The crowd of women and children huddled near the back of the burning hall, crouching low to the floor as black smoke filled the air over their heads. Most of the children were crying, but the women remained silent.
One of the women pointed her finger at a shadowy figure coming toward them through the flames. Suddenly though, a loud cracking sound shook the room, and a shower of sparks preceded the collapse of a large timber beam from the ceiling.
The shadowy figure vanished in a maelstrom of smoke, ash and swirling flame. The women looked up with sinking dread as the remainder of the ceiling looked set to fall in upon them.
Then out of the flames, the figure reemerged. Robert Locke was a bit singed, but otherwise intact. With smoke stinging his eyes, he looked all around for a way out. A small glass window seemed the only option, but it could not be opened.
He drew his musket and blew most of the thick colored glass outward with a single shot. Tearing off his own shirt, he wrapped the cloth around his hand and worked quickly to knock away the glass that remained.
The frightened innocents could not understand his verbal commands, but they obeyed his hand motions and cautiously approached him. Locke began by shoving a pair of women through the opening, and then carefully handed the smallest children out to them.
The larger children he simply threw out the window, knowing their bruises and bumps would heal, but only if they escaped before the rest of the roof fell.
As he finally boosted the last of the women through the window, he heard the same cracking sound that had preceded the first cave-in. He dove forward and shot out of the window carried on a hot gust of wind, smoke and flaming debris.
Wiping the soot from his eyes, he looked around and saw that they were not far from the docks. He urged the women and children forward, practically shoving them toward the water’s edge.
Locke stopped and turned when he heard a chorus of shouting behind them. A group of Inquisition guards armed with long pikes was racing toward them, apparently committed to fulfilling Torquemada’s instructions that none of the abandoned Moors survive.
Locke motioned for the women and children to continue their flight to the last of the ships. He then drew his sword and walked calmly toward the onrushing guards.
The pike-men paused when they came upon him and shouted angry commands for him to stand aside. Locke replied by examining his trousers and brushing away some of the larger deposits of soot from the pant legs.
Enraged, the lead guard lowered his pike and charged. Locke stepped aside at the last moment, grabbed the pike by its long handle and yanked it forward causing the guard to lose his balance and fall flat on his face.
The other guards rushed in, but their pikes were easily tapped aside by the Englishman’s agile sword-strokes. He disarmed one of them, sheathed his own sword, and swung the captured pike in lazy arcs that kept the others at bay.
Locke continued sporting with the hostile church soldiers until the last of the refugees were aboard the ships, and the vessels had pulled a comfortable distance out into the bay.
By then a group of Spanish musketeers was on the way to support the floundering pike-men, so Locke took his leave. After bowing cordially to the Inquisition guards, he bolted from the scene.
The clumsy guards pursued him for several city blocks before losing sight of him altogether.
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