Will Longdon looked across the open ground to where the Moors had hobbled their horses. They had nosebags tied on and stood compliant as the men worked around them. The archer was uncertain why the Moors’ horses were not in the quarry. While his mind fought to find a way of asking, Salam pointed to the heaped river stones being placed by his bowmen.

‘Stones,’ said Longdon. He picked up a smooth rock and gestured for the Moor to watch him as he acted out what he was trying to say. ‘Here and there, see?’ He walked to where one archer had marked his place to fight. Arrows were jammed into the ground next to the river pebbles. Longdon held the rock in his fingers so his audience could see what he was doing and embellished his story with overwrought facial gestures. He plucked an arrow with one hand and held the stone with the other. ‘Arrow – stone,’ he said, showing each to the bemused Moor. Three more of his companions eased their efforts and watched the English archer. ‘Arrows soon gone. Poof. See? Finished.’ His gestures became more comical. The Moors were grinning at the unfolding act. ‘Big fight. No more arrows. Stones. So you must gather.’ He drew his arms together as if bundling sheaves of wheat. ‘No arrows ’cause they’re sticking in a skinner’s gut. So with no arrows we have to kill them another way. Yes?’ The ramble made no impression. Will Longdon looked at his bemused audience. Tucking the arrow behind his back so it was out of sight, he laid open his palm to show the rock again. ‘Kill them with these.’

The man he called Salam spoke to his comrades to try to understand what the English archer was trying to tell them. There seemed to be some agreement. Salam bent, picked up a rock and hurled it towards the river to where their common enemy would attack.

‘Rock,’ he said.

‘Yes, yes. Rock,’ Longdon repeated, nodding happily. But then he shook his head. ‘No throw. Not throw. See?’ He tugged a slingshot from his belt, unfurled its arm-length cords, slipped his forefinger through the loop on one end and held the knot tied on the other end between his fingers. He pointed to a clump of rushes tall enough to be a man in the shallow part of the river fifty yards away. He placed the rock into the sling’s pouch and then swung it rapidly. The stone swished through the air and tore into the target.

It impressed the Moors.

Longdon was frustrated. He wasn’t showing his skills with a sling only to impress them; he was trying to tell them that the fight would be desperate and hard won and the Moors needed to adopt the same strategy.