Owain is a fourteen year old boy who has survived a feirce firece fierce feerce  battle with the invading Saxons in which his father and elder brother have been killed. Owain is badly wounded and the only other thing he can think of is to get back to his home town. His way lies through the city of Glevum.  He takes with him the only other servivor surviver survivor serviver of the battle - a large hound he has named Dog.

 After the emptiness of the woods and marshes it was strange to come at last to Glevum and find it alive and thrumming like an overturned bee skep. It was one of those times when his head was full of the fiery fog, and evrything evreything everything evurything  was shifting and unreal; but something in him remembered remembred rembered rememberd where to find the Sabrina crossing, and he turned aside from the Southern gate and drifted down on to the strand between the city walls and the river.

 The Water gate was open, and people were heading in a steady trickle along the causeway that spanned the river. Owain wondered wondred wundered wandered  into their midst because he, too, wanted the bridge,  holding with his sound hand to Dog's collar. becase becuase because becos he knew that if he and the great hound were separated, there would be no more hope in this world or the next for either of them.

 He found himself one of the pathetic triccle trickel triccel trickle  of fugitives that he dimly realised was the life-blood of Glevum draining away.  Tradesmen with their tools on their back, whole famlies famerlies families familys  pushing their most treasured possessions on handcarts,  of pressing forward simply with what they stood up in; a girl carrying carring carying carryng  two pigeons in a green willow basket; an old woman on a mule - maybe a rich merchant's wife - with a face that showed staring grey under the stale rouge and eye-paint that had streaked with tears;  a beggar with white blind eyes and bare feet. He saw them all like the people of a dream, all with the same stunned masks for faces; and all around him, he heard one word repeeted repeated repeted reepeated again and again: 'It is the Saxons - the Saxons - God help us! The Saxons are coming .......'

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