‘It is of no concern to me. Pay them if they wish to stay with you.’ He barely kept the self-pity from his voice. ‘I have no need of soldiers now. The French have released de Grailly from imprisonment at Meaux so that he can attend to their terms of surrender on my behalf. What your Prince desires with Don Pedro has nothing to do with me.’

‘But you are allied to Castile, my lord.’

‘I need no reminder of my responsibilities, Sir Thomas!’ He paused and reconsidered. ‘Rest your men. Take the pilgrim’s route south-west to where Don Pedro hides in his fortress at Burgos. I will give you a guide. That is all I am prepared to do.’

The King turned his back and strode from the room. Blackstone and the King’s courtiers bowed. Navarre blew hot and cold. If he was discussing terms of surrender and renunciation of his claim to the French Crown Blackstone’s presence might be a problem. Giving the English King’s Master of War safe passage might leave the duplicitous King no means to protect himself from the French and their desire to see Don Pedro’s half-brother on the throne of Castile.

Guards opened the door behind Blackstone. He glanced at the Pyrenees. If a guide deliberately took them on a dangerous route through the mountains and tragedy befell them the Prince could not blame Navarre, but the French might reward him.

*

The sun’s glare reflected from the cluttered buildings. Blackstone stepped through the palace’s porticos into the square where John Jacob and William Ashford waited. He had ordered his men to stay close to their quarters and when purchasing supplies to go through the streets in groups of no less than three. No man was to venture out alone and all taverns were banned. Blackstone did not trust Navarre; it would take only a small incident to escalate. A spark soon became a fire if the tinder was dry, and Blackstone’s presence might be seen as fuel. The King of Navarre had been wounded by his defeat even though he had never left his castle when he sent Jean de Grailly and his men to fight at Cocherel. He would lay blame for his defeat on others but that festering wound would take more than time to heal. Bending the knee to France was inevitable now. The English Prince and King were close to losing an ally.

‘Sir Gilbert has quartered the men,’ said Ashford.

‘And we’ve bought enough smoked meat to last a week,’ said John Jacob.

‘I want the horses attended to before the men sleep tonight,’ Blackstone told them. ‘We’re leaving tomorrow. The King doesn’t want us here and I have no desire to outstay his meagre welcome.’