Isabel remained with the Christian forces for the rest of the campaign; while in the following spring she and Ferdinand collected a new army at Cordova, mainly recruited from the levies of Andalusia. It was their intention to attack the town of Velez-Malaga, now left high and dry, but then a flourishing seaport, situated at the extremity of a long ridge of mountains stretching down to the Mediterranean. Its capture would not only lay bare the fertile valley to the west, but would also insert a hostile wedge between the important city of Malaga some five miles distant and the capital, where El Zagal maintained his uneasy throne.
The relations between the rival Sultans had not been improved by the capitulation of Loja; and soon afterwards an unsuccessful attempt on the part of the uncle to poison his nephew had led to renewed struggles in Granada itself. Boabdil, in his eagerness for revenge had appealed to Ferdinand for help; but the commander of the Christian troops sent to the scene of action, while pretending to lend support, contented himself with fomenting the discord that he found, thus encouraging the “King of the Alhambra” and the “King of the Albaycin” to work their mutual destruction.
When the news came that the Christian army had pitched its camp before Velez-Malaga, bringing with it all its heavy guns, “El Zagal” was torn with indecision. To go to the assistance of the besieged was to leave his palace of the Alhambra exposed to Boabdil’s attack; to stay was to sacrifice an important harbour, besides losing his popularity with the inhabitants of Granada, who looked to him for the deeds of valour befitting his name. His choice was that of the warrior; and the despairing inhabitants of Velez-Malaga who were on the point of surrender rejoiced to see the mountains lit up with bonfires, warning them of their Sultan’s approach. The Christians on their part were fully prepared to defend their camp; the bravest of their chivalry under the Marquis-Duke of Cadiz opposed themselves again and again to the Moorish onslaughts, until “El Zagal” was beaten back in confusion from Velez-Malaga as Hamet “El Zegri” had been from Ronda.
The capitulation of the town followed at the end of April, 1487; and then the Christian army pushed forward to Malaga, a port famous for its commerce from the days of Phœnician traders. The enthusiasm of the troops was raised to white heat by success and by the personal bravery of Ferdinand, who, on one occasion during the late siege, seeing a company of Castilians about to retreat, had hurled himself on the enemy armed only with his breastplate and sword. On the remonstrances of his generals, who besought him in future to remember what his death would cost them, he replied: “I cannot see my men in difficulties and not go to their aid.” It was an answer more likely to endear him to Castilian hearts than any act of legislation.
The courage that inspired the Christians was not lacking in Malaga, where the fierce Hamet “El Zegri” and his garrison had pledged themselves to starve rather than yield. The fire of the heavy lombards, disembarked from the Castilian ships and pointed on the Moorish towers and ramparts, was answered by cannon equally deadly in their aim; the mines planted deep behind trenches were met by counter-mines; the Christian raids on the suburbs by midnight sallies of such unexpected ferocity that often massacre ensued, until reinforcements at length drove the invaders back to their walls.
The summer months passed slowly; and hunger and pestilence added their gaunt spectres to the sufferings of the besieged. In vain Ferdinand, courting a speedy surrender, sent messengers to offer generous terms, such as he had granted at Ronda and Loja; in vain he threatened the alternative of slavery in case of prolonged resistance; in vain the more peace-loving citizens pleaded with their governor to accept a settlement that would save the prosperity of their port. Hamet “El Zegri” returned a scornful refusal. Soon, he declared the rainy season would begin, and the Christian camp would be turned into a swamp, fit breeding-ground for death in all its forms. Malaga had only to hold firm to triumph. What matter if the victory cost her the ruin of her commerce? It was a question to which garrison and merchants returned a different answer.
In the meanwhile Isabel had appeared in person at the Christian camp, not, as the Moors expected, to persuade her husband to raise the siege, but to second his efforts. Her presence was heralded by the fire of all the guns at once, a thunder that shook Malaga to its foundations and filled Castilian hearts with pride. Fanaticism was now to play its part in the history of the siege, persuading Hamet “El Zegri” and his supporters of divine interposition, when all human aid had failed them. Their first would-be saviour was a certain Abraham “El Gerbi,” a dervish of holy life imbued with a hatred of the Christians. This man, gathering to his standard some four hundred warriors of Guadix, whom he had inspired with the belief that he was protected by the angels of Mahomet, led them to an attack on the camp before Malaga. Had his efforts ended here the incident would have been speedily forgotten, for in spite of its bravery the band of fanatics was too small to create more than a momentary panic. Abraham “El Gerbi,” however, was captured alive. No one suspected in that saintly face and wasted form the man who had planned the mad expedition; and when the old dervish declared himself a prophet, and begged for an interview with the King and Queen that he might explain how Malaga could be taken, the Marquis-Duke of Cadiz led him at once to headquarters.
There was some delay in seeing the sovereigns, so the prisoner was made to wait in a neighbouring tent, where a Portuguese Prince, Don Alvaro, a cousin of the Queen, and Beatriz de Bobadilla, Marchioness of Moya, were playing chess. Unable to understand Castilian, the dervish believed the players the object of his fanatical hatred, and, drawing a knife he had concealed in the folds of his cloak, he attacked the Prince, wounding him in the head. Next he hurled himself on the Marchioness of Moya, but before he could achieve his purpose the swords of those standing by had ended his life. That night the body of Abraham “El Gerbi” was hurled by Christian catapults into the Moorish town.
It would seem as if Malaga’s faith in dervishes might have been shaken; but a new prophet shortly appeared, this time within the city, pledging himself by a certain sacred banner to bring victory to Moorish arms. His preaching, seconded by Hamet “El Zegri’s” fiery patriotism, stirred the flagging energy of the besieged to a more desperate sally than any that had yet been made. Out of the city they poured, the white standard floating at their head, and before this unexpected avalanche of spears and scimitars the Christians for the moment quailed; the next, their courage returning, they closed upon their foes from all sides. The battle wavered, then a stone from a catapult struck the dervish prophet down, and with a shout of triumph the Christians saw the sacred banner fall and drove back the Moors, routed and dismayed, within the walls of Malaga.
The city was doomed. Even Hamet “El Zegri” acknowledged this, and leaving the citizens to their fate, withdrew with some of his warriors into the fortress of the Gibralfaro; but the offers of peace and safety he had before derided could be no longer claimed. Fanaticism had left its mark also on the Christian camp; and amongst the Castilian soldiery the enemy’s entreaties for life and freedom were met by threats of a general massacre.