‘My lord,’ the man said, swept off his cap and bowed. ‘I am Santos.’

He was in his fifth decade, hair gone except for fringes straggling over his ears and with a beard that might have been raided by mice for nest material while he slept. He bore no visible scars but his knuckles were flattened from years of punching others. A tavern brawler. He was as bereft of teeth as he was hair. He stank.

‘Stand downwind of me,’ said Blackstone. ‘You reek of a soiled rat’s nest.’

‘I sleep in the King’s stables, lord. I tend his horses, I trap fresh food, I am allowed one bucket of water a day for the animals.’ He bared his gums. ‘I am given what you would call pottage and what I would call slop. The horses eat better than me.’

‘And you know the route to Burgos?’

‘With my eyes shut, lord. I have hunted in the mountains and forests since I was a boy and have slipped under the noses of the pagan bastards whose faces are as black as the inside of a cat’s arse.’ The man saw Blackstone did not understand. ‘The Moors, lord. They serve Don Pedro. They are as black as—’

‘I understand,’ Blackstone interrupted. ‘I intend to ride south-west and go through Estella. I have a companion who wishes to return there.’

The man nodded. ‘A good route. There are three rivers to cross, lord. I will guide you south of the mountains. That will keep open ground on this side,’ he said, waving his left arm. ‘If there are those who wish to cause us harm, then we will see them in good time. I know where the fords and bridges are and then once we reach Estella I will advise you of the route to Burgos.’

‘Why not tell me now?’

‘Because, lord, the weather changes quickly in these mountains.’

‘Is there snow on the passes?’

‘No, lord, and if it comes we will travel below the snowline.’

‘You’ll have no wine until I give it to you.’

‘Lord?’

‘You reek enough and I want your head clear.’

‘I see the way more clearly with a belly full of wine, lord.’

‘Then I will find someone else and you can lose the King’s goodwill and payment.’

The old man cleared his throat. His hand trembled as he scratched his mangy beard. ‘A drink to start the day, another when the sun is above our heads and some to help me sleep. I would be grateful, lord.’

Blackstone nodded and Ashford tugged the man away to where the horses were tethered. Blackstone beckoned the young man who stood next to ben Josef. The lad tipped his head respectfully.

‘You heard the old man?’

Ben Josef translated the boy’s answer as if Andrés was speaking himself.