Forward, comrades!" The great Alba
at once sprang like an arrow from his horse, wrested a partisan from
the stiff hand of one of the slain, and standing in front of the two
companies he cried, "I will take part in your glory. In the name of God
and of the blessed Virgin, forward, my children!"

And joyfully they rushed up the hill, every heart beating with
confidence, while the war-cry was raised triumphantly; some even began
already to shout "Victory! victory!" and the Mussulmans paused and
wavered. Suddenly, like the vision of an avenging angel, a maiden,
dressed in purple garments embroidered with gold appeared in the Turkish
ranks, and those who were terrified before again shouted "Allah!"
calling at the same time, "Zelinda, Zelinda!" The maiden, however, drew
a small box from under her arm, and opening it she breathed into it
and hurled it down among the Christian troops. And forth from the fatal
chest there burst a whole fire of rockets, grenades, and other fearful
messengers of death. The startled soldiers paused in their assault.
"Forward!" cried Alba. "Forward!" cried the two captains; but a flaming
arrow just then fastened on the duke's plumed hat and hissed and
crackled round his head, so that the general fell fainting down the
height. Then the German and Spanish infantry fled uncontrollably from
the fearful ascent. Again the storm had been repulsed. The Mussulmans
shouted, and like a fatal star Zelinda's beauty shone in the midst of
the flying troops.

When Alba opened his eyes, Heimbert was standing over him, with his
mantle, arm, and face scorched with the fire, which he had not only just
extinguished on his general's head, but by throwing himself over him he
had saved him from a second body of flame rolled down the height in the
same direction. The duke was thanking his youthful deliverer when some
soldiers came up, looking for him, to apprise him that the Saracen power
was beginning an attack on the opposite wing of the army. Without losing
a word Alba threw himself on the first horse brought him and galloped
away to the spot where the most threatening danger summoned him.

Fadrique stood with his glowing eye fixed on the rampart, where the
brilliant form of Zelinda might be seen, with a two-edged spear, ready
to be hurled, uplifted by her snow-white arm, and raising her voice,
now in encouraging tones to the Mussulmans in Arabic, and again speaking
scornfully to the Christians in Spanish. At last Fadr