Chapter IV: The Whale of the Manzanáres (2)

"Yes, you I know," replied St. Peter; "but you don't come alone--who is that black soul with you?"

"No, Señor, I don't come alone, because I thought God loved to see men in good fellowship. This poor soul is only black because, being an escribano, some of his ink has stuck to him."

"There's no admittance here for escribanos," replied St. Peter, "so creep in alone."

"Nay, Señor; but I said not so when you came to my hut on the bleak moor and brought other twelve with you. Doesn't 'Where one can dine, two can dine,' hold good here also?"

St. Peter could not say nay, so he turned his back while the woodman took up the soul of the escribano on his shoulders and crept in under the shade of the eternal groves.

HORMESINDA.

At the period of the Moors' most complete dominion over Spain, Pelayo, the noble scion of her ancient kings, stood almost alone in the defence of his country. Undismayed by the misfortunes of his race and people, or by the oppressive rigours of the conquerors, he never tired of rousing his brethren to a sense of their shameful condition, and stirring them up to the desire of again restoring their religion and the throne of their native rulers.

Meantime, his sister Hormesinda, no less ardent and patriotic, but weaker and more short-sighted, had thought to benefit her people by sealing a compromise with the invaders. Forgetful of the religious laws which forbid such a union, she married Munuza, one of the Moorish chiefs who reigned at Gijon, and for a few years imagined she had effected wonders because she had induced the conqueror to mitigate his oppressions.

Pelayo, however, was almost more distressed at the contamination of his sister, married to an unbeliever, than by the bondage of his fellow-countrymen; and being on the point of leading the people he had collected to an attack on the Moorish Alcázar, he first obtained an interview with her, within the king's private apartments, with the view of inducing her to abandon her infidel lord.

Hormesinda, however, had chosen her path, and could not now escape its leadings; the interview was both stormy and touching. Pelayo, unflinching in his morality and patriotism, could find nothing to say to her but words of reproach. And Hormesinda could only urge, that though she might have been wrong in marrying the Moor, yet, now her word, and life, and love were pledged to him, she could not leave him.

Munuza despised the Christians, and so Pelayo had no difficulty in gaining access to Hormesinda accompanied by the venerable Veremundo, his father; but a Jew in Munuza's service having betrayed the information that he had no less a person than Pelayo himself in his power, he ordered him to be captured and thrown into a dismal dungeon called a mazmorra.

No sooner did Munuza know that he had nothing to fear from Pelayo, than it became evident his moderation towards the Christians had been dictated less by Hormesinda's representations than by dread of Pelayo's reprisals, for he now began to add to the burdens of the conquered, without mercy. To crown all, he issued a decree by which all who would not make themselves Mohammedans were declared to be slaves.

This measure completed the indignation of the Christians; and when it became known where Pelayo was held in durance, it needed but little urging of Leandro, his brother, to lead the outraged population to the assault of the Alcázar of Gijon.

The impetuosity of the despairing population was irresistible. Munuza, inclined to despise them at first, found himself surrounded before he was aware, and sallied out with his reserve to give life to his troops and repel the insurgents. He had no sooner left the precincts of the palace than Hormesinda took advantage of the circumstance to set free her brother, who was thus enabled to show himself at the head of his people like a miraculous apparition, inspiring them with courage to drive all before them.

Munuza, obliged to escape for his life, re-entered the Alcázar, where Hormesinda awaited him with feminine tenderness, desirous only to make a bulwark of her body between him and Pelayo's fury. Munuza, however, had doubtless courage, though it was the courage of an infidel; and not only refused to owe his life to the protection of a woman, but recognizing that it was her hand alone could have set his captive free, stabbed her and himself just in time to die at the entering feet of Pelayo and his victorious host.

This victory of the Christian arms was the first-fruits of many others, which, hardly fought through succeeding centuries, restored at last the whole of Spain to Christendom.

FILIAL LOVE BEFORE ALL.

Among the countless romantic chronicles of heroism which form the basis of the popular literature of Spain, there are none more multiplied or more interesting than those relating to the Cid Don Rodrigo. His valorous services against the Moorish oppressors of his country were never forgotten by its grateful people; and every campaign, every act of his life became the theme of a chronicle or a ballad. It is scarcely remarkable that one so noted for his dauntless demeanour through life should have been a good and dutiful son in his youth; nor that one of his most celebrated deeds was prompted by the dictates of filial duty.

His father, Don Diego Lainez, was one of the most valiant knights of King Fernando of Castille. The king valued the old man, and loved to distinguish him with his special favour; but when he chose him for the governor of the young prince his son, he did it not so much to secure him the wisest counsellor of his kingdom as to honour the old man before his people.

Now at King Fernando's court there was a noble, the Conde Lozano, as valiant and celebrated as Don Diego, but far from possessing his virtues.

Conde Lozano no sooner heard of Don Diego's elevation than his heart was filled with rage and envy, which blinded his reason. Without stopping to consider the folly and wickedness of the action, he hastened to meet the venerable Don Diego, and loaded him with vituperation. Don Diego, with Christian moderation, strove to appease him.

Conde Lozano had a daughter who had all her life been the playmate of Don Diego's son Rodrigo. Nothing could be more devoted than the love of the two children for each other; and their union had been long looked upon by both as only waiting their coming of due age for its celebration.

This consideration Don Diego at last resorted to, thinking that the Conde had only to be reminded of such a tie to staunch his indignation. But it was far otherwise. "Indeed no," he replied with bitter irony, "now that his father has received such a distinguished position, the youth ought to have very different ideas. There is nothing to which he may not aspire now; and his flight shall certainly not be cut short by being tied to my poor daughter."

"It is not his father's position that can make any difference in his prospects," firmly responded Don Diego; "he must win his own claim to honour by defending his country against its invaders, as all his ancestors have done."

The Conde was in that state of unreasonable humour which takes offence at every word.

"His ancestors, indeed!" he exclaimed. "Why do you remind me of them? Have they done more than I?"

"All Spain speaks of their valour."

"Then Spain unjustly lavishes on them praise due to me!"

"The king acknowledges it in the honour he has conferred on my person!"

"It is your old age, not your merit, that moved him; had he thought of merit, he would have given the office to me!"

"The best proof of where he considered merit to be, is seen by looking where he conferred the reward!"

"You mean to say, that I have no merit!" cried the Count, now losing all command of himself; and before Don Diego could show him that was not what he had said, he dealt him a blow on the face, and at the same time threw his sword on the ground, to show that it was a premeditated affront, and he had done it rather than afford him the satisfaction of a fair fight.

It is hardly possible in these days to realize the full extent of such an insult. In the semi-barbarous code which a life of continual warfare kept up, nothing but the life-blood of the offender could wipe out such a stain. Rodrigo came in while his father was yet chafing under the affront, which was not only regarded as personal, but as an injury to his whole house and lineage. It needed only to tell young Rodrigo, to rouse his choler, for the blood of his ancestors flowed warm within him, and young as he was, he knew that upon him devolved the duty of asserting the honour of his house. His father had no need to urge him. "You shall see, father, that I am not unworthy of the blood I inherit from you."

"But there is one thing I have to tell you; yet one thing, which is like to cool your courage more than the fear of essaying your first arms against a tried warrior. Know that he who, with the five darts of his right hand, struck through the grey beard of my old age, was none other than----"

"Tell me but his name, and I will smite him, whoever it may be!" interposed the impetuous youth.

"He was none other than Xiména's father!"

The shock, so unexpected, was almost more than Rodrigo could bear. The mantling colour fled from his cheek. What were now to become of all the hopes of his young life? Either he must suffer the affront to remain a stain on the honour of his house, or he must avenge it, and for ever give up Xiména. No! his father's honour was before any other consideration. Whatever it might cost him, he must, must assert that. And he hesitated no longer.

The Conde Lozano received him with all his superciliousness, asked him what he wanted with him, called him a "plucky little boy," and bid him do what his "dad" had told him, "like a good child."

Rodrigo felt too deeply the force of his wrongs and sufferings to have any heart to bandy words with him; he had come to demand satisfaction, and, by his knightly honour, the Conde could not refuse.

So they went out into the open, and drew their swords, leaving it to God to declare the right, for indeed, "the battle is not to the strong;" and so the sword of the stripling prevailed that day, and the bold, proud man fell vanquished at his feet.

The lifeless body of her father was brought in to Xiména. Helpless and filled with horror, she hastened to the presence of the king, to demand justice, little dreaming it was her Rodrigo she was denouncing. The king, equally ignorant of Rodrigo's part in the matter, readily promised it, and gave orders for the arrest of the offender. But in the meantime Don Diego came in to denounce himself as the instigator of the deed. In his own manly way, he detailed the provocation he had received and the prowess of his son, and offered his own grey head in reparation, if the king judged that blood so shed called for justice.

The king refused to decide a matter of so great moment without his council, and put off considering the case till it should meet; meantime Diego was suffered to go at large, on parole that he would not leave Burgos.

The knight immediately sought out his gallant boy, whom he found trying to make his peace with and console Xiména; but Xiména would not be comforted. Only when he told her how miserable he was, she consented to listen to him; and then he reasoned with her, and asked her, Spaniard as he was, what could he have done otherwise? Had he preferred his own love for her to his father's honour, would she have smiled on him then? Would she not have spurned him with contempt? She could not deny that. She admired his filial love and bravery; but her loss was fresh upon her, and she could not bear to see the sword which had executed her father hanging by his side.

Then it was Don Diego came in; and the meeting between the aged sire, proud of his noble son, and the son who had preferred filial duty before every other consideration, was a touching one; but fate required it should be brief. Don Diego was obliged to tear himself from his arms, and advise his leaving Burgos immediately; for, he said, "prudent and pious as you are, it is well you should not be taken; for when a man is taken and placed on trial, there is at least an idea of guilt passes upon him. It is better, my son, to avoid even this." And so he sent him to the wars and told him to come back conqueror of the Moors, and the brightness of his fame should thus disperse the cloud which now hung over him.

Rodrigo was loth to part from Xiména without a sign of reconciliation; but his father urged his immediate departure, and his filial piety again prevailed. "I hear and obey," he meekly answered, and so he went to fight the Moors.

A year and a day had passed away, and Count Lozano was quite forgotten, when all Burgos was set rejoicing at the deliverance which a young knight had effected over the Moors.

The king was keeping high court, when one day the venerable Don Diego came before him, bringing the standards which the young knight, his son Rodrigo, had taken. He told of how he had overcome hardship and peril, had cleared the roads of marauders, had fought his way up to Celin, the Moorish King of Mérida, had called him to meet him in single combat, had overcome him, and set free five Christian kings whom he held in cruel chains.

The narrative was received with joyful acclamations, the trumpets sounded, and, at a sign from the king, admission was given to the youthful hero, who threw himself at the monarch's feet. Fernando raised him in his arms, and presented him with honour to his court. His pardon was assured, and old Don Diego was radiant with joy.

Suddenly, however, there was a commotion in the assembly; Xiména demanded audience of the king. She had come to ask whether any amount of honourable service could neutralize a sentence of death incurred--and if not, why was Rodrigo treated with honour, instead of being imprisoned as a criminal?

Now, Fernando could have explained to her the motives on which he had acted--could have bid her remember how it was Conde Lozano who had called down on himself the retribution he had suffered--could have pointed out the dangers that surrounded the kingdom, and the need in which it stood of men of fearless mind, such as Rodrigo; but, with the wisdom of a Solomon, he took a line which was better than argument. "If such is your will, maiden," he replied, "I have nothing to say. You are the only living representative of the deceased Conde: if you maintain your charge against him, it is not for me to withstand it. Guards, lead Don Rodrigo to prison!"

Don Diego, with all his fortitude, could not keep himself from falling on his son's neck in an agony of despair. Rodrigo himself was shaken by his father's grief. And all the nobles gave signs of compassion at the misfortune of one so young and brave.

Xiména had kept herself proud and erect while the gladsome welcome had sounded in her ears as an injury to Conde Lozano's memory. But when she saw the scene of mourning around her, despair took possession of her too, and she fell into Urraca the Infanta's arms.

"It is because you would not take my advice, and look at him," whispered Urraca. "Had you looked on his noble face, you never could have done it."

"I knew it, and therefore I dared not look," she replied.

"Look at him now," pleaded Urraca.

The guards were leading him out, and his head was bent to the ground; but at that moment their eyes met, and both felt that he must not die.

That night he was in his prison. She could not rest in her chamber: the guard had respect for her orders, for she was an earl's daughter, and he let her stand behind an arch where she could hear him talking with his faithful esquire.

"Think no more of Xiména," said the esquire: "she loves you not."

"Nay, say not so," he answered. "Wrong her not. I know she loved me, and she could not change; therefore she loves me yet. As she was to me when I encountered the Conde, so was I to her when she denounced me to the king; and in what she has done to honour her father's memory, she has shown her true nobility."

"It may be very grand," said the esquire, "but it is yet hard you should have to die."

"Hard! Of what use would life be to me if Xiména will not be mine? I have only one use for it; and if she requires it of me, it is a joy to yield it up at her behest."

When Xiména heard him express so much devotion for her, and judge her so justly and tenderly, she could bear to hear no more, lest her tears should betray her. She withdrew to her chamber, but could not sleep; but when her tired eyelids, weary with watching, closed, there seemed to come a sweet, soft voice, as of an angel, which spoke of pardon and forgiveness, and of mercy more sweet than justice. And before her eyes there floated visions of terrible Moorish hordes encompassing her native land, spreading fire and sword over its smiling plains; and there rode out against them a single youth, clad in bright armour, and wherever he raised his flashing sword the ranks of the enemy gave way and fled before him.

And when the morning light came in, and chased these phantasms away, she rose and went to the king, and asked the liberation of him whose condemnation she had sought yesterday.

Then the king saw that his stratagem had answered well, and that he had done right to trust to her woman's heart. So he ordered Rodrigo to be brought forth, and pronounced him free. And then he joined their hands and gave them to each other, and told them they were worthy of each other, for each had preferred a father's honour before the love of their own heart; and now it was his royal will that they should forget the past, and live for each other in the future.

RAGUEL; OR, THE JEWESS OF TOLEDO.

Alfonso VIII., King of Castille, succeeded to his throne in troublous times. His native country was overrun and subjugated by a people alien in nationality and religion, and his own particular dominions were a prey to civil dissensions, which had gathered strength during his minority. The Pope, Innocent III., seeing how he was beset, had called on other Christian nations to assist him in resisting the encroachments of the Moors; and these auxiliaries had unhappily shown themselves disorderly and rapacious, wasting the territory they had come to protect. By his prudence, Alfonso found the means to remedy all these disorders in turn. His French, German, and English allies he dismissed to their own homes without involving himself in any quarrel with them. He established tolerable order and harmony among the rival families of the nobility, and he struck a blow against the Moors which they never recovered, and which deserves to be remembered as one of the noblest achievements in the history of Christendom. After driving their hordes before him across the Sierra Morena, he gave them battle at a place called Las Navas de Tolosa, undismayed by their overpowering numbers. During the early part of the day, it had seemed impossible to resist their countless hordes. "Father," said Alfonso, turning to the Archbishop of Toledo, "here are we called upon to lay down our life for the Faith." "Nay," answered the prelate, with almost prophetic instinct, "say, rather, here are we called to establish the triumph of the Faith." The cross-bearer, filled with ardour at the words, rushed into the thickest of the fray; the Christian soldiery hastened to protect the venerated sign, and so great was the enthusiasm which Alfonso's bravery kindled, that the infidel host was entirely routed, and its commander ran away into Africa.

Yet, notwithstanding his bravery and his wisdom, Alfonso, like King Solomon of old, found it a harder matter to govern himself than to govern his kingdom; and though he had vanquished his adversaries, he suffered himself to be led away by his passions.

At Toledo, now a splendid ruin, then the magnificent capital of his kingdom, was a beautiful Jewish maiden, named Raguel or Rachel, for whom he conceived a strong attachment. Now the precepts alike of his religion and of his high position precluded his union with a Jewess and an obscure person, yet for all this he refused to part from her. The voice of the Archbishop, which had so notably animated his drooping spirits on the field of battle, was powerless with him now; and he warned him in vain for seven years.

Mindful of the services he had rendered them, and for which they had awarded him the appellation of "the Noble," the people bore with the scandal all these years in silence, though with averted faces; but at last, when they found him gradually more and more unmindful of his former virtues, and all his prowess forgotten that he might squander his time and his revenues on the fancies of the Jewish maiden, murmurs began to arise, and they determined to deliver their noble king from her enchantments.

Hernan García de Castro and Alvar Fañez, two of the highest nobles of Castille, were foremost in leading the resolve of the people, and urging it on the king. They had never failed his summons in the hour of danger, they had fought bravely by his side against their country's enemies, and their virtue and valour gave weight to their words. Yet the king was so tardy in attending to them that the people lost all patience.

The king was keeping his court in the sumptuous Alcázar, the palatial fortress whose ruins even yet strike the traveller with admiration. Abandoning himself to the enjoyments of the delightful spot, Raguel and he sat one day, surrounded by their favourites and flatterers. "May divine Raguel's surpassing beauty ever continue to be the aurora of Toledo, ever enamel its brilliant sunlight!" said one of their minstrels, to the accompaniment of his joyous instrument.

"May she rejoice in her surpassing beauty as many ages as there are sands of gold [94] under the limpid torrent of crystal Tagus!" responded another.

Suddenly there burst on their affrighted ears the noise of a tumultuous gathering of people. The venal minions fled. The king, still worthy of himself, rose to show himself to his people, and Raguel was left alone to hear her sentence pronounced in ominous shouts from without:--

"Muera Raguel, para que Alfonso viva!"
"Rachel must die, that Alfonso may live!"

García de Castro stood between the king and his angry people. The king called him a traitor; and he knelt and laid his sword at his feet, offering willingly to receive sentence of death if he could be proved a traitor, but insisting on being heard first. He then exposed to the king the wrongs of which his people complained. He asked him of what use were all the laurels he had gathered in the earlier part of his reign, if they were to be hung up to wither out of sight.

"Corn cannot ripen if the sun withhold its rays, flowers will not flourish if the gardener neglect to water them, neither can the Castilian people prosper if their king hide himself from them." So well did the intrepid García plead the right cause, that the king, overcome by his righteous arguments, promised to be himself again, to dismiss Raguel, and live once more for his subjects.

Delighted with his promise, the people returned peaceably to their homes.

The king, however, was not so strong as he thought. He imagined he had conquered himself, and went to take leave of Raguel. But the beautiful Jewess had no idea of letting him off so easily. Decked in her most captivating attire, she came out to meet him, and with her graces and tears succeeded so well in undermining his determination, that his promise was forgotten; and, like the phoenix from its ashes, Raguel rose more powerful than ever, and more dangerous too, for now a struggle had begun between her and the people--one or the other must be vanquished.

Infatuated by her entreaties, the king went so far as to place her on the throne. The indignation of the Castilians at seeing a low-born Jewess on the ancient seat of their monarchs, can scarcely be conceived; but it overflowed all bounds, when decree after decree went forth, heaping taxes on the Christian population and exemptions on the Jews--when proscriptions and executions of the highest in the land were threatened, and the noble García himself was sent into exile.

In this last step Raguel had outwitted herself. García gone, there was no one to act as moderator of the people. They rose in mass and stormed the palace; assembling in the basilica, they solemnly pronounced her worthy of death as an enemy of their king and country, and with desperate resolve drew their swords and turned to execute their award on the spot.

The king was absent on a hunting expedition; but García, who had heard of the new rising of the people, risked his life by infringing the sentence of banishment in order to save the life of his persecutor.

He succeeded in reaching her before the people had made their way into her apartment, and telling her of her danger, urged her to fly. But, loth to lose her high position, she refused, calling on her guards to defend her. The Castilian guards, however, refused to draw on their countrymen in defence of a Jewess. Meantime the people streamed in, and rushed upon her.

"Stay," said García, "stain not the bright steel of your Toledan blades with blood which belongs only to the sword of the executioner."

And his voice acted for a moment like the spell upon them.

But they were determined not again to leave it in her power to trample on their ancient institutions, and once more turned to slay her.

Then Alvar Fañez drew from his hiding-place behind the throne, a trembling Jew, who had been Raguel's minister in her elevation, but had not the courage to defend her now, and compelled him to be her executioner.

The king, hastily recalled from the chase, arrived but in time to see her expire. In the first burst of grief and fury he would have steeped his sword deep in the blood of his subjects; but once more the good García interposed, and by his temperate counsels recalled him to reason. When the violent throbbing of his agony had subsided, he acknowledged that his people had acted as a wise surgeon, that he alone had been in fault, that his punishment was deserved, and once more he was hailed as

Alfonso el Noble.

DON JAIME DE ARAGON.

The good King of Aragon whom men call Jaime, was wondrous brave. Day and night he bethought him by what new means he could increase the glory of the Christian faith, and lay low the power of the usurping Moor.

He called together the nobles of every degree belonging to his kingdom, the archbishops and prelates, and all the orders of knights, and summoned them to meet him in his good town of Zaragoza on a certain day.

When they had all come together, he spoke thus to them:--"My soul is greatly grieved that our fair Island of Mallorca [95] should remain in the hand of the Moor; the voice of our Divine religion is silenced, and Al Korán is openly taught. The noble seaport of Valencia, too, so rich and flourishing, which the Cid won back for us once, to our shame is now retaken by the infidel. Now I have resolved that I will spare nothing, not even my own life, to recover these two strongholds. For I trust in the protection of Christ, that He will give us the victory according to our prayers. To this end, then, I have called you together, to tell you this my resolve, and to seek your counsel as to the means of compassing it."

To which they all responded with a shout of confident joy:--"Be it done in the Name of God, that which his Highness desires; for in an undertaking so honourable our goods and our lives shall not fail him!"

The bearers of all the noble names of Aragon sent forth their sons that day; and Barcelona by the sea welcomed them, and gave them all provisions for the undertaking with no measured hand. She found them ships too to take over their arms and men. And when the king found all was ready and nothing wanting, he took his place on the ship, and his nobles followed round him. At break of day next morning the trumpet gave a blast, and so they set sail, that gallant host, with shouts and tears of joy, all the brave colours waving which they had borne in many a fight. The cross they bore aloft, and the Virgin Mary's image, and that, too, of St. George, who always watched over Aragon.

Proudly they skimmed the water, the oars of the galleys cut the waves, and the white sails cut the air; for they knew that there gazed upon them, from out Monjuy so high, the ladies fair they had left behind, praying for victory.

Now as they neared Mallorca, the Moors were all amazed; to their shores they rushed in sudden haste, striving vainly to drive back the Christian host. So a bloody fight ensued; but the Christians won the day; and with the help of God the cross was raised once more on all the islands near.

They then came back by Valencia, laid siege to its strong walls; nor could its fortifications stand before their impetuous onset. So good King Jaime of Aragon came home covered with glory and renown.

DON ALONSO DE AGUILAR.

The hosts of King Don Ferdinand were gathered under his banner to go out and recover Granada from the dominion of the Moors. All the nobles of Spain were there in their strong shining armour of wrought steel inlaid with gold. It was St. Michael's day in the morning, and the king called the principal of them into his tent, and thus said to them:--"Who will be the knight who, to show his prowess and to cover his name with glory in succeeding generations, will go up for me to the Snowy Sierra [96]."

But the nobles looked one on the other, and no one said "I will;" for if it was a perilous adventure to go, the return was utterly uncertain. And for the fear that filled them, you could see their very beards tremble.

Then arose Don Alonso, who was called "of Aguilar," and said, "Good King, I will go. This enterprise is such as I seek. I have no desire in life but to die defending my country from the infidel folk; and may Christ give me the mastery!"

So he put on his armour before the king--his armour all damascened with gold, and bestrode his noble steed, and slung his broad shield on his arm, and took in his hand a stout lance with a sharp iron head. Right valiant he looked in his might as he rode at the head of his troop.

And they crossed the Snowy Sierra and soon came in sight of the Moors. And the Moors poured down upon them so closely that they were well-nigh overwhelmed by numbers. Then the Christian ranks gave way, and began to fly from the face of the Moor.

Now, when brave Don Alonso saw them give way, he called to them with a mighty voice and said, "Turn! caballeros, turn! Turn back to the battle; for though they against us be many, a coward still is he who shows fear! Remember the mighty deeds of your old Castilian fathers. Better is it here to die in the noble profession of arms, than to crawl back to your firesides and live a dishonoured life. Thus dying you will live, for your fame shall be sung throughout Spain; for life soon comes to an end, but honour dieth never!"

At these generous words they felt their hearts come back; each seemed filled with a giant's strength, and fought till the Moors stretched him dead.

Don Alonso remained the last, still brandishing his gory lance, and ever and anon charging the Moors with an impetuosity none could resist.

But when the Moors saw their heroes thus mown down, wounded and dead, with one consent they agreed to attack him on all sides at once. There he sat erect on his charger; his eye was full of fire, his shield shone bright on his arm--dented, indeed, but not pierced, and in his hand his stout, unbroken lance. But though his horse was so high, there lay round him such a heap of slain, that when the Moors came to the attack, as they climbed on the fallen bodies they found themselves raised to his level.

On they came with frightful algazara [97]; and, stout in each other's presence, they charged, and thrust, and charged again. The boldest ventured in front, but before they came within reach of his lance their brethren had pierced him from behind; and before he could turn to repay them, those who had been in front thrust him in the side. And they thrust his bonny horse, too; and the horse and his rider fell there, where they stood, crowning the mound of the slain. Sixteen lances had pierced Don Alonso--pierced him through and through.

But Don Alonso that day had inflicted a loss on the Moors which filled them with confusion and dismay. Then, from out their ill-guarded camp, came running a Christian captive; it was she who in days gone by had brought up the young Don Alonso.

Guided by the instinct of a mother, she at once descried his form as it lay crowning the heap of the victims of his prowess.

So she fell on his neck and wept, and wept till she swooned away, and wept when she woke again. And she stroked his long, dark hair, and his cheek that was ashy pale; and his eyes, that could never more see her, she closed with a mother's care. Then she wrung her fair, white hands, and she raised her cry to God; and her cry must have pierced the clouds as it pierced the hearts of men.

"Don Alonso! my Alonso!" she cried. "Now, God receive thy soul; for the cruel Moors have killed thee, the Moors of Alpujarra! And now all Spain shall mourn thee, mourn thee as a mother mourns, lamenting thine early death! And King Ferdinand shall mourn thee, for he has never a knight like thee! Aguilar and Montilla shall mourn thee, for they'll ne'er have a lord like thee! And all the host shall mourn thee, for not one has a comrade like thee! But the angels in heaven mourn not, for my boy is among them with joy; for he died resisting the pagans who devoured his country fair."

So she tried, but in vain, to smile, for her mother's heart was weak; and in the effort it broke, and she fell icy cold at his feet.

Now an ancient Moor came by, whose beard was long and grey; and she lay so helpless there, he saw he had nothing to fear, so he drew his scimitar, and with stealthy steps crept near and severed her dying head, holding it up by the long dark hair.

By the long dark hair he bore it, to lay at the feet of the king. Now the Moorish king rejoiced when he knew Don Alonso was dead, Don Alonso of Aguilar; so he told them to take his body, and that of his mother as well, and bear to Don Fernando, the king.

And Don Fernando said, "Good service this day was done by Alonso of Aguilar; and though by the Moors he has died, his memory yet shall live; his deeds shall clothe every knight, in the fancy of every Moor, with power to equal the prowess of Alonso of Aguilar."

THE BLACK CHARGER OF HERNANDO.

Hernando was a poor knight, who had spent all in the service of his country. He had nothing to call his own but his stout armour, his high-couraged black charger, and his bold lance; and with these he was ever in the thickest of the fray against the Moors. But at last his turn came; and in return for the losses he had caused them, the Moors contrived to surround and slay him.

Now, when his black charger knew that his master was wounded to death, like a valiant steed true to his Christian master, he turned and bore him out of the fight to a lonely dell, where a pious hermit might minister the last consolations of religion to his parting soul. But a sordid Moor, seeing the helpless dying man thus borne along, determined to possess himself of his stout armour and his bold black charger; he followed with fruitless attempts to arrest the gallant beast until it pleased him to stop before the hermit's cell, where it waited patiently while they lifted the sacred burden down--the hermit and the Moor together; for the Moor desired to possess himself of the outer shell of his armour, and the hermit, the inner shell, namely, his body, that the kernel, that is his soul, might go up holy and clean before God. Then his soul had scarcely passed away, when the Moor stripped him of his armour, and packed it all safely on the back of the black charger, and prepared to lead him home, for he was afraid himself to mount him. But the black charger no sooner perceived his dear master's remains safe in the care of the hermit, to bury them, and his armour safe in his own, than he started off at his wildest speed, leaving the Moor who had ventured to lay his infidel hands on the reins, to measure his length in the dust. And on and on he went, nor stopped till he reached Hernando's hillside home.

Doña Teresa, his wife, had never ceased every day to look out for her Hernando's return. And when she saw his black charger, bearing his empty armour, she knew at once all that had come to pass; and like a noble Christian spouse, she had the strength to thank God that her Hernando had spent his life in the service of his religion and his country. Then she took his precious armour and laid it safely by, and she caressed the gallant black charger, and led him away to his fresh-littered stall.

Then every day she tried the armour on the young Hernando, and made him bestride the black charger, that he might be a valiant slayer of Moors like his father.

Now young Hernando was slight, and young Hernando was pale. And he shrank from the cold, hard armour, and the tall, snorting steed. But his mother Teresa was brave, brave as became a Christian spouse, and she listened not to his fears; but bade him be of good heart, and put his trust in Christ.

And at last the day came when she bade him go forth and do battle to the Moors. Young Hernando's heart beat high, for his spirit indeed was willing; and he burned to add his name to the long traditions of prowess which his mother told him of his house. But his arm was all untried, and he shrank from the thought of pain, for the young tender flesh was weak. But he would not belie his mother, so he crossed the bold black charger; and the noble charger snorted, when he felt that once more he bore a Christian to the battle. By night they travelled on; and by day they slept in the shade. In the morning, when the sun began to dawn, they rose, and set out on their way; and as they crossed a plain, young Hernando saw a tall Moor coming towards them. And his heart smote him for fear; and he would gladly have turned out of the way. But he bethought him it became not a Christian to shrink away before a Moor; so he nerved him with what courage he might, and rode on steadily along his way.

Now, when the bold black charger scented the Pagan hound, he snorted, and shook his mane, and darted to the encounter. So young Hernando was borne along, and found himself face to face with his foe. Then his father's shield rose to protect him; and the lance lifted up his arm; and the black charger rode at the Moor; and the lance cast him down from his seat. Then the sword leaped from its scabbard, and planting itself in young Hernando's grasp, struck off the pagan's head.

So Hernando tied the head to his saddle and bound the body upon its mule. Thus he rode on to the town--to the town of Royal Burgos. And when the people saw him bestriding the bold black charger, the grisly head hanging from his saddle, and the headless body following behind, bound fast to the African mule, they cried, "All hail to the victor! All hail to young Hernando, who conquered the pagan Moor!"

And so they brought him to the king, and his ghastly burden with him, and the headless rider behind. And the king rose and embraced him, and the queen held her fair white hand and gave it the youth to kiss. And she said, "A youth so comely and valiant should have armour rich and bright, and a steed with a shining coat." So she called a page to bring a suit of polished steel, and a horse from the royal stables, and present them to young Hernando. Then they took off his ancient armour and laid it on the old black charger, and Hernando donned the new, and sprang into the saddle of the horse from the royal stall.

Now the bold black charger was grieved to be thus set aside, so he snorted and turned his head and rode back to Doña Teresa. When Doña Teresa saw him ride back with the empty armour, she thought that her son was dead, and rejoiced as a Christian mother, that the Moors had sent him to glory. So she laid up the ancient armour, and caressed the bold black charger, and led him to his fresh-littered stall.

Young Hernando meantime feared, as he sat on the fiery steed; for in his far-off hillside home he had but that black charger tried. Nor had he learnt to handle the weapons they gave him to bear.

But the king, who had seen him come in bearing along such goodly spoils, took him for a practised warrior, and gave him a work to do which needed a valiant heart. "Now keep this pass," he said, "for the rocks are narrow and high, and one at a time, as the enemy comes, with your sword you will strike them down."

Young Hernando durst not say 'Nay;' for his spirit within him was bold, though his young tender flesh was weak. And as he watched there alone, with only the moon for guide, "Oh, had I my old black charger, and my father's armour!" he cried. And the bold black charger felt, as he stood in his far-off stall, that his master's son was in danger, and he snorted to get away. And Doña Teresa knew when she heard him snort and snort there was work to do far away. So she bound the armour on him, and away he fled like the wind, nor stopped till he reached Hernando.

"To me! my bold black charger! To me! 'tis yet in time! To me!" And he mounted the charger bold, in his father's armour clad.

Then stealthily came the Moors, all creeping through the pass, and Hernando's lance and Hernando's sword laid them low on the ground that night. And when the king came up, Hernando sat at his post, and his prostrate foes around him.

When the king saw he had done so bravely, he would have given him a new suit of armour, and a new bright-coated steed. But Hernando said, "Good king! pray leave me my father's armour and my father's charger bold, for I am but a stripling, and my hand and my arm are weak, but my father's arms and my father's steed alone put the foe to flight."

So the king let him have his will; and as he found him so brave and successful against the Moors, he sent him to carry a message of encouragement to Don Diaz, to whom the Moors had laid siege. Now, as he came back from the errand, he was crossing the lonely plain, when anon it was covered with horsemen--Moorish horsemen, arrayed in their might. He knew that his trust was sacred, and he might not endanger the letter he bore by encountering so overpowering a host. But 'twas vain that he tried to turn, for the bold black charger refused; but, as if he had been spurred, with his might he dashed right into the Pagan midst. The lance sprang in Hernando's hand and pierced through the Moorish king. Then the host, dismayed, exclaimed, "This one rider alone in his strength, no mortal man is he: it is one of their Christian saints come down to scatter the Prophet's band." So they turned and fled apace, and on the black charger rode behind; and Hernando's lance and Hernando's sword laid low the straggling host.

And such fear had fallen on all the Prophet's children that day, that on bended knee they sent to sue a truce of the Christian king. And to purchase a term of rest, they set all their captives free, and with tribute and with hostages made peace with the Christian king.

So young Hernando rode home--to his home by the steep hillside. And Doña Teresa came out to greet her boy on his gallant steed. And with her, fair Melisenda walked, who a gentler greeting gave; she was his bride betrothed, and she knew that now peace was made, they would lovingly live together, in that far-off hillside home.

And they stroked the bold black charger, and led him to his fresh-littered stall. And 'tis said that while yet the land was blighted by one strange [98] Moor, that bold black charger never died; but whenever the fight raged high, or the Christian host needed aid, there he bore his rider to turn the day. But where he died or when he fell, no mortal ever knew.

THE INFANTE DON HENRIQUE AND THE LIONS.

The Infante Don Henrique had a dispute with his brother, King Alfonso. And, as he wished not to fight with him, thought it most prudent to go over to Barbary. As the King of Tunis had been in great awe of his father, and was very desirous not to run any risk of a collision with the Christians, he took pains to treat Don Henrique well, and entertained him honourably for more than four years, and instructed all his people to behave to him kindly.

Mean time, Don Henrique's princely bearing won all hearts. In all games, and feats of strength and horsemanship, and trials of arms, he bore away the palm; so that all men admired him and cried, "God save him!" till at last the advisers of the King of Tunis feared that they would want next to make him their king, and they would all be under power of the Christians, and the name of the Prophet be put out.

Don Henrique was so valiant, however, and so were all the Christians, his companions, that they dared not attack him openly. And the king saw the danger full well, but durst not interfere either to attack or defend him, for he was divided between love for the young prince and alarm for his own safety.

At last, an astute old Moor devised a plan which should rid them of the young prince without putting them in any danger of suffering from his resistance or the vengeance of his followers, for it should not appear that they of the Moorish sect had any thing to do with it, but it should seem a natural calamity.

The old Moor poured it into the king's ear, and the king could not but say it was well found; and, for all his love for the young prince, he could not resist taking so easy a way for ridding himself of a great danger.

The young prince, in his ingenuousness, suspected nothing. He was used to go out hunting with the king; and now that he invited him to a hunting party, he was only glad to join the gallant sport.

The Moorish king led him on, away from the rest of the party, into a wild part of the thicket, which, according to the plan of the old Moor, had been turned into a corral, or enclosed ground having no outlet, but so overgrown with bushes, that the prince could not perceive the trap. Then the old Moor, who was on the watch, as soon as they entered the fatal precincts, gave a signal to his men, who let loose and turned in two fierce hungry lions. The prince, not at all dismayed, drew his sword, and rode right up to them. The lions cowered before his prowess, and did not attempt to attack him, so he drove them before him across the corral, and then he saw it was closed in and had no opening but into the den where the lions had been kept; he shut them in and made it fast, and knew now it was a snare; but the king, not daring to face him, had turned and ridden away.

The prince's heart was grieved, for he had thought the king was his friend, but he said, "I will not remain where my presence is considered a burden." The Spanish companions with him wanted him to wreak signal vengeance on the treacherous pagans, but Don Henrique said, "As I am a Christian, I shed no man's blood in personal vengeance; but neither will I leave this ungrateful land without one stroke for Christ. Now these pagans hold in bondage a multitude of Christian captives; go, tell their king that if he fears our presence, we will go, but we leave not our brethren behind."

When the king found that his plan had failed, he was filled with anger at the old man who had invented it, that he sent and cut off his head, and then he sat trembling with fear at the vengeance Don Henrique might take. So, when they brought him his message, he received it with gladness, and ordered that all who had Christian slaves in their house should give them up to Don Henrique. And, as Don Henrique's galleys were not enough to contain all the multitude of captives he had saved, the king ordered others to be lent him, so that only the danger might be removed from his coast.

Then the Christian fleet set sail, and God sent them a prosperous wind; and so they came to Rome, where Don Henrique joined the banner of Charles of Anjou, and did deeds of valour in his cause.

BLANCA THE HAUGHTY.

The Count of Tolosa had a beautiful daughter called Blanca, and he had promised her in marriage to the son of the Count of Barcelona. Both were young, and rich, and noble; and all the people from both provinces gathered together to celebrate the wedding with every testimony of interest in their happiness. But Blanca was very self-willed; she had always had every thing her own way--a noble palace in the midst of an enchanting country, plenty of servitors to do her bidding, many knights to contend for her favour; and she seemed to fancy that the whole earth and all who lived in it were made for her, and that all must conform themselves to her desires. Nothing was ever good enough to please her.

Her father had thought she would grow out of these foolish ways as she became older and wiser, and had never duly corrected her; and she, meanwhile, became more practised in them, and chose the occasion of her marriage-fête for the wildest of all her pranks.