Mordred waited patiently for twilight to give way to deep night, a salvaging darkness for his designs. The last rays of Provençal sun faded behind the arid hills, tinting the sky blood red that seemed to foreshadow the events to come. The Provençal countryside, once so peaceful with its lavender fields and sleeping villages, seemed to hold its breath as he approached Marseille. The night air still carried the scents of the Mediterranean, mingled with the acrid odors of smoke and destruction that escaped from the conquered city.