The Fall of Granada, scene three

The Moorish bombardiers laughed and joked as they calmly continued their barrage against the Spanish. Their fun ended though when Robert Locke burst up through the trapdoor with his sword drawn.

All of the eighteen Moors working the six large cannons were artillery specialists with no real skill at close combat. A few of them tried to confront Locke with their steel ramrods, but they were helpless against his swift flashing sword. Within moments, he was the only man left standing atop the high tower.

Three of the bombard cannons had just been fired, but the other three were loaded and ready. Locke started at the left, using all his strength to turn the heavy gun away from the battlefield below and aiming it down at one of the lower towers.

He grabbed a smoldering punk still clenched by one of the fallen Moors and used it to light the fuse. A moment later the giant gun flashed fire and sent its heavy cannonball hurtling through the air. None of the actual cannons on the lower tower were hit, but the terror of being attacked from one of their own positions caused the bombardiers to flee the tower and head for their ships.

Locke repeated this gambit to the right, and this time his shot scored a direct hit on a stack of gunpowder barrels. The entire top of the right tower was consumed in a glorious ball of flame, and a rousing cheer went up from the Spanish armies.

The third loaded bombard, he aimed squarely at the main gate. Already weakened by the constant barrage of Spanish light artillery in the field, the entire stone structure surrounding the portcullis collapsed.

By the time the smoke cleared and the dust settled, Spanish troops were already pouring through the breach. Locke, however, was more immediately concerned by the drumming sound of footsteps growing louder in the stairwell.

He peeked down through the trapdoor and saw at least thirty Moorish swordsmen racing up the steps. Unlike the artillerymen, these were clearly professional fighters.

Not especially desiring a prolonged sword fight, Locke began picking up large cannonballs from the ammunition pile and tossing them down the steps. The swordsmen that were not immediately knocked off the stairway decided to abandon their mission and descended the steps even more quickly than they had been climbing.

Unfortunately, the heavy cannonballs severely damaged the staircase, and to make matters worse, the vengeful Moors set a fire inside the base of the tower before fleeing from the approaching Spaniards.

Locke shut the trapdoor against the thick black smoke that was soon rising up through the tower and looked around for a way to escape. A large coil of rope looked like the best option, and after securing one end to the base of the heaviest cannon, he took up the other end and leaped over the side of the tower.

As he repelled slowly toward the ground below, some of the Spaniards took notice and began cheering him on. Locke motioned for assistance when he reached the end of his rope and was still a good thirty feet in the air.

The Spaniards quickly procured an enormous and strikingly beautiful woven tapestry from a nearby building, and a dozen men held it firmly around the edges right below the dangling English hero.

Locke let go of the rope and fell backward into the waiting tapestry. The Spaniards mobbed him with hugs and congratulations. Eventually, the general that had hired him appeared as well.

“Well done, Locke,” the general grinned. “You can be confident that Her Majesty will provide you with a substantial reward for what you have done here this day, that is, in addition to your normal fee.”

“Glad to be of help,” Locke flashed his disarming smile, though he was still short on breath.

Before their conversation could continue, everyone turned to hear the report of a soldier that had arrived on the run.

“Sir, the Moors are in full retreat!” the man panted. “They have abandoned their women and children in the South Keep, and Torquemada has ordered it burned to the ground!”

“Are we not Christians?” Locke thundered as he grabbed the general by his shoulder. “Women and children are deserving of our protection, regardless of the side on which they find themselves!”

“I am sorry,” the general pushed away Locke’s hand and looked down at his own feet, “but the moment the gate was breached, the Grand Inquisitor Torquemada assumed control of the fortress. I am no longer in command here. You shall have your reward. Be glad for that, and forget about the rest.”

The general turned and walked away without another word.

Locke let out a low growl and pushed his way through the crowd of still celebrating Spaniards. He raced off in the direction of the South Keep, reloading his musket as he ran.

The Fall of Granada, scene two

Robert Locke had been inside the citadel since the night before.

After scaling the high castle walls with his bare hands and feet, he leaped down from the upper parapets and crept noiselessly through endless hallways lit only by the occasional flickering torch. Moving from shadow to shadow, he edged ever closer to the base of the highest bombard tower.

Even in the daylight next morning, the Moors were so focused on watching the gathering Spanish field armies, or on rounding up treasure for transport, that they could spare few troops to patrol the back corridors. As a result, Locke was easily able to reach the tower undetected.

Only a pair of guards blocked his access to the small wooden door at the tower’s base, and they were distracted by the thundering of bombards high above and the dull roar from the activity of the Spanish armies outside the walls.

Locke emerged from the shadows and crossed the smooth stones of the courtyard in a flash. The guards noticed him too late and were not even able to draw out their own swords before Locke had run both of them through with his.

He tried the handle on the door, but it was tightly secured. A thorough search of the guards revealed no key.

“Enough subtlety,” Locke murmured to himself as he stood back, drew out his one-handed musket from its hip holster, and fired a slug straight into the key hole. The blast loosened the bolt enough that it broke free after he followed up with a solid kick against the door.

Pushing his way inside, Locke encountered another guard. This one, however, was nearly the size of the first two put together, and he wielded an equally impressive wide curved Arabian-style sword.

With no time to reload his musket, and skeptical of trying to fend off such a heavy weapon with his thin rapier, Locke dove and somersaulted away to avoid the first deadly sword-stroke.

After several more swings and near-misses, the enormous guard’s sword sliced deep into one of the vertical wooden buttresses lining the walls and became temporarily stuck.

Locke seized the moment and delivered a series of fast hard punches against the guard’s face and head, but with little to show for it other than a modest trickle of blood from the man’s nose.

The guard countered with a quick and fierce backhand that sent Locke tumbling to the floor. The giant then turned back to his sword and, with a roar of determination, pulled it free from the wood.

Lifting the weapon over his head, the beast prepared to cleave Robert Locke into two pieces. Yet before the downward swing gained any speed, the Englishman delivered a fast kick upward into the guard’s unprotected groin.

The sword fell away as its owner pitched forward, and Locke rolled to the side just in time to avoid being crushed beneath him.

After quickly gathering his belongings, Locke used the hard oak handle of his musket to club the guard in the head until he fell silent. He then took a deep breath before proceeding up the tower steps at a full run.

The Fall of Granada, scene one

Black smoke swirled in the ocean breezes above the Fortress of the Alhambra, as the combined armies of Castile and Aragon compassed the citadel round and about.

The great Catholic Monarchs, Isabella and Ferdinand, were determined to finally and forever end the eight-hundred year-old occupation of their lands by the hated Moors.

Scores of heavily laden Moorish baggalas raced to evacuate men and treasure to Africa. Yet even as they fled, the defiant Moors punished the charging Spanish troops with a brutal rain of fire from the high bombard towers.

The smaller Spanish culverins and serpentines could scarcely reach the accursed towers positioned deep behind the massive outer walls. Instead, the Spaniards focused their fire on the main gates, hoping desperately to achieve a breach as their brave foot soldiers continued to fall by the hundreds.

“The gates will not give way,” a Spanish general called out to his comrades. “We must pull back, out of the range of those bombards!”

“Wait!” another cried. “We must give him more time!”

“You place too much hope in your filthy English mercenary,” the first general hissed between clenched teeth.