When the men had eaten their meagre pottage Blackstone walked through the camp checking the picket lines, stopping here and there to speak to the men. Blackstone never had cause to check up on his captains. They knew their duties, so whatever his reason for inspecting the camp they knew it had nothing to do with them.

‘Is the boy looking?’ said Blackstone to John Jacob, who accompanied him.

John Jacob saw Beyard out of the corner of his eye. The boy was with him, scraping the pot for the last remnants of food, his gaze following the tall, scar-faced Englishman who led the men and whom his new friend and protector Beyard honoured. John Jacob saw Beyard nod. ‘He hasn’t taken his eyes off us, Sir Thomas. Beyard has just given a sign that he’s ready.’

‘All right. We’ll walk the perimeter and then make our way around to where they are.’

They moved closer and pretended to confirm that the horses were tied and hobbled securely. Then they made their way back, which brought them past Beyard. The boy cowered, eyes lowered, pushing his shoulder into Beyard, seeking comfort.

John Jacob sidled away, leaving Blackstone alone with the boy and his chosen guardian.

‘Beyard, you’re well now?’ said Blackstone, making light conversation for the sake of the boy.

The Gascon captain nodded. ‘I am recovered, Sir Thomas. Strong as ever. Lázaro here has been helping me clean weapons and feed my horse. He’s a strong worker. Lázaro, greet Sir Thomas. He is my friend and saved us from the dungeon at Auray.’

The boy raised his eyes to look at Beyard, who nodded his encouragement. Lázaro reached out for Blackstone’s hand and kissed it, but remained silent. Blackstone gently held his hand and turned it to look at the palm. The lad flinched.

‘It’s all right, Lázaro,’ said Blackstone, releasing him. ‘He has callouses on his hands. He’s no kitchen boy. He’s used to hard labour yet he’s as scrawny as a starved rat. Has he said anything more?’

Beyard shook his head. He placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘There is something,’ he said. He turned Lázaro, who offered no resistance, and lifted his shirt. There were dull marks on his back: old scars. Someone had whipped him. Beyard settled the shirt and brought the boy back to face Blackstone.

‘If you tell Sir Thomas how you got those scars, we will stand in good favour with him.’

Lázaro remained silent.

‘Was it your master who did it?’ said Blackstone.

There was no answer.

‘Was it your mistress?’ said Beyard.

The boy’s eyes widened at the thought and he shook his head.

His answer gave a clue. He had served a noblewoman at some stage but there was still more to uncover.