Lázaro spoke slowly; his effort not to stutter was noticeable as he recalled the terror of that day in Medina Sidonia. He faltered once or twice but then found his voice and whispered his account of the events. The final moments of the Queen’s death when the man held her and the assassin poisoned her brought him to a halt. His eyes widened. He realized something he had not known all these years.

‘I did not see his face.’

Blackstone and Beyard exchanged glances.

Lázaro shook his head. ‘The assassin wore a cloak and hood. The man who held my lady, I saw him. He was a ballestero. Perhaps I closed my eyes at the moment the assassin killed her. It happened quickly. And then she fell and I ran.’

‘You cannot describe the assassin?’ said Blackstone.

‘The man who killed her was small, which is why the soldier held my Queen and he killed all the servants. He cut their throats. My lady and I ran from him. I saw his face, but the man who poisoned her. Him I did not see.’

Beyard patted the boy’s shoulder.

‘Have I caused trouble because I did not see his face?’ said Lázaro, looking from one to the other.

‘No. You have made your life safer,’ said Blackstone. And then spoke in English. ‘It makes it more difficult now. If he can’t identify the killer and give us warning then every shadow might conceal the assassin. He might not have seen who did it, but the man who did doesn’t know that. And if he ever recognizes the ballestero he saw, then through him, we’ll find the killer.’

‘Sir Thomas, years ago Pedro slaughtered his younger brother and then ate dinner while his body lay torn and bleeding on the floor. A man that cruel and mad might kill the Queen himself. Is the King as tall a man as you or shorter?’ he said.

‘Shorter, by some way.’

Beyard nodded. ‘Then let us tread carefully, Sir Thomas.’

Blackstone got to his feet. ‘Nothing has changed, Beyard. They might still come for him.’

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

Ranulph de Hayle faced his survivors of the battle against Blackstone. Some had deserted but men still fed by greed had stayed. Tibalt swigged from a wineskin as he pushed the toe of his boot into the fire. The woman in the castle was their paymistress. If they wanted gold, they had to obey her. Trouble was, who would dare to go into the castle and search for the boy among Blackstone’s men? No one volunteered.

De Hayle cursed them. ‘Listen, you snivelling bastards, I have led you these past years and put gold and silver in your purses. I say we must discover if the boy is in there.’