Journey to the North (On Hold)

Chapter 2 La Ciudadela

Chapter 2 La Ciudadela

The wind carried the hideous smell of rotten flesh and blood making Anibal feel nauseous. The narrow streets that lead to the ciudadela were desolated. The cobblestoned paths and the walls were stained with the blood of those who fought for their lives, but didn't make it. Dismembered bodies, beheaded torsos, and brutally sliced limbs paved the urban roads in the entrance of the city of Lerida. Women and children hung in stakes along the way brought back the terrible images, Anibal hadn't been able to take out off his mind.

He hadn't slept, eaten or even thought rationally for hours, but his mind wasn't tired enough to forget. In his mind prevailed the last memories... those awful memories that came in the form reddish and dim flashbacks when his beloved wife Ana and his son Augusto were killed right in front of him. His home was reduced to ashes and nothing was left, only the few things he took with him in his cart. The man was forced to dismiss the servants that survived the attack to the villa. It was useless to keep them when he had no house... or a family to take care of... Anibal felt devastated!

The Spaniard was submerged in his own grief that seemed to be reflected amidst the narrow streets he was transiting by. His soul cried out loud and his moan reverberated echoed in the voice of those who whimpered over the dead bodies of their beloved ones. The villages nearby the city were in chaos, even though the massive destruction took place in the outskirts of the ciudadela where the farmlands and villas suffered the worst of the raids. And like him, dozens of families - complete or not - scampered through the city carrying the small amount of belongings they could.

Anibal de Albis found himself wondering across the city. He wanted to leave Villa de Ana the fast than he could. Those were his lands and he had the right to stay and defend them, but only pronouncing the name he had given to his farmlands tasted like bile in his mouth. And what if he built a new house? How would he live staring to his wife and only son graves under the lemon tree every time he opened the window? Again the ghastly face of her dead wife hung in that damned stake haunted his thoughts. In just one night Anibal had lost everything and he roamed like a ghost. He had turned and swirled and had crossed the city from left to right and he was exhausted... Tired of crying... sick of cursing the Arab invaders!

"What can I do? What I would do! I can't fight an entire army of Benimerines in the name and honor of my beloved Ana and Augusto! I just want to go the far I can go... this is not my tranquil home anymore... There's no home without them." The man spoke to himself in a gloomy soliloquy.

Finally, Anibal had reached the La Plaza in the heart of the city, but it was deserted. He ordered his horse to stop. In a normal day in the once peaceful city of Lerida, La Plaza was the center of rowdy social gatherings, arts and music in the region. But that morning, the leisurely area appeared like a haunted place. The bards and the actors that once entertained the people had gone. They had fled maybe to perform in another stage or ready to sing of the misfortune of Lerida reciting sonnets written with the blood of those who were brutally killed during the Moor raids.

Anibal sighed, feeling somehow relieved to see that the marble and bronze statues, the water fountains and the pergola that embellished La Plaza remained intact and the gardens still bloomed with vivid colors along the square after the first round of attacks the night before. He deducted the raids were repelled before they could go deeper into the fortified area in the heart of the city. Beyond La Plaza, his gaze met The Estudi General still standing magnificently in the rear end of the Roman Main Road. Fortunately the invaders hadn't got that far, yet he was sure those f*cking bastards will return, maybe that same night, and strike again over what was left in the city of Lerida.

Anibal rode his horse to get to the place he used to work. And he thought 'used' because nothing was certain anymore. The man dismounted the stallion to a post in front of the main entrance and contemplated the beauty of the structure. The Estudi General consisted of a main rectangular building surrounded by open atriums delimited with arches and supported by Doric columns. There was an interior patio where the scholars and students met to practice the Socratic methodology of study.

Anibal thought he could go to the library to see what he could get. He was pretty sure that important books and documents were going to be saved in the precinct's subterranean tunnels and catacombs. Maybe he could go and rescue some of the ancient and invaluable books, mainly those transcripts and originals written by Plato, Socrates and Aristotle, he used in his rhetoric and philosophy class. So Anibal dismounted his black stallion and walked across the gardens of the Estudi General wondering how long would that building be there.

The halls in the university were deserted. He didn't meet anybody in his way to the library. Anibal contemplated with sadness how the bookshelves were being emptied by some of the scholars and the library caretakers. Piles of books and documents were placed inside big wooden boxes and sealed to be transported to the building's subterranean level.

"Anibal! What are you doing here? The university has been closed after last night's attacks! You should be at home! Where is Ana... and Augusto?" The library caretaker sounded worried and distressed.

Anibal's eyes watered and his shoulders dropped. His eyes buried into the marbled floors and it was clear enough to make the librarian understand what had happened to the scholar's family.

"Oh, Anibal... I'm so sorry for your loss... I - I don't know what to say." The man placed a hand on Anibal's shoulder.

"You don't know Calixto, the torment in my soul is so big! It's been the worst hours of my life. Fate has been a miserable and those bastards took away what I loved the most... when I woke up their bodies were hung in stakes. I left Villa de --, well... my house, after burying their bodies by the lemon tree next to the house... I'm dying inside. At least that... damned Moor won't be able to kill anyone else... I killed that heathen son of the b*tch with my own hands!" Anibal bursted in tears clenching his fists with rage.

"That's a tragedy... I've heard of the raids in the outskirts, but I never imagined this could have happened to you. Damned Moors! When are they going to leave Spain! Five centuries don't seem enough for them. It is evident they know of the treaty between the northern realms of Castilla and Aragón and plan to vanquish the allied territories before the new fortified kingdoms can gather their unified armies. I heard that his al-mucaddem general Ismail Adb Al-Malik is awaiting with more al-mugāwir troops in the port of Tarragona where they first attacked two days ago."

"Those sadists! They take the lives of innocent to quench their thirst of lands and power. I hope the armadas can get here before this eve. I'm pretty sure they will strike tonight. They attacked Lerida's boundaries in the southeast. I watched from my window how they first crushed the villages on the hills. That's the first defensive line in the city. None of the villages remains. I saw the families that survived grouping in caravans along the main road."

"Oh, this is horrible. I thought this region was safe of heathens and heretics. How could this happened! Anyway, tell me my friend, what can I do for you?"

"I came for my books and notes. I'm leaving Lerida right away!"

Anibal carried a sack of books and documents and placed them inside the cart. Immediately he mounted his horse and was surprised to see how many people had gathered along the road. Some of them by horse, others by foot... their faces revealed the spectrum of desolation and death. Women and children were covered in blood or ashes; they were hungry and hopeless. The crowd formed a line, mostly composed by widows and orphans that survived the forays. They were tired, like him, but they kept walking. They matched solemnly up the sacred hill where Le Seu Vella Cathedral rested. Once again the statues of Saint Peter and the Virgin Mary watched over the inhabitants of Lerida... those who marched saddened and seek refuge beneath the stoned walls of the church and the faith in the Christian Saints, hoping the latter would be prevail over the pagan gods of the invaders.