The Battle Of The Guadalete
The legends just given are full of the pith of facts. Dread of Africa lay
deep in the Spanish heart and gave point to these and other magical and
romantic tales. The story of how the great conqueror, Mohammed, had come
out from the deserts of Arabia and sent his generals, sword and Koran in
hand, to conquer the world, had spread far to the east and the west, and
brought terror wherever it came. From Arabia the Moslem hordes had swe
t
through Egypt and along the African coast to the extremity of Morocco.
They now faced Spain and coveted that rich and populous land. Well might
the degenerate sons of the Goths fear their coming and strive to keep them
out with talismans and spells.
Years before, in the days of good King Wamba, a great Mohammedan fleet had
ravaged the Andalusian coast. Others came, not for conquest, but for
spoil. But at length all North Africa lay under the Moslem yoke, and Musa
Ibn Nasseyr, the conqueror of the African tribes, cast eyes of greed upon
Spain and laid plans for the subjugation to Arab rule of that
far-spreading Christian land.
Africa, he was told, was rich, but Spain was richer. Its soil was as
fertile as that of Syria, its climate as mild and sweet as that of Araby
the Blest. The far-famed mines of distant Cathay did not equal it in
wealth of minerals and gems; nowhere else were such harbors, nowhere such
highlands and plains. The mountain-ranges, beautiful to see, enclosed
valleys of inexhaustible fertility. It was a land "plentiful in waters,
renowned for their sweetness and clearness,"--Andalusia's noble streams.
Famous monuments graced its towns: the statue of Hercules at Cadiz, the
idol of Galicia, the stately ruins of Merida and Tarragona. It was a realm
the conquest of which would bring wealth and fame,--great glory to the sons
of Allah and great treasure to the successors of the Prophet. Musa
determined upon its invasion.
A traitor came to his aid. Count Julian was governor of Ceuta, a Spanish
city on the African coast. His daughter Florinda was maid of honor to the
queen of Don Roderic. But word from the daughter came to the father that
she had suffered grievous injury at the hands of the king, and Count
Julian, thirsting for revenge upon Roderic, offered to deliver Ceuta into
the hands of the Arabian warrior and aid him in the conquest of Spain. To
test the good faith of Julian, Musa demanded that he should first invade
Andalusia himself. This he did, taking over a small force in two vessels,
overrunning the coast country, killing many of its people, and returning
with a large booty in slaves and plunder.
In the summer of 710 a Berber named Tarif was sent over to spy out the
land, and in the spring of 711 the army of invasion was led over by Tarik
Ibn Zeyad, a valiant chief, who had gained great glory in the wars with
the Berber tribes. Who Tarik was cannot be told. He was of humble origin,
probably of Persian birth, but possessed of a daring spirit that was to
bring him the highest fame. He is described as a tall man, with red hair
and a white complexion, blind of one eye, and with a mole on his hand. The
Spanish historians call him Tarik el Tuerto, meaning either "one-eyed" or
"squint-eyed." Such was the man whom Musa sent to begin the conquest of
Spain.
The army of invasion consisted of seven thousand men,--a handful to conquer
a kingdom. They were nearly all Moorish and Berber cavalry, there being
only three hundred Arabians of pure blood, most of whom were officers.
Landing in Spain, for a time they found no one to meet them. Roderic was
busy with his army in the north and knew naught of this invasion of his
kingdom, and for two months Tarik ravaged the land at his will. But at
length the Gothic king, warned of his danger, began a hasty march
southward, sending orders in advance to levy troops in all parts of the
kingdom, the rallying place being Cordova.
It was a large army which he thus got together, but they were ill-trained,
ill-disciplined, and ill-disposed to their king. Ninety thousand there
were, as Arab historians tell us, while Tarik had but twelve thousand,
Musa having sent him five thousand more. But the large army was a mob,
half-armed, and lacking courage and discipline; the small army was a
compact and valorous body, used to victory, fearless, and impetuous.
It was on Sunday, the 19th of July, 711, that the two armies came face to
face on the banks of the Guadalete, a river whose waters traverse the
plain of Sidonia, in which the battle was fought. It was one of the
decisive battles in the world's history, for it gave the peninsula of
Spain for eight centuries to Arab dominion. The story of how this battle
was fought is, therefore, among the most important of the historical tales
of Spain.
Roderic's army consisted of two bodies of men,--a smaller force of
cavaliers, clad in mail armor and armed with swords and battle-axes, and
the main body, which was a motley crew, without armor, and carrying bows,
lances, axes, clubs, scythes, and slings. Of the Moslem army the greater
number wore mail, some carrying lances and scimitars of Damascus steel,
others being armed with light long-bows. Their horses were Arabian or
Barbary steeds, such as Roderic had seen on the walls of the secret
chamber.
It was in the early morning of a bright spring day that the Spanish
clarions sounded defiance to the enemy, and the Moorish horns and
kettle-drums rang back the challenge to battle. Nearer and nearer together
came the hosts, the shouts of the Goths met by the shrill lelies of the
Moslems.
"By the faith of the Messiah," Roderic is reported to have said, "these
are the very men I saw painted on the walls of the chamber of the spell at
Toledo." From that moment, say the chroniclers, "fear entered his heart."
And yet the story goes that he fought long and well and showed no signs of
fear.
On his journey to the south Roderic had travelled in a chariot of ivory,
lined with cloth of gold, and drawn by three white mules harnessed
abreast. On the silken awning of the chariot pearls, rubies, and other
rich jewels were profusely sprinkled. He sat with a crown of gold on his
head, and was dressed in a robe made of strings of pearls interwoven with
silk. This splendor of display, however, was not empty ostentation, but
the state and dignity which was customary with the Gothic kings.
In his chariot of ivory Roderic passed through the ranks, exhorting the
men to valor, and telling them that the enemy was a low rabble of
heathens, abhorred of God and men. "Remember," he said, "the valor of your
ancestors and the holy Christian faith, for whose defence we are
fighting." Then he sprang from his chariot, put on his horned helmet,
mounted his war-horse Orelia, and took his station in the field, prepared
to fight like a soldier and a king.
For two days the battle consisted of a series of skirmishes. At the end of
that time the Christians had the advantage. Their numbers had told, and
new courage came to their hearts. Tarik saw that defeat would be his lot
if this continued, and on the morning of the third day he made a fiery
appeal to his men, rousing their fanaticism and picturing the treasures
and delights which victory would bring them. He ended with his war-cry of
"Guala! Guala! Follow me, my warriors! I shall not stop until I reach the
tyrant in the midst of his steel-clad warriors, and either kill him or he
kill me!"
At the head of his men the dusky one-eyed warrior rushed with fiery energy
upon the Gothic lines, cleaving his way through the ranks towards a
general whose rich armor seemed to him that of the king. His impetuous
charge carried him deep into their midst. The seeming king was before him.
One blow and he fell dead; while the Moslems, crying that the king of the
Goths was killed, followed their leader with resistless ardor into the
hostile ranks. The Christians heard and believed the story, and lost heart
as their enemy gained new energy.
At this critical moment, as we are told, Bishop Oppas, brother-in-law of
the traitor Julian, drew off and joined the Moslem ranks. Whether this was
the case or not, the charge of Tarik led the way to victory. He had
pierced the Christian centre. The wings gave way before the onset of his
chiefs. Resistance was at an end. In utter panic the soldiers flung away
their arms and took to flight, heedless of the stores and treasures of
their camp, thinking of nothing but safety, flying in all directions
through the country, while the Moslems, following on their flying steeds,
cut them down without mercy.
Roderic, the king, had disappeared. If slain in the battle, his body was
never found. Wounded and despairing, he may have been slain in flight or
been drowned in the stream. It was afterwards said that his war-horse, its
golden saddle rich with rubies, was found riderless beside the stream, and
that near by lay a royal crown and mantle, and a sandal embroidered with
pearls and emeralds. But all we can safely say is that Roderic had
vanished, his army was dispersed, and Spain was the prize of Tarik and the
Moors, for resistance was quickly at an end, and they went on from victory
to victory until the country was nearly all in their hands.