‘We won’t fight on horseback. We’re putting the horses to the rear. I want Blois and his men on their feet, encumbered with weight and tired by climbing up to us. They will see what we’re doing and know their horses offer too tempting a target for you and your men.’

‘We’ll not be as effective against armoured men as we would against horses,’ said Longdon.

‘I know. Bring down those you can. Force them to raise their shields and huddle against your arrows. When you have done as much as you can come in hard and fast on our heels when the bloodletting starts. Sword and knife, Will. Get among them.’

Will Longdon nodded. ‘These Welsh are a bloodthirsty lot, Thomas, but I’d fancy our chances more if we could kill as many as we can before we abandon our bows.’

‘I have no wish to see you or any of the lads harmed, but the French and Bretons will not expect it. Speak to Jack, let him cover you as close as he can when you attack.’

There was no more to be said. The two men acknowledged each other and Blackstone turned the bastard horse away. Longdon faced the Welsh archers who were the closest in formation. ‘I warned you. Today we’ll see who can thrash the devil and keep the angels at his back.’

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The curse that was men’s ambitions emerged a few hours later when over four thousand armoured horsemen came within sight of Auray’s walls. A wild meadow of colour emerged as pennons and banners fluttered across the open ground. Sir John Chandos and de Montfort followed Blackstone’s plan and placed their dismounted army in three front-line divisions with the archers on the right flank. Blackstone, Killbere, de Montfort and Chandos rode out to meet de Blois and his delegates, who splashed across the ford. Blackstone waited, letting them come to him. When the men drew up they remained silent as their eyes went beyond the riders and took in Blackstone’s battle formation.

‘We can avoid this conflict,’ said one of the Breton lords.

‘We cannot,’ said Chandos.

John de Montfort glanced at the Prince’s trusted adviser. ‘Sir John, let us at least hear what they offer.’

Chandos shrugged. ‘As you wish. Hurry, my Lord de Beaumanoir, the day is waiting.’

The Breton lord curbed his irritation. ‘We wish to save good men from dying here today. We can divide Brittany. My Lord de Blois has considered what we, his advisers, have suggested.’

Blackstone’s horse took a dislike to de Beaumanoir’s mount and lunged against the reins, yellow teeth bared, intent on causing harm. Blackstone restrained its impulse.

‘Your horse is like a pit bull dog,’ said Charles de Blois after controlling his own mount. ‘I know you, Sir Thomas, and am surprised the Prince sends you.’