Nevertheless, once on his feet he made his way hastily enoughinto the heaving throng, thrusting through to where he might atleast be within reach, should any opportunity offer of catching ata whirling sleeve and hauling one of the combatants back out ofdanger. If this was indeed de Soulis, the renegade of Faringdon, hehad a dozen years the advantage of Yves, and showed all too alertand practised with the sword. Experience tells. Cadfael burrowedsturdily, distantly aware of a great voice bellowing from behindhim, somewhere in the gateway, and of a flashing of lustrouscolours above him in the doorway of the guesthall, but so intent onbreaking through the circle that he missed the most effectiveintervention of all, until it was launched without warning over hisleft shoulder, sheering through clean into the circling swordplay.

A long staff was thrust powerfully past him, prising bodiesapart to shear a way through. A long arm followed it, and a long,lean, vigorous body, and silver flashed at the head of the stave,striking the locked swords strongly upward, bruising the hands thatheld them. Yves lost his grip, and the blade rang and re-echoed onthe cobbles. De Soulis retrieved his hold with a lunge, but thehilt quivered in his hand, and he sprang back out of range of theheavy silver mount crowning the staff now upright between them. Abreathless silence fell.

“Put up your weapons,” said Bishop Roger de Clinton,without so much as raising his voice. “Think shame to bareyour swords within this precinct. You put your souls in peril. Ourintent here is peace.”

The antagonists stood breathing hard, Yves flushed and halfrebellious still, de Soulis eyeing his attacker with a chill smileand narrowed eyes.