‘Were it me I’d keep on testing what she said.’ He wiped his greasy hands on his jerkin. ‘You can’t just stop seeing her; she’ll think you suspect her. Best to stay close to an enemy.’ He grinned. ‘Closer the better.’

‘I’ll send you.’

‘Oh no, my friend, I’ll bed down whores and nuns and tavern maids, but witches need a braver man than me.’

‘And I don’t believe in twisted dreams that pass as prophecy so there’s no need to crawl beneath her blankets again.’

‘Thomas, if we are to fight the French then only she can make Don Pedro be elsewhere. He has death or glory written all over him and, like you said, when they come they’ll come hard. We’ll pay the price and it’ll be costly to save his murderous skin but that’s what they task us to do and we must do it no matter what. Let us not forget that by now Henry of Trastámara is crowned King of Castile. He’s an enemy at our Prince’s back. We must look beyond this arse-cracked arid place and get the bastard back to Aquitaine. So swallow your pride and bed the witch again and have her drug Pedro or fondle his balls or do whatever she has to do. We cannot win if he is in our midst because he will take command. He’ll get in the way of the fight. We need to do what we do best.’

Blackstone knew his old friend spoke sense. ‘It’ll be me they’ll want, Gilbert.’

‘Aye, but they’ll have to get past me and every captain and their men to reach you.’ He grinned. ‘The Frenchies won’t like those odds.’

*

Stones from a tumbledown goat fold lay scattered on the hard ground. A canopy stretched across the half-walls gave Velasquita shelter from the chill wind. Servants had prepared a fire, cleared a place for her bedroll and served her food. She was, as always, separate from the King and his courtiers and distant enough from the common soldier to remain private. The remains of the stone walls were enough to keep the night air at bay as the breeze swirled around the firelight. She lay half propped against her saddle, her cloak wrapped around her as blankets and bedroll softened the harshness of what would otherwise be an inhospitable resting place. With or without the comfort of the bedroll, blankets and canopy, it would have been an enticing encounter with the sensuous woman. She gazed up at him.

‘I thought you had abandoned me, Thomas. I’ve been cold in my blankets these past nights.’