They were a bedraggled, woebegone-looking lot. Several days of storm at sea had afflicted most of them with excruciating seasickness. With the nearing of solid ground, however, they began to revive. Some pointed to the cliff that rose above the lower town. Along the brow of this cliff, a massive gray fortification frowned down, with the onion-domed towers of a royal palace projecting above the curtain wall. Behind the fortress, the upper town stretched away towards the base of the promontory on which Baianch was built. Now, save for the tops of temple spires, the upper town was hidden by the loom of the cliff. To right and left of the cape, the darkly forested hills of Dur rolled away. “It reminds me of Quebec,” said Aimé Jussac. “Look at the soldiers!” said Pilar Guzmán-Vidal. “Are they going to arrest us, Fearless?” On the pier, a platoon of uniformed Duruma were drawn up in two ranks, one of crossbowmen and one of pikemen. They wore winged helms, and hauberks of black chain mail over scarlet tunics.
