The Moors turned at his words. They beheld the Christians scattered about the plain, many of them without armor, and all encumbered with spoil. "Now is the time!" shouted El Feri: "charge upon them while laden with your plunder. I will open a path for you." He rushed to the attack, followed by his Moors, with shouts and cries that echoed through the mountains. The scattered Christians were seized with panic, and, throwing down their booty, began to fly in all directions.
Don Alonso de Aguilar advanced his banner and endeavored to rally them. Finding his horse of no avail in these rocky heights, he dismounted, and caused his men to do the same: he had a small band of tried followers, with which he opposed a bold front to the Moors, calling on the scattered troops to rally in the rear.
Night had completely closed. It prevented the Moors from seeing the smallness of the force with which they were contending, and Don Alonso and his cavaliers dealt their blows so vigorously that, aided by the darkness, they seemed multiplied to ten times their number.
Unfortunately, a small cask of gunpowder blew up near to the scene of action. It shed a momentary but brilliant light over all the plain and on every rock and cliff. The Moors beheld, with surprise, that they were opposed by a mere handful of men, and that the greater part of the Christians were flying from the field. They put up loud shouts of triumph. While some continued the conflict with redoubled ardor, others pursued the fugitives, hurling after them stones and darts and discharging showers of arrows. Many of the Christians in their terror and their ignorance of the mountains, rushed headlong from the brinks of precipices and were dashed in pieces.
Don Alonso still maintained his ground, but, while some of the Moors assailed him in front, others galled him with all kinds of missiles from the impending cliffs. Some of the cavaliers, seeing the hopeless nature of the conflict, proposed to abandon the height and retreat down the mountain. "No," said Don Alonso proudly; "never did the banner of the house of Aguilar retreat one foot in the field of battle." He had scarcely uttered these words when his son Pedro was stretched at his feet. A stone hurled from a cliff had struck out two of his teeth, and a lance passed quivering through his thigh.
The youth attempted to rise, and, with one knee on the ground, to fight by the side of his father. Don Alonso, finding him wounded, urged him to quit the field. "Fly, my son," said he; "let us not put everything at venture upon one hazard. Conduct thyself as a good Christian, and live to comfort and honor thy mother."
Don Pedro still refused to leave his side. Whereupon Don Alonso ordered several of his followers to bear him off by force. His friend Don Francisco Alvarez of Cordova, taking him in his arms, conveyed him to the quarters of the count of Urena, who had halted on the height at some distance from the scene of battle for the purpose of rallying and succoring the fugitives. Almost at the same moment the count beheld his own son, Don Pedro Giron, brought in grievously wounded.
In the mean time, Don Alonso, with two hundred cavaliers, maintained the unequal contest. Surrounded by foes, they fell, one after another, like so many stags encircled by the hunters. Don Alonso was the last survivor, without horse and almost without armor, his corselet unlaced and his bosom gashed with wounds. Still, he kept a brave front to the enemy, and, retiring between two rocks, defended himself with such valor that the slain lay in a heap before him.
He was assailed in this retreat by a Moor of surpassing strength and fierceness. The contest was for some time doubtful, but Don Alonso received a wound in the head, and another in the breast, which made him stagger. Closing and grappling with his foe, they had a desperate struggle, until the Christian cavalier, exhausted by his wounds, fell upon his back. He still retained his grasp upon his enemy. "Think not," cried he, "thou hast an easy prize; know that I am Don Alonso, he of Aguilar!"--"If thou art Don Alonso," replied the Moor, "know that I am El Feri of Ben Estepar." They continued their deadly struggle, and both drew their daggers, but Don Alonso was exhausted by seven ghastly wounds: while he was yet struggling his heroic soul departed from his body, and he expired in the grasp of the Moor.
Thus fell Alonso de Aguilar, the mirror of Andalusian chivalry--one of the most powerful grandees of Spain for person, blood, estate, and office. For forty years he had made successful war upon the Moors--in childhood by his household and retainers, in manhood by the prowess of his arm and in the wisdom and valor of his spirit.
His pennon had always been foremost in danger; he had been general of armies, viceroy of Andalusia, and the author of glorious enterprises in which kings were vanquished and mighty alcaydes and warriors laid low. He had slain many Moslem chiefs with his own arm, and among others the renowned Ali Atar of Loxa, fighting foot to foot, on the banks of the Xenil. His judgment, discretion, magnanimity, and justice vied with his prowess. He was the fifth lord of his warlike house that fell in battle with the Moors.
