‘Then Ranulph de Hayle reached Paris. They know about the boy,’ said Blackstone, immediately seeing the French King’s plan. ‘Charles will use the thousands of routiers and rid France of their threat in one fell swoop. They will not attack Granada, they’ll ignore the Muslims in the south and seize Castile to avenge the Lady Blanche. Not only revenge, my lord, but he’ll put Don Pedro’s bastard half-brother on the throne. Then you will have our enemy at your back.’

‘Exactly, Thomas. And the new French King has paid the ransom for Bertrand du Guesclin. He will command the army. You and your men must reach Castile and the King before them.’ The Prince paused, his voice no longer tinged with a sense of urgency, but more of concern. ‘We ask of you what I would ask of no other, Thomas. If the routiers are well organized, and I suspect they are, then you and your few men would be heavily outnumbered. You could not survive a fight against them.’ He hesitated again. ‘We would not wish to lose you, Thomas. A legend can die as easily as the next man.’

‘Legends are nothing more than tavern gossip. As long as men drink themselves senseless such exaggerations will go on – forever. Until the wine barrels run dry.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Blackstone made his way through the bustling streets. Pilgrims jostled with stallholders; robed judges accompanied by their clerks cut through the throng with a provost leading the way. Blackstone tagged on behind them past the courts into the narrower streets where tradesmen plied their craft. Blacksmiths and metalworkers, glowing iron, plumes of smoke, grinding stones casting sparks from blades being sharpened. The blacksmith raised his eyes and bowed his head to the Englishman who had paid him well to have his farrier shoe the men’s horses. All except one. Only the scar-faced man and six others who had roped the bastard horse securely could manage the savage beast. Sweet Mother of God, it bit and fought as if it were being sent back to its maker: Satan.

The acrid smell of smelting iron gave way to the tang of spice merchants on the next street as Blackstone strode briskly to the city walls and stables where Killbere and the men were quartered. Bathed, rested and fed, the men were restless. Meulon had already stepped in between two of his men whose argument had escalated via insults to a full-blown fight. Petty differences arise when soldiers are kept too long away from fighting an enemy.

‘Some of the lads are spending what’s left of their money in the brothels,’ said Will Longdon when Blackstone brought his captains together.

‘Then get them out, Will. The Prince has work for us and we leave immediately.’

Blackstone recounted the conversation with the Prince and the threat now posed by the French and the Aragonese King.