Beyard ushered out an apprehensive Lázaro. Blackstone placed a reassuring hand on the boy’s shoulder as his eyes darted back and forth to the preparations going on in the yard. ‘Lázaro, sit here.’ He guided him onto one of the straw bales. ‘Can you stitch clothes?’

‘Lord?’

‘Mend clothes. Did your Queen’s ladies ever show you how?’

The boy nodded.

‘Good, I want you to sit here and stitch my shirt. There is no hurry. No one in the yard is interested in a servant sewing a shirt. Understand? No one will be looking over here.’

‘I must just sit here? And sew your shirt?’

‘You sew and you watch. You look at the people who go in and out of the palace doors. They come down the steps and go about their business.’

The boy looked from Blackstone to his protector.

‘Watch for anyone who was at Medina Sidonia,’ said Beyard. ‘Do you understand?’

‘Yes, I will look and see if there is anyone who caused my Queen harm.’

‘And Beyard and others are around you. See? Men sharpening their weapons, attending to saddles and bridles. We’re all sitting out here in the sun’s warmth and no one is interested in us. You’re safe.’

Lázaro smiled. It was true. These harsh-looking men had become his friends and he felt secure among them. ‘I will sew the shirt and I will watch,’ he said.

*

Blackstone followed the merchants of the city into the palace. If unrest were to flare up then the King’s life would be in danger. His bodyguards were few and most of the Moorish cavalry were engaged on border raids. Blackstone and his men might be the only line of defence if the city rose up. He passed the guards and strode down the corridor to where a dozen armed men had secured the corridor. Raised voices echoed under the vaulted roof. Álvaraz stood with his men.

‘Sir Thomas, I heard men were killed outside the walls last night,’ he said, looking at the cut above Blackstone’s eye and the bruising on his cheekbone.

‘So I’m told,’ he answered.

‘You know anything about it?’ he asked, pointing to the same place on his face as Blackstone’s wound.

Blackstone smiled. ‘I walked into a stable door when I was drunk.’

Álvaraz didn’t believe a word of it. ‘I don’t know who those men were but I’m guessing they’re routiers.’ He paused, letting Blackstone’s unlikely explanation go. ‘Probably fell out with another band of brigands.’

‘Most likely,’ said Blackstone.

Álvaraz was no fool, nor inclined to play the game. He stepped closer. ‘There is a sentry at the tunnel entrance.’

Blackstone knew there was little point in continuing the charade. ‘Not last night.’

Álvaraz blinked twice. ‘Someone with authority removed them.’

‘And you will never know who because the guard would be well paid or dead.’

‘Then they were routiers?’