CHAPTER LIX

Chronicle of the Conquest of Granada

by Washington Irving

CHAPTER LIX, CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA by Washington Irving

HOW A MOORISH SANTON UNDERTOOK TO DELIVER THE CITY OF
MALAGA FROM THE POWER OF ITS ENEMIES.


There lived at this time in a hamlet in the neighborhood of Guadix
an ancient Moor of the name of Ibrahim el Guerbi. He was a native
of the island of Guerbes, in the kingdom of Tunis, and had for several
years led the life of a santon or hermit. The hot sun of Africa had
dried his blood, and rendered him of an exalted yet melancholy
temperament. He passed most of his time in caves of the mountains
in meditation, prayer, and rigorous abstinence, until his body was
wasted and his mind bewildered, and he fancied himself favored with
divine revelations and visited by angels sent by Mahomet. The Moors,
who had a great reverence for all enthusiasts of the kind, believed in
his being inspired, listened to all his ravings as veritable prophecies,
and denominated him "el santo," or the saint.

The woes of the kingdom of Granada had long exasperated the gloomy
spirit of this man, and he had beheld with indignation this beautiful
country wrested from the dominion of the faithful and becoming a
prey to the unbelievers. He had implored the blessings of Allah on
the troops which issued forth from Guadix for the relief of Malaga, but
when he saw them return routed and scattered by their own countrymen,
he retired to his cell, shut himself up from the world, and was plunged
for a time in the blackest melancholy.

On a sudden he made his appearance again in the streets of Guadix,
his face haggard, his form emaciated, but his eyes beaming with
fire. He said that Allah had sent an angel to him in the solitude of
his cell, revealing to him a mode of delivering Malaga from its perils
and striking horror and confusion into the camp of the unbelievers.
The Moors listened with eager credulity to his words: four hundred
of them offered to follow him even to the death and to obey implicitly
his commands. Of this number many were Gomeres, anxious to relieve
their countrymen who formed part of the garrison of Malaga.

They traversed the kingdom by the wild and lonely passes of the
mountains, concealing themselves in the day and travelling only in
the night to elude the Christian scouts. At length they arrived at
the mountains which tower above Malaga, and, looking down, beheld
the city completely invested, a chain of encampments extending
round it from shore to shore and a line of ships blockading it by sea,
while the continual thunder of artillery and the smoke rising in
various parts showed that the siege was pressed with great activity.
The hermit scanned the encampments warily from his lofty height. He
saw that the part of the encampment of the marques of Cadiz which
was at the foot of the height and on the margin of the sea was most
assailable, the rocky soil not admitting ditches or palisadoes.
Remaining concealed all day, he descended with his followers at
night to the sea-coast and approached silently to the outworks.
He had given them their instructions: they were to rush suddenly
upon the camp, fight their way through, and throw themselves into
the city.

It was just at the gray of the dawning, when objects are obscurely
visible, that they made this desperate attempt. Some sprang suddenly
upon the sentinels, others rushed into the sea and got round the
works, others clambered over the breastworks. There was sharp
skirmishing; a great part of the Moors were cut to pieces, but about
two hundred succeeded in getting into the gates of Malaga.

The santon took no part in the conflict, nor did he endeavor to
enter the city. His plans were of a different nature. Drawing
apart from the battle, he threw himself on his knees on a rising
ground, and, lifting his hands to heaven, appeared to be absorbed
in prayer. The Christians, as they were searching for fugitives in
the clefts of the rocks, found him at his devotions. He stirred not
at their approach, but remained fixed as a statue, without changing
color or moving a muscle. Filled with surprise, not unmingled with
awe, they took him to the marques of Cadiz. He was wrapped in a
coarse albornoz, or Moorish mantle, his beard was long and grizzled,
and there was something wild and melancholy in his look that
inspired curiosity. On being examined, he gave himself out as a
saint to whom Allah had revealed the events that were to take place
in that siege. The marques demanded when and how Malaga was to
be taken. He replied that he knew full well, but he was forbidden to
reveal those important secrets except to the king and queen. The
good marques was not more given to superstitious fancies than other
commanders of his time, yet there seemed something singular and
mysterious about this man; he might have some important intelligence
to communicate; so he was persuaded to send him to the king and
queen. He was conducted to the royal tent, surrounded by a curious
multitude exclaiming "El Moro Santo!" for the news had spread through
the camp that they had taken a Moorish prophet.

The king, having dined, was taking his siesta, or afternoon's sleep,
in his tent, and the queen, though curious to see this singular man,
yet from a natural delicacy and reserve delayed until the king should
be present. He was taken, therefore, to an adjoining tent, in which
were Dona Beatrix de Bovadilla, marchioness of Moya, and Don
Alvaro of Portugal, son of the duke of Braganza, with two or three
attendants. The Moor, ignorant of the Spanish tongue, had not
understood the conversation of the guards, and supposed, from
the magnificence of the furniture and the silken hangings, that this
was the royal tent. From the respect paid by the attendants to Don
Alvaro and the marchioness he concluded that they were the king
and queen.

He now asked for a draught of water: a jar was brought to him, and
the guard released his arm to enable him to drink. The marchioness
perceived a sudden change in his countenance and something sinister
in the expression of his eye, and shifted her position to a more remote
part of the tent. Pretending to raise the water to his lips, the Moor
unfolded his albornoz, so as to grasp a scimetar which he wore
concealed beneath; then, dashing down the jar, he drew his weapon
and gave Don Alvaro a blow on the head that struck him to the earth
and nearly deprived him of life. Turning then upon the marchioness,
he made a violent blow at her; but in his eagerness and agitation his
scimetar caught in the drapery of the tent; the force of the blow was
broken, and the weapon struck harmless upon some golden ornaments
of her head-dress.*

*Pietro Martyr, Epist. 62.


Ruy Lopez de Toledo, treasurer to the queen, and Juan de Belalcazar,
a sturdy friar, who were present, grappled and struggled with the
desperado, and immediately the guards who had conducted him
from the marques de Cadiz fell upon him and cut him to pieces.*

*Cura de los Palacios


The king and queen, brought out of their tents by the noise, were
filled with horror when they learned the imminent peril from which
they had escaped. The mangled body of the Moor was taken by the
people to the camp and thrown into the city from a catapult. The
Gomeres gathered up the body with deep reverence as the remains
of a saint; they washed and perfumed it and buried it with great
honor and loud lamentations. In revenge of his death they slew
one of their principal Christian captives, and, having tied his body
upon an ass, they drove the animal forth into the camp.

From this time there was appointed an additional guard around the
tents of the king and queen, composed of four hundred cavaliers of
rank of the kingdoms of Castile and Aragon. No person was admitted
to the royal presence armed; no Moor was allowed to enter the camp
without a previous knowledge of his character and business; and on
no account was any Moor to be introduced into the presence of the
sovereigns.

An act of treachery of such ferocious nature gave rise to a train of
gloomy apprehensions. There were many cabins and sheds about
the camp constructed of branches of trees which had become dry
and combustible, and fears were entertained that they might be
set on fire by the mudexares, or Moorish vassals, who visited the
army. Some even dreaded that attempts might be made to poison
the wells and fountains. To quiet these dismal alarms all mudexares
were ordered to leave the camp, and all loose, idle loiterers who
could not give a good account of themselves were taken into custody.