Chapter I
Summery: A young knight disguised as a man is captured by slave traders and brought to Rome. After becoming one of Rome's most notorious gladiators she is sent back on a mission to Britain. But the mission soon becomes harder then she expected, especially when the knights find out who she really is.
Disclaimer: We all know who this story belongs to, and so I don't own the characters in the plot besides the ones I make myself. Cheerio.
Authors Note: The character is indeed a female, and she only refers to herself as such in her own point of view. Only Dagonet knows that she isn't male.
And a special thanks to my beta reader the holy see.
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The sun was hot on their backs, the humid breeze doing nothing to rid them of the sweat that lined their faces. Hadrian's wall stood proud against the summer sky, its stone walls the same gold as the wheat being harvested around them.
Blisters burned on her palms from the constant movement of the scythe onto the golden wheat. Looking up she cracked her back, a low sigh coming to her features as she inspected the water filled blisters that lined her palms.
Every summer, when the wheat fields were ready to be harvested the knights would help, and so every year she had taken up one of the old scythes that the villagers would lend her and chop wheat strand after wheat strand until the harvesting was finally done.
It was modest work; work that Lancelot openly joked about to keep them out of trouble. He was, of course, right. Bors, Lancelot and Galahad had a habit of getting into trouble when there was no work to be done.
Cracking her back for the second time, she turned her face away from the sun, the red burn across her nose throbbing with pain as she fingered it. It had been a long day but still the summer sun was high in the sky beating down on them with little compassion for their skin.
They had been at it all week and at first it had seemed as if the wheat would never end. But after a time it became less and less. They would be done by tomorrow, hopefully.
--
"This is an outrage." Lancelot muttered over his wine, before finishing the mug. The sun had finally settled to the west, but the day's heat was still fresh in the night. The constant press of humidity was bringing out the worst of their tempers.
"We work all day, and what does Arthur do?" He asked Bors who was obviously drunk on the other side of the table, his head resting on the wooden plank as a bar maid dropped a pitcher by his head. He let out a low groan.
"He sits in his room all day and does nothing!" Lancelot said answering his own question. Sighing, the knight beside him rubbed her temples, a clear eye roll going towards her friend as he continued to rant.
He had been at it all week, and personally Mark had had enough of it. She was sure that Arthur had better things to do then cut wheat all day, and yet at first Lancelot's constant questioning had really started to get the knights rallied up. But now a week later no one gave two cents about it anymore. In fact, Gawain had already started to pay the knight to keep his mouth shut.
"You going to finish that Mark?" Galahad asked, pointing to the mug of wine that was still full in front of her. Pushing it towards him as a clear answer, she shook her head at the disgruntled Bors who had dragged Verona onto his lap.
--
Once again they were out on the field, Mark keeping her distance from the other knights as she knew that clothing would soon be removed. Something that she had made clear she wasn't going to do in front of them but they had ignored.
They teased her often about her modesty and the need to keep all her clothes on, and she always had her reasons to do so. She was the only one who never left with a whore from the tavern and she planned to keep it that way.
True a couple of the bars wenches had come on to her, not knowing who she really was. But she had politely declined them, and eventually they had left her alone.
In the past eight years she had managed to avoid as much harm as possible, only Dagonet knew her secret. After all even the best of knights had gotten hurt in the battle field and it was unavoidable at best. But he was a good friend and he kept it a secret and for that Mark thanked him.
Once again the labour was hard, but they kept at it only stopping for a mid day meal. Their change in pace from yesterday was because of the hope that they would finish today. Even if Lancelot's swears could still be heard from where she was.
--
Three men stood in between the branches of the trees, they're eyes never leaving the wheat fields as they watched the labour. They were Roman men, dressed in modest colours. The only thing special about them were the swords that hung at their sides.
It was obvious to anyone who had ever held a sword that they were rich. The swords they carried were made of only the best iron and their sheathes were covered with carvings of Roman triumphs that would never be forgotten.
They were slave traders, people who roamed country after country kidnapping people to bring back to Rome. It was a risky business; two of their kin had already been killed on this particular journey but they thought nothing of it.
Their leader had a new plan though. Rome had heard many stories of Arthur and his legendary knights. But they were stories and Rome had denied all of them, save the ones that made them look better. But if the stories were true then capturing one of them would bring them a lot of money. A gladiator that was already trained was extremely valuable in Rome.
Not only would the owner not have to waste time and money on them, but they would also be ready to fight in mere days. It was an investment that he was not going to miss.
His men had been hesitant to capture one of the knights, reminding the leader of the stories and the legends that they had grown up on. They were gods one of them had told him, men that could not be captured. But then gods could not be killed and eventually he had convinced them to do his bidding.
--
They had been watching the knights for two days now, always in the trees always waiting for their moment. They hadn't picked out a target yet but had decided to wait for one of them to enter the trees for one business or another.
And then their chance came, on the last day one of the knights entered the woods. It was obvious what for, but the men were surprised when the dirty blond hair knight went even further into the trees then they had expected.
They followed on foot; expertly trained, they made no noise as they landed on the forest floor, leather shoes padding their feet as they moved slowly after the man.
He was barely a man, his lean frame and awkward muscles made him almost graceful as he continued down the path. He didn't notice them or so the slave traders thought. Though every now and then the knight would turn his head to look behind him.
They caught up with him in a clearing, signalling for his men to attack. The leader stepped forward, bringing a dagger to the man's neck as his companions covered his mouth with a gag.
--
Galahad had thought nothing of it when they had seen Mark disappear into the trees. It was obvious what he was going to do, and so after cracking his back Galahad once again set to work.
It was only after an hour that the knights began to get worried. At first Lancelot made jokes about how Mark needed time for his self, or that he was meeting a Woad woman in the forest. But after another half an hour it soon became obvious that he himself was getting worried.
They first sent Tristan in to take a look around, but when he came out empty handed the small band of knights grew more worried. For a while they argued on what to do, but it soon became clear that they were wasting time.
Despite the pleas and the reassurances of the villagers that had been cutting the grain with them, they left. Knowing that if something truly had happened to Mark they would have very little time in relocating him.
--
She woke with a start, but all she was met with was darkness. The back of her head throbbed as she tried to pull against her bonds. The leather straps cutting into her wrists as she tried to sit up. Something heavy pushed her back down, causing the wind to be knocked out of her lungs.
She heard laughter the flick of a whip against a horses flank. She was moving, possibly in a carriage of some sort. The heavy cloth blind fold around her eyes frustrating her as she stared into empty darkness.
She felt hands against her head, prodding at the wound where they had hit her over the head. She had fought, she could remember that, as she had drawn a dagger and gutted one of the men before being hit over the head. There was more prodding, her body wincing at the familiar sting of alcohol against the wound.
"You idiots." She heard a man's voice gruff against her ears. There was more laughter and the prodding stopped as she was laid back against the ground.
"You could have killed him." The same voice said and if she was correct he was right above her.
She heard a snort as a reply, her head turning towards the noise. "I thought the Sarmatian knights were gods." The man mocked his voice dripping with sarcasm. Hearing him move she gritted her teeth as she felt the tip of his shoe press into her rib.
"Besides he's not dead yet." Another laugh, not from either of the men above her. She heard a sigh, a hint of frustration. These men were obviously not close, and she could only rejoice at the fact. It could lead to her escape, but first she had to see something.
"He needs something to eat." She heard. Another snort as an answer, heavy boots pounding against the wood planks that mimicked a floor as she heard a man leave.
--
They had been searching for a week, their horses tired from hours of galloping. But they could find no sign of the man that had been a friend, a knight and a man they had all respected.
They had no body to bury, not even his sword could be found. To be mounted on a mock grave which they would have made. It seemed that Mark had dropped off the face of the earth. Had disappeared with out a word, even Galahad had been surprised when Tristan hadn't been able to find a trail. He had simply disappeared and that's what frustrated them the most.
A week after Mark's disappearance they came back to the wall, the wheat had been harvested, once gold fields now brown with freshly turned dirt. Hadrian's wall stood as proud as ever, the sun beating down on they're necks as they took the same dirt road to they're fort.
Night came and with it came the booze. But no laughter could be heard in the crowded Tavern. Even Arthur came for a drink that night, the knights sitting around a table as they talked amongst themselves. Drinks were passed around as well as stories that even made Tristan laugh as they remembered their friend.
"Perhaps he did what he always said he would do." Gawain suddenly said after finished another mug of ale.
"And what is that?" Arthur asked, his eyes flicking over to his friend.
"That he would escape and go back home."
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Authors Note: I still haven't thought of a decent female name for her, if you have any ideas I'd love to hear them.
