Gontrán shook his head, extended his hand for the flask again and nodded his thanks when Meulon obliged. ‘North-east. Rugged country!’ he emphasized. ‘Corunna is too busy. Too many ships. My people know the meaning of a day’s work.’

Blackstone crouched by the fire so he was level with the old man. ‘If you came from that direction then you would have been on a direct route to Santiago and if you know the route well enough, you would not have missed the city.’

‘You think I don’t know that? I’m old but I’m not an idiot.’ He glared defiantly at the men around him as if it were they whose minds were as flimsy as the forest mist.

Blackstone’s instincts sensed there was more but the old man was reluctant to tell them.

Gontrán shrugged. ‘I didn’t know whether I was being brought into danger. There are villains who rob pilgrims.’

‘And why do you say you were brought here?’ Blackstone said. ‘Who brought you?’

The men looked past him towards the forest but there was no sign of anyone else.

Gontrán hesitated, glancing around at the hard-faced men who stared at him. ‘If you mock me, then I will leave with thanks for the warmth of the fire and food and for not causing me harm.’

‘We will not mock you,’ Blackstone assured him gently. ‘What was it that brought you here?’ he insisted.

‘What? That hawk,’ Gontrán said cautiously. ‘It frightened me, I don’t mind telling you. We are superstitious people in these parts.’

Blackstone saw the same look cross the faces of the gathered men. ‘We have seen them circle high above us before battle. They can bring good fortune or bad, but that is every man’s superstition,’ he said. ‘Now tell us why your courage brought you here.’