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"Will you look after them until I get back?"

Dagonet rolled the Roman woman's words around his mind and looked at them from all possible angles. High born Romans did not tend to spare much thought for their serfs, let alone their prisoners, yet there had been true concern in her voice when Fulcinia had asked him to look after the woman and the boy. Obviously her compassion was not shared by her husband however… Feeling a surge of anger at the memory of the pompous Roman striking his wife as punishment for her kindness, Dagonet gave a faint smile. If he had struck Marius rather than Arthur there would have been a good chance the Roman wouldn't have gotten up again.

Beside him the boy whose name was Lucan from what the Woad had said was curled up exhausted, his head on the woman's lap, as though he were oblivious to the danger that lay all around him. The woman herself looked frail and exhausted, her eyes occasionally fluttering shut even as she tried to watch Marius's soldiers. Had she been a villager or even a Roman, Dagonet would have made an attempt at comforting her, or at least reassured her that he would not let her come to harm. But she was neither of those things. The woman was a Woad, and he had killed as many of her kind as hers had killed his.

The jangle of metal as Gawain's horse snatched at its bit irritably caught his attention, but Dagonet did not look over at his brother in arms. He didn't need to look at the young knight to sense his puzzlement at his protection of what was surely an enemy, nor meet Tristan's eyes when the scout caught his hawk with a murmur of Samartian endearments he would never express toward his human brethren. Arthur was busy readying the villagers, for which he was grateful; his hands were cold, and he felt tired and uncomfortable trying to shift his big body on the frozen ground, but if his commander gave him an order then he was duty bound to follow it, even if that would mean leaving the two liberated prisoners. And breaking his promise to the Roman woman. The thought bothered him more than it should - after all he didn't owe her or her kind anything.

Glancing down, he watched as the boy shifted in his sleep, his uninjured arm pale and thin as a chicken bone sliding out of the rough blanket one of the villagers had given him. Dagonet freed his cloak from underneath him and tucked it carefully around the boy without really thinking about what he was doing. True, he had told the child not to fear him, but he was a little surprised at just how literally the boy had taken his words. Pain and exhaustion explained the lack of fight or defiance, but the trust that shone in his eyes was something else entirely. The boy had put his faith in a Samartian soldier who was better known for his savagery on the battlefield than anything else. The knowledge niggled something deep inside him, but Dagonet forced himself to remain watchful and emotionless. With an inward sigh, he watched Lancelot walk over to him. The younger knight broke the piece of bread he was holding in half and handed it to him, before flicking his eyes over his charges dismissively.

"Babysitting are we Dagonet?" he said archly. "Vanora will be pleased; you can mind the kids while she and I engage in more pleasurable activities."

Dagonet bit into the bread and chewed unhurriedly. He was used to Lancelot's quick tongue and ignored the attempt at riling him.

"As I remember the one and only time you tried to get into Vanora's skirts she kicked you so hard in the bollocks Galahad still has a bet running as to whether or not you'll ever father any children," he said calmly. "Is there any more food going?" he nodded towards the two prisoners. Lancelot's eyes narrowed when he took in the woman's appearance, but chivalry won out over his aversion to her tribe, and he pulled a chunk off his own portion of bread and dropped it into her lap. The woman made no move to take it, instead continuing to watch him with bleary, half focussed eyes.

"Fine, starve then," Lancelot said resignedly, "makes no difference to me." Turning his attention back to his friend, he nodded at the small procession of horses and wagons that were making their way towards the gate. "Arthur wants these two in the wagon at the back. You're to stay with them and grab anyone who falls behind. Since we're all probably going to get slaughtered by the Saxons it wouldn't do to have anyone missing out on the fun."

Dagonet gave a faint smile and nodded, much to Lancelot's irritation.

"Gods Dag, would it kill you to look a bit worried? I don't know about you, but I'd got my hopes up for dying a free man, not cut down defending a pompous Roman whose head is even bigger than his arse."

The older knight smiled and glanced over to the village where the youngest of their brothers was obviously involved in a heated debate with an impassive Tristan. "If you want a shouting match then I suggest you go and talk to Galahad."

Lancelot gave a mock shudder. "No thank you, I'll leave it to Gawain to talk some sense into him or Tristan to punch him; whichever comes first."

"Probably for the best," Dagonet agreed, watching as Lancelot gave a vague gesture of farewell before walking back to his commander. One of the villagers was leading a large covered wagon towards them, and this must be the transport for he and the prisoners he assumed. It was fairly large, for which he was grateful - his height meant that on the few times he'd been forced to travel in such a style due to injury, he had been uncomfortably cramped. Getting to his feet, he nodded at the man who led the carthorse that pulled it.

"I'm Brynn, Sir." The man was perhaps in his early thirties with a broad honest face. Although obviously a little intimidated by the situation and the knight before him, there was a forthrightness to his tone that made Dagonet immediately warm to him. "Been told that you and the…" he frowned at the prisoners, "them two, are travelling with me and Blossom." At Dagonet's frown he patted the brown neck of the horse. "The wife named her, " he said with more than a little embarrassment.

Shrugging, the knight bent down and picked up Lucan. It didn't matter what the horse was called so long as it got them back to the wall as quickly as possible. The boy didn't stir in his arms, and it only took Dagonet a moment to haul himself into the back of the wagon and settle him onto a pile of blankets. Brushing a hand over Lucan's forehead, he grimaced as he felt the head radiating from the sweaty skin. The boy was running a fever - not surprising given all that had happened to him, but potentially lethal given that he had access to very few medical supplies and most of the plants he could have utilised were out of season. Perhaps the Roman woman had something he could use, he thought. Fulcinia of the black hair and red cloak. The thought startled him a little in the vividness of its imagery; Fulcinia was attractive; any man could see that, but above all things she was Roman, and as such practically another species. A little unsettled, he vowed to ask her about any medicine she might have anyway. She'd helped the prisoners before, and that being so, she might be prevailed upon to do so again. Swinging down from where he had been crouched, Dagonet eyed the Woad woman thoughtfully. She swayed with exhaustion, her legs and arms tucked tight against her body as though to make herself a smaller target. Getting her into the wagon under her own power seemed pretty unlikely, and not particularly wanting to talk to a Woad who, for all he knew had been the cause of one of the many empty spaces around Arthur's round table, he simply walked over to her and picked her up without a word. Aside from a muffled yelp she neither spoke nor struggled, and Dagonet had her settled inside the wagon in a matter of moments.

"Stay here," he ordered, getting out of the wagon. The boy was unconscious and the girl merely looked at him with dark unreadable eyes, but since there was nowhere else for her to go, he was satisfied that she wouldn't go anywhere while he went and found his horse.

Sidon wasn't hard to find; the big black was stood resting a hind leg and lipping at the tunic of the small boy who held his reins in hopes of finding something edible in the pockets. Taking his mount from the boy, Dagonet tried not to smile as the lad's eyes widened until they looked as though they might pop from their sockets. Leading his mount back to the wagon, he hitched the reins to the back, Sidon acquiescing with his usual laid back acceptance. Scratching the horse briefly behind his ears, the knight's attention was caught by a flash of red. Fulcinia was exchanging words with Alecto; as Dagonet watched she kissed her son briefly on the cheek before hurrying towards him, a large bundle clasped to her chest.

"Sir.." She stopped herself and ducked her head shyly. "Dagonet. This is most of the medical supplies from Marius's private store." Hefting her burden onto the wagon bed, she untucked the blanket that was wrapped around her purloined treasure. Working swiftly, she pushed several small stoppered jars against the side and tucked the blanket around them to give them some protection, before unpacking several bowls and a couple of water skins.

"Do you have anything for fever?" Dagonet watched her work, but was unable to read the words scrawled on the side of the jars. "Lucan burns."

Fulcinia looked at him worriedly, before scrambling into the wagon. As she did so her dress runched up slightly, giving Dagonet a brief glimpse of a dainty ankle and slender calf. The sudden jolt of desire that made his breeches suddenly a little too tight, was as unexpected as it was inappropriate, and the knight squashed the feeling down swiftly. Gods, how long was it since he'd had a woman? he wondered. Obviously too long if he was looking at a Roman noblewoman as being anything other than an obligation. As soon as he had his papers he'd find one of the sweeter natured tavern girls and celebrate his freedom properly, he vowed.

"Dagonet?" Fulcinia's voice dragged him out of his thoughts, and he looked up to see her holding out a bowl. "Would you hold this for me?"

Her voice was very polite; she could have been talking to a Roman of her own rank, and almost amused the knight took the bowl in one of his big hands, and watched as Fulcinia added several pinches of a brownish powder.

"Willowbark," she said in answer to his unspoken question. "It's good for fever." Stirring the concoction with her finger, she took the bowl back from him. "Of course it would be better if the patient were to be kept quiet and still, but…" she gave a rueful shrug, careful not to spill any of the medicine.

Dagonet gave a half smile of understanding and watched as the Roman woman carefully raised Lucan up so that he was propped on her knees, and dribbled a little of the liquid into his mouth. The boy spluttered a little but swallowed most of it, and the next mouthful went down easier than the first. Behind them, Dagonet made out the shape of the woad woman. She was curled up under a blanket either unconscious or asleep. Better to leave her until they all got moving, he decided. She obviously needed the attention of a healer, but for now she could wait. Turning away, he watched as Arthur mounted his horse and shouted an order to the soldiers who headed the line of horses, wagons and huddled serfs. The huge gate to the villa opened for the last time and the procession started its exodus. Bors gave him a wave, and he held up a hand in acknowledgement. It was time to leave this little piece of Rome to the Saxons.

"Brynn?" he called to the wagon driver. The man nodded, making a last minute adjustment to his horse's bridle.

"We're ready. We keep to the back, that right?"

Dagonet nodded and climbed back into the wagon. Fulcinia had set aside the willow bark tea and sat on her knees, Lucan's head resting on her lap. Wiping a damp cloth over the feverish boy's forehead she could almost have been mistaken for his mother were their colouring not so different. It looked as though she planned on travelling with them, and while Dagonet did not feel any of the irritation he would have thought he would at the prospect of being in such prolonged proximity to a Roman, he was a little surprised at her choice.

"Your husband's carriage is leaving." Fulcinia glanced outside and bit her lip. Shifting slightly she sqeezed the water out of the rag in her hand and didn't quite look at him.

"I am needed here," she said eventually. The words were precise and carefully spoken, but nonetheless their real meaning was clear; I don't want to go with him.

Dagonet didn't push her for a further explanation. In truth he was glad that she wasn't going to travel with her husband. His carriage, although padded and plush was covered, and given Marius's temper he suspected that the woman opposite him would emerge at the end of their journey with far more bruises than she might accrue from being bounced around in the rough wagon.

"Your help is welcomed," he said quietly, and this time she did look at him. A short glance, dark eyes searching swiftly as though to measure the true sentiments behind his words. She dropped her gaze before he had time to get more than a glimpse beyond the carefully expressionless façade of a well born Roman, but it was enough.

When he was only half a year into his bondage to Rome he had been sent out to hunt. He had shot and killed a couple of rabbits before being distracted by a rustling in the bushes. Those were younger days when inexperience had made him reckless and curiosity had overcome caution, and following the sound he had found a young doe caught in a snare. Her neck had been soaked with blood where she had rubbed it raw against the rope, the ground churned into mud where her hooves had flailed in attempt to get free. But it was her eyes that had stayed with him. Wide, dark and filled with a despair that had made him swallow hard and kill her quickly. He had never thought to see that hopeless resignation again, least of all in the eyes of a well born Roman woman, but for a brief moment before Fulcinia looked away, the memory was so strong that he could almost feel the sunlight on his face and smell the thick tang of blood and leaf litter.

She bent over Lucan and damped her cloth before wiping his brow, her hair swinging forward and shielding her face. When the wagon lurched into motion, with barely a warning from Brynn as he urged his horse forward, she swayed and would have banged her head on the side runners had Dagonet not reached out and grabbed her arm. She froze at his touch; muscles tense as steel beneath his fingers and he let her go quickly. She turned back to her task without looking his way, but he caught the soft "thank you," so quiet that it was barely a whisper. Leaning back against the side of the wagon, the knight watched as the villa became smaller and smaller, the hoof prints of their strange procession swallowed by snow, until only the faint echo of far away drums was proof that there was anyone else out there in the frozen wilderness.