Chapter 45
June, 1177
Hawarden Castle, Gwynedd
He was dead. Hugh knew it as certainly as he knew he was soon due for another one of his mother’s irritated missives. As certainly as he knew Henry’s lucky talents had been passed on to his son, after all. As certainly as he knew that Haworth was not dead.
He wondered if it was his fault—that the men with whom he was so besotted died young—or if he simply fell in love with men whose unfortunate destiny it was to die young. Not that it made any difference; the result was the same.
…The Bastard had finally gotten the better of him. He’d won. Although another forty-odd of Hugh’s soldiers had managed to make it back to Hawarden between the time of his arrival and the Bastard’s late the next day, there were still far too many missing. He would ransom all of them, even though he didn’t have to, because the success of the ambush had been his fault.
These twin disasters would once have devasted him but he supposed he had grown used to the heavy blows of his life because although his movements and utterances were mechanical, still he walked and talked, ate and drank. He was quieter, but then, he’d always been quiet and perhaps his men noticed nothing amiss, or put it down to concern for the missing…
It was when he stopped that he felt the disasters most keenly. A fog would swirl around his head and paralyze his mind. He was unable to concentrate and had to struggle to put a thought into words. Even his eyes could not focus properly, but darted from one object to another. He dared not sleep; he went into his bedchamber but the idea of lying upon the bed and closing his eyes horrified him. He didn’t know what sorts of dreams would haunt him. He sat in a chair all night instead and gave himself over to fitful spurts of unconsciousness.
“My lord, they’re here…”
He went out with his men and climbed the wooden stair to the top of the curtain wall and pretended an interest in the spectacle just visible in the southwest: a sprawling, crawling line of Norman knights and Welsh warriors, footmen and archers, two baggage wagons and four oxen…and prisoners, all beginning to emerge from the forest onto the grassy field. The distance was, as yet, too great to distinguish between faces and he soon gave up trying to pick out Ralph de Vire. He was distracted by the glare of the lowering sun and for a heart-stopping moment imagined that perhaps he was wrong…perhaps Ralph wasn’t dead…perhaps Haworth had indeed found him and now they were both prisoners of the Bastard—it was possible—until he saw the body he would believe it true. For a moment he was so happy he spoke to the men with him, discussing the ransoming and what kind of payment the Bastard would demand.
…But despair washed over him once again, when the sun had gone down and he found himself at the supper board. He couldn’t eat or drink and the sight of the servants weaving around the trestle tables made him so dizzy that he had to force his numb gaze to the place before him…Of course he was dead…of course…The evening passed without his notice. He was aware of being escorted to his suite of rooms by a small bodyguard, which, in a flash of lucidity, he thought amusing; did they think the Bastard would creep into Hawarden and snatch him away? He tried to be suitably gracious when they stripped him and put him to bed—there would be two men on the door if he needed anything, they said gravely. He thanked them again and asked for all the lamps to be lit…and when they left him alone, he got out of bed, threw a robe around his shoulders and sat down in the chair…What was the point of being in bed, when he knew he wouldn’t sleep?
The light helped somewhat…the chair helped, too…But it didn’t really matter; it didn’t make a difference, did it? Ralph de Vire was still dead.
“Which gown do you think I should wear?” Teleri asked Olwen, gazing down at the three stretched out across the bed. “I don’t suppose I’ll be able to take the other two with me…” She put a finger on her mouth as she considered. Suddenly, she whirled around. “You could wear one! And then I’d only have to leave one behind. Olwen? Did you hear me, Olwen?”
Olwen stepped down from the window, her face creased with lines of worry. “I’m sorry…”
“I said you could wear one of the gowns.”
Olwen looked horrified. “Oh, no, Lady Teleri! I couldn’t do that—not your clothes! It wouldn’t be right!”
“Just until we get to that rough camp and then you could change, Olwen. The earl’s seamstresses are so much more clever than mine; it would be a pity to have to leave two gowns behind.”
“I would feel uncomfortable, Lady Teleri. Besides, I’m taller and thicker than you; I’d never fit.” She turned back to the window, standing on the cushioned bench beneath it.
Teleri conceded this final point with a reluctant nod. She considered wearing two gowns together but the warm day made that prospect unappealing. She squeezed her eyes shut, reached her hand down and grabbed the first piece of material she felt.
The steward had been by after breakfast to advise them to prepare themselves to be exchanged for some of the prisoners. To Olwen, this meant staring down into the lower bailey, where the negotiations were apparently taking place, with increasing panic. To Teleri, it meant making herself presentable, although she doubted Olwen’s shaking hands would be of much use in helping her dress.
She opened her eyes and looked down at the winning gown. She liked the soft material but wasn’t certain the color suited her. She discarded it and picked up a different one.
“I need you, Olwen,” she said. “I don’t know why you have to watch them. You can’t hear what they’re saying and they’re all just standing there on their horses.”
“I’m frightened, Lady Teleri. There could be a problem. Why haven’t they come inside the keep? Perhaps the earl has changed his mind and he won’t exchange us. I don’t know what I’ll do if he refuses to let me go!”
“He will! He hasn’t any choice…The question is, to whom will you go?”
Olwen’s voice was firm for the first time that day. “To my children, Lady Teleri.”
“Mmm. That means Llanlleyn,” Teleri said casually, but then she changed the subject. Olwen was getting far too much of the attention in this matter and there wasn’t any reason for her to contribute to it. “Could you brush my hair out, please?”
She wished the steward would return for them. She wanted to be down in the midst of the negotiations; she wanted to know how many of the earl’s men would be exchanged for her. Besides, Olwen’s increasing anxiety was irritating. She’d already bitten back two or three sharp words about blocking the window but she didn’t know how much longer she could remain close-mouthed.
Her situation was rather like one of the stories the bards at her uncle’s fortress would sing after a fat supper. A fable from long ago in which a princess is kidnapped and rescued by her lover. Of course, Longsword was a far cry from being her lover and she wasn’t a princess but there was still something romantic in the events of the last few weeks…Perhaps, she thought suddenly, there was a purpose in all that had happened and was about to happen. A higher purpose than mere ransoming and settling accounts. Perhaps God was trying to tell her she belonged with William Longsword, after all…
It was a frightening idea at first glance—and ludicrous; she almost laughed aloud but that would have unnerved Olwen even further. Still, after what she had seen of men whom she’d once admired, she was prepared to concede that Longsword had several good points. One was his honesty: it was often brutal given their tempestuous relationship, but he had never lied to her or used her as a means to gain his ends. Another was her complete freedom to run the domestic side of Rhuddlan. As for his physical appearance…he was tall and well-built…his wasn’t an exceptionally handsome face but pleasing enough—or was when he bothered to shave. He didn’t have bushy eyebrows or a weak chin; his ears didn’t stick out and his nose wasn’t too generous. She decided she could do much worse—
Because it was expected but its timing uncertain, the sharp rap on the door produced a shock like a lightning bolt. She jumped up and heard Ol
wen involuntarily yelp. Two knights stood on the threshold; their escort, at last, to the lower bailey.
There was a brisk breeze blowing into their faces and whipping back their clothing, which made it all the more difficult to keep up with the fast-paced men. Across the ward and down the many steps of the motte into the inner bailey. There were people here, watching them pass swiftly by; the artisans and craftsmen of Hawarden and their families. Teleri would have liked to have slowed down a bit in order to revel in the attention but the knights’ stride never slackened. And then, through the open gate and into the outer bailey, where they halted.
She couldn’t see anything but the backs of a number of the earl’s men-at-arms standing in front of her and, just over their shoulders, the torsos of the men on horseback. She didn’t see the earl but he was there; she knew it because she could hear, quite distinctly, a voice she hadn’t heard for some time, her husband’s, and it was addressing her host in a loud, angry tone.
One of the knights disappeared into the men before them, presumably to inform the earl of their arrival. She was impatient; she wanted to be up in front, to see what was going on.
“—no traitor, Chester!”
It helped that the wind was blowing the conversation towards her because the earl’s voice was lower and calmer and only by holding her breath and straining her ears could she hear him.
“No, you’re not, are you?” he said. “You’re still loyal. The king’s most loyal son—although the most badly used. Was it your royal father’s idea or were you hoping to impress him enough to get you out of Wales?”
“What the hell do you mean?”
“Well…he took Chester Castle, my home…and the next thing I discover is that you’ve taken my family…”
A derisive snort. “Is that what this fight is about, Chester? You kidnapped Olwen as retribution because your wife ran away from you and ended up with me?”
Teleri nearly gagged. Olwen again!
“Not at all, Lord William!” the earl snapped. Teleri was surprised to hear him lose his temper. “You’ll recall that I offered to let you keep Eleanor.”
“Perhaps now that she’s been back with you these last two months, she’ll be more agreeable to the proposition!” Longsword retorted.
As quickly as his anger had flared, it died. The earl’s voice dropped into easy insouciance. “It’s a pity we can’t ask her.”
“What are you talking about?” Longsword demanded, his voice rising harshly. “What have you done to her?”
“I’ve sent her away, Lord William, to Avranches. There are too many bad memories for her in Wales. A woman in her condition must concentrate on pleasant ones.”
The knight returned and beckoned to them. Teleri followed after him eagerly while Olwen’s step lagged. Teleri was so bemused by her companion’s apprehension that she missed Longsword’s reply. They rounded the edge of the front line of the earl’s men and stopped again.
Her eyes went immediately to her husband and she drew in her breath sharply. He sat on his favorite horse, bareheaded but otherwise garbed for battle in hauberk, gauntlets and thick boots, his shield slung across his back and his sword in his belt. His appearance showed the effect of living rough and while she normally detested untidiness, she found it now strangely appealing. The dust of the road, blood and sweat stains were apparent, and bristles covered his chin. He looked very much like that hero from the song she’d just imagined; powerful, hard and intent on his mission. Richard Delamere stood next to him and he was staring in her direction, obviously at Olwen, who was just behind her shoulder. The two Welsh chiefs were on his other side: Rhirid, who was also staring at Olwen and Gruffudd, whom she’d never before seen. And there were others, perhaps twenty or so, knights and Welshmen, all of them looking grim and prepared to expect anything.
Longsword did not look at her; he didn’t notice she’d arrived. His eyes were fixed on the earl with as much intensity as those fixed on Olwen. She glanced at the earl who appeared clean and refreshed in newly laundered clothing and a gleaming hauberk. But there were traces of strain in his expression as well. She had heard rumors that he was so upset over losing most of his men that he had hardly eaten or slept since the ambush.
But his voice betrayed none of that. “You must congratulate me, Lord William,” he said unhurriedly. “Eleanor is with child. Another heir. Hopefully she’ll do a little better this time and give me a son. I, of course, like the king, must have a legitimate son…”
Teleri’s eyes swiveled back to Longsword, whose face had gone pale. Despite the grubby start of the beard and the windblown hair, he looked unnaturally vulnerable and young. It was a complete contrast to his expression of only a moment earlier. She was surprised; surely he must have heard that particular insult many times.
His horse suddenly began to step nervously and he did nothing to control the beast, seemingly mesmerized by the earl. Chester noticed his two hostages at last and extended an arm in their direction.
“Here they are, Lord William. An even exchange. All my men, their weapons and horses, my oxen and supply carts and a guarantee of peace for three years for these two women,” he said.
The absurdity of this proposal shook Longsword out of his daze. With an unconscious flick of his wrist, he brought the horse under control. At the same time, his face turned towards Teleri and Olwen. Teleri lifted her chin a little higher but there was no recognition in his expression.
“You’re not the one in the position to dictate terms, Chester!” he said.
The earl smiled humorlessly. “No? I think I am.”
“I’ve got Roger of Haworth—”
“I care about all my men equally, Lord William,” the earl interrupted. “There’s no point in reciting a list. Perhaps you need some time to think it over…”
Longsword was silent. Then he answered, “No,” in a tight voice. “I need no time. I consent.”
Chester’s eyes widened as if he hadn’t expected such an easy capitulation but he quickly recovered his aplomb. “Very well. Perhaps you and three or four of your advisers would like to come up to the keep to set down the terms.”
“Not I,” the other man said. “Richard will do it.” He nodded to Delamere and tightened his grip on the reins, preparing to leave.
“As a mark of my good faith, Lord William, you may take your wife with you now.”
It seemed to Teleri that time stopped for a few heartbeats. Even the driving wind died away. No one made a sound. Longsword’s head turned slowly towards her. She felt suddenly as nervous as Olwen had been all day. She hadn’t fooled herself into believing that during their interval apart he had grown fond of her, but neither was she prepared for utter hatred in his eyes. She was taken aback; she had to stiffen her spine not to gasp or step backwards from the force of his hatred. He stared at her in that vacuum of silence for what must have been an interminable time and then he looked again at the earl and said, “I don’t want her, Chester. Keep her and good luck to you.”
She couldn’t breathe. She thought everyone had heard him and was a witness to her humiliation. She dared not move for fear of collapsing. She was dimly aware of the earl’s startled response to this insane proposal, but his words were lost in the rush of blood in her ears.
“Then send her to her uncle, the prince,” Longsword was saying in return, loudly and sharply. “I don’t care what you do with her. Just make certain Olwen walks out of here when your men walk in.”
“No!” A woman protested before the earl could answer. Olwen came up to stand by Teleri’s side. “I’m not going anywhere without Lady Teleri,” she said in a quavering voice. “I will stay with her!”
Delamere appealed to Longsword. “My lord, consider your words…”
For a moment, Teleri thought he would remain obdurate; he turned cold eyes on her once more. Then he looked away. “Do what you want, Richard; you’re in charge,” he said in a grim mutter; kicked his heels into his horse, pulled its head around and left Hawarden at
an increasing pace.
The dilemma Olwen had hoped to postpone a while longer presented itself almost immediately upon the negotiating party’s return to the haphazard camp in the earl’s southwestern fields. She stuck close by Teleri, ostensibly to give support to the unnaturally subdued and quiet young woman, but in reality to avoid having to speak with Richard Delamere and Rhirid, both of whom seemed anxious to the point of desperation to be with her.
The mood of the camp was a barely hidden displeasure. The men had begun the day with thoughts of ransom and when it became clear that the only prize won was the return of the two women, the result was disappointment and anger. Gruffudd ap Madog, in particular, was unhappy with the outcome; he had agreed to the venture not merely to prove to the earl that he, too, was capable of attracting allies but to hopefully seize a portion of the earl’s property as his reward.
It was all too quickly passed around that the only winner in the contest had been its apparent loser, the earl of Chester. Olwen felt the sting of criticism and dared not meet anyone’s eyes. Only Teleri was oblivious to the tension and upset in the camp but she was dwelling on something more dire. Her face hadn’t yet regained any of the color it had lost at Longsword’s humiliating pronouncement and instead of the proud posture with which she always carried herself, she sat slightly slumped over, as if she’d been punched in the stomach.
They waited in silence, alone inside one of the earl’s tents, for the men to finish the business of effecting the prisoner exchange. The tent, being part of the baggage train, was similarly slated for return to Hawarden but for the moment it provided a shelter from the accusing glances, as well as the midday sun. Its material, however, was not substantial enough to block out the sounds coming from a companion tent several yards away, where Gruffudd was proclaiming his right to some financial reimbursement for his part in the ambush, Delamere translating with an edge to his voice and Longsword angrily defending his decision to immediately accede to the earl’s terms.
The argument showed little sign of abating and, frustrated with the shouting, Olwen jumped up from her stool. “I would rather be trapped at Hawarden again than forced to listen to any more of this senseless bickering!” she muttered.
She’d been speaking for her own benefit but to her surprise, Teleri answered. “I would, as well,” she said in a quiet voice.
Olwen didn’t know how to respond. Teleri had never invited confidences before and Olwen wasn’t even certain she was doing it now. “Well…it will soon be over,” she said awkwardly.
Teleri shuddered. “I hope not. I hope it goes on forever.”
“Why, Lady Teleri?”
“Because when it’s over, I’ll have to see Lord William again. I’ll have to go back to Rhuddlan.”
“He didn’t mean what he said, Lady Teleri. He was just angry because of the earl’s demands.”
“He meant it,” Teleri said, staring at a point on the ground just past her feet. “Didn’t you see his face? His eyes? I saw them. He hates me, Olwen. He never liked me much but now he hates me.” She was silent for a moment and then a thought seemed to strike her and she glanced up at the other woman. “Do you suppose Rhirid told him something about me?”
“Such as?”
“I don’t know. Something false…”
It was on the tip of Olwen’s tongue to deny the chief was capable of slandering a woman’s reputation but she realized Teleri would assume she was merely coming to the defense of her admirer so she said nothing.
“I wish I could leave here,” Teleri continued. “I wish I could just walk out of this camp and keep walking until I reached the Perfeddwlad.”
“If we had horses, we wouldn’t need to walk,” Olwen said wistfully.
Despite her mood, a small smile appeared on Teleri’s face. “Do you know how to ride a horse?”
“No,” Olwen admitted. “All right, then. I wish I knew how to ride a horse.”
“I wish we could open the tent flap and see nothing but grass. No soldiers, no swords, not even Hawarden in the distance.”
“Just the horses.”
“Of course the horses,” Teleri agreed. “And there are the practical considerations: we’d need food and drink enough to sustain us on the journey and perfect weather.”
“And I wish I had another gown. I’ve been so nervous the last few days, this one’s past knowing.”
Teleri looked shocked and then started to laugh. “Olwen!”
“Well, it’s true!” Olwen said, grinning.
“I know it is!”
They both broke up at that and for Olwen the laughter seemed to improve her spirits dramatically. She thought Teleri appeared a little brighter, as well.
Teleri wiped her eyes. “There’s only one problem, Olwen…”
“What is it, Lady Teleri?” she asked with another giggle.
“I have no idea how to get to the Perfeddwlad from here!”
They laughed so hard that Olwen had to sit down. Her stomach hurt. Every time they happened to meet each other’s eyes, they burst into fresh peals.
“Well,” Olwen gasped. “At least we can’t hear that senseless argument anymore.”
“The senseless argument is over,” a third voice—a man’s voice—said.
The two women were startled into silence. In the entrance stood Rhirid ap Maelgwn with Dylan just visible beyond his shoulder. He took a step forward. “May I come in?”
Olwen rose quickly to her feet. “Yes, lord, of course.” Teleri said nothing and didn’t move. The Welshman politely inclined his head towards her but when his eyes came up, they went straight for Olwen.
“Gruffudd has been mollified with a score of cattle and some Norman weapons,” he said, and paused. His voice was warm. “There was no opportunity earlier to speak with you, Olwen, although I’ve been anxious to make sure the earl treated you kindly. But you—and you also, Lady Teleri—appear to be fine.”
“We are, lord,” Olwen answered. “But it seems the same cannot be said of you. What on earth happened to your face?”
“Oh—a small accident. Every day it improves.” He moved several steps closer to her. “It’s so good to see you, Olwen…”
She felt her color rise and she looked down at the ground. “How did you leave my children, lord? Are they well?”
“Very well,” he said. “I’m sure you’re eager to see them again.”
“Yes, I am,” she said fervently. “It’s been ten days of agony.”
He grinned. “Does that mean you’ll be coming back to Llanlleyn with me?”
“Yes, lord.” She looked up into his eyes and smiled.
“There’s no point remaining, then. We can leave straight away. My men are ready. We’ll get almost halfway before sunset.”
“What about Sir Richard?” Teleri asked in a loud voice. She stood. “Don’t you want to talk to him, Olwen?”
“I—I suppose I should…”
Rhirid said nothing but his glance in Teleri’s direction was decidedly unfriendly. Teleri gave him back a bland stare.
“He’s here now, anyway,” she shrugged.
Richard Delamere entered the tent through the open flap. He paused for a moment, his eyes traveling from Dylan to Rhirid to Olwen to Teleri and finally, narrowing, back to Rhirid. “What’s going on?” he demanded sharply.
It was strange to look at him; her reaction was muddled. There was the pang of happy emotion, from looking upon something comfortable and familiar—even intimate—yet it seemed to have been tempered by time; it was as if she remembered him from some long ago point in her life, lived under other circumstances. It was odd, then, that she also felt guilty…But they had made so much together and he was still the only man she’d ever seen who set her heart beating faster.
Rhirid walked up to him, planting himself between him and Olwen and crossing his arms over his chest. “We’re just finalizing our plans, Sir Richard. Olwen is anxious to get back to Llanlleyn as soon as possible.”
Delamere
looked past him to Olwen. She thought his eyes were cold. “Is that true, Olwen?”
She switched her gaze to the floor and nodded.
“Are you satisfied, Sir Richard?” Rhirid asked with a slight smile. “We’ll be away from here within the hour—”
“I want to speak with Olwen in private,” Delamere said abruptly.
“Don’t be unreasonable, Sir Richard—she’s made up her mind.”
“Please, Richard…this is hard enough…” Olwen pleaded.
“Is it?” he demanded angrily. He stepped around Rhirid before the other had a chance to react. “It seems to me it’s pretty easy for you. How much thought did you give it? Just these last few moments or since the day he fired our manor and stole you away?”
Despite an effort to maintain her composure, tears came to her eyes. She was tired, she missed her children and she wasn’t used to hearing him snap at her. It was impossible to answer.
“Why don’t you leave, Sir Richard?” Rhirid said.
“This has nothing to do with you!”
Rhirid smirked. “Doesn’t it?”
Delamere had his sword out in a flash. Olwen, nearest to him, grabbed his arm with a shriek. Dylan came up to Rhirid’s side with his own sword readied.
“She doesn’t know what you did to our manor, Welshman! She doesn’t know how much you have to answer for! The house burned to cinders—the livestock slaughtered and their carcasses left rotting in the open—our servants, homeless, and chased away—the fields trampled beyond recovery—”
“Richard, please!”
“—You Welsh are always going on about your galanas—well, I demand recompense for the destruction of my property!”
Rhirid glanced down at the sword in his rival’s hand with an amused expression and slowly raised his eyes to Delamere’s face. “Is that all you want recompense for, Sir Richard?” he asked insolently, and then he looked at Olwen.
Delamere threw down his sword and with an oath hurled himself upon Rhirid, knocking him backwards through the tent opening and onto the ground beyond.
Perhaps drawn by the angry shouting, a dozen men, Welsh and Norman, were already lurking nearby and they were soon joined by others anxious to witness a fight. Delamere and Rhirid rolled over several times as each man grappled for a grip on the other, scattering the feet of the on-lookers. Delamere, the larger of the two and all the more heavy because he was wearing his hauberk, came up on top, a knee on either side of Rhirid’s torso. He pulled his arm back and drove his fist into the Welshman’s face but before he could repeat the attack, Rhirid gave a mighty heave and threw him off balance. The chief swung his elbow as he twisted to free himself from Delamere’s knees and caught the Norman on the chin, knocking his head back. Rhirid finally extricated himself and scrambled to his feet.
Delamere was not as nimble, hampered by his mail, but once he was up he kept moving, driven by rage and the desperate sense that he had nothing left to lose. He threw a punch at Rhirid’s head; the chief ducked back and it missed but the Norman immediately followed it with a quick blow to his exposed midsection and when Rhirid doubled over, gasping for breath, knocked him down again with a fist to the back of his head. For a moment, everything in Rhirid’s eyes was black but he well aware of his audience and fought to clear his head. His was the more difficult task; while Delamere had shots at all of him, he was limited to his opponent’s head. If he punched Delamere anywhere in the torso, he was more likely to hurt his hand on the metal hauberk than to crack the Norman’s ribs.
Delamere knew he ought to press his advantage but the hot weather and the heavy hauberk forced him to pause to catch his breath. By that time, the Welshman was up again. He approached Delamere, who had decided he would duck the blow and ram his head into Rhirid’s stomach but this plan backfired. Rhirid swung out with his right fist; Delamere ducked but immediately met Rhirid’s left fist on its way up. The punch caught him firmly under the chin and knocked him to the ground. Dimly, the blood pounding in his head and bright points of light sparkling in his eyes, he recalled Longsword saying something about the chief being left-handed. He struggled to his feet.
The crowd around the two combatants had grown even larger and now included Longsword. Finally realizing her protests were lost in the cheers and groans of the on-lookers, Olwen pushed her way to his side and begged him to stop the fight.
He looked down at her, aghast. “I can’t do that!”
“Please, Lord William! One of them is going to be killed!”
“No, no; there’s little danger of that,” he said dismissively. He glanced over her head in time to see Delamere take another hit on the chin, and winced. “If they didn’t decide it this way, they’d take up swords and then you’d be right.”
But Olwen, frightened by the blood streaming from both men’s faces and the eerie approval of the crowd, was unconvinced. “There’s nothing for them to decide, Lord William! This is senseless!”
Longsword’s mouth twisted sourly. “Most women would be flattered to see two men fighting over them,” he told her.
“Then most women are idiots!” She whirled away angrily, ready to leave the both of them, Richard and Rhirid, when the full import of Longsword’s words struck her. If the men were fighting over her, then she had the right to stop the fight herself. Resolutely, she turned back, forced her way through the press of on-lookers and entered the circle of combat. She was behind Rhirid, who did not see her, and facing Richard, who did. For a moment he was frozen in place as he stared at her. Someone shouted her name but she ignored him. Just as she stepped forward to take advantage of the lull, Rhirid swung at the unmoving Delamere, who swerved away reflexively and sent out his own fist in reply. The blow connected with the chief’s face and, off-balance and arms flailing for support, he teetered backwards, striking Olwen on the side of her head and sending her to the ground.