‘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.’

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

They buried Meuric Kynith in the cemetery at the Convent of Saint-Esprit. The town of Auray surrendered when the mayor and council agreed to terms with the assurance from Sir John Chandos that his troops would destroy no more houses and inflict no rape or pillage on its populace. They returned the woman and her child to the town and when they heaped Breton soil over Kynith’s grave she pushed through the gathered men to lay a small posy of wildflowers on the dirt. Then, cradling her rescued child, she bent a knee to Blackstone and raised his hand to her lips before disappearing through the throng of mourners without a word.

‘The woman’s life cost us dear,’ said John Jacob.