Part 14

Julian said Orpas, turning from beneath His turban to the Count a crafty eye, Thy daughter is return’d; doth she not bring Some tidings of the movements of the foe? The Count replied, When child and parent meet First reconciled from discontents which wrung The hearts of both, ill should their converse be Of warlike matters! There hath been no time For such enquiries, neither should I think To ask her touching that for which I know She hath neither eye nor thought. There was a time Orpas with smile malignant thus replied, When in the progress of the Caliph’s arms Count Julian’s daughter had an interest Which touch’d her nearly! But her turn is served, And hatred of Prince Orpas may beget Indifference to the cause. Yet Destiny Still guideth to the service of the faith The wayward heart of woman; for as one Delivered Roderick to the avenging sword, So hath another at this hour betray’d Pelayo to his fall. His sister came At nightfall to my tent a fugitive. She tells me that on learning our approach The rebel to a cavern in the hills Had sent his wife and children, and with them Those of his followers, thinking there conceal’d They might be safe. She, moved, by injuries Which stung her spirit, on the way escaped, And for revenge will guide us. In reward She asks her brother’s forfeiture of lands In marriage with Numacian: something too Touching his life, that for her services It might be spared, she said; ... an after-thought To salve decorum, and if conscience wake Serve as a sop: but when the sword shall smite Pelayo and his dangerous race, I ween That a thin kerchief will dry all the tears The Lady Guisla sheds! ’Tis the old taint! Said Julian mournfully; from her mother’s womb She brought the inbred wickedness which now In ripe infection blossoms. Woman, woman, Still to the Goths art thou the instrument Of overthrow; thy virtue and thy vice Fatal alike to them! Say rather, cried The insidious renegade, that Allah thus By woman punisheth the idolatry Of those who raise a woman to the rank Of godhead, calling on their Mary’s name With senseless prayers. In vain shall they invoke Her trusted succour now! like silly birds By fear betray’d, they fly into the toils; And this Pelayo, who in lengthen’d war Baffling our force, has thought perhaps to reign Prince of the Mountains, when we hold his wife And offspring at our mercy, must himself Come to the lure. Enough, the Leader said; This unexpected work of favouring Fate Opens an easy way to our desires, And renders farther counsel needless now. Great is the Prophet whose protecting power Goes with the faithful forth! the rebels’ days Are number’d; Allah hath deliver’d them Into our hands! So saying he arose; The Chiefs withdrew, Orpas alone remain’d Obedient to his indicated will. The event, said Abulcacem, hath approved Thy judgement in all points; his daughter comes At the first summons, even as thou saidst; Her errand with the insurgents done, she brings Their well-concerted project back, a safe And unexpected messenger; ... the Moor, The shallow Moor, ... must see and not perceive; Must hear and understand not; yea must bear, Poor easy fool, to serve their after mirth, A part in his own undoing! But just Heaven With this unlook’d-for incident hath marr’d Their complots, and the sword shall cut this web Of treason. Well, the renegade replied, Thou knowest Count Julian’s spirit, quick in wiles, In act audacious. Baffled now, he thinks Either by instant warning to apprize The rebels of their danger, or preserve The hostages when fallen into our power, Till secret craft contrive, or open force Win their enlargement. Haply too he dreams Of Cordoba, the avenger and the friend Of Abdalazis, in that cause to arm Moor against Moor, preparing for himself The victory o’er the enfeebled conquerors. Success in treason hath embolden’d him, And power but serves him for fresh treachery, false To Roderick first, and to the Caliph now.

The guilt, said Abulcacem, is confirm’d, The sentence past; all that is now required Is to strike sure and safely. He hath with him A veteran force devoted to his will, Whom to provoke were perilous; nor less Of peril lies there in delay: what course Between these equal dangers should we steer?

They have been train’d beneath him in the wars Of Africa, the renegade replied; Men are they who, from their youth up, have found Their occupation and their joy in arms; Indifferent to the cause for which they fight, But faithful to their leader, who hath won By licence largely given, yet temper’d still With exercise of firm authority, Their whole devotion. Vainly should we seek By proof of Julian’s guilt to pacify Such martial spirits, unto whom all creeds And countries are alike; but take away The head, and forthwith their fidelity Goes at the market price. The act must be Sudden and secret; poison is too slow. Thus it may best be done; the Mountaineers, Doubtless, ere long will rouse us with some spur Of sudden enterprise: at such a time A trusty minister approaching him May smite him, so that all shall think the spear Comes from the hostile troops. Right counsellor! Cried Abulcacem, thou shalt have his lands, The proper meed of thy fidelity: His daughter thou may’st take or leave. Go now And find a faithful instrument to put Our purpose in effect!... And when ’tis done, The Moor, as Orpas from the tent withdrew, Muttering pursued, ... look for a like reward Thyself! that restless head of wickedness In the grave will brood no treasons. Other babes Scream when the Devil, as they spring to life, Infects them with his touch; but thou didst stretch Thine arms to meet him, and like mother’s milk Suck the congenial evil! Thou hast tried Both laws, and were there aught to gain, wouldst prove A third as readily; but when thy sins Are weigh’d, ’twill be against an empty scale, And neither Prophet will avail thee then!

XXIII.

THE VALE OF COVADONGA.

The camp is stirring, and ere day hath dawn’d The tents are struck. Early they rise whom hope Awakens, and they travel fast with whom She goes companion of the way. By noon Hath Abulcacem in his speed attain’d The vale of Cangas. Well the trusty scouts Observe his march, and fleet as mountain roes, From post to post with instantaneous speed The warning bear: none else is nigh; the vale Hath been deserted, and Pelayo’s hall Is open to the foe, who on the tower Hoist their white signal-flag. In Sella’s stream The misbelieving multitudes perform, With hot and hasty hand, their noontide rite, Then hurryingly repeat the Impostor’s prayer. Here they divide; the Chieftain halts with half The host, retaining Julian and his men, Whom where the valley widen’d he disposed, Liable to first attack, that so the deed Of murder plann’d with Orpas might be done. The other force the Moor Alcahman led, Whom Guisla guided up Pionia’s stream Eastward to Soto. Ibrahim went with him, Proud of Granada’s snowy heights subdued, And boasting of his skill in mountain war; Yet sure he deem’d an easier victory Awaited him this day. Little, quoth he, Weens the vain Mountaineer who puts his trust In dens and rocky fastnesses, how close Destruction is at hand! Belike he thinks The Humma’s happy wings have shadow’d him, And therefore Fate with royalty must crown His chosen head! Pity the scymitar With its rude edge so soon should interrupt The pleasant dream! There can be no escape For those who in the cave seek shelter, cried Alcahman; yield they must, or from their holes Like bees we smoke them out. The Chief perhaps May reign awhile King of the wolves and bears, Till his own subjects hunt him down, or kites And crows divide what hunger may have left Upon his ghastly limbs. Happier for him That destiny should this day to our hands Deliver him; short would be his sufferings then; And we right joyfully should in one hour Behold our work accomplish’d, and his race Extinct. Thus these in mockery and in thoughts Of bloody triumph, to the future blind, Indulged the scornful vein; nor deem’d that they Whom to the sword’s unsparing edge they doom’d, Even then in joyful expectation pray’d To Heaven for their approach, and at their post Prepared, were trembling with excess of hope. Here in these mountain straits the Mountaineer Had felt his country’s strength insuperable; Here he had pray’d to see the Musselman With all his myriads; therefore had he look’d To Covadonga as a sanctuary Apt for concealment, easy of defence; And Guisla’s flight, though to his heart it sent A pang more poignant for their mother’s sake, Yet did it further in its consequence His hope and project, surer than decoy Well-laid, or best-concerted stratagem. That sullen and revengeful mind, he knew, Would follow to the extremity of guilt Its long fore-purposed shame: the toils were laid, And she who by the Musselmen full sure Thought on her kindred her revenge to wreak, Led the Moors in. Count Pedro and his son Were hovering with the main Asturian force In the wider vale to watch occasion there, And with hot onset when the alarm began Pursue the vantage. In the fated straits Of Deva had the King disposed the rest: Amid the hanging woods, and on the cliffs, A long mile’s length on either side its bed, They lay. The lever and the axe and saw Had skilfully been plied; and trees and stones, A dread artillery, ranged on crag and shelf And steep descent, were ready at the word Precipitate to roll resistless down. The faithful maiden not more wistfully Looks for the day that brings her lover home; ... Scarce more impatiently the horse endures The rein, when loud and shrill the hunter’s horn Rings in his joyous ears, than at their post The Mountaineers await their certain prey; Yet mindful of their Prince’s order, oft And solemnly enforced, with eagerness Subdued by minds well-master’d, they expect The appointed signal. Hand must not be raised, Foot stirr’d, nor voice be utter’d, said the Chief, Till the word pass: impatience would mar all. God hath deliver’d over to your hands His enemies and ours, so we but use The occasion wisely. Not till the word pass From man to man transmitted, “In the name “Of God, for Spain and Vengeance!” let a hand Be lifted; on obedience all depends, Their march below with noise of horse and foot And haply with the clang of instruments, Might drown all other signal, this is sure; But wait it calmly; it will not be given Till the whole line hath enter’d in the toils. Comrades, be patient, so shall none escape Who once set foot within these straits of death. Thus had Pelayo on the Mountaineers With frequent and impressive charge enforced The needful exhortation. This alone He doubted, that the Musselmen might see The perils of the vale, and warily Forbear to enter. But they thought to find, As Guisla told, the main Asturian force Seeking concealment there, no other aid Soliciting from these their native hills; And that the babes and women having fallen In thraldom, they would lay their weapons down, And supplicate forgiveness for their sake. Nor did the Moors perceive in what a strait They enter’d; for the morn had risen o’ercast, And when the Sun had reach’d the height of heaven, Dimly his pale and beamless orb was seen Moving through mist. A soft and gentle rain, Scarce heavier than the summer’s evening dew, Descended, ... through so still an atmosphere, That every leaf upon the moveless trees Was studded o’er with rain-drops, bright and full, None falling till from its own weight o’erswoln The motion came. Low on the mountain side The fleecey vapour hung, and in its veil With all their dreadful preparations wrapt The Mountaineers; ... in breathless hope they lay, Some blessing God in silence for the power This day vouchsafed; others with fervency Of prayer and vow invoked the Mother-Maid, Beseeching her that in this favouring hour She would be strongly with them. From below Meantime distinct they heard the passing tramp Of horse and foot, continuous as the sound Of Deva’s stream, and barbarous tongues commixt With laughter, and with frequent shouts, ... for all Exultant came, expecting sure success; Blind wretches, over whom the ruin hung!

They say, quoth one, that though the Prophet’s soul Doth with the black-eyed Houris bathe in bliss, Life hath not left his body, which bears up By its miraculous power the holy tomb, And holds it at Medina in the air Buoyant between the temple’s floor and roof: And there the Angels fly to him with news From East, West, North, and South, of what befalls His faithful people. If when he shall hear The tale of this day’s work, he should for joy Forget that he is dead, and walk abroad, ... It were as good a miracle as when He sliced the moon! Sir Angel hear me now, Whoe’er thou be’st who art about to speed From Spain to Araby! when thou hast got The Prophet’s ear, be sure thou tellest him How bravely Ghauleb did his part to-day, And with what special reverence he alone Desired thee to commend him to his grace!... Fie on thee, scoffer that thou art! replied His comrade; thou wilt never leave these gibes Till some commission’d arrow through the teeth Shall nail the offending tongue. Hast thou not heard How when our clay is leaven’d first with life, The ministering Angel brings it from that spot Whereon ’tis written in the eternal book That soul and body must their parting take, And earth to earth return? How knowest thou But that the Spirit who compounded thee, To distant Syria from this very vale Bore thy component dust, and Azrael here Awaits thee at this hour?... Little thought he Who spake, that in that valley at that hour One death awaited both! Thus they pursued Toward the cave their inauspicious way. Weak childhood there and ineffective age In the chambers of the rock were placed secure; But of the women, all whom with the babes Maternal care detain’d not, were aloft To aid in the destruction; by the side Of fathers, brethren, husbands, station’d there They watch and pray. Pelayo in the cave With the venerable primate took his post. Ranged on the rising cliffs on either hand, Vigilant sentinels with eye intent Observe his movements, when to take the word And pass it forward. He in arms complete Stands in the portal: a stern majesty Reign’d in his countenance severe that hour, And in his eye a deep and dreadful joy Shone, as advancing up the vale he saw The Moorish banners. God hath blinded them! He said; the measure of their crimes is full! O Vale of Deva, famous shalt thou be From this day forth for ever; and to these Thy springs shall unborn generations come In pilgrimage, and hallow with their prayers The cradle of their native monarchy!

There was a stirring in the air, the sun Prevail’d, and gradually the brightening mist Began to rise and melt. A jutting crag Upon the right projected o’er the stream, Not farther from the cave than a strong hand Expert, with deadly aim, might cast the spear. Or a strong voice, pitch’d to full compass, make Its clear articulation heard distinct. A venturous dalesman, once ascending there To rob the eagle’s nest, had fallen, and hung Among the heather, wonderously preserved: Therefore had he with pious gratitude Placed on that overhanging brow a Cross, Tall as the mast of some light fisher’s skiff, And from the vale conspicuous. As the Moors Advanced, the Chieftain in the van was seen Known by his arms, and from the crag a voice Pronounced his name, ... Alcahman! hoa, look up, Alcahman! As the floating mist drew up, It had divided there, and open’d round The Cross; part clinging to the rock beneath, Hovering and waving part in fleecey folds, A canopy of silver light condensed To shape and substance. In the midst there stood A female form, one hand upon the Cross, The other raised in menacing act; below Loose flow’d her raiment, but her breast was arm’d, And helmeted her head. The Moor turn’d pale, For on the walls of Auria he had seen That well-known figure, and had well believed She rested with the dead. What, hoa! she cried, Alcahman! In the name of all who fell At Auria in the massacre, this hour I summon thee before the throne of God To answer for the innocent blood! This hour, Moor, Miscreant, Murderer, Child of Hell, this hour I summon thee to judgement!... In the name Of God! for Spain and Vengeance! Thus she closed Her speech; for taking from the Primate’s hand That oaken cross which at the sacring rites Had served for crosier, at the cavern’s mouth Pelayo lifted it and gave the word. From voice to voice on either side it pass’d With rapid repetition, ... In the name Of God! for Spain and Vengeance! and forthwith On either side along the whole defile The Asturians shouting in the name of God, Set the whole ruin loose! huge trunks and stones, And loosen’d crags, down down they roll’d with rush And bound, and thundering force. Such was the fall As when some city by the labouring earth Heaved from its strong foundations is cast down, And all its dwellings, towers, and palaces, In one wide desolation prostrated. From end to end of that long strait, the crash Was heard continuous, and commixt with sounds More dreadful, shrieks of horror and despair, And death, ... the wild and agonizing cry Of that whole host in one destruction whelm’d. Vain was all valour there, all martial skill; The valiant arm is helpless now; the feet Swift in the race avail not now to save; They perish, all their thousands perish there, ... Horsemen and infantry they perish all, ... The outward armour and the bones within Broken and bruised and crush’d. Echo prolong’d The long uproar: a silence then ensued, Through which the sound of Deva’s stream was heard, A lonely voice of waters, wild and sweet; The lingering groan, the faintly-utter’d prayer, The louder curses of despairing death, Ascended not so high. Down from the cave Pelayo hastes, the Asturians hasten down, Fierce and immitigable down they speed On all sides, and along the vale of blood The avenging sword did mercy’s work that hour.

XXIV.

RODERICK AND COUNT JULIAN.

Thou hast been busy, Death! this day, and yet But half thy work is done; the Gates of Hell Are throng’d, yet twice ten thousand spirits more, Who from their warm and healthful tenements Fear no divorce, must ere the sun go down Enter the world of woe! the Gate of Heaven Is open too, and Angels round the throne Of Mercy on their golden harps this day Shall sing the triumphs of Redeeming Love.

There was a Church at Cangas dedicate To that Apostle unto whom his Lord Had given the keys; a humble edifice, Whose rude and time-worn structure suited well That vale among the mountains. Its low roof With stone plants and with moss was overgrown, Short fern, and richer weeds which from the eaves Hung their long tresses down. White lichens clothed The sides, save where the ivy spread, which bower’d The porch, and clustering round the pointed wall, Wherein two bells, each open to the wind, Hung side by side, threaded with hairy shoots The double nich; and climbing to the cross, Wreathed it and half conceal’d its sacred form With bushy tufts luxuriant. Here in the font, ... Borne hither with rejoicing and with prayers Of all the happy land who saw in him The lineage of their ancient Chiefs renew’d, ... The Prince had been immersed: and here within An oaken galilee, now black with age, His old Iberian ancestors were laid.