‘That is my wish as well.’

‘So be it. And unlike those unfortunate wretches I’d not let you hang any of my men.’

‘Then let us hope they do not commit rape and murder of women and children.’

‘Not while I lead them.’

Blackstone gripped Calveley’s extended hand. ‘God go with you, Hugh.’

‘Aye and you, Thomas.’

He turned his horse and cantered back to the waiting men. Blackstone watched Calveley’s men fall in behind him and make their way across the hills until they were out of sight. A part of him rode with them, free to roam where they wished and choose their own cause. It was a fleeting vision. He had earned his honour from the King of England, his men were honed and he had made a vow years before to keep the Prince of Wales safe. That was enough ambition for any man.

*

When the sun rose higher in the sky behind the veil of clouds, he turned the men deep into a forest and found an open glade where a narrow tributary spilled across a shallow bed. They made camp as men took it in turn to bathe and wash blood and grime from their bodies, shirts and braies, while those who waited kept watch and organized a meal and a place to sleep. Lázaro worked diligently, helping Beyard, eager to please the fighting men and their captain. He carried water and prepared food for the Gascon. Men came and went, alternating in their duties until most were washed and fed. Blackstone had gone among the men, checked that Halif ben Josef was allowed to treat any wounds needing attention and the prisoners were secure. Ariz and Saustin, two of the Navarrese fighters rescued from the prison, had fought well. Their companion, Tibalt, had suffered a grievous wound. Halif ben Josef confirmed the young man’s shattered arm needed to be amputated. Blackstone looked at the wound.

‘If you want to live, it has to come off,’ he told the Spaniard. ‘I’ve seen lesser wounds turn black. You’ll be dead in a week if we don’t cut it off.’

The young man swore vehemently as his friends held him down. It made no difference that Blackstone did not understand. A curse sounded the same in any language.

‘Get a blade heated. The wound will need searing. Master Josef, I leave you with the wounded.’ Blackstone left the stricken man and continued walking through the camp. His clothes stuck to him and he yearned for the cool embrace of the river to wash away the stench and dirt.

Halif ben Josef placed a hand on the man’s forehead. ‘I have herbs to put in wine that will make you sleep. The cut will take less time than it takes a man to mount a horse. It is quick. Accept life, my friend.’