It seemed she had done with kisses. She stood for a moment with the bloody shirt clutched to her, and spoke to the man on the bed.

“My lord,” said Baudouin’s wife, “your son shall wear your shirt and carry your sword, and when he is grown he will pay the beast of Cornwall for this night’s work. I promise you this, and these three are my witnesses.”

Then she turned and followed Drustan down to where the servant waited with the horses.

3

There was a half-moon, hazed over, but giving a little light. They went carefully, but when they reached the shore track the sea seemed to reflect light back to the sky, and their way showed more clearly. They kept by the shore for some miles, splashing through fords and going as fast as they dared over the rough ground, until at last the track turned steeply uphill towards the crest of the moor where the old Roman road bridged the Tamarus River, and the way lay clear towards the east.

Here, even without the sea-light, going was easier. The road ran straight, and though broken here and there and weedy, it was in reasonable repair. After a while the sky cleared, and a few stars showed.

Goren, the man Drustan had sent with them, knew the road, and the horses he had provided were good ones, and fresh. They made fair speed. Anna, straining past her bay’s shoulder to watch the road for pitfalls, still had no time for grief. All her being, now, was set on escape, on securing her son’s safety. Baudouin’s sword was sheathed at her horse’s pommel, his bloodied shirt, hastily rolled up, had been thrust into her saddle-bag, and the big bay she rode was Baudouin’s own horse. For the moment, that was enough; Baudouin was with her, and Baudouin’s son slept soundly in Sara’s arms. She fixed her eyes on the dim roadway, her thoughts on the journey ahead, and rode for her life and his.

Even so, they had gone barely ten miles when Goren turned in his saddle, pointing urgently to the rear. In a moment Anna could hear it, too. The beat of hoofs, coming fast along the road behind them.

She slashed the reins down on her horse’s neck, and the bay quickened his already headlong pace. Behind her she heard the child start a sleepy whimpering, and Sara’s frightened voice trying to quieten him.

“It’s no use, lady,” said Goren, breathlessly. “We’ll not keep this up for long. Yon Sara’s no great rider, and going like this, if she should let her nag stumble –”

“How many horses? Can you tell?”

“Two at least. Maybe no more. But two’s enough,” said the man grimly.

“Then what do we do? Stop and face them? I’m armed, and so are you, and by the time they come up with us we will be breathed, and they will not. If we pull aside on to the moor –”