Renfred gripped Meulon’s shoulder. ‘You gave me no choice. I had a dozen and more survivors running into the trees and routiers were chasing them. I had to stop them. By the time I’d done that it was too late to do anything else but join you.’

Birdsong lilted over the sound of spluttering timbers of the burning hovels. First light cast its dull glow across the tortured village. Bodies lay scattered, little more than crumpled mounds of bloodied rags. Women and children filtered back from the forest, searching for their dead.

Meulon grunted and lifted a bloodied hand.

The light spreading across the sky exposed the blood-soaked gambeson beneath his mail. ‘You’re wounded,’ said Renfred.

Meulon sighed. ‘Aye, a knife thrust.’ He spat the sour taste from his throat. ‘Perhaps death is closer than I thought.’

CHAPTER NINE

The scrawny villager sent by Renfred reached the ruined chapel and told Blackstone that his men and twenty-three survivors from Saint-Pierre waited for him at the burnt-out village. The faint sound of a church bell clanged out the hour for prime, its dull resonance carried on the breeze from miles away. It told Blackstone that they were still in enemy territory. Only the French-held town of Villaines had a church.

Will Longdon joined Blackstone, John Jacob and Killbere. They spurred their horses ahead, leaving William Ashford to bring on the slow-moving column. When they found the charred remains of the village, Renfred hailed them from the forest’s edge.

‘I fear his wound is mortal, Sir Thomas.’

Blackstone dismounted. The villagers had made a rough shelter and a bed of ferns for the injured Meulon. Fever gripped him. A woman knelt at his side, bathing the big man’s forehead with a cloth. She stood as Blackstone approached.

‘This man saved me, my lord. Me and many others. He will die if his wound is not cared for. We have nothing.’ She bowed her head. ‘Only our gratitude. We are praying for him.’

Killbere eased her aside as Blackstone knelt next his injured captain. ‘Meulon, we’re here now and Will Longdon will stitch and bind you. We have herbs and ointment. You’ll soon be back at my side.’

Meulon licked his dry lips. His voice barely a whisper. ‘Sir Thomas. I have brought more trouble to your door. We saved more villagers.’

‘And that is not trouble, Meulon, that is a duty. You killed enough men to clear our way ahead to Sir John. Now let Will Longdon see to your wound.’

Meulon sighed. ‘His hands are as rough as a boar’s arse and fingers as thick as dog turds. He’ll hurt me more than the damned wound.’