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‘look at me. I’m a firefly.’
    He had sat and watched her until a sudden storm had erupted with thunder and freezing rain. He had taken her hand and they had run all the way back to the village. Before they parted he had held her close and kissed her lips.
    He heard Ibn Fityan cough discreetly. ‘Time for bed, master?’
    ‘Yes. Come with me and press my feet.’
    The eunuch followed Idrisi to the bedchamber where an attendant undressed him and gave him a robe for bed.
    ‘Did you know Thawdor’s youngest boy sailed on my ship?’
    The eunuch did not reply.
    ‘You did. Why was I not informed?’
    ‘Thawdor felt it was best that way. He did not wish to trouble you.’
    ‘It’s your job to tell me everything. Is that understood? What are they saying in the qasr?’
    ‘They are saying the Sultan is ill and might not survive the year. They are saying that his youngest son is a secret Believer and will restore our people to the positions we deserve. They are saying that you, master, have an important role to play. The Nazarenes are pressing the Sultan to teach us a lesson. They talk of conspiracies and are advising him to destroy all the mosques in Palermo because they are the breeding grounds of rebellion. That’s what they’re saying.’
    He did not wait for a reply because he saw that Idrisi had fallen fast asleep. He covered his master’s sleeping form with a sheet and tiptoed out of the room. But Idrisi was not asleep. He was thinking of the future. He knew the palace factions and their leaders, but he had always remained aloof from them. Now that his book was finished he would go to the Friday prayers and hear the khutba. Perhaps he should have gone to the palace after all.
    When he woke at first light the next morning he looked out of the window to see if the fireflies had brought a storm with them, but there was no sign of wet earth and the sea appeared calm. He sent for his grandchildren and was surprised to learn that only the boys had been brought to see him. Samar’s son Khalid was fourteen, his cousin, Ali, two years older.
    ‘Wa Salaam, Jiddu.’
    He hugged each of them in turn and asked them to sit on his bed. ‘We shall have breakfast here and while you eat I will ask questions about your riding and your tutors.’
    But what he really wanted to know was about the boys and their fathers. And what he heard pleased him. In each case the father took a great deal of interest and spent several hours a week with his son. Ali spoke of how Khalid’s father had taught them to fire an arrow at a mark and hunt. Khalid recounted how they had been taught the poetry of Ibn Hamdis, which Ali’s father could recite from memory.
    ‘Do you like his poetry?’
    Ali nodded vigorously, Khalid made a face. Their grandfather burst out laughing. ‘I see that Ali is a sentimental man, much given to romance, while Khalid is more interested in weaponry.’
    ‘Jiddu,’ replied Khalid, ‘Ali thinks we will be forced to leave Siqilliya one day, just like Ibn Hamdis. If that is so, what use is poetry? I think we must learn to fight so that we can defend ourselves. I will not see my family slaughtered like goats at festival time.’
    Idrisi looked at them closely. He saw how carefully they ate the sheep’s-milk yogurt and bread that had been placed before them. Allah had been kind. The boys were tall and resembled their fathers. Ali’s ear lobes reminded Idrisi of his own father. He liked and approved of his grandsons. ‘Jiddu,’ asked Ali in a soft voice, ‘in your book do you explain why the mountain in Catania breathes fire? Last month the villagers who live below it packed their belongings and ran away. But after a few fireballs, the mountain went to sleep again and the villagers returned looking somewhat foolish. Why does it happen? My father says it’s because Allah is angry at the sins being committed by the Nazarenes against the Believers.’
    ‘If that were the case, my sons, why would he be punishing us?