‘All right,’ said Blackstone. He took in the devastation. ‘There is nothing for you here. We’ll escort you to the next town or village. Take what you can from the ruins.’

‘Lord,’ said the man. ‘We are in your debt.’

‘There is no debt. Decide where it is we must take you.’

The villein’s eyes widened, confusion creasing his brow. ‘We ... we have no knowledge beyond our commune. Once a year the bailli comes and assesses our crops.’

‘What did he say?’ said Killbere as he joined Blackstone.

‘He doesn’t know anything. The reeve comes every year for his lord’s due. Graumont? Does the name mean anything?’

Killbere shook his head. ‘More local lords in France than rats in a sewer.’

‘This one sits on top of that pole,’ said Blackstone.

The villein’s face creased in fear as he listened to the exchange between Blackstone and Killbere. He nodded vigorously. ‘My lord. You speak the same language as those who attacked us.’

‘Englishmen?’ said Killbere. ‘Is that what he means?’

Blackstone nodded. ‘We’ve English and Breton skinners ahead of us.’ He raised a hand to calm the frightened villager. ‘We are not the same people as those who attacked you. Bring your people forward; we’ll escort you to the next village. Understand? If we had wished you harm you would already be dead.’

The peasant bobbed, bent like a beaten dog, dignity long since annihilated by a harsh life. He scurried back to the fearful survivors huddled at the edge of the ditch.

‘What do we do with them?’ said Killbere.

‘Escort them to safety.’

Killbere grunted and spat. ‘Wherever that might be.’

*

The men made two litters, poles braced either side of one of the spare horses, and then cross-braced with saplings. They carried two of the injured women and children on the litters as the other survivors trudged alongside the horsemen, bearing what few possessions they could salvage. By the time daylight faded they had picked up four more survivors who had run for their lives when the routiers had swept through their village. Blackstone gleaned fragments of information. The routiers were Bretons and Englishmen paid by the French. Men who had likely fought at Cocherel.

‘The King decreed no Englishman was to ride against the French,’ said John Jacob as the men watched the survivors set up camp. Grateful for their lives and Blackstone’s protection, they lit fires, prepared food and attended to the men’s needs by carrying water and gathering wood.

‘They’re not fighting the French; they’re killing Navarre’s men. Norman lords who hold his towns. All of this serves the Breton cause. If Paris commands them to destroy Navarre’s towns and lay waste to the domains he holds in Normandy, then they destroy any chance of us using them when we fight the Bretons.’