‘Send word and tell him what happened here. Ask him to give you instruction. If the town falls again, he will get no taxes; if that happens he cannot pay the King; and if the King does not get the money he needs, then your lord will forfeit his land to another. Do you understand how it works?’

The spokesman grinned. ‘I do now, lord.’

‘Good.’

‘How do we repay you for saving us?’

‘Find me lengths of rope so I can tie these men together, and when you send the men to your master, tell him that Sir Thomas Blackstone, the English King’s Master of War, who serves the Prince of Wales and Aquitaine, saved this town. Can you remember all of that?’

Blackstone saw the man chiselling the information into his memory. He finally nodded.

‘And don’t forget the rope,’ said Blackstone.

*

Lázaro watched as Blackstone’s men began walking back from the town across the hillside’s meadow in small groups led by their captains. They were weary but seemed no less determined than when they left. They were in good spirits. Blackstone and Killbere were among them. Will Longdon and Jack Halfpenny had remained vigilant as Blackstone had ordered. Outlying scouts had reported no sign of routiers but the archers stood at their posts guarding Blackstone’s return.

Lázaro looked at the men. His pounding heart squeezed the breath from his throat. There was no sign of Beyard. He counted eighteen prisoners roped together, shuffling in line towards their fate. The men moved past him. Further along the line they carried three bodies on makeshift stretchers. Trembling, the boy took a few faltering steps forward. Blackstone and Killbere broke off their conversation when they saw him. The look on his face told Blackstone all he needed to know.

‘Lázaro, come here.’

The boy shook his head. It could only be the worst of news. It rooted him to the spot.

Blackstone took pity on him and strode towards him. Lázaro gazed up at the looming figure. ‘You fear for your friend Beyard.’ He took the boy’s shoulder and turned him slightly so he could see Meulon’s huge frame bearing his shield that blocked out one man behind him. ‘There he is. Unharmed.’

The Gascon captain came into view, saw Blackstone standing with the boy and raised a hand. Lázaro broke free of Blackstone and ran downhill to Beyard, who opened his shield arm and held the lad to him. It reminded Blackstone of an eagle protecting its young beneath a wing.

And then another thought. Of his own son, Henry, far away, without his father’s protection or a mother’s love. Blackstone caught John Jacob’s eye. His squire nodded. He knew and he understood.

Men’s voices called out, captains shouted orders, and the moment passed.

*