Chapters (96)
- Cover
- By David Gilman
- SHADOW OF THE HAWK
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Contents
- CHARACTER LIST
- Map
- Epigraph
- PROLOGUE
- PART ONE
- CHAPTER ONE
- CHAPTER TWO
- CHAPTER THREE
- CHAPTER FOUR
- CHAPTER FIVE
- CHAPTER SIX
- CHAPTER SEVEN
- CHAPTER EIGHT
- CHAPTER NINE
- CHAPTER TEN
- CHAPTER ELEVEN
- CHAPTER TWELVE
- CHAPTER THIRTEEN
- CHAPTER FOURTEEN
- CHAPTER FIFTEEN
- PART TWO
- CHAPTER SIXTEEN
- CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
- CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
- CHAPTER NINETEEN
- CHAPTER TWENTY
- CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
- CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
- CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
- CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
- PART THREE
- CHAPTER THIRTY
- CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
- CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
- CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
- CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
- CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
- CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
- CHAPTER FORTY
- CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
- PART FOUR
- CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
- CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
- CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
- CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
- CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
- CHAPTER FIFTY
- CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
- CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
- CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
- CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
- PART FIVE
- CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
- CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
- CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
- CHAPTER SIXTY
- CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
- CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
- CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
- CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
- CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
- CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
- CHAPTER SEVENTY
- CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
- CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
- CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
- CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
- CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
- Author’s Notes
- About the Author
- An Invitation from the Publisher
‘We protect Lázaro. Nothing more than that. Whoever killed her is not here.’
‘He hasn’t seen the King yet.’
‘He will.’
Horses clattered into the yard. Blackstone and Killbere stepped out as the Moors returned from their patrol. Sayyid al-Hakam strode to meet them. He listened to what his patrol leader told him, raised his head and stared directly at Blackstone.
‘He knows,’ said Killbere.
‘He can’t prove it,’ said Blackstone.
‘He has a torn surcoat in his fist,’ said Killbere, hiding his words behind the wine flask he raised to his lips.
Sayyid al-Hakam walked to where the two men stood. ‘Dead Englishmen lie beyond the walls. They are Ranulph de Hayle’s men.’
‘How do you know that?’ said Killbere.
The Moor’s face creased. He touched his chest where a hobelar’s blazon would be. ‘His mark.’
‘And how would Sayyid al-Hakam, master of Don Pedro’s cavalry, know the blazon of an English routier?’
The Moor had been prepared to challenge Blackstone. He faltered but held his nerve. ‘I have seen him.’
‘Here?’ said Blackstone.
Once again al-Hakam hesitated. ‘No. Outside the walls. We gave chase once when he raided a village.’ He tossed the torn surcoat bearing Blackstone’s blazon on the floor. ‘You killed those men. How did you get past my guards? Or Álvaraz’s men? I must report to the King.’
Killbere picked up the bloodstained surcoat. ‘This means nothing. We fought de Hayle’s men days before we got here. Some of our men died; those of de Hayle who escaped could have taken this as a trophy. Last night we slept in the stables. Who would go out into a storm and try to find routiers?’
Sayyid al-Hakam looked from one to the other. ‘You dry your clothes.’
‘The roof in the stables leaks and some of the men are washing their shirts to keep the lice at bay,’ Killbere answered without missing a beat.
The Moor studied them a moment longer and then turned his back and returned to his men.
‘Do you believe him?’ said Killbere. ‘About how he knew they were de Hayle’s men?’
‘No. He is the King's man and we know de Hayle was here before setting out to search for Lázaro. That’s how al-Hakam knows de Hayle’s blazon. He and Pedro are conspiring to kill the only witness.’
Killbere swilled some wine and corked the flask. ‘My God, Thomas, life was simpler when all we had to do was kill the French.’