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earth of the track. Yorkist soldiers flanked the line of men on either side, hemming them in with the strong, shining flanks of their destriers. At this shambling speed, the journey back to Ludlow and the Duke of York’s castle would take at least a day and a half, allowing for a night’s rest in between.
    As they mounted the hill, the green lushness of the river valley receding, the countryside opened out, spread, studded here and there with a massive oak, or a small grove of beech trees. With the sun warming the back of his neck, Bastien pushed his soles against his metal stirrups, raising himself in the saddle to stretch and flex the muscles in his legs. He baulked at this ambling speed, more familiar with the rapid movement of professional soldiers, but he resisted the temptation to break into a full gallop to break the monotony of the journey.
    ‘I’m not sure about that one, my lord.’ Alfric, one of Bastien’s younger knights, rode alongside him at the back of the line of prisoners. He nodded towards an older man, not dressed for battle, who strode with the others. ‘Maybe we should let him go? He’s no knight.’
    ‘Nay,’ Bastien agreed, ‘but he’s certainly a nobleman.’ He pushed his visor upwards, relishing the fresh air on his skin, his high cheekbones still flushed from the exertion of the battle. ‘Look at his clothes.’ Although the man’s garments were of a simple cut, his cote-hardie was fashioned from a fine silk-woollen material, shot through with gold thread and his boots were of good leather. ‘And there’s another very important reason why we cannot let him go.’
    Alfric’s eyes widened
    ‘He’s a physician,’ Bastien replied, grinning at the fervent curiosity in the young man’s face, ‘and obviously well known among these noblemen; most of them call him by his first name. He can help tend to the injuries…on both sides.’
    ‘They endured more losses,’ Alfric interjected. ‘A good victory, methinks.’
    ‘Undoubtedly,’ Bastien murmured, but a hollowness clawed at his heart. There was no joy in following the hunched, defeated knights as they bobbed forlornly in front of him, no elation in this victory. He was tired, that was all, tired of the endless fighting, the bloodshed, and he had had no time to rest before this latest fight against the House of Lancaster.
    His head jerked around suddenly to the row of trees over to his right, catching a tiny movement out of the corner of his eye. The trees were a couple of fields away; he scanned the dark trunks, the hedgeline, unsure thathe’d seen anything—a flash…of blue, maybe? Something untoward, anyway, something not quite right. His green eyes narrowed, emerald chips as he pulled gently on the reins, slowing his horse.
    ‘What is it?’ Alfric hissed.
    ‘I think someone is following us,’ Bastien replied quietly. ‘Alfric, you stay here, maintain the rear guard. I’ll have a snoop around these woods.’ Knees gripping at the saddle sides, he yanked his helmet off, dumping the heavy, shining metal into Alfric’s lap. ‘Hold on to this, I have no need of it.’ Clods of earth flew up as Bastien kicked the horse into a gallop, thundering towards the tree line, reining in sharply at the serried oak trunks. The wood was overgrown, impenetrable; he would have to search on foot. Jumping down lightly, he secured the horse to a branch, noting the position of the sun to gain his bearings.
    After the clamour and mayhem of the battle, he relished the quiet hush of the forest, the damp smell of the vegetation crushed beneath his boots. Despite his muscles easing, every sense remained open, alert to the tiniest noise, the smallest movement. He was certain now that he’d seen a glimmer of blue in his peripheral vision; if someone was tracking them, then he would find them. Bastien plunged through the thick undergrowth, brambles tearing at his surcoat, snagging in his hair. For a moment, he stood still, listening, hearing only