Spain for the Sovereigns (45 page)

Inside the city the heat was intense. There was little to eat now. There were few dogs and cats left; they had long ago eaten their horses. They existed on vine leaves; they were emaciated, and in the streets men and women were dying of exhaustion or unspecified diseases. And outside the walls of the city the Christians still waited.

Several of the town’s important men formed themselves into a band and presented themselves before Hamet Zeli.

‘We cannot much longer endure this suffering,’ they told him.

He shook his head. ‘In time, help will come to us.’

‘When it comes, Hamet Zeli, it will be too late.’

‘I have sworn to El Zagal never to surrender.’

‘In the streets the people are dying of hunger and pestilence. No help will come to us. Our crops have been destroyed; our cattle stolen. What has become of our fertile vineyards? The Christians have left our land desolate and we are dying a slow death. Allah has turned his face against us. Open the gates of the city and let the Christians in.’

‘That is the wish of the people?’ asked Hamet Zeli.

‘It is the wish of all.’

‘Then I will take my forces into the Gebalfaro, and you may make your peace with Ferdinand.’

The burghers looked at each other. ‘It is what we wished to do weeks ago,’ said one of them.

‘That is true,’ said another. ‘You, Ali Dordux should lead a deputation to Ferdinand. He offered us special concessions some weeks ago if we would surrender the town to him. Tell him that we are now ready to do so.’

‘I will lead my deputation to him with all speed,’ said Ali Dordux. ‘It may be that the sooner we go, the more lives we shall save.’

‘Go from me now,’ said Hamet Zeli. ‘This is no affair of mine. I would never surrender. I would die rather than bow to the Christian invader.’

‘We are not soldiers, Hamet Zeli,’ said Ali Dordux. ‘We are men of peace. And no fate which the Christian can impose upon us could be worse than that which we have endured.’

‘You do not know Ferdinand,’ answered Hamet Zeli. ‘You do not know the Christians.’

Ferdinand heard that the deputation had called upon him.

‘Led, Highness,’ he was told, ‘by Ali Dordux, the most prominent and wealthy citizen. They beg an audience that they may discuss terms for surrendering the city to you.’

Ferdinand smiled slowly.

‘Pray return to them,’ he said, ‘and tell them this: I offered them peace and they refused it. Then they were in a position to bargain. Now they are a conquered people. It is not for them to make terms with me but to accept those on which I shall decide.’

The deputation returned to Malaga, and when it was learned what Ferdinand had said there was loud wailing throughout the city.

‘Now,’ the people whispered to each other, ‘we know that we can expect no mercy from the Christians.’

There were many to exhort them to stand firm. ‘Let us die rather than surrender,’ they cried. They had a wonderful leader in Hamet Zeli; why did they not put their trust in him?

Because their families were starving, was the answer. They had seen their wives and children die of disease and hunger. There must be an end to the siege at any price.

A new embassy was sent to Ferdinand.

They would surrender their city to him in exchange for their lives and freedom. Let him refuse this offer and every Christian in Malaga – and they held six hundred Christian prisoners – should be hanged over the battlements. They would put the aged and the weak, the women and the children, into the fortress, set fire to the town and cut a way for themselves through the enemy. So that Ferdinand would lose the rich treasure of Malaga.

But Ferdinand was aware that he was dealing with a beaten people. He felt no pity; he would give no quarter. He was a hard man completely lacking in imagination. He saw only the advantage to his own cause.

He was making no compacts, he replied. If any Christian within the city was harmed he would slaughter every Moslem within the walls of Malaga.

This was the end of resistance. The gates of the city were thrown open to Ferdinand.

Isabella, richly gowned, rode beside Ferdinand into the conquered city of Malaga.

It had been purified before their arrival, and over all the principal buildings floated the flag of Christian Spain.

The great mosque was now the church of Santa Maria de la Encarnacion; and bells could be heard ringing throughout the city.

Isabella’s first desire was to visit the new cathedral and there give thanks for the victory.

Afterwards she rode through the streets, but she did not see the terror in the eyes of the people; she did not see the cupidity in those of Ferdinand as he surveyed these rich treasures which had fallen into his hands. She heard only the bells; she could only rejoice.

Another great city for Christ, she told herself. The Moorish kingdom was depleted afresh. This was the greatest victory they had yet achieved, for the Moors in Granada would be seriously handicapped by the loss of their great port.

A cry of anger went up from the assembly as the Christian slaves tottered out into the streets; some could scarcely see, because they had been kept so long in darkness. They limped and dragged themselves along, to fall at the feet of the Sovereigns in order to kiss their hands in gratitude for their deliverance.

The sound of their chains being pulled along as they walked was audible, for as they approached the Sovereigns there was a deep silence among the spectators.

‘No,’ cried Isabella; and she slipped from her horse and placed her hands on the shoulders of the blind old man who was seeking to kiss her hand. ‘You shall not kneel to me,’ she went on. And she raised him up. And those watching saw the tears in her eyes, a sight which moved those who knew her, as much as the spectacle of these poor slaves.

Ferdinand had joined her. He too embraced the slaves; he too wept; but he could weep more easily than Isabella, and he quickly allowed indignation to dry his tears.

Isabella said: ‘Let these people be taken from here. Let their chains be taken from them. Let a banquet be prepared for them. They must know that I shall not allow their sufferings to be forgotten. They shall be recompensed for their long captivity.’

Then she mounted her horse and the procession continued.

Hamet Zeli was brought before them, proud, bold, though emaciated, and in heavy chains.

‘You should have surrendered long ere this,’ Ferdinand told him. ‘You see how foolish you have been. You might once have bought concessions for your people.’

‘I was commanded to defend Malaga,’ said Hamet Zeli. ‘Had I been supported, I would have died before giving in.’

‘Thus you show your folly,’ said Ferdinand. ‘Now you will obey my commands. I would have the whole of the population of Malaga assembled in the courtyard of the
alcazaba
to hear the sentence I shall pass upon them.’

‘Great Ferdinand,’ said Hamet Zeli, ‘you have conquered Malaga. Take its treasures. They are yours.’

‘They are mine,’ said Ferdinand smiling; ‘and certainly I shall take them.’

‘But, Christian King, spare the people of Malaga.’

‘Should they be allowed to go free for all the inconvenience they have caused me? Many of my men have died at their hands.’

‘Do what you will with the soldiers, but the citizens played no part in this war.’

‘Their obstinacy has angered me,’ said Ferdinand. ‘Assemble them that they may hear their fate.’

In the courtyard of the
alcazaba
, the people had assembled. All through the day the sound of wailing voices had filled the streets.

The people were calling on Allah not to desert them. They begged him to plant compassion and mercy in the heart of the Christian King.

But Allah ignored their cries, and the heart of the Christian King was hardened against them.

He told them what their fate would be in one word: slavery.

Every man, woman and child was to be sold or given in slavery. They had defied him and, because of this, they must pay for their foolishness with their freedom.

Slavery! The dreaded word fell on the still, hot air.

Where was the proud city of Malaga now? Lost to the Arabs for evermore. What would befall its people? They would be scattered throughout the world. Children would be torn from their parents, husbands from their wives. This was the decree of the Christian King: Slavery for the proud people of Malaga.

In the
alcazaba
Ferdinand rubbed his hands together. He could scarcely speak, so excited was he. He could only contemplate the treasures of this beautiful city which were now his . . . all his.

Then a certain fear came to him. How could he be sure that all the treasure would be handed to him? These Arabs were a cunning people. Might they not hide their most precious jewels, their richest treasures, hoping to preserve them for themselves?

It was an alarming thought. Yet how could he be sure that this would not happen?

Isabella was calculating what they would do with the slaves.

‘We shall be able to redeem some of our own people,’ she told Ferdinand.

Ferdinand was not enthusiastic. He was thinking of selling the slaves. They would not help to fill the treasury, he pointed out.

But Isabella was determined. ‘We must not forget those of our people who have been taken into slavery. I propose that we send one-third of the people of Malaga into Africa in exchange for an equal number of our people held there as slaves.’

‘And sell the rest,’ said Ferdinand quickly.

‘We might sell another third,’ Isabella replied. ‘This should bring us a goodly sum which will be very useful for prosecuting the war.’

‘And the remainder?’

‘We must not forget the custom. We should send some to our friends. Do not forget that those who have worked with us and have helped us to win this great victory will expect some reward. The Pope should be presented with some, so should the Queen of Naples. And we must not forget that we hope for this marriage between Isabella and Alonso; so I would send some of the most beautiful of the girls to the Queen of Portugal.’

‘So,’ said Ferdinand, somewhat disgruntled, ‘we shall only sell a third of them for our own benefit.’

But what was really worrying him was the thought that he could not be sure that all the treasures of Malaga would come to him, and he feared that some might be secreted away and he not know of their existence.