Journey to the North (On Hold)

Chapter 3 Under God's Shelter

Chapter 3 Under God's Shelter

I

Anibal rode his cart up to the narrow street that lead to La Seu Vella. He didn't know if it was worst to pity those crestfallen and hopeless faces in the crowd, or to pity himself. All of them were in the same road, trampled, trying to reach their destination, not knowing what to expect. A few hundreds of people, carried the scarce belongings they could save after the raids in the outskirts of the city. They were whole families who had lost everything, or like him, loners who where lucky enough to survive, even though they'd lost all their family members.

Anibal advanced riding his horse, hauling with him a cart filled with irony. he could save precious belongings, but not his beloved wife and son. He left his house with money and his title intact, but not his heart. It was reduced to ashes with his home, not without being hung in stakes, twice.

Anibal saw the long row of people that walked besides him. they looked tired, weary, hungry and thirsty. some of them with their clothes stained in blood or ragged. Others walked barefoot, maybe they had to escape for their lives in the middle of the night... That dreary night. But all of them wished for something in common: they hoped to be safe at under God's Shelter: La Seu Vella.

An old man and a girl, both looking like humble farmers, walked next to his cart, exhausted.

"Let me help you señor." Anibal stopped his wooden chariot and climbed down, helping first the small girl and then the old man to get up the cart.

"Thank you, milord." The elder replied showing a feeble but genuine smile.

The little girl asked a thousand questions about the rare cargo in the back of the cart. Her innocent eyes glowed as if she'd found a treasure.

"What is this, señor?" inquired the girl holding a wooden box containing some chalky dark sticks.

"Those are charcoal sticks." Anibal replied trying to smile to pretty girl.

"What are they used for?"

"Those are used to draw and sketch. Artists love them."

"Can I keep them, señor?

"Magdalena, please!" The old man reprimanded his granddaughter.

"No, no, it's fine, Don Eustaquio. She can keep those." Anibal winked playfully to Magdalena.

The girl smiled and winked him back.

It was a half an hour ride. It wouldn't take that long, but the crowded cobblestoned path made it difficult and less spiritual than usual.

Finally, they were at the top of the hill where the cathedral rested.

Anibal was impressed. What he saw was something terrible, heartrending. There were more people than he expected fleeing from the Moor raids, and hundreds more where to arrive soon. On the floor laid dozens of injured; those who survived and made it through the city and up the hill staying alive.

Anibal helped the man and his granddaughter climb down the cart when he heard someone shouting his name. He turned to see who it was and he was glad to find it was his sister, Amelia.

The young woman ran and embraced his brother. "Oh, thank God you are alive. You don't know how much I feared for you and... where's Ana? And Augusto?" Terror reflected on Anibal's sister face. When Amelia saw the sorrow in her brother's countenance and the tears rolling down his squared cheekbones, she knew well what terrible tragedy had befallen on his beloved brother. "Oh no! No Anibal, it can't be true! Don't tell me please!"