Spain for the Sovereigns

Chapter XII BEFORE MALAGA

Isabella sat at her sewing with her eldest daughter, the Infanta Isabella. She was conscious that now and then the girl was casting covert glances at her, and that she was on the verge of tears.

Isabella herself was fighting back her emotion. She does not know it, she told herself, but the parting is going to be even harder for me to bear than it is for her. She is young and will quickly adjust herself to her new surroundings . . . whereas I . . . I shall always miss her.

‘Mother . . .’ said the Infanta at length.

‘My dear,’ murmured Isabella; she put aside her needlework and beckoned to her daughter. The Infanta threw hers aside and ran to her mother to kneel at her feet and bury her face in her lap.

Isabella stroked her daughter’s hair.

‘My dearest,’ she said, ‘you will be happy, you know. You must not fret.’

‘But to go away from you all! To go to strangers . . .’

‘It is the fate of Infantas, my darling.’

‘You did not, Mother.’

‘No, I stayed here, but many efforts were made to send me away. If my brother Alfonso had lived, doubtless I should have married into a strange country. So much hangs on chance, my dearest; and we must accept what comes to us. We must not fight against our destinies.’

‘Oh, Mother, how fortunate you were, to stay in your home and marry my father.’

Isabella thought fleetingly of the first time she had seen Ferdinand; young, handsome, virile. She thought of the ideal she had built up and the shock of discovering that she had married a sensual man. She had come to her marriage hoping for a great deal and had received less than she hoped for. She prayed that her daughter would find in marriage something more satisfying than she had thought possible.

‘Your Alonso will be as beloved by you as Ferdinand is by me,’ Isabella told her daughter.

‘Mother, must I marry at all? Why should I not stay here with you?’

‘It is very necessary that you should marry, my darling. A marriage between you and the heir to the throne of Portugal could bring great stability to our two countries. You see, not very long ago there was war between us. It was at the time when I came to the throne and Portugal supported the claims of La Beltraneja. The threat of La Beltraneja has always been with us, for she still lives in Portugal. Now Alonso will one day be King of Portugal, and if you marry him, my darling, you will be its Queen; our two countries would be united and this threat removed. That is what we have to think of when making our marriages – not what good it will bring to us, but what good it will bring to our countries. But do not fret, my child. There is much to be arranged yet, and these matters are rarely settled quickly.’

The Infanta shivered. ‘But they are settled . . . in time, Mother.’

‘Let us enjoy all the time that is left to us.’

The Infanta threw her arms about her mother and clung to her.

As she embraced her daughter, Isabella heard the sounds of arrival below, and she put the Infanta from her, rose and went to the window. She saw a party of soldiers from Ferdinand’s army, and she prepared to receive them immediately because she guessed that they brought news from the camp.

Ferdinand had taken possession of Velez Malaga, which was situated some five or six leagues from the great port of Malaga itself; and the King was now concentrating all his forces on the capture of this town.

The Christian armies were before Malaga, which was perhaps the most important town – next to Granada itself – in Moorish territory. It was a strongly defended fortress, rich and prosperous. The Moors were proud of Malaga, this beautiful city of handsome buildings with its fertile vineyards, olive groves and gardens of oranges and pomegranates.

They were determined to fight to the death to preserve it; thus Isabella knew that it would be no easy task for Ferdinand to take it.

Therefore she was impatient to hear what news these messengers brought from the front.

She commanded that they be brought to her presence immediately, and she did not dismiss the Infanta. She wished her daughter to know something of state matters; she did not want to send her, an ignoramus, into a strange country.

She took Ferdinand’s letters and read that the siege of Malaga had begun and that he feared it would be long and arduous. There was no hope of an easy victory. If the Moors lost the port it would be a turning point in the war, and they knew this. They were therefore as determined to hold Malaga as the Christians were to take it.

The city had been placed in the hands of a certain Hamet Zeli, a general of outstanding courage and integrity, and he had sworn that he would hold Malaga for the Moors to the death.

Ferdinand wrote: ‘And I have determined to take it, no matter what the cost. But this will give some indication of the man we have to deal with. It was brought to my notice that many of the rich townsfolk were ready to make peace with me, in order to save Malaga from destruction. I sent Cadiz to offer concessions to Hamet Zeli and the most important of the citizens if they would surrender Malaga to me. I know that many of the burghers would have accepted my offer, but Hamet Zeli intervened. “There is no bribe the Christians could offer me,” he retorted, “which would be big enough to make me betray my trust.” That is the kind of man with whom we have to deal.

‘Isabella, there is certain friction in our camp which causes me anxiety. There have been rumours of plague in some of the surrounding villages. These are unfounded, but I believe them to have been set in motion to distract our troops. There has been a shortage of water; and, I regret to say, several of the men have deserted.

‘I can think of only one person who could stop this decadence. Yourself. Isabella, I am asking you to come to the camp. Your presence here will lift the spirits of the soldiers. You would give heart to them and, when the news reaches the people of Malaga that you are with us, I feel sure that their anxieties would be increased. They will know that we are determined to take Malaga. Isabella, leave everything and come to our camp before Malaga with all speed.’

Isabella smiled as she read this dispatch.

She looked at the Infanta, who was watching her with curiosity.

‘I am leaving immediately for the camp before Malaga,’ she said. ‘The King requests my presence there.’

‘Mother,’ said the Infanta, ‘you said that we should not be parted . . . that there may not be much time left to us. Dearest Mother, please stay here with us.’

Isabella looked at her eldest daughter and said: ‘But of course I must go. There is work to do in the camp; but do not fret, my daughter. We shall not be parted, for you are coming with me.’

Isabella arrived at the camp, accompanied by the Infanta and several of the ladies of the Court, among whom was Beatriz de Bobadilla.

They were greeted with enthusiasm, and the effect on the morale of the army was immediate.

Isabella’s dignity never failed to have its effect, and when she turned several tents into a hospital and, with her women, cared for the sick and wounded, there was no doubt that her coming had saved a dangerous situation. Those soldiers who were wearying of the long war, who had been telling themselves that they could never conquer the well-fortified city of Malaga, now changed their minds. They were eager to perform feats of valour in order to win the respect of the Queen and her ladies.

Ferdinand had been right. What the army needed was the presence of its Queen.

There was little peace, for there were continual forays by the Moors who crept out of the besieged city under cover of darkness and made raids on the encamped army.

It might well have been that the Christian armies would have been defeated before Malaga, for El Zagal sent forces to help the town. Unfortunately for the Moors, and to the great advantage of the Christians, Boabdil’s troops encountered the relieving force on its way, a battle ensued and there were so many casualties that it was impossible for El Zagal’s men to come to the relief of Malaga.

When Isabella heard this she thanked God for the shrewdness of Ferdinand, who had insisted, instead of keeping Boabdil in captivity, on sending him back that he might do great damage to the Moorish cause.

Poor Boabdil was a bewildered young man. He hated war; he wished to end it as quickly as possible. He sought to placate the Christian Sovereigns by sending them presents, almost as though to remind them that through the recent treaty he was their vassal.

‘We owe a great deal to Boabdil,’ said Ferdinand. ‘This war would have been longer and more bloody for us but for him. I will make him some return to show him that I am his friend. I shall allow his supporters to cultivate their fields in peace. After all, soon this land will be ours. It would be wise therefore to leave some of it in cultivation and at the same time reward Boabdil.’

So the siege continued, and Ferdinand was confident of victory. He trusted his own shrewdness and his ability to get the best of any bargain; he had called his Master of Ordnance, Francisco Ramirez, to the front; this clever inventor with his powder mines could work miracles until now never used in warfare; and there was Isabella, with her dignity, piety and good works.

We cannot fail, thought Ferdinand; we have everything which makes for success.

It was afternoon when the prisoner was brought in. He was dragged before the Marquis of Cadiz; and he fell to his knees and begged the Marquis to spare his life. As the man could not speak Castilian, the Marquis spoke to him in the Moorish tongue.

‘I come as a friend. I come as a friend,’ repeated the Moor. ‘I pray you listen to what I have to say. I will lead you into Malaga. I am the friend of the Christian King and Queen, as is my King, Boabdil.’

The Marquis of Cadiz, who was about to order the Moor’s execution, paused.

He signed to the two guards who stood on either side of the Moor to seize him.

‘Follow me,’ said the Marquis, ‘and bring him with you.’

He made his way to the royal tent, where Isabella was with Ferdinand. She came to the entrance, for she had heard the man shouting in his own language.

‘Highness,’ said the Marquis, ‘this man was captured. He says he has escaped from the city because he has something he wishes to tell you. Will you and the King see him now?’

Isabella looked back into the tent, where Ferdinand, worn out with his recent exertions, was fast asleep.

‘The King is asleep,’ she said. ‘I do not wish to waken him.

He was quite exhausted. This man’s story can wait. Take him into the next tent. There let him remain until the King awakes, when I will immediately tell him what has happened.’

She indicated the tent next to her own, in which Beatriz de Bobadilla sat with Don Alvaro, a Portuguese nobleman, and son of the Duke of Braganza, who had joined the Holy War, as so many foreigners had, since they looked upon it as a crusade.

They were discussing the siege and, when Beatriz heard the Queen’s words, she went to Isabella.

‘I wish this man to be detained until the King awakes,’ said Isabella. ‘He says that he has news for us.’

‘We will detain him until it is your pleasure to receive him,’ said Beatriz; and when the guards, after having brought the Moor to her tent, stationed themselves outside, she continued her conversation with the Duke.

The Moor watched them. She was a very handsome woman and far more magnificently dressed than Isabella had been. He had glimpsed the sleeping Ferdinand, his doublet lying beside his pallet, and he had not thought for one moment that this could be the great King of whom he had heard so much.

But here was a courtly man in garments of scarlet and gold; and here was a lady, queenly in her bearing, with jewels at her throat and on her hands, her gown stiff with silken embroidery.

The Moor remained motionless, watching them slyly as they continued to talk together as though he were not there. He believed they were discussing how they would treat him, what questions they would ask.

He began to make soft moaning noises, and when they looked at him he gazed towards a jar of water with pleading eyes.

‘The man is thirsty,’ said Beatriz. ‘Let us give him a draught of water.’

The Duke poured water into a cup and handed it to the Moor, who drank it eagerly. As the Duke turned away, to put the cup by the jar, the Moor knew that the moment he had been waiting for had come.

He knew that death would doubtless be his reward, but he did not care. This day he was going to perform a deed which would make his name glorious in Arab history for evermore. There were two whose names struck terror into every citizen within the walls of Malaga – and of Granada also: Ferdinand, the great soldier, Isabella, the dedicated Queen.

He slipped his hand beneath his albornoz and his fingers closed round the dagger which he had secreted there.

The man should be first because, when he was dead, it would be easy to deal with the woman. He lifted the dagger as he sprang, and in a few seconds Don Alvaro, bleeding profusely from the head, sank to the floor. Beatriz screamed for help as the Moor then turned to her. Again he lifted the dagger, but Beatrix’s arm shot up and the blow he struck at her breast was diverted.

‘Help!’ Beatriz shouted. ‘We are being murdered.’

Again the Moor lifted the dagger, but Beatriz was ready for him. She slipped aside and the blow glanced off the encrusted embroidery of her gown. She was calling for help at the top of her voice. There was an answering shout and the guards entered the tent.

Again the Moor sought to strike at the woman whom he believed to be Isabella. But he was too late. He was caught by the guards, who seized him and dragged him from the tent.

Beatriz followed them shouting: ‘Send help at once. Don Alvaro has been badly wounded.’

Then she turned back and knelt by the wounded man seeking to stem his bleeding.

Isabella came into the tent.

‘Beatriz, what is this?’ she asked; and she gasped with horror as she looked at the wounded man.

‘He is not dead,’ said Beatriz. ‘With God’s help we shall save him. It was the Moor, who said he had news for you.’

‘And I sent him to your tent!’

‘Thank God you did.’

Ferdinand had now appeared in the tent; he was pulling on his doublet as he came.

‘An attempt, Highness,’ said Beatriz, ‘on the life of the Queen and yourself.’

Ferdinand stared down at the wounded man.

‘You see,’ said Beatriz later, ‘you are in danger here, Highness. You should not be in camp. It is no place for you.’

‘It is the only place for me,’ answered Isabella.

‘That might have been the end of your lives. If you had taken that man into your tent he could have killed the King while he slept.’

‘And what should I have been doing to allow that?’ asked Isabella with a smile. ‘Do you not think that I should have given as good an account of myself as you did?’

‘I was fortunate. I am wearing this dress. I think his knife would have pierced me but for the heavy embroidery. You, Highness, are less vain of your personal appearance than I am. The knife might have penetrated your gown.’

‘God would have watched over me,’ said Isabella.

‘But, Highness, will you not consider the danger, and return to safety?’

‘Not long ago,’ said Isabella, ‘the King was reproved by his soldiers because he took great risks in battle and endangered his life. He told them he could not stop to consider the risk to himself while his subjects were putting their lives in peril for his cause, which was a holy one. That is the answer I make to you now, Beatriz.’

Beatriz shivered. ‘I shall never cease to thank God that you sent that murderer into my tent.’

Isabella smiled at her friend and, taking her hand, pressed it affectionately.

‘We must take care of the Infanta,’ she said. ‘We must remember the dangers all about us.’

All over the camp there was talk of the miraculous escape of the King and Queen, and the incident did much to lift the spirits of the soldiers. They believed that Divine power was guarding their Sovereigns, and this, they told themselves, was because the war they were prosecuting was a Holy War.

The Moor had been done to violent death by those guards who had dragged him from the tent, and there were cheers of derision as his mutilated body was taken to the cannon.

A great shout went up as the corpse was propelled by catapult over the walls and into the city.

Inside the city, faces were grim. Hunger was the lot of everyone and the once prosperous city was desolate.

From the mosques came the chant of voices appealing to Allah, but despair was apparent in those chants.

Some cursed Boabdil, who had been the friend of the Christians; some murmured against El Zagal, the valiant one, who waged war on Boabdil and the Christians. Some whispered that peace should be the aim of their leaders . . . peace for which they would be prepared to pay a price. Others shouted: ‘Death to the Christians! No surrender!’

And as they lifted the mangled remains of the intrepid Moor, an angry murmur arose.

One of their Christian prisoners was brought out. They slew him most cruelly; they tied his mutilated body astride a mule, which they drove out from Malaga into the Christian camp.

Inside the city the heat was intense. There was little to eat now. There were few dogs and cats left; they had long ago eaten their horses. They existed on vine leaves; they were emaciated, and in the streets men and women were dying of exhaustion or unspecified diseases. And outside the walls of the city the Christians still waited.

Several of the town’s important men formed themselves into a band and presented themselves before Hamet Zeli.

‘We cannot much longer endure this suffering,’ they told him.

He shook his head. ‘In time, help will come to us.’

‘When it comes, Hamet Zeli, it will be too late.’

‘I have sworn to El Zagal never to surrender.’

‘In the streets the people are dying of hunger and pestilence. No help will come to us. Our crops have been destroyed; our cattle stolen. What has become of our fertile vineyards? The Christians have left our land desolate and we are dying a slow death. Allah has turned his face against us. Open the gates of the city and let the Christians in.’

‘That is the wish of the people?’ asked Hamet Zeli.

‘It is the wish of all.’

‘Then I will take my forces into the Gebalfaro, and you may make your peace with Ferdinand.’

The burghers looked at each other. ‘It is what we wished to do weeks ago,’ said one of them.

‘That is true,’ said another. ‘You, Ali Dordux should lead a deputation to Ferdinand. He offered us special concessions some weeks ago if we would surrender the town to him. Tell him that we are now ready to do so.’

‘I will lead my deputation to him with all speed,’ said Ali Dordux. ‘It may be that the sooner we go, the more lives we shall save.’

‘Go from me now,’ said Hamet Zeli. ‘This is no affair of mine. I would never surrender. I would die rather than bow to the Christian invader.’

‘We are not soldiers, Hamet Zeli,’ said Ali Dordux. ‘We are men of peace. And no fate which the Christian can impose upon us could be worse than that which we have endured.’

‘You do not know Ferdinand,’ answered Hamet Zeli. ‘You do not know the Christians.’

Ferdinand heard that the deputation had called upon him.

‘Led, Highness,’ he was told, ‘by Ali Dordux, the most prominent and wealthy citizen. They beg an audience that they may discuss terms for surrendering the city to you.’

Ferdinand smiled slowly.

‘Pray return to them,’ he said, ‘and tell them this: I offered them peace and they refused it. Then they were in a position to bargain. Now they are a conquered people. It is not for them to make terms with me but to accept those on which I shall decide.’

The deputation returned to Malaga, and when it was learned what Ferdinand had said there was loud wailing throughout the city.

‘Now,’ the people whispered to each other, ‘we know that we can expect no mercy from the Christians.’

There were many to exhort them to stand firm. ‘Let us die rather than surrender,’ they cried. They had a wonderful leader in Hamet Zeli; why did they not put their trust in him?

Because their families were starving, was the answer. They had seen their wives and children die of disease and hunger. There must be an end to the siege at any price.

A new embassy was sent to Ferdinand.

They would surrender their city to him in exchange for their lives and freedom. Let him refuse this offer and every Christian in Malaga – and they held six hundred Christian prisoners – should be hanged over the battlements. They would put the aged and the weak, the women and the children, into the fortress, set fire to the town and cut a way for themselves through the enemy. So that Ferdinand would lose the rich treasure of Malaga.

But Ferdinand was aware that he was dealing with a beaten people. He felt no pity; he would give no quarter. He was a hard man completely lacking in imagination. He saw only the advantage to his own cause.

He was making no compacts, he replied. If any Christian within the city was harmed he would slaughter every Moslem within the walls of Malaga.

This was the end of resistance. The gates of the city were thrown open to Ferdinand.

Isabella, richly gowned, rode beside Ferdinand into the conquered city of Malaga.

It had been purified before their arrival, and over all the principal buildings floated the flag of Christian Spain.

The great mosque was now the church of Santa Maria de la Encarnacion; and bells could be heard ringing throughout the city.

Isabella’s first desire was to visit the new cathedral and there give thanks for the victory.

Afterwards she rode through the streets, but she did not see the terror in the eyes of the people; she did not see the cupidity in those of Ferdinand as he surveyed these rich treasures which had fallen into his hands. She heard only the bells; she could only rejoice.

Another great city for Christ, she told herself. The Moorish kingdom was depleted afresh. This was the greatest victory they had yet achieved, for the Moors in Granada would be seriously handicapped by the loss of their great port.

A cry of anger went up from the assembly as the Christian slaves tottered out into the streets; some could scarcely see, because they had been kept so long in darkness. They limped and dragged themselves along, to fall at the feet of the Sovereigns in order to kiss their hands in gratitude for their deliverance.

The sound of their chains being pulled along as they walked was audible, for as they approached the Sovereigns there was a deep silence among the spectators.

‘No,’ cried Isabella; and she slipped from her horse and placed her hands on the shoulders of the blind old man who was seeking to kiss her hand. ‘You shall not kneel to me,’ she went on. And she raised him up. And those watching saw the tears in her eyes, a sight which moved those who knew her, as much as the spectacle of these poor slaves.

Ferdinand had joined her. He too embraced the slaves; he too wept; but he could weep more easily than Isabella, and he quickly allowed indignation to dry his tears.

Isabella said: ‘Let these people be taken from here. Let their chains be taken from them. Let a banquet be prepared for them. They must know that I shall not allow their sufferings to be forgotten. They shall be recompensed for their long captivity.’

Then she mounted her horse and the procession continued.

Hamet Zeli was brought before them, proud, bold, though emaciated, and in heavy chains.

‘You should have surrendered long ere this,’ Ferdinand told him. ‘You see how foolish you have been. You might once have bought concessions for your people.’

‘I was commanded to defend Malaga,’ said Hamet Zeli. ‘Had I been supported, I would have died before giving in.’

‘Thus you show your folly,’ said Ferdinand. ‘Now you will obey my commands. I would have the whole of the population of Malaga assembled in the courtyard of the alcazaba to hear the sentence I shall pass upon them.’

‘Great Ferdinand,’ said Hamet Zeli, ‘you have conquered Malaga. Take its treasures. They are yours.’

‘They are mine,’ said Ferdinand smiling; ‘and certainly I shall take them.’

‘But, Christian King, spare the people of Malaga.’

‘Should they be allowed to go free for all the inconvenience they have caused me? Many of my men have died at their hands.’

‘Do what you will with the soldiers, but the citizens played no part in this war.’

‘Their obstinacy has angered me,’ said Ferdinand. ‘Assemble them that they may hear their fate.’

In the courtyard of the alcazaba, the people had assembled. All through the day the sound of wailing voices had filled the streets.

The people were calling on Allah not to desert them. They begged him to plant compassion and mercy in the heart of the Christian King.

But Allah ignored their cries, and the heart of the Christian King was hardened against them.

He told them what their fate would be in one word: slavery.

Every man, woman and child was to be sold or given in slavery. They had defied him and, because of this, they must pay for their foolishness with their freedom.

Slavery! The dreaded word fell on the still, hot air.

Where was the proud city of Malaga now? Lost to the Arabs for evermore. What would befall its people? They would be scattered throughout the world. Children would be torn from their parents, husbands from their wives. This was the decree of the Christian King: Slavery for the proud people of Malaga.

In the alcazaba Ferdinand rubbed his hands together. He could scarcely speak, so excited was he. He could only contemplate the treasures of this beautiful city which were now his . . . all his.

Then a certain fear came to him. How could he be sure that all the treasure would be handed to him? These Arabs were a cunning people. Might they not hide their most precious jewels, their richest treasures, hoping to preserve them for themselves?

It was an alarming thought. Yet how could he be sure that this would not happen?

Isabella was calculating what they would do with the slaves.

‘We shall be able to redeem some of our own people,’ she told Ferdinand.

Ferdinand was not enthusiastic. He was thinking of selling the slaves. They would not help to fill the treasury, he pointed out.

But Isabella was determined. ‘We must not forget those of our people who have been taken into slavery. I propose that we send one-third of the people of Malaga into Africa in exchange for an equal number of our people held there as slaves.’

‘And sell the rest,’ said Ferdinand quickly.

‘We might sell another third,’ Isabella replied. ‘This should bring us a goodly sum which will be very useful for prosecuting the war.’

‘And the remainder?’

‘We must not forget the custom. We should send some to our friends. Do not forget that those who have worked with us and have helped us to win this great victory will expect some reward. The Pope should be presented with some, so should the Queen of Naples. And we must not forget that we hope for this marriage between Isabella and Alonso; so I would send some of the most beautiful of the girls to the Queen of Portugal.’

‘So,’ said Ferdinand, somewhat disgruntled, ‘we shall only sell a third of them for our own benefit.’

But what was really worrying him was the thought that he could not be sure that all the treasures of Malaga would come to him, and he feared that some might be secreted away and he not know of their existence.

Hope suddenly sprang up in the desolate town of Malaga.

‘There is a chance to regain our freedom!’ The words were passed through the streets from mouth to mouth. A chance to evade this most dreadful of fates.

King Ferdinand had decreed that if they could pay a large enough ransom he would sell them their freedom.

And the amount demanded?

It was a sum of such a size that it seemed impossible that they could raise it. Yet every man, woman and child in Malaga must help to do so.

Nothing must be held back. Everything must be poured into the great fund which was to buy freedom for the people of Malaga.

The fund grew big, but it was still short of the figure demanded by Ferdinand.

In the streets the people called to each other: ‘Hold nothing back. Think of what depends upon it.’

And the fund grew until it contained every treasure, great and small, for all agreed that no price was too great to pay for freedom.

Ferdinand received the treasure.

‘Oh, great Christian King,’ he was implored, ‘this is not the large sum you asked. It falls a little short. We pray you accept it, and out of your magnanimity grant us our freedom.’

Ferdinand smiled and accepted the treasure.

‘Alas,’ he said, ‘it is not the figure I demanded. I am a man who keeps his word. This is not enough to buy freedom for the people of Malaga.’

When he had dismissed the Arabs he laughed aloud.

Thus he had made sure that the people of Malaga would hold nothing back from him. Thus he had defeated them utterly and completely. He had all their wealth, and still they had not regained their freedom.

The capture of Malaga was a resounding victory.

There remained the last stronghold: Granada.