The Soldier and his Horse
(After: Tales from the Alhambra by Washington Irving)
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Martin Torjussen
Once, in an historical and poetical age, a retired military man lived in the Alcazar. He was
a man of great might and power and Governor of the cora, of which Sevilla was capital.
He would ride through his streets and ask his attendants to clear the way ahead of him
for he did not enjoy either the supplicants or the gypsies with their trades. In time he
made absolute a law that prohibited vagabonds from the city altogether.
How can we be sure they are destitute? he was asked by his men.
If they have anything, take it, he told them. Then they are destitute. Yes?
One day a man rode into town and came up against the soldiers who were
requisitioning goods from gypsies at the side of the road. The traveller was dressed only
in rags, but was riding a fine Arabian horse, clothed in Morisco garb. When they saw
him, the soldiers stepped in front of him and halted his progress.
Who are you? they asked.
A friend, said he. His voice was deep, and the way he carried himself suggested a
man of noble birth, but his clothes were in such tatters that he attracted some
unfavourable looks. The soldiers hesitated; the Governor would surely take a fancy to a
horse such as that.
A corporal took command of the situation. The Governor requires all visitors to
pay their respects.
I would certainly like to compliment your master on his most hospitable
invitation, said the newcomer. Take me to him.
Inside the cool rooms of the Alcazar, the Governor was informed of what had
occurred. He was in company with his confessor, but when he heard the news he sent
the Franciscan friar away and called for his jacket and sword. A crowd followed him.
Word had got around the palace that a contrabandista had been captured.
When the Governor came into the courtyard the horse and its rider were waiting
for him.
Well, demanded the Governor, pulling at his moustache.
I am at your service, said the traveller. An old soldier from the wars, bearing
nothing but scars and good will.
And a horse too. The Governor stroked the gallant beast. Such a fine animal.
All I have left in the world, said the soldier.
You have rights to him?
He is mine and I am his, said the soldier, calmly. We are bonded so together.
The Governor rubbed the beast’s long nose. You do not appear to have the rank
to justify such a horse, he said.
The soldier drank from a small pitcher that the maid, a dark eyed damsel from
Malaga, had brought to him. She caught the eye of the soldier and then dropped her gaze
to the ground and retreated. The soldier watched her go, then dabbed his mouth with a
rag from his torn pocket.
Your Excellency, if it should please. I have something to relate to you about this
horse that is most interesting. He glanced around. But it is also a most private matter.
The Governor took a tour around the animal before nodding to his visitor. Very
well. He dismissed the men to the corners of the courtyard but advised them to be ready
should he call, in case this wayfarer should try anything. He tapped the hilt of his sword
as a strong hint.
I set out on foot from Valladolid, said the soldier, and on my way traversing the
great plains night fell and I decided to set up camp. My feet were tired and in a moment
of fortune I saw a fire burning on the hills in the distance. When I came closer I saw a
group of Arabians and I asked if they would take pity on a weary traveller and allow me
to sleep near to them and before the fire.
They proved a hospitable bunch, offering bread and goat’s cheese, and when I
lay down on my knapsack to sleep they offered a blanket against the chill night air.
The Governor grunted at this point; the tale lacked the punch he had expected.
Have patience, persuaded the soldier. The end is no less satisfying if it is delayed
by the beginning.
Carry on, said the Governor, tramping around the horse.
We were asleep under the stars, when I was awoken by a gang of bandoleros, who
had surprised us in the night and were taking away the Moors’ trappings and animals in
stealth. I sleep with my sword in my hand, as do all good soldiers, and I leapt up to block
their path. They were seven in all, and I was one, but I am a skilled swordsman, Your
Excellency, and I saw off five of them before the other two scattered without a coin
between them.
The Moors had by this time awoken and aided my defence, and when finally we
surveyed all around us, they congratulated each other that nothing had gone amiss. It
seemed they had quite a number of valuables amongst their possessions. In turn they
greeted me as a brother to whom they owed a great debt.
The Governor waited. And then? he said, impatiently.
As a token of the deed that I had performed them, they gave me the reins to the
horse you see in front of you, a fine and sturdy beast that runs like the wind and never
once falters in his steps.
The horse, repeated the Governor. Even the maid can see you have a horse.
The soldier ignored the interruption but continued his tale.
In which direction is your journey? asked the Moors.
To the south, I answered.
Let the horse lead. He will only take you on a short diversion, but rest assured
you will not lose time, if you are in haste.
They persuaded me and as dawn broke that morning I set off astride my friend
here. Let the horse lead, they had said, and indeed when I let slack the reins he did not
seem to lose his bearings. More certainly he began to influence my steer, gently to the left
or right, a brute with all the sensitivity of an astronomer, leading from the stars. In the
end I let go the leather and allowed the beast to chart its own course.
And he led you here, to me, said the Governor.
No, Your Excellency. Far from it. It led me first into the mountains near the
kingdom of Granada. For this reason your men are at a distance.
The Governor leaned in more closely. There is no theme closer to my heart, he
breathed, and popular to my attendants, than that of treasures buried by the Moors in the
caves around the Alpuxarras of Granada.
Indeed so, Your Excellency, said the soldier. He led me to a fissure in the rocks,
barely wide enough for a man to fit through, disguised by boulders and trees. It seemed
as though for centuries no man had trodden its path.
And you saw? asked the Governor. What did you see? The armour and treasures
of Boabdil and the warriors who made the last struggle for Granada? Tell me, soldier.
Everything, said the ragged traveller. Everything your Excellency’s heart desires.
The Governor stroked his fine moustache and mused. You offer me the gold?
I offer you what is owed to the man who rules his lands with such compassion
and sacrifice.
Yes, cried the Governor, guide me there. Quick, let’s go.
Your Excellency, I have travelled far. Let us wait a night whilst my weary limbs
recover and then tomorrow you and I will leave at dawn towards the sun.
And the beast will know its way?
Without falter.
That night the soldier was put up in the servants’ quarters on the other side of
the Alcazar from the stables. In the middle of the night a figure was seen hurrying across
to the great beast that had arrived in such finery that very day and soon, in the dead of
night, the sound of hooves were heard racing off for the East.
The Governor was never seen back in his palace, nor anywhere else for that
matter. The horse returned at sunset the same day, in the same fine state of dress and
hardly out of breath from its ventures.
Legend has it that on one particular route to the high summits of the mountains
near Granada a voice can be heard from within the rocks bemoaning his luck and asking
for forgiveness but, as with most legends, it is borne of little accuracy and to satisfy only
a just conclusion.