When the gates of Burgos opened, its citizens cried out at being abandoned. Don Pedro rode at the head of the column with his flag bearer at his side. His daughters and their servants followed. Five paces behind the small royal entourage Velasquita rode alone, flanked by al-Hakam and his Moors. It was hard to determine whether it was she who commanded the Moors or whether protocol demanded they ride further to the rear of the royal party. Even so, it made Velasquita look regal.

Álvaraz followed with his contingent as Blackstone and his men rode to one side, skirting the half-dozen boys who ran alongside every fourth pack horse bearing the King’s treasures, their scrawny hands, tough and sinewy, grasping the horse’s cheek strap. One boy rode the front horse, tethered by rope to those that followed. There were only six pack animals bearing the merchants’ cloth and spices, easily controlled by their rope halters, and led by a single mounted soldier from Álvaraz’s contingent.

Some citizens ran half a mile beyond the gates, still begging for the King and the men to return. There was no sign of the merchants.

‘A common man has nothing to barter with when the enemy walks into the city,’ said John Jacob.

‘Their cries will soon turn to cheers when they welcome the man who’ll become their King,’ said Killbere. ‘The merchants will try bribery with what they have left but I’ll wager Hugh Calveley’s men and the other routiers will take no heed of what they say. If they haven’t got their most valuable goods cached, they’ll be ripped from their homes.’

Blackstone had waited with Beyard and Lázaro as the King’s entourage filed through the city gates. Blackstone wanted to see if Lázaro recognized the King as being in the castle when the killer put his Queen to death. Once again the boy shook his head. The Queen’s assassin remained a mystery.

‘Perhaps the lad was so terrified his mind has erased those responsible,’ offered Killbere.

‘He remembers the ballestero who held the Queen while the assassin poisoned her,’ said Blackstone.

‘And who do we know in the court who knows about poisons? For God’s sake, Thomas, she wears a potion at her neck to save the King.’

‘And Lázaro didn’t recognize her as being with the killer,’ countered Blackstone.

‘Then perhaps she gave the poison to a hireling.’

‘Gilbert, in our time we’ve come across many who understand poisons. Physicians and barber-surgeons ply us with their pain-killing potions each time we’re wounded. For all we know, the court physician killed her.’