"We've snuck in many times," Conor argued.
Feeling horrible for having to play devil's advocate, Fergus said, "They'll be expectin' us this time."
"They probably think that we think Catlin's dead."
"Lad…"
Conor threw his hands up in resignation. "I'm telling you, I saw her. It wasn't just some fancy daydream, Fergus. I saw her. Catlin is alive."
Fergus slid his eyes sideways to meet Tully's. The younger man, however, did not seem to share Fergus's skepticism. "I think we should try," said Tully.
"And you, encouragin' him…"
Conor gave Tully an appreciative look from across the campfire. "Look, Fergus, at least let's look around. If Catlin truly is gone, then this is the only way I'll be convinced. I won't have a moment's peace until I know for sure."
After a minute of stewing, Fergus finally gave in. "Fine. But," he continued in tone of voice that brooked no argument, "You're not going. I am."
* * *
Fergus had sneaked his way into the Roman camp once before; he had had to knock a few skulls together to do it, but in the end no one but Longinus and Diana had been the wiser. This night they obviously weren't expecting some half-crazy native to steal into the prison cells and stage a jailbreak.
Fergus nodded to Tully, who had just come along without saying anything. Together, they dropped down into the Roman compound, the soft dirt muffling their fall. Fergus pointed in the direction of the main building, pointed to Tully, and made a loop with the same finger. Tully padded off with a knife in one hand while Fergus circled the building in the opposite direction. They converged on a small side door. Tully shook his head to indicate that he had seen no Romans; neither had Fergus. He was a little worried by the absence of sentries, but hoped that they were just that stupid or that arrogant.
Fergus went in first, then Tully slipped through the open door and shut it softly behind him. They followed the narrow corridor until it branched out into three other hallways. Fergus chose the left one, seeing that it led deeper into the fort and away from the main entrance. They came to a flight of stairs that led downward, lit by a row of torches set in wall brackets. Fergus and Tully slowly descended the steps, pausing when they heard the clink of Roman armor. It came from below; there were guards at the end of the stairs.
When they reached the bottom, Fergus peeked around the edge of the stairwell and saw a long row of cells that had been made out of the fort's natural rocky foundation. This must have been a long, low cave in the ground before the Romans divided it into cells with iron bars. As far as he could see, every cell was empty. Fergus also saw two guards stationed at regular intervals along the wall.
"Catlin emptied this place out…still, we have to look. We'll have to draw them over here, and quietly," Fergus whispered to Tully.
Tully scratched his head for a moment, then grinned when an idea took hold. Taking a torch from its sconce, he carefully placed it in sight of the guards. He dug around in a pouch hanging from his belt, came up with a fistful of fine powder, and threw it onto the torch's flame. The harsh burst of light drew the guards towards the stairwell almost immediately.
Timing it just about right, Fergus leapt on both guards and slammed them headfirst into the stone wall. Dazed, they stumbled backwards, allowing Fergus and Tully to finish them off with fist and knife-butt, respectively. They pulled the downed guards out of sight of the stairs, then raced down the length of the prison, looking for Catlin. As predicted, the prison was woefully empty, prompting Fergus to wonder just why two guards had been stationed down here.
"She's not here," groaned Tully. He leaned back against the wall with his eyes tightly shut. Fergus gripped the nearest cell bars until his knuckles turned white. He was about to speak when Tully held up a warning hand, suddenly becoming alert. "Someone's coming!" he whispered.
They quickly took in a sweeping view of the prison, looking for a way out, but it had been well-designed. The only entrance or exit was the stairwell. Tully half ran, half tip-toed to the guards, grabbed a set of keys off of one's belt. He unlocked a cell door and Fergus dragged both men inside. They had barely finished stuffing themselves into the Roman's outfits when a flicker of torchlight gleamed on the wall next to the stairwell. Hastily, both men grabbed the fallen Romans' spears and ran for their positions, almost forgetting to close the cell door behind them. Tully's sharp hearing had given them just enough time.
Two Roman soldiers came down the stairs, dragging an insensate body with them. Fergus bit his lip to keep from crying out as the soldiers towed Catlin into an empty cell, joking about "Longinus' new plaything." Glancing to his right, Fergus saw Tully's spear shaking slightly.
The other two men left Catlin without speaking to either Fergus or Tully. Their conversation echoed down the stairs, allowing Fergus to catch several remarks that made him tremble wrathfully.
Tully waited until the sound of the soldiers' footsteps had died away before he unlocked Catlin's cell at the end of the row. Very gently, he touched her swollen face. She looked much worse for wear from the extensive bruising and would bear several new scars from the shallow cuts all over her body. Several wounds on the bottom of her feet were oozing. "How could anybody do this to another human being?" Tully said sadly.
"That monster's not human," growled Fergus. He dipped his fingers into a nearby pail of briny water and sprinkled it lightly on Catlin's face. "Lass," he said in a low voice. "Lass, can you hear me?" Catlin was out cold; she did not respond to Fergus's light slaps or Tully's pinches. Grimly, Fergus decided it was time for drastic measures. He grabbed the pail and sloshed its contents over Catlin's face and torso. Gasping, she began scrambling away from the two men in her cell even as her eyes flew open.
"Catlin, it's just us," said Tully, moving forward to reassure her. She cringed away from his hands.
"Lass, it's only me and Tully," said Fergus soothingly. He motioned for Tully to take off his helmet. Gradually, recognition dawned on Catlin as Fergus and Tully removed their disguises.
"Fergus?" she whispered so quietly she was almost mouthing his name.
"That's right," he said encouragingly. "We've come to take you home."
"I seriously doubt that."
Fergus and Tully jumped at the smooth baritone that spoke. Whipping around, they snatched their stolen spears off the floor, pointing them straight at Longinus' heart.
"You barbarians just don't learn, do you?" asked Longinus, looking contemptuously at the spears. "But go ahead, if you like. I'm getting quite used to it."
As one, Fergus and Tully charged the immortal. They ran him through, the force of their blows carrying Longinus backwards. He hissed his pain, but was shocked when he found that he was pinned in place. The tips of both spears were lodged deeply in crevasses in the stone wall.
"Not so smug now, are ya', you bastard," said Fergus. Using his helmet, he dealt Longinus a terrific blow to the head, knocking the Roman out cold. Fergus jammed his helmet firmly back onto his bald pate and Tully did the same. "Come on, girl, there's people at home who miss you," said Fergus. He and Tully each put an arm around their shoulders and helped her out of the prison.
Driven by fear of discovery, Tully and Fergus practically sprinted down the side corridor they had used to infiltrate the Roman fortress. Catlin winced as her wounded feet scraped against the floor, but did her best to keep up. They emerged into the dirt courtyard, a shapeless, bulky form in the darkness of the new moon. Hearing whinnies nearby, Fergus grabbed the tethers of two horses. There was no time for saddles or reins; they would have to go bareback. He pushed Catlin and Tully up onto the larger horse, then took a running jump onto the second. At the gate, Fergus kicked the restraining bar off of its brackets, pulled the gates open, and the three of them burst out into the moonless night.
* * *
Diana found Longinus struggling to pull free of his pinions. She winced at sight of her lover impaled through the chest and stomach by two short spears. Before she could summon guards to help or aid Longinus herself, he barked, "No!" Grunting and heaving and sweating, he finally pulled free of the spears, leaving twin bloody trails on each spear handle. Longinus' wounds began to close up instantly. They left nothing but clean, unmarked skin in their place.
"The archers were too surprised to react. A result of their training, I imagine. Anyway, she's gone," said Diana scornfully.
"Sometimes even I can be surprised," said Longinus, bitterly amused by his failure. Savagely, he snatched a spear from the wall and snapped it in two.
* * *
As he waited for Tully and Fergus to return from their scouting trip, Conor paced in his hut. Seated by the door, James watched his leader trudge back and forth. "Prince," he said. When Conor did not respond, James repeated the word louder. "Prince, you're wearing a hole in the earth."
Conor stopped his pacing. "What if Fergus is right?" he asked, showing a crack in his resolve.
"What if he is?" James responded.
Conor was wordless. He didn't know what he would do if Fergus and Tully came back only to report that Catlin was as everyone feared. What if she truly were lost to him? He couldn't stop thinking about the Druid King at times like these. Looking at James' expectant face, Conor said, "From this life to the next—" Feeling his throat turn sore, he couldn't go on. He resumed pacing.
James was about to put another log on the fire when a sentry dashed into the hut. "Two horses approaching, looks like Fergus and Tully—and a third person."
Conor beat James out of the hut, bad leg notwithstanding. The sentry led him to the lookout who had spotted the riders. Already, Conor heard the horses crashing through the brush. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he made out two large figures rapidly closing the distance between them.
"Halt!" cried out a sentry. The horses slowed to a walk. Conor could hear them breathing heavily, snorting. There was no jangle of bridals, though, no slap of reins.
"Seamus? Seamus, you idiot, let us through," said Fergus' voice.
"Fergus, have you got Catlin?" asked Conor, unable to wait any longer.
A pause, then, "Aye, lad, but she's in no shape to talk. We need to get her to the healer."
Conor's heart nearly leapt through his breastbone. With Tully's help, he pulled a half-conscious Catlin from the horse and carried her into the newly awoken healer's hut. After several very owlish blinks, the healer began gently to rub Catlin's arms and legs, feeling her ribs, her skull, clucking over the state of her feet. Abruptly, she looked straight at Conor, who was leaning over the edge of the bed. "Get out," she said sharply.
"Excuse me?" said Conor.
"Out, out, out! And you too, you big bald ox—and you, little ruffian." She pushed Conor away from Catlin, grabbing Tully by the wrist on the way. Fergus chuckled at his two younger friends until the healer grabbed him by the ear and wrenched him forcefully out of the hut. Outside, all three stared at the flap to the healer's hut, wondering how they had gone from hovering over Catlin to standing in the dust.
Inside the hut, Catlin's eyelids flickered as she struggled to stay awake. "Let me go," she whispered to the healer. "You don't have to do this."
The healer remained silent, but her touch became gentler. "Just a little while longer, lass." She poked Catlin in the ribs, just hard enough to elicit a sharp intake of breath. "Broken," she noted to herself. After a few more minutes of prodding, she gave Catlin's cheek a reassuring rub. "You can sleep now, lass. You'll feel better after a night at home." Nodding to herself, the healer bustled out of the hut.
Catlin heard the older woman fussing at someone to fetch her a pot of water. The grumbled response made Catlin smile dreamily. Safe in the knowledge that her friends were nearby, she let herself doze.
* * *
"Ma! I want to come with you today."
Catlin quickly suppressed a smile and gave her son a stern look. "You've got lessons today," she reminded Derek. His brown eyes lost some of their enthusiasm.
"But I want to come with you," he said, lower lip hovering dangerously close to a pout.
Watching him fidget, giving her those begging eyes that he no doubt had learned from his father, she sighed and relented. "All right. But stay close to me once we're out of the Sanctuary, Derek."
"I will," he said, nodding emphatically.
She helped him buckle on his small dagger, of which he was exceedingly proud, and led Derek into the forest. She stopped at a medium-sized tree and pointed out its branches. "You see these?" Catlin pointed at several offshoots from the trunk. Hefting the small axe she had brought with her, she cut off one of the branches and knelt next to Derek for a closer examination. "This is good for arrows. Straight, hard wood. Can you tell me what kind of tree this is?" she asked.
Derek frowned in concentration momentarily. "An ash," he answered.
"That's right," said Catlin. She smiled at her son and gave him a good ruffling. Good-naturedly, he pulled away.
When they had collected a bundle of branches Catlin had seen fit to make arrows, they headed back towards the Sanctuary. As they drew nearer, she let Derek run ahead. He was an agile child and would one day grow to be a tall, lean man.
Suddenly, a pair of arms came flashing out of a bush to scoop Derek up. The boy screamed and Catlin had an arrow nocked and half-drawn before she saw Conor pull free of the thicket with Derek tucked under one arm. Derek had left off screaming and was now giggling.
"Oof, you're getting heavy," said Conor, setting his son down next to Catlin.
Catlin slapped Conor's bare arm as hard as she could, though another smile tugged at her lips. "You scared me, Conor."
He had the decency to assume a guilty look. "I'm sorry, Catlin. Will you ever forgive me?" Both he and Derek looked at her beseechingly. Father and son had discovered long ago that she was powerless before their combined onslaught.
"Stop it!" she demanded.
"Stop what?" they said together.
It was enough to crack her tough exterior and she gifted them both with a wide, toothy, grin, before tackling Conor onto the ground.
* * *
Feeling stiff, Conor awoke in a haze of late morning sunlight. His back was a single sore muscle, but he felt happy. His dreams had taken a pleasant turn of late, becoming more fanciful and more beautiful by the night.
Clumsily he stood, glancing ruefully at the only chair the healer possessed. Unfortunately, the healer was a rather small, stout woman, who enjoyed small, stout chairs. He turned from the chair to look at Catlin, still deeply asleep. In proper light, he could see her many bruises, which were turning various shades between yellow and purple. The healer had applied a greasy-looking salve to a few burns and had wrapped Catlin's feet in clean bandages. Many of Catlin's wounds disappeared under the edges of her simple linen shift.
Conor left as quietly as he could, determined to make the day as pleasant as possible for Catlin He marched out to a nearby field where he knew flowers grew in bunches. Especially there were the little purple ones that Catlin liked so much. He would bring her flowers and breakfast, and she would give him a smile brighter than the sky, and he would sit with her and things would be fine again.
He was lying to himself. Conor knew in his heart of hearts that Catlin wouldn't be reconciled with herself for a while. Conor had never been tortured; he could only speculate as to what it was like. Pasolinus had gone far enough to leave Catlin blind and she had had nightmares for weeks before she finally banished that particular demon. How long would it take this time?
On the brink of a dark mood, Conor walked back to the Sanctuary with a large bundle of flowers in hand. He picked up a bowl of stew from Fergus and stepped into the healer's hut. Catlin lay with her back to the door; Conor couldn't tell if she was awake or not. He decided to leave her food and the flowers on the table at the foot of her bed.
"Conor?" Catlin's voice stopped him just short of the door.
"Yes, Catlin?" he responded without turning around.
"Are you alright?"
He stopped just short of smiling. This beautiful woman continued to place others first even after weeks of degradation and abuse. "Recovering," he said, and left.
Catlin felt even more troubled after Conor walked out. He wanted to talk, to share, to comfort. Part of her wanted his attention badly. Somewhere in her mind, she knew she deserved a little self-pity, a little selfishness. Who better to listen than Conor? He had saved her life, accepted her, believed in her where others would not. She would never betray him.
And yet, she had only wanted to know if Conor was healthy enough to allow her to stay ill. If she had detected falsehood in his answer, if he needed help, she would have given it with a guilty conscience. But she had heard the smile in his voice; his light, if irregular, footfall; and the slight rustle of freshly picked flowers. Catlin almost felt better as she thought about the flowers. When he took the time, Conor's thoughtfulness was enough to sweep any woman off her feet.
Frowning at that, Catlin was reminded of her reasons for dishonesty. She didn't want to share her experiences in Longinus' torture chamber and she definitely did not want to share her feelings on the matter. If she could only sleep blissfully for the next week, avoid the questioning stares of the camp, maybe then she could bring herself to face the people she loved.
* * *
Everything was going to be fine. Conor felt happiness blooming in his chest, that falling sensation that made his stomach flip-flop. He joined Fergus and Tully for breakfast and, maneuvering his bad leg away from his body, sat down rather stiffly. He accepted a bowl of stew from Tully and dug in enthusiastically.
"Haven't seen you eat this well in a while," Fergus commented mildly.
"Haven't been this hungry in a while," Conor replied.
Conor missed the look that passed between Fergus and Tully. "The healer said Catlin needs a few days of bed rest before she's allowed to be up and about, maybe a week," said Fergus.
"She deserves it," said Conor, still not really paying attention to the other two men.
"Healer says Catlin's got a lot of hurts. Whipped badly, by the look of it, broken ribs. Barbaric things happened to her."
Conor looked sharply at Fergus. "Why are you telling me this?"
"I'm just letting you know, lad. Catlin won't be fine for a while. We should all be prepared to help her heal," said Fergus.
"But she will be fine," said Conor with a hint of the old enthusiasm. "When I went in to give her breakfast, she was more concerned about me than she was about herself, just like our Catlin. Trust me, Fergus. With our help, she'll be fine."