Blackstone pushed man and beast hard. On clear nights, when the moon rose and cast its light on the way ahead, he drove them long into the night. Don Pedro regained his temper and irritability by late on the first day but Sayyid al-Hakam stayed close to his master and his assurances assuaged the King’s anger at having little recollection of being convinced to leave his beloved Alcázar in Seville.

The way to Salamanca and beyond was unknown to Blackstone and as a gesture he turned to the King for advice, but in reality depended on the Moor and the Spanish captain. He confirmed their suggestions of what route to take by sending out Renfred and his men to scout.

They crossed the Roman bridge at Salamanca, taking on more supplies from the city loyal to the King. Blackstone’s men rode along the sandbanks below the bridge’s several arches, screened by trees and brush, ensuring that the columns’ full complement went unnoticed by the wary citizens who, despite professing their loyalty, might be tempted to pass such information to the King’s enemies. The fewer men seen might help attract a smaller attack force when word of their numbers reached Bertrand du Guesclin, which it surely would.

‘We skirted Salamanca, Thomas, but when the men returned with supplies, there were enough peasants with their hands out for silver to tell the French where we are,’ said Killbere as they hunched over their small fire and dipped stale bread into the cooking pot simmering with pottage.

‘They won’t need to be told, Gilbert, they’ll know. I’ll wager du Guesclin is close. My prayer is that the King will do what we tell him.’

Killbere squinted through the fire’s smoke towards the King’s tent. ‘He’s been docile enough now that they have stripped him of his wealth and denied him sanctuary in Portugal.’

‘Better for us if we could have crossed the border, but we need him to be elsewhere when the fight comes. If he’s with us when the French strike we’ll all die where we stand.’

The two veteran fighters fell silent. Killbere ran his tongue around his mouth to clear the saturated bread. ‘You’ll have to bed the woman again, you know that.’

Blackstone’s quizzical look drew no smile from Killbere.

‘Gilbert, I’ll not deny I enjoyed it but there’s no need for me to creep into her tent. I have my suspicions about her and that’s enough.’

‘You’d deny her her prophecy? It’s not a bad way to die, y’know, Thomas. I can think of a worse death.’

Blackstone tossed the rest of the crust into the pot. ‘You believe such nonsense?’