A ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor
It was a curious delight to discover that Jumilla (well, actually they said Yecla but that turned out to be wrong) — so near to Culebrón, scarcely forty kilometres away — was once a haunt of daring highwaymen. Perched where the old kingdoms of Valencia, Murcia, and Castile once met, the town’s rugged hills and twisting roads made it a natural stage for adventure and intrigue. In centuries past, Jumilla played host first to the ruthless marauders of the 17th century, and later to the gallant caballeros of legend — Spain’s own Dick Turpins, whose charm could steal a heart as deftly as a purse. By the 17th century, Spain had sunk to her knees, hollowed by famine, plague, and unending war. Across the sun‑scorched fields of Valencia and Murcia, farms lay abandoned and soldiers, weary of empty promises, melted away into the hills. Desperation deepened when, in 1609, King Philip III turned against the Moriscos — Christian converts from Islam whom suspicion still branded as “secret Muslims”. B...