Blackstone laid a calloused palm on the youth’s cold skin. A proud father would put aside his loss and boast of his son’s prowess fighting for the new King while a mother grieved, consumed with pain.

‘He’s not here,’ said John Jacob. ‘We’ve turned all the dead and pulled aside the bodies that lie across each other. There must be close to a thousand out here. Beyard and his men would have fought close together. We found half of them lying near each other. Friends in life and death.’

Blackstone stepped over the dead knight. ‘Have the men search along the riverbank.’

‘Renfred and William Ashford’s men have already searched the riverside, Sir Thomas,’ said his squire.

The aftermath of a battle lays a sense of loss over men, no matter what victories they have celebrated in the past. Death on such a huge scale, where hundreds of men lay rotting, was sobering even to the veterans.

‘We’ll take those we find from the battlefield for burial; there’s a monastery some miles back,’ said Blackstone.

John Jacob acknowledged the order and turned back to the task.

‘It was ferocious, Thomas,’ said Killbere, tossing aside a bloodstained falchion. ‘God himself wept tears of blood here. There’s a host of brave men dead on this field. And many a young knight impaled, and others hacked apart and left to die in agony. I’m surprised we didn’t hear the clash of the attack where we camped.’

‘Any closer than a day’s ride and we would not have been able to resist helping them.’

‘Aye, more the pity we weren’t here. The wolves and wild boar will soon come to feast.’

‘If Beyard isn’t here then he’s captured,’ said Blackstone, looking across the field strewn with contorted corpses. They were an hour’s ride from the bridge at Vernon. De Grailly had been half a day’s ride to Paris. So close.

‘Sir Thomas!’ Meulon called. He had continued searching and now pointed into the distance, across the wooden bridge. Horsemen appeared from the trees. They showed no sign of advancing but simply watched Blackstone’s men. There was little doubt there were others waiting out of sight.

‘Gilbert, ready the men,’ said Blackstone as he mounted the bastard horse.

‘Where in God’s name are you going?’

‘To find out where de Grailly and Beyard are being held.’

John Jacob rode to his side.

‘I doubt they’re in the mood to talk, Thomas,’ said Killbere.

‘Then be ready for an argument,’ Blackstone said and set off with his squire.