honorable caudillo, think that, with the remaining forces you have, you can defend the city of Baza against the might of the King and the Queen, then allow me to tell you that even though you are known to be a noble and brave knight, you would be making an ill-advised mistake. Since, as you know, it is a common law among all humans that we obey the Mightiest One, if you should choose to disobey, it will be more fitting to say of you that you are a man of greed and death, not a lover of true liberty…” and so on.
The populace within the walls must evacuate the city, but its citizens would be permitted to remain in peace in the outlying environs. If the defenders did not accept these generous terms, he pointed to the fate of Málaga. There, truculence and resistance to the bitter end had resulted in slavery, confiscation, imprisonment, death, and exile for its inhabitants.
The spokesman from the Arab side was no less flowery and long-winded. “Noble gentleman, not the lack of our provisions or the weakness of our walls or the lack of Arabs guarding them will compel us to render to the King Don Fernando and the Queen Doña Isabel the city of Baza. But we are moved by the great virtue and nobility of your appeals, which allows us to choose the manner in which we should act in response to this supposed relinquishment…” and so on.
Upon hearing the terms, Cidi Yahye wavered. In good conscience he could not surrender the city without the approval of El Zagal. He requested permission to send a message through the Christian lines to the old warrior, explaining the situation. Crumpled in despair within his fortress walls at Guadix, El Zagal was powerless to act. He could offer no relief. Granada was hopeless, and his trusted alter ego had spoken. Cidi Yahye should surrender the city on the best terms he could get.
It was done promptly. On December 4, 1489, Cidi Yahye rode magnificently out of his fortress and was received grandly by Ferdinand and Isabella. The monarchs loaded him down with gifts and lavished him with praise and honors. The queen seemed genuinely to be taken with his exotic ways and elegant manners, and the Moor in turn was smitten with her. How pleased the queen would be, if the Moor would honor her by becoming a permanent figure of her court. Before long, he was vowing never again to draw a sword against the Christian side.
He went further. Soon he was offering to go to Guadix and try to persuade El Zagal to give up. At this welcome offer, Ferdinand conferred upon the Moor the fertile lands around the town of Marchena southeast of Seville, where he could live in comfort as a vassal of the king. And before long, the queen prodded and induced the Moor to take the final plunge of converting to Christianity. The conversion must be kept secret, Cidi Yahye insisted, so that his Muslim followers did not feel abandoned, and El Zagal did not feel betrayed. And then the Moor departed for Guadix.
There he found El Zagal sullen and incommunicative. Undeterred, Cidi Yahye laid out the case. Further conflict and slaughter was pointless. The old warrior should trust in the justice and generosity of these all-powerful monarchs. He should remember the horoscope of Boabdil at birth that it was written in the stars that his weak nephew would be the last Muslim ruler of Granada. This was their destiny, their fate, and it was the will of Allah.
El Zagal listened, emotionless, and when Cidi Yahye had finished, he finally spoke up.
“From the decision of Allah there is no appeal,” he muttered. “I now see that this is indeed the will of Allah, and what Allah wills must come to pass and be accomplished. If it had not been written in the decree at Boabdil’s birth that the kingdom of Granada should fall, He would have supported this hand and this sword.”
At El Zagal’s acquiescence, events moved rapidly. Ferdinand had moved to the vicinity of Almería, just in case. Cidi Yahye brought El Zagal to him there, and they concluded a treaty. As with Baza, the people of Almería and Guadix must evacuate their bastions, but could remain in peace, with their property, outside the city walls.
The appearance of the ferocious warrior in the Christian camp greatly impressed and touched the scribes of the Christian king. Though they regarded El Zagal as a barbarian, he had evinced great heroism in defense of his country and faith, and he was respected for that. The Moor wore a simple loose abornoz, or cloak, and a fulsome white turban. His posture was erect and proud, his visage pale and grave, his expression one of deep melancholy.
Ferdinand treated his royal foe with abundant courtesy. When El Zagal dismounted before him, Ferdinand scowled at this humiliation and insisted that the Moor remount. When El Zagal offered to kiss Ferdinand’s hand as an act of homage, Ferdinand pulled his hand away. El Zagal responded by kissing his own hand in the manner of Moorish sovereigns. If these acts showed great sensitivity, they were undermined by forcing El Zagal to stand and witness as the standard of Islam was lowered from the tower of Almería’s fortress, and the Christian standard was slowly raised.
Meekly, El Zagal gave up the last great bastion of his kingdom in exchange for a slender valley northeast of Almería in the Alpujarras hills called the Taa of Andarax. (Taa means “obedience” in Arabic, the equivalent of vassalage.) Grand his new fief was not, but dry, remote, and poor.
Now, of the great Moorish civilization in Spain, only the bastion of Granada itself remained.
20
The 4th Day of the Moon,
Rebie Primera
GRANADA
During the moons of Muharram and Safer in the Muslim year 895, these calamities befell the Muslims of Andalusia. Only the King of Granada himself seemed at first to view the events in Baza, Guadix, and Almería positively. When Boabdil heard of El Za
gal’s capitulation, he rejoiced and gave thought to putting on his finest robes, caparisoning his favorite steed in silk and brocade, and strutting triumphantly before his people. His father was dead; his uncle had surrendered; his cousin, the Prince of Almería, had gone over to the Christian side. Now, at long last, Abu Abdullah Muhammad El Zaquir, otherwise known as Boabdil, reigned as the sole king of Granada.
“The stars have ceased their persecution,” he said in a reference to his natal horoscope. “Henceforth let no man call me The Unfortunate.”
His joy was momentary. Outside the amber walls of the Alhambra, the mood was ugly and violent. The news of El Zagal’s surrender sent shudders of fear and rage through the populace. El Zagal, at least, had resisted stoutly until the very end. His warriors of Baza had comported themselves brilliantly, harassing the enemy tirelessly, in the finest tradition of Islamic holy war, and they had wilted in exhaustion only when Allah finally showed them that further strife was pointless. If the traitor in the Alhambra had come to his uncle’s aid, the kingdom and the true faith would surely have been safe.
A wave of revulsion for Boabdil swept through the streets of Granada. Throngs poured out of the Albaicín, their numbers swollen by the hardened refugees from the battles in the east. They came down the narrow gorge of the Rio Darro from the Sacromonte and through the Arch of Elvira, until they stood in front of the Puerta de la Justicia and demanded the head of Boabdil as their justice.
Boabdil cowered in the ornate Hall of Kings, peering through the slats of his jalousied arched windows at the gathering mob, retreating to his throne room in the Hall of the Ambassadors, where he was rebuked by his domineering mother and hectored by the wailing women of his harem. As he scurried to the Tower of the Comares to look far down on the mob, he passed the exquisite, intricate facade which bespoke the greatness and the wisdom, the learning and the piety of the Nasarid kings who had come before him.
“My position is that of a crown and my door is a parting of the ways,” read the inscription from one of his radiant predecessors. “The West believes that in me is the East. Allah has entrusted me to open the way to the victory that has been foretold, and I await his coming just as the horizon ushers in the dawn. May God adorn his works with the same beauty that resides in his countenance and his nature.”
While Boabdil quailed before the ferment, the situation in the city was close to getting out of hand. In the vacuum, various high officials, viziers and mayors and generals, took it upon themselves to interpose themselves between the angry mob and their paralyzed, terrified king. From the crenellated walls, these officials argued with the hotheads below. This catastrophe was not the sole doing of their king, they shouted, but was in part the fault of all. Did not they, the people, remember their own cowardice and fickleness? Had they not fought continuously amongst themselves in past years? Had they not switched their loyalties from one leader to another, while the infidel made his inroads against a fractured nation? Thus, they had only themselves to blame. Their disunion as much as the enemy’s strength or their king’s weakness had led to this desperate turning point. Their only hope now was to set aside their anger and unite against the common foe.
For the moment, the multitude was mollified, but Boabdil knew he was not safe for long. With great urgency, he dispatched a secret envoy to Ferdinand, describing his desperate situation and requesting the Christian king to send troops immediately to rescue his loyal vassal. Ferdinand responded promptly by pouring troops into the vega in front of the city. This had an instant miraculous effect, but not the one that either Ferdinand or Boabdil foresaw. Instead of intimidating the populace, it emboldened it. The spectacle of Christian battalions arrayed across the fertile plain united the Moors more effectively than anything the windy viziers could say from the walls of the Puerta de la Justicia.
Once his soldiers were in place, Ferdinand sent his formal reply to Boabdil. Remember your agreement after your capture in Loja. Remember the renewal of your promise in the past year. Once Guadix, Baza, and Almería had fallen, once El Zagal was subdued, Granada and the Alhambra would be handed over. The time for that final act has come.
Boabdil was a weed in the wind. Turn over the Alhambra to the infidel king? He scarcely had control of the keys that led to the Courtyard of the Lions. His viziers held the power now, and they were in no mood for surrender. And so, Boabdil sent his reply to Ferdinand’s ultimatum. He must be excused from his promise, he wrote, for it was not in his power to hand over the city and its great bastion. His own generals and close advisers would not submit to deference and fealty. And so, if it please the king, he should be satisfied with the many gains that he had made and leave Granada alone.
Meanwhile, the spirit of insurrection was spreading. In the suburbs of Guadix, the natives were dissatisfied with being displaced from their city, and they rose up against its occupation. The same thing happened in the tiny consolation prize for El Zagal, his Taa of Andarax, over the ridge of the Sierra Nevada, in the south. His own citizens turned against the old warhorse and would have killed him if he had not gone into hiding. Like Boabdil, El Zagal the Valiant begged Ferdinand to subdue these insurgents. Ferdinand offered help, but El Zagal changed his mind. Rather than be hassled in his old age, he now proposed to sell his tiny fief back to the Christian king. This was done: the valley and its twenty-three villages for the firesale price of 5 million maravedis.
At that, El Zagal packed his remaining belongings and sailed for Africa, where he lived out the rest of his life in the emirate of Tlemcen (in present-day Algeria). He surely found peace there. The emirate of the Abd-el-Wahid was the capital of the Berber dynasty and a model of amity between the people of the Book. Jews, Muslims, and Christians lived comfortably side by side in this crossroads between the Mediterranean and the Sahara. The jewel of the trading city of 125,000 was the mosque of the Sweetmeat Maker (El Halawi), whose eight minarets of Algerian onyx sparkled in the blistering sun.
Back on the vega of Granada, Ferdinand scoffed at Boabdil’s letter contemptuously. The Moor’s proposal was unacceptable and impertinent. Ferdinand had run out of patience. He declared war and called for more soldiers to flood into Granada’s plain.
With nowhere to turn, Boabdil suddenly found religion. At long last, he appreciated the consequences of his weakness and subservience over the years. He must stand up and lead. He must join with his advisers and resist this Christian invasion. He called a council of war.
And so, late in the year 1490, the call to Jihad went out once again through the hilltowns and pastures that remained in Islamic control. The sultan was reinvigorated now with the passion of vengeance. The true believers were approaching the Day of Judgment. The signs were everywhere that the Hour of the Great Battle was upon them. Boabdil would lead the Mahdi army that would return in glory to restore justice after the oppression of the infidel. The end was near. The words of the Koran were luminous:
And when the sacred months have passed, kill those who join other gods with God wherever ye shall find them. And seize them, besiege them, and lay wait for them with every king of ambush. Slay the infidels. The fire of hell shall not touch the legs of him who shall be covered with the dust of battle in the road of God.
The effect was incendiary. In many places, Moors rose in rebellion against their occupiers. Control over Baza, Guadix, and Almería suddenly was cast into doubt. Especially important was the last port in Moorish hands, the tiny town of Adna, which fell quickly back into the Islamic column. Meanwhile Boabdil, suddenly emboldened, rode out of the Alhambra, invested and took the town of Alheudin, and proceeded south, ravaging through the Taa of Marchena, until he reached the more important port west of Adna called Salobreña.
Salobreña had mythic as well as strategic importance. Its tenth-century castle was perched on a rugged rocky outcropping above the town and was considered impregnable. Over the centuries it had been used as a treasury, but also a notorious Moorish prison, and not always for the enemy. Legend suggested that the M
oorish king Mohammed IX, who ruled briefly in the middle of the fifteenth century, had three sultry daughters who sizzled with the names Zaida, Zoraida, and Zorahaidan. Their disconcerting astrology suggested that the three princesses were susceptible to worldly temptation, and so their protective father locked them up in the castle of Salobreña for safekeeping. But then the sentimental old fool made the mistake of missing them and summoning them to the Alhambra. Along the way, the royal party happened upon three Christian soldiers and pounced upon them. But the Christians turned out to be better lovers than fighters.
Now Boabdil was in no sentimental mood. He came angrily, full of newfound religious indignation. The townspeople, who had submitted to Christian control as sheep, were inspired at the sight of the Muslim horde and drove their occupiers off the streets and into the rocky fortress. But this bastion rose to its reputation, and the Christian defenders were able to hold out until word got to Ferdinand. Knowing that he had no time for a protracted siege, Boabdil was unprepared to face the full wrath of Ferdinand. In disappointment, he withdrew, ravaging the fields around other Christian outposts as he returned to the Alhambra.
Another disappointment came quickly. The apostate, Cidi Yahye, the erstwhile defender of Baza who now carried the perfumed scarf of Isabella the Queen into battle on the Christian side, approached Adna. Combining the power of Ferdinand’s army and the wiles of a Moor, he outfitted a fleet of dhows and dressed its sailors in turbans to look like a rescuing squadron from Morocco. Tricked, the defenders admitted the Trojan seahorses into the harbor, and the town quickly fell back into Christian hands.
Dogs of God Page 26
