They summoned Blackstone to attend the King in the solar. He instructed Killbere to organize the men in their quarters and then followed the clerk who led the way to the upper room above the great hall, which was smaller and less ostentatious, although there were still significant signs of wealth with the bejewelled gold and silver reliquaries, candlesticks and various ornaments on display. Don Pedro had shed his finery and now wore a padded gambeson, quilted and silk-embroidered with the lions and castles blazon, the royal crest of Castile and León. A broad leather belt held an ornate dagger. Blackstone thought the man was likely to be capable in a fight and guessed he was no coward in battle. His weakness was his temper and cruel streak that undercut the affability a ruler needed to employ in convincing others to do his bidding when they doubted the wisdom of a proposal. Don Pedro’s manner was like a flanged mace rather than an Italian stiletto.

The only woman present was the one whose smile had sent a shiver into his belly. Her black dress was adorned with a tear-shaped enamelled pendant that nestled in the delicate hollow of her throat. She stood against the wall as the High Steward and the Spaniard Blackstone took to be the King’s commander flanked their monarch, who leaned against a broad table gazing down at a wine-stained map of the Iberian Peninsula. The tall Moor kept a respectful distance behind the King.

‘Come closer,’ said Don Pedro to Blackstone.

Blackstone obeyed and stood on the other side of the table. The King traced a finger over the stained map. ‘We will abandon Burgos and go to Seville. There we are closer to our allies in Granada. If what you say is true, then we can hold there long enough to regroup and then take sanctuary in Portugal. My daughter Beatriz is betrothed to the King’s son. We will be welcome there.’

Blackstone glanced at the Spanish commander, who remained silent. The High Steward made no comment either and the woman who stood behind them appeared to have no authority. The King looked at Blackstone. ‘You will escort us while my army and my allies from Granada hold back the approaching mercenary forces.’

The two advisers remained silent. It was obvious neither man was prepared to contradict him.

‘That’s a risk too far,’ said Blackstone. ‘You will be slow-moving. You will be riding directly into the enemy approaching from the south. If you wish to sign your death warrant, sire, that is the quickest way to do it.’