‘My horse senses fear, my lord. He does not tolerate it. Neither my Prince nor my King has sent me for, as you know, this does not concern them or your King. As for my presence, I heard that those who urged you into this war are now pissing their breeches at the thought of a fight and I wanted to see these wretches for myself.’

‘You insult us all,’ de Beaumanoir said before de Blois could answer. ‘There are no cowards on this field today. Your manner is offensive, Blackstone.’

‘His manner is always offensive,’ said Killbere. ‘I have lived with it for many years. It’s something I encourage when addressing those who wish to retreat from battle.’

Killbere’s additional insult was as vinegar poured into a wound.

‘Are Killbere and Blackstone your mouthpiece, my Lord de Montfort?’ said Charles de Blois.

‘They are not.’

‘Then let us parley before blood is spilt. For twenty-two years there has been civil war here. My French and Breton lords are advising me with Brittany’s best interests at heart. Sir John Chandos, most respected Constable of Aquitaine, can offer his voice of reason. I believe you will see the wisdom in my advisers’ suggestions.’ De Blois nodded for de Beaumanoir to offer the terms.

‘We will partition Brittany. Lord de Montfort will have the south and the west including the city of Nantes. My Lord of Blois will hold the north and east. We will submit these claims for the peerage and the title to our respective Kings.’

‘These are the same terms you offered the Prince months ago,’ said Blackstone. ‘They were agreed and then my Lord of Blois reneged because his wife who holds the purse strings refused to abide by it.’

The sour look on de Blois’s face confirmed Blackstone’s comment. ‘And I have relented and she has agreed. It is time for peace.’

‘And you, Lord de Beaumanoir, you and the Breton barons agree to this?’ said Sir John Chandos.

‘We do, and we are certain that when you speak to those who support your claimant that they will see this is the way the matter should conclude.’

Blackstone leaned forward and curled his fist over one of the bastard horse’s ears. ‘I don’t want my horse to hear men of honour grovelling for a corner of this worthless place. His disgust would result in violence. You, Lord de Beaumanoir, I last saw at Bergerac when my Prince came to receive fealty from the lords of Aquitaine and Brittany. You said his wife dressed like a whore. I warned you then to keep a curb on your tongue and I warn you now that if you or any of your snivelling Bretons come to parley again, I will kill you where you stand.’

The Bretons reined their horses.

‘You should have died in that sewer in Bergerac,’ said de Beaumanoir.