Whatever demons lurked in Don Pedro’s heart, they ate into him slowly. He swallowed the news like a man chewing maggot-riddled meat. And then he retched, spewing whatever food and wine he had consumed across the tent floor. He wiped a hand across his mouth, got to his feet and flung the chair across the breadth of the tent. The High Steward stepped nimbly aside. Perhaps, Blackstone thought, he was well versed in dodging things thrown by his master.

‘We must make haste,’ said Blackstone. ‘Du Guesclin and Calveley will join forces at Burgos and turn south. Du Guesclin knows you must head for Seville. Where else would you go on this route? They’ll attack in force.’

Don Pedro leaned on the table and beat his fist several times. ‘I am hunted. Wolves chase me down.’ He straightened. ‘I have six hundred Moors in Seville and Portugal will give me sanctuary and a thousand men to escort us to safety. Once there, I will plan my counter-attack.’

No one in the tent spoke. A drowning man slipping beneath the waves draws a final deep breath and then succumbs. Don Pedro, King of Castile for a few more hours, looked to be such a man. Blackstone decided it was not worth arguing that the King was a spent force and instinct told him there would be no help from Portugal. If the offer to send a thousand men had been genuine the advance party would already be riding across the hills to offer the King the reassurance he needed. There had been no sighting of such a troop.

Don Pedro ignored them and bent down over the map again. Blackstone and Álvaraz bowed and left the tent. Once outside, Álvaraz lifted a lantern and turned to the Englishman. ‘You stand between me and Don Pedro. I offer my gratitude. You spare me grief at his hands.’

‘Álvaraz, we will soon have a battle on our hands. I think we’ll reach Seville in time, but you said we cannot defend it.’

‘We cannot. If they catch us there, we will soon be dead.’

‘They’ll come in force. Three, perhaps four days if we are lucky. Most of my men need fresh horses.’

‘The King’s are the finest in Spain. There is a place outside the city where they are bred. He will not part with them. They are his wealth and his pride.’

‘Then I won’t ask,’ said Blackstone. ‘I’ll take. You’ll show me where?’

Álvaraz grinned. ‘With pleasure, Sir Thomas.’

‘Good. Then we’ll do as he asks and run for the Portuguese border and strike south for an Atlantic port. We must convince him to return to Aquitaine. The sooner I see the back of your King the better I’ll like it.’