“You talk like young men,” replied the veteran. “Glory is a prize one may fight for abroad, but safety is the object when the enemy is at the door.”
One day, however, the young men succeeded in drawing down their father into the plain. Abdalasis immediately seized on the opportunity, and threw himself between the Goths and their mountain fastnesses. Theodomir saw too late the danger into which he was betrayed. “What can our raw troops do,” said he, “against those squadrons of horse that move like castles? Let us make a rapid retreat to Orihuela, and defend ourselves from behind its walls.”
“Father,” said the eldest son, “it is too late to retreat; remain here with the reserve while my brother and I advance. Fear nothing; am not I your son, and would I not die to defend you?”
“In truth,” replied the veteran, “I have my doubts whether you are my son. But if I remain here, and you should all be killed, where then would be my protection? Come,” added he, turning to the second son, “I trust that thou art virtually my son, let us hasten to retreat before it is too late.”
“Father,” replied the youngest, “I have not a doubt that I am honestly and thoroughly your son, and as such I honor you; but I owe duty likewise to my mother, and when I sallied to the war she gave me her blessing as long as I should act with valor, but her curse should I prove craven and fly the field. Fear nothing, father; I will defend you while living, and even after you are dead. You shall never fail of an honorable sepulture among your kindred.”
“A pestilence on ye both,” cried Theodomir, “for a brace of misbegotten madmen! What care I, think ye, where ye lay my body when I am dead? One day’s existence in a hovel is worth an age of interment in a marble sepulchre. Come, my friends,” said he, turning to his principal cavaliers, “let us leave these hot-headed striplings and make our retreat; if we tarry any longer the enemy will be upon us.”
Upon this, the cavaliers and proud hidalgoes drew up scornfully and tossed their heads: “What do you see in us,” said they, “that you think we will show our backs to the enemy? Forward! was ever the good old Gothic watchword, and with that will we live and die!”
While time was lost in these disputes, the Moslem army kept advancing until retreat was no longer practicable. The battle was tumultuous and bloody. Theodomir fought like a lion, but it was all in vain; he saw his two sons cut down, and the greater part of their rash companions, while his raw mountain troops fled in all directions.
Seeing there was no longer any hope, he seized the bridle of a favorite page who was near him, and who was about spurring for the mountains. “Part not from me,” said he, “but do thou, at least, attend to my counsel, my son; and of a truth I believe thou art my son, for thou art the offspring of one of my handmaids who was kind unto me.” And indeed the youth marvelously resembled him. Turning then the reins of his own steed, and giving him the spur, he fled amain from the field, followed by the page; nor did he stop until he arrived within the walls of Orihuela.
Ordering the gates to be barred and bolted, he prepared to receive the enemy. There were but few men in the city capable of bearing arms, most of the youth having fallen in the field. He caused the women, therefore, to clothe themselves in male attire, to put on hats and helmets, to take long reeds in their hands instead of lances, and to cross their hair upon their chins in semblance of beards. With these troops he lined the walls and towers.