The Story of Don John of Austria

by Luis Coloma

With a great tumult of groans and tears they all ran to the square of Bib-el-Bonut, to the residence of the Jesuits, and, giving mournful cries, called for Father Juan de Albotodo, a Moor by origin, who was so often their protector, helper, and also their dupe. The Father appeared at a window, without cap or cloak, as he was in the house, and heard the cries of these shameless ones, who already did not dare to demand justice, but only craved for mercy from the King, and charity and help to save their lives from the Father. Albotodo was truly a saint, a man of about forty, worn in body and face, very sunburnt and with such black eyes and hair that they proclaimed his Arab origin at once.

Albotodo descended to the square, and these wretched people did and said such things that they touched the Jesuit's very tender heart, and he ran off to the Audiencia without stopping to get hat or cloak, hoping to soften President Deza's heart, or, if necessary, D. John of Austria's. All the people followed him with groans to the entrance of the Albaicin, but no one dared to descend the hill, as the danger and their bad consciences had made cowards of them, as always happens to criminals.

Breathless the Jesuit arrived at the Audiencia, and the President received him as if he saw an angel coming down from heaven. Nothing could have been more opportune than his intervention, because no one could quiet the Moors as he could, and convince them that their lives were not in danger. In such good faith did D. Pedro Deza act, that he spontaneously offered to give a paper, signed with his name, to the Jesuit, assuring their lives to the Moors. The Father accepted his word: and wrote the document himself, which D. Pedro Deza signed, and the Jesuit, satisfied with this, ran back to the Albaicin, waving the parchment above his head, as if to quicken the hopes of the unhappy men he detested as criminals, but whom he cordially pitied as brothers and doomed men.

Father Albotodo read the parchment from the window: they believing it as he was a priest, says a chronicler, decided to go to their parish churches, depressed, gloomy and suspicious, because as soon as their hopes for their lives were confirmed, their anger and spite were rekindled, which only death could extinguish.

D. John ordered the parish churches to be guarded with several companies of infantry, and, having managed to establish order as regarded the Moors, he anticipated any trouble on the part of the Christians by issuing a proclamation, in the name of the King, to the effect that the confined Moors were under the royal protection and care, and had been promised that no harm should befall them, and that they were being taken from Granada out of danger from the soldiers.

Everyone in Granada, however, awoke the next morning uneasy and full of anxiety, because the Moors had to be moved from the parish churches, where they had spent the night, to the Royal Hospital beyond the gates, and there given over to the charge of the clerks and royal enumerators in order that the former should make a list of them, and that the others should undertake to assign them residences in those villages in Castille and Andalucia settled beforehand. Rebellion and mutiny were feared on both sides, and such would have been the case had not D. John foreseen everything. He ordered that all the soldiers should form up at daybreak in the plain between the gate of Elvira and the Royal Hospital, which was the most open and dangerous place. He commanded the first of the companies himself, and the other three were led by the Duque de Sesa, Luis Quijada, and the Licentiate Briviesca de Muñatones.

D. John took up his position at the door of the hospital, which was the most critical post. His standard of Captain-General, which was of crimson damask, much adorned with gold and having a figure of Christ on one side and of His Blessed Mother on the other, was carried in front of him to give him more authority. Pity towards these unarmed wretches was, however, stronger in the inhabitants of Granada than hatred and the desire for vengeance, and all the Moors were able to descend from the Albaicin, cross the town, and enter the hospital without being molested by anyone.

"It was a miserable sight," says Luis de Marmol, an eye-witness, participator in and chronicler of all these events "to see so many men of all ages, hanging their heads, their hands crossed, and their faces bathed with tears, looking sad and sorrowful, having left their comfortable houses, their families, their country, their habits, their properties and everything they had, and not even certain what would be done with their heads."

Twice, however, they were on the verge of a catastrophe, as it occurred to a certain captain of infantry from Seville, called Alonso de Arellano, from a stupid wish to be remarkable, to put a crucifix covered with a black veil on the top of a lance, and to carry it as a trophy in front of his company, which was guarding the Moors of two parishes. Seeing this token of mourning, some Moorish women in the street of Elvira thought that D. John had broken his word, and that their husbands were being taken to be beheaded; they began to weep and cry out in their Arabic dialect (aljamia), tearing their hair, "Oh, unlucky ones! they are taking you like lambs to be slaughtered. How much better for you to have died in the houses where you were born!" This inflamed the feelings of all, and Christians and Moors would have come to blows, had not Luis Quijada arrived in time to calm them, assuring the Moors afresh of their safety, and ordering the crucifix to be taken away.

At the door of the Royal Hospital there was another great commotion. A "barrachal" or captain of the alguaciles, named Velasco, gave a blow to a Moorish boy, an imbecile, who threw half a brick that he was carrying under his arm at the captain's head, wounding an ear; in the confusion it was thought that the injured man was D. John of Austria, as he wore blue like the "barrachal"; the halberdiers fell on the Moor and cut him to pieces, and the same thing would have happened to those that followed, had not D. John urged his horse into the middle of the throng and, stopping everything, said in a voice burning with indignation and with a commanding look, "What is this? Soldiers! Do you not realise that if misdeeds displease God in the infidels, how much more they do so in those who profess His laws, because they are the more obliged to keep faith with all sorts of people, especially in matters of confidence. Have a care, then, about what you are doing, that you do not break the pledge I have given them, because once broken it would be difficult to renew it, and if God tarries in their punishment it is not for me to forestall His justice."