The forest’s edge blurred. People swarmed out and along the ridge that ran high above the valley. They were villeins bearing what few possessions they had on their backs. Blackstone saw Álvaraz spur his horse towards them. By the time the column had travelled a half-mile the Spanish captain galloped back.

‘Roving bands of mercenaries burned their homes. What few possessions they have they carry. Their numbers have increased during the day. They hid in the forest when they saw us approach but once they saw Don Pedro’s flag they knew they were in no danger from us.’

Blackstone watched as the slow procession of villagers edged their way along the narrow track.

‘Let’s give them food. A few sacks of flour at least.’

‘Yes, the poor wretches have nothing,’ said Álvaraz.

Blackstone turned to Will Longdon behind him. ‘Will, have your lads take some bags of flour to them. See what else we can spare.’

‘We could ask them Moors if they have anything. Don’t see why they can’t contribute.’

‘You’ll have a spear in your arse for your trouble,’ said Blackstone. ‘And Meulon isn’t here to pull it free for you.’

Will Longdon’s grin was as wide as Blackstone’s. ‘He’d probably hurl me like an apple from a knife point. At least we know he has some use.’ He tugged his horse’s reins and rode back to his archers.

The wind on the hilltop was more bitter than below in the valley. The fighting men tugged their cloaks higher as the wind veered down from the heights onto their backs, sending cold waves of snow-chilled air from the distant high peaks.

‘I don’t envy those villagers’ chances, Sir Thomas, and if they’re running from routiers ahead, then I’m not so certain about ours either. We could spill out the merchants’ wealth and leave a trail for any skinners. Like seed to a bird trap,’ said John Jacob. ‘Rather than be caught in the open like this, I’d prefer to choose where we fight.’

Blackstone pointed to the distance and the horsemen galloping towards them. ‘That decision might be made for us, John.’

Renfred reined in. ‘No more than two hours away. Three or four hundred. It’s the French.’

‘And we have a hundred,’ said Álvaraz. He looked at Blackstone. ‘Very well. We will die with honour. We will attack them and show how a Spaniard dies.’

‘It would be better to show how a Spaniard lives,’ said Blackstone. He knew they were trapped. No escape to their rear and no means of defeating the heavy odds soon to arrive in force. ‘Renfred, ride out again. Let them see you. We must make certain they do not stumble on Sir Gilbert and the King.’

Renfred patted his mount’s neck; then wheeled the horse and set off, followed by his men.