‘Routiers in their thousands are gathering ready to enter Spain. Until our King sanctions war we will not commit an army, but we cannot let Pedro be taken and killed. We’re charged with keeping the boy witness safe and then taking our men to Castile and helping Pedro escape to safety.’

He stood and looked across the encampment. ‘Gather the men; check our supplies. We leave for Navarre and then Castile as soon as we are ready.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Halif ben Josef packed his satchel and stepped gingerly down the narrow staircase from his attic room, careful the satchel’s weight did not cause him to lose his footing. Fear was never far from the old physician. His service to a Gascon lord had taken him to war and close to death, but even away from a battlefield he was at risk from those who hated his kind and might express their loathing in an act of violence at any time. The Jewish quarter was usually safe but even in his own community there were thieves and murderers: men who would steal for gain and kill for profit, and his medicines were of great value. He hugged the weight of the square satchel to his chest.

The chatter of voices from the occupied rooms, the clang of a cooking pot and slamming of a door from the breeze or by human hand initially obscured the sound of another coming up the stairs, but now he heard footsteps pounding towards him. He looked back up the winding staircase. Too late now to retreat. He stared into the gloomy stairwells and saw the shadow flit across the turn in the stair. Whoever it was they were determined to reach his attic room. Thoughts raced through his mind. He would surrender the satchel without a fight. Then decided he could not. The satchel was his life. Without it he might as well be dead. A lifetime of knowledge and learning was held in small bottles that skilled apothecaries had helped him create. The thud of boots came closer. He saw the figure emerge from the unlit staircase.

‘Lázaro! You frightened me,’ he gasped.

‘Maestro Halif, I beg your forgiveness. Maestro Beyard sent me to help you. The men are waiting. Let me take that for you.’

Ben Josef was happy to be relieved of its weight. The youth was strong despite his frail appearance. He tucked the bulky satchel under one arm and extended the other to let the old Spaniard lean on it. ‘You are travelling home to Navarre, Maestro Halif. Your family will welcome you.’

‘I am an old man with no wife or children, Lázaro. You and I, we are alone in the world except for the watchful gaze of God.’