Chapter 35

Inter their bodies as becomes their births:

_Shakespeare._

Few, few shall part where many meet,

* * * *

And every turf beneath their feet Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.

_T. Campbell._

The victory of the Moors was complete; and as they had been long accustomed to reverses, so unusual a success elated them beyond all bounds of moderation. They considered their independence as now firmly established, and could scarcely be restrained from rushing, like a disorderly horde of conquering barbarians, on their enemies below, and ravaging the country round. But fortunately El Feri joined to great courage and activity the rare endowments of a prudent and sagacious chief. He foresaw that the present success, if not followed up judiciously, would prove more prejudicial than favorable to their cause. It was not by a confused depredatory system that this first victory should be followed up; for their cause could only be ultimately benefited by improving their present advantages. Besides, the fierce courage of his followers, arising rather from a sense of injuries and revenge, than real military bravery, was ill calculated to sustain the superior numbers and better disciplined bands of the Christians. Nor could El Feri be so far dazzled by one solitary success as to attribute solely to their conduct and courage that result which was chiefly to be ascribed to the advantages of their position, combined with a series of fortunate circumstances that had assisted them against the Christians. He knew that the intelligence of this victory would excite those of his countrymen who were as yet lukewarm in the cause, to take up arms and repair to that mountain which was now the cradle in which their infant liberty was to be rocked. He wished to preserve and improve this situation without risking the danger of another action, until he possessed ample means of insuring success. A precipitate movement now might involve the Moors in difficulties capable not only of retarding their triumph, but even of rendering fruitless the effects of a first victory: Gomez Arias was likewise marching with a powerful army, and it would be madness to abandon the strong hold of the Sierra for the sake of hazarding an encounter, when as yet they were in all respects inferior to their enemies.

El Feri, therefore, strongly deprecated the design formed by Mohabed of advancing at present against the Spaniards. But Mohabed, flushed with pride and little conversant with military affairs, could only be prevailed upon to defer his sally from the mountain for two days; and El Feri, considering the baneful effects which any disagreement amongst the chief leaders might produce, prudently acquiesced in his decision. He hoped that in the meantime he should have an opportunity either of dissuading his brother chief, or at least of organising a more systematic and powerful invasion.

Whilst the best warrior in the Moorish ranks was deeply interested in forwarding their views, his disorderly and savage followers were affording proofs of their wanton cruelty and insubordination. El Feri saw with disgust and sorrow, that the men he led to the field adhered not to the principles which they pretended to profess. He perceived that his army more resembled a horde of undisciplined barbarians than true and sincere patriots; that the gratification of private animosity and revenge had a far greater preponderance in directing their exertions, than the heroic impulses of noble enthusiasm and public spirit. He had been himself stimulated to take up arms solely by pure and patriotic sentiments, without the least alloy of personal interest, or the indulgence of a revengeful disposition. He, therefore, bitterly lamented, for the sake of his country, when a secret voice whispered to him, that he was less the leader of independent men, panting for liberty, than of a lawless discontented rabble, better deserving the name of rebels than that of liberators. Alas! how often is the lustre of a good cause darkened by the private interests and vices of its agents!

The attention of El Feri was however diverted towards a tumult in that part of the mountain where the mighty Aguilar had fallen: he hurried to the spot to inquire into the cause of the commotion, when he saw the noble form of his redoubtable foe ignominiously placed on an eminence, round which men, women, and children were crowding, to glut their eyes with the bleeding spectacle. While their savage disposition was gladdened with the sight, they heaped maledictions on the dead. This dastardly ebullition of revenge was more particularly displayed by the weaker portion of men, and by the refuse of women. Women, fashioned by nature to indulge every kindly feeling, and tender sentiment of compassion for the fallen--women, when they have overstepped the barriers of their natural delicacy, become more lawless and cruel than the most hardened of men. An old hag was, with wanton mockery, striving to close the eyes of the warrior; another was trampling under her foot the cross which she had wrenched from his breast; and a dirty urchin was rending his venerable locks, whilst some miscreants, not satisfied with these profanations, in base revenge plunged their weapons into the lifeless clay. But still there were some whom the great Aguilar inspired with terrors even in death, and they shrunk from the inanimate corpse, as if it were ready to start into life, and wreak vengeance for the outrages sustained. Flushed with indignation at the sight, El Feri soon dispersed the vile and motley crowd.

"Base, pitiful wretches," he cried in anger, "it well becomes your cowardly nature thus to insult in death, the man you dared not look on in life. Aye, quench your valour on that unconscious body, for those weapons are unworthy of warring against the living, which cannot respect the dead. Avaunt, miscreants! tempt no further my just anger."

The affrighted crew shrunk back in confusion, but one more daring than the rest ventured to exclaim--

"He was the mortal foe of the Moors, and of El Feri de Benastepar----"

"In life he was," sternly replied El Feri; "but death reconciles the bitterest enemy--for enmity must lose its fire in the cold precincts of the grave."

"The Moor and the Christian," retorted gruffly the other, "even in death, must be irreconcileable; even in the frost of the sepulchre, the hate of such foes must not be extinguished.

"Cease, miscreant!" fiercely returned El Feri, "or by the mighty Allah, a single word more, and a blow from the scymitar of El Feri shall be thy only answer."

In speechless terror they all retreated, when El Feri turning to one of his followers--

"Do you, Moraz," said he, "and some of your brave companions, pay the last honors to the noble Don Alonso de Aguilar."

The Moors obeyed the orders of their chief, and forthwith a grave was dug at the foot of the rock. No funeral pomp--no military honors graced the obsequies of the great Aguilar--no chaunting priest was there to rehearse the service of the dead--no friend to weep over his loss--no grateful dependant to raise the closed hands in prayer to heaven; but in silence his enemies laid him in his humble grave, and strewed the earth over his warlike form. What, though no sculptured marble was there to point out the noble dust that lay beneath; the name of the warrior will live in the hearts of his countrymen, and will be handed to posterity as long as the records of Spain shall exist. But, in the absence of the pomp which marks the burial of the illustrious, Don Alonso received the most honorable tribute that can adorn a warrior's grave--the manly and venerating tear of his mortal foe; for, as the earth covered for ever the remains of Aguilar, the silent tear of noble feeling fell on it from the eye of El Feri de Benastepar.

Meantime the Christians at the foot of the mountain were making a precipitate retreat, carrying with them a number of their wounded companions, and leaving behind a terrible monument of their bravery and misfortune.

How imposing is the calm, when the warm activity of action gives place to the desolate repose of death! Now, the din of strife is over; no longer the brazen notes of the trumpet swell in the wind--no longer the echoes of the mountain rehearse and fling back the warlike sounds. Hushed is the voice of command and animation--mute the cries of victory or defeat. Even the howling blast, which lately, with its fitful voice, increased the terrors of the scene, is now softened into a low and mournful murmur, emblematical of the dismal tranquillity that reigns around. The smiling face of nature is bloted and defaced by the truculent works of men. The rich and reviving green that carpeted the ground, now presents to the view an ensanguined plain, and the smiling flowers, emblems of innocence and peace, bear no longer in their calice the pearly moisture of the morn, but display the crimson evidence of man's hatred to his kind. The soft grass is not now ruffled by the welcome pressure of living individuals, happy in the joyous dance, or gently reclining under the sweet influence of slumber, but by the weight of ghastly corpses.

It was a sight fearful to behold! not a sound was heard; an unnatural sadness prevailed over the scene; a thousand warriors lay there in the silence of the grave, but in those colourless features still lingered a tinge of the last feeling by which they were animated--the last passion that raged within; the brow stiffened into gloomy fierceness--the eye intensely fixed with bold resolve--the firmly clenched hand--bespoke the various sensations in which they were surprised by death. Tranquil and extended lay some who had received the summons without a throb; surely the blow was struck, and swiftly fled the spark of life, whilst others, in the violent contraction of the muscles, and the writhing expression of pain, indicated how fearfully the rebellious soul had grappled with the destroyer, before she could be dislodged from her tenement. Death levels all distinction, and here were seen men of various ages and ranks, so widely separated in life, promiscuously mingled in the last repose. Youth and age alike indifferently strewed the plain, and the silvered locks lay beside the flowing tresses; the pale hue of protracted life, with the rosy healthful tints of commencing and hopeful existence. Spring had mixed its blossoms with the falling leaves of autumn. No distinction of rank was here; by the noble chief lay the humble soldier--their attire alone could distinguish one from the other; and even this external ornament would soon be destroyed, and all, all would be amalgamated in one general indiscriminate dust.

But still that period was not arrived, and the encampment of corpses, fresh in death, appeared most like an army of sleeping warriors; but for the bloody tokens and fearful disorder which drove away every image of natural repose, it seemed as if their departed spirits still hovered within the bodies which they had lately abandoned. But alas! too soon the harbinger of fading and helpless mortality would speed to dispel the melancholy charm. The carrion birds were now hurrying to claim the undisputed inheritance of that prey which a short time since had been the receptacle of so many feelings and affections, while a thousand hearts were doomed to weep for the occasion that afforded joy to the gloomy and filthy revellers.

The routed Christians, meantime, were fast retreating, whilst the news of their defeat and the fate of Aguilar spreading swiftly around, soon reached the stately city of Granada, for misfortune is a most expeditious traveller. The heroic Isabella felt an indescribable shock at these unwelcome tidings; even victory, if purchased with the death of Don Alonso, she would consider a reverse, but attended, as it was, with complete overthrow, it created the most lively sensations of indignation and sorrow. She made a solemn vow in the presence of the archbishop her confessor, and her nobles, that she would neither wear linen nor sleep on her royal couch until that daring rebellion had been annihilated, and its agitators brought to retribution. She next gave orders that all her troops should march against the rebels, and a numerous army was soon collected, both of veterans and volunteers.

Meantime the grief of Leonor for the death of her father was exhibited in a striking manner, but still in a manner worthy a branch of that noble tree. She found a generous consolation in the name bequeathed to her by her departed parent, and she fondly cherished the halo of glory that surrounded her father's life, and now must adhere for ever to his memory. The queen, anxious to contribute to the mitigation of her sorrow, had kindly invited her to the palace, that by a temporary absence from her own dwelling she might be relieved from the sight of objects, which continually brought to her mind a train of painful associations.