‘I wouldn’t be so sure,’ Orm said. ‘I’ve fought with the Normans, remember. Why, they conquered England, the best-organised state in Europe. They’ll put up a tough fight.’

‘But they won’t have Sihtric’s engines,’ the vizier said.

‘And if you prevail,’ Sihtric said. His voice was hoarse, his face drained of blood. ‘On you will go, I suppose. Slaughtering, burning.’

Ibn Tufayl’s voice rose, shrill. ‘At last the solemn calm of a single caliphate will settle across the whole of the world, from east to west, from pole to pole. If it can be done once, as your madman wanderer seems to have believed, Sihtric, it can be done again.’ He smiled. ‘I would like to take Rome myself, I think. I will have to decide what to do with the Pope . . . You see how you have inspired me? And it will be my honour to achieve it - my honour - I, a new al-Mansur.’ He staggered, almost falling against a wall. He picked up a cup, drained it, found another empty, and cuffed his servant’s head. ‘More. Go, go!’

She scuttled out, head bowed.

Orm growled, ‘Get to the point, vizier. What do you intend to do with us?’

‘I need what you know. I don’t need you. You will be - drained. And then discarded. But at least you know the great cause your deaths will serve.’ The servant girl returned with a tray of fresh drinks; the vizier grabbed a cup and downed it in one gulp.

Moraima stared at him. ‘Grandfather - I barely recognise you when you speak like this.’

He looked at her blearily. ‘When you are old enough to understand, you’ll thank me. And you’ll tell your grandchildren of what you have heard today. But for now, this strange knowledge must be mine alone.’

Sihtric snapped, ‘What does that mean? You say you have my plans. What of the prototypes I have built? What of the arbalest?’

‘Destroyed.’

‘And my scholars, my clerks, my engineers?’

‘They will not speak of it,’ the vizier said. ‘My Berbers made sure of that.’

Sihtric’s mouth dropped open, and he slumped, as if fainting. Orm supported him, but Sihtric pushed him away. ‘There were fine minds among them, very fine young minds - the best in Cordoba. All sacrificed to your petty ambition. Murderer. Murderer!’

‘Don’t preach at me, you hypocritical fraud. You have ambition enough of your own. You were planning to arm Christians with your magic weapons.’

‘I planned to serve Christ’s holy purposes. I am no murderer of scholars and clerks and scribes, of carpenters and wheelwrights and metal-workers. You infidel monster, I will oppose you with every bone in my body.’

‘And I,’ the vizier roared, ‘will extract every one of those bones if you stand in my way.’