Father Bledod had joined me and now tugged nervously at my mail sleeve. “Gruffudd’s son, Cadwallon, lord,” he said, “he’s the tall beardless boy. The one in the dun cloak.” He pointed.

“Quiet!” Æthelstan growled.

I took the Welsh priest away from Æthelstan, leading him around the lowest tier until we were out of earshot. “Half of them have dun cloaks,” I said.

“The boy with reddish hair, lord.”

He pointed, and I saw a tall young man with long dark red hair tied at the nape of his neck. He wore mail, but had no sword, suggesting that he was indeed a hostage, though any value he possessed as a hostage had long since vanished.

Only one man in Cynlæf’s band had knelt, and he only because he had understood that Æthelstan would not talk unless he was shown respect. That man glanced around uncertainly and, seeing his companions still standing, began to rise.

“I said kneel!” Æthelstan called sharply.

The answer came from a tall man standing close to Cynlæf. He pushed men aside, bellowed a challenge, and hurled a spear at Æthelstan. It was a good throw. The spear flew straight and fast, but Æthelstan had time to judge its flight and he simply stepped one pace to his left and the spear crashed harmlessly into the stones at Father Swithred’s feet. And then Cynlæf and his immediate companions were hauling themselves into saddles. More spears were thrown, but now Æthelstan and his men were crouching behind their shields. I had brought just two men with me, Oswi and Folcbald, the first a Saxon, lithe and serpent-quick, the second a Frisian built like an ox. They put up their shields, and Father Bledod and I crouched with them. I heard a blade thump into a willow board, another spear flew over my head, then I peered between the shields to see Cynlæf and a dozen men spurring into the entrance tunnel. The makeshift barricade had been pulled aside, and the way out looked clear because I had told Finan to hide his men at either side of the outer entrance to let Cynlæf believe he had a way to escape.

The rest of Cynlæf’s men started to follow their leader into the tunnel, but suddenly stopped, and I knew that Finan had made his shield wall across the arena’s entrance the moment he heard the commotion. It would be two shields high, bristling with spears, and no horse would charge it. Some of Cynlæf’s men were retreating back into the arena’s open space, where a few knelt in surrender while a handful of stubborn men threw their last spears at Æthelstan and his men. “Down!” Æthelstan shouted to his warriors, and he and his men jumped into the arena.