The men fell silent as the Moors spurred their horses forward off the sloping hill, riding into the valley a half-mile ahead of Blackstone.

‘They might test us sooner than we think,’ said Ashford.

‘They ride fast. Did you see how quickly those horses stretched out? I would like a horse like that, one that moves as fast as a snake strike,’ said Meulon.

‘You need a carthorse with the size of your arse,’ Longdon said.

Killbere’s voice was calm enough to be heard by the men behind him. ‘Be prepared, Will. Ride left and dismount on command. Captains, we ride in phalanx.’

As Blackstone maintained the pace of their approach, watching as the Moors effortlessly formed up across their route, his captains eased their men either side of Blackstone, John Jacob and Killbere, who now formed the point of an arrowhead formation. If the Moors attacked, they would suffer heavy casualties from the archers long before their horsemen reached Blackstone. When they were four hundred paces from the Moors, Blackstone called a halt. The two sides faced each other. Suddenly the Moors yelled a blood-curdling challenge and spurred their horses. In no time at all the small Arabian horses were at full gallop.

‘Damn,’ said Killbere. ‘Ready yourselves. Will, stay where you are. They’re too fast for you to get into position.’

‘No one move!’ said Blackstone.

‘Thomas, they’ll be on us soon!’ said Killbere.

Blackstone turned in the saddle. ‘Sheath your swords. Hold your nerve.’

‘What?’ Killbere said.

‘They haven’t lowered their spears, they have no swords in their hand and they have not brought their shields to bear. Hold fast!’ he called again.

At eighty yards the Moors reined in hard. By the time the fleet-of-foot horses pulled up they were at fifty. Blackstone’s men saw dark faces break into wide grins, spears raised, the warriors ululating. Their ranks parted, allowing Blackstone’s men to ride through the fierce Moorish cavalry.

‘My balls tightened so much they’re at the back of my throat,’ said Will Longdon.

‘Which is where I always thought them to be,’ said Meulon.

The Moors fanned out as escort at a respectful distance either side of Blackstone’s men. The approach to the city took them past farm buildings where peasants pulled free their cowls and bowed. Sheep grazed, grain barns were full and men gathered firewood, watching the procession of horses trotting on the road to the city. Thousands of men waging war needed feeding and the rich heartland of Castile offered enough food to support them. If the bastard usurper was not careful, the routiers would strip his new-found kingdom.

The closer Blackstone came to the city walls the fewer the buildings. Burgos was a strong defensive city, and it was plain to see why Castilian kings had favoured it as their main fortress palace.

‘Lay siege to this place and you could live off the land and starve them out,’ said Killbere.