‘Not bad work for a Christmas Day,’ Michael said to Saladin. ‘I mean, the emir’s whores have all cleared off to Granada. Nothing left but old ladies and babies. But the lads say that some of those old Saracen chickens have got a bit of juice left in them, if you know what I mean. And there might be a bit of loot to be had, though we’re supposed to give it all to the King to pay his mercenaries.’ He sniffed, hawked up some snot, spat, and swung his arms as they walked down the empty street. ‘There’s nothing to buck you up quite so much as a right good sacking on Christmas Day. But still this isn’t bad work, not bad at all.’

‘Shut up,’ said Saladin. ‘Oh, shut up.’

‘All right. I’m just saying—’

‘I know what you’re saying—’

‘Saladin. Here you are.’

Saladin swung round at the woman’s voice. It was his mother.

Michael bowed. ‘Lady Joan.’ He looked up and leered at her.

‘Happy Christmas, Michael,’ she said drily. She looked tense, anxious.

‘What are you doing here, mother?’

‘Looking for you. It took me the devil’s own time to find you. That sergeant of yours barely knows where his own backside is, let alone his soldiers. Well, let’s get moving. We don’t have much time.’ She set off down the street, without looking back.

She gave Saladin no choice. He trotted after her. Michael, grinning, followed.

‘Mother - where are we going?’

‘The mosque, of course. Where else? Thomas Busshe will meet us there. Time is short. The bishops are going to reconsecrate the building this morning. Then the King will hear mass in it this evening. We’ve only got an hour before the clerics will be swarming all over it.’

Michael asked, ‘An hour to do what?’

Joan said, ‘To dig up the Codex.’

Saladin had told Michael nothing about his family’s strange secret from the past. But Michael picked up those words ‘dig up’. ‘Buried treasure,’ he said, his grin widening. ‘Now that’s what I’m talking about.’

When they reached the mosque’s outer wall, they met Thomas at a gateway that led through to a broad patio where dried-up fountains stood like dead flowers. Thomas was out of breath, and looked anxious. ‘This way,’ he said, and he hustled them across the patio and through an arched doorway that took them into the mosque itself. ‘But,’ he panted, ‘it isn’t good news . . .’