Chapter 3
Lancelot rode in silence as they searched for safer ground. He wondered at the bravery of the small woman in front of him. She was only 5'3" and slight of build, but it seemed her spirit could rival that of a Sarmatian knight. He could not help but be drawn to her since he had rescued her from her shackles. Her dark, long locks, her deep brown eyes, mimicked his own and made him question exactly where she had come from. He had seen many women of Briton and Roman descent, but none had ever looked quite like her. She was breathtaking in her silent mystery. He felt the oddest sensation to hold on and never let go. He felt her shiver in front of him and he wrapped the fur tighter and held her as close as he could.
"There, past the formation of rocks. The wood grows thick. We can defend ourselves on the mound and make camp in the small clearing," Arthur declared as he rode back to the company from scouting ahead.
Bors nodded and led Dagonet's horse with its burden carefully. Galahad flanked the horse on the other side, making good measure that the giant did not fall.
The knights and brave ladies reached their destination shortly after and began preparations. Dagonet was carefully lifted from his steed and laid on a soft patch of snow while Galahad and Gawain set to making a rudimentary lean-to to house him under.
Lancelot hopped quickly to the ground and carefully helped Evony down from the mare.
"Sit here. I will build a fire," he wrapped the fur around her tighter again.
Evony nodded, trying to conserve her body heat now that she no longer was next to Lancelot. She glanced over at Dagonet and noticed his breathing was shallow. She hoped that Tristan would return soon with the things she needed.
In moments, Lancelot had made a roaring fire out of some dry wood that he had collected. Evony scooted closer to the heat and let her feet rest on a rock in front of the flames. She was determined to get her clothing dry while she still wore it before her limbs froze over.
Bors made another fire close to the lean-to and helped Galahad move Dagonet to the bed of pine they had made for him to rest on.
Tristan returned at least a half hour after, treading carefully in the underbrush to avoid tripping his horse on rocks and roots.
"What say you," Arthur stood, jaw clenched with worry.
"I've found all but oregano. We are not in Rome, but hopefully Rosemary will do," Tristan said as he quickly dismounted and handed Evony a small satchel filled with the medicinal herbs.
Arthur held out his hand to help Evony up from the fire and lead her to Dagonet, "Lets hope you have as much skill as Dagonet. Save him, my lady, and we will all be in your debt."
"I will do what I can, my Lord," she knelt under the lean-to and opened the pack to inspect it's contents.
"Let me help," Guinevere appeared next to her, "Tell me what you wish me to do."
"We will need hot water. Boil the rosemary and set it to steep. Then make a tea of the devil's scourge," Evony grabbed a stray bandage and picked the nettles up carefully so as not to sting her fingers. Guinevere hopped to her task, finding a skin of water and rummaging through saddlebags till she found something suitable to boil some water with the herbs.
Evony found a smooth, flat rock and held it over the fire as long as she could. She poured water over the surface and laid out the nettles and oak bark in a pile. Taking Dagonet's dagger, she carefully ground the nettles and bark to a pulp. When she was done, she rose swiftly and approached Lancelot.
"I need a hair from your horse's mane," she said to him, "I need to find a way to sew the wound closed."
Lancelot nodded and fetched her a hair from his horse's mane. On his way back to her he paused, talking with Arthur. Arthur looked over his shoulder at Evony, nodded, and handed Lancelot something.
"Here, my lady, this should serve as your needle and thread," Lancelot placed the horsehair and a brooch pin in Evony's hand.
"Thank you, Sir Lancelot. I wasn't sure I'd find a pin bone so easily," Evony bowed in gratitude before turning back to her charge.
"Bors, I think we will need you and Galahad's help again," Evony said when she was finished gathering supplies.
"At your service, my lady," Bors said, kneeling down at Dagonet's shoulders and readying his belt once more. Galahad took position at Dagonet's legs, careful to give Evony room to work.
"The rosemary is ready, Evony," Guinevere carefully brought a small cup holding the infused liquid.
Evony carefully unwrapped the bandages from Dagonet's wound. They were soaked through but the wound bled at a slower pace. She quickly poured some water over the opening and carefully wiped the flesh with a clean cloth. Dagonet winced and jumped uncomfortably. Next she took the cup of rosemary and poured the liquid directly onto the wound. She put pressure on the opening, pulling the flesh slightly apart and took care to pour the liquid inside as well. Dagonet jumped and bit down on the belt. Evony watched as small bubbles mixed with blood seeped from the wound. At least the rosemary concoction would cleanse the injury and help keep infection from setting in as fast. Silently, Evony said a prayer before starting her next administrations. She carefully took the brooch that Arthur supplied in her hands. It was a Roman artifact of some odd looking face. Perhaps it was a medal of honor. No matter, it would serve as her needle. Evony snapped the sharp pin off the bauble and held it in the flames of the fire between two small sticks. Before the sticks could burn away, she withdrew the needle and set it in the cup of Rosemary water. As steam sizzled away before she lifted the needle and fastened the long horsehair to the end of it.
"Hold him steady. This will hurt," Evony warned Bors and Galahad. Guinevere sat next to her with cloth at the ready to wipe up blood.
Evony stabbed into Dagonet's skin with the makeshift needle and looped it through the other side of the wound in a cross stitch as though she were sewing a stuffed pig together for a feast. Dagonet yelled out and his brothers struggled to hold the giant down. Evony worked as quick as she could, making sure the wound was completely closed before tying off the end of her suture and cutting the excess off with the dagger. She poured more of the antiseptic rosemary liquid over the wound and blotted it with a rag. Grabbing the dagger, she scooped up a small pile of oak bark and nettle on the tip of the blade and began to smear the crushed concoction over the wound. The nettles would sting but they would help slow the bleeding, as would the oak bark. She spread the crushed herbs thick over the wound and grabbed a clean bandage to cover the poultice before bandaging the knight once again. When she was done, Dagonet was barely conscious, his brow hot and dotted with sweat.
"Guinevere, the tea," Evony asked and the pict handed her another cup.
Bors removed the leather belt from his friend's mouth and held his head up to help him drink.
"Dagonet, you must drink this. It will help with your fever and take away the pain," Evony hoped the giant man could understand her.
Dagonet drank the devils scourge tea slowly before laying his head back and falling into a deep dark sleep.
"Will he be alright, lady?" Bors asked, his voice laced with worry.
"My knowledge is not that of a master healer, but I have done what I can. He has a fever and the wound is deep. If the Gods are on our side he will make it till we reach the Wall and your healing rooms. Time will tell." Evony didn't try to sugar coat the truth. If infection set in then Dagonet's fate would almost certainly be sealed unless tended by a skilled healer. Her meager triage wouldn't be enough to hold death at bay.
"He needs someone to take watch over him," Evony said as she sat back and stretched her spine.
"I will stay with him," Bors volunteered. Dagonet was his best friend and closer than a brother. They promised each other they would ride home together, and Bors intended to hold him to it.
"Keep his brow cool. Let me know if the bandages soak through," Evony told the knight before excusing herself. Guinevere followed and handed Evony a wet cloth.
"To clean your hands," she said with small smile, trying to comfort Evony.
"Thank you," Evony said as she cleaned the layers of dried blood and herbs off her fingers and under her nails before pouring the contents of a nearby water skin over her hands to remove the last of the dirt.
Evony stood and suddenly realized how tired and hungry she was.
"Come," Guinevere said, motioning to another fire that Arthur had set, "There is food waiting for us. You need to eat."
Evony followed her to the fire and took a seat as close as she dared to the flames. She was still damp and cold, but had fought her discomfort to tend to the giant knight.
"Rabbit," Tristan announced as he handed Evony a skewer of meat and some bread.
"Thank you," she replied and ate the meal hungrily.
"My lady, thank you again for helping our brother," Arthur said, meeting her eyes across the fire, "What you did, out there on the ice and just now, was brave. We are grateful."
Evony shrugged as she chewed her meat, "It is but a small gesture to offer for saving my life, my Lord." Her simple words fell as she dropped her gaze from the green eyed Roman.
Evony didn't feel that gratitude was necessary. Her actions had been a result of her own life experiences. Her attempts to save this knight, this Sarmatian knight, was but a small part of her duty and personal honor for saving her life. The other part, the most important part, was that she knew he was a good man who deserved saving.
As night fell, Arthur organized his men to watch and their small company settled themselves down to rest. Evony had retired to the fire that Lancelot had set for her previously. It was close to a comfortable log and shielded nicely from the wind by large tree trunks. Her legs were finally dry and the cold was not as devastating as earlier. She settled down, her back against the log and stared into the fire, wrapping her fur cloak tightly around her.
"A lady should not sleep alone," Lancelot's voice startled Evony to attention and she looked at the dark knight sharply. It was well known that Arthur's first knight was somewhat of a womanizer. Rumors said that women flocked to his feet and warmed his bed with one glance of his cheeky grin. Evony did not deny that his smile was attractive, but she was not a woman that fell for such tricks that easily.
"I mean, my lady, that you should not sleep alone in the woods for fear of marauders," Lancelot blushed. He had not meant that first comment to sound as suggestive as it had.
Evony gave him a sideways glance before relaxing, "No, my lord, I guess that wouldn't be very wise."
"May I join you in company? My brothers are keeping lookout and it seems as though Guinevere is keeping Arthur's attention." Lancelot asked raising an eyebrow and motioning to where Guinevere sat huddled next to Arthur.
Evony smiled. The pict girl was relentless. Evony knew she would win the heart of the green-eyed commander yet. Evony nodded her consent to Lancelot and watched as the knight sat himself down as close to Evony as he dared. The two stared in silence at the flickering flames for a moment. Lancelot fiddled with a pine needle in his hands and looked at Evony with those dark, questioning eyes again.
"My Lady, if I may be so bold, you perplex me. How is it you have come to such great knowledge of war and medicine?" Lancelot asked, studying her with his dark eyes. He had seen her skill practiced only on the battlefield by other soldiers, or in the healing houses of the Wall. Had she been an apprentice in her time to a healer?
Evony leaned forward to poke the fire, her long dark hair falling in a blanket over her shoulder and said, "I am a product of my upbringing, my lord. I am the daughter of a Sarmatian Knight, raised on battlefields from Rome to Briton."
Lancelot waited for her to continue, leaning back against the log with arms crossed in front of his broad armor clad chest. Evony bowed her head before deciding to give in to the knight's questioning glances.
"My father's name was Adalwolf. The Romans came when I was five. My father was one of the few left of our tribe. Most our numbers had moved on or joined neighboring villages. My father was the last able-bodied man among us. He convinced the Romans to take me with them. My mother died when I was two and I had no one else. He told the Commander that I would make a good stable hand and tend to the horses. My father was grateful that they allowed him to keep me, but he was wary of the Romans and their intentions. I grew up traveling from fort to fort, wherever they stationed him. I watched my father fight Roman battles and before long, he put a sword in my hand and bid me swing away," Evony peered at Lancelot listening intently to her story, his eyes glimmering with fascination.
"My father said that I was the descendant of Amazons and it was only fitting that I learned how to fight like one. I don't know that I believe him, but I learned how to wield a blade and a bow all the same," Evony let the corner of her mouth turn upwards as she remembered her father fondly calling her is little Amazon princess. "We made our way with the Roman army across the territories. My father fought many battles, some more tragic than others. I watched many a healer tend to my father and his fellow knights. I learned what I could out of necessity. In times of great tragedy, more than one healing hand was needed with the Roman company. I learned enough to patch up a wound, but I am no great healer."
"A Sarmatian girl. Now that makes sense," Lancelot mused, his eyes revealing his intrigue. "Why did you not return to Sarmatia with your father? Surely his time was over long ago?"
"My father's time never ended. Some time after we reached Briton he was injured in battle. His wounds left him crippled in one leg and he was considered unfit to be en effective soldier. The Romans took advantage of his state. They enlisted him as their smith. He had some skill in the trade from his days in Sarmatia. He used to work the fires at our village before I was born. The Roman commanders traded his services and we travelled where we were told. They said that since my father could no longer fight, and his skill was worth more than death, that he would be indentured to their mercy for sparing his life. They made slaves of us and traded us from household to household when their battles were over." Evony's jaw set with anger as she said the last bit.
"My father died serving animals. He was not as lucky as you and your brothers to have such an honorable commander as Arthur," she looked at Lancelot, sadness filling her gaze.
Lancelot nodded his head in accord. Indeed, he and his fellow Sarmatian Knights had been lucky to be a part of Arthur's company. There was no other Roman that treated them with respect and equality. To others, they were hard, trained animals – tools of war. To Arthur, they were brothers in arms and family at heart. That was something to honor in a man.
"It was Marius' estate then? Where your father lost his life?" Lancelot asked gently.
Evony nodded and stared back at the fire, trying not to let her emotions show. After all, it hadn't been that long ago that her father had been killed.
"My father died trying to protect my honor from Marius' dogs. He killed the high commander in the scuffle. They ran him through without hesitation," she blinked back her tears, "Marius said that I would be retained to keep his bed warm. I spat in his face and branded him in the belly with a poker from my fathers forge. That's when his dogs seized me and chained me in their holy prison." Evony's jaw clenched as she admitted to her abuse, "Marius' said that I would learn my place. I was beaten by his dogs and his priests. They tried to break my spirit and my innocence. The only thing they left in peace was my hands. I had been my fathers apprentice all my life and his forge was no different. They figured they could beat submission into me and use my skill later."
She held her hands up and turned to look at the dark knight. Lancelot's heart burned with rage. He may be a knight, but never had he allowed a woman to be treated so badly in his life. A woman should be treated with honor and respect, for they were the givers of life. His creed, passed down from his father and his father's father, was what distinguished him as a man and not a beast.
"I am sorry you have had to endure such pain," he said, his voice laced with ire before softening and leaning to take her hands in his, "But you will not have to endure such pain again. On my honor I swear I will see to that."
Evony stared at his hands clasping hers, felt his calloused fingers holding tight, and somehow believed in his word. He may have bedded many a beauty, but Evony got the feeling that his intentions towards her were not based on that train of thought. He was a man of his word and honor. She was flattered that this stranger would take on the responsibility of protecting her from further hurt. However she wondered what would happen after they reached the Wall. Evony was sure that they would go their separate ways. She just wasn't sure which way she wanted to go yet.
Evony smiled softly letting her hands linger in his for a moment longer, "You are kind, my Lord. I am grateful for your generosity." She slowly withdrew her hands from his warmth and turned to him, "Tell me about you, good knight. What of your papers? Surely your contract with Rome ends soon?"
Lancelot smiled a wry smile and picked up another pine needle to fiddle with, "My service to Rome, as well as my brothers in arms, is over. Or it should be. Rome denies our freedom until we deliver the Honorius family safely to the Wall." He threw the pine needle into the fire with frustration, "We are to receive our papers when we return."
"And what will you do with your freedom, good sir?" Evony offered a smile to ease his irritation.
His eyes softened and the corners of his mouth turned up, "We shall return to Sarmatia, naturally. It has been too long since last I lay eyes on my family. I wish to see my sister and my mother and father if they still live."
Lancelot bowed his head and he fingered the wolf pendant that hung by a tether from his neck. Evony could see the inner struggle that he didn't voice aloud. He wished to go home, but he wasn't sure there was a home to go to anymore. He had been gone so long from Sarmatia, he didn't feel like he belonged to it anymore. But he didn't feel like he belonged to Briton either. He only hoped that when he received his papers, his journey home would change his feelings.
"Will you return home to Sarmatia, or will you stay here?" he asked her.
Evony answered the handsome knight the only way she could, "I have no home. The home I knew died with my father."
She saw the knight's strong jaw set with sadness. Lancelot felt sorry for asking, but he couldn't help but understand.
"My father used to tell me that home isn't always the land you live on or the air you breath. It's the love you share and where you keep your heart. You can be miles away from the land you were born to, but if your heart belongs to another, then there resides your true home," Evony said with confidence.
"Your father was a wise man," Lancelot told her. Her words rang true to his heart. He loved his family and the land that he called home, but he wasn't sure that his heart resided there anymore. If it did not, then where exactly, was home?
Lancelot caught Evony shiver under her fur cloak. The fire was dying down but they couldn't afford to build it up again less the Saxons had scouts about. Already, they were risking much by even having fires this night.
"Come, it's a cold night and you've been cold enough for one day," Lancelot held his thick wool cloak open, inviting Evony to draw near.
Evony raised an eyebrow at him.
"Don't worry," Lancelot reassured her, "I don't bite. It will be warmer if we are near. I will not do anything to dishonor you, I swear."
Evony hesitated before shifting to sit next to Lancelot and lean into his arm. She removed the thick fur and draped it over them as he drew his wool cape around her tightly. The fur worked effectively at trapping their body heat and bracing them against the cold.
Lancelot held Evony close and could smell the oils that the Roman lady had rubbed into her skin and hair. He could feel her breath in his arms, slowly but surely relaxing until she drifted off to sleep. He glanced down at her long thick eyelashes, half moons on her beautiful face. Lancelot's thoughts returned to her words about home. If he went back to Sarmatia, he would want to find a good woman to share his bed and raise a family of his own. It would be an empty life if he didn't. If he stayed here, in Briton, he would want the same things. But he had not found his heart in another. Not yet at least. Would he wander lost? Forever a knight? He held Evony tighter. He had given her his word that he would protect her. There was that something about her that he couldn't pinpoint. The thing that made him want to keep her close, to make sure she was safe and taken care of. He had many women share his bed and fall for his smile, but Evony was different. She was full of strength beyond reason, and a heart that seemed to beat out the song of her soul. He felt oddly at ease with her there in his arms, something he wasn't used to in others he had known more intimately than her. She deserved more than cheeky smiles and flattery. She deserved a home. He would try his hardest to keep her safe so she could find it.