n, and trump and cymbal heralded
his approach. The Count de Tendilla rode by his side.

"Senor," said Ferdinand, "the infidels fight hard; but they are in the
snare--we are about to close the nets upon them. But what cavalcade is
this?"

The group that thus drew the king's attention consisted of six squires,
bearing, on a martial litter, composed of shields, the stalwart form of
Hernando del Pulgar.

"Ah, the dogs!" cried the king, as he recognised the pale features of
the darling of the army,--"have they murdered the bravest knight that
ever fought for Christendom?"

"Not that, your majesty," quoth he of the Exploits, faintly, "but I am
sorely stricken."

"It must have been more than man who struck thee down," said the king.

"It was the mace of Muza Ben Abil Gazan, an please you, sire," said one
of the squires; "but it came on the good knight unawares, and long after
his own arm had seemingly driven away the Pagan."

"We will avenge thee well," said the king, setting his teeth: "let our
own leeches tend thy wounds. Forward, sir knights! St. Iago and Spain!"

The battle had now gathered to a vortex; Muza and his cavalry had
joined Boabdil and the Moorish foot. On the other hand, Villena had
been reinforced by detachments that in almost every other quarter of the
field had routed the foe. The Moors had been driven back, though inch
by inch; they were now in the broad space before the very walls of the
city, which were still crowded by the pale and anxious faces of the aged
and the women: and, at every pause in the artillery, the voices that
spoke of HOME were borne by that lurid air to the ears of the infidels.
The shout that rang through the Christian force as Ferdinand now joined
it struck like a death-knell upon the last hope of Boabdil. But the
blood of his fierce ancestry burned in his veins, and the cheering
voice of Almamen, whom nothing daunted, inspired him with a kind of
superstitious frenzy.

"King against king--so be it! Let Allah decide between us!" cried the
Moorish monarch. "Bind up this wound 'tis well! A steed for the santon!
Now, my prophet and my friend, mount by the side of thy king--let us, at
least, fall together. Lelilies! Lelilies!"

Throughout the brave Christian ranks went a thrill of reluctant
admiration, as they beheld the Paynim king, conspicuous by his fair
beard and the jewels of his harness, lead the scanty guard yet left to
him once more into the thickest of their lines. Simu