‘Legends are stories, my lord, and stories are for troubadours and minstrels. Fighting men seize the best opportunity they can to slow down and defeat an enemy. Do not let whispers from the past make us fearful of what must be done now. The Romans left a better legacy. They built a bridge across the river so we will hold it. Once the French arrive, English routiers will be on their heels, and if the French haven’t slaughtered us by then, then Hugh Calveley will cage and chain you and drag you through the streets and then your half-brother will have your head on a pole and your limbs severed and placed at crossroads. I warn you. We cannot beat the host that rides towards us, so you must not stay.’

Blackstone watched the bravado slip away from the King of Castile. He was already humiliated from the loss of his beloved Seville and the occupation of Burgos, and then the loss of his treasury. Physical degradation would be too deep a wound to contemplate. But then, to Blackstone’s concern, he raised his head.

‘I would rather die standing with my men than keep on running. I will fight at your side, Sir Thomas. I do not fear death.’

Álvaraz looked worried and stepped forward. ‘Highness, the church at Puebla de Sanabria will give you sanctuary. It is only a day and a half ride on the far side of the river. If we hold the bridge long enough, then you will have a clear passage to Santiago and Corunna. Days, highness, only days and you will be with the English Prince.’

‘No. I have run far enough.’

Velasquita took a pace forward. ‘The King has a right to die where he chooses,’ she said.

Blackstone and Álvaraz had not expected her to support Don Pedro.

‘Woman, this council is no place for you,’ said the High Steward.

‘It is no place for those who are not prepared to face death. Are you?’ she answered.

The taunt made the High Steward stand tall. ‘As God wills.’

‘Brave words, but when blades eviscerate you and you hold your innards watching your life ebb away, that is when we will test your courage.’

The King raised a hand to stop any further argument between the soothsayer and the steward. ‘Velasquita, where shall I die? Tell me what you see so I may know the place and prepare myself.’

‘My lord, I have seen your return to glory. I have seen your people rejoice. You will not die tomorrow or the next day or for many more thereafter, so you must not challenge Fate. Let others leave their blood in the sand. You must reach the English Prince. That is what I have seen. You have no choice. Spain is waiting for your victorious return.’

Don Pedro thought on it. He nodded. ‘Very well. Puebla de Sanabria it shall be, and then on from there.’