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As we had been speaking the first thickening of darkness had come into the air. The light on the lake was paler now, but Muhammed's turban and robe still held that luminous whiteness, making his face seem darker by contrast. Those with him remained silent and motionless.
"I do not believe it," I said. "You are lying. I will maintain her honour upon any that questions it."
"Sword in hand, eh? Before it was the pig squealing, now it is the donkey braying. Forget about the lady's honour, it was never in your keeping. Use your brain. But it is good you do not believe me at first, I like it better that you should resist, you will feel the hurt all the more. You have betrayed a man who was like a father to you and you will get nothing for it, nothing. Those two fine fellows tracked your movements in Bari until they could bring you to a meeting with the lady, who waited very patiently for the right moment."
I had never doubted her. Her faith was beyond question, she had proved it for ever in childhood. Why was it then that doubt sprang so instantly now? I have thought since that Muhammed's words served only to confirm a loss already suffered, that it was Favara itself that took away my belief, the lonely waiting, the cheating mirrors, the act of treachery that had gone before, the shame of it, destroying the sense of my worth, making of me a miscreant to whom no good could ever come. She was to have redeemed me… I thought back again to the moment of the meeting, the ruined house with its broken pavement, the fragments of mosaic, the peace that had descended on me in that place, broken by the clatter of hooves and the company approaching. Alicia straight-backed in the saddle, looking neither to right or left – it was indeed as if she had been given a cue, prompted in the moment, in that particular moment.
Like a player coming on to the stage – players do not look at those watching. If I had not spoken, would they have passed by in silence? Or would she at the last moment have glanced at me, reined in her horse, assumed that same look of pleased recognition? But I had spoken, I had played my part. How was it that I, Thurstan, the Purveyor of Spectacles, had failed to see that this was a spectacle too?
My resistance was draining away, seeping from me, I could not hold to it, the vessel of my being was not stout enough. Would Muhammed have come here to lie to me, would he have taken such pleasure in lying? His pleasure was to inflict the truth. Nevertheless, I strove to keep him there, to prolong the talk between us, hoping still, when hope had all but gone, to find some falsity in him, provoke some unguarded words that might discredit what he had told me. With enmity for me in his heart, he was for these moments my only hope. My dread now was that he would leave me alone, with no company but the knowledge of Alicia's perfidy.
"And Yusuf knew of this?", I said. "He knew that the meeting had been contrived?"
"We told him what we had learnt from Mario."
"He knew it and he said nothing. All through those weeks, all through the times we talked together."
"He did not know enough. He was waiting to know more. Some conspiracy there was, so much was evident. But what use they intended to make of you, that he could not be sure of. He did not think you would sell him to his enemies, he trusted to your loyalty in spite of everything. He was always a man to watch and wait. This time he waited too long."
He paused and glanced aside as if to assure himself that his silent followers were still in place. "I will not stay longer," he said. " I will not dignify you with more words from my mouth. You have been her dupe and so you will always be, as long as you live."
There was no other way of keeping him there but by inviting more hurt, offering more entertainment. "But why should she do it?"
"She belongs in the Norman party, which is also supported by her uncle Alboino and by some in the Roman Curia, as a means of extending the powers of the Pope in Sicily. Also her brothers are active in this. They will not return to Outremer, they know that the days of Frankish power there are numbered. Your Kingdom of Jerusalem will return to the possession of those to whom it truly belongs, my fellow Moslems. The future for families like that of the lady Alicia lies here, in Sicily, in the grants and favours they can exact for services rendered to their king."
"But this will be no service to the King. He holds Yusuf dear, Yusuf was his first choice for the post of Royal Chamberlain, everybody knew this."
Muhammed made no reply, merely looked steadily at me, and this silence of his was more terrible than any words could have been. We sacrifice what we hold dear when there is a purpose we hold dearer. Had I myself not done so?
"You have played a vile part," he said, breaking the silence at last.
"To have betrayed him with a truth would have been base enough. But to betray him with a lie, knowing it for a lie… you knew he respected the religion of others. Your presence there, in the Diwan of Control, was a proof of it. There were Arabs and Greeks and Normans in his diwan, as there are in the King's domain. That is why they hated him. He saw that this mixing was the only way to keep the balance of the state. You are the champion of balance, my Thurstan, are you not? It is a word often on your lips. Well, as you have helped to destroy it in the Diwan, so you have helped to destroy it in the land as a whole. And for what? What stupid vanity made you so ready to believe in this Norman whore's love?
You hoped she would bring you advancement, is it not so? You hoped to take his place at the Diwan."
In the first moments the remnants of my pride held me back from answering this. Then I realised that he had no knowledge of the earlier love there had been between Alicia and me. Bertrand knew of it, and Alboino, but that was because she had told them – it must have provided the first idea of the way to ensnare me. But she would not have told anyone else, why should she? And if Muhammed did not know this, if he believed I had been led only by ambition, it was almost certain that he would not know of the conspiracy in which Guy of Morcone had been involved, would not know that I had signed to save her life.
He would never know it. Only this instant resolve enabled me to raise my head now and meet his eyes. "I will return to Palermo tonight, I will recant, I will retract my signature. Without that the case against Yusuf will collaps."
He was silent for a long moment. The dusk was gathering now, his face was indistinct, he and his men were no more than shapes of whiteness.
But I saw him shake his head, as if in wonder. "Of course," he said, "you do not know, you have been kept apart here. He was executed yesterday at noon, though I did not know your part in it until today.
The killing they gave him was a public one. On the orders of the King's Justiciars, among whom there are no Moslems, Yusuf Ibn Mansur was tied at the feet and dragged by a wild horse to a lime pit outside the city walls and what was left of him was burned there."
At this a giddiness came to me and I clenched my fists and made my body tense to help me keep my footing. His further words were made indistinct by this struggle of mine, and seemed to come from a greater distance.
"They would not have allowed you to recant, they would have killed you if you had attempted it. They kept you out of the way for the time necessary – it is why you were sent here."
"Three days," I said, and my own voice too sounded distant.
"As you say, three days. Time enough when the result is preordained. The speed of the judgement is the one thing that lightens your guilt, though only a very little. His death was decided well before you put your name to the document. Tell me, Thurstan, devoted servant of your royal master, by whose will was this trial conducted in such haste, why was no appeal heard, why was the execution of a Moslem of high birth and high position made into such a very public spectacle?"