A small fleet of Barbary corsairs had risen from the coast of Algiers and Tingitania to our Cantabrian seas. Their continuous raids had frightened all the peoples of the coast from Avilés to Navia. Barbary ships, smaller, faster and lighter than the big ships of the fleet of the king, continued fleeing persecution and all seemed to be impossible to stop ever. Pirate fleet commanded by a Moor named Cambaral, famous for the extreme cruelty that showed in their robberies and the ingenuity of their attacks. Among his skill as a captain and characteristics of their boats was certainly difficult to capture even one of the ships that made up his flotilla.

Tired of the outrages committed by the Berbers, the lord of the strength of Luarca, also known as La Atalaya, decided it was time to terminate and that, given the failure of the royal fleet, was needed a new strategy to facilitate their capture. Boarding at its strongest and fiercest warriors in simple fishing boats, well hidden between tackles and gears, went to sea to wait for the Berber fleet appeared. A few miles of Luarca, they began to fish with the intention that the Moors might see them as easy prey and that confidence, they attacked them.

Indeed, as the Berber boats came and saw fishing boats they were launched its attack. But what was his surprise, as they approached, they saw dozens of them out of warriors well armed and ready for boarding, and they were the innocent boats that were attacking them and not vice versa, as had expected. The fight was long and bloody, but the surprise and maneuverability of the baskets were full advantage to the boats of Luarca.

Cambaral was taken prisoner in chains and taken to the fortress of La Atalaya, in which dungeons he was locked without even heal his wounds.
While the Sir of Luarca and their allies celebrated the victory and preparing shipments to announce the good news to the king, the daughter of the Sir, a beautiful maiden of generous spirit and big heart, asked him permission to heal their wounds and went to the dungeon.

There was little light there, but apparently offered no fault, as was seen, even in the shadows, and the most pure love emerged immediately. Despite the wounds, or perhaps by themselves, Cambaral began to feel so all his travels he had hidden: that he was orphaned at heart, that his crimes had not prevented never and never avoid, that could find rest and quiet, at last, the love that was offered. The daughter of the man, who never felt the pangs of love noble, wounds healed almost in awe, but also with a grief that gripped them, because knowing well her father knew what would be the fate of Cambaral and, Thus, more than likely, yours.

In this gloom declared their mutual love and grand promises were made that novice enthusiasts adorn the adversity. But when Cambaral recovered from his wounds, he re-emerged in its audacity and wit, which had served him well in his travels through all the costs, from Algiers to the Cantabric Sea, and planned the escape of both.
It was a wild escape, no chance of success, practically, but the eyes of the lovers only see the time that his love may finally deployed, injured by his kisses, consummated his passion. They saw nothing but that determination when it came down to the harbor from the fort, hiding in the corners, running helter skelter and searching, and on the docks, Cambaral's boat, that quick and agile as it was, would lead them to herself.

However, the lord of the fortress had already been notified of the leak and, with a detachment of troops, waiting for the lovers in the port. They ended their dreams and tested all the promises that were made, seeing it impossible to escape, Cambaral embraced the daughter of the Sir of Luarca, both looked like they were saying something that you can’t say (love that comes in the dark, dark dies), both kissed as if he never could kiss (lips will never dream again) ... And so it was that the Sir of Luarca, mad with rage, unable to bear the kiss that it was a blasphemy, with a single stroke, cut off both heads, which were to sneak in their final kiss, to the cold waters of the port Just where years later he would lift the bridge called Puente del Beso.

Cambaral legend has left a big footprint in the village of Luarca. The fishing district takes its name and is usually distinguished within it the Cambaral Alto, where he would have been the fort (now in place, there is a monument, called, precisely, La Mesa de Cambaral) and Cambaral Bajo, which is where the wharf".