On the 23d November (_el dia de San Clemente_) the strong fortress of the Alcazar is stormed and Azataff capitulates. Then, amid an inaudible blare of trumpets and fifes, ringing of bells and beating of drums, King Fernando, in a suit of fine steel armour, a royal crown of wrought gold encircling his casque, and mounted on a graceful Andalusian charger caparisoned with silver housings, enters the gate nearest to the river on the north, from henceforth to be known as “La Puerta del Trionfo.” By his side rides Don Garcia de Varga and his brother Don Diego (whom it is said the immortal Don Quixote de la Mancha chose as his model for tearing up the wild oak-tree, and which act of valour he proposed to perform equally), the Conde Lorenzo, the Lord of Haro, Pelayo Correa, the Master of Santiago, and many other champions of the times. Over Fernando’s head waves the banner of Castile, the Golden Castle, and the Lion of Leon, his hand resting upon the hilt of that same iron sword, still to be seen in the sacristy at Seville, and fixed on his saddle-bow is a small ivory statue of the Virgen de los Reyes, which accompanies him everywhere. The procession is superb. First, men-at-arms bearing the escutcheons of the twin kingdoms he rules and the black standards and flags captured from the Moors, a long string of swarthy prisoners following bare-headed--the greatest humiliation an Arab can endure; other banners floating in the sun, heralds in golden tabards proclaiming with a loud voice the feats of arms accomplished during the siege; bowmen, _pursuivants_, knights and esquires in squadrons behind, with gleaming spears and glistening targets, mounted on proudly prancing war-horses, a sheet of mail. As Fernando passes the drawbridge, marked now by a sensible depression in the road (for the Puerta del Trionfo disappeared in the last revolution, and the fosse is filled up), a cup of rock-crystal is presented to him under an Arab arch by the Christian citizens, filled to the brim with golden Xerez wine. This he quaffs to the health of his victorious army, turning himself around in his saddle-bow so that all may see. “Castile! Castile! Leon to the rescue! Viva el Rey Fernando! Viva el Cristo Deo!” come ringing through the air from every Christian throat of mailed warriors and tried men-at-arms. Their arms and hands are weary from the toil, but their hearts make merry at the pageant and the booty in store for all.