Эдвард Бульвер-Литтон - Leila or, the Siege of Granada, Complete

“Thou art a subtle reasoner, my friend,” said Ferdinand, smiling gently. “Peace go with thee! our conference for the time is ended. What ho, Perez!” The attendant appeared.

“Thou hast left the maiden with the queen?”

“Sire, you have been obeyed.”

“Conduct this stranger to the guard who led him through the camp. He quits us under the same protection. Farewell! yet stay—thou art assured that Muza Ben Abil Gazan is in the prisons of the Moor?”

“Yes.”

“Blessed be the Virgin!”

“Thou hast heard our conference, Father Tomas?” said the king, anxiously, when the Hebrew had withdrawn.

“I have, son.”

“Did thy veins freeze with horror?”

“Only when my son signed the scroll. It seemed to me then that I saw the cloven foot of the tempter.”

“Tush, father, the tempter would have been more wise than to reckon upon a faith which no ink and no parchment can render valid, if the Church absolve the compact. Thou understandest me, father?”

“I do. I know your pious heart and well-judging mind.”

“Thou wert right,” resumed the king, musingly, “when thou didst tell us that these caitiff Jews were waxing strong in the fatness of their substance. They would have equal laws—the insolent blasphemers!”

“Son!” said the Dominican, with earnest adjuration, “God, who has prospered your arms and councils, will require at your hands an account of the power intrusted to you. Shall there be no difference between His friends and His foes—His disciples and His crucifiers?”

“Priest,” said the king, laying his hand on the monk’s shoulder, and with a saturnine smile upon his countenance, “were religion silent in this matter, policy has a voice loud enough to make itself heard. The Jews demand equal rights; when men demand equality with their masters, treason is at work, and justice sharpens her sword. Equality! these wealthy usurers! Sacred Virgin! they would be soon buying up our kingdoms.”

The Dominican gazed hard on the king. “Son, I trust thee,” he said, in a low voice, and glided from the tent.

The dawn was slowly breaking over the wide valley of Granada, as Almamen pursued his circuitous and solitary path back to the city. He was now in a dark and entangled hollow, covered with brakes and bushes, from amidst which tall forest trees rose in frequent intervals, gloomy and breathless in the still morning air. As, emerging from this jungle, if so it may be called, the towers of Granada gleamed upon him, a human countenance peered from the shade; and Almamen started to see two dark eyes fixed upon his own.

He halted abruptly, and put his hand on his dagger, when a low sharp whistle from the apparition before him was answered around—behind; and, ere he could draw breath, the Israelite was begirt by a group of Moors, in the garb of peasants.

“Well, my masters,” said Almamen, calmly, as he encountered the wild savage countenances that glared upon him, “think you there is aught to fear from the solitary santon?”

“It is the magician,” whispered one man to his neighbour—“let him pass.”

“Nay,” was the answer, “take him before the captain; we have orders to seize upon all we meet.”

This counsel prevailed; and gnashing his teeth with secret rage, Almamen found himself hurried along by the peasants through the thickest part of the copse. At length, the procession stopped in a semicircular patch of rank sward, in which several head of cattle were quietly grazing, and a yet more numerous troop of peasants reclined around upon the grass.

“Whom have we here?” asked a voice which startled back the dark blood from Almamen’s cheek; and a Moor of commanding presence rose from the midst of his brethren. “By the beard of the prophet, it is the false santon! What dost thou from Granada at this hour?”

“Noble Muza,” returned Almamen—who, though indeed amazed that one whom he had imagined his victim was thus unaccountably become his judge, retained, at least, the semblance of composure—“my answer is to be given only to my lord the king; it is his commands that I obey.”

“Thou art aware,” said Muza, frowning, “that thy life is forfeited without appeal? Whatsoever inmate of Granada is found without the walls between sunrise and sunset, dies the death of a traitor and deserter.”

“The servants of the Alhambra are excepted,” answered the Israelite, without changing countenance.

“Ah!” muttered Muza, as a painful and sudden thought seemed to cross him, “can it be possible that the rumour of the city has truth, and that the monarch of Granada is in treaty with the foe?” He mused a little; and then, motioning the Moors to withdraw, he continued aloud, “Almamen, answer me truly: hast thou sought the Christian camp with any message from the king?”

“I have not.”

“Art thou without the walls on the mission of the king?”

“If I be so, I am a traitor to the king should I reveal his secret.”

“I doubt thee much, santon,” said Muza, after a pause; “I know thee for my enemy, and I do believe thy counsels have poisoned the king’s ear against me, his people and his duties. But no matter, thy life is spared a while; thou remainest with us, and with us shalt thou return to the king.”

“But, noble Muza–”

“I have said! Guard the santon; mount him upon one of our chargers; he shall abide with us in our ambush.” While Almamen chafed in vain at his arrest, all in the Christian camp was yet still. At length, as the sun began to lift himself above the mountains, first a murmur, and then a din, betokened warlike preparations. Several parties of horse, under gallant and experienced leaders, formed themselves in different quarters, and departed in different ways, on expeditions of forage, or in the hope of skirmish with the straggling detachments of the enemy. Of these, the best equipped, was conducted by the Marquess de Villena, and his gallant brother Don Alonzo de Pacheco. In this troop, too, rode many of the best blood of Spain; for in that chivalric army, the officers vied with each other who should most eclipse the meaner soldiery in feats of personal valour; and the name of Villena drew around him the eager and ardent spirits that pined at the general inactivity of Ferdinand’s politic campaign.

The sun, now high in heaven, glittered on the splendid arms and gorgeous pennons of Villena’s company, as, leaving the camp behind, it entered a rich and wooded district that skirts the mountain barrier of the Vega. The brilliancy of the day, the beauty of the scene, the hope and excitement of enterprise, animated the spirits of the whole party. In these expeditions strict discipline was often abandoned, from the certainty that it could be resumed at need. Conversation, gay and loud, interspersed at times with snatches of song, was heard amongst the soldiery; and in the nobler group that rode with Villena, there was even less of the proverbial gravity of Spaniards.

“Now, marquess,” said Don Estevon de Suzon, “what wager shall be between us as to which lance this day robs Moorish beauty of the greatest number of its worshippers?”

“My falchion against your jennet,” said Don Alonzo de Pacheco, taking up the challenge.

“Agreed. But, talking of beauty, were you in the queen’s pavilion last night, noble marquess? it was enriched by a new maiden, whose strange and sudden apparition none can account for. Her eyes would have eclipsed the fatal glance of Cava; and had I been Rodrigo, I might have lost a crown for her smile.”

“Ay,” said Villena, “I heard of her beauty; some hostage from one of the traitor Moors, with whom the king (the saints bless him!) bargains for the city. They tell me the prince incurred the queen’s grave rebuke for his attentions to the maiden.”