‘Thy praise is far too high, Muza, else, why shouldst thou not be willing to pass some longer portion of thy time in the immediate presence of such an angel?’
‘Love, think of our race, and lament not these too short moments of bliss; our race, scorned and trampled upon by the Christian, fast falling into the chains of slavery, and compelled to toil for him;—shall we endure it? No! rather let the desert be our home,—the home of our ancestors,—barren and desolate though it be, still may we breathe the air of freedom.—Yes, my country needs my sword, my country and my love. Do not then grieve for this short interview; am not I wholly thine,—and will not to-morrow join us never more to part? Farewell then, for a few short hours, made doubly brief by thoughts of thee.’ So saying, Muza sprang lightly upon his horse, which his faithful attendant had already led forward, and soon disappeared behind the trees that o’erhung the path. Zareda stood gazing in the direction, so long as the sound of trampling hoofs was audible, as he flew over the plain, and then, full of bright anticipations of the morrow, retired to her chamber.
That what follows may be readily understood, it is necessary to state, that the incidents of the present sketch occurred about the year 1450, when Mohammed X. ruled over the kingdom of Granada, but who, together with his people, was in turn experiencing the ill fortunes of war from the increasing power of the Christians, as had, nearly eight centuries before, the Goths from his predecessors. Though, at the time of which we write, the army of the Christians was not in force against them, still, a kind of partizan warfare continued,—sometimes, indeed, to the temporary triumph of the Moors, but always, eventually, to the permanent advantage of their enemy. The Christian leaders, attended by a few hundred followers, were continually ravaging the country; and one of them, Fernando Narvaez, with less than two hundred men, had more than once spread alarm to the very gates of Granada.
It was on the eve of an expedition of one of these partisan bands, as some twenty cavalry were scouring the country, seizing upon such travelers as were so unwary, or rather unfortunate, as to fall into their hands, that upon turning an acclivity rising abruptly from the road, and skirted by a grove of citrons, they came full upon a young Moorish horseman, riding leisurely forward, as though unconscious of danger. He appeared to be just in the prime of manhood; in stature rather above middling, yet finely proportioned. His noble bearing, together with the richness of his dress, proclaimed him a person of distinction and a warrior; his turban and scarf were wrought of the most costly materials, and spangled with jewels, whilst a sword and buckler of exquisite workmanship hung by his side;—his horse was in every respect worthy of his rider. No sooner did he perceive the band of the enemy, than he turned in flight with the speed of the wind; winding rapidly round the edge of the hill, until, for a moment, he was obscured from sight, he dashed headlong into the grove, trusting to art and his knowledge of the country to elude their pursuit. But escape was vain. They hurried eagerly forward, piercing the grove in every direction, following each winding path, and seized upon him as he was emerging from the opposite side. Resistance he saw would be useless; but he deigned not a word to his captors, and there was nought betrayed emotion, save a slight curl of contempt upon his lip as he delivered his arms into their hands, and quietly took his station, as he was bid, between two of their number. They continued about an hour reconnoitering the country, but no enemy appearing, returned to their quarters, bringing with them their prisoner.
During this interval, the young Moor had had leisure to reflect upon his situation. He was a brave warrior; and like every one who is truly brave, he possessed not only a spirit of boldness and daring during the raging of the battle, and in the hour of triumph, but could yield to disappointment and defeat, and meet the reverses of fortune with equal fortitude. So now, though he knew from the first that slavery would be the mildest lot for which he could even hope, nevertheless, he willingly yielded to necessity, and seemed to the observer, as if regardless of his situation. But this appearance was not long maintained;—a tinge of melancholy stole over his countenance; the stern and fearless look of the warrior was changed to the appearance of thoughtful anxiety and inward grief;—some more powerful emotion, and apparently unconnected with the feelings of a soldier, was working at his heart. Such was his situation as they arrived at their quarters, and conducted him immediately to the presence of their leader.
All the decision and sternness of a Spanish general was depicted in the countenance of Narvaez. His authority was usually severe, and his will not to be questioned; but, at times, he would exhibit a natural disposition of kindness and benevolence, which endeared him to his followers, and rendered him none the less fitted to command.
‘Who art thou?’ said he, as the prisoner was led before him, ‘and whither wert thou going, thus unattended, through a hostile country?’
‘Christian,’ said the Moor, as he endeavored to assume an appearance becoming his rank, but which, it was evident at the time, cost him no slight exertion,—‘know that I am the son of the Alcalde of Ronda; and I was going, this very night, to claim—’ but the effort was too much for him; he burst into tears.
‘Thou astonishest me!’ cried Narvaez,—‘thy father I knew well, and, though an enemy, yet will I acknowledge him as brave a warrior as ever crossed a lance; but thou weepest like a woman! Seest thou not that this is but one of the chances of war; one, which thy noble father would have met, had fortune so ordered, with as calm a brow as if greeted with the tribute of success? Is the son so far degenerated from the sire!’
‘Nay, Christian,’ answered Muza, for it was he, ‘I hope in all things to be worthy of the fame of my father; and among my own people, the name of Muza ben Hassan is not spoken with contempt. ’Tis not for the loss of liberty that I grieve, but for something a thousand times dearer than that, of which I must be deprived;’—and as he concluded the sentence, his spirit, which for a moment had been aroused by the taunting allusion to his degeneracy, sank again. But Narvaez saw the marks of a noble mind within, as he drew up his manly figure to its height, displaying to the best advantage his finely proportioned limbs, whilst his brow contracted with a look almost of defiance. He saw that there was something more than his present misfortune which so powerfully affected him,—and at once he became deeply interested in the youth.