Deeper and darker grew Hugo’s secret fears, which suddenly received an unlooked-for and terrible confirmation; for from his lofty tower he all at once caught a passing glimpse, far away among the wooded hills, of a small band of riders in Christian dress flying as if for their lives from the pursuit of the turbaned horsemen!
Hugo turned pale, and his heart grew heavy as lead. Was this, then, the rout of the detachment sent to aid his escape, and the ruin of his last hope?
But a moment’s thought reassured him. So small a band was plainly unequal to coping with the superior numbers of the Moors, and might, after all, be only a scouting party, which would naturally fall back when menaced by such odds. Still, the sight did not tend to raise his drooping spirits, and he eagerly awaited an explanation.
But his second warder was as obstinately silent as the first, and his anxiety remained unallayed.
Afternoon was waning into evening, when he heard a tramp of hoofs and a clamour of voices, and looking down saw the Moorish band returning, plainly in high glee. From their loud and boastful replies to their comrades’ eager queries, Hugo gathered that their guide had led them by various by-paths to a wooded hollow some miles away; that he had there made them halt, while he plunged into the thickets alone; that he suddenly came flying back, chased by several Spanish horsemen, who fell back at sight of the Moors; and the latter, charging in turn, broke right into the midst of a band of ambushed foes. In the ensuing skirmish, several were wounded on either side, though none actually slain; but the Christians were put to flight, and the Moors brought home as trophies the cloaks and weapons let fall by the fugitives.
This affair—their first brush with the enemy since their fatal defeat at the Guarama Pass—highly elated the Moors, who held it as quite a victory; but Hugo himself thought otherwise.
He had heard enough of the defenders of Santa Fé to be sure that they were not the men to turn their backs on any Moorish force without good reason. What if this were but a feint of his brother to throw the Moors off their guard, and confirm their trust in the guide who had led them so successfully? What if that guide, while pretending to beat the thicket in quest of foes, had found a moment to make his report to Alured or one of his officers, and then come bursting forth as if pursued?
The more he thought of this, the more likely did it seem; and his heart was lighter when the door opened to admit his evening meal, brought by two men, one of whom was Yakoob the guide!
While pretending to arrange the table, Yakoob passed close to him and whispered—
“Be ready to-morrow at nightfall.”