Álvaraz studied his boots for a moment, considering whether he should share his doubts. ‘Sir Thomas, I do not think we will be riding for Portugal. The tide has turned against Don Pedro. Portugal will not be drawn into a conflict that sweeps across the whole of Spain.’

‘You believe this? Despite his family connections?’

‘I do.’

Blackstone knew that if Álvaraz was correct, then they were about to be surrounded by the French- and English-led routiers. ‘Is there anywhere that remains loyal and holds their ground against them?’

‘Only one place. The north. Galicia.’

‘What route would we take?’

Álvaraz shrugged. ‘If the Portuguese deny him, then we cannot ride in safety within their border. On this side there are towns defended by loyal troops. I do not know if Calveley and du Guesclin will give chase, but if we can reach Santiago de Compostela, then we are only hours from the coast.’

‘How far to Santiago?’

Álvaraz sighed. ‘Eleven, twelve days.’

‘And in between?’

‘If we can get beyond halfway – say, Salamanca – then we will have a chance.’ He handed the lantern to Blackstone and, crouching, drew an outline of Spain in the dirt. He marked Seville and then scratched a line north and marked it with a stone. ‘Salamanca holds out. Seven days from here, so it will be four or five days beyond that.’ He placed another pebble near the northern coast. ‘To Santiago. I do not think the routiers will follow us into Galicia. It is a difficult terrain of forests, mountains and rivers. No army would choose to fight there.’

Blackstone looked at the scratched dirt. ‘We were only a few days from Corunna when we were at Burgos. Your King has damned us, Álvaraz. Can you see what will happen?’

Álvaraz looked at his crude map and shook his head.

Blackstone placed a stone north-east of Salamanca, and then another the same distance again. He pointed at the last stone he laid. ‘Burgos.’ He touched the first stone. ‘Valladolid is halfway between Burgos and Salamanca.’ He picked up the stone Álvaraz had laid down for Salamanca. ‘Bertrand du Guesclin and Hugh Calveley will not pursue us south here to Seville, they will ride west from Burgos and strike us at Salamanca. They’ll cut us off and array their men on open ground before we reach Galicia.’

Realization dawned on Álvaraz. ‘Mother of God, Sir Thomas, we cannot get past them in time.’

They stood and gazed at the night shadows. ‘Six or seven days from Seville to Salamanca. How many from Burgos?’ said Blackstone.

‘The same,’ said Álvaraz.

Blackstone put himself in Calveley’s place. ‘They’ll crown Henry King. He’ll strip the city merchants and what’s left of Pedro’s wealth and pay off the skinners. So that buys us a few days. Three maybe. They’ll be drunk and their purses will be heavy. Perhaps even four days.’