Blackstone’s men struck at the pockets of men who came together to strike their leader down. Men who fled on foot were pursued and killed. Meulon’s men fighting with Blackstone wheeled and blocked horsemen trying to escape down the ongoing track, entrapping them between himself and Blackstone. Those who raised arms in surrender barely drew their last breath before being slain. There was no mercy given for the likes of these men.

Killbere and the others advanced on foot. Every flank was closed off to the survivors. Blackstone carved a path through the gaggles of men desperately trying to fight their way clear. The battle shifted as men fell back, others advanced and the flanks closed in. They had yet to be counted, but it looked as though eighty of de Hayle’s men had died, sixty had escaped through the forest and down the mountainside with de Hayle, and the remaining thirty-four survivors were surrounded. The fighting ceased as the encircled men turned this way and that trying to find a weakness in Blackstone’s men. There was none. Blackstone edged forward.

‘You men fought well, but I cannot let you live. Ranulph de Hayle paid you to inflict terror. I will offer you the rope or you die where you are.’

One of de Hayle’s captains glared at Blackstone, then looked at the surviving men around him.

‘A slow strangling death kicking our life away? Pissing our breeches? No rope! We’re fighting men. We’ll die but we’ll take enough of you with us.’

Blackstone turned and nodded to the men. They parted, exposing Will Longdon and Jack Halfpenny’s archers, arrows nocked, ready to kill without further injury to Blackstone’s men. Will Longdon bent his war bow; his archers followed as one.

They loosed.

*

Blackstone’s boot turned one of the dead. The man’s face was contorted in agony. Beyard and his men clambered back up the hill to retrieve the horses and Lázaro then followed Andrés down a goat path to the killing ground.

Killbere cleaned the blood from his sword blade. ‘De Hayle escaped, Thomas. Him and fifty or more of his men with him.’

‘No matter, Gilbert. We finished him this day.’ He looked up at the sky.

‘The hawk’s cousins are here now,’ said Killbere.

Vultures circled.

‘Saves us burying them,’ said Blackstone. ‘Meulon?’

The hulking man was striding towards them. ‘Seven of our own dead. Others wounded. Mostly nothing we cannot attend to but two of my men have lost a great deal of blood and their wounds are deep.’

‘We could ride back and fetch ben Josef,’ Killbere suggested.

Blackstone shook his head. ‘Six hours there and back? Even if we took the badly wounded with us, they would not survive even half that time.’

Meulon understood. ‘I’ll get Will to stitch them. He has herbs and potions from the Jew.’