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swords.
    'Begin!' called the Earl.
    Logar launched a sudden attack, rolling his wrist in the Classic Chare, but Chareos parried the blow, moving smoothly to his right. Logar's eyes narrowed. Three times the soldier hurled himself forward, and on each occasion was parried. Chareos was growing angry. Logar was making no attempt to defend himself, sure in the knowledge that Chareos could not - in an exhibition - deliver a killing thrust. Twice his blade flashed by Chareos' throat, and the monk knew it was only a matter of time before the Earl's champion found a way through his defences. Chareos blocked a thrust and leapt back, wrong-footing Logar. As the champion cursed and moved forward, Chareos took a deep breath and prepared to meet the attack, knowing now that Logar intended to kill him. But was it the Earl's plan, or merely the result of Logar's wounded pride? Logar's sword-blade lanced for his eye but he sidestepped, spun on his heel and jumped back. Logar swung and grinned broadly. Back and forth across the hall the two swordsmen battled. The spectators could not hold themselves in silence and began wildly cheering every attack made by Logar. Several minutes passed, and still there was no resolution to the encounter. Logar lunged. Chareos only partly blocked, and felt his opponent's sword blade slice into the skin of his cheek.
    At the sight of blood a hush fell on the spectators, who looked to the Earl to end the exhibition. But he made no move. So it was the Earl's plan, thought Chareos and anger flared within him, but he held it trapped. He could not kill Logar, for then the Earl would have him arrested and on trial for murder. Coldly furious, Chareos circled, then moved swiftly to his right. Logar lunged forward. Chareos parried three thrusts, then slashed his own blade high over Logar's sword. The point of Chareos' rapier split the skin above Logar's right eye and sliced on across his brow. Blood billowed into the swordsman's eyes and he fell back.
    Chareos turned to the Earl. 'Is the exhibition over, my lord?'
    That was foul work,' said the Earl. 'You could have killed him.'
    'Indeed I could, for he is not very skilful. But for good luck this blow,' said Chareos, pointing to the cut on his own cheek, 'would have pierced me to the brain. Happily there is little harm done; his cut is not serious. And now, with your permission . . .' A sound from behind made him spin on his heel. Logar had wiped most of the blood from his face and was running at him with sword extended. Chareos sidestepped and rammed his hilt guard behind Logar's left ear and the champion fell unconscious to the marble floor. 'As I was saying,' said Chareos coldly, 'with your permission I will leave.'
    'You are not welcome here,' hissed the Earl, 'nor anywhere within my jurisdiction.'
    Bowing, Chareos backed three steps and took up his sabre and knife. He marched from the hall with head held high, feeling the hostility following him.
    Out in the courtyard most of the petitioners had remained to watch the flogging. Chareos descended the steps, his eyes locked to the writhing form of the villager as the lash snaked across his skin.
    Approaching the Captain of the Guard, he asked, 'How many strokes has he suffered?'
    'Eighteen. We'll stop at fifty.'
    'You'll stop at twenty,' Chareos told him. That is the penalty for insubordinate behaviour.'
    'The Earl did not specify the number,' the officer snapped.
    'Perhaps he thought you would know the law,' remarked Chareos as the lash sounded once more.
    That's enough,' said the Captain. 'Cut him down.' They dragged the villager out through the postern gate and left him lying beside the path.
    Chareos helped him to his feet. Thank you,' the man whispered.
    'You'll not get home in that state,' Chareos told him. 'You'd best come with me. I'll book a room at the Grey Owl tavern and we'll see to your back.'
     
    *
     
    The Grey Owl tavern was a rambling building, built around an ancient inn which sat on the mountain