. The king has confided to myself, aided by the princes Evan and
Siseburto, the command of a wing of the army. To-morrow, at the hour of
noon, when both armies are in the heat of action, we will pass over with
our forces to the Moslems. But I claim the compact made with Taric ben
Zeyad, that my nephews be placed in dominion over Spain, and tributary
only to the Caliph of Damascus.' With this traitorous message the page
departed. He led his black steed by the bridle to present less mark for
observation, as he went stumbling along near the expiring fires of the
camp. On passing the last outpost, when the guards were half slumbering on
their arms, he was overheard and summoned, but leaped lightly into the
saddle and put spurs to his steed. An arrow whistled by his ear and two
more stuck in the target which he had thrown upon his back. The clatter of
swift hoofs echoed behind him, but he had learnt of the Arabs to fight and
fly. Plucking a shaft from his quiver, and turning and rising in the
stirrups as his courser galloped at full speed, he drew the arrow to the
head and launched it at his pursuer. The twang of the bow-string was
followed by the crash of armour, and a deep groan, as the horseman tumbled
to the earth. The page pursued his course with further molestation, and
arrived at the Moslem camp before the break of day.

A light had burned throughout the night in the tent of the king, and
anxious thoughts and dismal visions troubled his repose. If he fell into a
slumber, he beheld in his dreams the shadowy phantoms of the necromantic
tower, or the injured Florinda, pale and dishevelled, imprecating the
vengeance of Heaven upon his head. In the mid-watches of the night, when
all was silent except the footstep of the sentinel, pacing before his
tent, the king rose from his couch, and walking forth looked thoughtfully
upon the martial scene before him. The pale crescent of the moon hung over
the Moorish camp, and dimly lighted up the windings of the Guadalete. The
heart of the king was heavy and oppressed; but he felt only for himself,
says Antonio Agapida, he thought nothing of the perils impending over the
thousands of devoted subjects in the camp below him; sleeping, as it were,
on the margin of their graves. The faint clatter of distant hoofs, as if
in rapid flight, reached the monarch's ear, but the horsemen were not to
be descried. At that very hour, and along the shadowy banks of that river,
here and there gleaming