‘There are many crows and ravens here. They settle in the high towers. They demand attention by their insistent calling. And...’ She studied him, holding his gaze, unwilling to yield from it. ‘And they are portents of a man’s character and fate. An Arab astrologer once made a prophecy about our King. He compared him to a crow: one who steals from his subjects and lusts for shiny objects. Our King covets gold. He seizes what he wants with impunity. Such actions show his place in the hierarchy of creatures, yet a life of such misdeeds can only end in a painful death. Who would think a King would be compared to a crow?’

‘I prefer hawks, falcons and eagles. They fly high and strike fast.’

‘Which are you, Sir Thomas? Falcons kill with their beaks and hawks and eagles snatch with their talons.’

He stepped closer. ‘How much longer are we going to spend talking about birds of prey?’

She smiled. ‘My knowledge is already exhausted,’ she said and closed the door in his face.

*

Lanterns burned low in the stables. Men bedded down as comfortably as their horses. Pedro’s wealth extended to his stabling and the deep straw and thick walls offered a sense of security to men who spent their lives sleeping rough with a hand clasped on sword hilt or knife. All the men snored and turned in their blankets except the captains on guard and Killbere, whose shoulders were propped against his saddle as he drank from a leather-clad flask. His boots stood next to the remains of his meal.

‘You missed your food,’ said Killbere as Blackstone approached. ‘The kitchens here are generous. We’d all look like pregnant sows if we stayed much longer.’

‘Then thank God we move soon.’ Blackstone’s blanket had been laid out, his saddle ready as a pillow. He settled down next to Killbere and scraped a finger around the bowl, lifting what remained of the grease to his lips.

‘Will told me what you found.’

‘A damned army could get beneath these walls.’

‘Or a king could escape.’

‘And if we delay beyond another day Calveley might be the one forcing him to use it.’

Killbere offered the flask. ‘Spanish brandy. Sharp on the tongue but fire in the belly.’

Blackstone shook his head. ‘I want an eye half open tonight, Gilbert. There were men at the bottom of that tunnel. And who in these parts is it likely to be? Who could have returned?’

‘Ranulph de Hayle.’

John Jacob appeared with a pewter plate covered in a cloth. ‘I saved your meal, Sir Thomas. Cold mutton and bread with cheese.’

Blackstone took it. ‘I’m starving. Thank you.’

The squire smiled as Killbere glared at him. ‘John, I told you he would not be eating tonight. That he was chasing shadows and would end up in the spectre’s bed.’