Scarlet laughed, slapped his shoulder, and shook himself off before joining Phillipe outside a dueling circle. "What is this I see, no armor, no braces? Am I to spar with you or a damsel? Not that I think the difference would be greatly noticeable."

"I trust you will not steal the heart from my chest." Phillipe removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. "After all, it is not Italian."

"Lucky for you," Scarlet said, more soberly.

"A poor jest, Will." Phillipe tied his hair back with a strip of leather. "How fares your master?"

"My lord Robin has removed himself to the range." The seneschal sighed as he pulled on his belt and buckled it. "Permanently, it would seem. All should be well, as long as he does not run out of arrows."

Phillipe scanned the long, barricaded corridor of the lists, but saw no unfamiliar faces. "The Saracens do not train, then."

"They are heathens, not idiots." Scarlet waited until Phillipe stood ready, and then stepped into the circle and drew his sword, bringing it up before his face in a formal salute. "On your guard, Navarre."

Phillipe so often trained with Cyprien, who favored fighting with two swords, that it took him one round to adjust his balance and blocks. Some of the other men gathered around in a loose circle to observe and shout their encouragement, mostly for Scarlet.

"Am I the underdog, then?" Will asked as he thrust his blade at Phillipe's ribs. Steel clanged as their swords clashed together and Phillipe forced him back a step. "It must be your pretty face that bespells them, my friend, for it cannot be these ham-handed techniques."

"Step outside the circle by one hair's width," Phillipe told him, "and their opinion of you will not be in vain."

Dueling had its rhythms and levels, as did a familiar opponent. Scarlet tended to disdain the customary practice of circling left and attacking to the right, but he would switch directions without warning and liked to follow a feint with a lethally swift thrust. Phillipe knew he was a fraction slower than Locksley's seneschal, but he had more patience, and watched for opportunities instead of trying to make them. Had they been human, he could have simply exhausted Scarlet, but Kyn blood gave them a hundred times more strength and endurance. Legitimate duels between well-matched Kyn could last for five or six hours.

"If you intend to lurk instead of fight," Scarlet said testily, "I have bows to string and arrows to fletch."

Phillipe started to reply, and then jerked his head to one side to avoid losing an ear. His counterthrust came more from instinct than intention, and his sword pierced Scarlet's wrist, the steel tip exiting his forearm halfway to his elbow.

"Damn me." Phillipe yanked his blade out of the other man's flesh and signaled a draw by planting the sword in the dirt. With a grimace, Scarlet did the same. "Did I crack the bone?"

"No, but your steel bestowed a cold kiss upon it." Scarlet stepped out of the circle and accepted a length of white linen from one of the men watching. "Your responses are twice as fast as they were the last time we danced. Cyprien must be hauling you into the circle regularly."

"Four or five nights a week since summer," Phillipe admitted. "At first in preparation to face the high lord, but now… now I think he battles more inner demons."

"A familiar ailment." Scarlet mopped up the blood from his arm. "I must convince the seigneur to spar with me. Perhaps he can show me how I may fend off those plaguing my master."

Reassured that he had not seriously harmed his friend, Phillipe accompanied him to the benches. By the time they sat down, the wounds had closed and Scarlet was gingerly flexing his fingers. For a while they watched the other seneschal duel, wrestle, and fight bare-handed.

Scarlet hooted as an Irishman disarmed two Spaniards with one sweep of his blade. "God's teeth, but that was handy."

"I've fought him. He's clever but reckless," Phillipe said. As if to confirm his statement, the next challenger quickly defeated the Irishman. "Who do you see taking first in the pas d'armes with the blade?"

"If I do not take on all comers?" Scarlet grinned. "Jayr."

Phillipe tried to remember seeing Byrne's seneschal in single combat. "She never competes in anything but the joust."

"We could goad her into it," Scarlet suggested. "When I see her next I will challenge her. When she refuses, I will mention that her back has turned a lovely shade of yellow, and you may remark that it conceals her lack of spine."

Phillipe knew that his friend did not speak seriously, and was as fond of Jayr as was his master, Locksley. It did not keep him from teasing him. "I thought you did not wish to spar with damsels."

Scarlet scoffed out some air. "Jayr eats damsels for breakfast." He stretched out his sword arm and sighed. "She also keeps the Realm running as tight as a Prussian's timepiece. Cyprien would do well to consider one day giving her a jardin of her own."

The thought of a woman serving as suzerain seemed a bit ludicrous to Phillipe. "No one would accept her rule."

"You've seen her wield a blade." When Phillipe shrugged, Scarlet added, "You've never sparred with her, have you? You should. It is an education in humility."

"I do not spar with females," Phillipe said.

"Nor does she, but for you I think she would make an exception." Scarlet jerked his chin toward a cluster of Byrne's men. "She trains daily with them, you know. They have great respect for her blade."

"Their lord's temper might have something to do with it," Phillipe said.

Scarlet laughed. "She will come soon. Why don't you challenge her and find out for yourself?"

Uneasy at the thought of fighting a female, Phillipe changed the subject, but a short time later Jayr entered the lists, followed by three of the men. Phillipe was surprised to see that despite the clear sky and fair weather, her hair was wet and her garments dripping.

Scarlet nudged him. "Here is your chance at thorough mortification."

"I would not disgrace her so," Phillipe said.

"Of course you wouldn't." Scarlet sniffed. "The mortification I spoke of would be yours."

Phillipe shrugged. "Perhaps. Why is she all wet?"

"She always trains so." Will watched her go to the armor hooks, where she took down and strapped on a chest protector. "So she will not set herself on fire." He saw Phillipe's face and laughed. "Watch, mon ami. You will see why."

Jayr strapped on two scabbards and stepped into the circle with a warrior a foot taller than she was and three times her weight. Phillipe thought the bout would be over quickly, and it was. Jayr ducked under her opponent's initial attack, knocked his sword from his grasp, and hooked one of her feet behind his knee. She slammed the pommel of her sword into the center of his chest, and he went reeling out of the circle.

All this had taken place in a matter of ten or fifteen seconds.

Scarlet eyed him. "I can read your thoughts like a sorrily scraped palimpsest. You didn't see her pivot around him, did you?"

He focused as another opponent stepped into Jayr's ring. "I will this time."

Watching carefully, Phillipe saw Jayr offer the traditional salute, shift to a responsive rather than aggressive stance, and wait for the opponent to attack. He lunged, she parried, he lunged a second time, she parried again. Although the male was attacking, Jayr was actually gaining ground each time she countered, inching him backward.

Phillipe thought she was being foolhardy, neglecting her cover inside and out while she depended entirely on her parrying. Still, the blade never came within a foot of her body, even when she left a tantalizing opening for him to pierce.

"She is taunting him," he muttered.

Scarlet nodded. "That is the defender's advantage."

"She is not defending herself," Phillipe insisted. "She is attacking by luring him in with false openings. A moment before he attacks the opening closes, and she uses a parry like a hammer to drive him back. And the way she moves…" He frowned. "How does she do it?"

"That I have asked frequently." Scarlet scowled. "She says it is nothing, only her style of fighting. The speed is her talent. No one is faster."

"I have never seen anything so deliberate," Phillipe said, seeing now the faint blurs where there should have been discernible motion. Jayr moved swifter than the eye could follow. "Nor so devious."

"Neither have I. I fought her once, you know. Our men still joke about my defeat." Scarlet straightened. "Look, here is that Italian's pet dwarf."

Phillipe followed his gaze and saw Nottingham's short, red-haired seneschal stride into the lists. "What is his name?"

"Scarf, Scruff." His friend made a dismissive gesture. "Who cares?"

"Brother!" The Italian's seneschal made a beeline for Jayr's sparring circle, stopping at the edge. Ignoring the common courtesy of not addressing someone inside the sparring ring, he cried, "Why did you not send word that you are all training? I would have been among the first here."

Jayr did not spare him a glance, but several men of the Realm gave him filthy looks. To speak to someone engaged in a bout was a distraction tactic, and considered by all to be beyond rude.

Phillipe felt puzzled. He didn't know how things were done in Florence, but seneschal always trained as soon as the sun set, to take advantage of the twilight hour before their masters rose.

"He calls her brother," Scarlet mused. "This could prove amusing."

"I am Skald, seneschal of Lord Nottingham." He grinned as if blind to the scowls being directed at him. He drew an épée that looked more like a riding crop than a weapon and brandished it, swiping at the air with theatrical zeal. "I am known as the finest swordsman in Florence."

A short silence descended over the men.

"The finest, or the smallest?" someone drawled.