Blackstone treated the boy’s innocent simplicity and belief with heartfelt tenderness. ‘Lázaro, I believe you to be the bravest boy I have ever known. Your Queen loved and trusted you and gave you her crucifix to protect you, but I am afraid I cannot take you with me today. This day is for the King’s business.’

Lázaro’s chin dropped, but he nodded his acceptance of Blackstone’s ruling.

Blackstone lifted the boy’s chin. ‘But your courage and devotion should be rewarded, so I will speak to the Archbishop and ask if he will give you his personal blessing.’

The lad’s eyes widened at the prospect.

‘If the Archbishop agrees Beyard will take you tomorrow.’

Lázaro’s joy overwhelmed him and, just as when he was first rescued and crushing fear made it difficult for him to speak, he could only stutter his gratitude.

Beyard’s hand ruffled the boy’s hair. ‘Now, Lázaro, there is no need for your voice to desert you. We have spoken about this. Let your thoughts find the words and then your lips speak them.’

The boy’s grin was a joy to behold for the men who cared for him. He calmed his stutter. ‘From my heart I thank you, Sir Thomas.’

‘And from mine I wish you joy and a long life in the service of this great captain. Now, I had best get to the Archbishop and arrange that meeting for you.’

Blackstone strode to where John Jacob and Killbere waited with the horses beneath a clump of trees. He untied the rein from the hitching post; the bastard horse’s ears pricked forward, raising his head so quickly it took Blackstone by surprise. It did not, as expected, bare its yellow teeth and attempt to tear flesh from bone, but snuffled its soft muzzle against his shoulder.

Killbere and John Jacob were as startled as Blackstone.

‘I’ll be damned. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that was a sign of affection,’ said John Jacob.

‘My arse,’ said Killbere. ‘Too much sweet grass and not enough oats is making it soft in the head. No different from us, John. Not enough meat in a man’s belly and you see how quickly he starts simpering. Fighting men and their beasts need a diet that gives them strength and vigour.’

Blackstone turned the bastard horse. ‘A leaf fell on my shoulder; it was after the berries.’

John Jacob laughed. ‘For a moment there I thought there was hope.’

Killbere spat. ‘Hope? John, that was washed away when our mothers sluiced us from their belly.’ He spurred his horse onto the track leading to Santiago.

Blackstone and John Jacob followed. ‘One day, Sir Gilbert will find some joy in his life,’ said the squire.

‘Oh, he has that already,’ said Blackstone. ‘He’s a happy man when he’s killing the French.’

CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE