I pulled another arrow from my sheaf and nocked it, but did not have time to aim. I threw myself to the ground as a lance blade swept the place lately occupied by my head. As I scrambled to my feet, a trumpet sounded. I looked to the sound as at least eight more knights came bounding from the wood with Marshal Gysburne leading the charge.

Slow cart that I am, it was only then that I understood we had been caught in a neatly spread net and the ends were about to close on us.

Bran had already seen it. "Fall back!" he shouted.

But there was nowhere to flee.

Behind us was a wall of burning trees and brush, ahead a swarm of angry soldiers-each one in a blood-rage to take our heads.

The trumpet sounded again, and there he was: Sir Richard de Glanville, the devil himself, looking powerfully pleased with his surprise. He swept out of the darkness flanked by two knights holding torches, and I do believe he imagined that at the very sight of him the fight would go out of us. For as he emerged from the dark wood he called out in English.

The others looked to me. "He says we must surrender, but that quarter will be given."

Siarles spat and put an arrow on the string. Iwan said, "We ask no quarter."

Raising his bow, Siarles said, "Shall I make reply, Lord?"

Bran nodded. "Give him our answer."

Before Bran had even finished speaking, the shaft was on its way. The sheriff, anticipating such a response, was ready.

Having faced a Welsh bowman before, he had provided himself with a small round shield clad in iron plate. As Siarles' arrow seared across the flame-shot distance, de Glanville threw his heavy round shield before him, taking the blow on the iron boss. There was a spark as metal struck metal, and the sturdy oak shaft shattered from the impact.

There was no time for a second flight, for at that moment a second body of knights charged in on the flank. I could not count them. I saw only a rush out of the darkness as the horses appeared.

We all loosed arrows at will, sending as fast as we could draw. Three knights were despatched that quick, and two more followed before the first were clear of the saddle. Then, with the horses on top of us, it was time to flee.

"This way!" cried Bran, edging back and back towards the burning trees and brush-a place even the best-trained Norman horses would not willingly go. "Through there," said Bran, already starting towards a gap between two burning elm trees. Pulling his cloak over his head, he darted through the narrow, fire-filled space as through a flaming arch.

Siarles and Rhoddi followed. Iwan, Tomas, and I made good their escape, sending another shaft each into the mounted soldiers as they wheeled and turned to get a good run at us. Then it was our turn to face the fire.

Pulling my cloak over my head, I bent low and ran for the flames, diving headlong between the two elms. I felt the heat lick out, scorching the cloth of my cloak, and then I was through to the other side. Tomas was not so fortunate. He got a little too close and his cloak caught fire. He came through in a rush, shouting and crying that he was burning alive. I grabbed him and threw him down on the ground, rolling him until the flames were out. He was singed, and his cloak was blackened a little along the hem in the back, but he was unharmed.

"To me!" shouted Bran. Through the flames, he had seen the Marchogi regrouping. As I took my place beside him, I could hear the sheriff rallying his men on the other side of the flame wall. "Take the horses!"

With that, he sent a shaft through the shimmering flames into the indistinct shapes that were the Ffreinc knights and their horses. The arrow found a target, for at once a knight gave out a cry. Soon we were all at it, braving the heat and smoke, to stand and deliver death and havoc from out of the flames. Again and again, I drew and loosed, working in rhythm with the others.

We made good account of ourselves, I think-though it was hard to be sure as we could not always see where our shafts went. But by the time the soldiers had regrouped and come charging around the end of the flame wall, there were far fewer than there had been just moments before.

"Away!" shouted Bran, pointing to the wood behind us. Siarles was already disappearing into the scrub at the edge of the clearing. Bran followed on his heels.

"Time to run for it," said Iwan. Loosing one last shaft, he turned and fled.

I slung my bow and pushed Tomas ahead of me, saying, "Go! Run! Don't lose them!"

We crossed the smouldering ground, leaping over the bodies of the soldiers we had killed before the sheriff had tipped his hand. While Tomas dived into the underbrush, I cast a glance over my shoulder as the knights came pounding into the clearing.

By the time Sheriff de Glanville took command of the field, he found it occupied only by his own dead men-at-arms, lying where they'd fallen in the melted snow. His voice sounded sharp in the cold night air. I fancied I could hear the disappointment and frustration as he began calling for his men to start searching the area for our tracks.

That much I got, anyway. The luck of Cain to 'em, I thought. The ground was that chewed up-what with the soldiers setting fires and all-I did not think they'd be able to find our trail in a month of Christmases, but we did not wait to find out. From the cover of the wood, we sent some more arrows into them, killing some, wounding others. The sheriff, realising the battle was now beyond winning, called the retreat. They fled back the way they had come and, since our arrows were mostly spent, we let them go.

"They might return," Bran said, and ordered us all to scatter and work our way around the blaze. "Confuse your trail and make certain you are not followed. Then fly like ravens for the roost."

I put my head down and lit out through the dark winter wood. Keeping the blaze on my left, I worked my way slowly and carefully around until I'd coursed half the circle, then faded back along a deer run that took me near to the bottom of the ridge protecting Cel Craidd. After a time picking my way carefully through a hedge of brambles and hawthorn, I reached the foot of the ridge and paused to listen, kneeling beside a rock to rest a moment before continuing.

I heard nothing but the night wind freshening the tops of the larches and pines. The fire still stained the night sky, tinting the smoke a dull rusty red, but it was less fierce now; already the blaze was dying out. Overhead, there were patches of winter sky showing through the clouds, and stars glimmering bright as needle pricks. The air was cold and crisp. As I started up the snow-covered slope it came to me that this attack signalled a change in our fortunes. We had beaten the sheriff this time, but it was just the beginning. Next time he would come with more men, and still more. There would be no stopping him now.