‘Turn and hold,’ Blackstone said.

Men on the one side of the boat lifted their oars as the others pulled hard, turning them broadside to the current. Kynith tugged the woman to him as she spat water. He tried to calm her, but she panicked. Wrapping a strong arm around her, he managed to constrain her long enough for them to reach the boat. Ashford and Killbere hauled her aboard as Blackstone and Longdon reached down to the grinning Welshman.

‘Can’t have a child without a mother, Sir Thomas.’

‘You stupid whoreson. You never knew yours,’ said Longdon, reaching for the man’s belt to lift him clear.

‘Aye, well, you and me both, you English bastard. All the more reason to—’ His body bucked as a crossbow bolt tore into his shoulder. Longdon fell back as Blackstone held Kynith. Another quarrel struck the Welshman.

‘They’ve got our range!’ Longdon said.

John Jacob lunged for Blackstone and pulled him away from the wounded archer. Had he not the next two quarrels that slammed into the boat would have struck him.

‘Pull!’ Killbere shouted as Kynith was washed past the boat towards the shore. The current twisted the boat. Oarsmen struggled as another bolt found its mark. One man fell across his oar. Kynith was caught on a fallen tree branch, one arm hooked over it.

‘There!’ said Ashford, pointing at some soldiers running down the track next to the river. One of them, a bareheaded man-at-arms with a torn scalp, wore a surcoat bearing four upturned daggers against a blue background that looked at first to be French fleurs-de-lys.

‘Thomas! That’s Ranulph de Hayle,’ said Killbere.

Blackstone’s boat was swept beyond range of the French bowmen. ‘Hold the boat steady!’ he said.

Ashford pulled aside the wounded oarsman and took his place. He leaned into the oar and helped stop the rapid drift. The boat held long enough for Blackstone and the others to watch as Kynith was hauled from the shallows. The Welsh archer cried out: ‘Sir Thomas!’

Ranulph de Hayle bellowed. ‘Blackstone? Thomas Blackstone? You dare to take what is mine? Then I take my revenge.’ He dragged a knife across Kynith’s throat and kicked his body into the water.

Blackstone’s men cursed. Will Longdon spat over the side. ‘Put us ashore, Thomas. Let’s kill this pig.’

Blackstone set his gaze to the turncoat Englishman and then turned to his men. ‘This is not the time, Will. The riverbank ends. Ship the oars. The current will take us. We’ll retrieve Kynith’s body at the bend of the river.’

‘Merciful Christ, Thomas,’ said Killbere. ‘We cannot let this man live.’

‘I’ve given my word that I would deliver his head, Gilbert.’ He turned to the men looking at him as they pulled towards the bend in the river. ‘Carry what he did to our friend in your hearts and when we face him and his men offer them no mercy. No matter how they plead for their lives. We will kill this Englishman no matter who protects him. King, Prince or Sir John Chandos. Even God cannot shield him.’