‘When I left Seville,’ Solomon said in the exquisite seclusion of the belvedere, ‘the latest whispers were that Henry the Bastard was already regrouping his forces for another go at the throne of Castile.’
‘That is hardly news,’ the Grand Vizier replied wearily. ‘Those whispers have been doing the rounds of al-Andalus for the past week or so. What I want to know is what Pedro’s going to do about it.’
‘Only the Lord, may His Name be for ever blessed, could plumb the depths of the mind of our most puissant sovereign,’ Solomon said, shaking his disreputable turban. Lisan al-Din watched the dust coming off it – and God knew what else. ‘But from what my . . . tame jinn in the Alcázar tell me, I hear Don Pedro’s praying hard for help against his half-brother. Help from Granada. From you, your
