She saw him coming before he got there.
He was maybe twenty metres off when her head turned. She did not attack. She stepped back a pace, to give herself room, and looked at him.
It was the same look she had given the Irish position from the end of the bridge. She took in his kit, his sword and how he was moving. She was measuring him and deciding whether he was worth turning away from the soldiers behind the skip.
James did not give her time to finish deciding.
He came the last ten metres flat out and swung Durendal across at her body, aiming to drive her back off the skip and away from the men behind it.
She met it.
The blades came together with a sound like a bell being hit with a hammer, and James felt it all the way up into his shoulders. She took the whole of it on her sword and did not move her feet. Then, before he had finished the swing, she was coming in from the other side. It was a cut low and across, aimed at his leg.
He got Durendal down in time. Just.
