‘A woman lying at your side needs no beauty, Thomas, she needs enthusiasm. The wine, though, that is a concern.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

There were days when the black-capped peaks hurled wind and rain at the huddled riders but the hardened men bore the stinging assault without complaint. Killbere taunted Blackstone with his false promise of fine weather. When the mountain gods saw their efforts did not turn back the determined strangers riding into the high peaks, they relented, allowing sunshine to bathe them as they descended into the fertile valleys.

They reached the Navarrese capital before nightfall on the fifth day after the Prince gave Blackstone his sealed letter for the King of Navarre. Blackstone held up his men a mile from the city gates. Pamplona lay in a wide valley against a backdrop of the mountains. The fortified walls had been built on an escarpment whose cliffs dropped to a broad meandering river, the opposite bank lined with tall poplars, meagre in height compared to the distant mountain spires.

‘Shall we camp in or out?’ said Killbere. ‘I think I would rather have the open valley than the confining walls.’

‘We’re guests, not beggars. They can feed us for a night and a day. Skulking outside Navarre’s walls demeans the Prince.’ He spurred the bastard horse forward. Before he had come within four hundred yards, the parapets began to bustle with soldiers. Blackstone pulled up in front of the main gate.

‘State your business,’ a sentry called.

‘Tell him we’re here to pillage the city, seize their women and burn it to the ground,’ Killbere muttered. ‘Stupid bastards. They can see our blazon.’

‘Perhaps that’s why they ask,’ said Blackstone. He raised his voice to the men on the walls. ‘I am Sir Thomas Blackstone, sent by Prince Edward of Wales and Aquitaine, seeking permission to bring my men into the city. I have a letter for the King.’

‘Wait!’ called the sentry.

‘Wait?’ Killbere groaned. ‘Does the man think we intend to lay siege out here? Merciful God, we should be rulers of the world you and I, Thomas. Think how much better we would manage events.’

‘You would spend the taxes on women and wine.’

‘Better than squandering it on war.’ He raised himself in his stirrups and shouted at the men on top of the walls. ‘There’s respect to be paid to the King of England’s Master of War! Sir Thomas Blackstone does not like to be kept waiting!’ He turned to Blackstone. ‘You don’t, do you?’

‘Not when you ride with me, Gilbert.’

The gates creaked open.

‘There, you see, Thomas. A firm word is all that’s needed.’

*