‘We have payment for you and we will take only what we need,’ Blackstone assured him as he stood in the dank gloom of the old church. It was poorly lit, a single candle close to a crudely fashioned crucifix, hewn no doubt with reverence by a carpenter as poor as the man he sculpted. ‘You have a blacksmith?’

‘We have enough skilled men to sustain ourselves with the help and blessings of Lord Jesus,’ he said, crossing himself and glancing at the crucified figure.

‘Shoe my horses, sharpen our blades and tell us where we can find grazing.’

*

They took the horses back across the river where meadows were still rich with grass. The heavy rainfall in the area blessed the surrounding countryside with a plentiful supply of water and crops.

‘He should have stayed here,’ said John Jacob as he released his horse into the meadow.

‘Perhaps we should all stay here,’ Killbere said. ‘The town has deep wells and grain stores; it would be a good place to spend next winter.’

Blackstone looked at him, knowing the truth of the matter.

‘And the women have broad hips and are sturdy, not like city whores who spend their lives on their backs. These women can look after a man,’ Killbere added.

‘I leave you here long enough and what goodwill we have gained will be gone in days. Their men work in stone and timber, they haul rocks from the valley, they’d be hard men to fight once you and Will Longdon’s lads invade their wives’ beds.’

Killbere shrugged. ‘I thought it a better proposal than chasing the shirt tails of a king on the run.’

‘The weather will turn,’ said John Jacob. ‘Álvaraz’s men say the storms come into the mountains from the sea.’

‘Then we won’t stay long before leaving to catch up to him – just give the men time to rest and eat. We’re eight or nine days from Santiago at a steady pace, less if the going isn’t hard. And neither Hugh Calveley nor Bertrand du Guesclin will come after us now.’

‘And then?’ said Killbere.

‘Make sure Don Pedro gets on the ship for Aquitaine and leaves us to make our own way home.’

‘I was thinking more about the woman, Velasquita,’ said Killbere.

Blackstone looked across the idyllic meadow, the broad-leafed trees whose soft rustling accompanied the sound of water over rocks. A brief moment of tranquillity in the fighting men’s lives. ‘I wasn’t,’ he said.

CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE