Chapter XCV
CONFLAGRATION OF THE CHRISTIAN CAMP.–BUILDING OF SANTA FE.
The moors now shut themselves up gloomily within their walls; there
were no longer any daring sallies from their gates, and even the
martial clangor of the drum and trumpet, which had continually
resounded within the warrior city, was now seldom heard from its
battlements. In the midst of this deep despondency a single disaster
in the Christian camp for a moment lit up a ray of hope in the bosom
of the Moors.
The setting sun of a hot summer’s day, on the 10th of July, shone
splendidly upon the Christian camp, which was in a bustle of
preparation for the next day’s service, when an attack was meditated
on the city. The camp made a glorious appearance. The various
tents of the royal family and the attendant nobles were adorned
with rich hangings and sumptuous devices and costly furniture,
forming, as it were, a little city of silk and brocade, where the
pinnacles of pavilions of various gay colors, surmounted with
waving standards and fluttering pennons, might vie with the
domes and minarets of the capital they were besieging.
In the midst of this little gaudy metropolis the lofty tent of the
queen domineered over the rest like a stately palace. The marques of
Cadiz had courteously surrendered his own tent to the queen: it was
the most complete and sumptuous in Christendom, and had been
carried about with him throughout the war. In the centre rose a
stately alfaneque, or pavilion, in Oriental taste, the rich hangings
being supported by columns of lances and ornamented with martial
devices. This central pavilion, or silken tower, was surrounded by
other compartments, some of painted linen lined with silk, and all
separated from each other by curtains. It was one of those camp
palaces which are raised and demolished in an instant like the city
of canvas which surrounds them.
As the evening advanced the bustle in the camp subsided. Every one
sought repose, preparatory to the next day’s trial. The king retired
early, that he might be up with the crowing of the cock to head the
destroying army in person. All stir of military preparation was hushed
in the royal quarters: the very sound of minstrelsy was mute, and
not the tinkling of a guitar was to be heard from the tents of the
fair ladies of the court.
The queen had retired to the innermost part of her pavilion, where
she was performing her orisons before a private altar: perhaps the
peril to which the king might be exposed in the next day’s foray
inspired her with more than usual devotion. While thus at her
prayers she was suddenly aroused by a glare of light and wreaths
of suffocating smoke. In an instant the whole tent was in a blaze:
there was a high gusty wind, which whirled the light flames from
tent to tent and wrapped the whole in one conflagration.
Isabella had barely time to save herself by instant flight. Her
first thought on being extricated from her tent was for the safety
of the king. She rushed to his tent, but the vigilant Ferdinand was
already at the entrance of it. Starting from bed on the first alarm
and fancying it an assault of the enemy, he had seized his sword
and buckler and sallied forth undressed with his cuirass upon
his arm.
The late gorgeous camp was now a scene of wild confusion. The
flames kept spreading from one pavilion to another, glaring upon
the rich armor and golden and silver vessels, which seemed melting
in the fervent heat. Many of the soldiers had erected booths and
bowers of branches, which, being dry, crackled and blazed and added
to the rapid conflagration. The ladies of the court fled, shrieking
and half dressed, from their tents. There was an alarm of drum and
trumpet, and a distracted hurry about the camp of men half armed.
The prince Juan had been snatched out of bed by an attendant and
conveyed to the quarters of the count de Cabra, which were at the
entrance of the camp. The loyal count immediately summoned his
people and those of his cousin Don Alonso de Montemayor, and
formed a guard round the tent in which the prince was sheltered.
The idea that this was a stratagem of the Moors soon subsided, but
it was feared they might take advantage of it to assault the camp.
The marques of Cadiz, therefore, sallied forth with three thousand
horse to check any advance from the city. As they passed along the
whole camp was a scene of hurry and consternation–some hastening
to their posts at the call of drum and trumpet; some attempting to
save rich effects and glittering armor from the tents; others dragging
along terrified and restive horses.
When they emerged from the camp they found the whole firmament
illuminated. The flames whirled up in long light spires, and the air
was filled with sparks and cinders. A bright glare was thrown upon
the city, revealing every battlement and tower. Turbaned heads were
seen gazing from every roof, and armor gleamed along the walls, yet
not a single warrior sallied from the gates: the Moors suspected
some stratagem on the part of the Christians and kept quietly within
their walls. By degrees the flames expired; the city faded from sight;
all again became dark and quiet, and the marques of Cadiz returned
with his cavalry to the camp.
When the day dawned on the Christian camp nothing remained of that
beautiful assemblage of stately pavilions but heaps of smouldering
rubbish, with helms and corselets and other furniture of war, and
masses of melted gold and silver glittering among the ashes. The
wardrobe of the queen was entirely destroyed, and there was an
immense loss in plate, jewels, costly stuffs, and sumptuous armor
of the luxurious nobles. The fire at first had been attributed to
treachery, but on investigation it proved to be entirely accidental.
The queen on retiring to her prayers had ordered her lady in
attendance to remove a light burning near her couch, lest it should
prevent her sleeping. Through heedlessness, the taper was placed
in another part of the tent near the hangings, which, being blown
against it by a gust of wind, immediately took fire.
The wary Ferdinand knew the sanguine temperament of the Moors,
and hastened to prevent their deriving confidence from the night’s
disaster. At break of day the drums and trumpets sounded to arms,
and the Christian army issued forth from among the smoking ruins of
their camp in shining squadrons, with flaunting banners and bursts
of martial melody, as though the preceding night had been a time of
high festivity instead of terror.
The Moors had beheld the conflagration with wonder and perplexity.
When the day broke and they looked toward the Christian camp, they
saw nothing but a dark smoking mass. Their scouts came in with the
joyful intelligence that the whole camp was a scene of ruin. In the
exultation of the moment they flattered themselves with hopes that
the catastrophe would discourage the besiegers–that, as in former
years, their invasion would end with the summer and they would
withdraw before the autumnal rains.
The measures of Ferdinand and Isabella soon crushed these hopes.
They gave orders to build a regular city upon the site of their camp,
to convince the Moors that the siege was to endure until the
surrender of Granada. Nine of the principal cities of Spain were
charged with the stupendous undertaking, and they emulated each
other with a zeal worthy of the cause. “It verily seems,” says Fray
Antonio Agapida, “as though some miracle operated to aid this pious
work, so rapidly did arise a formidable city, with solid edifices and
powerful walls and mighty towers, where lately had been seen
nothing but tents and light pavilions. The city was traversed by
two principal streets in form of a cross, terminating in four gates
facing the four winds, and in the centre was a vast square where
the whole army might be assembled. To this city it was proposed
to give the name of Isabella, so dear to the army and the nation,
but that pious princess,” adds Antonio Agapida, “calling to mind
the holy cause in which it was erected, gave it the name of Santa
Fe (or the City of the Holy Faith), and it remains to this day a
monument of the piety and glory of the Catholic sovereigns.”
Hither the merchants soon resorted from all points. Long trains of
mules were seen every day entering and departing from its gates;
the streets were crowded with magazines filled with all kinds of
costly and luxurious merchandise; a scene of bustling commerce
and prosperity took place, while unhappy Granada remained shut
up and desolate.
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