Longdon watched the horsemen trot past. ‘Young Salam, he’s a good lad. A bit wet behind the ears but he’s an archer and a half and if he ends up as maggot food then I’ll have myself a nice war bow to trade with some tavern keeper in Santiago.’

Meulon and William Ashford drew up alongside as they led their men forward in the column. ‘Santiago de Compostela is a place for the righteous. Even the taverns have daily prayers. There’s little wine and plenty of callouses on your knees,’ Meulon said.

‘No tavern keeper in his right mind would do that,’ said Longdon with a troubled look.

‘Aye, I’ve heard that as well,’ confirmed Halfpenny with a straight face.

‘And thieves like you are beyond redemption,’ the throat-cutter told him. ‘So you’re fucked. No wine or ale and damned as a sinner and a thief. That’s Santiago for you.’

William Ashford took pity on him. ‘Will, don’t listen to them. They’re squeezing your balls.’

Longdon grinned self-consciously. ‘I knew that, William.’

‘Once we ride into Santiago, the priests come into the street and question the captains and ask for their worst sinners so they can serve the pilgrims in the cathedral – you know, wash their feet like Our Lord did. Sir Thomas has told us it would be good for your soul if we all chose you.’

Before Longdon could close his gaping jaw and spit out a reply, Meulon and Ashford rode on, their laughter coming back to taunt him.

‘You’ll be laughing out your arse when you need us archers, you donkeys!’ he yelled.

Meulon raised himself in the stirrups and bent his back, showing the centenar his backside.

Jack Halfpenny looked as bemused as his friends.

‘And you watch yourself, Jack Halfpenny, or I’ll give you a dozen of my Welsh archers to command. Those pagan bastards will drive a man to forsake drunkenness and whoring and beg to join the priesthood.’

Halfpenny slapped him on his shoulder. ‘In that case, Will, you’re a candidate for the Church yourself. I’ll look for you having your head shaved and your arse kissed.’ He spurred his horse away to join his men.

Killbere followed Blackstone and John Jacob as they trotted past towards the gate. ‘Will! Then get those pagan Welsh bastards in good order and join the column. This isn’t a damned invitation,’ he said.

Will Longdon curled the reins around his fist and turned in the saddle to face his archers. ‘You’re pagan bastards right enough, but you’re my pagan bastards.’

He heeled his mount and followed the column out of the Alcázar, now abandoned to the mob and the enemy.

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE