A/N Hi everyone, sorry for the name mix-up, a leftover from a previous incarnation of the story, her name is and always was intended to be, Carpathia. Thanks!

Psalms of Sarmatia

I am Carpathia, a Rhoxolani, a proud member of the greatest of all Sarmatian tribes. My father is Romulus Tigris - one of the best warriors our cavalry had ever seen - now a trainer of pompous, arrogant and frustratingly overconfident Roman nobleman. I am trapped; as trapped as any prisoner, but my cell is not a rusty iron and aged stone prison. No, my cell is a promise. A promise given to some Roman bastard little more than a month ago; a promise for my hand in marriage.

I sat upon my bed looking out my open window, the early morning sunshine drifting lazily through. My dark hair lifted lightly in the sweetly-scented wind and settled back onto my shoulders just as softly as Larcia did when she plaited it.

Larcia Horaea –she was a Roman governess that acted as a both my parent and teacher when my father was too busy training his prized solider and the bane of my existence, Junius Septimus. She was standing in the doorway of my room, about to leave.

Her slowly greying hair was tied in a tight bun, gracefully placed on the crown of her head. She gave me a simple nod and left the room, her faintly musky scent remained. I had grown used to her presence and in hers was the only company I ever truly relaxed in.

Once I was alone, I undressed. When my constricting Roman chiton came off and I once more put on my more proffered dress; Sarmatian breeches and a tunic worn by Roman farmers, tucking my ritual dagger, blunted by years of use by my father, into my boot. Whilst wearing this garb, I felt a different being. Not just in look, but in manner and action as well. The soft wool of my Roman toga was preferable when walking around the draughty, tapestry-laden stone halls of my newly-built abode.; whereas my worn leather leggings and linen tunic were much more practical when I went away for days at a time in the Sarmatian wilderness, to get away from my family's Roman influences.

The only positive aspect of my family's Romanization was the stories that I was told from the age of six by Larcia. Stories of chivalrous knights in their shimmering armour, the Sarmatian boys that Rome took from their mothers' breasts and turned into soldiers. I had heard of many such knights, but in recent years, it seemed that the favourites of my father's soldiers were King Arthur and his shining men.

I grew up with these stories, but even from my sprightly young years I knew that I would not be a helpless damsel in distress.

I would make my own story. And on the day of my wedding to some 'noble' Roman solider, I did just that.

I was in my room, saying goodbye to the last refuge I had kept against all Roman influence: the cool stone floors of my room, surrounded with any remnants of my old life that I still had. My first archery bow -made of a young sapling even greener than I had been- sat atop my table. An ancient leather saddle, still smelling of fire-smoke and sweat adorned my north-most wall. I took my bag and in the ratted and voluminous clothes of my bed-maid, I took one last look at the creamy white wedding tunic that lay on my bed and walked out my door. I shed my old identity as easily as the cinder-girl had donned her new and forever walked out of my old life, whether free or in shackles.

I ran through the servant's entrance, knocking over many serving boys, maids or cooks that blocked my path. My serving tunic billowed behind me as I escaped my stone prison and burst out into the streets. Roman citizens continued about their daily practices ignoring the rampaging servant girl in their midst's. I ran across the centre square, my blue eyes scanning the crowd suspiciously for any that would notice my face.

I was lucky; I had avoided the people of my new Roman town as much as they had avoided me, and none recognised my subtlety different (that is to say, Sarmatian) features. I sped into a sprint and rounded a corner abruptly stopping in front of a two story insulae whose sagging windows, crooked boards and broken walls looked as though they had lived longer than the Roman occupation.

The lane's open paths and enigmatic residents made me feels as incongruous as a lost city girl in Woad's village. But instead of being smaller physically, I felt smaller emotionally. Dwarfed by the happy families and daily goings on that assaulted my ears from all angles. I knocked on the door three times and waited. My heart beat rapidly against my chest.

Almost instantly, the door opened wide, seemingly of its own accord and I walked in. I could hear the sounds of clambering feet in the streets that surrounded me, shouting and clashing of metal and wooden carts as I stepped through the threshold, the thick wooden and iron door closing behind me and blocking out all sounds of my hastily recruited search party's rampage through the city.

My heart sped up another notch as I entered the stagnant but mainly well-kept hallway. The smell of decaying parchment and rancid dust filled my nose, clouding my reason. As desperate as I was to get away from the pursuing soldiers -over eleven men by my ear's count- I did not hear the quick swish of cloaks as I entered the next room.

The moment I stepped in, I looked around, perplexed. I was supposed to meet Larcia here in this secluded house, our last rest stop before we began our journey. She was supposed to get here quickly and safely. Where was she?

My breathing became erratic. I looked around the room more closely this time, my quivering frame taking in the whole room for the first time. The shabby woven rug that covered the hewn stone floor, the rickety cupboard stacked with enough provisions to last two people for over a month, a cracked glass window pane sealed shut with the sounds of the clamour emitting from the surrounding streets and the open doorway leading to the stairwell.

My mouth opened, a silent cacophony playing in my head, yet I could barely manage a squeak. I whirled on the spot, thinking I would escape through the open door and through the back streets to the nearest caravan.

But behind me there lay not an escape route, but Junius Septimus, my father's most prized student, holding a gagged and Larcia by the muscled arms of an unknown Roman solider, most likely one hired by my future 'husband' in order to guarantee my capture. I looked around and saw Larcia in the shadows, her gleaming eyes screaming at me to run! Junius turned to me, his teeth barred in what I assumed was meant to be a smile, "My darling, Carpathia, did you really think it would be that easy? You've been watched since the moment your father told you his plans, he may be old, but he's still a soldier. He knows you well enough, your impetuous behavior, to realise you would try to escape. You'll never escape me." He leaned forward, his hand out, as if to stroke my hair. I flinched and bolted.

Taking one last longing look at my only childhood companion and sprinting for the nearby doorway racing up the stairs, looking left and right frantically for a way to escape. I hit the landing, the momentum from my speed jarring my knee as I turned on the spot and burst through the closed door.

I was stuck.

Junius appeared behind me, his surprisingly content grin spurring me into action. I backed away slowly, grasping the corner of the long and very thin, linen bed canopy, easing it off the iron bar that held it in place. I pulled it towards me, my heart still beating wildly as I edged backwards away from the slowly approaching Junius. I wrapped one of the ends of the canopy around my clammy hand as I stepped towards the open balcony and as if in slow motion, I saw a string of emotions cross Junius' face.

He had realised my intentions and began to run forwards his mouth open, an emotion closer to worry than rage splayed across his face. I ran across the balcony, the pilled canopy folded in my arms. Junius was still on the other side of the room, the time given by this distance enough for me to tie the remaining end of the canopy to the balconies wrought iron railing and to realised that my situation was dire.

I felt all the rage and anger at being pulled from my family, taken away by my father to a place where all but the rodents were viewed as above me. The claws of loathing and rage grasped further at my mind. "I was taken from my family! From everything I held dear, because my father wanted 'a better life'" I mocked. "He never cared about me! Never! If he had really understood me he wouldn't have made me leave!" A sympathetic look settled on Junius' face, one I did not understand. "Carpathia, you weren't stolen from your family, you were disinherited and abandoned. Your father had been a mercenary for the Romans when he met your mother, their match was not accepted. When she died, you were no longer welcome. Your life was in danger!"

"Lies" I screamed, barely able to stop myself from listening to his cruel and untruthful words. I tried pulling the knot that I had been tying onto the balcony while he spewed forth such rubbish, testing its strength- it held. I took a deep breath and prayed to whatever God's still believed in me. Without another thought I jumped off the rim of the ledge, hoping and praying that the flimsy fabric was not longer than I had thought. For otherwise my adventure would not end in shackles but in my death, when my fragile skull connected with the unyielding stone road.

The air whistled through my ears and I fought to keep my hold on the fabric. Suddenly I realised that my life-lines path led straight through a furniture stall and as I neared its wood and fabric over-hangings I let lose my hold and jumped onto the fabric roof, my weight breaking it and forcing me downwards on top of a glass and wood table. I landed in the street, both my breeches and skin ripping open from the force of landing on the shards of glass that had come from the broken table.

As I sprinted through the streets - the shops and people around me blurring in my haste to get away from the retched men that chased me - I looked at my situation objectively and almost laughed at the similarities recent events had to one of my favourite tales.

A tale of a little girl wondering through a forest, going to see her grandmother, but rather than finding a comforting smile and crinkled eyes poking out the top of the blanket she found the snarling jaws and shredding claws of a wolf greeting her. But I had no saviour, not gallant lumber-man to come to my rescue and cut my attackers into pieces. I had to help myself.

My feet slapped against the cold cobbles of the street as I escaped into the alleys under the late afternoon sun. I could hear the sounds of angry shouting behind me and couldn't stop myself from turning around and looking at the faces of my chasers. I glanced into the eyes of Junius and all I could see in them was excitement and hope - probably of the recognition he would receive for capturing me.

My head swivelled back, as I pictured marrying an ancient nobleman, hideous and vulgar, being forced to live a life of slavery. Fuelled by revulsion and fear I sped up to a pace beyond what even I had thought I could reach. My body feeling the absolute terror I experienced every time I even contemplated giving myself up and marrying someone so disgusting.

I turned another corner but realised a second to late that it was blocked, not by a mere scalable stone wall, but by a human barrier created by the sturdy bodies and armour of twenty-strong Roman soldiers. I looked up, beseeching the heavens, questioning their judgement in literally throwing me to the soldiers. It was then I realised that my path had led me to a fork, I could either give up and let myself be married of to some supposedly 'noble' Roman, or I could fight.

I slowly reached into my boot and slid the unfamiliar blade from its sheath. Taking a deep breath, I slowly turned in a circle, looking for an possible escape route. Spying a small alley in the street behind them, I prepared myself.

I took a deap breath, the air rattling through my through towards my pounding heart. This was it. My last chance before he found me.

I launched myself at the soldiers, my rage and anger at both them and my position projecting itself onto my face. My blunt knife bruising if not cutting the torsos, arms and faces of the men, luckily, their surprise at having a young woman launch herself at them, allowed me to claw and stab through their confused masses and onto the other side of the barricade. I scrambled onto the cobbled street and once again began running.

My hair came free of its bun, the wind rushing through my hair. I felt exhilarated, everything I had gone through, 12 years of emotional torture at the hands of these men, pushing me to run. I felt someone grab onto the edge of my tunic, I ripped out of their grasp and continued my bid for freedom, my eyes shining, the taste of freedom so close to my tongue. Imagining my escape once I was free of them. I would be forever lost to the winding alleyways of Novae.

But my dreams were cut short when I was tackled from behind by my tormentor Junius. I pushed myself back onto my feet and screamed "Leave me be! I want to spend my life with someone I love, not shackled to some Roman pig that will torture me for the rest of my life! I want a happy ending as well!"

And with a final desperate wrench I elbowed him in his nose, pulled myself free of his grip and continued my bid, away from my cities constricting streets forever.