The three men made their way across a square confined by tightly packed houses before turning into a suffocating alley. As they shouldered their way through the jostling crowd, the unmistakable figure of Meulon appeared ahead of them, head and shoulders above the rest. He was unaccompanied; his size alone would make any disgruntled Navarrese hesitate before acting aggressively towards the black-bearded fighter.

‘Sir Thomas. Halif ben Josef asked me to fetch you.’

‘Is there trouble?’

‘No, I don’t think so. He’s waiting for you in a safe place. Safe enough for now, that is.’

‘William, John, return to the men. Tell Sir Gilbert I’m going with Meulon. And make sure we keep the boy with Beyard and out of sight. There’s unease in the city and if the lad lets slip where’s he’s from then it opens the door for questions to be asked.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Meulon led Blackstone into the Jewish Quarter. There was little difference from the other streets of Pamplona. The size and strength of the two men meant the shoppers and street hawkers quickly parted.

‘In here,’ said Meulon, opening an inconspicuous door in the house’s sun-bleached wall, as pockmarked and crumbling as those around it. Blackstone stepped into a cool, dim corridor. Meulon’s frame blocked out the light at the far end. They reached a small courtyard where a lemon tree grew in the centre of the tiled floor. There was a wicker chair with a brightly striped cushion beneath its shade-giving branches. Meulon did not stop but entered another passage that soon broadened into a large room with honey-coloured bricks arching across the entrance. A single high window beamed a shaft of dust-speckled sunlight into the gloomy interior. It was only when Blackstone stepped further into the room and turned that he saw light flooding walls as tall as any town’s church.

‘I have never seen such a place before now,’ said Meulon.

The unexpected volume of what appeared to be a hidden building within the city was as much a surprise to Blackstone’s stonemason’s eye as it was to Meulon. Below the vaulted wooden ceiling, colonnettes supported arches around the wall with intricate patterns of leaves, flowers and tendrils, above which were letters that Blackstone did not recognize. ‘What writing is that?’ Blackstone said aloud to himself, not expecting to be answered.

‘They are quotes in Hebrew from my faith and also from the Bible and Qur’an,’ said Halif ben Josef.

Blackstone turned to where rows of cushions and mats lined the end wall on which hung large silk tapestries. The Jewish physician sat with two other men. By the look of their fine clothing Blackstone guessed they were merchants. Ben Josef beckoned him.

‘Sir Thomas, come and meet two friends of mine who have important news that you need to hear.’

‘I’ll guard the entrance,’ said Meulon and turned back towards the courtyard.