Harry was as glad to see Abdul as Geoffrey was. But he could see how grim his mood was. ‘What’s wrong, Abdul? You know I’ll always be grateful to you for having saved Agnes from Ferron.’

Abdul sighed. ‘But it is Ferron who has sent me here today.’

‘Ferron did?’

‘He sought me out. And he gave me this, to present to you.’ He handed Harry the box.

Harry took it. It was finely made of cedarwood, an expensive gift.

Abdul said, ‘Ferron’s message is this. You must not support your champion any more, Harry. When Colon presents his case you must speak out against the arguments you have helped him develop. Otherwise you must stay as silent as your sister.’

Harry was confused, but frightened. ‘My sister’s safe in England. And she’s never been silent.’

Abdul said nothing.

Geoffrey touched Harry’s shoulder. ‘Open the box, Harry.’

The lid lifted easily, on oiled hinges. Inside was a glass vial, which contained a slab of meat, pickled in some preserving liquid. It took Harry long heartbeats to recognise what it was, from the bloody stump, the shape of the tip. It was a human tongue, severed at the root. In the lid of the box a note was tucked. Harry took this and unfolded it, and read: ‘AGNES WOOLER.’

‘He took her back,’ Geoffrey raged. ‘He took her back!’

XXV

XXV

In the monarchs’ audience chamber expensive tapestries hung from the walls, showing such scenes as the Virgin Mary hovering, ethereal, over crusaders who stormed the walls of Jerusalem. And the wooden floor was covered with rich Persian carpets, a gift from Boabdil in Granada to his effective masters. This chamber, at the heart of Santa Fé, was grander than any room Harry had ever been in, even if it was just a mock-up of wood and waxed cloth. And it was full of courtiers. They reminded Harry of exotic birds, preening and gossiping, curious about the latest trial of a favourite of the Queen.

They were curious because here, on benches before a throne-like chair, opposing factions prepared to debate once again the matter of Cristobal Colon.

The throne was occupied today by Luis de Santangel. A portly, sensible-looking man of perhaps forty, dressed expensively, he looked what he was: heavy with money, and an influence at the court. Even if he approved Colon’s proposal it would not be the final verdict, which as always lay with the monarchs. But his word carried a good deal of weight.

Harry, Geoffrey Cotesford and Abdul Ibrahim were here under the sponsorship of Antonio de Marchena, the friar from the monastery of La Rabida at Palos who had supported Colon’s dream of sailing the Ocean Sea since he had first come to Spain.