Part 6 (2/2)
”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 G.o.d 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 das.h.i.+ng 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 n.o.ble 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 a.s.sault took Muza by surprise. The Moor's horse stumbled over the ground, c.u.mbered 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, pa.s.sing 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. .h.i.therto so triumphant to the Moors.
p.r.i.c.king fast over the plain were seen the glittering hors.e.m.e.n 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 a.s.sault. 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 n.o.ble soldiery slowly breaking ground, and retiring towards the camp, even Muza could not control their ardour.
They rushed forward, hara.s.sing 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 a.s.sailants, 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, un.o.bserved, 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.
CHAPTER III. THE HERO IN THE POWER OF THE DREAMER.
It was in the same chamber, and nearly at the same hour, in which we first presented to the reader Boabdil el Chico, that we are again admitted to the presence of that ill-starred monarch. He was not alone.
His favourite slave, Amine, reclined upon the ottomans, gazing with anxious love upon his thoughtful countenance, as he leant against the glittering wall by the side of the cas.e.m.e.nt, gazing abstractedly on the scene below.
From afar he heard the shouts of the populace at the return of Muza, and bursts of artillery confirmed the tidings of triumph which had already been borne to his ear.
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