Blackstone regrouped his men-at-arms and archers. While others ate and drank, Blackstone’s men cleaned their weapons ready to fight again. Once that was done they gathered together, a company of men bonded over the years by Thomas Blackstone, separate from Chandos and de Montfort’s men. Will Longdon had lost seven archers, killed when they ran into the fight; more had light wounds. William Ashford brought his contingent back to camp after chasing the enemy survivors. His weariness was plain to see and as his sergeants organized his men, Blackstone went to greet him. He handed him a wineskin.

‘You must have chased them halfway to Paris,’ said Blackstone.

Ashford gulped down the wine, uncaring that it spilled over his beard. He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth. ‘Merciful Christ, Sir Thomas, the assault swept us along with Chandos. Once Blois’s banner fell Lord de Montfort went over those hills like a hound chasing a rabbit. You must have put fire in his belly.’

‘He did well; we cannot deny him that. You have prisoners?’

‘Me and the sergeants took a few for ransom. Nothing like Chandos, mind – my God, he bagged Bertrand du Guesclin; he’ll be worth thousands. More than. No, we got some of the lesser knights; they’ll bring in enough. We’ll put them with the others so we all share in the spoils. And you, Sir Thomas?’

‘Norman lords and their knights. They surrendered quickly enough once we overwhelmed them. I have their parole. We won’t have to fight again until next year, thanks to the money from their ransoms. What of Charles of Blois? Any word?’

‘We came across him lying dead surrounded by his men. It looked as though he put up a good fight but...’ Ashford shrugged. ‘Fate abandoned him.’

‘Where are de Montfort and Chandos now?’

‘Their heralds are going among the dead identifying their blazons. Chandos has pickets out to stop locals robbing the bodies.’ The two men watched as men streamed back in ones and twos, small groups of comrades who joked and laughed at their victory and their survival. Tales of exaggerated prowess already being bantered back and forth. All of them carried booty.

‘He allows the men to take what they find providing it is not from a high-ranking nobleman,’ said Ashford. He drank again and corked the wineskin, handing it back to Blackstone. ‘We were outnumbered but it worked in our favour. We moved faster and carved into them.’

‘Have they made a count of the French and Breton dead?’

‘The heralds think eight hundred or more killed. Hundreds died in the crush when they fell and were trampled from those pressing behind them, and near enough two thousand captured. When they fought their divisions were jammed like debris in a river. We went around them and through them. They ended in chaos but it must be God’s blessing that we escaped with so few casualties.’