The Story of Moors in Spain. Stanley Lane-Poole

He, when he saw that field was lost, and all his hope was flown, He turned him from his flying host, and took his way alone. All stained and strewed with dust and blood, like to some smouldering brand Plucked from the flame, Rodrigo showed; his sword was in his hand, But it was hacked into a saw of dark and purple tint: His jewelled mail had many a flaw, his helmet many a dint. He climbed into a hill-top, the highest he could see, Thence all about of that wide rout his last long look took he; He saw his royal banners, where they lay drenched and torn, He heard the cry of victory, the Arab's shout of scorn. He looked for the brave captains that led the hosts of Spain, But all were fled except the dead, and who could count the slain? Where'er his eye could wander, all bloody was the plain, And while thus he said, the tears he shed ran down his cheeks like rain: "Last night I was the King of Spain—to-day no king am I; Last night fair castles held my train—to-night where shall I lie? Last night a hundred pages did serve me on the knee— To-night not one I call my own—not one pertains to me. O luckless, luckless was the hour, and cursed was the day, When I was born to have the power of this great seniory! Unhappy me, that I should see the sun go down to-night! O Death, why now so slow art thou, why fearest thou to smite?"5

      So runs the old Spanish ballad; but the fate of Roderick has remained a mystery to this day. His horse and sandals were found on the river bank the day after the battle; but his body was not with them. Doubtless he was drowned and washed out to the great ocean. But the Spaniards would not believe this. They clothed the dead king with a holy mystery which assuredly did not enfold him when alive. They made the last of the Goths into a legendary saviour like King Arthur, and believed that he would come again from his resting-place in some ocean isle, healed of his wound, to lead the Christians once more against the infidels. In the Spanish legends, Roderick spent the rest of his life in pious acts of penance, and was slowly devoured by snakes in punishment for the sins he had committed, until at last his crime was washed out, "the body's pang had spared the spirit's pain," and "Don Rodrigo" was suffered to depart to the peaceful isle, whence his countrymen long awaited his triumphant return.

      The Wave of Conquest

       Table of Contents

      "O Commander of the Faithful, these are not common conquests; they are like the meeting of the nations on the Day of Judgment." Thus wrote Mūsa, the Governor of Africa, to the Khalif Welīd, describing the victory of the Guadalete. There is little wonder that the Saracens stood amazed at the completeness of their triumph. Leaving the regions of myth, with which the Spanish chroniclers have surrounded the fall of Roderick, it is matter of sober history that the victory of the Guadalete gave all Spain into the hands of the Moors. Tārik and his twelve thousand Berbers had by a single action won the whole peninsula, and it needed but ordinary energy and promptness to reduce the feeble resistance which some of the cities still offered. The victor lost no time in following up his success. In defiance of an order from Mūsa, who was bitterly jealous of the unexpected glory which had come to his Berber lieutenant, and commanded him to advance no further, the fortunate general pushed on without delay. Dividing his forces into three brigades, he spread them over the peninsula, and reduced city after city with little difficulty. Mughīth, one of his officers, was despatched with seven hundred horse to seize Cordova. Lying hid till darkness came on, Mughīth stealthily approached the city. A storm of hail, which the Moslems regarded as a special favour of Providence, muffled the clatter of their horses' hoofs. A shepherd pointed out a breach in the walls, and here the Moors determined to make the assault. One of them, more active than the rest, climbed a fig-tree which grew beneath the breach, and thence, springing on to the wall, flung the end of a long turban to the others, and pulled them up after him. They instantly surprised the guard, and threw open the gates to the main body of the invaders, and the town was captured with hardly a blow. The governor and garrison took refuge in a convent, where for three months they were closely beleaguered. When at length they surrendered, Cordova was left in the keeping of the Jews, who had proved themselves staunch allies of the Moslems in the campaign, and who ever afterwards enjoyed great consideration at the hands of the conquerors. The Moors admitted them to their intimacy, and, until very late times, never persecuted them as the Gothic priests had done. Wherever the arms of the Saracens penetrated, there we shall always find the Jews in close pursuit: while the Arab fought, the Jew trafficked, and when the fighting was over, Jew and Moor and Persian joined in that cultivation of learning and philosophy, arts and sciences, which preëminently distinguished the rule of the Saracens in the Middle Ages.

      With the coöperation of the Jews, and the terror of the Spaniards, Tārik's conquest proceeded apace. Archidona was occupied without a struggle: the inhabitants had all fled to the hills. Malaga surrendered, and Elvira (near where Granada now stands) was stormed. The mountain passes of Murcia were defended by Theodemir for some time with great valour and prudence; but at last, being over-persuaded into offering a pitched battle on the plain, the Christian army was cut to pieces, and Theodemir escaped with a single page to the city of Orihuela. There he practised an ingenious deception upon his pursuers. Having hardly any men left in the city, for the youth of Murcia had fallen in the field, he made the women put on male attire, arm themselves with helmets and long rods like lances, and bring their hair over their chins as though they wore beards. Then he lined the ramparts with this strange garrison, and when the enemy approached in the shades of evening, they were disheartened to see the walls so well defended. Theodemir then took a flag of truce in his hand, and put a herald's tabard on his page, and they two sallied forth to capitulate, and were graciously received by the Moslem general, who did not recognize the prince. "I come," said Theodemir, "on behalf of the commander of this city to treat for terms worthy of your magnanimity and of his dignity. You perceive that the city is capable of withstanding a long siege; but he is desirous of sparing the lives of his soldiers. Promise that the inhabitants shall be at liberty to depart unmolested with their property, and the city will be delivered up to you to-morrow morning without a blow; otherwise we are prepared to fight until not a man be left." The articles of capitulation were then drawn out; and when the Moor had affixed his seal, Theodemir took the pen and wrote his signature. "Behold in me," said he, "the governor of the city!" At the dawn of day the gates were thrown open, and the Moslems looked to see a great force issuing forth, but beheld merely Theodemir and his page, in battered armour, followed by a multitude of old men, women, and children. "Where are the soldiers," asked the Moor, "that I saw lining the walls last evening?" "Soldiers have I none," answered Theodemir. "As to my garrison, behold it before you. With these women did I man my walls; and this page is my herald, guard, and retinue!" So struck was the Moorish general with the boldness and ingenuity of the trick which had been played upon him, that he made Theodemir governor of the province of Murcia, which was ever afterwards known in Arabic as "Theodemir's land." Even in these early days the Moors knew and practised the principles of true chivalry. They had already won that title to knightliness which many centuries later compelled the victorious Spaniards