It was well for the Christian cause that its power had been thus consolidated, for never during the period of the Arab domination had it been called upon to encounter a more formidable adversary. Muley Hassan, Emir of Granada, though advanced in years, still retained all the enthusiasm of youth, tempered by the wisdom and experience of age. From his very childhood he had been familiar with the exercise of arms. He was long accounted one of the best lances in the kingdom. Foremost in every warlike enterprise, he was the terror of the frontier years before he ascended the throne. Since his accession, his neighbors had had frequent occasion to acknowledge the boldness of his undertakings, the rapidity of his movements, the unrelenting cruelty of his character. The hatred he bore to the infidels had not been diminished by their gratuitous intervention in behalf of rebels in arms against his authority. His personal inclinations were towards unremitting hostility. The literary traditions of his dynasty were, to this fierce warrior, but so many manifestations of folly and cowardice. He repudiated with haughty contempt the claim of superiority implied in the tribute extorted by Castilian arrogance from the policy or the fears of his predecessors. The faith of treaties he observed so far as it suited his convenience and no farther.
The domestic relations of Muley Hassan had already given indications of those fatal quarrels eventually destined to cause the disruption of the monarchy. His sultana, Ayesha, a princess of great abilities and undaunted resolution, was the mother of two sons, the elder of whom, heir apparent to the throne, was the famous Abdallah, known to the Christians as Boabdil, devoted by fate to a life of strange vicissitudes and to a melancholy end. The amorous old king had long since discarded the Moorish princess for a beautiful Christian slave, designated in Spanish romance and tradition as Doña Isabel de Solis, but known to Moorish chroniclers by the poetic appellation of Zoraya, “The Star of the Morning.” Ayesha, inflamed with rage and jealousy, neglected no opportunity to persecute her rival and annoy her lord. Of noble birth and possessed of unlimited wealth, she readily enlisted in her behalf many adherents of rank and power. The ever-available pretext of an unpopular vizier was successfully invoked. The Zegris and the Abencerrages, infected with the tribal prejudices of the Desert and constant rivals for royal favor, willingly lent their aid; the former adhered to the Emir, the influence of the latter was cast with the opposing party. The populace of Granada, delighting in innovation and prone to revolt, chose sides in the controversy at a time when national union was an imperative necessity; when even the hearty co-operation of every class and clan might have been insufficient to avert the impending tempest; when internal dissension was certain to facilitate the designs of the Christians. Popular discontent had, as yet, only manifested itself in a few unimportant riots, which had been suppressed with trifling bloodshed; when the apprehension of the common enemy suspended, for the moment, the implacable resentment of the rival factions.
Having adjusted the internal affairs of their kingdom, secure in their authority, and eager for renown, Ferdinand and Isabella lost no time in despatching an embassy to Granada, instructed to demand the arrears of tribute, an explanation of violated treaties, and an acknowledgment of their own suzerainty. The envoy, Don Juan de Vera, whose splendid retinue had been provided with everything calculated to impress the Moors with the grandeur and power of the Spanish monarchy, brought back a message of defiance. “Return,” said the ferocious old Emir, “and say to your masters that the monarchs of Granada who paid tribute to the Christians are dead. Nothing for our enemies is now made here but lance-heads and scimetars!” The insolent reply of the Moorish king, whom he regarded in the light of a rebellious vassal, exasperated the usually phlegmatic Ferdinand. In an outburst of fury, he exclaimed, “I will tear out the seeds of this pomegranate one by one;” and, with a grim determination to exact a signal revenge, in concert with the Queen he despatched messengers to the powerful nobles throughout his dominions acquainting them with the result of the embassy and ordering them to prepare for war.
By no one was this notification of impending hostilities received with greater satisfaction than by Don Rodrigo Ponce de Leon, Marquis of Cadiz. That personage, destined to figure so prominently in the Conquest as to be generally recognized as its animating spirit, was the representative of one of the greatest houses of the kingdom. With the Duke of Medina-Sidonia, long his feudal rival, he divided the richest estates of Andalusia. Confident of the success which would excuse his rashness, he summoned his retainers, made a sudden foray as far as the environs of Ronda, destroyed the town of Mercadillo, and returned to Arcos loaded with spoil. The pugnacious Muley Hassan could ill brook this insult to his dignity, and he at once determined upon a counterstroke. The fortress of Zahara, captured from the Moors by Ferdinand of Antequera, was the object of his hostility. It was a typical mediæval stronghold. Built upon a pyramidal hill, its natural and artificial defences defied an ordinary attack. But the garrison was small, the supplies inadequate, and the governor disheartened and careless from the affliction of a recent domestic calamity. With the greatest secrecy and celerity, the King issued with his troops from Granada, traversed the mountains by difficult and unfrequented paths, and at night, in the midst of a fearful storm, appeared before Zahara. Aided by the obscurity and the noise of the storm, the Moorish soldiery scaled the walls. The garrison was put to the sword. Many citizens were killed in their beds; the survivors, drenched with rain, spattered with blood, and quaking with cold and terror, collected in the public square, and, exposed to the full fury of the tempest, were guarded there till daylight by a troop of Berber horsemen. Three days afterwards they were exposed for sale in the slave-market of Granada.
The Moorish wars of Spain were essentially wars of reprisals. The military expeditions of one side were usually followed by corresponding incursions of the other. A protracted campaign with the immense expense involved in the maintenance of an army and the prosecution of a siege had heretofore, except in a few instances, been beyond the power of the Christians, and contrary to the traditional tactics of the Moors, practised in all the stratagems of guerilla warfare. The martial spirit of both nations was therefore for the most part exercised in those brilliant but indecisive operations which, by a sudden and unexpected attack, could inflict temporary injury on an enemy. After the seizure of Zahara, an exploit of greater importance was necessary to retrieve the credit of the Spanish arms. With this in view, the Marquis of Cadiz despatched spies to examine the condition of the various cities in the kingdom of Granada. This service, although attended with circumstances of the greatest difficulty and peril, was yet one most earnestly solicited by the Spanish cavaliers. Those intrusted with this mission reported that Malaga and Alhama might, with proper precautions, be surprised. Not content with this information, the Marquis sent Ortega del Prado, an experienced engineer, to carefully inspect the surroundings and measure the walls of Alhama. This dangerous task successfully accomplished, the cautious leader proceeded, with the most profound secrecy, to carry his daring plan into execution. An effective force of seven thousand men, commanded by some of the boldest captains of Andalusia, was assembled. Imitating the example of the Moslems, they moved at night and in silence. It is one of the most singular facts in the annals of these wars that large bodies of men could penetrate, with such ease and unobserved, the territory of a foe whom the proximity of constant danger must have rendered habitually vigilant. The hills of Southern Spain are still dotted with the numerous watch-towers raised by the prudence of the Moors, upon whose summits and from the neighboring mountain peaks a chain of signal-fires conveyed instantaneously the intelligence that the enemy was abroad.
Stealthily the Christian army pursued its way in the darkness under the direction of trusty guides, painfully clambering up the mountain-sides by the uncertain light of the stars, skirting the borders of precipices, hiding in the depths of gloomy ravines, until an hour before dawn on the third day found them in a valley within a mile and a half of Alhama. This city was in the very centre of Granada and was accounted one of the keys of the capital, from which it was but twenty-four miles distant. Under ordinary circumstances an attack upon it seemed hopeless. Situated upon a mountain spur, it was protected by walls not surpassed in height and solidity by those of any fortified place in the Peninsula. A stupendous chasm, several hundred feet in depth, through which rushed the roaring Marchan, defended its approach and enhanced the difficulty of its capture. The hot-baths in its vicinity, known to the Romans and largely patronized by the luxurious inhabitants of the metropolis, had not enervated the mountaineers of Alhama, whose reputation for ferocity and valor had been established in many a frontier skirmish and extended foray. Rendered doubly secure by the natural situation and impregnable bulwarks of the city, the garrison insensibly relaxed its vigilance. No apprehension of an attack was entertained even by the most timorous citizen. The time was especially propitious to a surprise. The governor was absent at Velez-Malaga. An inefficient patrol] was maintained. During the last hour of the night when slumber is deepest, Ortega del Prado, with thirty picked men, planted the ladders and mounted the ramparts of the citadel. A single sentinel was pierced with a score of daggers before he could give the alarm. In the mean time, three hundred soldiers had scaled the walls; the guard, half-awake, perished in its quarters; the garrison rushed to arms; and the shrill notes of the Moorish trumpet, mingled with the shouts of the assailants and the cries of the dying, resounded through the city. The mountaineers, although taken by surprise, were not dismayed. The narrow and crooked streets offered excellent opportunities for defence. These were barricaded, and all access to the gates cut off. The Spaniards were besieged in turn; it was impossible to retire; the steep and contracted entrance to the castle was commanded by the Moorish cross-bowmen and musketeers, whose aim promised almost certain death. Sancho de Avila, Governor of Carmona, and Nicholas de Rojas, Governor of Arcos, in an attempt to lead a forlorn hope, instantly paid the penalty of their rashness, and fell pierced with bolts. The situation was critical. After a day of constant fighting, no foothold had been obtained in the city. The King of Granada was hourly expected. There were no provisions, and the Spaniards outside the walls could not reinforce their comrades. Opinions were divided as to the best course to adopt, but the bold counsels of the Marquis of Cadiz eventually prevailed. A breach was made in the wall of the citadel; through it a number of Spanish knights were enabled to make a sudden sally, and the enemy sullenly retired from his position. Every street now became a battle-ground; from the housetops tiles and stones were rained down upon the Christians; the Moors, animated by the expectation of speedy relief and aware that their most precious interests were at stake, contested every foot of ground with the energy of despair. Driven from the streets, they took refuge in the principal mosque, where for a time they maintained themselves in spite of the most determined attempts to dislodge them. At length, under the shelter of improvised mantelets, the doors were set on fire, and its occupants rushing out were cut to pieces or captured. The burning of the mosque terminated the struggle, a memorable one in the annals of Moorish warfare, both from the audacious character of the enterprise and the intrepid obstinacy of the defence. In no subsequent engagement of the Conquest did the Christians encounter such a desperate resistance. In many respects the taking of Alhama was of great importance. It revealed unmistakably the weakness of the Moslem kingdom, and it placed an enemy’s outpost within a few hours’ march of Granada. It was an ill omen for the permanence of a monarchy when a stronghold of such strategic value could be captured and retained at the very gates of its capital. The spoil of Alhama well repaid the perils incurred to obtain it. It was the wealthiest city of its size in the Moorish dominions. The royal tribute of the entire district was collected there, and it fell into the hands of the victors. The captives numbered three thousand. A great quantity of treasure, of valuable merchandise of every description, of horses and mules, rewarded the daring of the Castilians. Not thinking the city would be permanently occupied, the soldiers hastened to destroy the oil and wheat in the magazines. Scarcely had the work of pillage been completed when a detachment of Moorish cavalry appeared. Unable to retrieve a disaster which rumor had ascribed to a small party of adventurers, after a reconnoissance they returned to Granada. Every effort of the Moorish king was now exerted to retake Alhama before it could be reinforced. His urgent summons rapidly called into the field an army of eighty-one thousand men. With this force he advanced to attack the city, neglecting, in his impetuous anxiety, to avail himself of his fine train of artillery, without which he could not hope for success. Meanwhile, the Christians had not been idle. Realizing their desperate situation, they had despatched messengers to the Catholic sovereigns imploring assistance. Many eminent leaders, whose previous gallantry belied any suspicion of cowardice, counselled retreat. Their remonstrances became more pressing as the great Moslem army deployed about the city, and the convoy with supplies from Antequera, after narrowly escaping capture, was driven back. The Moors were infuriated by the sight of the bodies of their countrymen a prey to dogs, and, disdaining the usual means of protection, dashed forward to scale the battlements. The impregnability of the fortifications of Alhama, when properly defended, now became apparent. The heroic efforts of the besiegers were exerted in vain. The ladders swarming with the lithe and active soldiery were overturned and, with their burdens, dashed to pieces. The missiles of the Christians made great havoc in the dense masses of the enemy, who, regardless of danger, hurled themselves against the defences. Assault followed assault with the same result. An attempt to open a mine under the wall failed on account of the hardness of the rock and the want of necessary implements and protective appliances. Then another expedient was tried. The water-supply of Alhama was obtained from the stream partly encircling it, which was reached by a winding stairway cut through the very centre of the cliff. After almost superhuman efforts to prevent it, the stream was diverted from its channel; and the opening of the subterranean passage, commanded by a picked body of cross-bowmen, offered to the besieged the alternative of death by thirst or by the weapons of the enemy. Every drop of water was now only to be obtained after a conflict, and the little that was thus secured was often tinged with blood.
The news that the Marquis of Cadiz and his companions were shut up in Alhama produced great consternation in every province of the kingdom. There was scarcely a prominent Andalusian family which did not have a representative with the expedition. The honor of the crown, the glory of the Spanish arms, the safety of beloved relatives, the success of future enterprises, perhaps the fate of the Moorish kingdom itself, were staked upon the result. Hereditary prejudices were cast aside. The Duke of Medina-Sidonia forgot his animosity towards his rival and appeared at the head of his numerous vassals. Ferdinand took the field in person. A suggestive indication of the military spirit and the resources of the Spanish monarchy at that time is afforded by the fact that within a week an army of forty-five thousand men, completely equipped, was marshalled ready for battle. The King of Granada dared not risk an encounter with this powerful force. The flower of the Moslem youth had perished in the bloody yet fruitless engagements of the siege. The survivors were discouraged by these repeated reverses; the opportunity to retrieve a disaster attributable to negligence rather than to misfortune had been lost; and, with a heavy heart, Muley Hassan retired to face the resentment and endure the execrations of the fierce and seditious populace of his capital.
The serious dispute concerning the distribution of the plunder which arose between the two divisions of the Christian army gives us an insight into national manners, and discloses the principal motive with which these national crusades were prosecuted. The cupidity of the relieving force was aroused at the sight of the rich booty secured by their comrades who had stormed the town, and they demanded it as their own, alleging, with some reason, that without their timely aid it would have been inevitably lost. The honor acquired by the rescue of their countrymen and the glory of maintaining the Christian cause were inconsiderable in comparison with the spoil to which they declared themselves entitled. The feeling ran so high that all the influence of the Duke of Medina-Sidonia and other powerful nobles was required to prevent an appeal to arms.
The Spanish army having withdrawn, the King of Granada, this time abundantly provided with artillery and munitions of war, again invested Alhama. The thickness of the walls, however, resisted even the fire of the Moorish lombards, at that epoch the best served, and, indeed, almost the only ordnance in Europe. One night, just after sunset, Muley Hassan summoned to his tent forty young cavaliers of the most distinguished families of the Arab nobility. When assembled, they were informed that he had selected them to carry the town by escalade. The ambition of the Moorish youth was inflamed by the confidence reposed in them by their King, and the perilous service was accepted with enthusiasm. Supported by a numerous detachment, the daring adventurers approached the highest part of the wall. Its vicinity was so difficult of access that the garrison, considering this portion of the defences impregnable, maintained a careless watch. But the active intrepidity of the Moors overcame this apparently insurmountable obstacle, and the little band of assailants attained the summit of the ramparts unobserved. Of two sentinels they encountered, one was put to death, but the other, escaping, gave the alarm. Already seventy Moors had penetrated into the streets and others were ascending the ladders. A few moments more and the city would have been taken. The scaling-party, overwhelmed by numbers, were all killed or made prisoners; the supporting forces which were mounting the walls or had silently approached the gates were driven back; a vigilant patrol was established; and the most promising attempt devised by Moorish ingenuity and daring for the recovery of Alhama was frustrated.
Fully awake now to the difficulty of preserving their conquest, the Catholic sovereigns made for the first time adequate preparations for its defence. The garrison was strongly reinforced. Forty thousand beasts of burden were required to transport the enormous quantity of provisions and military supplies which were deposited in its arsenal and magazines. The city had been taken the first day of March, 1482. The second retreat of the Moors took place on the twenty-third of the month. The interval had been one of almost constant battle. Hundreds of lives had been lost on both sides. The military operations connected with the capture of Alhama in the gravity and significance of their results far surpassed those which decided the fate of any other fortified place during the war of Granada, the capital alone excepted. The prestige its possession imparted to the Spanish arms was of greater value than even its paramount importance as a base of operations in the heart of the enemy’s country. Its loss was a fatal blow to the Moorish cause. The unpopularity of Muley Hassan increased; his army was disheartened; the murmurs of the seditious mob of the city grew more threatening; and the faction of the palace hastened to perfect the conspiracy which was soon to result in the downfall of the Moslem power.