gratuities of the alcayde of los Donceles to the soldiery--four fanegas,
or about four hundredweight, of wheat and a lance to each horseman, two
fanegas of wheat and a lance to each foot-soldier.

CHAPTER XVII.

LAMENTATIONS OF THE MOORS FOR THE BATTLE OF LUCENA.

The sentinels looked out from the watch-towers of Loxa along the valley
of the Xenil, which passes through the mountains of Algaringo. They
looked to behold the king returning in triumph at the head of his
shining host, laden with the spoil of the unbeliever. They looked to
behold the standard of their warlike idol, the fierce Ali Atar, borne by
the chivalry of Loxa, ever foremost in the wars of the border.

In the evening of the 21st of April they descried a single horseman
urging his faltering steed along the banks of the Xenil. As he drew
near they perceived, by the flash of arms, that he was a warrior, and
on nearer approach by the richness of his armor and the caparison of his
steed they knew him to be a warrior of rank.

He reached Loxa faint and aghast, his courser covered with foam and dust
and blood, panting and staggering with fatigue and gashed with wounds.
Having brought his master in safety, he sank down and died before the
gate of the city. The soldiers at the gate gathered round the cavalier
as he stood by his expiring steed: they knew him to be Cidi Caleb,
nephew of the chief alfaqui of the mosque in the Albaycin, and their
hearts were filled with fearful forebodings.

"Cavalier," said they, "how fares it with the king and army?"

He cast his hand mournfully toward the land of the Christians. "There
they lie!" exclaimed he. "The heavens have fallen upon them. All are
lost! all dead!"*

* Bernaldez (Cura de los Palacios), Hist. de los Reyes Catol.,
MS., cap. 61.

Upon this there was a great cry of consternation among the people, and
loud wailings of women, for the flower of the youth of Loxa were with
the army.

An old Moorish soldier, scarred in many a border battle, stood leaning
on his lance by the gateway. "Where is Ali Atar?" demanded he eagerly.
"If he lives the army cannot be lost."

"I saw his helm cleft by the Christian sword; his body is floating in
the Xenil."

When the soldier heard these words he smote his breast and threw dust
upon his head, for he was an old follower of Ali Atar.

Cidi Caleb gave himself no repose, but, mounting another steed, hastened
toward Granada. As he passed through the villag