‘Because I work against him. He offends me, in his hypocrisy, his exploitation of the mudejars, and the size of his arse.’

The term ‘mudejar’, al-mudajjar, meaning literally ‘the tamed’, referred to Muslims still living in Cordoba, Toledo and other territories reconquered by the Christians. There was work for them to do, as clerks, accountants, lawyers. The more enlightened Christian rulers and wealthy folk even employed mudejar artisans to restore or rebuild their houses and palaces in a Moorish style.

‘And in Cordoba,’ Subh said, ‘Alfonso has spent the six years since the city’s conquest establishing himself as a middle man. Wealthy Christians find it easier to deal with a man who presents himself as a Christian, you see, than with the children of the desert - even though ten years ago “Alfonso” was as Moorish as an Almohad. So Alfonso sells Moorish work at the highest prices, while paying the Moors a pittance, and growing rich himself in the process. Why, he even exploits some of my own family. Can you believe that? He despises me, you see, because I stand up to him.’

‘You were very brave to face down the crowd.’

‘Brave for a woman, you mean?’ She snorted. ‘Well, I have to be strong, for all the men have fled. It was a bad time when Cordoba fell. My husband was already dead, killed fighting the Christians. Then King Fernando laid siege to the city. We capitulated; after six months we had no choice.’ She paused, and her eyes were distant. ‘Best not to speak of those times. That first evening a bishop entered the mosque to “cleanse” it, as they put it, and rededicate it to Christ. And they took away the bells of the church of Saint James, and returned them to Santiago de Compostela from where they had been stolen by al-Mansur, more than two centuries ago. Christians don’t forget, or forgive! - but then,’ she said fiercely, ‘neither do Muslims. When the city gates were opened to the Christians, those who could afford to do so fled south, to Seville or Granada, even across the strait to the Maghrib.’

‘Why did you not flee?’

‘Because,’ she said grandly, ‘those left behind, the marginal and the poor, the toy-makers and the saddlers, the farmers and the potters, good Muslims stranded in a Christian city, have nobody left to stand up for them. And besides I am the descendant of a vizier. As you, in your rummaging in the libraries of Toledo, have proven for me, I hope.’

Her warm look stirred his blood again. But he paused, for he knew that what he had found in Toledo was more complicated than that.

She recognised his hesitation. ‘Don’t tease me, Peter of Toledo. Did you find what I wanted?’

‘Yes. And no.’

She made a gesture like swatting a fly. ‘A typical scholar’s response - infuriating! Is that all I get for my money?’