The wounded man shook his head vehemently. His comrade, Ariz, put a knee in his chest. ‘Choose. Live or die. It’s not even your sword arm. We have fought together many times, Tibalt, but I will cut your throat now if it is death you want because we have all seen men die, blackened with poison and in agony. See the cut as a blessing in disguise. The whores of Saragossa will take pity and charge you half-price.’

‘Fuck you, Ariz,’ he said without malice. He stared at ben Josef. ‘Jew, do it quickly or I swear I will shave your beard and whip you all the way to Navarre.’

Ben Josef sighed. ‘My friend, if I were lying where you are and you were in my place, I would speak more sweetly to the man with the knife in his hand. That way he would administer the potions that would take away my pain.’

Saustin leaned over the man’s sweating face. ‘Tibalt, you arse, you should be grateful. The Jew is no barber-surgeon. I have heard how he helped Blackstone’s men. You should not abuse him.’

Tibalt glared at ben Josef. ‘Save my arm and I will reward you.’

‘You would not live long enough to do that, my young friend. It is time to choose.’

The Spaniard sucked in a lungful of air and breathed out, releasing his fear. He nodded.

‘Very well,’ said ben Josef. He gestured Saustin to pass the small bottle from his satchel. ‘You will sleep and I will quickly cut, and then I will cauterize the wound. I will wrap it in linen and I will change that dressing every day until we reach Spain.’

*

Blackstone and Killbere stripped off mail and gambeson and walked to the sandy bank to bathe and wash their shirts.

‘Do you think Beyard will take him as a servant?’ said Killbere. ‘With training he could be a page.’

Blackstone shook his head. ‘Beyard is a Gascon. The day will come when he’ll return to Lord Jean de Grailly and they have enough men serving them. He’ll protect the boy until he’s strong enough to go off on his own. And before then the lad will tell us why he’s being hunted.’

Clouds broke free and sent spear shafts of light onto the water. Blackstone and Killbere stripped naked and lay in the cold water, heads back lazily watching the contest between sun and clouds.

‘I would prefer a copper tub of hot water scented with a whore’s cheap perfume, but given the past few hours I will let that thought settle until we come across the next decent-sized town.’