After several minutes of song that invigorated the faithful and left Lord Owain struggling to suppress a scowl, the hymn finally ended.
The last notes of the minstrels' instruments faded into the high timbers of the ceiling, and the voices of the assembled noblemen and commoners trailed away like the ebbing of a tide, leaving behind a silence that felt larger and emptier than the silence that had preceded the singing.
Aubin lowered his staff. His throat was raw from the effort of carrying the melody, but the expression on his face was serene. Whatever Owain thought of his choice of hymn, whatever consequences awaited him, the words had been spoken, and the voices had carried them, and no power in the march could unspeak what had been sung.
