But I saw by the look on Cosh's face what it had been.
"It is your privilege to choose your manner of death and to name your successor," I heard Ringan say.
But Cosh did not need the invitation.

Now that his case was desperate, the courage in him revived.

He was fully armed, and in a second he had drawn a knife and leaped for Ringan's throat.
Perhaps he expected it, perhaps he had learned the art of the wild beast so that his body was answerable to his swiftest wish.

I do not know, but I saw Cosh's knife crash on the stone and splinter, while Ringan stood by his side.
"You have answered my question," he said quietly.

"Draw your cutlass, man.