At the heart of the crimes routinely alleged of conversos, supposedly lapsing from Christianity to Judaism, was the theft of consecrated wafers. It was easy; when fed it by a priest you could just slip a wafer under your tongue and keep it there, unconsumed. But, once consecrated in the Holy Mass, its substance had been transformed into the flesh of Christ, and so the wafer held potent magic. For example, some years back there had been a rumour of a conspiracy to spike the water supply of Seville with communion wafers and the mashed-up heart of a Christian boy, a blasphemous toxin that would drive Christians insane.

There was fear in Ferron’s eyes; it was well known he was of converso blood himself, and this was a silent accusation of a very grave crime. ‘Who gave you this?’

‘Well, you aren’t entitled to know that,’ Abdul said. ‘Strictly speaking, by the rules of your Inquisition, I shouldn’t be showing you this evidence at all, for you don’t have the right to see it. And of course you are presumed guilty once an allegation is made. Have I got that right?’

‘It’s a lie. An evil, devil-spawned, malicious lie.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Abdul heartily. ‘Then the processes of the Inquisition will have no difficulty establishing exactly that fact. But perhaps it would be better to save everybody the trouble of putting you to the question.’

‘What is it you want, mudejar?’

‘Agnes Wooler.’

Ferron stared at him, and then looked at Geoffrey. ‘I nearly broke this girl seeking answers about her conspiracy. But those answers were staring me in the face, all the time. If I ever see you again—’

Abdul grinned, and he held up his fist, enclosing the host. ‘Threats are so ugly.’

Ferron turned away. He walked onto the quemadero, grabbed Agnes by her good arm, and marched her away from her stake. Another inquisitor flapped after him, muttering about irregularities, but Ferron waved him away.

He brought Agnes to Abdul and Geoffrey. She looked grotesque, her feet and hands blue with the cold, her nipples hard as pink pebbles. Her bruised face was empty.

Abdul dropped the communion wafer into Ferron’s hand. In return Ferron released the girl. She stumbled, and Geoffrey took her thin, shivering form in his arms.

Ferron glared at Abdul and Geoffrey. ‘This isn’t over.’ He turned away.

Geoffrey nodded. ‘So the battle for the future is joined.’

‘But for now,’ Abdul said, ‘we must concentrate on the needs of the present.’ He took off his thick Moorish cloak and wrapped it around Agnes’s bare shoulders.

XXIII

XXIII

AD 1491