‘I did, Subh.’ It was the fat, finely dressed man who stood with the priest. His purple-dyed silk cloak must have been extraordinarily expensive.

‘Alfonso,’ Subh said with disgust. ‘I might have known it was you. What do you accuse him of, muhtasib - mocking the size of your fat arse? If so you’ll have to have half of Cordoba stoned.’

That actually won her a laugh.

Alfonso preened, plump fingers plucking at his leather belt. ‘The crime is rather more serious than that, lady. This sand rat of a nephew of yours has fornicated with my granddaughter. My granddaughter, my Beatrice. Come here, child.’ A girl, mousy, plain, stumbled forward from the crowd. ‘Fornicated!’ Alfonso thundered. ‘What do you have to say to that?’

There was an angry murmur from the crowd.

Peter murmured to Ibrahim, ‘In Toledo it’s no stoning offence for a Muslim to sleep with a Christian.’

‘In this town it is. And Alfonso is the muhtasib, who supervises the market. He is a man of influence in Cordoba.’

Subh was undaunted. ‘And you have proof of this, do you, Alfonso the Fat? Oh, I’m prepared to believe that this wretched whelp of yours is no longer a virgin. But what else, beyond her word against his?’

‘It was him,’ Beatrice said, and she raised an unsteady finger to point at Zawi. ‘He forced me!’

The crowd murmured again. But the priest looked down at his shoes, uncomfortable.

Subh, sharp, in control, noticed this. ‘Forced you? Ah, but that isn’t the story you told earlier, I would wager. Is it, child?’

‘Yes - no - but it was Zawi, it was!’

Subh snorted, but Peter noticed she did not call on the boy to deny it for himself. She stalked about, regal, sneering at the stone-wielding crowd. ‘And if so, what did you think of his scars?’ Beatrice said nothing, and Subh went on, ‘Come, child. If you lay together you must have noticed those.’

Beatrice glanced at her grandfather, uncertain.

Subh turned to the boy. ‘Show them what I mean.’

Zawi’s embarrassment apparently overcame his fear. ‘But, aunt—’

‘Show them. Drop your trousers.’

The boy complied, to reveal bare legs and a grimy sash around his waist. The crowd hooted, mocking his skinny legs and his shrivelled cock, and the boy was mortified. But Subh plucked aside the sash, and the crowd gasped at a mesh of scars on his belly.

‘The result of a pious mule-whipping,’ Subh said. ‘A childhood gift from one of your sons, I’m told, Alfonso. Child, how could you not notice that?’

The girl, confused, stammered out, ‘But I did sleep with him. All right, he didn’t force me. But I did. It was in the orange grove behind the—’