Ranulph de Hayle and his men were silent. A hundred and seventy-eight men squatted next to their hobbled horses, pressed back into the trees on the edge of the El Talo, the broad plateau. A quick tug to free the leather rein securing the horse’s fetlocks gave them a fast mount and attack. The moment Thomas Blackstone and his men entered the open ground they would be on the defensive and would force those that survived the initial assault over the cliff edge. The craggy hillside rising to the right offered no escape: its steep broken ground would stop any horseman. It was a good plan that had taken days to put into place once Ranulph de Hayle had accepted Tibalt’s betrayal. The one-armed man had promised Blackstone’s guide could be bought. One of de Hayle’s Navarrese men had met secretly with Tibalt in Pamplona. It did not take long to establish that the boy was still under Blackstone’s protection. It came as a shock, though, because he’d thought they might have left the lad in Bordeaux with the Prince.

De Hayle chewed on a piece of dried meat and picked his teeth with a grubby fingernail. He looked at the men down the line. French money paid their wages, but it would be Castilian gold that would make de Hayle a wealthy man once the boy was delivered. He didn’t know why the lad was so valuable to those who wanted him. It made no difference. The pursuit of the boy had come full circle, and the prize was about to be handed to him. And when he took Blackstone’s head back to the French King, then he would be showered with even greater rewards.

‘There,’ said a man at his shoulder.

De Hayle looked to where the man pointed. A hawk, its grey-striped underside blurring as it sped across the sky; it spiralled upward, circling on a thermal, and gazed down on the men. Its sudden urgent cry drew the men’s attention.

‘Bad luck,’ said the man and crossed himself.

Ranulph de Hayle spat out the sour taste of old meat. ‘It’s an omen,’ he said. ‘A good one. It’s telling us they are close by.’

The man did not look convinced and, shaking his head, returned his attention to the narrow gap where the track entered the open ground.

De Hayle licked his lips. Whether or not it was an omen, it would feed on the dead by nightfall.

*

‘Did you see that?’ said John Jacob as they edged around the bend of the track. ‘The last time I saw one of those it heralded Perinne’s death at Brignais.’

‘A French sword heralded his death as he saved my life. Ignore the superstitions, John. If we’ve seen the hawk, then so have de Hayle’s men. Let them think it presages their deaths.’