Blackstone watched the scarred piece of wood float away in the moonlit current. ‘Honour is standing firm to the man next to you,’ he said. He clapped a hand on Renfred’s shoulder. No more words needed.

When Blackstone and Killbere came to William Ashford’s men on the far flank of the river one of them stood. ‘Sir Thomas,’ said Tom Brook, a man who had joined Blackstone’s men when Ashford had been assigned to the Master of War. ‘May I speak, lord?’

‘Every man may speak if they are words worth listening to,’ said Killbere, eyeing the fair-haired younger man.

‘And even if they’re not,’ Blackstone added. ‘We have time to hear them.’

The younger man, clearly not lacking in confidence, scratched in the dirt and pointed them out as being the battle lines. ‘If we had a few mounted men at the quarry, they could hold there and when we are pushed back, they could then sweep across the skinners. That could give the lads on foot a chance to regroup or run for the quarry.’

Tom Brook looked no older than Blackstone’s son, but he was already a veteran at twenty-two.

‘And who would be the best men to do this?’ said Blackstone.

Brook looked across to where al-Hakam’s men camped. The Moors went without blankets on the cold night, draping them instead across their horses, keen for their mounts not to have stiff muscles when first light came and when, soon after, they’d ask them to drive hard at the enemy. ‘They’re horsemen like I’ve never seen before. I watched them back at Seville. They’re tough and they’re fearless. If they would give us twenty or thirty men on this side of the river it could turn things in our favour.’

‘You make a good point, Tom,’ said Killbere. ‘But the Moors will not reduce their ranks for us.’

‘Then will you ask Master Ashford if I can take a dozen men and lead them?’

‘Tom, we need every man in the line,’ said Blackstone. He looked across the open ground; he could see how the assault would take place and Tom Brook’s idea had merit, but it would be costly to those who undertook its execution. ‘I’ll speak to William and ask him to choose a dozen of his best men. You will fight with me, and when the time comes I’ll send you back to ready the horsemen. We’ll have need of you, Tom, but I’ll not think badly of you if you see it’s too great a risk.’

‘A greater risk than anyone else will take, Sir Thomas? We’ll cut a wound into the bastards’ hearts and they can choke on their own blood.’

*