Merlin and I rode hard, and we soon escaped the range of the Pictish shafts, but my packhorse took an arrow in the rump — it slowed me down. I relayed this to the wizard, and he said, “Let it go. They pursue us.”
I looked back, and sure enough, the Picts were mounted and coming after us. Our wounded packhorse slowed to a limping halt. The Picts caught up to the beast — one stopped to deal with the animal while the rest swarmed around it and continued after us.
There were too many for me to fight alone, and I didn’t want to anyway. Moreover, Arthur had spoken of forming an alliance with the Pictish tribes, so I did not want to begin negotiations by killing any of them.
We soon left the forest and entered treeless rolling hills. Topping a rise, we encountered the rest of the company of Picts. They were all mounted and marching in a column. There must’ve been five hundred warriors coming in our direction. We had no choice but to rein in and stop.