‘So we make the lad feel safe,’ said Blackstone. ‘We treat him with kindness. No harsh words. He will help in whatever work can be found for him. Does he speak any French or English?’

‘I believe some French. Sometimes when I spoke to the prisoners who knew my Lord de Grailly I could see he understood a bit of what I said.’

Blackstone thought for a moment. ‘Until we uncover the boy’s secret we must protect him. We don’t crowd close to him but keep watch at a distance. We go about our daily work, but every captain will take his turn and stay vigilant. Beyard, you will tell him that I wish to speak to him. Do not bring him to me in case he thinks he is being brought for punishment or interrogation by someone in authority. I’ll go to him and I want you there when I do. After we have eaten is best. Make sure he’s well fed and warmed by a fire. We’ll question him slowly. I think it will take time. And until that time comes we double the pickets at night. De Hayle’s men outnumber us and if they are tracking our journey, then I see no reason why they would not try to seize back their prize.’

John Jacob attended to the fire and settled the blackened cooking pot over the flames. ‘Why keep a secret if you’re among those who rescued you?’ said the squire.

‘Fear dries more than the mouth, John. It takes hold of the mind, pushes it into a dark place then slams closed the door and throws away the key.’

‘Like hunger and my stomach,’ said Killbere. ‘The secret to unlock my misery is for you to make some oatcakes, John.’

‘No, Sir Gilbert, that’s a luxury you must wait for. Pea pottage with garlic and sage and a few old breadcrumbs to thicken it.’

‘Peas.’ Killbere sighed. ‘They loosen my bowels. I need something to cling to my ribs.’

Blackstone reached into a hessian sack. ‘Will and Jack are hunting. If they get back in time John will cook you a choice cut.’ He pulled a piece of horse bread from a sack. ‘I had one of the lads make a batch while we waited for Hugh Calveley before the fight at Auray. This’ll bind you.’ He tossed it to Killbere.

‘Thomas, hunger is the enemy of a fighting man. When he becomes a beggar at the door of necessity, he will boil his leather belt if that is all he has to eat.’ Killbere sniffed the offering and bit carefully into the baked cake of crushed peas and beans held together with bran. ‘It’s stale,’ he said but kept chewing.

‘I thought so,’ said Blackstone. ‘My horse spat his out.’

*