The troops of the Arabian once safely landed upon the shores of Spain, the resolved
spirit of Taric el Tuerto led him to a performance which forced upon his
followers the necessity for putting forth all their valor. He secretly set fire to their
ships, and when they gazed with appalled hearts upon the terrific spectacle, and
demanded to know, how, if the fortune of war should go against them, they were
to escape from the country? He answered sternly, “There is no escape for the
coward!” When they asked, “Are we never more to behold our homes?” his
reply, “Your homes are before you,” declared for the presence of a spirit which
soon made itself acknowledged by the multitude. The resolve of their leader set
their hearts on fire. They felt that they had now to win their country with their
swords. Prophecy came to their encouragement. Auguries and miracles declared
in their behalf, and for the sacred mission of their leader; and the fearless Taric,

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no less politic than brave, did not forbear the employment of auxiliary arts, to find
a sanction for his own audacity, in provoking the religious and sensual enthusiasm
of his followers. But our details must not relate to him. Our eye rests upon the
dark and terrible spirit, at whose instigation he lifts the baleful lights of the crescent
upon the heights of Calpe. He marks the progress of the Moslem with exultation.
He sees in the fierce and single-eyed Arabian, whose fanatic energies have
warmed the meanest of his followers with a fiery temper like his own, only the
minister of his individual vengeance. Living for this passion only, he sees not the
awful vision of his country ruined, which had else harrowed up in humiliating
agony every pulse within his bosom; but, as if blinded for the destroyer, and decreed
to work in blindness until the terrible destiny to which he is set shall be fulfilled,
he rejoices in the progress of the invader over devastated plains and burning
cities. That progress was at once begun. The sons of Ismael, impetuous by
nature, and urged to superior impulses by the tenets of a faith which found and
taught that the scymitar was the true means and medium for spiritual conversion,
suffered not the grass to grow beneath the feet of their horses; and no provocation
beyond that already flaming and inextinguishable fire within the heart of Julian,
was necessary to goad him to activity in the fearful mischief to which he had set
his hands. The united forces of the Moslem and the apostate chief were soon in
motion, and the astonished Christians of Tarifa were suddenly confounded with
the presence of the turbaned enemy, at the very moment when they felt themselves
most secure from any danger by the great preparations made for the defence of the
kingdom, and the recent great victory of Julian at Cueta. Their hasty levies under
Theodomir were driven from the path of the invader, who continued to advance
with equal speed and good fortune into the very bowels of the land.

It was in the midst of his most precious luxuries, lapped in profligate ease,
abandoned to his insane pleasure, slothfully confident and criminally joyful, that
Roderick was surprised with accounts of the invasion of his kingdom. The
despatches of Theodomir smote his senses with a terrible sense of apprehension.
When he read, in the language of this brave old chieftain, that the Africans were
upon him, without ships, and as if descending from the clouds—he recalled once
more the fearful vision of the enchanted cavern. His memory took a wild and
rapid survey of the events from that period to the present time, and his conscience,
not yet utterly crushed and subjugated in his repeated crimes, smote him keenly
with the wrongs which he had done to Julian, and the hapless child of that apostate
sire. Of that apostacy, to this hour, he yet knew nothing. The deeds of
Julian in the foray which he was now making into his motherland, had not yet
rendered him conspicuous, as they were destined to do, in the sight of his countrymen;
and Roderick, regarding him as the warrior upon whom, over all, the
safety of the realm depended, now felt more than ever how cruel had been the
recompense which the monarch had bestowed, in requital of the great services of
the subject. The defeats of Theodomir, and his appeal for succor, rendered necessary
his immediate preparations. Roderick was no imbecile in moments of peril,
and he now prepared to act with a decision which was honorable to himself, and
not unworthy of the valor of his race. Forty thousand men were summoned to
the field, and put under the command of Ataulpho, a prince of the royal blood of
the Goths. This prince was brave, and so, perhaps, were the nobles and the soldiers
who followed him to battle. But they lacked in military experience—they
were without discipline, and the luxuries of all classes of the people had unfitted
them for the vigorous duties of the camp. They lacked in that hardy muscle
which could best have served them in the field. Ataulpho sought out the invaders

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with all diligence, nor did they avoid the encounter with an enemy fully twice
their number. This inequality of number was more than compensated by the
wild enthusiasm of the Arabians, by the vindictive fury of the apostate Christian
leader, and by the superior skill and hardihood of their soldiers. The Gothic warriors
fought gallantly, for they still cherished a portion of that valor, which, from
immemorial time, had conducted their sires through successful conflict. But they
strove against the fates. The stars in their courses fought against Roderick as
they did against Sisera. In the midst of the conflict, when the troops of Taric
were about to recoil from the stern and determined ranks of the Christians, Julian
of Consuegra, at the head of a select body of horsemen, charging upon the centre
where Ataulpho fought, turned instantly the fortune of the day. Ataulpho fell,
but not before the weapon of the apostate. His arm struck no blow in the perilous
conflict. His judgment led, his sword pointed out the way to victory, which
his soldiers successfully pursued; but he kept his own weapon unstained, reserving
his personal valor for a nobler victim. Grimly and coldly did he gaze upon
the havoc of the field. His emotions were all still and silent as the storm, when
marshalling its tempests for the sea. He beheld, with no exultation, the great banner
of the cross go down in dust and blood—beheld, with scarce a mood, whether
of pain or pride, the noble features of Ataulpho, as pale and ghastly, smeared
with dust and blood, and looking still terrible from the conflict, his head, smitten
from the trunk, was lifted high upon a lance in the presence of the triumphant armies.
It was necessary that Ataulpho should be slain—that his army should be annihilated—
if only that his path should be laid open to his own particular enemy. But
not for him to feel emotion of any description, whether of gladness or of grief, but
in that one event. The passions of his heart were not now to be awakened
until his weapon crossed in mortal conflict with that of Roderick the Goth. He
reserved the prowess of his arm—matchless at any weapon—only for this single
foe. What to him was the constant progress which the Arabian made? What to
him were the armies which he overthrew? save that each advancing step, and
each successive victory brought him so much nigher to his enemy. Well he knew
that it was not possible for Roderick to forbear much longer to appear at the
head of his armies. Shame, and the absolute necessity of addressing all his military
skill and valor to the exigency, (and Roderick was not without high reputation
for both,) would, he well knew, soon bring the tyrant into the field. But he
did not allow for the cowardice of a guilty conscience. From the moment when
tidings were brought to Roderick that Count Julian fought with the invader and
against his Christian countrymen, he shrunk from the necessity of meeting with
the foe. He had no fear of the armies of the Moslem—would probably have joyed
in the encounter with the foreign enemy—but his heart failed him when he thought
of meeting in battle with the proud and mighty noble whom he had so deeply injured.
What were his feelings when the tidings reached him of the successive
defeats and destruction of his army—of his kinsman's fate—the slaughter of his
bravest leaders, the veterans and the nobles of his kingdom—for it had been the
policy of Taric, counselled by Julian, to single out for slaughter the distinguished
persons, suffering the hirelings and the common herd to escape with little notice.
The infidels in growing numbers overspread the country. Host after host from
Africa, hearing of the successes of Taric, followed in his footsteps; and the
smokes of their devastation, rising up everywhere from the plains of Sidonia to the
fertile waters of the Guadiana, called reproachfully upon the imbecile sovereign to
shake off his lethargy, and to lead his mightiest force against the infidel, Nor did
they summon him in vain. His old courage was gradually reviving in his heart—

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reviving, perhaps, at the instigation of that very fate which required him for the
sacrifice. He shook himself free from his nervous apprehensions. The name of Julian
lost its terror in his ears. The awful image of the injured father of Cava ceased to
look out in characters of fear upon his vision; and a burning desire to resent the
insolence of the invader, and revenge the wrongs done to his kingdom, at length
drove him into the exercise of energies of a kind which almost compensated for all
his previous apathy. His movements were urged with rigor. His troops were
assembled with speed. His nobles were summoned to his side. Weapons were
brought, armor forged, the various munitions of war sought for in all directions,
while his camp witnessed momently the arrival of men, mules and horses, from all
quarters of the kingdom. Roderick possessed in himself rare natural resources of
strength and providence, of which the slothful career in which he had so long indulged,
had not entirely stripped his genius. But his strength lay quite as much
in himself as in his armies. The levies thus hastily brought together were not
the men with whom to meet the hardy veterans of Julian and Taric. Nor were
the nobles on whom he relied, altogether calculated as counsellors or leaders for
an exigency so fearful as that which threatened the kingdom. Many came, but
few deserved to be chosen. Roderick felt but small confidence in their succor when
he looked around him. Many of the nobles gave him, he well knew, but lip service.
Many of them had suffered by his injustice—and, upon the rest he could
found but few hopes, whether as respects their conduct or their courage. The
Archbishop Oppas came with the rest, and was one of the king's most trusty counsellors.
His conspiracy had been too cautiously carried on for the suspicions of
the tyrant. More than once in danger, he had more than once escaped by the
adroitness of his judgment, and, on each occasion, by securing additional holds
upon the confidence of the sovereign he was now preparing to betray. It was he,
chiefly, who had persuaded Roderick to take the field in person. He exaggerated
the strength of the kingdom, the valor of the troops, and the weakness of the invader.
He wrote to Julian: “The tiger leaves his jungle. Be you ready with the
hunters.” And Julian rose when he read the missive, and a convulsion of joy
shook his manly frame. A deep red light seemed to kindle in his eye, and there
was no more apathy in his movements. He shook his hand slowly and threateningly,
as if one even then stood before him. Then he might be heard to mutter,
as if to one speaking behind him: “Peace, Frandina, reproach me not! The
hour cometh and the victim. Peace, pure and suffering spirit, thy stains shall all
be washed away in blood.” Then, moving with hasty stride to the tent of Taric,
he said to that chieftain whom he wakened from iron slumbers: “Arouse your
Arabs, Taric, for the day is reddening in the east Arouse ye, for, even now, Roderick
is setting his army in array, and marehes to the banks of the Xeres.
It is there that we shall meet him.” And, this time, Taric el Tuerto rose with a
submissive air, for the command in the eye and the voice of Julian was that of a
master, not to be withstood. From that moment the sway was with the great
avenger. The troops were marshalled, and Julian of Conseugra led the host,
calmly, and with the countenance of one who has already willed that a mighty
victory shall follow.

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