He took with him on this expedition his son, Don Pedro de Cordova, a youth of bold and generous spirit, in the freshness of his days, and armed and arrayed with the bravery of a young Spanish cavalier. When the populace of Cordova beheld the veteran father, the warrior of a thousand battles, leading forth his son to the field, they bethought themselves of the family appellation. “Behold,” cried they, “the eagle teaching his young to fly! Long live the valiant line of Aguilar!”*
* “Aguilar,” the Spanish for eagle.
The prowess of Don Alonso and of his companions-in-arms was renowned throughout the Moorish towns. At their approach, therefore, numbers of the Moors submitted, and hastened to Ronda to embrace Christianity. Among the mountaineers, however, were many of the Gandules, a tribe from Africa, too proud of spirit to bend their necks to the yoke. At their head was a Moor named El Feri of Ben Estepar, renowned for strength and courage. At his instigation his followers gathered together their families and most precious effects, placed them on mules, and, driving before them their flocks and herds, abandoned their valleys and retired up the craggy passes of the Sierra (13) Bermeja. On the summit was a fertile plain surrounded by rocks and precipices, which formed a natural fortress. Here El Feri placed all the women and children and all the property. By his orders his followers piled great stones on the rocks and cliffs which commanded the defiles and the steep sides of the mountain, and prepared to defend every pass that led to his place of refuge.
The Christian commanders arrived, and pitched their camp before the town of Monarda, a strong place, curiously fortified, and situated at the foot of the highest part of the Sierra (14) Bermeja. Here they remained for several days, unable to compel a surrender. They were separated from the skirt of the mountain by a deep barranca, or ravine, at the bottom of which flowed a small stream. The Moors commanded by El Feri drew down from their mountain-height, and remained on the opposite side of the brook to defend a pass which led up to their stronghold.
One afternoon a number of Christian soldiers in mere bravado seized a banner, crossed the brook, and, scrambling up the opposite bank, attacked the Moors. They were followed by numbers of their companions, some in aid, some in emulation, but most in hope of booty. A sharp action ensued on the mountain-side. The Moors were greatly superior in number, and had the vantage-ground. When the counts of Urena and Cifuentes beheld the skirmish, they asked Don Alonso de Aguilar his opinion. “My opinion,” said he, “was given at Cordova, and remains the same: this is a desperate enterprise. However, the Moors are at hand, and if they suspect weakness in us it will increase their courage and our peril. Forward then to the attack, and I trust in God we shall gain a victory.” So saying, he led his troops into the battle.*
* Bleda, 1. 5, c. 26.
On the skirts of the mountain were several level places, like terraces; here the Christians pressed valiantly upon the Moors, and had the advantage; but the latter retreated to the steep and craggy heights, whence they hurled darts and rocks upon their assailants. They defended their passes and defiles with valor, but were driven from height to height until they reached the plain on the summit of the mountain where their wives and children were sheltered. Here they would have made a stand, but Alonso de Aguilar, with his son Don Pedro, charged upon them at the head of three hundred men and put them to flight with great carnage. While they were pursuing the flying enemy the rest of the army, thinking the victory achieved, dispersed themselves over the little plain in search of plunder. They pursued the shrieking females, tearing off their necklaces, bracelets, and anklets of gold, and they found so much treasure of various kinds collected in this spot that they threw by their armor and weapons to load themselves with booty.
Evening was closing. The Christians, intent upon spoil, had ceased to pursue the Moors, and the latter were arrested in their flight by the cries of their wives and children. Their leader, El Feri, threw himself before them. “Friends, soldiers,” cried he, “whither do you fly? Whither can you seek refuge where the enemy cannot follow you? Your wives, your children, are behind you—turn and defend them; you have no chance for safety but from the weapons in your hands.”
The Moors turned at his words. They beheld the Christians scattered about the plain, many of them without armor, and all encumbered with spoil. “Now is the time!” shouted El Feri: “charge upon them while laden with your plunder. I will open a path for you.” He rushed to the attack, followed by his Moors, with shouts and cries that echoed through the mountains. The scattered Christians were seized with panic, and, throwing down their booty, began to fly in all directions. Don Alonso de Aguilar advanced his banner and endeavored to rally them. Finding his horse of no avail in these rocky heights, he dismounted, and caused his men to do the same: he had a small band of tried followers, with which he opposed a bold front to the Moors, calling on the scattered troops to rally in the rear.
Night had completely closed. It prevented the Moors from seeing the smallness of the force with which they were contending, and Don Alonso and his cavaliers dealt their blows so vigorously that, aided by the darkness, they seemed multiplied to ten times their number. Unfortunately, a small cask of gunpowder blew up near to the scene of action. It shed a momentary but brilliant light over all the plain and on every rock and cliff. The Moors beheld, with surprise, that they were opposed by a mere handful of men, and that the greater part of the Christians were flying from the field. They put up loud shouts of triumph. While some continued the conflict with redoubled ardor, others pursued the fugitives, hurling after them stones and darts and discharging showers of arrows. Many of the Christians in their terror and their ignorance of the mountains, rushed headlong from the brinks of precipices and were dashed in pieces.