Chapter 27 · Chapter 27

The soldiers did not linger long among the empty stalls. Finding only dry vetch, bundled straw, and the calm reserve of a household that offered neither tremor nor insolence, the captain motioned to his men with a curt flick of his gauntlet. Their iron-shod boots echoed down the tiled corridor and past the courtyard cistern before the heavy timber door creaked shut, sealed behind them with the drop of Saad’s iron latch.

Yet no breath of relief settled upon the house. From the downward sloping lanes of the Albaicín toward the Puerta de Elvira, a deep, rhythmic percussion began to shudder through the bedrock—the unison thunder of armored horses advancing in formal triumph.

Saad moved toward the high terrace lattice overlooking the northern approach, his footsteps soundless upon the stone. I drew up my mantle and followed, keeping two paces behind his shoulder as the rules of caution and decorum demanded, our gaze directed between the carved wooden diamonds of the screen.

The royal cavalry entered through the gate archway in unbroken columns, their polished steel breastplates catching the harsh glare of the midday sun.