One night, soon after dark, he appeared unexpectedly before the city, and, scaling with his men the walls of the Alhambra, fell upon the sleeping inhabitants sword in hand, sparing in his rage neither grey-beards, women, nor children. For hours the fight raged through the narrow streets, dimly lit from the windows above by hanging lanterns and guttering torches. It was war to the death and no quarter was given; but though Muley Hacen and his brother fought with a courage that equalled their ferocity, the sympathy of the people was with their enemies, and with difficulty at last they made their escape. Malaga, on the shores of the Mediterranean, became their new capital; and thus, just at a time when union was most needed, the kingdom of Granada was divided against itself.
The final triumph of the Christian forces, though undoubtedly hastened by the divisions amongst their enemies, was not to prove an easy achievement; for the capture of Alhama and its subsequent successful defence were soon counterbalanced by two disasters. In both cases the cause was a self-confidence on the part of the Castilian commanders, that blinded them to the ordinary precautions of warfare.
Ferdinand, in the later years of his life, was regarded by his fellow sovereigns as a model of sagacity and caution; but we have already noticed the strain of romance and daring that rendered his youth the less responsible if the more attractive. Nothing exasperated him so much as to be told it was a king’s place to remain in safety and to allow his generals to fight for him; and it had been a bitter moment when he arrived at Cordova and found his intended relief-expedition had been forestalled by the Duke of Medina-Sidonia. He had perforce contented himself with meeting the party on their return at the border town of Antequera; but he waited impatiently for a response to the Queen’s letters that would enable him to take the initiative on his own account. In time it came, and the sturdy mountaineers of Biscay and Guizpucoa, to whose help he had once gone against the French, now joined his banner along with the levies of Galicia and Estremadura, and cavaliers from New and Old Castile.
Having collected his army, Ferdinand crossed the Moorish border late in June, 1482, while Isabel dispatched a fleet to patrol the Western Mediterranean and prevent assistance from Africa reaching Muley Hacen in his retreat at Malaga. The objective of the Christian army was the town of Loja, whose capture would ensure safe communication with Alhama. It lay to the north-west of that outpost in a deep valley traversed by the river Genil, almost like a gateway to the Vega of Granada; and its wealth and natural beauty of situation in the midst of frowning mountains had won for it the name of “the flower amongst the thorns.”
The Christian forces, eager to pluck this flower and heedless of the dangers in the path, advanced with rash haste between the ridges. Ferdinand in his anxiety to approach the city pitched his camp on uneven ground amid the surrounding olive-groves, in a position wholly to the disadvantage of either his cavalry or artillery. At the earnest entreaties of the Marquis of Cadiz and the Duke of Villahermosa, who had preached caution from the first, an attempt was made to rectify these mistakes, but it proved too late.
Aliator, the Governor of Loja, who was father-in-law of the young Sultan Boabdil, had been on the watch from the first for any opportunity of throwing the besiegers into confusion. He therefore skilfully arranged an ambush; and, some of the Christians falling into it, a sudden panic spread through the camp, that had begun to realize the perils of its locality. Only a hasty retreat saved Castile from a general massacre of her leading chivalry, nay even the loss of the King himself; while many a gallant warrior, such as the Master of Calatrava, came by his death. Ferdinand, in disgust at his ignominious five days’ siege and the failure of his tactics, departed to Cordova, leaving the command of the frontier in other hands.
Early in February, 1483, the Christians once more took the offensive, hoping to wipe out their previous defeat by some victory of unprecedented magnitude. Alonso de Cardenas, the Master of Santiago, who had been placed in command of the border country in the neighbourhood of Ecija, had learned through certain of his scouts that, once an army had pierced the mountains near Ajarquia, it would find itself in a fertile plain, not far removed from the city of Malaga. Here would be a new vega, stocked with fat herds and with opulent towns and villages, providing spoils for its conquerors even more alluring than the riches of Alhama. In vain the Marquis of Cadiz protested that these scouts were renegade Moors and should not be trusted; the daring of the enterprise had won the assent of Alonso de Cardenas and the other commanders against their better judgment, while the bait of pillage was eagerly swallowed by the ordinary soldiery.
From Antequera the army set out on its journey through the mountains, more than three thousand horse and a thousand foot with the banners of Seville, Cordova, Jerez, and other principal cities of Andalusia, waving in their midst. Rarely had more famous names graced a military enterprise: the Master of Santiago, hero of the Portuguese war; the Marquis of Cadiz, victor of Alhama, with some five more of the warlike house of Ponce de Leon; the Count of Cifuentes now Asistente of Seville; and Don Alonso de Aguilar, a renowned general whose star has somewhat paled before the brilliance of his younger brother’s fame, Gonsalvo de Cordova—the “Great Captain.” Behind these warriors and their troops came a heterogeneous crowd of merchants and adventurers, their pockets well stocked with gold for barter, and their hands ready for any robbery that would bring them profit so long as the swords of those in front had cleared a way to it in safety.
The selfish motives, that in most hearts prompted the undertaking, were clearly shown on the first day’s march through the mountains. High above them, ridge on ridge, stretched ragged peaks bare of all save the most meagre vegetation; the roadway on the slope below became a mere track, winding through ravines and stony river-beds. Here and there were human habitations; but the peasantry, warned by the glitter of spear and helmet, had long climbed to distant heights or hidden with their cattle in secret caves. The Castilians, picking their way in disorderly fashion between marsh and boulder, revenged themselves for the lack of booty by firing the deserted villages and huts until night fell; for of easy ground or promised vega there was no sign. Then in the darkness came the sound of stones and rocks clattering down the mountainside. Some of the horses were struck and, with others frightened by the noise, bolted or stumbled; lights began to appear along the ridge; and showers of poisoned arrows to descend; missiles from which the Christians, unable to retaliate, could find no adequate protection. A crowning touch was put to the ever-growing horror, when it was discovered that Muley Hacen, having learned of the invasion by means of beacon fires, had sent his brother “El Zagal” and Abul Cacim Venegas to the assistance of the mountaineers.
