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!"

Amelia hugged once again his big brother and shook of sadness in his arms. Both cried for a moment.

"Where's mother and father, Amelia?" Anibal was worried.

"Oh they are helping with the injured... Look! Back there!" Amelia pointed to where the wounded were placed and spotted his father, bended down taking care of a man thrown on the floor.

Immediately he walked towards his dad and Amelia found him, still sobbing for the terrible news. She was in awe, shocked in grief for she couldn't believe both Ana and little Augusto where dead. She wanted to know more, but it was obvious this was not the moment to ask for those details. Her brother would tell her when he was ready.

"Father! Father!" Anibal cried out.

The old man stood up quickly to hug his son. "Where..." The man was going to ask for his daughter-in-law, Ana, and his grandchild, Augusto, but Amelia's face revealed the terrible fate. She crying and sobbing inconsolably. "Oh, please, don't tell me they are...! No Ana! No my Augusto! No, please God! No!" The man grabbed his face and cried, looking at his son's fallen gestures. ¡Malditos hijos de puta esos moros! A thousand times damned! How could they! ¡Cobardes! They are nothing but scum! Filthy cowards killing women and children!"

Father and son embraced strongly. Anibal had to bend a little to reach his father's tight and comforting hug. Yet nothing could comfort him at this point. He had lost his family, what he loved the most.

Anibal's father, Don Gerardo (Spanish name for Gerard), fell sitting on the floor and cried for his only grandson. Amelia sat next to her father and hug him. Anibal was destroyed inside, but he needed to be strong. Yet be feared the most his mother reaction when she knows what had happened to Ana and Augusto. And Anibal thought he had cried enough. Certainly he would not have enough tears to purge his grief out. His heart was even more broken than before.

"Where's mamá?"

"She's inside the cathedral, helping to accommodate the refuges." Don Gerardo spoke with his voice broken. The man was still in shock for the horrible news. Losing his only grandchild abashed him... And thinking how his son was feeling, tore his soul even more. His grandson was dead! Murdered by those bastards! He couldn't believe how his son was on his feet. He would be demolished if he'd lost his wife and son. But what else Anibal could do? He had to keep on, even though he had to carry the heavy burden of his loss on his back.

Inside the cathedral there was a chaos. There were people everywhere inside the church. They looked scared, sad... hungry and despaired. Widows and orphans of war left alive only to cry their own and to suffer without any one to help them. They were refugees of their own misery looking for God to take care after them. Only faith kept them alive and brought them here, to La Seu Vella.

Doña Anastacia, Anibal's mother cried a sea of tears. She had just been told about her grandson's vicious murder. Both Doña Anastacia and Amelia embraced and supported each other.

Anibal turned away for he didn't want to see his mother cry. The man walked outside to look for things needed to spend the night in the cathedral... and the forth nights to come. Lerida had become a dangerous place and both, Anibal and Don Gerardo lost their properties in the outsides of the city.

Anibal was organizing his belongings in a corner, habilitating a space for his family to spend that night in the most decent and comfortable possible way. He placed some Egyptian cotton sheets on the floor. Those were more like a luxurious method of sleeping, rather than humble or improvised, but it was the only fabric he could use to sleep on the floor or over a wooden bench inside the church.

Spaces were limited for the church was really crowded.

Thankfully, his maids were wise and loaded the cart with provisions before he was forced to leave his house. And the food they packed was enough for the whole family, but since Anibal was the only survivor, he could share it with his mother, father and sister. There were some baskets and sacks containing bread, dried and fresh fruits, cured ham and cheese; plenty to give some to the few children that stared at the provisions with starved eyes. The poor kids grabbed the food and left running. Anibal's heart broke when some of the children, those who were lucky enough to have their families with them, shared the little he'd given to them.

The scholar found a bottle of wine in one of the sacks. Anibal thought he would share with Monsignor Guillem de Montcada; not a reason to celebrate, but a way to calm down the faithful servant of the Lord that seemed to be not that faithful to see so many people keep coming for shelter.

It was a dantesque scene. The doors were left opened, as the doors of the Lord's House should be. Refuges kept coming in. Their faces covered in dust, blood and ashes reflected the atrocity of this invasion. War had come to Lerida and stepped heavily with its mortuary stomp, crushing the happiness and tranquility this northern province once showed.

II

Night fell over Lerida. Those who could make it slept inside La Seu Vella. The rest camped outside in tents or in their wagons... Or on the floor... guarded by legionnaires that were posted around the cathedral and by the city walls. Sentinels marched on arms around the town's square and through the narrow streets. Some others mounted stallions heavily armored and vigilant.

The night was extremely quiet. Only the wind could be heard and the hooves of the horses echoed as they galloped slowly through the cobblestoned paths along the walled city of Lerida. Soldiers feared for the worst, but hoped the invasion wouldn't extend to the conurbation. That would be catastrophic. Lerida didn't count with sufficient guards to repel an attack of a heavy Moor's armada. The province had been a very peaceful place for centuries. No one expected these raids would come this far, more over at this time when the Nazarí Realm and Granada were stumbling... or at least it seemed to be like that. And since it wasn't a coastal territory, Lerida had only a small army stationed as permanent. Not more than a hundred men.

Castilla and Aragón were strong kingdoms in the north that had remained intact after the Moors first invasion in five centuries ago. They'd repelled prior attacks, and held the Arabs in the southern half of Hispania. And by this time, Granada was not the powerful realm it was before.

It was incredible how the Benimerines could make it by sea and landed in Tarragona and then moved through Barcelona and arrived to Lerida in such a short time. It was obvious they brought a huge army of al-mugāwir soldiers. Those bloody warriors never hesitated to attack, seize and kill. No matter if they were women and children, like Ana Sofía and Augusto, those to be assassinated. Moors raids slaughtered and destroyed everything on their way. They were commanded by al-mucaddem Ismaíl I, a fierce and unmerciful leader, winner of so many battles in the south of Hispania.

The moon shone high in the sky and the breeze blew softly. A sharp scream was heard in the city. The soldiers sounded their horns. The sentinels in the tower of the cathedral heard it and the bell in La Seu Vella rang. It was a metallic terrible chant that woke up all the refugees that were sleeping inside. Children and women screamed frightened. Lerida was under attack, again.

****** al-mucaddem= Moor's captain or leader

al-mugāwir = Moor soldiers dung the invasion to Spain

Ismaíl I- Moors Army general

Benimerines = Moors soldiers and those who joined that army, not necessarily to be Arabs or Moors themslves.