Ambrose shouts at the top of his lungs, drowning out the din and clang of the melee:
-- Drive him off! Mock him!
Cowardly Orvald, Florentine's son
He'd hide in a tower if he could
But all he can do is cower in a corner!
- Brother, - Lester replies from the other end of the battlefield. - He is, after all, our colleague and a loyal defender of the Crown and our order. There are plenty of real scoundrels here whom we'd rather not see. At the very least, my lord does not resort to strange methods - surely, in your opinion, does he not deserve understanding for that alone? Such is his strategy, and such is how he envisions his victory in the contest - unpredictable as it may be, yet he gazes with a cool mind at the horizon he seeks to overcome. I understand perfectly well where this comes from, but I beseech you: do not lose your temper, allow him and us to preserve our honor. We still have extremely serious contenders to deal with, and as for what comes next - fate will decide. War is a chaotic affair.