Blackstone beckoned Renfred to release Santos and then walked to the edge of the road and looked across to the distant valley where they would find their route to Burgos. The drop from the track was sheer. It had been a well-chosen ambush site. It was easy to see how he and his men could have been forced over the edge with an overwhelming charge. He signalled Renfred and Ashford to bring the men to him. They resisted, heels digging in. Their escorts hit them hard, forcing them on.

‘What information do you have about Lázaro?’

Both men shook their heads.

‘What did Tibalt tell you?’

‘Nothing, lord,’ said Santos, spittle dribbling into the curls of his beard. ‘Nothing. I swear. De Hayle paid good money. All he wanted was the boy.’

Blackstone looked at Ariz, who searched in vain for anything that might grant him a quicker death than being flung over the edge onto the rocks far below. ‘I swear by Our Lord’s tears on the cross he told us nothing.’

‘Santos?’ The drunkard shook his head. Tears filled his eyes.

Blackstone nodded to Renfred, who grabbed Santos by the collar with one hand and by his belt with the other and hurled the screaming guide over the edge. Rocks smashed him into silence.

Ashford hauled Ariz to his feet. He was no match for the man who had served King and Prince as captain of their bodyguard. ‘No! No! One thing! He told me one thing!’

Blackstone stepped closer to the terrified man.

‘I did not believe him – Tibalt. I thought he had drunk too much wine. But he feared what lay at Burgos. With the King.’ Ariz spat out the words, desperate to save himself from the crushing fall. ‘Evil, Sir Thomas. A force so powerful it can kill men, fling birds to their death from the sky, turn wine sour and curdle milk. Enough malevolence to destroy a kingdom. Ranulph de Hayle knew. Even he was scared. Tibalt said he saw de Hayle tremble with fear when he mentioned it. There is a witch there. She serves the king. That is what he told me. That is all he told me.’ Ariz sobbed, sucking air into his chest, forcing himself to blurt out the last words he would ever utter. ‘She has... the power... all men fear.’

‘Her name?’

‘I don’t know.’

Blackstone nodded, accepting the man had told him all he could. His hand swept across Ariz’s throat. Blood spurted. Ariz’s eyes widened at the speed of Blackstone’s blade. He convulsed. Ashford let him fall. Blood spilled below his fallen body, soaking into his beard. His eyes glazed. Ashford kicked the dead man over the edge.

‘So now you take us into a witch’s coven,’ said Killbere. The others crossed themselves.

‘Superstition, Gilbert. There’s no such thing.’