William Ashford’s strength forged a path through the bustling, chaotic surge of refugees crowding in from the main gate. Ashford glanced back to ensure Blackstone and the others were at his heels. The five men twisted and turned through the fear-driven townsfolk. A single soldier guarded the postern gate. He was gazing through the viewing hatch, eyes searching for any assault attempt from outside, no thought of danger from within. When he turned and saw the men bearing down on him, his shock left him no time to challenge them. Ashford’s fist put the man down; he pulled the heavy gate open, checked outside, glanced up at the ramparts and signalled Blackstone and John Jacob through.

Ashford pulled the gate closed behind them and took the lead again as the men scrambled down a dirt path towards the track that encircled the walls between the castle and the river. They saw smoke billowing from the far end of the town and knew that Chandos had directed his archers to set the thatched roofs alight. The bridge was still clogged with townspeople trying to squeeze through the castle’s half-open gate. Two skiffs waited at the bend in the river, half obscured from the castle ramparts by trees and bushes.

Killbere raised himself from beneath the canvas covering on the first boat and whistled a signal. Half a dozen men-at-arms threw the cover aside. The second skiff was tied up on the riverbank forty yards beyond and as Blackstone and the others scrambled towards the first boat Jack Halfpenny and a dozen archers showed themselves, bows strung.

Blackstone and the rescued men were twenty yards from Killbere’s boat when a dozen garrison soldiers shepherding townspeople across the bridge suddenly turned against their own kind, demanding they turn back because the castle yard was too full. The throng of desperate people pressed hard, their raised voices becoming cries of pain and anger as the soldiers struck out at them. Blackstone handed Beyard’s unconscious body into the willing arms of Killbere’s men. Will Longdon and Kynith clambered aboard and helped John Jacob and Ashford ease the others down into the well of the boat. Blackstone was about to jump aboard when screams rose from the bridge. The soldiers were no longer using staves to keep the people back, they were thrusting swords into them. A woman shrieked, an animal cry, as the man with her was cut down and the child he was cradling tumbled from his arms into the weir below the bridge. The crowd faltered but the woman threw herself into the water. The swirling current caught her clothing, pulling her below the surface. Soldiers turning to watch her desperate attempt to save her child saw the armed men in the boats, one of whom plunged into the swirling current.