Many a blond, northern moonrise,like a muted reflection, will softlyremind me and remind me again and again.It will be my bride, my alter ego.An incentive to find myself. I myselfam the moonrise of the south. -Paul Klee, The Tunisian Diaries Prologue It was just past midday, not long before the third summons to prayer, that Ammar ibn Khairan passed through the Gate of the Bells and entered the palace of Al-Fontina in Silvenes to kill the last of the khalifs of Al-Rassan. Passing into the Court of Lions he came to the three sets of double doors and paused before those that led to the gardens. There were eunuchs guardin
