Berenger roared until he was hoarse as the English knights thundered past, the destriers’ hooves throwing up massive clods of earth and grass. They could all see the French forces halt at the sight of the English racing down from both flanks. Suddenly, there was mayhem out there.

‘Go on! Go on!’ Jack was screaming excitedly at the top of his voice, waving his hands high over his head.

In the distance, Berenger could see the Oriflamme waving. Suddenly, he saw it dip and disappear. The French infantry were turning and fleeing the English knights. He could see Sir John’s banner, and those of Warwick, Cobham, Burghersh and Dagworth, all galloping towards the terrified French.

‘Their King’s fled the field!’ someone shouted. ‘He’s bolted!’

Berenger didn’t know if that was true or not, but the Oriflamme was gone, and the collection of men about it had also disappeared.

Twilight was overwhelming the field as the English knights pounded after their foe. Screams came across the still evening air as they speared more of the enemy, and Berenger could see the line of English knights and men-at-arms breasting the far hill and then disappearing over the farther side in their pursuit.

With a blossoming of flame, the windmill behind the English lines caught fire. It would serve to mark the English army for returning soldiers.

Exhausted, the archers squatted or lay where they had fought. Berenger craved a cup or two of wine, but there was nothing here. He sat, his back to one of Archibald’s gonnes and stared at the field, to where Geoff’s body lay.

‘Are you injured?’

He looked up to see Béatrice. ‘No, maid. Are you?’

She shook her head.

‘All this, does it help you?’ he asked, tired to his very soul.

‘All the men in France cannot bring back my father or my family,’ she said. ‘It’s all gone. I have nothing.’

Berenger nodded. ‘Nor have I,’ he said. ‘I lost my family long ago.’

She sat beside him, and they leaned together from mutual understanding. It was completely dark when he felt her sobbing gently.

Ed slumped on the ground as the battlefield began to empty. Only the bodies remained. So many bodies! Already men were walking about the dead and dying, giving a merciful killing stab where it was needed, and robbing the rest.

‘Come on, lads,’ Jack called. ‘Ed, you too. There should be rich pickings here today!’

Ed was still walking as though in a trance as he followed slowly. A man lay at his feet, an older man with a grizzled beard and bright blue eyes set in a sun-browned face. In his breast was a trio of arrows, but there was no pain in his features, and no blood marred them. He might have been dozing in the sun. And next to him was a boy, perhaps only Ed’s age, with his arm cut away and an expression of utter terror on his face.

‘Could have been you, eh, brat?’ Erbin said. He had come up behind Ed, and now stood watching him, his knife in his hand.

Ed had no words for him. He stood staring, too numbed to flee or fight.

‘You bore yourself well. You’ve seen a great battle today,’ Erbin said. He motioned to the bodies before them. ‘A greater battle than most will see in their lives.’

‘I have seen enough.’

‘Really?’ Erbin chuckled. ‘I doubt it. War gets into a man’s blood.’

‘Like you, you mean? Well, I don’t want to be like you! Robbing a boy who had bought me ale.’

‘You bought us ale and we drank it, boy. But we thought you would clear off afterwards. It didn’t occur to me that you’d come here. Nor that you’d invent stories about us.’

‘What stories? You robbed me outside the tavern that night in Portsmouth. You broke my teeth.’

‘That’s what Tyler said you’d been saying about us,’ Erbin spat. He grabbed Ed’s jack and pulled him close. ‘Listen here! I don’t know who beat you, but we stayed in the tavern that night and embarked the following morning. We didn’t follow you – we didn’t attack you. Why you want to spread malicious stories about me and the men, I don’t know, but you had better stop, if you don’t want to be left dangling from a rope again.’

‘What do you mean “Tyler said”?’

‘He told us you’d been telling lies – blaming me and the boys for robberies and things. We aren’t thieves, boy. And when someone calls us names like that, we’ll give him something to complain about.’

‘When did he tell you this?’ Ed asked, a terrible suspicion forming.

‘Ages ago. How should I know? Just stop spreading your lies.’

Ed didn’t speak. In his mind, he was remembering that night in the alley, when a tall, dark figure had punched him in the face and taken his purse. And then he looked back at the short figure of Erbin.

Tyler was walking among the dead. He stopped at a body and started tugging at a ring. When he looked up and saw Ed staring at him, he smiled and waved. And Ed knew who had attacked him.

‘I’ll have my revenge,’ he swore to himself. ‘Oh yes, you churl. I’ll have my revenge on you.’

Berenger walked about the field with a sense of awe. Men were picking trinkets from among the bodies, like so many carrion birds at a midden. It was no surprise that a man would never eat a crow after witnessing the result of a battle, but to see men robbing the dead and injured was to see them at their bestial worst.

Archibald stood bawling at some men to clear a path about his gonnes so that he could bring his wagon up to replenish his stores of powder and shot, but while guards and others tried to explain that the King wished for all the army to stand on the ground, Archibald could hear nothing said to him. His ears were ringing as though inside a church bell while the clapper struck.

Berenger left him to his argument, and stood a short way off, gazing over the field.

He had never seen so many bodies in one place. He saw one knight still sitting in his saddle on top of a second horse and rider. All four were pricked with a profusion of arrows. The stench of death was overpowering.

This, then, was the path he had chosen. To live and to die in dealing death. Berenger was transfixed, overwhelmed by the thought that so many souls could be snuffed out in a single afternoon.

‘A grim sight, eh, Frip?’ Grandarse had joined Berenger and now stood, hoicking his belt about his waist. From one shoulder dangled a wineskin. ‘But I’ll not deny that I’m glad it’s them sprawled in the shit, and not us, eh?’

Berenger nodded.

‘There’ll be more all around here. The knights will have a merry hunt this night and tomorrow,’ Grandarse added comfortably.

‘What do we do now?’ Berenger muttered.

‘Now? Man, the King already knows where the worst pirates are, doesn’t he? We’ll be heading for Calais, to burn their ships and punish the populace for their behaviour. And then, when we’ve done that, we’ll head for home. Aye, I’d reckon,’ he added, pulling the stopper from his wineskin and drinking deeply, ‘we’ll be home by autumn – Christmas definitely. And then we’ll be lauded from one end of the kingdom to the other for our glorious victory.’

He lowered the skin and passed it to Berenger. ‘Sup this, Vintener,’ he said, his mood sombre now. ‘And in the future, when all the churls in a tavern are falling over themselves to buy you a drink to celebrate this glory, be grateful that you will never again have to see butchery on this scale. Never, ever again. Christ Jesus, I swear that the French King must accept our King’s right! If ever God gave proof of His support, it was today. I doubt we’ll ever see a victory like this again in our lifetimes.’

‘In God’s name, let us pray that you are right,’ Berenger said, and he drank deeply of the wine.