It rose at hand,--white, square, domed.

I went by a ladder-like lane down toward Zarafa wall and the Gate of the Lion.

At sunrise in would pour peasants from the vale below, bringing vegetables and poultry, and mountaineers with quails and conies, and others with divers affairs.

Outgoing would be those who tilled a few steep gardens beyond the wall, messengers and errand folk, soldiers and traders for the army before Granada.
It was full early when I came to the wall.

I could make out the heavy and tall archway of the gate, but as yet was no throng before it.