His companions nodded their understanding. The torchbearer stepped past the man at the door and led the way. ‘Stables run the length of the wall,’ he said. The men stooped as they hugged the dark wall, unconsciously seeking invisibility. They reached the stable opening, raised the torch, checked no one was in the yard and stepped inside. The arched roof bounced the flames several yards into the stables. Horses on one side, sleeping men on the other. They crept along the walkway with one hand on their sword hilts, stopping only to check if it was a youth who lay sleeping rather than a bearded man. If the boy was here, his lack of whiskers would betray him. They reached halfway. A brute of a horse, its mottled hide looking like burnt cinders, was roped alone, a clear space either side of it. The stalls opposite held one man, asleep. They stepped behind the horse; a hind leg lashed out, narrowly missing the second man. He stumbled as he avoided the strike but was grabbed by his companion behind him, who saved him from falling onto the sleeping man. They were sweating. How long before a man woke to relieve himself or heard a startled horse? They quickened their pace, dipping the torchlight over the sleeping men. They reached the end of the stable and turned back into the night. They needed no words as they quickened their stride towards the entrance to the siege tunnel.

The men in the stable waited and then threw back their blankets, swords already in hand. Blackstone had warned them to make no move. That whoever had parlayed below ground would come in the night. Meulon and Ashford gathered their men and followed Killbere into the yard. The remainder guarded the stable entrances. Three figures ran across the yard from the wood store on the opposite side: Blackstone and Beyard shepherding Lázaro between them.

‘We let them pass through,’ said Killbere. ‘Your bastard horse nearly gave the game away. One of the men damned near fell on top of me.’

Blackstone checked the twenty gathered men. Any more than these would be difficult to move quickly down the siege tunnel with any haste. ‘Lázaro, go back to the stables with Beyard. The danger has passed now.’

Beyard pressed a hand onto the boy’s shoulder and guided him back to safety.

‘We must hurry. We depend on their torchlight,’ said Blackstone, taking his shield from John Jacob. He led the way, hugging the outer stable walls towards the narrow entrance where a man the size of Meulon would struggle to squeeze through. When Blackstone had briefed the men, he’d told the throat-cutter he should stay, but Meulon had refused. Blackstone came up to his shoulder and if Blackstone could squeeze through, then so could he.

*