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When Don Roderick heard that legions of
turbaned troops had poured into the land from
Africa, he called to mind the visions and predictions
of the necromantic tower, and great
fear came upon him. But, though sunk from
his former hardihood and virtue, though enervated
by indulgence, and degraded in spirit by
a consciousness of crime, he was resolute of
soul, and roused himself to meet the coming
danger. He summoned a hasty levy of horse
and foot, amounting to forty thousand; but now
were felt the effects of the crafty council of
Count Julian, for the best of the horses and armour
intended for the public service, had been
sent into Africa, and were really in possession
of the traitors. Many nobles, it is true, took
the field with the sumptuous array with which
they had been accustomed to appear at

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tournaments and jousts, but most of their vassals were
destitute of weapons, and cased in cuirasses of
leather, or suits of armour almost consumed by
rust. They were without discipline or animation;
and their horses, like themselves, pampered
by slothful peace, were little fitted to
bear the heat, the dust, and toil, of long campaigns.

This army Don Roderick put under the command
of his kinsman Ataulpho, a prince of the
royal blood of the Goths, and of a noble and
generous nature; and he ordered him to march
with all speed to meet the foe, and to recruit
his forces on the way with the troops of Theodomir.

In the meantime, Taric el Tuerto had received
large reinforcements from Africa, and
the adherents of Count Julian, and all those
discontented with the sway of Don Roderick,
had flocked to his standard; for many were
deceived by the representations of Count Julian,
and thought that the Arabs had come to
aid him in placing the sons of Witiza upon the
throne. Guided by the count, the troops of
Taric penetrated into various parts of the
country, and laid waste the land; bringing back
loads of spoil to their strong hold at the rock
of Calpe.

The prince Ataulpho marched with his army

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through Andalusia, and was joined by Theodomir
with his troops; he met with various detachments
of the enemy foraging the country,
and had several bloody skirmishes; but he succeeded
in driving them before him, and they
retreated to the rock of Calpe, where Taric lay
gathered up with the main body of his army.

The prince encamped not far from the bay
which spreads itself out before the promontory.
In the evening he despatched the veteran Theodomir,
with a trumpet, to demand a parley of
the Arab chieftain, who received the envoy in
his tent, surrounded by his captains. Theodomir
was frank and abrupt in speech, for the
most of his life had been passed far from
courts. He delivered, in round terms, the message
of the Prince Ataulpho; upbraiding the
Arab general with his wanton invasion of the
land, and summoning him to surrender his army
or to expect no mercy.

The single eye of Taric el Tuerto glowed
like a coal of fire at this message. “Tell your
commander,” replied he, “that I have crossed
the strait to conquer Spain, nor will I return
until I have accomplished my purpose. Tell
him I have men skilled in war, and armed in
proof, with whose aid I trust soon to give a
good account of his rabble host.”

A murmur of applause passed through the

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assemblage of moslem captains. Theodomir
glanced on them a look of defiance, but his eye
rested on a renegado christian, one of his own
ancient comrades, and a relation of Count Julian.
“As to you, Don Greybeard,” said he,
“you who turn apostate in your declining age,
I here pronounce you a traitor to your God,
your king, and country; and stand ready to
prove it this instant upon your body, if field be
granted me.”

The traitor knight was stung with rage at
these words, for truth rendered them piercing
to the heart. He would have immediately answered
to the challenge, but Taric forbade it,
and ordered that the christian envoy should be
conducted from the camp. “'Tis well,” replied
Theodomir, “God will give me the field
which you deny. Let yon hoary apostate look
to himself tomorrow in the battle, for I pledge
myself to use my lance upon no other foe until
it has shed his blood upon the native soil he has
betrayed.” So saying, he left the camp, nor
could the moslem chieftains help admiring the
honest indignation of this patriot knight, while
they secretly despised his renegado adversary.

The ancient moorish chroniclers relate many
awful portents, and strange and mysterious visions,
which appeared to the commanders of
either army during this anxious night.

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Certainly it was a night of fearful suspense, and moslem
and christian looked forward with doubt to
the fortune of the coming day. The Spanish
sentinel walked his pensive round, listening occasionally
to the vague sounds from the distant
rock of Calpe, and eyeing it as the mariner
eyes the thunder cloud, pregnant with terror
and destruction. The Arabs, too, from their
lofty cliffs beheld the numerous camp-fires of
the christians gradually lighted up, and saw that
they were a powerful host; at the same time
the night breeze brought to their ears the sullen
roar of the sea which separated them from
Africa. When they considered their perilous
situation, an army on one side, with a whole
nation aroused to reinforce it, and on the other
an impassable sea, the spirits of many of the
warriors were cast down, and they repented
the day when they had ventured into this hostile
land.

Taric marked their despondency, but said
nothing. Scarce had the first streak of morning
light trembled along the sea, however, when
he summoned his principal warriors to his tent.
“Be of good cheer,” said he, “Allah is with us,
and has sent his prophet to give assurance of
his aid. Scarce had I retired to my tent last
night, when a man of a majestic and venerable
presence stood before me. He was taller by a

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palm than the ordinary race of men, his flowing
beard was of a golden hue, and his eyes were
so bright that they seemed to send forth flashes
of fire. I have heard the Emir Bahamet, and
other ancient men, describe the prophet, whom
they had seen many times while on earth, and
such was his form and lineament. `Fear nothing,
O Taric, from the morrow,' said he, `I will
be with thee in the fight. Strike boldly, then,
and conquer. Those of thy followers who survive
the battle will have this land for an inheritance;
for those who fall a mansion in paradise
is prepared, and immortal houries await their
coming.' He spake and vanished; I heard a
strain of celestial melody, and my tent was
filled with the odours of Arabia the happy.”
“Such,” says the Spanish chroniclers, “was
another of the arts by which this arch son of
Ishmael sought to animate the hearts of his followers;
and the pretended vision has been recorded
by the Arabian writers as a veritable
occurrence. Marvellous, indeed, was the effect
produced by it upon the infidel soldiery, who
now cried out with eagerness to be led against
the foe.

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