The shouts from the brawl reached Basil's ears as a muffled, ugly din.
"My father?" Basil finally turned, his brow furrowing as he regarded the knight. "What would my father ever have to do with camp brawls? He has no time for two peasants rolling in the muck."
"I did not say he caused them, princeling, but he played his part in the making of it."
"Had it something to do with him and the Lord of Epietoli?"
Could such ire really stem from some controversy between his father and Merelao? Basil looked back at the crowd. It was finally beginning to unknit as a squad of the Third Aracinea arrived to supervise the camp's peace under the call of their officer.
Wielding batons and using the butts of their javelins to beat down the troublemakers, and a few bystanders Basil suspected were just in the wrong place.
