He lost sight of Blackstone. On the flank he could see Killbere fighting alongside Chandos and William Ashford. Behind them Will Longdon had finished shooting. De Montfort’s banner showed him Blackstone again. He watched, rapt, the cut and thrust of the battle as men wavered and gaps opened in the battle line.

A buzzard circled high, waiting for the dead. Its piercing screech made Meulon turn and as he did so he saw a wisp of black smoke. A swarm of men was running silently around the edge of the forest that had concealed their approach long enough to be within thirty paces before they raised any alarm. One of them wore a leather apron across his shoulder and neck as protection from the burning, tar-filled rundlet he carried. The tar barrel would burn long and choke those downwind once hurled into the defenders.

‘To your front!’ he bellowed.

How many? Forty? More? No. Experience told him de Hayle had underestimated the strength of Meulon’s defence. The arrogant bastard had sent barely thirty men to attack, expecting to find defenceless servants. They swarmed towards the men defending two of the wagons and the weight of their attack was enough to overpower them. Meulon knew the routiers’ intention was to draw men away from the other positions to reinforce their comrades.

‘Stand fast!’ he shouted at the others, who had begun to desert their posts to aide their comrades just as de Hayle’s men expected. ‘Six men with me!’

The barrel carrier tossed it into the wagon: the folded tents made an ideal target. Black smoke billowed. The breeze caught it, aiding de Hayle’s men as it smothered the camp. Meulon speared two attackers clambering over the low barricade. His six defenders locked shields. It made no difference. The routiers threw themselves over them. As Meulon expected, the attackers at the rear peeled away and sought out weak spots in the depleted defence. Meulon’s men retreated, re-formed, and beat the enemy back. The thunderous cries from the battle below blanketed their own voices raised in anger and fear. Pageboys and attendants ran into the trees as de Hayle’s men spilled into the camp. There was no sign of le Bête himself but his savage routiers needed no leader to show them how to kill. Three of the boys fleeing in panic fell under sword blows. Meulon’s command formed up in a line across the centre of the camp and now the attackers were at a disadvantage. As Meulon’s men from the other positions struck at them Meulon saw half a dozen routiers hold back. They peered in the wagons but didn’t seem to find what they were looking for.