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The Abencerrage
by
“If ever you have loved, most valiant Alcayde, you may judge of the transport of my bosom. That very night I arrayed myself in my most gallant attire, to pay due honor to my bride; and arming myself against any casual attack, issued forth privately from Cartama. You know the rest, and by what sad fortune of war I found myself, instead of a happy bridegroom, in the nuptial bower of Coyn, vanquished, wounded, and a prisoner, withing the walls of Allora. The term of absence of the father of Xarisa is nearly expired. Within three days he will return to Coyn, and our meeting will no longer be possible. Judge, then, whether I grieve without cause, and whether I may not well be excused for showing impatience under confinement.”
Don Rodrigo de Narvaez was greatly moved by this recital; for, though more used to rugged war, than scenes of amorous softness, he was of a kind and generous nature.
“Abendaraez,” said he, “I did not seek thy confidence to gratify an idle curiosity. It grieves me much that the good fortune which delivered thee into my hands, should have marred so fair an enterprise. Give me thy faith, as a true knight, to return prisoner to my castle, within three days, and I will grant thee permission to accomplish thy nuptials.”
The Abencerrage would have thrown himself at his feet, to pour out protestations of eternal gratitude, but the Alcayde prevented him. Calling in his cavaliers, he took the Abencerrage by the right hand, in their presence, exclaiming solemnly, “You promise, on the faith of a cavalier, to return to my castle of Allora within three days, and render yourself my prisoner?” And the Abencerrage said, “I promise.”
Then said the Alcayde, “Go! and may good fortune attend you. If you require any safeguard, I and my cavaliers are ready to be your companions.”
The Abencerrage kissed the hand of the Alcayde, in grateful acknowledgment. “Give me,” said he, “my own armor, and my steed, and I require no guard. It is not likely that I shall again meet with so valorous a foe.”
The shades of night had fallen, when the tramp of the dapple-gray steed sounded over the drawbridge, and immediately afterward the light clatter of hoofs along the road, bespoke the fleetness with which the youthful lover hastened to his bride. It was deep night when the Moor arrived at the castle of Coyn. He silently and cautiously walked his panting steed under its dark walls, and having nearly passed round them, came to the portal denoted by Xarisa. He paused and looked around to see that he was not observed, and then knocked three times with the butt of his lance. In a little while the portal was timidly unclosed by the duenna of Xarisa. “Alas! senor,” said she, “what has detained you thus long? Every night have I watched for you; and my lady is sick at heart with doubt and anxiety.”
The Abencerrage hung his lance, and shield, and scimitar against the wall, and then followed the duenna, with silent steps, up a winding stair-case, to the apartment of Xarisa. Vain would be the attempt to describe the raptures of that meeting. Time flew too swiftly, and the Abencerrage had nearly forgotten, until too late, his promise to return a prisoner to the Alcayde of Allora. The recollection of it came to him with a pang, and suddenly awoke him from his dream of bliss. Xarisa saw his altered looks, and heard with alarm his stifled sighs; but her countenance brightened, when she heard the cause. “Let not thy spirit be cast down,” said she, throwing her white arms around him. “I have the keys of my father’s treasures; send ransom more than enough to satisfy the Christian, and remain with me.”
“No,” said Abendaraez, “I have given my word to return in person, and like a true knight, must fulfil my promise. After that, fortune must do with me as it pleases.”