Hi, sorry I haven't updated. School sucks. Far too much studying involved. That, and they make us give speeches about which color best describes us. Who cares? Honestly!

Thanks to everyone who reviewed chapter five, I'm sorry I didn't thank you in the last chapter, but I didn't have time. Sorry!

Realtfarraige- Sebbi's timing sucks. I think it's a guy thing...

Camreyn- Yey! Long review! You will just have to wait and see. It would ruin the story to tell you all that!

Nianko- I do believe that that is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. Thank you! Update your stories soon, and remember... being philosophical can be an excellent thing.

Lancelot absently traced the lines of Sera's palm, and continued his conversation with his old friends.

"Kuto, what do these bandits do?" he asked.

His friend Kuto sighed. "It's very strange...They rarely kill. Somehow, they sneak something into the village's food, everyone becomes unconscious. They take everything of value, and leave. We don't even know how many there are."

Lancelot briefly glanced at the food in front of him, but quickly opened his mouth, ready to ask more questions. Sera beat him to it.

"Do they ever take hostages?" she asked.

Lancelot's friends (not to mention their wives) were startled by the sudden use of her vocal chords. Lancelot smiled at her, glad that she wasn't hiding any more.

Kuto recovered. "No. Not to my knowledge. It only makes them more strange. We have never seen anything like this before. We don't know how to fight this."

He shook his head slightly, defeat etched in his features. His wife, Rozhanitsa, quietly slid a hand up his back, comforting silently. Lancelot was glad that Kuto had found someone who understood his moods so well. Perhaps the marriage had not been strictly for procreation. Lancelot turned to Sera, a slight smile on his lips. He had found someone too.

Galahad would ask her that night. Everything was going nicely. Yet, Deirdre was so intimidated by these women. It confused him. Deirdre was usually so self-confident, now she practically trembled when they glared at her. That had to be fixed. She would be trembling for a different reason. He abruptly grabbed her waist, and pulled her onto his lap, stifling her gasp of surprise with his mouth.

The women who had been glaring at Deirdre looked on in shock. They couldn't compete with that! Already the woman was wearing that outfit, and now it appeared that the knight saw no one but her.

Galahad pulled away, and began to kiss Deirdre's jaw, working his way up to her ear.

"I love you." He whispered.

Deirdre hadn't been sure of herself lately. Love made room for much self-doubt. Now, the words and actions of Galahad had chased the doubt away, hopefully for good. She didn't even bother to see the women's reactions. She nestled her head into his neck, taking in his scent.

"I love you too."

Lancelot and Sera were usually the ones to openly share such intimacy with the general public (well, one would suppose Gawain and Radha had their moments...) so it was completely out of character for Deirdre and Galahad to have been kissing with such passion only a moment before. It made Rebekah want to grin, but she pushed the urge away, and turned to Tristan. He was sneaking lust filled glances at her when he thought she wasn't looking. He still hadn't learned that he wasn't the only observant one.

She still wasn't talking to him. She wasn't even looking at him. She was simply glaring sullenly off into the distance, fists clenching and unclenching. This was not a good sign. Finally, in an act of desperation, Sebbi grabbed her arm. She turned her glaring eyes upon his hand, and quickly flicked them up to his face. Why wouldn't he leave her alone? Why wouldn't he just leave to give Argimpasa a tumble?

She was working very hard to get over her infatuation, and he wasn't helping her overly much when he insisted on being in such close proximity. She could hear him breath, twitch, sigh. It was too much. She had to leave, wedding or no wedding. She wrenched her arm free from Sebbi's grip, and left the celebration. She needed some Sebbi free air.

Babai kissed Amage's temple as she stroked the stubble on his jaw. He could feel her breath on his face, his neck. It was becoming irregular, uncontrolled. He kissed her neck experimentally, wondering if she would still accept him in her affections and her bed after such arguing and anger.

Neglect.

Amage in took air sharply as his mouth moved lower, kissing her collarbone. It had always been her weak spot, and he remembered that. It had been a long time since he had tried it. She brought her hands up and tangled them in his graying hair. Pulled him closer. Tentatively, she brought his mouth to hers, nearly moaning at the memories it evoked.

Their first night together. Under the stars, far away from the village. They had snuck out with their weapons handy, just in case. It was summer, the grass was lush and green, springing under their feet, and later their backs. They were blissfully naïve, holding hands, laughing. The moon was full, the stars were out. Babai hesitantly pulled her closer, dragging her down. He pushed away her shawl, and removed his shirt. He gazed at her, at the dress that still enveloped her form. He brought his hand to her neck, stroking it gently, feeling her pulse under his thumb. He leaned forward, and kissed her neck, working his way to her collarbone. Amage gasped as the shock and pleasure that this action brought. He smiled at her reaction, and dispensed with the dress...

Amage was brought back sharply to the present by Babai's hands, running up and down her torso. She knew he was thinking about that night too. He picked her up, and brought her to their bed. It had grown quite large over the years, as they added more and more distance between them. He suspected it would become remarkably smaller very soon.

Habren was bored. She had wished the happy couples well, and had nothing else to do. The visitors all seemed wrapped up in each other, and her friends were too busy sending lusty stares at the new Sarmatian males. She glanced about, looking for anything to distract her from this tedium. She settled upon the hill overlooking the village.

There was someone there. It was too dark to make out what it was, but it definitely wasn't supposed to be there. As if it could feel her eyes upon it, it disappeared into the night. Habren shook her head. Perhaps she was just seeing things.

The figure on the hill turned, and walked away from the loud village. He was uneasy, worried that she had seen him. He had been watching her for a long time, never approaching. This was the closest he had ever been to her, and he couldn't quite shake the feeling that he was no longer invisible to her.

Papay had been the leader of the bandits for over a year. He had seen many women, but none like her. The old ways were dying out, few women bothered to learn the art of battle. He watched her practice, her every move deadly. It was one of the most erotic spectacles he had ever seen, the lone woman controlling such forceful movement, such aggression.

After hitting the last village two months ago, his band had come here, expecting a quick job. It was not to be. They had arrived near morning and set up camp just out of sight of the village. He was going to send his men out to put the herbs in the communal cook pot, but the sight of the lone woman, braid whipping in the wind had stopped him. And so, two months later, here they were. The bandits were getting restless. They had never gone for so long without some sort of payoff. Yet, they had been glad for the chance to laze a bit. They found their leaders obsession amusing, and enjoyed plotting ways of luring her to his tent. Some took these thoughts too far, and had been quickly silenced by Papay's death filled glare. The laughter stopped abruptly, but was soon started up again. Nothing could control their lewd humor for long.

They had served Rome for fifteen years. They had returned home, expecting welcome, and received none. Their people had turned their backs on them, ashamed that they had been at the beck and call of their enemy for such a period. Their village was tucked away, and had rarely been called to protect Rome. Often, several generations went by before the next younglings were called. They were the first boys to be taken in fifty years, and all the old cavalrymen were dead and gone. No one bothered to remember that their ancestors had suffered the same fate. That it was not their choice. So, they made a new life, a life to spite their people. They had seen enough death, and knew their herbs. They lived a merry existence, the bitterness only creeping in occasionally.

Yet, their was a sense of loss, a sense that something was missing. Papay knew what was missing now.

Please review! I got three reviews for the last chapter, and felt rather forlorn! Let me know your thoughts on Papay, and does anyone know what kind of animal was on Lancelot's amulet? Please????