On the second day Subh’s son Ibrahim rode alongside Peter for a while. On his handsome charger he looked down on Peter, who thudded along on the back of his reluctant old mule. Ibrahim was provocative from the off. ‘You are the only Christian in this caravan of Muslims. Even the muleteers are Muslim. Only you, out of place, and far from home. It is a certain kind of weakness, I believe, that drives a man to seek out the company of strangers. Why are you here, Christian Peter?’

‘For the scholarship.’

Ibrahim hawked and spat. ‘You could have enjoyed your scholarship without leaving London. Do you have a wife in London? A woman you love?’

‘No wife or lover.’

‘A boy—’

‘I have no interest in boys, Ibrahim.’

‘Then what are you fleeing from?’

‘I’m fleeing nothing. I’m travelling in hope. I am following a loose thread in a tapestry, letting it lead me where it may. Your mother understands, I think.’ Peter grew impatient with his pressing. ‘Why should Christian and Muslim not share the adventure of life together? In Toledo, Christian and Muslim scholars meet and work together every day.’

‘Under the banners of a Christian king.’

‘Perhaps. But in the days of the caliphate Christian scholars similarly flocked to Muslim Cordoba.’

Ibrahim said, ‘But there was no assimilation. Five centuries ago the Moorish armies marched north. The whole of Spain became a Muslim country, and Christians lived in a Moorish land. Now the Christians are scouring their way back down from the north, and Muslims will have to survive in a Christian country, as my family survived in Cordoba. No matter how long they cohabit, Muslim and Christian will not mix, any more than water and oil, whether there is more of the oil or more of the water.’

Peter considered arguing against this. But the evidence for it stood all around him, the bristling relics of warfare sticking out of the ground like broken teeth. ‘All right. But here we are, Ibrahim, riding side by side. We don’t have to fight, do we?’

Ibrahim eyed him, his eyes as bright as the sky. ‘Perhaps not. But keep your gaze fixed to the backside of that mule in front of you, and off my mother’s.’ And he galloped away to rejoin his friends.

X

X

In the morning Thomas woke early, barely able to believe that he was really here. But even before he left his bed the wail of the muezzin calls told him that this holiest of cities was not Christian, not entirely.

Saladin came to find him. ‘We should take that walk while the day is young. I don’t imagine you will enjoy the noon heat.’

So Thomas ate his breakfast and hurried through his prayers, and followed Saladin out into the city.