The setting moon would briefly provide the best cover and opportunity for him to reach his refuge. He had a small window before dawn broke. The woods were already waking up and the first birdsong punctured the stillness and the different frequencies pulsated through the air, momentarily distracting his ears, and caressed the trees and animals that begun to stir.

He became even more alert. And it was then that he caught that small sound carried by the wind. It was the most imperceptible of sounds, but unmistakable. Those were hoofs. He put his ear to the ground and frowned. Four horses. They were coming from the East. Was it a party pursuing him or was it unrelated? He looked for an inconspicuous hiding place. Immediately he thought of the baby in his arms. He could not afford to be betrayed if it awoke. But he could not let it go.

In the time that it took him to debate his options, he heard a second set of horses coming from the opposite direction and approaching fast. He had no time to run. So he left the path and couched in a gap inside a large bush and waited. He was not a devout man, but he prayed.

The two groups almost collided as they came around the bend. They stopped just in time in a tangle of hoofs, legs and dust and stared at each other. It would have been a face off, followed by a violent battle, were it not for the shock of the chance encounter. The head riders dismounted with the hand ready at their side where their swords hung. Yet as they moved closer to each other the tension was already dissipating.

One group was Ottoman, the other Byzantine. They sized up each other and bowed respectfully. In the current environment this behaviour was mystifying. The hooded figure held his breath and watched through the openings in the branches. He was trying hard to make out what the two head riders were talking about.

‘Salam elekum, Suleyman, God is one’, the Byzantine said.