Spain for the Sovereigns

Chapter XIV THE LAST SIGH OF THE MOOR

The time had come for the onslaught on the capital of the Moorish kingdom, and Ferdinand’s army was now ready to begin the attack.

He and Isabella were waiting to receive Boabdil. They had sent a messenger to him, reminding him of the terms he had agreed to in exchange for his release, and they now commanded him to leave Granada and present himself before them, that the terms of surrender might be discussed.

Ferdinand hoped that the people of Granada would remember the terrible fate which had overtaken Malaga, and that they would not be so foolish as to behave in such a way that Ferdinand would have no resort but to treat them similarly.

‘He should be here ere this,’ Ferdinand was saying. ‘He should know better than to keep us waiting.’

Isabella was silent. She was praying that the surrender of the last Moorish stronghold might be accomplished without the loss of much Christian blood.

But the time passed and Boabdil did not come.

Isabella looked at Ferdinand, and she knew that he was already making plans for the siege of Granada.

The messenger stood before the Sovereigns.

He handed the dispatch to Ferdinand, who, with Isabella, read what Boabdil had written.

‘It is impossible for me to obey your summons. I am no longer able to control my own desires. It is my wish to keep my promises, but the city of Granada refuses to allow me to depart. It is full now, not only with its own population, but those who have come from all over the kingdom to defend it. Therefore I regret that I cannot keep my promise to you.’

Ferdinand clenched his fists and the veins stood out at his temples.

‘So,’ he said, ‘they will not surrender.’

‘It is hardly to be expected that they would,’ Isabella replied mildly. ‘When we have taken Granada, consider, Ferdinand, we shall have completed the reconquest. Could we expect it to fall into our hands like a ripe fruit? Nay, we must fight for this last, this greatest prize.’

‘He has spoken,’ said Ferdinand. ‘He has chosen his own fate and that of his people. We shall no longer hesitate. Now it shall be . . . to Granada !’

The Sovereigns called together the Council and, while it was sitting, news was brought that fresh revolts had broken out in many of the cities which had been captured from the Moors. There had been Moorish forays into Christian territory, and Christians had been slaughtered or carried away to be prisoners or slaves.

This was the answer to Ferdinand’s imperious command to the Moorish King.

The war was not yet won. The Moors were ready to defend the last stronghold of the land which they had called their own for seven hundred years.

In the little house in Cordova, Cristobal continued to wait for a summons to Court. None came. From time to time he saw some of his friends at Court, particularly Luis de Sant’angel. Beatriz de Bobadilla sent messages to him, and occasionally he received sums of money through her, which she said came from the Queen.

But still there was no summons to Court, no news of the fitting out of the expedition.

Little Ferdinand, the son of Cristobal and Beatriz de Arana, would sit on his knee and be told tales of the sea, as once little Diego had.

Beatriz watched Cristobal uneasily. Once she had been secretly glad that the summons did not come; but she was glad no longer. How could she endure to see her Cristobal grow old and grey, fretting continually against the ill fortune which would not give him the chance he asked.

One day a friend of his early days called at the house.

Cristobal was delighted to see him, and Beatriz brought wine and refreshments. The visitor admired sturdy little Ferdinand – also Beatriz.

He came from France, he said; and he brought a message from Cristobal’s brother, Bartholomew.

Bartholomew wished to know how Cristobal was faring in Spain, and whether he found the Spanish Sovereigns ready to help him in his enterprise.

‘He says, if you do not find this assistance, you should consider coming to France, where there is a growing interest in maritime adventures.’

‘France,’ murmured Cristobal, and Beatriz saw the light leap into his eyes once more. ‘I had thought once of going to France.’

When the visitor had left, Beatriz brought her chair close to that of Cristobal; she took his hand and smiled at him fondly.

‘What is the use of waiting?’ she said. ‘You must go, Cristobal. It is the whole meaning of life to you. Do not think I do not understand. Go to France. Perhaps you will be fortunate there. And if you must wait upon the French Sovereign as you have on those of Spain, then will I join you. But if they give you what you want, if you make your voyage, you will come back to us here in Cordova. Ferdinand and I can wait for you.’

Then Cristobal rose and drawing her to her feet kissed her solemnly.

She knew that he had made his decision.

Ferdinand’s troops were encamped on the banks of the Xenil, and before them lay the city of Granada. A natural fortress, it seemed impregnable, and even the most optimistic realised that its storming would be long and hazardous.

They could see the great walls which defended it on the side which faced the Christian armies; and on the east side the peaks of the Sierra Nevada made a natural barrier.

Ferdinand looked at that great fortress, and he swore to take it.

From the battlements the Moors looked down on the Christian armies; they saw that the fertile land before the city had been burned and pillaged, the crops destroyed; and they vowed vengeance on the Christians.

So the two combatants – Arab and Christian – stood face to face, and both decided to fight to the death.

Ferdinand, who had seen the effect Isabella could have on the troops at the time of the siege of Malaga, had suggested that she should accompany the army. Isabella’s reply was that she had had no intention to do otherwise. This was her war, even more than it was Ferdinand’s. It was she who had made her early vows that, should it ever be in her power to do so, she would make an all-Christian Spain.

So to the battle-front came Isabella. The Prince of the Asturias, although only thirteen years old, was with his father. He already considered himself to be a warrior, for in the spring of the previous year Ferdinand had conferred the honour of knighthood upon him, and the ceremony had been performed on the battlefield.

Isabella had brought with her her children and some of her ladies, for she had determined that she would not be parted from her family again. She believed that the presence of the entire royal family in camp was an inspiration to the army; as indeed it seemed to be.

Isabella herself was indefatigable. She nursed the sick, and even her youngest, the five-year-old Catalina, was given tasks to do. Her eldest, Isabella, worked with fervour; for since the death of Alonso, the piety of the young Isabella had rivalled that of the elder.

Ferdinand was delighted to have his family with him, for where the Queen was, dignity and decorum were not forgotten.

There was neither gambling nor swearing in the camp when the Queen was present; instead there were continual prayers. Ferdinand was quick to realise the importance of a disciplined army, and the dignity of the Queen was more effective in ensuring this than any strict rules he could have enforced.

The weeks passed, but the great battle for Granada did not take place. There was deadlock between the two forces.

The great fortress remained impregnable.

Cristobal had said his farewells. He had left Cordova and travelled westward.

But before he could find his way to France there was one call he must make.

It was six years since he had seen Diego, and he could not leave Spain without seeing his son once more and explaining that he was leaving the country.

Thus it was that on a July day he arrived at the Monastery of Santa Maria de la Rabida, to find at the gate the lay brother who had been there on that day when Cristobal had come there with Diego. ‘I seek shelter,’ he said.

‘Enter, my friend,’ was the answer. ‘It is denied no traveller within these walls.’

And when he had entered, he said: ‘Tell me, is Fray Juan Perez de Marchena at the Monastery?’

‘He is here, my friend.’

‘I greatly wish to speak with him.’

Fray Juan embraced him and took him into the room where they had previously talked.

‘You see a defeated man,’ said Cristobal. ‘Spain treats me even as Portugal has done. I have come to see my son, and to ask you if you will keep him here a little longer, or whether I should take him with me into France.’

‘You are leaving us, Cristobal Colon?’

‘There is no point in staying.’

‘I did not think you were a man who would give in so easily.’

‘I am a man determined to embark on an enterprise.’

‘And you have decided to leave Spain.’

‘I am going to lay my proposition before the French. I have heard from my brother who is there. He tells me that there is some hope that there I might find more willing ears.’

‘This grieves me.’

‘You have been so good to me.’

‘I will send for Diego,’ said Fray Juan.

Cristobal beheld the tall youth with astonishment.

‘Can it be?’ he cried with emotion.

‘I do not ask the same,’ answered the youth. ‘I know you, Father.’

They embraced, and the bright blue eyes of the adventurer were misty with tears.

Finally, Cristobal released his son. He laid his hands on his shoulders and looked into his face.

‘So, Father, you did not succeed.’

‘I do not give up hope, my son. I am leaving Spain. Will you come with me?’

Fray Juan had come forward. He said: ‘We have taken good care of Diego. We have educated him, as you will learn, Señor Colon. If he left us his education would be interrupted. I could wish that you had not decided to leave Spain for a while, and that Diego would stay with us.’

‘My mind is made up,’ said Cristobal.

‘This day I feel prophetic,’ said the Friar. ‘Señor Colon, will you stay with us for a week . . . two weeks? Will you give me your company for that time?’

‘You are hospitable; you have done much for me. One day I shall reward you. If the French support me, one day I shall be a rich man. I shall not forget your kindness.’

‘If you give me riches it would not be what I asked; and of what use is a gift which is not acceptable? I have cared for your son for six years. Give me this now. Stay here with us . . . two weeks . . . three . . . This is all I ask.’

‘For what reason do you ask this?’

‘Obey me unquestioningly. I believe one day you will not regret it.’

Diego said: ‘Father, you cannot deny Fray Juan this.’

Cristobal looked at the earnest face of the Prior.

‘If you would tell me . . .’ he began.

‘I will tell you this. I believe it is God’s will that you stay here. Señor Colon, do not deny me what I ask.’

‘Since you put it like this, I will stay,’ said Cristobal.

Fray Juan was satisfied.

He left father and son together and went to his cell.

He wrote for some time; then destroyed what he had written.

He paced his cell. He knelt and prayed.

Then he made a sudden decision.

He went to Cristobal and Diego and said: ‘I have to leave the monastery on a most urgent matter. You have given me your word, Cristobal Colon, that you will stay here. I want you to promise me now that you will not leave until I return.’

He looked so earnest that Cristobal gave his promise.

And that very day the Prior set out on his mule for the two-hundred-mile journey to Granada.

Isabella lay sleeping in her pavilion. These elaborate sleeping quarters were very different from the tents used by the soldiers, and had been provided for her by the Marquis of Cadiz.

She was weary, for the days in camp were exhausting. She was continually going among the troops, talking to them of their homes, urging them to valour; and as there were constant skirmishes, there were many wounded to be attended to.

But now the night was still, and she slept.

She awoke suddenly to a sense of alarm; it was some seconds before she realised that what had awakened her was the smell of burning.

She hastened from her bed, calling to her women, and as she ran from the pavilion she saw that draperies at one side of it were ablaze and that the fire had spread to the nearby tents.

Isabella immediately thought of her children, who were sleeping near the pavilion, and she found time in those seconds to visualise a hundred horrors which might befall them.

‘Fire!’ called Isabella. ‘Fire in the camp!’

Immediately the camp was awake, and Isabella made with all speed to those tents in which the royal children were sleeping; she found to her immense joy that the fire had not yet touched them, so she roused the children hastily and, throwing a few clothes about them, they hurried with her into the open.

There she found Ferdinand giving instructions.

‘Be watchful,’ he called to the sentinels. ‘If the enemy see what is happening they might attack.’

As Isabella, with her daughters, watched the soldiers dealing with the fire, she noticed that Juana’s eyes were dancing with excitement and that the child seemed even a little disappointed when the fire was under control. Maria looked on with an expression which was almost one of indifference, while little Catalina grasped her mother’s hand and clung to it tightly. Their sister Isabella seemed listless, as she had habitually become since the death of Alonso.

The Marquis of Cadiz joined Isabella and explained that a lamp had evidently caught the draperies of the pavilion and the wind had carried the flame to the nearby and highly inflammable tents.

At length Isabella led the children into one of the tents which had been prepared for them. She lifted Catalina into her arms and the child was almost immediately asleep. She kept them with her for the rest of the night.

The elaborate pavilion and many of the costly tents and their furnishings had been destroyed; and in the morning Ferdinand estimated the damage with a frown. The loss of valuable property always upset him more than any other calamity.

‘Ferdinand,’ said Isabella slowly, ‘this might have been a great disaster. We might have lost our lives, if the saints had not watched over us. How ironical if, on the eve of victory, we should have died through a fire caused accidentally.’

Ferdinand nodded grimly. ‘The loss must amount to a small fortune,’ he grumbled.

‘I have been thinking, Ferdinand. It is now July. Very soon the summer will be over. Suppose we do not take Granada before the winter is upon us?’

Ferdinand was silent.

‘The advantage,’ she went on, ‘will be all on the side of our enemies. They will be in warm winter quarters in their town, while we shall be exposed to the weather in our encampment.’

‘You and the children will have to leave us.’

‘And what effect will that have, do you think? I prefer to remain with the army, Ferdinand. I think it is essential that I remain with the army.’

‘Then we shall have to retire and come back in the spring.’

‘And lose the advantage we now have! No! I have a plan. We will build ourselves a town here . . . here on the plain before Granada.’

‘A town! You cannot mean that.’

‘But I do mean it, Ferdinand. We will build houses of stone which will not take fire so easily as our tents. We will build a great garrison – houses, quarters for the soldiers and stables. And we shall not retreat from our position, but stay here all through the winter as comfortably housed as our enemies!’

‘Is this possible?’

‘With God’s help everything is possible,’ she answered.

‘It would have to be completed in three months.’

‘So shall it be.’

Ferdinand looked at her with admiration. The previous day she had been exhausted by her work in the camp; her night had been disturbed by this disastrous fire; and here she sat, looking fresh and as energetic as ever, calmly proposing a plan which, had anyone but Isabella suggested it, he would have declared to be absurd.

Before Granada the work went on. The town grew up with a speed which astonished all who beheld it.

The Moors looked on in despair.

They understood the meaning of this. The Christians would remain there throughout the winter. The respite for which they had longed would be denied them.

‘Allah has turned his face from us,’ wailed the people of Granada. And they cursed Boabdil, their King, who had brought civil war among them when he had challenged the rule of Muley Abul Hassan.

Isabella moved about among her workmen. They must work harder. The task was tremendous, but it must be accomplished. They must ignore the sporadic sallies of the Moors. They must build their town by winter.

There were two avenues traversing this new town as Isabella had planned that there should be.

‘Thus,’ she said, ‘my new town is in the form of the cross – the cross for which we fight. It shall be the only town in Spain which has not been contaminated by Moslem heresy.’

The town must have a name, it was decided; and a deputation of workers came to her and asked if she would honour the town by bestowing her name upon it.

She smiled graciously. ‘I thank you for the honour you have done me,’ she said. ‘I thank you for the good work you have done in this town. But I have decided on a more appropriate name than my own. We shall call this town Santa Fe.’

And there was the town in the shape of a cross – a monument to the determination of the Christians not to rest until they had brought about the reconquest of every inch of Spanish soil.

Beatriz de Bobadilla was in her quarters within the fortifications of Santa Fe when one of her women came to her and told her that a friar had arrived and wished to speak to her on the most urgent business.

Beatriz received him at once.

‘My lady,’ said Fray Juan, ‘it is kind of you to receive me so promptly.’

‘Why,’ she said, ‘you have made a long journey and you are exhausted.’

‘I have travelled two hundred miles from La Rabida, but the matter is one which needs urgent attention, and I beg you to give it. It concerns the explorer, Cristobal Colon.’

‘Ah,’ said Beatriz, ‘the explorer.’ She smiled almost tenderly. ‘How fares it with him?’

‘He is frustrated, my lady; indignant and angry with Spain and himself. He is no longer a young man, and he bitterly resents the wasted years.’

‘There has been so much to occupy the mind of the Queen,’ she answered.

‘It is true, and a tragedy for Spain. Unless something is done immediately, he will leave the country, and some other monarch will have the benefit of his genius.’

‘That must not be,’ said Beatriz.

‘It will be, my lady, unless there is no more delay.’

Beatriz made a quick decision. ‘I am going to see that you are given refreshment and an opportunity to wash the travel-stains from your person. I will go to the Queen immediately and, when I have returned, I will let you know whether Señor Colon is to be given help from Spain. I promise to let you know how I have fared with all speed.’

The Prior smiled. He had done his part, and there was no more he could do.

Beatrix begged an audience with the Queen. Ferdinand was with Isabella, a fact which dismayed Beatriz.

But Ferdinand was friendly. He was pleased with the way events were moving, and was very much aware of the important part the women were playing before Granada.

‘Highness,’ said Beatriz, ‘I come to you in great haste. Fray Juan Perez de Marchena has arrived in Santa Fe from La Rabida. Cristobal Colon is on the point of leaving Spain.’

‘I am sorry to hear this,’ said the Queen. ‘Was he not told to wait awhile, and that his schemes would have our attention when we had the time to devote to them?’

‘Yes, Highness, he was, but he will wait no longer. He thinks that his expedition is of the greatest importance; and frankly, if your Highnesses will not help him, he has decided to find a Sovereign who will do so. He plans to go to France.’

At the mention of the great enemy of Aragon, Ferdinand flushed with anger. His eyes narrowed, and with a certain delight Beatriz noticed the lights of cupidity shining there.

She went on to talk of the riches which he would bring back if he were successful. ‘For, Your Highnesses, even if he should fail in his discovery of a New World, he will have shown us a new route to the riches of Cathay and the East, of which Marco Polo wrote so glowingly.

‘I thought,’ she finished, ‘that Your Highnesses would wish to stop him before he has an opportunity of bringing to another the riches which, would you but equip his expedition, he would lay at your feet.’

‘Willingly,’ said Isabella, ‘would we equip him for this expedition, but everything we possess must go into the prosecution of the war.’

She looked at Ferdinand.

‘Highness,’ pleaded Beatriz, ‘would it be so costly? It is unbearable to think that all that he might discover may go to another country.’

‘I was impressed by the man,’ said Isabella. She looked at Ferdinand as though expecting him to speak against asking the man to return, but Ferdinand said nothing; his eyes had that glazed look, and she realised that he was seeing the return of the explorer, his ships laden with treasures – gold, jewels, slaves.

Isabella continued: ‘I would be prepared to reconsider what might be done.’ She smiled towards Ferdinand. ‘Perhaps the King would agree with me in this.’

Ferdinand was thinking: The man must be stopped from taking his plans to France. Even if he and the Queen did not fit out his expedition, they must stop him from taking his plans to the enemy.

Ferdinand smiled at Isabella. ‘As usual, Your Highness speaks good sense. Let us recall this man and reconsider what he has to tell us.’

Beatriz cried: ‘Thank you, Your Highnesses. I am sure your munificence will be rewarded.’ She turned to Isabella. ‘Highness, this man is poor. Would you agree that he might be sent money for his journey here, money to buy garments which would make him fit to appear before Your Highnesses?’

‘By all means let that be done,’ said Isabella.

Within Granada conditions were deteriorating rapidly. The effect of the building of Santa Fe was disastrous to the morale of the besieged. The blockade, which the people had hoped would be lifted by the retirement of the Christian army during the winter, continued.

There were some who declared that there must be no surrender, that their fellow Moslems in Africa would never allow them to lose their grip on Spanish soil. But there were others who gazed out on the bustling and efficient fortifications of Santa Fe, who considered the destruction of the crops and knew that the end was near.

One of these was Boabdil. He called on Allah; he prostrated himself in his grief. He felt responsible for the plight into which his people had fallen, and he longed to save his country from the terrible fate which had befallen Malaga.

Under cover of darkness he sent messengers from the city to Ferdinand to ask what terms would be offered for the surrender of the town.

Ferdinand wrote:

‘I am prepared to be magnanimous. Surrender the city, and the inhabitants of Granada shall keep possession of their mosques and shall be allowed to retain their own religion. They shall also retain their own laws and be judged by their own cadis, although there will be a Castilian governor of the town. They may continue to use their own language and the Arab dress. If they wish to leave the country they may dispose of their property on their own account. There would be no extra taxes for three years. King Boabdil would abdicate, but he should be given a territory in the Alpujarras which would be a protectorate of the Castilian crown. All the fortifications and artillery must be handed over to the Christians, and the surrender must take place in no more than sixty days.’

Ferdinand stopped writing and smiled. If Boabdil and his counsellors accepted these terms he would be content. Lives and – what was more important to Ferdinand – money would be saved by a quick surrender. It was by no means certain how long the war would last, even though at the moment the Christians had all the advantages.

Eagerly he awaited the reply.

In his private apartments of the Alhambra, Boabdil read the Sovereigns’ terms and rejoiced. He had saved the people of Granada from the fate which had befallen those of Malaga, and he believed that that was the best he could hope for.

The Sultana Zoraya was going about the town urging the people to stand firm. With flashing eyes and strong words she assured them that the battle against the Christian armies was not yet lost.

‘You lose heart,’ she cried, ‘because you see them encamped outside our walls. But you should not lose heart. Allah will not desert us in our hour of need.’

‘Boabdil deserts us,’ was the answer. ‘So how can we expect Allah to smile upon us?’

They whispered among themselves. ‘Boabdil is a traitor. He is the friend of the Christian Sovereigns. He seeks concessions for himself, and will betray us to get them.’

Revolt was stirring in the city, for it was rumoured that Boabdil was carrying on secret negotiations with the enemy.

Zoraya stormed into her son’s apartment. She told him that the people were murmuring against him.

‘They talk foolishly. They say you are negotiating with the enemy. These rumours do our cause great harm.’

‘They must be stopped, my mother,’ he said.

And later he sent word to Ferdinand.

All his terms were accepted; but there should be no delay. They must come with all speed to prevent revolt within the walls of Granada. If they did not, they might arrive to find their friend Boabdil assassinated, and the treaty flung in their faces.

There was rejoicing throughout Santa Fe.

Preparations had begun for the entry into Granada.

The Cardinal Mendoza, surrounded by troops, rode into the city that he might occupy the Alhambra and prepare it for the entry of the Sovereigns.

He ascended the Hill of Martyrs and to meet him rode Boabdil surrounded by fifty Moorish noblemen.

The vanquished Boabdil rode past the Cardinal towards Ferdinand, who, surrounded by his guards, had taken up a position in the rear of the Cardinal and his men.

On his black horse Boabdil was a pathetic figure; his tunic was green decorated with gold ornaments, his white haik flowed about his shoulders, and his gentle face wore an expression of infinite sadness.

He dismounted when he reached Ferdinand, and would have thrown himself at the conqueror’s feet. Ferdinand, however, leaped from his horse and embraced Boabdil; he veiled the triumph in his eyes and assumed an expression of great sympathy.

Boabdil said that all might hear: ‘I bring you the keys of the Alhambra. They belong to you, O King of the Christians. Allah decrees that it should be so. I beg you to show clemency to my sorrowing people.’

Boabdil then prostrated himself before Ferdinand, and turning went to Isabella, who was some short distance behind Ferdinand, and made similar obeisance to her.

He then left her and rode towards the sad group who were waiting for him. This was his family, at the head of which was the angry Zoraya.

‘Come,’ said Boabdil. ‘Now is the time to say farewell to Granada and greatness.’

Zoraya was about to speak, but, with a gesture full of dignity, Boabdil signed for all to fall in behind him; and spurring his horse, he galloped away in the direction of the Alpujarras.

On he rode, followed by his family and those of his courtiers and troops whom he had been allowed to take with him.

At the hill called Padul he stopped. This was the last point from which he could hope to see Granada in all its glory.

He looked back to that most beautiful of cities – the city which had once been the capital of his kingdom and was now lost to him.

His emotions overcame him, and the tears began to flow down his cheeks.

Zoraya pushed her horse beside his.

‘Weep!’ she cried. ‘Weep! It is what we expect of you. Weep like a woman for the city you could not defend like a man!’

Boabdil turned his horse, and the melancholy cavalcade moved on. Boabdil did not look back on the city he would never see again.

Meanwhile Isabella and Ferdinand, side by side, made their triumphant entry into the city, where the streets had already been anointed with holy water that it might be washed clean of the contamination of Infidels.

Magnificently clad, the Sovereigns rode at the head of the cavalcade. They both realised the need to impress with their grandeur the people of Granada, who had been used to the splendour of their Sultans. And although neither Isabella nor Ferdinand cared for fine clothing and outward displays of riches, they were determined to appear at their most magnificent on this progress through the city.

Christian troops lined the hill-road leading to the Alhambra and, raising her eyes, Isabella saw that which she had determined to see since, as a girl, she had made her solemn vows. The flag of Christian Spain was flying over the Alhambra; the last Moorish stronghold in Spain had capitulated, and the reconquest was complete.

Joyous shouts filled the air.

‘Granada! Granada for the Kings – Isabella and Ferdinand!’