Today he found her with Peter, sitting in a well-appointed room that opened onto a broad patio. It was cool in the oven heat of the city. Save only for the loss of the fountain’s trickling sound - the fountains had all been dry for months - the room was as it had been for centuries, and the light reflected from the carved stonework washed over Subh’s cream-softened skin. She didn’t look as if she had been affected by the long months of the siege at all. ‘Such a beautiful place,’ she said. ‘What do you think will happen if the Christians do take the city, Ibrahim? Will they smash up this place? Will all this be lost?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Ibrahim said. ‘They’re Christians, but not utter barbarians. I hear Fernando is already employing mudejar artisans. Perhaps they will continue to use the palace. They may renovate it, even extend it. Where else in Seville is fit for a king?’

Peter nodded. ‘It’s more beautiful than anything Christians could build.’

Ibrahim was faintly revolted by the way he disparaged his own culture. In the six years since he had met her Peter had truly become a creature of Subh, subsumed by her more powerful personality.

‘But the Christians may disapprove of our decadence,’ Subh said. ‘They can be stern, these Christians. And we like our luxuries! Speaking of which, you should treat yourself a little more, Ibrahim. You look like a ghost. I told you, you should ignore your own silly rules and eat what you need.’

‘I can’t break the rationing I myself administer.’

She snorted. ‘The common herd can die off and nobody will miss them. You are important, and deserve keeping alive.’

‘As you are important, I suppose, Mother,’ he said. ‘And this Christian whelp of yours.’

Peter was indignant. ‘I resent that. I don’t have to be here. I could just walk out and surrender to Fernando’s forces. I only need take my turban off to look like a Christian again.’

‘Then why are you here?’

Peter smiled. ‘How could I leave when the project is so close to fruition?’

‘Ah. Your mysterious engines.’

‘We have some news about that, Ibrahim,’ Subh said. ‘Something to distract you from your grubbing around in this city of the dead and dying.’

Ibrahim glared. ‘I’m too busy for riddles. Just tell me what you mean.’ ‘The thunder-mouth,’ the scholar said, ‘is ready. My men are hauling it up onto the walls even now. You need to come and see it, Ibrahim.’

Ibrahim was unimpressed, and no doubt it showed in his face.

Subh snapped, ‘You disapprove. How typical of you. What if we are saved through my vision, Ibrahim, you toiler, you ant? How will that make you feel?’ She turned away from him.

‘Just come and see it,’ Peter urged gently.

XXVI

XXVI