The knights stopped suddenly in their pursuit when they heard the sound of shuffling feet advancing towards them. A battle-weary Lancelot emerged from the trees, stumbling towards them. He had his right hand pressed securely over his upper left arm where his sleeve was torn and blood-stained, but in every other respect he appeared to be unharmed. His breathing, however, was erratic; and his eyes contained the fatigue all too familiar to the knights from their many experiences in combat.
Arthur rushed forward to meet him. "Are you alright?" he asked, holding out an arm to steady his wounded comrade, "What happened?"
"We ran across about ten Saxons in the forest. We tried to maneuver past them without being seen, but four of them decided to ambush us. I killed three of them and the fourth retreated back into the woods, probably to rejoin the other six," Lancelot explained between rapid breaths.
"'We' as in you and Tarra?" asked Galahad.
"Yes, Tarra," Lancelot affirmed, "Where is she? Is she safe?"
"Yes, she's fine," assured Arthur, "She made it back to the village to warn us about what had happened."
Lancelot nodded his head in relief. "Good. That's good," he said.
"Should we be getting back, then?" interjected Gawain, "We don't know how many more Saxons are nearby and there could be a threat to the others---"
"Gawain is right," Arthur replied, "The village is no longer safe. We should get those people out and to the wall as quickly as possible until we can fully ascertain the extent of the Saxon threat in this portion of the forest."
"I agree," added Lancelot, "Though I only saw ten of them, that does not mean there aren't more out there."
"So we're just going to run then with our tails between our legs?" demanded a frustrated Galahad, "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm ready to oust these maggots once and for all."
"It's not wise to go into battle blind," said Tristan who was leaning against a tree impassively examining his sword which he regrettably had not gotten a chance to employ.
"There's no need to be hasty," Arthur warned, "We should wait to strike until we know exactly how many men make up the Saxons' force and what kind of arms they retain."
"The Saxon threat is nothing new," added Gawain, "We've been fighting these bastards for the past year. There's no need to rush into anything tonight---especially without some kind of plan."
"I'd still rather pursue them now and run them off this island forever," grumbled Galahad.
"Galahad, the village must be our first priority. If we don't get those people out of there right away, the entire place could be sacked by morning," explained Arthur urgently.
Arthur's words of warning were enough to put a start in the rest of knights, especially Tristan who remembered Jillian lying in bed completely incapacitated. Jillian fought extraordinarily for her slightness in size, but in her current condition, the chance of her having the strength to even lift a sword was highly debatable. It was thoughts of Jillian and the other innocent villagers that the knights carried with them as they hurried back to begin the evacuation to Hadrian's Wall.
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"Hey! Wait for me!" Tarra had taken off running into the forest after the knights who were hastening to the aid of Lancelot, but she soon found herself once again lost in the density of foliage in those same unfamiliar woods. The knights had apparently gotten too much of a head start for her to be able to catch up with them for they were nowhere to be seen. Tarra sighed as she once again found herself wandering aimlessly through the never ending scores of trees. She could not have strayed too far from the village, but it was not the village she was looking for, but rather the knights or, more importantly, Lancelot.
'I really need to pay closer attention to my surroundings,' she thought to herself.
She stopped momentarily, placing her hands on her hips and letting out an exasperated sigh. She heard the snap of a twig behind her and spun around to discover a hideous Saxon face with a toothy grin. Tarra reached reflexively for her dagger, but it was too late. She felt something hard thump across the side of her head; and then her eyesight failed.
In what seemed to be only a split second later, Tarra opened her eyes dazedly, trying to recognize anything that would indicate to her where she was and how she had gotten there. She tried without avail to lift her hand to her throbbing head, and it was then that she realized her effectively immobilized condition. She bent her head down to discover her arms bound at her sides with rope that fastened the rest of her body to a tree trunk. 'Bloody terrific,' she thought to herself.
"So the captain isn't the seasoned sea-man he pretends to be," spoke a husky voice in a slurred, Saxon accent. Tarra lifted her head to lock eyes with Raywold the Saxon along with the toothy-grinned Saxon and another of their compatriots.
"Or should I say that she pretends to be?" mocked Raywold with a sinister laugh.
"Ah!" said Tarra, finally gaining her bearings and hoping to work some of her charms, "My friend, Raywold! How have you been? I see you made it safely ashore. I was terribly worried…"
Raywold scowled. "I see the blow to your head has not affected your memory," he snarled.
"I never could forget a heinous face," Tarra jibed, never having been any good at holding her tongue.
"You should know that I intend slit your throat," threatened Raywold in return, "Your insults will not help your situation."
"On the contrary, if your intention is to slit my throat, it would be much better to get ample use of it before it is rendered completely worthless," she countered.
"You think you have a way with words, don't you?"
"Better than some."
"And do you think your words can save you from an inescapable fate?"
"I don't believe in fate. But if by this 'inescapable fate' you refer to near-death circumstances, I can tell you that words have saved me from much more ominous occasions than the one in which I currently find myself."
Raywold spat at her feet. "Utter rubbish," he scoffed, "You speak nothing but lies."
"A fair judgement, to be sure, and a fact I will not dispute," answered Tarra, "But I assure you there is one word upon which I would rest every last hope of escape."
"And what word is that?" Raywold asked, eyeing her curiously.
"HEEEEEEEELP!" Tarra cried in a blood curdling scream that shook even the stalwart Saxon who stood forebodingly before her.
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"Did you hear that?" asked Gawain, perking up his head at a cry that echoed through the woods and reverberated between the trees.
"It sounded like---" began Galahad.
"Tarra!" Lancelot exclaimed, "She's in trouble! Hurry! This way!"
With that, Lancelot took off into the forest in the direction of the scream, followed closely behind by the other knights. They raced as fast as their feet would carry them, zigzagging between the trees and leaping over logs and debris that obstructed their path. The wind whipped across their cheeks and its briskness stung as it filled their lungs. They presently came upon a clearing where they quickly evaluated the situation at hand.
Three husky Saxons loomed around Tarra whose limp body was held tightly against a tree with thick rope. She had once again been rendered unconscious, this time by Raywold who had struck her across the jaw in order to stifle her scream. Her head lay drooped on her shoulder as blood trickled down her chin from her cut lip. Her three captors were advancing towards her with weapons in hand when Bors' war cry stopped them in their tracks, "Ruuuuus!"
The knights charged upon the Saxons, brandishing their swords, with the exception of Tristan who uncharacteristically held back from the ambush, still unable to justify any actions intended to aid his estranged half-sister. Bors chucked his axe at the Saxon with the toothy grin. The axe flew through the air and reached its final resting place lodged in the dead center of the Saxon's chest. The third Saxon charged at Arthur who dispatched him with one effortless swing of Excalibur. Lancelot, despite his injured arm, gracefully maneuvered his twin swords which he parried against Raywold's axe. Raywold was an experienced fighter, but Lancelot was legendary and lived up to his reputation as his trusty blades ripped the hefty Saxon to pieces.
Galahad and Gawain seemed disappointed not to have had the chance to join in the action, but instead looked satisfactorily over the three Saxon corpses that littered the forest floor. Tristan hung back at the edge of the clearing, feeling like an outsider for not sharing the common goal of Tarra's rescue. The extent of his involvement in the endeavor was observing the events as they unfolded and readying himself if his comrades should need his aid.
Of course, they hadn't needed his help, which was proven by the ease with which they slaughtered the Saxon foes; and now he could do nothing but lurk at the edge of the clearing, feeling somewhat guilty as though he had abandoned them. He supposed he should have chosen his loyalty to his friends over his grudge against Tarra, but he simply could not induce himself to join them in their rescue and revival of that worthless fraud, unconscious as she might have been, so he idled by a tree as the rest of the knights exhibited their typical heroism and valor.
Tristan observed as Lancelot rushed over to Tarra's side, cutting her free from her binds. Her unconscious body fell limply into his arms. He gathered her to his chest and laid her down at the base of the tree. Tristan watched curiously as Lancelot then knelt next to Tarra, brushing her hair from her forehead and working relentlessly to revive her. "Tarra. Tarra, wake up. Tarra," he repeated.
Tristan raised an eyebrow at Lancelot's apparent concern for the girl. Surely Lancelot was not foolish enough to have gotten involved with her. Wait a minute, this was Lancelot he was thinking about. Of course he had gotten involved. Tristan cursed his friend's imprudence. Couldn't he see that Tarra would bring nothing but ill fate?
Tarra's eyes fluttered open to find Lancelot's rich, brown eyes sinking into her own as though through the simplest of gazes he could penetrate her thoughts. She looked up at him in a hypnotized stare for several seconds before she became conscious of his rough hand that brushed against her face to wipe the blood away from her chin. At this realization, she jerked up suddenly into a sitting position, batting his hand away from her.
Lancelot pivoted back on his heels, holding up his hands in understanding. She eyed him wearily for a moment before speaking. "What happened?" she asked finally in a strained, raspy voice.
"It appears you fell into the hands of three rather unfriendly Saxons," Lancelot replied softly for it was obvious her head was still fuzzy from her unconsciousness.
Memories flooded back to Tarra, and her eyes opened wide with a sudden recollection. "I was looking for you!" she remembered, "After they attacked us and you stayed behind to fight them."
"It would seem I did a lousy job of it seeing as I allowed them to escape just in time to capture you," answered Lancelot with regret.
"Yes, you should be ashamed of yourself," teased Tarra in an exaggerated tone of female frailty, "letting a delicate little flower such as myself fall into the hands of those dirty ruffians."
Lancelot laughed. "Hardly," he replied, "I suspect that to say we interrupted some master plan you had to single-handedly take out those three Saxons would be closer to the truth."
"Exactly," said Tarra coolly, trying to hide the humiliation she felt at suddenly remembering exactly what her plan of escape had actually entailed, "I mean, I'm not the vulnerable type who can do nothing but cry out in terror for help when she's in trouble…"
"Certainly not," agreed Lancelot with a knowing smile.
"Lancelot," interrupted Arthur, "We should return to the village right away. Though I don't anticipate anymore Saxon encounters at present, there are still at least four more out there. I would rest more assured knowing the village is secure."
"Of course," answered Lancelot; then turned to Tarra, "Do you think you can stand?"
"Yes," she replied, using the trunk of the tree to steady herself to her feet, despite the offer of Lancelot's outreached hand. They stood for a moment staring awkwardly at each other until a nervous smile cracked across Lancelot's lips. Tarra returned the expression, allowing a faint smile to curl up her face; and in that state of mutual geniality, they headed back through the forest.