e lead read The Nineteenth Chapter, in which we learned of the philanthropist’s past, and it returned to haunt him.
The captain traveled to the south of Spain where he was quick to learn the secrets the philanthropist left behind there. The residents would not soon forget the crimes committed against so prominent a businessman. They pointed him toward el Monasterio de Santa María de las Cuevas, and he walked toward the water briskly as the sun began to fall.
In Moorish times, the small islet was honeycombed with ancient caves. Draped in the billowing white vestments of their people, women wandered through the caverns, their feet pressing softly into the earth as they discovered rich deposits of clay within it. Pulling the clay from the ground, they molded it with their hands and baked it in the dim underground inlets, creating beautiful sculptures that adorned the rich tapestry of their lives.
Indeed, Moorish Spain was perhaps the most beautiful sight the ancient eye could behold. Their streets were paved and lit; exotic oranges, figs, and dates draped heavily above them. Libraries and universities were plentiful, educating residents in philosophy, astronomy, and arithmetic. Music drifted through the streets from every manner of foreign instrument. Even the poorest among them had access to the baths, hundreds of which graced the town, perfumed as they were with the incense of aromatic oils.
The Moors lived in this way for many years until a Christian king overtook them. The Moorish buildings became Christian ones and the caves that once beautified them crumbled into disrepair. It would be many years before a soldier would discover those labyrinthine caves and the elaborate vessels formed there by the hands of ancient women.
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