Above the Duero caressing softly the decayed and dark stones of the town wall of Soria, there is a bridge that goes from the town to the old monastery of the templars, whose possessions extended on the opposite side of the river.
In the time we are referring to, the knights of the order had already left the historic strongholds; but the remains of the broad turret on top of the walls were still there; still one could see like they can be seen today, the massive arcs of the cloister covered with ivy and snowdrops, the prolonged gothic galeries of their barrack yards, in which the wind sighs and moves the high herbs with a wail.