Her spirit wandered through her ancient Madinat al-Zahra—the city that bore her name and was founded by her Caliph.
She was seeking another woman, one worthy of possessing the jewel given to her by her great love, Abd al-Rahman III. Azahara felt the need for a Cordoban woman in love to inherit, along with the culture, that beautiful gem—the very symbol of their love.
And so it was… her spirit roamed the nights alongside that of Abd al-Rahman. He, however, turned his attention to other matters: to the progress of the works in the Great Hall, and to the beautiful Library which, though no longer standing, remained alive for him. Oh… it was the greatest of all! He felt proud of what they had achieved through several generations of culture, medicine, philosophy, theology, and mathematics. He never made any distinction among his authors for their differing religious beliefs; the only thing that mattered to him was knowledge. That Library… it was the most voluminous and grand in all of Europe.
For that reason, for two hours each night, he would part from his beloved Azahara to watch over what had been his magnificent city.
One hot night, when only the footsteps of visitors and the song of crickets and cicadas could be heard, Azahara encountered a young girl. She was pensive, leaning beneath an almond tree, her eyes filled with melancholy as she gazed at the shimmering moon and the starlit sky. Azahara alighted beside her, and her soul traversed the young woman’s thoughts; she needed to know what was happening to her… She was thinking of her love, of that cursed military mission that had taken him from her side. Although she did not require him to live, her life was simply happier with him near.
It was a pure and intense love, as vast as life itself, so real that the heart beat out of sheer necessity, and nothing more.
Meanwhile, Abd al-Rahman III, weary of his vigil, returned to his Beloved’s side.
“—My love, she is the one who deserves the jewel,” Azahara said.
“—It is yours, my Dearest; you decide.”
Together they took each other’s hand, and a large stone set in a beautiful gold bracelet of delicate Cordoban filigree appeared upon the young woman’s wrist.
Suddenly, her mobile phone rang—though barely five minutes earlier she had checked it only to find she had no coverage. The voice of her beloved informed her that he was returning to the Cerro Muriano Base; he could wait no longer to ask for their eternal union.
The young girl and our pair of lovers smiled.
“—Now, my love, we shall rest together. There is no need to return anymore,” said Zahara.
Abd al-Rahman turned to contemplate his beautiful city, teeming with visitors. It was beginning to take on life once more. And his soul shone with happiness.
“—True. It is well guarded by the love of the people of Córdoba.”
Their spirits began to fade into the landscape, and those beautiful almond trees began to bloom in the height of summer.
For the first time, though not the last, it seemed to snow during that hot and sweet summer night.