After the meal, they thanked Muqaddam and Lubna for their hospitality. The craftsman and his wife bid them farewell at the gate. Carmen carefully tucked away the small bundle of bread and dates that Lubna had given them “for the road.” Shortly afterward, they resumed their journey.

The path wound through gentle hills and fields rippling in the breeze. The sun, now high, cast glimmers among the olive groves, and the steps of the two travelers left a faint trace upon the dry earth.

They had left Llano del Espinar heading east, but Carmen suddenly stopped, her brow slightly furrowed.

—Here…—she murmured, stepping back a few meters—. Yes. This is Nueva Carteya.

Qāsim looked at her with puzzlement.

—I don’t know that name.

—Of course. In your time it doesn’t exist. But in mine, there’s a town right here, in this valley. Nueva Carteya was founded much later, but every time I come, I recognize this hillside, this mountain profile.”

—That doesn’t surprise me —said Qāsim—. This land has always been coveted. The Iberians, the Romans, even the Visigoths built fortifications here. We, in Andalusi times, made use of many of them. We reinforced them, or we

modified them to suit our needs. Here, people not only kept watch and defended, but also lived their daily lives.

Carmen nodded, gazing at the horizon.

—You know? Nowadays, people still travel through all this. But by bicycle —she added with a slight laugh—. There are organized routes that pass through the old fortified enclosures. They’re popular rides, not competitions. They go along the paths that cross the Plaza de Armas, El Higuerón… they even stop to rest among the ruins.

—A curious fate —said Qāsim with a half-smile—. But it is better to discover these fortresses on a leisure route than to risk your life conquering or defending them.

They continued walking, the terrain becoming more open, the hills more pronounced against the landscape’s profile.

—In the town there is a museum— Carmen said—. A small one, but with great care for the local heritage from past eras. They keep objects that have surfaced over generations, some from Andalusi times. There are even coins and fragments of pottery.

Qāsim turned his head, visibly interested.

—So the people of your time still keep our things.

—Yes. Thanks to a citizens’ association, the museum was opened a few years ago. It’s called ACEPHACA. They take care of preserving, studying, and sharing the archaeological heritage. They’ve done it all with great love.

—That does them honor — Qāsim affirmed—. Not everything is lost if there are those who hold love and respect for the memory of the peoples.

The wind blew stronger at the top of the hill, and before them the silhouette of another rise began to take shape.

Qāsim stopped for a moment, his gaze fixed on the horizon.
—I want to show you the most important fortress in this entire region —he said in a different tone, almost reverent—.It is very much alive.

He pointed toward a hill further east, where the land rose in familiar shapes.

Carmen narrowed her eyes, following his gesture.

—I know which one it is —she replied—. You mean El Higuerón. I can’t wait to see it in this era.

They resumed their walk, while the silhouette of the hill grew clearer with each step. There stood El Higuerón. From a distance, Carmen could make out the outline of the walls, the shape of the towers, and a subtle movement atop the heights.

When they reached the main entrance, a pair of armed men watched them from above a lookout structure. There was no hostility, but there was caution. Qāsim exchanged a few brief words with one of them, his tone firm yet cordial. At last, they were granted passage.

Inside the enclosure, what opened up was not a settlement, but an active garrison. The fortress, of Roman origin and reinforced by the Andalusi, was maintained as a control point. Soldiers patrolled the battlements, checked ropes and pulleys, and sharpened arrows on stone benches.

A deep voice approached from the side:

 —You are far from the plain to come without load or weapons. What brings you here?

The man was tall, with a graying beard and eyes hardened by the sun. His cloak was gathered at the waist, and a short spear rested on his shoulder.

Qāsim inclined his head slightly.

—Curiosity… and respect. This land deserves to be walked with both.

The soldier frowned at the sound of his voice. He stepped closer, studying him carefully.

 —Qāsim?— he asked, a mix of wonder and doubt. —Is it you, the son of Aṣbag?—

Qāsim allowed himself the faintest smile.

—The very same. Though a little more weathered.

The man looked at him with renewed respect and lowered his spear.

—May Allah forgive me! It has been years since I heard that name around here. The sage of Baena! Teacher of emirs, and a headache for the jurists of Córdoba!”

Carmen allowed herself a discreet smile, surprised.

The soldier now regarded them both with a different air and pointed toward a wooden bench under an improvised awning.

—Come, sit. There’s bread, partridge, and artichokes. Eat in peace, and we’ll talk afterward.

Carmen and Qāsim sat down gratefully. A wooden bowl was offered to them, filled with partridge slowly cooked, seasoned with herbs and warm spices. Beside it, the artichokes, tender, carried the aroma of garlic and a mild vinegar. Wheat bread and fresh water completed the meal.

As they ate, Carmen observed the massive ashlar stones, the towers rising above the walls, and the steady gazes of the men who served there. At last, she spoke.

—In my time —she said thoughtfully—this place is an archaeological site. It is called El Higuerón. Students, archaeologists, even families on excursions come to visit. It is known that there was an important fortress here… people speak of monumental walls.

The soldier who had welcomed them looked at her with interest, wiping his hands with a cloth.

 —And they still speak of us?

—Very much. Though not everything is known, and excavations are still ongoing. Each discovery reveals another piece. The occupation here is documented from the 4th century before Christ… Iberians, Romans, and yours as well. There are even your structures

still preserved. Today, there is a museum in a nearby town where Andalusi coins and ceramics from this land are kept.

The man nodded, a mix of pride and satisfaction on his face.

—And it isn’t only preserved in museums— Carmen added—. It’s also traveled. There are cycling routes through the fortified enclosures of the area. I myself did it once. Though of course… by then this was in ruins.

Qāsim looked at her with a half-smile.

—Ruins? With a good story and a bit of imagination… ruins cease to be.

The conversation lightened over sips of herbal tea. When the shadow of the tower began to stretch across the courtyard, Qāsim rose calmly to his feet.

—Thank you for your hospitality —he said, bowing his head slightly—. We continue eastward. There is still much I want to show you —he added, turning to Carmen.

Carmen cast one last glance at the place. That active stronghold, steadfast, full of traces of the past yet still alive, would remain etched in her memory with a different light.

—Until next time — she whispered.