The women, too, were all in
mantillas and basquinas. The fashions of Paris had not reached
Antiquera.
Pursuing our course through a spacious street, we put up at the
posada of San Fernando. As Antiquera, though a considerable city,
is, as I observed, somewhat out of the track of travel, I had
anticipated bad quarters and poor fare at the inn. I was agreeably
disappointed, therefore, by a supper table amply supplied, and what
were still more acceptable, good clean rooms and comfortable beds. Our
man, Sancho, felt himself as well off as his namesake, when he had the
run of the duke's kitchen, and let me know, as I retired for the
night, that it had been a proud time for the alforjas.
Early in the morning (May 4th) I strolled to the ruins of the old
Moorish castle, which itself had been reared on the ruins of a Roman
fortress. Here, taking my seat on the remains of a crumbling tower,
I enjoyed a grand and varied landscape, beautiful in itself, and
full of storied and romantic associations; for I was now in the very
heart of the country famous for the chivalrous contests between Moor
and Christian. Below me, in its lap of hills, lay the old warrior city
so often mentioned in chronicle and ballad. Out of yon gate and down
yon hill paraded the band of Spanish cavaliers, of highest rank and
bravest bearing, to make that foray during the war and conquest of
Granada, which ended in the lamentable massacre among the mountains of
Malaga, and laid all Andalusia in mourning.
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