That winter the unlikely pair grew closer as they went on a few scouting trips together. The younger knights teased them at first but grew bored when the teasing failed to rile either of them. Dani was quick to learn tracking, following trails of game and people, in the misty forests of North Britain. Tristan had been tracking for so long it was second nature to him but it became a game once more while she honed her skills.

To his surprise, Tristan found himself opening up. While never a voluble soul, he had not always been so silent either. When Bedwyr had been alive, they had been close. Tristan had even laughed sometimes at the bawdy songs Bedwyr sang on his harp. Bedwyr's death in battle three years ago had deprived the knights of song, and Tristan of his only close friend. Not able to express himself, he had become silent instead. He had killed Woads with a vengeance for a while, and became feared among them. But now he could no longer feel the anger or hatred that sustained him for a while. It was just what he had to do to survive.

When they made camp, Tristan found himself offering her some information or volunteering a comment from time to time. Perhaps it was the solitude of the woods – it was like talking to oneself. She was a restful companion.

Once she was watching him tend his hawk. 'I have seen her kind,' she said, 'on the continent.'

'I found her on my journey here,' Tristan replied. 'She was taken too young, and the trapper feared she would die. He gave her away. I was able to save her.' The hawk had never left him.

For all their camaraderie, they consciously refrained from looking at each other as man and woman, alone. They spoke without looking at each other. Occasionally Tristan studied her through his unruly braids, aware of her lean, competent body and arresting face, but studiously avoided following that train of thought. He knew women thought him attractive. But what Dani thought she kept to herself.

From time to time she spoke - about hunting wily mountain goats, a pet one-eyed crow she once had that flew in circles, sweet fig cakes her people loved that stuck to the teeth, foibles of Roman officials at the Eastern frontier – humorous observations for the most part. He laughed out loud at her description of decurion Alba losing his crested helmet to a band of Barbarians - beardless boys out on a dare - who made off with their prize, whooping and cackling, mightily impressed with themselves. He had given chase until an arrow zinging by too close to his unprotected head made him realize that his shining pate made an attractive target. His mood was not improved on return when he found off duty Sarmatians, also boys, likewise whooping and cackling on the fort wall, having witnessed his futile efforts. It was neither first nor last of many incidents that had soured Alba towards the Sarmatians in his charge in the cavalry. She had a keen eye for details and a talent for seeing humor. But working among men had taught her to keep her femininity muted. Only with Senna and her surviving comrades, and now with Tristan, she felt comfortable enough to let down her guard, a little. He found it a precious gift and was reluctant to press for more.

They came across few Woads. The natives they encountered were hunters and trappers, storytellers and entertainers traveling between villages. There was an air of wariness on both sides during these encounters. Natives tended to present a bland face to men from the great Wall.

On one occasion, they came across an upset cart belonging to a caravan of supplies. It was blocking the narrow forest lane. Animal pelts, hooves and skins of fat had tumbled out. It was a likely party to encounter. Tribesmen often slaughtered extra animals towards the start of winter for often there was not enough feed for the entire flock. The tribe kept the meat and sold extra skins, fats, bones, horns etc to be made into leather and tools.

Tristan and Dani reined in their horses and stood for a moment before Tristan shrugged and dismounted to offer his shoulder to the half dozen men straining to right the cart. His time with Dani had made him marginally more social. Children and women stood in a cluster watching their men. Their eyes grew round as the silent knight handed his sword and sheath to Dani and put his shoulder to the cart. Dani kept a careful watch on the woods.

After the cart had been put to right and while its contents were being piled back, the leader of the caravan stepped forward to thank Tristan.

'Where are you headed?' asked Dani, offering a disarming smile. By now she spoke the native pidgin, a mix of Celtic and Pictish that all travelers understood.

'Just a short way, to Badon Fort. We have supplies for the commander. Are you not his men?' This was asked doubtfully as the man eyed Dani. She was most definitely a woman, though wearing woolen tunic and breeches.

'Yes we are.' Dani smiled some more and ran her eye over the group. Sizing up people was something she was used to. Her eye was drawn to a man to the back of the crowd. He did not fit into the group. She looked fleetingly at Tristan and he nodded. He gave the man a long look, knowing that men found his stare unnerving.

'Well, we will not keep you.' Said Dani cheerfully and the caravan moved along to Badon Fort, where they would probably winter. Once more they were alone.

'I am going to look him up when we return,' mused Dani thoughtfully. 'Something about him…'

'Something greasy,' said Tristan shortly.

Author's note:

Decurion was a Roman cavalry officer in charge of ten horsemen

Roman forts extracted foodstuffs and other goods from the people in conquered territories as tax.