The summons of the queen roused the quick Andalusian spirit.
Warriors who had long since given up fighting and had sent their
sons to battle now seized the sword and lance rusting on the
wall, and marshalled forth their gray-headed domestics and their
grandchildren for the field. The great dread was, that all aid
would arrive too late; El Zagal and his host had passed like a
storm through the mountains, and it was feared the tempest
had already burst upon the Christian camp.

In the mean time, the night had closed which had been appointed
by El Zagal for the execution of his plan. He had watched the last
light of day expire, and all the Spanish camp remained tranquil. As
the hours wore away the camp-fires were gradually extinguished.
No drum nor trumpet sounded from below. Nothing was heard but
now and then the dull heavy tread of troops or the echoing tramp
of horses--the usual patrols of the camp--and the changes of the
guards. El Zagal restrained his own impatience and that of his
troops until the night should be advanced and the camp sunk in
that heavy sleep from which men are with difficulty awakened, and
when awakened prone to be bewildered and dismayed.

At length the appointed hour arrived. By order of the Moorish king
a bright flame sprang up from the height of Bentomiz, but El Zagal
looked in vain for the responding light from the city. His impatience
would brook no longer delay; he ordered the advance of the army
to descend the mountain-defile and attack the camp. The defile was
narrow and overhung by rocks; as the troops proceeded they came
suddenly, in a shadowy hollow, upon a dark mass of warriors who,
with a loud shout, rushed to assail them. Surprised and disconcerted,
they retreated in confusion to the height. When El Zagal heard of a