‘Ah. Perhaps. Do you notice how their noses are snub, like a pig’s snout? And their skin is bad. Pock-marked and pimpled. If those are their faces imagine what their arses must be like. You promised me beautiful women.’

‘The one in black has a certain beauty,’ said Blackstone, glancing towards Velasquita.

Killbere studied her a moment. ‘I’ve seen women like that before. She’s a man-eater.’

‘Perhaps she has not yet found the right man to tame her.’

‘And I suppose you have desires in that direction.’

‘Come forward!’ the High Steward called before Blackstone could answer.

‘Merciful Christ, if he loses the crown in the coming fight we might all be saved from wet-nursing him back to the Prince,’ said Killbere through gritted teeth, disguised as a smile.

They bowed.

‘Your highness,’ said Blackstone. ‘My noble lord, Edward, Prince of Wales and Aquitaine, sends his warmest regards and prays each day for you to retain your rightful place.’

‘Yet he sends you and a handful of men,’ said Don Pedro.

‘Men who have fought in every great campaign, and who stopped a mercenary force only days ago. Men who will fight for you and your family and escort you to safety in Bordeaux.’

Don Pedro’s head jerked back. ‘Leave Spain?’ He laughed. ‘They’ve sent you on a fool’s errand. I am ready to face my bastard half-brother on the field. It is why I am here in Burgos. Henry of Trastámara will attack from Saragossa in the east. We are blessed with God’s own defences, the Sierra de la Demanda stretches from the north to Valencia on the Mediterranean in the south-east. The terrain and the snow already sweeping down into the passes will make invasion near impossible. I am ready.’

There was a murmur of support for the young King from the gathered courtiers. He was playing to the gallery. They might as well have been minstrels eager to garner favour and play any tune the King demanded.

‘No sire, that is not true,’ Blackstone said.

‘I will not be contradicted. I have spies. I have troops on my border. I have that information. Navarre has closed his borders. My enemies cannot strike from the north.’

Blackstone looked past the King. Those men had the standing to advise and insist on a course of action. If their own lives were at risk, and their private wealth threatened, they would soon clamour to escape. He raised his voice so those at the back and the sides of the hall would hear. ‘Navarre has closed his borders so you might not escape through the Pyrenees and into Gascony. It was your shortest route to safety.’

He heard a murmur of concern.