The Son of Columbus

by Molly Elliot Seawell

“Santiago, Santiago for Spain!”

At that moment Alonzo de Quintanilla burst into the room with the great news.

“The brave knight, Del Pulgar,” he said, “meaning to do honor to Christ on this Christmas Day, had a Christian prayer painted on a piece of linen to nail upon the doors of the great mosque in Granada. He arranged a stratagem by which a gate of the city should be open, and then, riding in with his companions, he galloped up to the door of the great mosque and nailed upon it with his dagger the Christian prayer. The Moors were so taken by surprise that they could not stop him. Not one of the sixteen knights received a scratch.”

The eyes of the Admiral shone bright. He loved deeds of valor, and the daring of the young knights pleased him well.

While the elders of the party were discussing the splendid dash of Del Pulgar and the possibilities of the siege, Diego, who was standing at the open window, silently motioned to Don Felipe to join him. They saw a Moorish officer ride out from the Gate of Justice and walk his horse up and down the plateau of the Vega. He wore the heavy turban, under which the Moors had a small steel skull-cap, and he had on a breastplate and his arm-pieces of solid armor. He carried no lance or shield, but only a great curved sword, such as the Moors used. His horse was a milk-white Arabian with a long and flowing mane and tail, dyed purple at the ends. From the horse’s tail floated, tied with bands of red and yellow, the Spanish colors, a piece of white linen. A cry of rage and horror went up from the watching multitudes of Santa Fé; it was the Christian prayer that had been nailed to the door of the mosque by Hernando Perez del Pulgar, and which the Moorish warrior had torn down and was dragging at his horse’s heels in full sight of the Christian city and armies.

The Admiral and Fray Piña and Alonzo de Quintanilla turned to the window and saw what was happening. Great crowds were already assembled, and the streets of Santa Fé and the walls of Granada were black with people. The Moorish warrior passed slowly toward the edge of the valley, or rather ravine, and, reining up his horse, dashed an iron glove as far as he could throw it toward Santa Fé. The challenge did not remain long unanswered. Across the bridge of the Xeni and up the rocky roadway a Spanish cavalier was seen urging his horse.

“That is Manuel Garcilosa,” said Alonzo de Quintanilla. “I know him well. He is not of noble birth; but, by Heaven! he will be ennobled if he rescues the Christian prayer from the Moor.”

Garcilosa, like the Moor, had neither lance nor shield, but a sword, which, like most of the Spanish swords, was a Toledo blade, made of the finest strength and temper.

Arrived on the plateau, Garcilosa stopped to breathe his horse, a noble chestnut. Man and horse stood motionless, as if cast in bronze. The Moor advanced warily, his horse at the trot. Garcilosa, his sword in rest, seemed waiting for the onslaught. When the Moorish warrior was within twenty yards of Garcilosa, he gave his horse the spur, and the chestnut sprang forward like an arrow released from the bow. The Moor also put spurs to his horse to meet the shock, but Garcilosa was too quick for him. The Arabian horse swerved a little, answering a touch of the bridle; but the chestnut, dashing full at him, man and horse were ridden down. The white horse had fallen upon his master; but with the intelligence of the Arabian he struggled to his feet in an instant. The Moorish warrior rose, too, as Garcilosa dismounted. Then followed a desperate combat on foot. The Moor was the heavier man; the Spanish gentleman the more active. They fought in a narrow circle, the clashing of their swords ringing out in the clear December air. Blood streamed from the faces of both, and presently the Moor was seen to stagger. Garcilosa suddenly gave his antagonist a thrust upon the sword-arm which brought him to the ground. Then, running to the Arabian, which stood perfectly still, Garcilosa, first tearing away the Christian prayer and putting it in his breast, took his Toledo blade and cut off the flowing tail of the Arabian horse. Cries resounded from the people on the walls of the city. The horse was of the breed of the Prophet Mohammed, and to cut off his tail was reckoned sacrilege.

The Moor still lay insensible on the ground; and Garcilosa, vaulting into the saddle upon the white horse, gave his own chestnut steed a thwack with the sword, which sent him flying back down the road he knew, followed by his master on the Arabian steed, hard galloping. Once more shouts and cries of “Santiago, Santiago for Spain!” rent the air.