The Constant Princess

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THERE WAS A SCREAM, and then the loud roar of fire enveloping silken hangings, then a mounting crescendo of shouts of panic that spread and spread from one tent to another as the flames ran too, leaping from one silk standard to another, running up guy ropes and bursting through muslin doors. Then the horses were neighing in terror and men shouting to calm them, but the terror in their own voices made it worse, until the whole plain was alight with a thousand raging blazes, and the night swirled with smoke and rang with shouts and screams.

The little girl, starting up out of her bed in her fear, cried out in Spanish for her mother and screamed: “The Moors? Are the Moors coming for us?”

“Dear God, save us, they are firing the camp!” her nurse gasped. “Mother of God, they will rape me and spit you on their sickle blades.”

“Mother!” cried the child, struggling from her bed. “Where is my mother?”

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