The Moorish Tale Of Don Farid Aben Benjamid

In an orchard, near an Andalusian village, where there was a community of Andalusian Moors, a Morisco villager had departed one spring day in the year of 1525. At a time when Spain was gradually evolving towards Christianity, at least in certain parts of the country, some Moriscos, as well as Jews, had tried to follow their old traditions, as in the case of our Morisco, Don Farid Abén Benjamíd, whose Arabic surname was 'Abn al Hamid', meaning 'son of the highest'.

'My dear Don Farid, I come to entrust you with the task of buying us an excellent Andalusian horse, which we can use in the horse race, which, as you know, is part of our annual festival. As you know,' he said with a subtle wink, hesitating before continuing, 'the grand prize this year will be seventy gold coins, which will allow us to enlarge the profits of our orchards. Therefore, it is very important that you find the best Andalusian horse. Here in your hand, you have forty gold coins!'

Taking the coins as if they were ordinary gold, Don Farid commented, 'Don't worry at all, my dear Don Sulaimán, I shall take care of the gold coins as if they were my jewels, and I shall also bring a beautiful and strong horse, which will allow us to defeat the horses of the other Moriscos. As a Morisco saying goes, "Strive to know, even if you have to go to China!"

Carrying a musket in hand and with a Moorish dagger at his waist, he climbed onto a horse and set off for Granada, where the most beautiful Andalusian horses were sold throughout the province. His destiny was the marketplace, and as a brave man, he departed dressed in a short open caftan over a shirt, and embroidered garments of Moorish ornaments, with brass polished shoes, and, finally, a Moorish hat.

With the dagger in his girdle, he marched on his horse with a whip, and said goodbye aloud, 'Don't worry, I shall return safely with an excellent horse, who will bring us a good harvest, where we shall hopefully be the victors!'

Then, like a tempestuous whirlwind, he left, ready to accomplish his feat. The days were planned to be few, but they were more than he had imagined, and the bizarre adventures that awaited him were uncertain. Barely an hour into his journey, the first of many unusual skirmishes he was to face occurred.

Before reaching the other side of the mountain range, he decided to take the shortest but most perilous road, which was renowned for being full of scoundrels, bandits, and thieves. Here began the first misfortune for our Morisco, who would lose his Andalusian horse and be left without a horse, with many kilometres still to cross. Meanwhile, without knowing or being aware of the situation, some nefarious bandits were ready to steal from any poor soul who passed their way.

Suddenly, some rocks fell downwards, quickly frightening the skittish horse, causing Don Farid to fall. By the time he realised it, there was a musket aimed at his bewildered face, and four tattered and shaggy men stood before him.

'Be quiet, and nothing will happen to you! If you do what we ask of you, we shall leave you be, and still alive. Now listen closely', exclaimed the leader of the bandits.

More overwhelmed by the fall, at first, the heavy musket seemed like an unfolding nightmare to him, but he soon understood that what he was seeing was more than just a deceptive illusion.

'What do you want from me? I have done nothing to you!' Don Farid mused, unaware of his impending situation.

'Behold, Morisco! Don't be foolish, you know very well what we are looking for: your supplies!' The bandit leader shouted.

Finally realising what was happening, Don Farid wanted to bring the bandits to their senses and show the severity of their thievery. 'Gentlemen, I am a good man, Don Farid Benjamíd, a Morisco and an honest man. I ask you, what could you possibly steal from me that might be of use to you?'

Thinking that being diplomatic and reasonable might dissuade them, he waited attentively for an answer. Instead of finding his way out, the only thing he achieved was relentless laughter from the bandits, who mocked Don Farid’s words, which to them reflected the guise of an ignoramus.

'Morisco, you are a pathetic man. You do not truly understand that what we are looking for is not alms from you, nor is it to be entertained by a foolish Morisco—for this we have many buffoons to amuse us!'

Again, the leader pointed the musket at him and repeated his words, 'Look, we don't have time for games. Give us what we want—your horse and everything you have loaded—or we shall kill you now. Understood!'

This time, there was more intensity in the leader's eyes than in his appearance as a stingy thief. He didn't have much time for quarrels. Feeling the weight of the musket on his face and the burden of the death threat, Don Farid chose to give them the horse he rode and the goods they demanded, which included the forty gold coins.

'Here I give you my Andalusian horse and the forty coins I have in my hand now!'

But this was not enough for the thieves, who did not rejoice with only the horse and the forty coins. They also wanted his shining dagger and Moorish hat.

'We also want your hat and your dagger, which will give us a good profit, one we can exchange for gold!'

At first, Don Farid was reluctant to hand them over, as the dagger was a family treasure given to him by his father, and it had been guarded by generations of Moors.

'Woe to me, Lord! To part with my Andalusian horse is hard enough, as is the loss of the forty coins, but I ask you, do not take away my dagger, which is all I have left from my ancestors!'

'Give me the dagger now, Morisco, or not even God will save you from this! Give us what we ask, or you will find yourself at the bottom of those stones below!'

Sensing that the situation was going to turn unfavourable, Don Farid did what grieved him most: he handed over the family heirloom. With anguish and apparent melancholy in his eyes, he said the following: 'You do not know how to appreciate the good in life, except to spend it stealing from others! Allah will punish you for stealing when you have your own hands to work for your gain! There is a Moorish saying that says, "Sometimes the ignorant succeeds in his ignorance, but man approaches Allah in the measure of his intelligence."'

Again, the bandits laughed so loudly that they did not notice what was coming for them. 'Foolish man, if what we do is a work of God, or as you say, of Allah! Rather, we are doing charity, or azaque, as you Moriscos call it! We are earning our daily bread, as we good Christians say!'

A horrible laugh echoed loudly, rumbling through the mountains, causing some rocks to fall in front of them. The event had happened so quickly that the only time the bandits had to react was to flee, narrowly dodging the falling rocks.

In the meantime, Don Farid was equally fortunate to escape from the threatening rocks, which almost crushed him to death. When everything cleared up, all that remained was him. Neither the bandits nor his horse could be seen.

'Woe to me, for I have managed to stay alive!'

He cleaned the dirt from his clothes and threw himself to the ground. When he regained his senses, he became aware of his disconcerting failure. 'Lord, my lord, where is my horse? Without him, I shall be ruined', he said with a sober tone in his voice.

After calling him, it was in vain; the horse was missing, and he was lost. 'What misfortune has happened to me that I am here in the mountains, alone and without a horse?'

When everything had seemed forsaken, lying there on the ground in front of him was his familiar dagger intact, along with the incredible forty golden coins he had. He began to laugh, surprised at the outcome, and that he found his dagger safe, along with the forty coins.

'Woe to my Lord, who served as my companion. That these bandits have remained empty-handed, with nothing! My treasure, my treasure, I have rescued you from the mischief of these brazen fools!'

He would say to the dagger, and he caressed it as if it were a prized treasure. In the meantime, he was able to reunite with his favourite dagger and even recover the coins he had given up, yet he could not recover his beloved Andalusian horse. All of a sudden, it was a hard reality to overcome for the Morisco. Alone and without a horse, it was a difficult hardship he had to confront. The worst thing too, was that without a horse, he could not go back to the village. It had seemed that the Morisco was not going to achieve his goal.

'What am I going to do now, my Lord?' Exclaimed Don Farid, looking up at the sky.

An hour or two had passed, and the rays of the sun were projecting on his face. With an overwhelming heat, Don Farid felt that he was going to die of thirst before anything else. He only had the last drops of water left, which he had in his flagon.

Slowly, he began to drink the last drop of water when he heard a voice speaking from behind, 'My good man, you will be lost for certain, and as I see it, you are thirsty!' When he turned to look, Don Farid saw a little old man who was a friar.

'I am Don Farid Benjamíd, and I am an honourable Morisco. If you are offering me water to drink, who am I to refuse, my good man?'

'Here, drink it, Morisco and honest man!' Said the friar to him.

'I suppose you're a little hungry too, aren't you?' Asked the friar, concerned.

Don Farid had pretended to be reluctant to accept. When he heard the noise of his insides, he swiftly acquiesced to the noble offer. After accepting it, Don Farid, with satisfaction in his belly and throat, said the following, 'My esteemed friar, you are a good man, sent by the Lord Himself!'

The friar smiled and replied, 'My dear Morisco, you do not need to thank me, when I am only a bearer of our Lord'.

He paused for a moment to understand why the Morisco had crossed the road. 'My good Morisco, if you shall permit me to ask, where did you come from?'

Without pause, Don Farid responded, 'My esteemed friar, before being rushed and then robbed by a group of bandits, I want to tell you that my ultimate destiny was Granada, where I was going to buy an excellent Andalusian horse to take it to my land’.

'An excellent horse you seek?'

A bit confused, the friar insisted on knowing the reason for obtaining the horse. 'A horse you said, my esteemed Morisco, what an excellent prize this will be!'

'Yes, my dear friar, you are correct, when you say that an excellent Andalusian horse would be a good prize!' Don Farid agreed.

After conversing about the horse, Don Farid dared to ask, 'My esteemed friar, if it would be of no inconvenience, can you lend me one of the four horses that you have available? I would be of your grace if you grant me this request?'

Without any delay, the friar gave him one of his four horses that drove his supply caravan. With all the previous uproar, they didn't have enough time to introduce themselves to each other.

'Forgive me, my esteemed friar, if you shall permit me to formally introduce myself. I am Don Farid Benjamíd, Morisco and Muslim, from an Andalusian village, whose surname is Farid Ibn Hamid, "son of the highest." I am an honest and noble man!'

Don Farid spoke, with great pride and joy in his voice. He had assumed that the old friar was going to be very impressed by his proclamation, but it was not so. Instead, being a simple man, he just answered him.

'My Morisco companion, my surname is Don Salvador Del Río Ximénez, whose Christian name means, "Salvador del Río!" Then Ximénez, frankly I don't know!'

This caused an abrupt laugh between the two of them, which Don Farid could not help but utter, 'Woe to me, my esteemed friar, but I see with all due respect that you Christians are a people with such unique names of attachment!'

Without being offended or angry, perhaps as others were, our friar laughed and said with a cheerful expression, 'My dear Morisco, you are absolutely right, we are a people attached to our fine names. I admit, if there is one thing I like very much about you Moriscos, it is this ancient tradition, which you have preserved'.

It was an incredible image, between these two men who not only shared different beliefs but different appearances alike also. The Morisco was lanky, dark brown with olive skin, dark eyes, a narrow nose, and curly black hair, and finally a light moustache and light beard, denoting more Berber than Arab descent. The esteemed friar was short and stout, pale with white skin of the Goths, at the top you could see a clear baldness. No moustache or beard, as it was customary to see many friars shaven.

Despite being a short and stout friar, the esteemed friar was intelligent and fearless. 'My dear friar, you are a brave man, who leads a caravan with provisions alone, and somehow takes this dangerous and crumbling path. Verily, as a witness, I say, you bear on my part, great respect for your courage!'

A bit embarrassed, he agreed to be flattered but first said, 'I don't need to be praised! I thank you for your chivalry, but I am only, as I have said, a bearer of God, our Lord. To be brave, as you have said, my gracious Morisco, I confess that I am daring, out of ignorance!'

After laughing, the two finally shook hands and cordially said goodbye to each other.

'I want to thank you for your generosity and, above all, for one of your horses; and as a man of my word that is always sacred, I invite you to my land and to meet the Andalusian people. We shall have a wondrous feast for your satisfaction, and we shall slit a lamb's throat in your honour and presence, as an offering'.

The friar reciprocated the offer expressed, 'My gracious Morisco, I as a faithful stranger, want to say the following, that for this honourable and noble friar, it would be for me a great pleasure to know your acquaintance also. I confess to you that very seldom in my life, have I found a person like you. Let me reciprocate the same offer and gesture expressed, which you have offered me. My dear Morisco, it would be a pleasure to first invite you to my land, secondly, it would be an immense pleasure to visit your beautiful people!'

It was rare to see, day by day, two men of different faiths treated as if they were old childhood companions. And so, they bid farewell, each departing on his own way, not before the good friar had warned him of the possible danger ahead.

‘Beware of the bandits, my friend, who, by the way, lurk in these places, lying in ambush!’

‘Thank you very much, my good friar, I shall endeavour to heed that!’

Don Farid, as always with his sayings, reciprocated, ‘The old man in his village is like the prophet in his nation!’

Don Farid rode off into the distance, as the friar had replied, ‘Yes, it is true, my esteemed Morisco, I shall remember this saying’.

Thus, the two were separated, taking different roads: the friar heading east towards the town of Baza, and Don Farid heading west towards the city of Granada. They were companions for a short while, unknowingly destined to cross paths again.

It was the afternoon when Don Farid finally arrived in the beautiful Andalusian city of Granada after a day's journey. He entered the lively and historic city of Granada, the ancient land of the Moors and the last vestige of Al-Andalus. Granada, the great majestic city renowned for delighting with its plentiful enchantments and charms, captivated anyone who became entangled in its folklore.

His destination was the market, and carrying forty golden coins in his leather flagon, mounted on the Andalusian horse that the friar had gifted him, he set out in search of the bustling market, where he would find the finest and most remarkable Andalusian horses in all of Andalusia.

Finally, after receiving guidance, he found the famous Granada market. Just as described, it was vast and a centre for prominent merchants from all parts of the province, country, and from many faiths and races.

Once he knew the market’s location, he dismounted from his horse and walked towards it, intent on fulfilling his goal: to obtain a good Andalusian horse, world-renowned by the name of "corceles!" His clothing was traditional and authentic, Moorish and Andalusian in style.

He sought the best possible deal and soon found it with a man of noble bearing, whose face suggested the wisdom of a seasoned merchant. Don Farid lowered his Moorish hat to offer the customary gentleman’s greeting.

‘My name is Don Farid Benjamín, an honest and noble man, a Morisco and Muslim, at your service, sir!’

The merchant replied with equal formality, ‘The pleasure is mine! How may I assist you today, sir?’ The merchant said, offering a deceitful smile.

No one could have predicted the disappointment that awaited the eager Morisco, who, instead of returning after purchasing an excellent horse, would return empty-handed without the magnificent Andalusian horse he had hoped for.

‘My dear merchant, I have come to your city to buy an excellent Andalusian horse! Can you sell me one at a reasonable price?’ Don Farid asked.

‘Naturally, I have an excellent Andalusian horse for sale, my good man. Come with me!’

The merchant, with his cunning and duplicitous nature, tricked him. After riding several available horses, Don Farid finally chose one. ‘This one will do nicely for me, my dear merchant, I shall purchase it now!’ Don Farid said, mounted on the horse.

‘The pleasure has been mine, sir. Have a pleasant journey!’ The merchant responded.

His time in Granada was brief, and knowing that he had to return to his beloved Andalusian village, he prepared to leave at once. He then departed from the old and renowned Moorish city of Granada and began his return journey.

Once again, he chose the same path that had brought him to the city, knowing that the unpredictable and restless uncertainties lay ahead on the road. Shortly after leaving the majestic city of Granada, Don Farid found himself facing a brash nobleman, whose appearance and clothing were less splendid than his own. Mounted on a much more elegant Andalusian horse, the nobleman refused to yield the road ahead to Don Farid. This caused Don Farid to stop his horse and ask for an explanation.

‘Forgive me, my good man, but can you tell me why you are preventing me from passing? What I need, sir, is to return quickly to my Andalusian village!’

The gentleman, after hearing Don Farid’s words, responded, ‘Morisco, forgive me, but I am not preventing you from passing, as this road, to my knowledge, is clear and unobstructed!’

‘Nobleman, with all due respect, you are mistaken. If you do not see that you are blocking my path, then you are blind!’ said Don Farid to the vain nobleman.

The nobleman, taking him for a thief, challenged him to a horse race between the two horses.

‘Listen, Morisco, if my presence bothers you so much, then I, Don Carlos Rodriguez de Cisneros, challenge you to a race. Mine against your horse, if you are a man of honour and reputation, as I am!’

This prompted Don Farid to respond impetuously, ‘Nobleman, I, Don Farid Benjamín, cordially accept your challenge!’

On one side stood the nobleman, and on the other, the Morisco. But before starting the race, the nobleman, Don Carlos Rodriguez de Cisneros, dared to make one more challenge. ‘Morisco, I, Don Carlos Rodriguez de Cisneros, challenge you to race for gain! I see you are wearing a Moorish dagger at your waist. If you are a man of your word, you will accept my challenge!’

There was no time to delay, and Don Farid accepted the daring offer.

‘Nobleman, I, Señor Farid Benjamín, cordially accept your challenge. I ask, what will my prize be if I win?’

The nobleman undoubtedly answered, ‘If you win, Morisco, you will possess a more elegant jewel of mine, a relic diamond that once belonged to my grandfather, the Marquis of Almería!’

The mere sight of the jewellery was enough to convince Don Farid to accept the new offer. ‘Nobleman, I, Don Farid Benjamín, an honest and noble Morisco, cordially accept your new offer!’

Feeling confident, Don Farid, with his new horse, or perhaps more to save his honour, had proceeded with the horse race, not realising that the joy would be short-lived. They had looked each other in the eye, while their horses were preparing to start.

At three o'clock, the exciting horse race began. From the outset, it all went well for Don Farid, as they were neck-and-neck, but this was not to last long. Unknown to him, the horse the merchant had sold him was suffering from a broken hoof, which caused him to lose the race. The race was set across a wide open field, offering the perfect conditions for the victor. However, just after a few kilometres, Don Farid's horse suddenly came to a halt, causing him to lose not only the race but also his precious Moorish dagger.

When the race was over, standing there with a smug expression was the most arrogant nobleman one could imagine, with a proud and haughty smile. 'Morisco, unfortunately for you, you have lost the race. As we agreed, you owe me your dagger!' He declared.

Reluctant to comply, Don Farid handed it over with anguish that seemed to wound him to the core, as if receiving a fatal blow. 'Nobleman, here is my dagger, but before I give it to you, I want you to know that this dagger has belonged to generations of noble and honourable Andalusian Moors'.

For Don Farid, it was more than just a relic; it was a historical family treasure. But for the nobleman, Don Rodríguez de Cisneros, it was just another priceless gem. The two men locked eyes and bade each other farewell, each parting ways. Before the nobleman disappeared into the distance, he made a remark that Don Farid would never forget: 'Morisco, come find me again when you have a better horse to race!'

For Don Farid, there was no man more vain than this nobleman who had taken away the most precious of treasures: his dagger.

'Alas!' Don Farid repeated, lamenting his loss.

With a sorrowful expression on his face, Don Farid expressed his deep chagrin. Unfortunately, the weather did not afford him much time to mourn his loss, and reality offered no respite, forcing him to continue his journey with the lame horse as far as it could go. He went on until the horse, exhausted, could go no further.

As if misfortune were dogging his every step, Don Farid could only contemplate the gravity of his situation. Just when everything seemed hopeless, he passed a back road where he heard the sound of donkeys approaching. As they came closer, he saw they were accompanied by a well-meaning stranger, who turned out to be a Jewish man.

'Why so glum?' the Jew asked.

'If you must know, my Jewish friend, I’ve lost my dagger, and I have a lame horse!' Don Farid replied.

They then formally introduced themselves. 'My Jewish friend, I am Don Farid Benjamíd, an honest and noble man, a Morisco and a Muslim." "Morisco, I am Don Ezekiel Peres, equally an honest and noble man, a Jew'.

'My dear Jewish friend, do you know where I might find an Andalusian horse to ride?' Don Farid asked.

Don Ezekiel answered, 'I am afraid I do not know of any stable nearby where you can find a good horse. However, if you like, I can give you one of my donkeys!'

At first, Don Farid found the offer unappealing. 'My esteemed Jewish friend, with all due respect, what I need right now is a good horse to ride, not a mere donkey!'

'Well then, my dear Morisco, if you do not want my donkey, I wish you a safe journey', Don Ezekiel replied.

Don Farid, realising his predicament, knew he had no other choice and had to accept his fate. "Wait, wait a moment, my dear Jewish friend. After some reflection, I understand that I must accept your noble offer. As the Moorish saying goes, 'The first thing the Lord created was intelligence!'"

'My dear Morisco, I knew you would come to see reason and accept my kind offer!' Don Ezekiel acknowledged.

Don Farid thanked the Jewish man and set off immediately, while Don Ezekiel continued on his own way. There was Don Farid, a Morisco, riding on a donkey, not a horse, heading home. Don Farid mounted the donkey, but unexpectedly fell to the ground. He stood up, dusted himself off, and tried again, only to fall once more.

'Alas, what have you given me, Lord, but a foolish, stubborn donkey! Couldn’t you have given me a better, faster, more obedient animal?'

With his hands on his cheeks, Don Farid, frustrated and at a loss for how to ride the animal, muttered, 'Look, my good donkey, I just want to get to my village. What can I do to make you understand this?'

Nothing seemed to persuade the obstinate donkey, but unbeknownst to him, the answer was right beside him. As Don Farid was about to mount the animal again, he accidentally dropped a piece of torrija, a sweet fried bread made of honey and sugar.

The stubborn donkey, sensing the delicious treat, suddenly perked up and jumped with excitement. Realising this might distract the donkey, Don Farid bravely tried to mount again, and this time, he succeeded. What he could not achieve with his skill as a rider, a little piece of Moorish bread had managed to accomplish.

'Alas, for a little delight of mine has bewitched this beast!' He exclaimed.

After offering the donkey another small piece, Don Farid rode the animal on his way to his village, not before declaring, 'My companion, you and I will make fine partners. Your name shall be Aben Galib!'

So Don Farid rode on, his not-horse, but his donkey. To many sensible people, riding a donkey was seen as foolishness, but perhaps it troubled Don Farid more than it did others that he was now riding a donkey. Over time, however, Don Farid grew fond of the animal and accepted it as his loyal companion.

The question remained, however, what would happen when Don Farid ran out of treats? Would the donkey still follow him, or not? If not, what trick would he have to use to make it continue on its journey? Although it was not the Andalusian horse he had hoped for, at least it was better than trying to ride an ox. On his way towards the high mountains, he spoke to the donkey as if it were his childhood companion, 'My dear friend!'

They had spent their days together crossing the roads, and their nights slumbering around a fire. One night, he sang a Moorish song, and played tunes on his brass mandolin—romantic serenades, as though he were singing to a fair maiden. He was on his way back, and the moment he had dreaded so much had arrived: there were no more pieces of bread to feed the hungry ass.

‘Woe betide me, what shall I do, now I have no delightful loaves to appease his hunger and desire?’

It was then that the ass approached Don Farid’s mandolin and, with his teeth, began to pluck the strings of the instrument.

‘Ah, I see what you want, my faithful companion! You want me to lull you with the beautiful melodies of my mandolin’s strings!’

Upon discovering the ass’s unusual taste and fondness for the mandolin’s music, Don Farid played, while the ass enjoyed it immensely. He never showed signs of exhaustion, always content to eat whatever else was in the pot. Almost reaching his beloved Andalusian village, Don Farid crossed once again through the mountain pass where he had previously been robbed and attacked by those infamous bandits.

The memory of that event had often given Don Farid nightmares. But since meeting his loyal companion, he had ceased to remember it. However, as he reached the crossroads once more, the unforgettable memory returned to his mind. He never imagined, though, that he would once again encounter the greedy merchant, the vain nobleman, the Jewish man, and the elderly friar.

As he approached the perilous crossroads, he rode cautiously, sensing danger ahead. He crept forward slowly until he heard a commotion up ahead.

Don Farid hid behind some rocks and peered out. To his astonishment, he saw the same bandits who had attacked him on his way to Granada. Had he looked more closely, he would have noticed something else: four men tied up, their hands bound and mouths silenced.

‘Woe to me, what luck! I think we must save their lives—it would be the right thing to do’.

The bandits, only three in number, were keeping watch over their captives. Don Farid, beside his companion, began to put their rescue plan into action. The plan was for the ass to distract the bandits long enough to allow Don Farid to free the captives. When the ass began to bray, echoing the songs he had heard from Don Farid, it sounded to the bandits like a pack of howling creatures.

‘What is that?’ whispered one of the bandits.

When they investigated, they saw that it was not a pack of wild animals but merely a braying ass. ‘What is this, but a lost and irritating beast?’

Seeing it was only an ass, they laughed and mocked it. Of the three bandits, one was short and fat, another tall and thin, and the leader—neither short nor tall, neither fat nor thin—bore a remarkable scar above his left eyebrow. He was swarthy, perhaps a gypsy, and looked ready to intimidate anyone who crossed his path.

As they huddled around, grabbing at the ass in mockery, they each, one by one, slipped and fell into a puddle of mud and filth. Their boisterous laughter quickly turned to angry shouting. They carried on until even the bravest among them—the leader—was perplexed!

Meanwhile, back where the hostages were tied, Don Farid was freeing them. ‘Calm down, all of you—you will soon be free!’ he said as he untied each man. The foolish bandits, so distracted, forgot entirely about their captives and had no idea Don Farid was there rescuing them.

By the time they realised, it was too late. All four—the merchant, the nobleman, the Jew, and the friar—were free. ‘Catch them!’ The leader shouted to his two companions, who were now thoroughly exhausted.

They tried to chase after Don Farid and the freed men, but, covered in mud and slipping about, they were no match. Don Farid and the others escaped easily, leaving behind a bunch of inept buffoons rather than the fearsome bandits they had once seemed.

Once they were safely away, Don Farid reclaimed the items he most longed to have back: the forty gold coins the merchant had swindled, the dagger he had lost in a horse race to the nobleman, and he fulfilled the favour owed to the old friar. But not before he addressed each of them.

To the merchant: ‘You, my friend, are nothing but a liar, who for profit sold me a horse with a broken hoof!’

To the nobleman: ‘You are nothing more than a vain man, who won the race thanks to a lame horse!’

To the Jew: ‘You, my Jewish friend, are a wise and kind fellow, to whom I shall remain grateful!’

And finally, to the friar: ‘And you, my esteemed friar, it will be my pleasure to invite you as a guest at our annual feast, as I promised before. As a Moorish saying goes, “Neither should the ignorant hide his ignorance, nor the wise conceal his wisdom.”’

The friar smiled and replied, ‘Of course, my esteemed Morisco, it will be a great pleasure to attend your joyful feast!’ Both Don Farid and the friar laughed heartily.

When Don Farid asked the friar how he had been kidnapped, he explained that the bandits had deceived him by borrowing a horse in good faith, only to then abduct him. Don Farid also enquired about the others, and the friar said they too had fallen into the same trap of wanting to help. Whilst everyone else had been afraid of the bandits, it was the ass, Aben Galib, who had shown no fear at all.

Don Farid and the friar, along with the ass, finally arrived back at the village. As expected, they enjoyed the annual Morisco feast, with the music of the añafiles ringing out, while everyone ate and made merry, as was the custom.

There remained one last task—the very reason Don Farid had left his village in the first place: to find an excellent Andalusian horse.

With some shame, he confessed to Don Sulaimán, ‘Woe to me, Lord, I have returned without any excellent Andalusian horse, only with a simple ass—but an excellent companion nonetheless! I have failed you, Don Sulaimán!’

But instead of anger, Don Sulaimán was cheerful. ‘My dear friend, it does not matter, for my brother Umar bought one in Jerez for only twenty escudos. I have a surprise for you!’

When Don Farid approached to see the surprise, he beheld an Andalusian horse, ready and waiting to be ridden—a sight that marvelled him. By chance, the pompous nobleman was also there, mounted on another horse, ready to race him once more. What Don Farid did not know was that the rival clan had hired the Christian nobleman to race on their behalf in the contest.

This time, there was no obstacle, and Don Farid, the proud Morisco, emerged the victor.

That evening, as the sun dipped behind the distant hills and the village buzzed with preparations for the grand feast, Don Farid and Aben Galib took a quiet stroll through the olive groves on the edge of town. The air was rich with the scent of citrus and jasmine, and children’s laughter rang out from the courtyards nearby.

Suddenly, from behind a crumbling stone wall, a little boy emerged, holding a wooden flute. He looked at Don Farid with wide eyes and asked shyly, ‘Sir, is it true that your ass sings?’

Don Farid smiled warmly and replied, ‘Not only does he sing, my boy, but he dances as well—when he’s in the mood!’

The boy’s eyes sparkled with wonder. ‘Could you show me?’

Chuckling, Don Farid reached into his satchel, pulled out the mandolin, and began to strum a lively Andalusian tune. True to his reputation, Aben Galib perked up his ears, let out a merry bray, and began to step rhythmically, swaying side to side in a clumsy but endearing dance.

Before long, a small crowd of villagers gathered, clapping along and cheering with delight. Even the elders, seated by the fountain, nodded in approval, their eyes twinkling.

‘It seems,’ Don Farid said, bowing theatrically, ‘that while I left seeking a great horse, I returned with a treasure far rarer: a friend who brings joy to all’.

The villagers applauded, and Aben Galib, ever the humble star, finished with a playful leap before nuzzling Don Farid’s shoulder.

The little boy piped up once more, laughing, ‘He’s the best dancer in the whole village!’

And with that, the festival spirit filled the air, and Don Farid felt a deep contentment—knowing that sometimes, the simplest companions brought the richest rewards.

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