‘I was a Muslim savouring communion wine - the blood of your Christ! Ironic, isn’t it? But it was more than a taste that Sihtric cultivated in me. You are a good judge of men, priest. If I saw a weakness in you, you saw one in me, one I didn’t know I possessed.’

‘You became a drunk,’ Orm said.

‘The priest was the only route through which I could obtain the wine I needed. Thus I gave him power over me.’

‘But,’ Robert said, ‘what did you want, Sihtric?’

‘Moraima,’ Sihtric said.

The two men struck a deal. Moraima would be brought back to Cordoba and raised as Sihtric’s daughter. She would be a good Muslim, though: the vizier would not tolerate his granddaughter being raised a Christian.

‘The girl would be known as my daughter,’ Sihtric said. ‘But her descent from the vizier was to be kept a secret. Ibn Tufayl let my reputation suffer rather than his. The Christian community was scandalised. ’

‘So,’ Orm said. ‘You, Sihtric, armed with your control of the vizier through his drunkenness. And the vizier knowing that you fathered a child by a Muslim girl. The two of you locked together in your weakness, mutually dependent, mutually loathing. I should have known I would find you in a situation like this, priest. It’s just the sort of mess which always gathers around you.’

‘It’s almost a work of art, isn’t it?’ Sihtric said bitterly.

‘I don’t want to hear any more of this.’ Moraima stepped forward, anger bringing colour to her cheeks. ‘I don’t want to be discussed as if I were just another barrel of wine, a business deal between two weak old men.’

The vizier said, ‘Now, Moraima—’

‘Oh, let her go,’ Sihtric said. ‘Why should she hear this painful old rubbish hashed over once again? Go, child; find yourself something more pleasant to do.’

‘And me,’ Robert said impulsively. ‘Let me walk with her.’

Ibn Tufayl studied him. ‘You must be even more stupid than you look.’

Robert blurted, thinking as he spoke, ‘I can never have Moraima, and she can’t have me. How we feel doesn’t matter. It’s over - indeed, it never was. Just let us walk together for an hour. Let us say goodbye.’

Orm said, ‘Vizier, I take it you’ve no plans to punish the boy over Ghalib.’

‘For what? He behaved nobly enough.’ Ibn Tufayl’s raging temper had vanished with his intoxication. ‘Besides, the fault is ours, mine and Sihtric’s, for allowing such situations to develop. That is what we must discuss. For as Moraima grows older—’

‘Yes,’ Sihtric said. ‘We need to work out a way to manage her heart.’

‘But for now,’ Orm said, ‘let them go.’

Ibn Tufayl clapped his hands to summon in his guards. ‘Very well. Go, you two. Be aware you will be watched, every step of the way.’