‘Let me explain, Sami,’ said the Adviser, ‘so that you may gain understanding.’ He rose from his chair, walked slowly across the flagstoned floor – his footsteps a regular, monotonous beat – stepped onto the platform and looked down at both of them. ‘We have known for some months that one of your number, in your home town of Blackburn, has been having unwise conversations with a certain policeman. Conversations for which that person has been paid. Conversations which are an act of treachery to our people, to your brothers and sisters. We were sad when we had to conclude that the traitor was one or the other of you two. On our advice, one of the brothers raised this matter with you, Asif. You denied it most vehemently. When the brother suggested that, if this is so, the guilt could only lie with you, Sami, you, Asif, agreed. You suggested that more than once you had occasion to believe Sami was acting oddly. I therefore decided, Sami, that it was time for me to make your acquaintance – as I have now done.’

The Adviser circled the dais, inspecting them. The pressure inside Sami’s bowels was unbearable. The Adviser’s eyes fixed on him. ‘After meeting you yesterday, Sami, I was in a position to give my opinion to the wise men above both you and me, who must cast judgement. Giving such advice is a heavy burden – in agreeing to shoulder it, I make my own sacrifice for our people. I must not act in a cowardly way and refuse such challenges.’

The Adviser dismounted the platform and returned to his throne in the corner.

‘I will now give my opinion,’ he said softly. He stood. ‘Sami Mohammed.’ His voice cut through the gentle beat of rain rebounding off the timbers of the barn. ‘I have advised that you are telling me and the woman the truth. You, Asif Hassan, are guilty of treachery.’

Sami turned towards Asif. His shoulders heaved, tears pouring down his face, forming the blood into rivulets spattering the blue of his overalls. ‘I never did, Sami, never did. I dunno who did. It weren’t me, I swear on my life.’

The Adviser’s voice lowered. ‘Despite your treachery, Asif – towards your friend, Sami, as well – is there anything you, Sami, wish to say in mitigation for Asif?’

Sami looked at him. He realised too much sympathy might not sound good. ‘I’m sorry for what you done to the brothers, Asif. And I forgive what you done to me.’ He shifted to face in the Adviser’s direction. ‘He’s been my friend. He won’t do it again.’

‘Thank you, Sami,’ said the Adviser. ‘Treachery is a sin. To forgive is to forget. But forget we must never do.’ The Adviser retreated; the light in his corner faded to black.