‘Which is why we have to convince him to abandon the city,’ Blackstone said.

‘A man protected by such walls and castle will not believe he can be defeated if he stays where he is,’ said John Jacob.

‘Convincing him is not the only problem, Sir Thomas,’ Beyard told him. ‘Castilian kings rule with the favour of a council.’

‘When they know how close Hugh Calveley is with the French routiers, then he will see how fragile those walls are. Without men to fight there is no battle to be won.’

They rode uphill to the fortress-like city gates of Arco de Santa María. The double iron-studded doors swung open. As they trotted into the paved streets, crowds of citizens pressed themselves against the walls, watching the strangers’ arrival in sullen silence. Houses were boarded up; merchants’ stalls abandoned. The horses’ clattering hooves echoed up the high walls and along the narrow streets. An unmistakable death knell for the city.

‘Welcome to Burgos,’ said Blackstone.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Once Blackstone and his men had taken the mountain path, Halif ben Josef returned to his beloved home and farm. The scent from his lemon orchards was a seductive reminder that he had abandoned the second love of his life. His wife had died in Pamplona years before and had never enjoyed living on a remote hillside while her husband cultivated his vines, caring more for them, she would claim, than he did for her. An untruth not worth contesting. Ben Josef’s country house was a modest affair: stone and timber walls with a reed roof cut from the riverbank. The isolation was not absolute. There were three smaller houses, two for the six servants, another for the overseer. The wells were deep, the water plentiful. On his return the servants prepared food and drink, and a cauldron was lit so their master could bathe once he had toured the farm and assessed what needed to be done before the season deepened.

Ben Josef’s servants had done their best to keep his vineyard in good order under the watchful eye of his overseer – the grapes in the drying sheds had not been lost and the lifeblood of the vineyard, the Arabic waterwheel, was in good order – but the physician saw to his dismay that the work he had instructed be done while away on campaign with Jean de Grailly had fallen behind. Wages for the farmworkers had not been forthcoming as promised by the King of Navarre, a condition of service that had placed the skilled physician with the Gascon lord. Consequently, many of the labourers had left and sought employment elsewhere.

‘I could not help it, Master ben Josef,’ the loyal overseer told him. ‘I have worked without payment these past months so that the servants had enough to buy food.’