Lochabar opened his eyes and promptly threw up. His vision swam sideways and his head sank in the opposite direction. He made out dark shapes, dull colors. Feeling about for something solid to grasp, he bumped into another prostrate form on the floor. It was Catlin. Lochabar felt sticky blood on the back of her head, hoped she wasn't too badly hurt. He closed his eyes and lay down until his own head felt more steady, then tried again. The room remained firmly in one place. He sat up gingerly; he did not feel as sick as before. Gently, he touched Catlin on the shoulder.
Catlin stirred. Groggily, she reached for the wound on her head. The slick feel of the blood made her groan softly. "Romans," she said. She remembered the ambush, and Conor's escape with Tully, and vaguely recalled a dull, meaty sound resounding in her ears before she blacked out.
"Aye, lass, Romans," said Lochabar, grimacing with distaste.
"Where are we?" asked Catlin, pushing herself up onto her knees. A wave of dizziness overcame her, making her freeze momentarily.
"I think we're in the Roman she-devil's prison," said Lochabar.
"Wonder of wonders, he speaks the truth," said Diana, breezing into the small room. She looked around distastefully at the low stone ceiling, the lack of windows, the stale smell of urine and old blood. "Good to know that blow didn't addle your brains."
Both Celts glared their hatred at the Roman. "Kill us and be done with it," snarled Lochabar. "We'll not be pawns in your game."
"I don't need pawns," dismissed Diana. She leaned in as close as she dared. "I want slaves."
"You should kill them both," said Longinus, picking at a bowl of dried dates. He was uninterested in food or drink, only in scouring this cursed island to bare rock, salting it, and leaving for civilized Rome. Without the Spear he felt like a husk of a man. The centuries he had endured searching for his errant weapon had gifted him with patience, for as long as he had hope, he could wait. Now no hope existed, not even repentance. He would have to last it out until another unconventional means of departure presented itself.
"They'll make good examples," said Diana.
"They'll make trouble," said Longinus.
"I want slaves," said Diana, not a little petulantly. "We'll get none from Rome and the soldiers resent being treated as servants."
"They are servants," said Longinus. "They serve the empire, and they serve us."
"You know what I mean," said Diana. "That girl, she used to be a slave. She'll be twice as insolent from her dose of freedom."
Longinus pushed the dates away. "And twice as fun to break," he said in a dull voice, knowing that that was exactly what Diana meant. "Have fun," he added. Diana looked away for a minute, and when she looked back, Longinus was gone.
* * *
"Eat," said Fergus, setting a warm bowl of mild broth next to Conor's bed. Conor's leg was healing slowly. Fergus was afraid the boy would limp for a while.
Conor stared at the food uncomprehendingly. He hadn't eaten in two days and had barely managed to keep down some water. He remembered Catlin's face as she had forced him and Tully to run. He saw Lochabar tying off his bandage, the man's easy smile and rough attempts at healing. He felt sick that he had left them behind. Once before, when he had left his friends to run with the Father, he had done it for a purpose greater than himself. Without the Father, the land would have suffered. Conor had also run to save himself before. But he had never run when his friends needed him. They had died for his idea, his cause. They were just supposed to have been hunting.
"Eat," said Fergus again. "I'll feed you myself, if I have to." It wasn't much of a threat, but Fergus was only being tender in his own way.
"Then do it. I haven't the appetite," said Conor in a quiet voice.
Fergus left in disgust. It wasn't the first time he had tried to get the young prince to eat and he was getting tired of Conor's self-pitying attitude. A leader didn't have the same rights or opportunities as his people; a leader grieved privately, giving his people the impression of strength so that they in turn would also be strong. Fergus believed in his heart of hearts that Conor was not as other men but he was hard-pressed to remember sometimes that Conor was barely past boyhood.
"No change?" asked Tully from where he sat next to a small cooking fire, a bit red-eyed.
"He hasn't moved."
Tully poked at the fire with a long stick. They had lost men before, but Catlin was…had been…special. She was their heart, part of their conscience.
"Fergus, you never finished your story," said Aidan, who had approached so silently that both Tully and Fergus gave a start.
"Another night, lad," said Fergus, not meeting the boy's straightforward gaze. He hadn't the heart to make light with the children tonight.
"Where's Conor?" Aidan persisted. His big eyes were orange in the flickering light.
Tully caught Fergus's eye. "He's in the healer's hut. Why don't you and the other kids go see him? He's been lonely," Tully suggested. Fergus cocked a bushy eyebrow at the wily young man when Aidan had scampered off to find his friends.
"If they don't get a rise out of him, call me a Roman," said Fergus.
"You go in."
"Nay, you go in first."
Bran pushed his way to the front. He said, "Let's go in together."
They pushed aside the curtain in the entrance and, as one, huddled into the hut. Their small bodies made an irregular crescent facing Conor's bed. Conor was asleep, looking pale in the darkness.
"He's asleep. We should leave," said Mara, but Aidan hushed her and placed a hand on Conor's shoulder.
"Prince Conor," said Aidan in his reedy voice.
Conor came awake silently. He did not seem startled; his eyes merely opened to take in the solemn assembly inside the hut with him. "What are you doing here?" he asked.
"Tully told us to see you," said Aidan.
"Tully," repeated Conor. The barest apparition of a smile flitted across his face.
"We wanted a story," said Bran.
Conor didn't speak for a long time. The children shifted on their feet, their bodies blotting out the lines of light coming in around the hut flap. When he spoke, he startled them into immobility. "I
haven't any ideas tonight. But," he added, feeling their disappointment, "I will spend all tonight and all the next day thinking of a very good story to tell you after supper tomorrow. Go ask Fergus now." Obediently, they shuffled out into the night, leaving Conor thoughtful and restless.
* * *
Lochabar uttered an inhuman roar and lurched towards Diana. His long arms snaked through the iron bars and clasped a fistful of Diana's hair before she yanked herself away. Lochabar was left with a few black strands clutched in his dirty fingers. He grinned lopsidedly at the Roman woman as she quickly reassembled her composure. "Something to remember you by," he said, and withdrew his arms.
Diana barked, "Halt!" as a guard began to lash at the islander with his whip. She sneered at Lochabar, a proud smile playing around her lips. "I can be merciful, slave. You'll see that you can benefit more by obeying me than using up your energy on defiance." She gave Catlin a disdainful once-over. "Bring her to my quarters. If she struggles, whip her."
Two leering soldiers led Catlin to the errant queen. In Diana's airy antechamber, Catlin was pushed onto the floor in front of the other woman. Features arranged in an impassive mask, she refused to let her eyes turn away from Diana's.
Diana savored the moment, let it grow pregnant with anticipation. The pleasures of power and control were becoming less and less available to her these days. Finally, in a soft, reasonable voice, Diana said, "You were once a slave." She knelt in front of Catlin, took Catlin's face in her soft hands. "You know what it's like to serve another, to live by someone else's grace. You always seemed frightened. Don't you remember?" She peered intently at Catlin, searching for a flicker of memory.
Catlin did not reply though she had a dozen disparaging answers ready.
"You remember, all right," Diana said, her voice light, even conversational. "You were a dirty little thing, and thin, too. But then, so were all the slaves. I suppose you've never had to watch your weight, just your back. We're more alike than you know in that respect."
Catlin looked skeptical but held her tongue.
Diana's tone became reasonable. "Why won't you talk? All I'm asking for is a little conversation. You can't possibly still be holding a grudge about that time I ordered your execution?" she said as if Catlin were doing her a grave injustice.
This woman was surely mad. Catlin could remember very vividly the day she had faced down that powerful weapon, helpless to save herself. And Diana had taunted her, provoked Conor, implying things that had bitten deeply at the root of Catlin and Conor's relationship. She lifted her chin in silent defiance.
"How about a bargain? If you lead me to your hiding place, I'll let you and your companion go. I'll even give you a head start. At least your rabble of friends can meet me in a fair fight, hm? You'll never have to be a slave again," Diana offered, giving Catlin a gentle caress on the soft skin under her chin.
Hearing Conor's words from Diana's mouth threw Catlin into a rage. She surged off of her knees to tackle Diana to the stone floor. Remembering Fergus's brawling battle techniques, she gave Diana a hard headbutt. As Diana fell onto her back, dazed, Catlin sank her fingers into Diana's throat, pressing so hard that her fingernails dug bright red crescents into the skin. "Come no closer, or I'll tear her throat out," snarled Catlin.
The guards looked at each other, looked at the dirty, wild-looking woman on top of their queen, and sheathed their half-drawn swords.
"Idiots! She's not strong enough! Take her!" gasped Diana. She choked as Catlin slowly throttled her windpipe. The guards remained where they were.
"You," Catlin said, looking hard at the nearest guard. "Put your dagger on the ground and slide it over here." The guard did so reluctantly, despite the horrified looks his queen was giving him. Catlin kept a tight grip on Diana's throat and picked up the dagger. She pressed it to Diana's slender throat with a hideously gleeful expression.
"Now we get up," she said. "Slowly." Together, they stood, Catlin's hand never wavering. Diana's bodyguards kept a cautious distance, but followed every move Catlin made. Diana, Catlin, and the guards backed out of the room as one and made their way down to the prison cells, where Catlin said imperiously, "Tell your men to lay down their swords inside a prisoner's cell."
Diana did as she was told. Nervously, the two guards unlocked each cell and islanders in various states emerged. A few were just beginning to get that emaciated look that occurs to an underfed individual; some looked as if they had been caught years ago; and others seemed to have been imprisoned just the other day. Being one of the latter, Lochabar took up his newly acquired sword, bounded out of his cell, and would have run the nearest guard through had Catlin not shouted for him to hold.
"We need hostages to get out of here alive," she warned. A few of the prisoners nodded. They led the group of four guards and their queen out into the slanting sunlight of late afternoon in the Roman garrison's courtyard.
Immediately, a score of archers had arrow to string. Catlin heard their bows creak from being drawn too tautly. "Archers on the walls, throw your bows down," she shouted. When the archers did not move, Catlin whispered into Diana's ear, "Tell them to obey, or I'll give your pretty face a gift by which to remember me."
Eyes occasionally glancing around the courtyard, Diana commanded her soldiers to comply. The archers hesitated as the other guards had done, but let their bows drop to the ground below.
"Bring fresh horses!" said Catlin. To the other prisoners, she said in a lower voice, "Those of you not fit to fight take those who cannot ride and go first. Don't head directly for your villages, or they'll follow you. The rest of us will cover your retreat." They nodded in understanding. They were tense, watchful. One might slit his captive's throat at any moment.
As soon as a small herd of horses had been led into the courtyard, Catlin motioned for the weaker of her party to mount up. The gates were opened silently, and almost half of the prisoners were free, quickly leading their horses into canters, and then gallops. As per Catlin's instructions, they scattered almost immediately, providing a dozen different routes for a Roman tracker to follow.
Tearing strips off of her Roman-issued slave garment, Catlin quickly blindfolded Diana and tied her hands together. "Mount," she said, guiding the other woman's foot to the stirrup. Diana did so clumsily. Catlin was also about to mount when a strong hand gripped her shoulder tightly. She whirled and plunged her dagger deep into Longinus.
The former centurion grimaced while he slowly pulled the dagger out of his body, leaving only a rent in his clothing to tell the dagger's story. He pushed his face into Catlin's and said, "If only." Unexpectedly, she lashed out with her foot and caught him squarely on the knee. He staggered back a few steps. Catlin motioned frantically for the others to start riding. Longinus regained his composure and started purposefully towards Catlin again.
Lochabar shoved his prisoner aside and, taking two running steps, ran Longinus through the back with his sword. The sword tip protruded grotesquely from Longinus' chest. Lochabar twisted the blade cruelly and Longinus gasped in pain, but did not waver. "You should have escaped when you had the chance," he told Loch. In a flash, he spun around and slipped Catlin's dagger into the soft flesh between Lochabar's ribs. With a pained look, the loyal islander sank to his knees.
"No!" Catlin cried, making as if to go to Loch while the remaining prisoners broke for the horses.
Lochabar shook his head at her. He locked gazes with Catlin. "One day…," he said, and collapsed into the dust.
With tears gathering in her eyes, Catlin almost charged Longinus, who had removed the sword from his own chest as if he were doing something only slightly distasteful. The long sword in his hand and the retreating prisoners discouraged Catlin; instead she threw herself up into the saddle behind Diana, gathered up the reins, and slipped through the fort's closing gates with a finger's width to spare.
"How far do you think you'll get?" Diana yelled at her captor between jolts from the horse. She was already struggling to untie herself.
"Far enough," said Catlin grimly. She risked a glance backward and saw a group of soldiers hard on her tail. She urged her horse on into a full-blown gallop, tucking her head down. If she could only make the forest, the cover of the trees might help. Already, she heard arrows hissing past her, landing in the ground at her horse's heels. Catlin maneuvered the horse in a wild pattern, hoping to avoid being hit, but in doing so she was losing precious ground to her hunters. "This is where you get off," said Catlin, shoving Diana off of the horse. Diana tumbled into the grass with an undignified cry, her legs entangled in her fine robes. Unburdened by an extra human body, the horse picked up in speed and agility. As the treeline drew nearer, Catlin dared to hope a little.
She was nearly upon the forest when she felt her horse stumble. He felt slack, unresponsive. She knew the arrow was there before she saw it embedded deep in the horse's right flank. Faithfully, he kept plunging forward. Catlin ran her head lovingly down the side of his neck, then leapt from his back, rolled to absorb the impact, and was up and running even as the horse's large body crashed into the first of the trees. A painful whinny erupted from his large lips but Catlin knew it was futile to look back.
She hadn't gone far before mounted Roman soldiers surrounded her, each pointing at her a bow or spear. Longinus, Diana seated behind him, led his stallion forward into the little circle. "It seems we've underestimated your resourcefulness," said Longinus in bored tones, the excitement of the chase having worn off long ago. "Kill her," he told the soldiers.
"Wait!" said Diana, drawing surprise from Catlin, curiosity from Longinus, confusion from the soldiers. "We'll bring her back with us." Seeing Longinus' look, she said, "I still need a servant."
* * *
The Sanctuary was thrown into turmoil when several men on frothing horses stumbled onto the perimeter guard. "We were prisoners, we were prisoners," one gasped as the horses were led off to the stables.
Upon being summoned, Fergus recognized the trio, who had gone missing months ago. Two were brothers barely older than Conor and the third, James, had been at Sanctuary before Conor and Fergus arrived. "We escaped when Catlin took Diana hostage," said James, trembling from the adrenaline rush of the escape. He twitched constantly and his skin was turning sallow from lack of sunlight.
"Catlin?" asked Fergus, shocked. He led the escapees into a more private setting and bade them sit down. "Catlin's alive?"
"Aye, alive and kicking. Last we saw she was holdin' a knife to the Roman queen's throat," James said after he had gratefully accepted a cup of water. The other two nodded and drank. Fergus could see the effort it took for James to hold the cup steady.
"You're sure it was her?" asked Tully, who had followed Fergus the moment he heard Catlin's name.
"I'd remember the lass if she was disguised as Fergus," said James. "I owe her much."
Fergus asked with growing concern, "Where is she? Didn't she follow you?"
"She told us to escape, that she and the others still fit to fight would follow. Don't know what happened after me and Colin and Declan took off. Would've stayed, but I knew I was no use," said James, looking a little embarrassed. Colin and Declan nodded again, though they gave each other guilty glances.
Fergus looked sharply at the two brothers. "And you two? Why won't you speak?"
James' voice grew hard, his emaciated features became stony. "They used to speak all the time, until the Romans grew tired of it. They don't speak because they can't."
"Sweet Brigid," exclaimed Fergus, noticing for the first time the brothers' identical throat scars. "The Roman queen did this?"
"Nay; her advisor. The one they call Longinus," said James softly. "Slit their throats one day and left 'em for dead. I kept them alive best I could, but they've not uttered a word since."
* * *
"I'll never be your servant," said Catlin, feeling hungry and miserable, but defiant to the last. Diana had had Catlin flogged until she cried out, and then moved her into a small, dungeon-like room. She dangled from chains rooted in the wall, her arms totally numb from being drawn above her head for so long. Her heart was fluttering erratically.
"In time, you might see things differently," said Diana. "It might not be tomorrow, it might not even be next week, but you have your limit. Everyone does."
"Including you?" Catlin asked.
"Including me," Diana acknowledged graciously. She was feeling rather magnanimous at the moment and enjoyed drawing out her future slave. "But I'm not the one being put to the test. How long do you think you'll last, girl?"
Catlin didn't bother to answer.
"I know your type. You'll be a little spitfire until the day you break. Here's a thought, though: if your rabble of friends thought you were alive before, they certainly don't now. When those escaped prisoners show up with tales of your heroic sacrifice, you'll be as good as dead to them. Why not accept the inevitable?" Diana crooned.
Catlin's chains clinked together as she leaned forward, as close as she could get to Diana. Her arms tugged at their sockets as she came face-to-face with the Roman woman. "If I don't kill you, one of us will," she said grimly.
Catlin's unflinching gaze disturbed Diana, though she couldn't figure out why. Still, she couldn't tear her eyes away from her bold new serving girl.
"I wouldn't be so sure," said Longinus, who had been watching from the doorway. Both women looked startled by his words. Catlin instinctively sank back against the cold wall. Longinus emerged, taking slow steps towards Diana and Catlin, pulling on soft gloves as he approached. "Leave us," he told Diana, not bothering to look at her.
"I—"
"Leave!" ordered Longinus, pointing to the door. Diana frowned at him, but did as he said. As soon as the heavy wooden door swung shut, Longinus turned all his attention to Catlin. He traced her jawline with one gloved finger, noting her shudder of revulsion as he did so. "So many lovely women on this island," Longinus breathed softly. "It simply won't do."
Catlin didn't stop screaming until she lost her voice. Longinus left her dangling from her chains soaked in sweat, smeared in blood. She was lost in her pain and he had quickly grown bored as she neared the border between consciousness and blackout. Still, he smiled to himself as he climbed the roughly-hewn steps to his bedroom, remembering her fear. Several times he had allowed her to think that he had stopped, starting again when she began to look too complacent.
Upon reaching his and Diana's chambers, he caught a pillow obviously meant to strike him in the head.
"She is mine to break!" said Diana haughtily. She sat on the bed in a huff of ill temper. "I suppose you've left her blind, like that ogre Pasolinus."
"On the contrary," said Longinus, removing his ruined gloves and throwing them aside. "I think you'll find that she will be as fresh and malleable in the morning as she ever was." He sank down onto the bed beside Diana and let his eyes close. "Besides, what is yours…is mine. Or have you forgotten?"
Diana was taken aback by the frosty tone of Longinus' voice, and she knew better than to argue when he was like this. "No, Longinus," she said with feigned meekness. "I never forget."
* * *
James was startled when a pair of rough hands jerked him into wakefulness. "Sweet Brigid!" he yelped, scrabbling for a weapon.
"It's only me," said Conor reassuringly, though his eyes did not match his voice. The dying embers of the fire inside the hut turned Conor eerie shades of red and orange.
It took James several moments to collect himself. Being awakened in the middle of the night usually meant interrogation, or worse. He had to remember that this small hut was his home, not his cell. He was safe and among friends; Prince Conor was his leader, not a Roman brute. "Prince, what can I do for you?" James said when he finally found his voice.
"Catlin is alive?" asked Conor, seeming to loom in James' vision as he leaned forward to hear the answer.
"Last I saw," said James truthfully. Seeing the half-crazed look on Conor's face, James said, "I don't know if she made it out of there, but if she did, she surely would have been here by now."
"She may be wounded," said Conor. "Or she might still be inside the fort. We have to find out."
"Prince…" James began, searching for some strain of logic that would convince Conor not to go. "You might make it in, but even if Catlin is still alive, how do you expect to escape without the whole fort comin' down on your heads? I've seen what they do to prisoners who try to escape, and Catlin made Diana a hostage. She lost them all their prisoners. I don't think they'll think twice about executing her."
"No!" snarled Conor, shaking James. "She's not dead! And I won't leave her at the hands of the Romans." He limped out of the hut; James threw off his bedcovers and scrambled after the young man.
"Try and see reason," coaxed James. "You're our leader; we can't afford to lose you. What happens if they catch you?"
"I've been a guest of theirs before," said Conor. His wounded leg left little drag marks in the dirt, creating an odd trail that led up to his own shelter. He stooped inside the door and sat—more like fell in a controlled manner—onto his bed.
"You can't even walk, much less run, and anyone who goes to that place ends up running from it," said James with conviction.
"I'm not stupid, James," said Conor crossly. "I know I'm of no use with an injury like this. But the longer we wait, the worse the odds are that Catlin is alive."
James stood silently, cowed for the moment. When he ventured to speak again, he said, "Do you need anything?"
Conor looked up at James with a hunted look on his face. "Give me time to think."
James nodded and left, but did not go back to his home. He wandered through the Sanctuary until he found Fergus. The two held a hushed conversation, after which Fergus gave James an appreciative slap on the arm. Only then did James return to his bed and settle down into a restless sleep.
"Lad," said Fergus by way of greeting as he entered Conor's hut.
"Go away, Fergus," said Conor. He was in the same position in which James had left him; he was simply too tired to move. The memory of Catlin's torture by the red boot still haunted him.
"What are you thinking about?" Fergus asked, sitting in a chair next to the door. He answered Conor's silence with a grunt, then said, "I'll tell you what you're thinkin'. You're thinking about doing something foolish, like heading into that deathtrap to rescue Catlin when you don't even know if she's alive."
Conor found the energy to sit up, if only to make is point. "You're wrong. I can feel it, Fergus, as sure as I know I'm alive," he said with quiet conviction.
Fergus stared into the flames of Conor's fire and said, "I know you love her."
"Fergus—"
"But sometimes love can blind you to the truth." Fergus rubbed his smooth cranium awkwardly with one hand, suddenly out of words to say.
Feeling the beginnings of defeat, Conor fell back onto his bed with a soft thump. "Leave me alone," he said, swallowing hard to keep his voice from breaking. "Just…go, Fergus. I need to be alone." Fergus nodded and slipped out of the hut. He didn't let himself break down until he was safely inside his own home.
Conor let his eyes close on his hot tears and drifted into memory, then a fitful doze, then sleep.
* * *
Conor flinched as a small stone stung the back of his arm. He turned and saw several children scampering away, giggling fit to burst. He grinned broadly and gave chase. Their delighted shrieks lasted all the way back to the main cluster of homes in the Sanctuary, where Conor had to dodge in and out of the unusually thick traffic of people. The game ended when the small band of miscreants ran into the solid wall that was Fergus. He hauled the smallest up to eye level. "Is that monster of a prince after you?" he asked gruffly.
The little girl nodded.
"Well, I'll save you. Just run home, now, and let me deal with him." Fergus set her down gently and watched as she and her friends ran off. "Little mites," he muttered fondly. He turned to face Conor, who was approaching and was somewhat out of breath. "You're getting soft in your old age," said Fergus, just as fondly.
"Speak for yourself," said Conor, poking Fergus in the gut. It was hard as a rock, but he declined to mention it.
"Isn't it about time you were off home yourself?" asked Fergus with a raised eyebrow.
"Why?" asked Conor.
"Why?" Fergus repeated. He tousled Conor's hair with one large hand and used the other to give the younger man a hearty shove in the right direction. "Askin' me why," he said to himself as Conor walked back to his hut, a little puzzled.
He pushed aside the doorflap and was about to take off his sword, when he saw that he was not alone. A woman stood at the small table, humming quietly to herself. "Excuse me, I didn't know—" said Conor, making to turn around. He stopped mid-sentence as the woman glanced over her shoulder at him, sending him a soft smile, the kind that left him feeling warm and safe. "Catlin?" he said.
"I see Fergus found you," she said, turning around all the way to reveal her very pregnant belly. Conor could only stare. Catlin gently placed his hands on her stomach. "A boy, I think," she said. "He kicks strongly. But then again, any daughter of ours would kick like a boy." Her smile deepened, reaching up to crease the skin around her eyes. "Either way, our child comes soon." She placed Conor's hands around her waist; he automatically drew her close for a hug.
"Our child," Conor said. He felt himself breaking out into a smile of his own, and held Catlin more tightly.
* * *
Catlin awoke reluctantly, still grasping to the remnants of a dream. Someone had taken her down from her chains; gratefully, she massaged her bruised wrists. Her surroundings were different as well. Catlin recognized the cell she and Loch had shared and stifled the onset of weeping. She couldn't remember anything after Longinus had started prodding her body in odd places, provoking intense pain. It felt like the torture she had received from the red boot's freak. But the dream…
"Get up, lazy animal," said a guard. He splashed a bucket of cold water onto Catlin's huddled form. Shivering in the cool air of the cell, she slowly got to her feet. The water completely washed away any traces of sleep. The guard tossed a small cloth between the bars. "Clean yourself up. Longinus and my lady want to see you at your best."
Catlin frowned at the guard, who chuckled and left. She picked up the cloth and started to scrub at the caked dirt and blood on her face and arms, sopping up water from the floor and using it to clean the worst of the grime. A few minutes later, the guard returned with two other burly companions. They each took Catlin by an arm and all but dragged her up the stairs to the fort's main level. They threw her down on her knees in front of Diana, who was dressed rather plainly in a black dress with a high collar. Longinus was nowhere in sight, but Catlin could feel his malevolence bearing down upon her.
"Today, slave, we will begin your re-education. How do you address me?" asked Diana.
Catlin spat on Diana's feet. "Only as a whore," Catlin said maliciously.
A twitch of facial muscles betrayed Diana's irritation. She nodded to one of the guards, who promptly cuffed Catlin on the side of the head. Catlin toppled off of her knees, throwing out her hands to stop her fall.
"Back on your knees, slave," said Diana. She gave Catlin a hard look that threatened punishment.
Slowly, Catlin pushed herself back into a kneeling position.
"How do you address me, slave?" Diana asked again, slowly for emphasis.
Catlin took her time answering, making Diana anticipate each word. "As a master…" A flash of triumph flickered over Diana's face, replaced quickly by anger as Catlin continued. "…of treachery, selfishness, and cruelty."
"Well, that's progress," said Diana, more to herself than to anyone present. She motioned; the guard's gloved fist flashed down again, sending Catlin sprawling. When the girl was kneeling once again, Diana poured herself a cup of wine, then slopped it onto the stone floor. "All that spitting—aren't you thirsty? Drink all you want," offered Diana.
Catlin sat back on her heels and stared at Diana. Her pale eyes were unnerving in the chamber's muted light.
"I can see we have a ways to go," Diana murmured.
Catlin flinched as she heard the whip whistling down towards her back. She held Diana's gaze as long as she could, but eventually closed her eyes against the storm of lashes raining down on her. She was unable to stop herself from whimpering out loud, though she knew Diana would delight in the noise. All that was left to her was her anger, burning white-hot between whip strokes.