The northern knight, Leonese from his livery, crashed his mace into the hareem guard's sword. The shock of the impact left the guard's hand and arm numb. He fell to one knee at the foot of the two short, wide steps that led down from the portico into the inner courtyard. His weapon dropped from temporarily useless fingers. Behind the knight he could see the flames that were starting to run rampant but had yet to really reach this inner sanctum. The Leonese knight advanced, stepping down and onto the guard's sword, triumph in his eyes visible through the slit in his helm. Then his own fingers slackened and he dropped his mace as a lute crashed into the back of his helmet.
Zuleika had snuck up on the scene on pale, bare feet, wielding her erstwhile musical instrument with nonetheless fiery determination. Her thick, wavy midnight hair and snowy white silk shawl fluttered behind her as she struck the overhead blow with all the strength of her lush body. The knight stumbled and the guard of the hareem managed to grab his sword while swinging his small hand-shield to also crash into the Christian northerner's helmet, further staggering him.
He reared back to strike the killing blow against the knight with his sword when a cry from Zuleika brought him up short. It was maybe half fear, half indignation, the cry. The guard looked up and saw another knight had rushed in and grabbed her by the arm. This one from his accoutrements was clearly a noble. His face was obscured by a Visigoth-style helmet, perhaps passed down, or perhaps merely made to resemble such. The faceguard was crafted to resemble a mask, leaving just his dark eyes and stern mouth to be seen behind an implacable visage.
"I don't suppose you're willing to be taken prisoner. This stronghold has fallen. You will not win this day."
The guard growled and went to rush the infidel but got no farther before the Leonese knight's recovered mace crashed into his head and he dropped. The noble with the masked face shook his head. "That's what I...ah!"
Zuleika had jerked in his grip, trying to stamp at his feet and claw at whatever of his face she could get.
"You've got a leopardess Don Iago," said the Leonese knight. "Her master being dead you're best off slitting her throat too."
That gave Zuleika pause. al-Malik dead? She stopped struggling as her thoughts whirled like a desert wind, absorbing this change to her world along with all the rest and trying to see beyond it to what might be next. Her eyes tracked first to the Leonese knight, now relaxed of posture but still wary, who was regarding the other, perhaps his superior.
Then they tracked to the northern infidel noble, who she was shocked to find was already studying her eyes. Not the beauty of her face, or womanly charms, but her eyes, clearly appraising her and her reactions. Scrutinizing with his own dark gaze to see what lay beneath the surface. She was completely unused to such regard; most men either disregarded her or saw her sharp beauty and nothing else, a bauble, if an exquisitely crafted one. This was altogether different, and unnerving.
"She was his wife. A wife, at least, I suppose." She drew herself up, eyes, practically shooting sparks. She had decided...convinced herself?...she didn't like the way this one was looking at her.
"Wives." The Leonese scoffed. "Heathens. Still, if you could have a handful that looked like her...though, preferably with less spirit than that. I'd rather not get stabbed mid-entry, and this one looks like she wouldn't even hesitate." The way the Leonese looked at least matched her expectations, especially of the barbaric Christian northerners.
The other was clearly not done yet, however. He was, apparently, in charge, so what happened next would be his purview. And his eyes were still watching her with that intense gaze. Zuleika did her noble best to ignore it. "Maybe. Still, a wife of the former lord of this place could be useful when dealing with the local courtiers. Either way, we don't need to give them any greater excuse for hostility by slaying a bunch of women in their quarters. We mean to hold this place. Round them up; keep the women of substance separate from any slave-girls. Slaves are spoils."
The Leonese nodded, the promise of spoils as intended putting him in a very agreeable mood. "As you say, Don Iago. Of course, the place we hold might not actually be this one. Even if the main structures survive, this place might end up gutted. There must be a hundred fires burning."
"A hundred fires or no, this place and its people are now ours."
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The two groups of women arrayed in front of Iago were, largely, supremely uncomfortable. It was hardly surprising. Most had spent their entire lives sequestered. Large groups of others, let alone men, were completely beyond their experience. And, of course, in the post-battle furor, few of Iago's men looked especially comforting.
Iago included; though currently unhelmeted, his face was smeared in sweat, grime, and soot from the fires. His armor and clothing showed all the wear and tear he endured in the taking of the town. Still, this was a business he wanted taken care of immediately. Washing off could wait.
"This is all of them?"
"Yes, Don Iago. A couple tried to run, or fight, but here they are."
"Have we found quarters for the wives?"
"The father of the young one," Vistruario nodded at the girl, who couldn't have been much older than fifteen, "he says he'll take her back. Probably already has another groom lined up, seemed the type. The leopardess..."
Zuleika crossed her arms, managing a withering look. The sight made Iago smile and interject "Careful my Leonese friend. I believe she plots to find another lute as we speak."
Vistruario actually looked chagrined when faced with the scathing look, but she soon transferred it to Iago instead, which made him chuckle instead. "Looks like I may not be the subject of her musical talents next time."
"Well, before we find out, has she quarters or no?"
"Of a sort. Makeshift, but everything is right now. Most of us are best staying in the tents until tomorrow. We've got one of the outlying buildings at the back set aside, though, and won't be much to partition off a section."
"The barracks building."
"It was, yes, Don."