after the young master has overtaken you.’
The boy gratefully accepted the fruit, bowed to the men and was soon to be seen coaxing his horse to retrace their route to the mountain.
‘Peace be upon you, Wajid al-Zindiq.’
‘And you, my son. Could I request a favour?’
‘Whatever you like.’
‘When your father permitted me to live here a quarter of a century ago he insisted on one condition and that alone. My lips were to remain sealed on all affairs concerning his family. If he were ever to discover that this condition had been breached, his permission would be withdrawn. And so would the supplies of food which your mother has so kindly organized for me. My future depends on your silence. There is nowhere else left for me to go.’
Zuhayr was outraged.
‘But this is unacceptable. It is unjust. It is not like my father. I will ...’
‘You will do nothing. Your father may have been wrong, but he had his reasons. I want your pledge that you will remain silent.’
‘You have my word. I swear on the al-koran ...’
‘Your word alone is sufficient.’
‘Of course, al-Zindiq, but in return I want your promise that you will complete the story.’
‘I had every intention of doing so.’
‘Peace be upon you then, old man.’
Al-Zindiq walked to where Khalid was tethered and smiled appreciatively as Zuhayr jumped on to his bare back. Al-Zindiq patted the horse.
‘Riding a horse without a sack ...’
‘I know,’ shouted Zuhayr, ‘... is like riding on a devil’s back. If that were true, all I can say is that the devil must have a comfortable back.’
‘Peace be upon you, al-Fahl. May your house flourish,’ shouted the old man with a grin on his face as Zuhayr galloped down the hill.
For a while al-Zindiq stood there silently appreciating the skill of the departing horseman.
‘I used to ride like that once. You remember don’t you, Zahra?’
There was no reply.
Chapter 3
Y AZID HAD WOKEN UP from his afternoon sleep, trembling slightly, with sweat pouring down his face. His mother, lying next to him, was anxious at seeing her last-born in this state. She wiped his face with a linen cloth soaked in rose-water and felt his forehead. It was as cool as the afternoon breezes in the courtyard. There was no cause for alarm.
‘Are you feeling unwell my son?’
‘No. I just had a strange dream. It was so real, Ummi. Why are afternoon dreams more real? Is it because our sleep is lighter?’
‘Perhaps. Want to tell me about it?’
‘I dreamt of the Mosque in Qurtuba. It was so beautiful, Mother. And then Great-Uncle Miguel entered and began to pour bottles of blood everywhere. I tried to stop him, but he hit me ...’
‘What we see in dreams outdoes reality,’ Zubayda interrupted him. She did not like the continuous attacks on Miguel which the children were fed by Ama, and so she tried to divert her son’s mind. ‘But all that one could dream of the Great Mosque in Qurtuba falls short of the truth. One day we shall take you to see its magnificent arches. As for Miguel ...’ She sighed.
Zuhayr, on his way to the bath, had overheard the conversation and entered his mother’s room silently, just in time to hear Yazid’s condemnation of the Bishop of Qurtuba.
‘I don’t like him. I never have. He always squeezes my cheeks too hard. Ama says one can’t expect anything better. She said that his mother, the Lady Asma, didn’t like him either. You know, Mother, once I heard Ama and the Dwarf talking to each other about the Lady Asma. Ama said that it was Miguel who killed her. Is that true?’
Zubayda’s face turned ashen. She gave an unconvincing little laugh. ‘What foolishness is this? Of course Miguel did not kill his mother! Your father would be shocked to hear you talk in this fashion. Your Ama talks a lot of nonsense. You must not believe everything she says.’
‘Are you sure of that, Mother?’ asked Zuhayr in a mocking tone.
His voice startled both of them. Yazid leapt up and
The boy gratefully accepted the fruit, bowed to the men and was soon to be seen coaxing his horse to retrace their route to the mountain.
‘Peace be upon you, Wajid al-Zindiq.’
‘And you, my son. Could I request a favour?’
‘Whatever you like.’
‘When your father permitted me to live here a quarter of a century ago he insisted on one condition and that alone. My lips were to remain sealed on all affairs concerning his family. If he were ever to discover that this condition had been breached, his permission would be withdrawn. And so would the supplies of food which your mother has so kindly organized for me. My future depends on your silence. There is nowhere else left for me to go.’
Zuhayr was outraged.
‘But this is unacceptable. It is unjust. It is not like my father. I will ...’
‘You will do nothing. Your father may have been wrong, but he had his reasons. I want your pledge that you will remain silent.’
‘You have my word. I swear on the al-koran ...’
‘Your word alone is sufficient.’
‘Of course, al-Zindiq, but in return I want your promise that you will complete the story.’
‘I had every intention of doing so.’
‘Peace be upon you then, old man.’
Al-Zindiq walked to where Khalid was tethered and smiled appreciatively as Zuhayr jumped on to his bare back. Al-Zindiq patted the horse.
‘Riding a horse without a sack ...’
‘I know,’ shouted Zuhayr, ‘... is like riding on a devil’s back. If that were true, all I can say is that the devil must have a comfortable back.’
‘Peace be upon you, al-Fahl. May your house flourish,’ shouted the old man with a grin on his face as Zuhayr galloped down the hill.
For a while al-Zindiq stood there silently appreciating the skill of the departing horseman.
‘I used to ride like that once. You remember don’t you, Zahra?’
There was no reply.
Chapter 3
Y AZID HAD WOKEN UP from his afternoon sleep, trembling slightly, with sweat pouring down his face. His mother, lying next to him, was anxious at seeing her last-born in this state. She wiped his face with a linen cloth soaked in rose-water and felt his forehead. It was as cool as the afternoon breezes in the courtyard. There was no cause for alarm.
‘Are you feeling unwell my son?’
‘No. I just had a strange dream. It was so real, Ummi. Why are afternoon dreams more real? Is it because our sleep is lighter?’
‘Perhaps. Want to tell me about it?’
‘I dreamt of the Mosque in Qurtuba. It was so beautiful, Mother. And then Great-Uncle Miguel entered and began to pour bottles of blood everywhere. I tried to stop him, but he hit me ...’
‘What we see in dreams outdoes reality,’ Zubayda interrupted him. She did not like the continuous attacks on Miguel which the children were fed by Ama, and so she tried to divert her son’s mind. ‘But all that one could dream of the Great Mosque in Qurtuba falls short of the truth. One day we shall take you to see its magnificent arches. As for Miguel ...’ She sighed.
Zuhayr, on his way to the bath, had overheard the conversation and entered his mother’s room silently, just in time to hear Yazid’s condemnation of the Bishop of Qurtuba.
‘I don’t like him. I never have. He always squeezes my cheeks too hard. Ama says one can’t expect anything better. She said that his mother, the Lady Asma, didn’t like him either. You know, Mother, once I heard Ama and the Dwarf talking to each other about the Lady Asma. Ama said that it was Miguel who killed her. Is that true?’
Zubayda’s face turned ashen. She gave an unconvincing little laugh. ‘What foolishness is this? Of course Miguel did not kill his mother! Your father would be shocked to hear you talk in this fashion. Your Ama talks a lot of nonsense. You must not believe everything she says.’
‘Are you sure of that, Mother?’ asked Zuhayr in a mocking tone.
His voice startled both of them. Yazid leapt up and
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