Chapter 35 · Chapter 35

The writ secured my release from the cold stone of the cell, but it could not quiet the bell that tolled above the plaza two mornings later. By the third strike of midday, the square before the former Great Mosque was ringed three ranks deep with guards holding halberds, their steel gray against the autumn mist that drifted down from the slopes of the Alhambra.

I stood upon the raised timber platform with my cloak drawn closely around my shoulders, my fingers tucked beneath the wool. Beside me, separated only by the low railing of the accused, Saad stood motionless. He wore no servant’s posture, nor did he bow his head to the murmuring crowd that pressed against the barricades.

His dark eyes remained fixed upon the hooded clerks who sat beneath the canopy of red cloth, his jaw set with the unyielding gravity of a man who measured an enemy by deeds rather than titles. When an officer of the guard stepped forward to nudge my shoulder toward the center, Saad’s hand dropped to the edge of the wood with a quiet, decisive snap.