The great port of Malaga was the Moors’ second city. The city, founded on a huge double fortress that spanned two hills, was built for warfare. And yet ships of many nations clustered in the harbour, including traders from the Christian kingdoms of Spain.

From the deck of his own vessel Harry’s pulse quickened as he watched the ships scud to and fro, their sails billowing. This was a place bursting with deals to be done. Perhaps he would be able at least to turn a profit on the trip, once he was done with the murky business that had drawn him here.

It was already three years since Geoffrey Cotesford had reunited him with his sister Agnes, three years spent mainly on patient research by Geoffrey into Harry’s family’s complicated background - and their scraps of prophecy, principally the Testament of Eadgyth. Harry had been able to get on with his own life, tucking the strange affair away in a corner of his mind. But now that had changed. Geoffrey had unearthed a family of cousins in al-Andalus itself, which was the very eye of the storm the Dove was prophesied to unleash - or so Geoffrey argued from his interpretation of the Testament. Harry had reluctantly agreed to put his own affairs on hold and to come here to resolve this odd business one way or another.

Malaga’s harbour was wide but not enclosed, and unprotected from the sea and wind; though the Mediterranean was tideless the landing was choppy. But Harry was a hardened sailor by now, and the turbulent sea did not trouble him.

Once he had disembarked, Harry hired a muleteer and set off for Granada itself.

The country through which he was led was quite unlike any part of England he had seen. Lumpy volcanic hills rippled down to the coast, and black-winged gulls swooped over broken sheets of dark rock that angled out of the ground. It seemed a place of huge rocky violence to Harry. He made notes of his impressions to pass on to Geoffrey Cotesford.

The journey was not long, requiring one overnight stop. Harry found a tavern whose keepers accepted his English coins. The muleteer, a small, swarthy Moor, slept with his animals on a blanket under the stars.

The next day they had to cross the mountain range the Christians called the Sierra Nevada. The muleteer led him through an easy pass without much climbing, and they moved in silence broken only by the complaining snorts of the mules and the soft clank of their bells. Harry looked down over green valleys where farms nestled, replete with figs, oranges and apples, and on the ridges fortresses and watchtowers bristled like the nests of huge birds. On the peaks, even on this bright spring morning, ice gleamed brilliant white. Every element of this landscape reminded Harry he was very far from home. He glimpsed eagles soaring silently.