Gwen lay in his arms but was having as much difficulty sleeping as he was. “What are you thinking?” he said. Gwen turned slightly and lifted her head so she could look at him, though her face was shadowed. He could make out little more than her shape in the dark because the only light in the tent came from the firelight and torches outside. They were lucky to have their own tent. Most of their companions slept outside on the ground, grouped around the campfires that would burn all night. The princes had brought four cartloads of goods into England, but only half a dozen tents. The rest of the space in the carts had been taken up by provisions. Hywel and Rhun’s tent was empty, as was the one for Prior Rhys, since the young monk, Tomos, who’d accompanied the prior on the journey, had gone to the castle to wait on him. “I’ve been thinking about what we’ve so far failed to understand,” Gwen said. “That would be just about everything, wouldn’t it?” Gareth found the end of Gwen’s night braid and tugged on it.
