Morning arrived in the blink of an eye, and a heavy, bitter anticipation settled over the city. No sooner had evening fallen than news of the battle began to pour down upon the people like a torrential flood—conflicting reports that failed to quench the thirst of those awaiting word of a crushing, decisive victory: one that would put an end to the sedition and forever eradicate the instigator and his accomplices. Men craned their necks, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Sultan’s vanguard returning from the battlefield in triumphant victory—either holding the instigator captive, to be paraded through the city streets and subsequently executed in full public view; or bearing his severed head, to be salted and hung upon the gates of every city in the land as a stark warning to anyone who might dare to rebel against their rightful sovereign. People strained their ears, hoping to catch the slightest cry from the town crier—any utterance that might herald the victory of the *Harka* (the expeditionary force) led by Moulay al-Kabir, the Sultan’s brother, over that handful of traitors and criminals. Yet, none of this came to pass. Instead, the city spent the night in chaos and turmoil, divided into two camps: one that still firmly believed in the Sultan’s army’s ability to swallow up "al-Roghi" and his cohorts—inflicting upon them a humiliating defeat—even if they managed to hold out for a day or two; and another camp that viewed Bouhmara’s strength as a force not to be underestimated—one that might well embarrass the Sultan’s army, or even take it by surprise in ways no one had ever imagined.