Tristan passed the caravan again, this time riding in the opposite direction. A frigid rain started, fingers of icy cold seeping down his neck and flakes of snow settling on hair and beard. He passed Guin's cart once more. Her spot in the caravan seemed to be a destination for everyone, he noted, for this time it was Lancelot having an animated discussion.

'I don't believe in heaven,' the charming knight was saying, 'but if you represent what heaven is, take me there.'

Tristan rode on without missing a beat, chuckling into his beard. The frigid rain hadn't cooled the man's ardor. He was glad that Lancelot had found a distraction for his petulant mood and made a note to tell Dani. He found her farther down the line. She came away to the edge of the trail to talk to him.

'Arthur will halt soon,' he informed her shortly.

'We are to track the Saxon pursuit,' she guessed, only partially correct in Tristan's estimation.

'Not we,' he said, 'me. You will be needed to find the way ahead.'

'The way ahead is clear as day,' she said, turning the horse around. 'I am needed to keep your head on your shoulders.'

Tristan sighed, wishing for once she would do as told and knowing she was probably right. He would need backup to spy on their pursuers, and possibly delay or distract them. Also, a small part of him was warmed by her concern for him. It wanted her to be with him, even in the face of greater danger. If they never reached the Wall, they would at least be together in the end.

'You probably wouldn't notice the difference though,' she added with irrepressible humor, just to rile him. Tristan said nothing but the tenderness in his mood evaporated, and was replaced by an urge to throttle her instead. Why did he have to be the only one miserable and grim?

They rode swiftly and silently back the way they had come, the man looking for his hawk among the trees. Night had fallen by the time he felt her familiar presence close by and slowed to a halt. A full moon, reflected on patches of icy snow, cast enough light for the riders to see their way. The air became colder, if possible, though the rain had stopped. Tristan gave thanks for small mercies.

The scouts dismounted. For long moments they stood listening to the night sounds, sniffing the frigid air and looking for any sign of movement. Finally they could hear rough guttural talk and laughter, smell cooking smoke and see small flickers of light. Even the relentless Saxon had to stop and eat, and get rest. A panicked rabbit burrowed into the undergrowth, and the scouts froze for a moment. Then a swishing sound announced the hawk. It landed on Tristan's outstretched hand and made a clicking noise.

'I hear them too,' he told the bird softly. 'Good girl.'

'Off the trail,' Tristan whispered to the woman, leading the way into a tangle of trees. The hawk disappeared again; trees hampered her.

Sweeping branches bare of leaves looked near impenetrable but he had seen the rocky ground slope up beyond. Cautiously they held up branches for each other, careful not to leave behind telltale signs of passage. Tristan used an old branch to erase their tracks. They were just ahead of the Saxon force and the enemy might send scouts of their own.

Tristan led the way up a slope, glad that only the bottom was rocky. A brook somewhere close made enough noise to mask any small sounds they might make. Certainly they would not be heard in the Saxon camp. The ground leveled after a while and there was a small clearing hidden among tall undergrowth. The scouts tethered their horses; they would be safe here.

'I smell smoke,' Dani whispered. Tristan grunted; so did he. They moved farther upslope until they came to a vantage point where they could observe the countryside from the cover of trees. They looked back in the direction of the villa.

Thick black smoke curled up from several outbuildings. No doubt the wooden construction, thatch and stored grain had made a good fire. The buildings had fallen in; several still glowed. The villa was a dark ruin in the light of dying fires and pallid moonlight.

'It's so senseless,' Dani said in a choked voice. Tristan put an arm around her shoulders, thinking dispassionately that it was a good thing the Saxons had stopped to destroy the farm. Or they would have been even closer to the caravan. He tapped her shoulder to direct her attention to the Saxon campfires flickering among trees.

The enemy had stopped in a wide clearing next to the trail they had passed earlier. Had the Saxons pressed on, they would have caught up with the caravan. They probably wished to conduct the slaughter in daylight, Tristan thought, to make sure no one got away. The enemy knew the caravan couldn't hope to outrun them. Cold anger made his belly clench.

'There,' Dani pointed. Shadows moved along the trail, not very cautiously. The Saxons knew they had nothing to worry them, Tristan thought bitterly, counting four scouts as they stopped to inspect the caravan tracks. Sounds floated up – barked commands, harsh laughter. Then two of the Saxons parted branches and started up the slope. Obviously they had found some clue.

Tristan exchanged a glance with Dani. She brought two fingers of each hand together and separated them. Then she made a slashing gesture across her throat. They both had the same thought apparently. If the Saxons coming upslope found their horses they would be trapped on foot. But if Tristan took them out with his arrows, they would make enough noise to alert their fellows on the trail.

'Easier for me up here,' she whispered and Tristan considered the plan dispassionately. It would be easier for her to elude the two men coming upslope; she had the advantage of higher ground, greater agility and, thanks to her weapon, longer reach. In addition to several daggers and dirks, the woman had a 'chanokh' - two blades at either ends of a pliant cord made of sinew, horsehair and leather plaited together and reinforced with metal rings at intervals. He had seen her wield it with deadly accuracy. She wore it now wrapped diagonally across her chest. Tristan nodded and started his way down without further speech, keeping clear of the men coming up. Silence and speed served better than foolish words.

For a fair sized man, Tristan moved swiftly and silently. Soon he was in the undergrowth beside the trail watching the Saxon scouts looking up to see their brethren. They carried short club-like axes, and one had a crossbow. Tristan laid out his quiver on the ground, stuck a throwing knife in the ground in front of him and nocked an arrow to his bow. He sensed no other presence on the trail. After several long moments, Tristan whistled a bird sound. The hawk glided into view, flying low, and causing the men to look the other way. The men froze, and so did Tristan.

Eagan stood alone in the middle of the trail.

Author's note:

The idea of the 'chanokh' comes from the weapon used by the character Raizo in the movie 'Ninja Assassin'