gigantic arm of De
Suzon; as the knight's falchion bearing down the cimiter, and alighting
on the turban of the Mohammedan, clove midway through its folds,
arrested only by the admirable temper of the links of steel which
protected it. The shock hurled the Moor to the ground. He rolled under
the saddle-girths of his antagonist.

"Victory and St. Jago!" cried the knight, "Muza is--"

The sentence was left eternally unfinished. The blade of the fallen Moor
had already pierced De Suzoii's horse through a mortal but undefended
part. It fell, bearing his rider with him. A moment, and the two
champions lay together grappling in the dust; in the next, the short
knife which the Moor wore in his girdle had penetrated the Christian's
visor, passing through the brain.

To remount his steed, that remained at band, humbled and motionless,
to appear again amongst the thickest of the fray, was a work no less
rapidly accomplished than had been the slaughter of the unhappy Estevon
de Suzon. But now the fortune of the day was stopped in a progress
hitherto so triumphant to the Moors.

Pricking fast over the plain were seen the glittering horsemen of the
Christian reinforcements; and, at the remoter distance, the royal banner
of Spain, indistinctly descried through volumes of dust, denoted that
Ferdinand himself was advancing to the support of his cavaliers.

The Moors, however, who had themselves received many and mysterious
reinforcements, which seemed to spring up like magic from the bosom of
the earth--so suddenly and unexpectedly had they emerged from copse
and cleft in that mountainous and entangled neighbourhood--were not
unprepared for a fresh foe. At the command of the vigilant Muza, they
drew off, fell into order, and, seizing, while yet there was time, the
vantage-ground which inequalities of the soil and the shelter of the
trees gave to their darts and agile horse, they presented an array which
Ponce de Leon himself, who now arrived, deemed it more prudent not to
assault. While Villena, in accents almost inarticulate with rage, was
urging the Marquess of Cadiz to advance, Ferdinand, surrounded by the
flower of his court, arrived at the rear of the troops and after a few
words interchanged with Ponce de Leon, gave the signal to retreat.

When the Moors beheld that noble soldiery slowly breaking ground, and
retiring towards the camp, even Muza could not control their ardour.
They rushed forward, harassing the retreat of th