The October autumn wind blew through the valley, carrying a slight chill and a silent killing frost. The old knight and the young knight spoke a few more words, then took their men and the prisoners to the water source upstream. Once everything was dealt with, the Venetians' cavalry squad set out once more on the road home to the northeast.
The way back was all mountain valleys and streams, with dry land far from the watercourses. Along the road, abandoned fields could be seen everywhere, along with Moorish villages that had been burned to the ground.
The long, towering Sierra de Baza rose and fell within everyone's sight. The highest peak in the range was the more-than-two-thousand-meter Calar de Santa Bárbara. The name came from one of Christianity's Fourteen Holy Helpers, the "Barbara" of the ancient Roman era, Saint Barbara. And veneration of her was actually even more widespread in eastern Orthodoxy.
As for the Moorish name of this mountain, no one in the party knew it, and it had not been passed down to later generations either. Because the Spanish Inquisition would, through several hundred years of cruel trials, utterly erase the Moorish traces on the peninsula, as well as the Moors on the peninsula.
The sky was bright, and the mountain valley lay open to the eye. The Venetians' cavalry squad had not gone far with their prisoners when they encountered several riders in cross-emblazoned surcoats, raising a trail of dust at the edge of the sky as they galloped over in haste.
"Everyone, be careful! Draw your weapons and prepare for battle!"
The old knight Lorenzo's expression changed, and he barked the order. He stayed alert, raising his shield in one hand while drawing the knightly sword at his waist with the other, ready to charge