‘Few do,’ conceded Sihtric. ‘And there are boundaries to that tolerance. The Moors are clannish, Orm. You can’t just find the local lord and offer him your services, as in England. With the Moors it’s all family and patronage and who you know - devilish hard to break into. And under Islamic law there are limits to the tax you can impose on a Muslim, but you can tax Christians as much as you like. And then, Mozarabs are excluded from the higher levels of government, from power. It’s actually a good career move to do as Ibn Hafsun’s family once did, and convert. But then I am a priest; that course is excluded to me.’ The bitterness in his voice was obvious. ‘We survive, we Mozarabs. But we are a cowed people.’

‘And yet you prospered.’

‘Well, I formed a relationship with the vizier, Ibn Tufayl. I told him my goals; I showed him Aethelmaer’s designs. He sponsored my work. This is an age of war. I think he regards my work as a worthwhile investment: a relatively small outlay for a possibly handsome return.’

Orm frowned. ‘What sort of relationship?’ This seemed to him the central mystery of Sihtric’s life here.

But Sihtric would only say, ‘There are some things it’s better an innocent like you never learns, Orm.’

Orm, irritated and patronised, tried another approach. ‘Ibn Tufayl works for the emir in Seville. If he turns your arbalest on other Moors, that’s one thing. But what if he turns it on the armies of the Christian kings? Have you thought about that? You’re building these machines with Moorish money. But who are they for?’

Sihtric glanced around, as if they might be overheard. ‘That particular truth is murky. I came here seeking power and influence for myself, that’s all, ignoble as it is. But while here I have discovered a higher purpose.’

Orm laughed. ‘You always did have ideas above your station, priest.’

‘Yes, well, I’ll have to show you, in good time, and then we’ll see what you have to say about it. And in the meantime, we have another murky truth to explore. Don’t we, Orm?’

‘You mean Eadgyth’s Testament.’ He felt uncomfortable, even though he had come all this way to discuss this.

Sihtric scoffed. ‘What do you think about that, Orm? That you, a Viking whose father worshipped trees, married a woman who was given a vision of God?’

Orm’s discomfort deepened. ‘Isn’t that possible?’