A plump woman of a certain age stood waiting inside and made a suitably deep curtsy to the duke. ‘My wife, your grace,’ said Dafydd curtly. ‘She will show you to the guest quarters. I will be at your disposal in the great hall when you are ready.’

Then Exeter landed a cannonball in our midst. ‘There are a thousand Flemish mercenaries moving in this direction with Herbert’s army hot on their heels. My orders are not to admit them.’

Dafydd’s eyes rolled in astonishment. ‘It is true that there is not room for a thousand men in the inner ward, your grace, but they can make camp in the outer ward. The curtain wall will at least give them protection from their pursuers.’

‘No!’ Exeter’s voice rose to a shout. ‘They are not even to be admitted into the ditch. Herbert can deal with them as he will.’ He turned abruptly to the constable’s wife and added in a slightly milder tone, ‘Now, madam, lead me to my chamber.’

The Harlech gatehouse also served as a keep and we were each given a spacious room on the top floor. My chamber had a narrow window overlooking the castle entrance and provided a view of the small settlement nestling under its walls. I saw a number of shadowy figures creeping around these buildings and assumed them to be some of Exeter’s Flemish soldiers looking for shelter and perhaps somewhere to hide. A large crowd of them had already gathered on the far side of the ditch shouting for admittance, a demand that was clearly being ignored.

Going to speak with Exeter I found him doing as I had done, looking out of his chamber window at the scene below. Torches had been lit on the battlements of the drawbridge towers, throwing an eerie, dancing light onto the growing mob of Flemings. The wind had dropped and their shouts carried clearly up to us, the voices full of anger and fear.

‘What are they saying, my lord duke?’ I asked him. ‘You must have enough of their language to understand their curses.’

Exeter turned; to my shock and amazement he was smiling. ‘They can curse all they like. I am rid of them now.’

‘So you have thrown them to the wolves,’ I said. ‘They will never get home from here.’

‘I told you, they came out of the Flemish prisons. They do not wish to go home. Scum like them will find their own level. There are plenty of outlaw bands in this country that will be glad of their throat-slitting skills – those that survive. Do not waste your sympathy on them.’

‘And where do you intend to go now? Or do I need to ask?’

Exeter approached me, leaning aggressively close. ‘First I am going back to Mostyn, to collect my gold. Then I am going to France. I dare say you can provide me with a ship.’