But also, she would think later, some part of her must have expected it. How else to explain that she began drifting toward the yard at the first sign that something was amiss, though even the girl by her side had noticed nothing.

The silent crowd was thick, blocking her view of the fighting despite her height. The absence of voices seemed to amplify the clash of weapons. It was a frenzied sound, interspersed with grunting, and the rhythm of it told her it must be more than two men who fought.

She murmured to the nearest man’s back, “Who fights?”

He turned. Seeing her, he averted his eyes in deference and tried to lower himself in a quick bow. The press of others around him prevented this, but the attempt drew the attention of those closest. Others turned to her, and she repeated herself.

“Who fights?”

None answered, and her unease grew at the range of expressions, concern and fear and reluctance, on the faces turned to her. Instead of answering, they shuffled aside to create a path, parting before her as she moved closer to the open space where the men fought.

She saw Morency with a sword, fighting with a great bearded man – one of his knights, she recognized, who was struggling while Ranulf came on ruthlessly. His moves were smooth and comfortable, and yet she could sense a fury in him. Then she noticed he was fighting two men, with the second man recovering from a blow that had taken him to the ground. He rose now, hesitant to press forward. Two more men were sprawled on the ground at the edge of the clearing, faces bloodied.

She glanced to the side where Davydd stood, white-faced, and moved the few steps to reach him.

There was relief in his face when he sighted her. She opened her mouth to ask him what had happened that two men lay bloodied, when the sound of a heavy blow distracted her. It was the bearded knight who fought with Ranulf, clearly fatigued and ready to yield, and now fallen to his knees. Ranulf did not give quarter. He only shouted over his shoulder to the second man, who still stood hesitant.

“Come forward!” It was not a taunt. It was a command, his voice cold and hard. “Fight, or die as coward.”

The hesitant man stepped forward, casting aside uncertainty and attacking Ranulf’s back. Gwenllian tensed, knowing that the angle of the thrust was well-calculated, that Ranulf wore no armor, that he had not turned his body at all to prepare a defense of his back.