‘Because if they were ahead of you on the track then you could not have known there was danger coming,’ said Blackstone. ‘You could not have warned them. And if Ariz does not wish to take any blame for the accident, then perhaps he threatened you to remain silent.’

Blackstone saw the escape he was offering finally drop in Santos’s mind like a stone into a deep well. The wine-soaked guide bit his lip and cunningly held back from making such a confession.

‘I would rather not say, lord.’

It was enough to shift blame without directly accusing Ariz.

‘I understand,’ said Blackstone. ‘Now, you must regain my trust and lead us on the best road you know through the mountains. Only half my men will travel at a time. Once we are through, then you will return and bring the rest of my men. Can I trust you to do that?’

‘You can, lord. I will do it.’

‘Then I will permit you a drink before we leave. Don’t let it cloud your judgement.’

‘Bless you, lord. I will not fail you.’

Blackstone turned away to where Killbere waited.

‘Sow the seeds of distrust between two men and watch the poison take hold,’ said the veteran knight.

‘That and as much wine as he wants. Dissent between those who share a secret will spew out the truth better than a knife at the throat. They’ll show their hand soon enough.’

CHAPTER FORTY

One by one the captains listened to Blackstone’s plan. It was an unhurried conversation, seemingly innocent to anyone who walked past the men being briefed. Ariz watched Santos press between the tethered horses. As one of Beyard’s men helped him on with his mail, Ariz kept an eye on the king’s guide. Santos was dipping his hand into his saddle satchel. Ariz pulled on his surcoat and buckled his sword belt, watching as Santos pulled free his hand, bent low and skulked into the bushes.

Ariz checked he wasn’t being watched himself, and then rolled his blanket and food sack and walked without haste to his own horse. He secured the blanket roll, keeping an eye out for any of the captains approaching. They were busy. Some were speaking to Killbere, others to John Jacob. Meulon bent a knee and spoke to the Gascon, Beyard. No one was looking in his direction. He ducked below the tethering reins and pushed aside the bushes. A movement caught his eye. He pressed forward to where Santos squatted on his haunches drinking from a leather flask. The moment the tavern brawler saw the Navarrese fighter, he rolled to one side and crouched, knife in hand.

Ariz looked quickly behind him, ensuring none of the men were any closer. ‘What are you doing?’ he hissed.