Rodrigo had never traveled so far. He had worked as a bodyguard for merchant caravans, but he had never left what was known as the Kingdom of León. Reaching Turtuxa was a strange and foreign experience.

  The city of Turtuxa lay within what was called the Caliphate of Córdoba. To get there, Tania had first led them into the Kingdom of Castile, and from there, southward to enter the Caliphate through a city called Madinat-Salim, which served as a gateway between Castile and the Moorish realm.

  Here, Rodrigo saw for the first time a fully Muslim city, though he noticed Christians also lived there. He had believed Muslims forced everyone to worship their pagan god, but he soon realized that wasn’t the case. They did not linger long—only spent the night resting—before continuing eastward to Turtuxa, a city once known as Tortosa. Tania’s goal was to take a ship bound for an island called Ibiza, which was precisely where she lived.

  Turtuxa was astonishing. At the summit of a mountain stood a majestic palace said to have been built by a former caliph of Córdoba: Abd ar-Rahman III. Enormous mosques and tall minarets adorned the city, along with many gardens and carefully paved streets.

  Its streets bustled with trade—people buying and selling food, animals, spices, perfumes, books, and more in countless markets. It bore no resemblance to the poor towns of León or Castile. This city, not even the caliphate’s capital, looked far grander than León or Burgos, capitals of the northern kingdoms—a clear testimony to the Muslim economic power in Iberia. Yet Rodrigo could not help but feel a deep bitterness seeing these people happy, untouched by the constant Moorish raids that tormented his homeland.

  “Our ship leaves in two days,”

  said Tania as she rejoined Rodrigo and Ana, having just secured passage on a merchant vessel bound for the island.

  Both Ibiza and Majorca lay within the Caliphate of Córdoba, making travel from here to the islands far easier. In the past, one would have sailed from Barcelona, but that city had been sacked the previous year and was still recovering.

  “Hey, Rui, would you like to take a walk through the city?”

  Ana asked Rodrigo.

  He sat on a bed in the modest inn room Tania had rented while they waited for the ship. The room was on the second floor, small but very clean, with two beds and a little table across from them, lit by a shaft of midday sunlight pouring through the window.

  “No, I think I’ll stay here. I have much to think about,”

  Rodrigo replied, his face somber.

  “You should cheer up,”

  Ana said with a smile, glancing toward the window. Through it they could see rows of houses and a nearby minaret where prayers were being recited.

  “I don’t feel at ease here, because… well, my family, you know,”

  Rodrigo muttered.

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  “And do you really think all these people are to blame for what Al-Mansur did to your hometown?”

  Ana asked.

  “They’re the same lot: invaders,”

  Rodrigo snapped, clearly agitated.

  Rodrigo frowned, his voice still carrying the weight of resentment.

  “Why do you want to justify the attack of those damned Moors on my home?”

  he asked angrily.

  Ana turned to him with a piercing, serious gaze. Her blue eyes seemed to glow with an inner light. Her expression was solemn, yet still strikingly beautiful.

  “Ordinary people are not guilty of their leaders’ ambitions,”

  Ana answered.

  “Why do you say that?”

  Rodrigo asked.

  “I want you to look out the window,”

  Ana replied, turning her eyes back toward it.

  Rodrigo rose and peered outside. Ana then pointed to a beggar in the street, asking for coins.

  “What benefit will that poor man gain from the conquests of the Sultan of Córdoba?”

  she asked.

  Rodrigo fell silent.

  “None,” Ana answered herself.

  “He was unfortunate enough to be born in poverty and will die in poverty—whether Spanish, Muslim, or from another kingdom.”

  Then she pointed toward a Berber man being insulted by a group of Arabs.

  “And that man—do you think he is to blame for being born darker-skinned, from North Africa, and treated as second-class?”

  Ana asked.

  Rodrigo kept his silence.

  “Listen, Rui. It’s the same everywhere: whoever has power uses it. The injustices Al-Mansur commits in your land will not bring any benefit to those at the bottom,” Ana said with melancholy.

  “One day the Emirate of Córdoba will fall, and its people will be treated just as your family was. The world is trapped in that sick, devastating cycle, unfortunately.”

  Rodrigo lowered his eyes.

  “Even so, I can’t feel at peace with it.”

  “I know, and I understand,”

  Ana said gently.

  “I only wanted you to consider it—and to learn to hate those truly responsible, not the ordinary people who happen to be under such leaders.”

  She laid a hand on his shoulder as Rodrigo sat back down on the bed.

  “I’ll buy you something nice,”

  Ana added with a playful smile as she stepped out of the room, leaving Rodrigo in silence, still tormented by his thoughts.