“But,” she continued, “seeing that it is now two years since we began our war against the Moors, and that during that time we have been put to great trouble and expense, I hold it as ill-advised that we should burden ourselves with a fresh campaign elsewhere.”
She then departed southwards with the Cardinal of Spain to arrange for a renewed invasion of Moorish territory, leaving the King with some Castilian troops to settle his own projects in the north according to his fancy. The result was, after due reflection, to bring him back to her, with his designs on Roussillon and Cerdagne temporarily shelved. There was nothing petty in the relation of either husband or wife; and it is probable that the secret of their unanimity of action lay in their mutual readiness to respond to reason.
It was about this date that their military policy developed a new and more modern trend. The surprise of Alhama, the expedition to Ajarquia, and the hasty march to Loja had all been in keeping with the tactics of earlier crusades. That two out of the three expeditions had failed showed either a lack of judgment or of courage; and the reckless daring of the Castilian race forbade even the momentary consideration of the latter suggestion. Where then did the error lie?
Experience showed that, in spite of her isolation, the kingdom of Granada would not succumb to ordinary measures of ravage and blockade. Even in the districts trampled underfoot, and burned and pillaged by Christian armies, the vegetation hardly awaited the departure of the invaders to spring up in fresh luxuriance. Ravages that would have made the plains of Castile a desert were quickly effaced in this land of sunshine, both by the help of nature and of the industrious inhabitants. There were, moreover, hidden vegas and tracts of seaboard, protected on the north both from cold winds and foreign armies by high mountain ranges, whose southern slopes, with the land stretching beyond them, were a veritable paradise of fruits and crops. Granada might soon find her luxury curtailed, but to starve her into submission would be a Herculean task.
Another lesson learned was the futility of a campaign of midnight assaults and surprises. These were well enough for a single expedition that aimed at no more than intimidating the enemy, or establishing a reputation for heroism amongst the leaders, though it has been shown such glory could be dearly bought. In scaling walls or planting an ambush the Castilian had not anything to teach his foe; while the majority of Moorish fortresses were built in commanding positions by the entrance to ravines, or were perched on almost inaccessible heights that gave to the defender with his javelin and cross-bow an enormous advantage over those scrambling up to the attack from below.
The reduction of such strongholds was a necessary part of the conquest of Granada; but eight more years were to pass before the task was completed, and the capital, whose ramparts were a series of fortresses, was to surrender, subdued not so much by wild valour as by untiring patience.
During these years the Castilian army lost much of its feudal character, a transformation to be completed later, on the battlefields of Italy under the supervision of Gonsalvo de Cordova. The levies of the principal nobles had been the backbone of the war against the Portuguese, and still supplied no mean contribution to the Christian forces in the kingdom of Granada. The military retainers of the Cardinal of Spain numbered some two thousand men, while, as we have already seen, a combination of the vassals of the Duke of Medina-Sidonia and Marquis of Cadiz was sufficient to make Muley Hacen raise the siege of Alhama. This same Duke, in addition to his land forces, was able, in 1487, to dispatch a private fleet and convoy of provisions to the royal camp at Malaga, then suffering from famine; but the wealth and power that could give these substantial proofs of loyalty were not without their drawbacks. The patriotic Duke, when touched in his vanity, did not hesitate to refuse Ferdinand’s commands as to the disposal of his troops, exclaiming touchily: “I have brought them to his service, but they shall go nowhere save under my command.”
The sovereigns dealt with such aristocratic independence by their usual policy of creating a counter-balance. They had established a permanent troop of soldiers in Galicia, paid by their treasury, to enforce the sentences of the royal judges in that unruly province; while the natural sequence of their employment of the Santa Hermandad for the restoration of order was the dispatch of its well-armed bands to the seat of war.
The royal forces were further recruited by numbers of the robbers and evildoers, who had created such havoc in Castile in the early years of the reign. It had been impossible to punish them all, as was shown in the case of Seville; and now a free pardon was offered to those who would take their share in the great crusade and turn their love of violence to patriotic use. Strict regulations prevented them from yielding to their old habits; for the work of pillage and plunder was kept within the bounds then considered legitimate, the women and the camp followers who preyed upon the troops were banished; and even gambling, a customary pastime of the soldiery and ever-fruitful source of quarrels, was suppressed.
In addition to the troops already mentioned Ferdinand also possessed what might be called his own private army, amounting to three thousand men, personally pledged to his service. It consisted of vassals of the royal demesnes led by their adelantados; an escort of young nobles and knights and a royal guard of some five hundred ginetes, or light horse, with an equal number of heavily armed cavalry.