Thus it was that the Christian demands were met by defiance, and the sovereigns provided with an excuse for prosecuting the war to its bitter end. The Moorish messengers had found them in Seville, whither they had gone in April, 1490, to celebrate the betrothal of their daughter Isabel with Don Alfonso, the heir to the Portuguese throne; but, this concluded, Ferdinand collected an army and, crossing the Sierra Elvira, proceeded to ravage the plains of Granada. Within sight of the city he knighted his son Prince John, on whom so many hopes were centred, that in this last act of the crusade, inheritance of his race, the boy of twelve might receive initiation into a great future.

Boabdil, in the meanwhile, had not waited to be attacked; and his generals, taking the offensive, endeavoured to recapture some of the smaller fortresses that had fallen into Christian hands, besides stirring up revolt in the larger towns which had lately surrendered, such as Guadix and Baeza. Both efforts met with a measure of success; for many of the Moors, who had faithfully served “El Zagal” throughout his struggles with his nephew, were so disgusted at seeing his banner in the Christian camp, and at witnessing the soft complacency of Cid Haya, that they turned willingly from their old allegiance to the Prince who offered them deliverance from a foreign yoke.

Their patriotism came too late. The hour had passed when rebellion could do more than temporarily retard the waning Crescent; and the punishment of failure was meted out by Ferdinand and his generals with no unsparing hand. Yet this severity had its semblance of mercy. The inhabitants of the town in question might choose between exile with their movable property, or a full judicial inquiry into their conduct. Who were guilty? The citizens looked at one another and knew that few would be able to prove complete innocence before a hostile judgment seat, with racial hatred holding the balance; and their decision was not long in forming.

From the fairest cities in Granada passed away the population that had made her fame; and, as the exiles sailed to Africa, Castilians took possession of their deserted homes. The Curate of Los Palacios, in the case of Guadix, congratulates himself on Ferdinand’s cleverness in thus winning this town so completely from the enemies of the Holy Catholic Faith. “It is one of the mysteries of Our Lord,” he adds, “who would by no means consent that so noble a city should remain longer in the power of the Moors.”

Round Granada itself the Christian lines were closing in; and successful though arduous campaigns into the mountains of the Alpujarras had cut off the beleaguered city from hope of succour in that direction. Christian Europe, humbled by the fall of Constantinople, awaited the issue with expectant joy; and it seemed in this supreme moment as if the chivalry of both the Crescent and the Cross, conscious of universal interest, were inspired to a last emulation in the quest of glory. Never before in the crusade had the sallies of the besieged or the furious attacks of besiegers exhibited such contempt of personal danger; never before had schemes emanating from the council-chamber been supplemented by such deeds of individual bravery.

Chief hero of these days was the young Castilian noble, Hernando de Pulgar, “He of the Exploits,” as his countrymen proudly named him. Already in the earlier stages of the war he had earned a reputation for reckless daring; but the crowning touch to his fame was given by his midnight entry into Granada with fifteen companions of the same hazard-loving temperament. Led by a converted Moor, the little band of Christians scaled the walls and, making their way through the town by deserted streets, arrived unperceived at the principal mosque. Here Hernando de Pulgar drew from his pocket a strip of parchment, on which were inscribed the words dear to every Catholic but anathema to the sons of Islam, “Ave Maria!” and fixed it by his dagger to the door. Before he could follow up his intention of setting fire to the neighbouring houses, he was discovered; but nevertheless he and his friends succeeded in making their escape by dint of hard riding and a liberal use of their swords, before the majority of the inhabitants were even aware of their inroad.

It was an action to fire the imagination of all the young hot-bloods in the camp; and when in the summer of 1491 Isabel and a number of her ladies-in-waiting appeared at the seat of war, the incentive to deeds of prowess was redoubled. The sovereigns, though delighted with Hernando de Pulgar’s exploit, for which they rewarded him with every mark of honour and favour, were yet too practical to encourage a needless loss of life. They had long recognized, as we have seen, that in patience rather than in daring lay their hope of success; and when a fire broke out in the Queen’s tent and destroyed a good part of the camp, they determined to prepare for a long siege and to build more solid accommodation, as they had done at Baeza.

To this end the Spanish soldier was converted into a workman; and under his willing hands a city arose, not merely of clay and timber, but of stone. In shape a square, cut into four by wide crossroads, each quarter with its fine houses contained a block of marble inscribed with the names of those cities of Spain that had helped in its construction, the whole being finished within eighty days from its commencement.

The building of Santa Fé, “Holy Faith,” as Isabel characteristically christened the city when asked to name it after herself, had been witnessed from the walls of Granada; and Boabdil’s heart sank within him at this token of the iron determination he knew and feared. Already hunger was rife amongst his subjects; and though he might prolong the siege for months or even longer he realized that only ultimate failure lay before him. So did his principal councillors, and in October, 1491, acting on their advice, he entered at last into negotiations for surrender.

The terms to which both sides finally agreed, besides guaranteeing to the inhabitants of Granada the safety of their lives and property, granted them also the free exercise of their religion, laws, and customs. They were to speak their own language, keep their own schools, and appoint their own judges and priests, submitting to no Christian authority save that of the Governor-General of the city. For three years they were to pay no taxes, and after that date none that should exceed those that had been ordinarily exacted by their Mahometan rulers. These rights were to be enjoyed by Jews as well as Moors; while the Christian captives then in the city were to be exchanged for an equal number of Moorish slaves. Above all Boabdil stipulated that no partisan or servant of “El Zagal” should be allowed a share in the government.

The surface value of these conditions was fair enough; treacherously fair, according to the Moorish warriors still disinclined for peace.

“If you think,” exclaimed one of them, “that the Christians will remain faithful to what they have promised, or that their sovereign will prove as generous a conqueror as he has been a valiant enemy, you deceive yourselves.”

His contemptuous refusal to have part or parcel in the transaction was echoed through the streets.

“Traitors and cowards all!” cried an old dervish, gathering behind him the more excitable element of the town; and soon a mob was beating on the gates of the Alhambra.

Boabdil succeeded in restoring order; but the fear of another riot made him hastily dispatch a letter to Ferdinand and Isabel, asking them in view of his critical position to take possession of the town some days earlier than they had settled. His interest in smoothing out all difficulties is explained by the secret stipulations affixed to the general terms of surrender. By these he and his immediate relations were to keep the lands that already formed their private patrimony, while he himself was to receive in addition the lordship and revenue of a large district in the Alpujarras, the sovereigns paying him the sum of thirty thousand castellanos on the day of their entry.

Thus Boabdil hoped to buy peace, and in the guise of a territorial magnate to free himself from the unlucky star that had haunted his path as King.^[3] On the 2d of January, 1492, at the signal of a cannon fired from the Alhambra he left for ever the palace that had been the scene of so many vicissitudes in his life. At the same moment the Christian army in festival attire, with banners flying and amid the blare of trumpets issued from the gates of Santa Fé; the Cardinal of Spain and Don Gutierre de Cardenas leading the triumphal march that was to end at last in the goal of all their ambitions.

The two Kings met on the banks of the Genil, where Boabdil would have knelt to kiss the other’s hand, had not Ferdinand with quick courtesy prevented him. “Take these, Señor, for I and all in the city are thine,” exclaimed the Moor, as in profound melancholy he yielded up the keys of his capital. Then he passed on his way. As the turrets of the Alhambra grew dim behind him, the vanguard of the Christian army crossed its threshhold; and Ferdinand and Isabel without the gate saw raised on the Tower of Colmares, first, the silver cross that had been blessed at Rome, and then the royal banner and the standard of Santiago.

“Granada! Granada! for the sovereigns Don Fernando and Doña Isabel,” cried the king-at-arms in a loud voice; and the Queen falling on her knees and all with her, the solemn chant of the Te Deum rose to Heaven. The object of ten years of arduous warfare was achieved, the dream of eight centuries realized; and none of those who knelt in heartfelt thankfulness doubted that the gift was of God.

Four days later, on the 6th of January, 1492, the Feast of the Epiphany, the Catholic sovereigns made their formal entry into Granada.