The lesser hearing was held not in the palace, but in the cool gallery beside the lower aljibe.
Yusuf knew how to choose a place. Beneath the stone vaults, every drop could be heard. Beside a full aljibe, no one forgot who held the keys to the water.
Zulaykha stood with her face unveiled. The choice was hers. If she was to be judged over water, let them see where she looked.
To her left stood the broad, angry figure of Nura in dark clothing. To her right, Rafiq was hiding. He should not have been allowed in, but the boy had slipped between the water jars and put on such an innocent face that the guard did not immediately have the heart to throw him out.
Elias ben Naftuli had come with his physician's bag. He had often seen people die despite being in the right, and so he watched the hearing without hope. A fine cord bound his beard, and his hands smelt of vinegar and herbs.
"I testify only about bodies," he told Yusuf. "Argue about souls with those who enjoy doing it on an empty stomach."
"Testify about the wounded," Yusuf replied.
Elias bowed.
"There are wounded people in the palace. That is true."
Yusuf nodded.
"And they need water."
"All living things need water."
"The water of the small garden was allotted to them."
Elias opened his bag and took out a slender copper spoon and a vial.
"The palace water comes from the eastern aljibe. I washed wounds with it this morning, and there was no lime in it. The water from the sabil did contain lime. So they came through different water courses."
A murmur ran through the gallery.
Yusuf's expression did not change.
"Does a physician know water better than the water-masters?"
"A physician knows which water turns a wound foul."
Nura said, "And a bath attendant knows when a garden is only pretending to be dry. Two servants from the Orange Court came to the hammam this morning. Their hair smelt of wet leaves."
One of the servants standing at the far end of the gallery began to weep.
Yusuf did not turn his head.
"Women's gossip does not open aljibes."
"But sometimes it exposes lies," Nura said.
Zulaykha was not waiting for Íñigo to be called.
She was waiting for Yusuf to say plainly which aljibe the water had come from. Water law offered little help against the holder of the keys, but the contents of a full bowl could be tested.
Íñigo was brought in without a chain on his ankles, though the iron band remained on his wrist. He walked pale, his lips parched. A dark stain showed at the edge of his bandage, but Zulaykha forced herself to look away.
Yusuf said:
"Prisoner Íñigo de Mena, you claimed that the daughter of Khalid opened water other than the water I spoke of. You will now repeat that before the bowl. If you lie, marriage protection will not save you from the judge."
Íñigo looked at the empty bowl resting on a low stone.
Zulaykha stepped towards the stone.
"Fill it."
Yusuf raised an eyebrow.
"What?"
"An empty bowl tells us nothing. Fill it with water from the aljibe you call the garden aljibe."
The daughter of the accused house had demanded that the holder of the keys prove his own words. To the court, it was an almost indecent act of defiance.
Yusuf could have refused.
But then everyone would have heard him refuse.
He gave a signal. A servant brought a jug and poured the water. From the sound, Zulaykha knew at once that this water was lighter than the water flowing to the sabil.
Íñigo heard the difference too. Their eyes met, but Zulaykha spoke first.
"This is from the eastern aljibe," Zulaykha said.
Yusuf smiled.
"The daughter of Khalid may call any course by any name she pleases."
"No. The eastern water runs through old clay pipes, so it sounds duller in the jug. The garden water would ring differently."
Then Íñigo added calmly:
"You brought water meant for the wounded and called it garden water."
Rafiq suddenly darted forwards.
"And the garden water stinks of lime!"
The guard seized him by the shoulder, but it was too late. The people had already heard.
Elias closed his eyes wearily. Rafiq had said what the adults had not dared to voice, and now the boy might be punished.
Yusuf set the bowl back down.
"Very well. We will test it."
Yusuf's composure did not convince Zulaykha.
At that moment, a messenger in a dusty cloak entered the gallery. The badge on his breast granted him safe passage from the Castilian camp.
The guards tensed. Nura moved closer to Zulaykha. Íñigo went still and kept his eyes fixed on the messenger, though weakness had left him barely able to stand.
The messenger bowed to Yusuf, then to the senior masters, and then glanced at Íñigo.
"A letter from Gonzalo de Mena, master of drainage works at the camp of King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella."
At the name Gonzalo, Íñigo flinched more violently than when the guard had struck him in the courtyard.
Yusuf read the letter quickly and handed it to the scribe to read aloud.
"The prisoner Íñigo de Mena, son of my house, must be returned before the snow wind. If Granada holds him, the northern water will be cut off for ever. If he is returned, one stream will be opened for three days as a token of the mercy of the king and queen."
The gallery erupted in noise.
The besieged city was being promised three days of water. People wanted to agree before they had even heard the terms.
Yusuf looked at Zulaykha. His face was almost sorrowful.
"You see, daughter of Khalid? Sometimes water comes not through pride, but through a prudent concession."
Everyone looked at Íñigo.
Zulaykha was looking not at the letter, but at Íñigo's hands. His fingers did not tremble, but his thumb slowly rubbed the burn as though it had begun to sear him again.
He said quietly:
"Do not accept this water."
The scribe did not understand at once that he was meant to record those words.
Yusuf turned to him.
"What?"
Íñigo raised his head.
"Gonzalo does not give water away. He will send it through the new ditch. There is lime in it, and dead livestock. Within a day the children will begin coughing blood, and within three you will ask him to close the stream yourselves."
The messenger went pale.
Yusuf did not look at the messenger, but Zulaykha understood: he too had heard precise details in Íñigo's words, details that could be checked.
"Have you seen this ditch?" Elias asked.
"I measured it."
The gallery fell silent again. Íñigo did not try to excuse himself. He admitted exactly what he himself had done.
"How deep is it?" Zulaykha asked.
He turned to her.
"Three cubits by the old olive stump. Shallower beyond that: the earth collapsed after the rain. On its way, the water will pass through a pit containing a dead mule. They covered it with lime, but did not remove it."
Rafiq clapped a hand over his mouth.
One of the senior masters said, "The prisoner could have invented the mule."
Íñigo nodded.
"I could have. But the mule had a white mark on its left foreleg. Three stakes were driven into the ground beside it, and the middle one was split. If your messenger returns before evening, he will see it all."
The messenger's breath faltered.
The people still did not believe Íñigo, but now they could no longer believe the letter without question either.
The promise of three days of water no longer seemed like deliverance. Now everyone pictured the dead mule beneath the lime.
Yusuf said:
"You remember this ditch remarkably well, considering that the enemy means to use it to send us poisoned water."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Íñigo lowered his eyes to his bandaged hand.
"Because I designed the ditch myself."
Nura murmured something. Zulaykha could not tell whether it was a prayer or a curse.
Yusuf stepped towards Íñigo.
"Then you are not merely a witness. You helped prepare this ditch yourself."
Íñigo did not argue.
"Are you accusing your father?" Yusuf asked.
"I am saying what he did to the water."
For the first time that day, Zulaykha pitied Íñigo as more than a prisoner. After those words, his father would never take him back.
Beneath the gallery, deep in the stone, the water suddenly answered with a brief knock.
Seven handspans lower.
She heard it.
Íñigo heard it.
Perhaps Yusuf did too.
Yusuf folded the letter. "Then we have until the snow wind. Daughter of Khalid, your marriage prisoner has refused his father's mercy. That means you answer for the truth of his words."
Zulaykha wanted to object that she did not answer for Íñigo's soul. Under the water contract, she had been made responsible only for his life, his testimony and any attempt he might make to escape.
But the snow wind had not yet come.
And when it did, the whole city would already hold Zulaykha responsible for every word Íñigo spoke.
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