A/N: wow, i don't think i've ever gotten eight reviews in just one chapter and a prologue! thank you guys so much! this definitely motivates me to continue the story!

Mustang Gal: lol, yah i know next to nothing about horses. thank you so much for the heads up about the thoroughbred thing! I will remember it in the future! and if i make any other horse mistakes, please don't be shy to call them out on me. i'd appreciate the help!
sugar-skyline: thank you for your double review! and i will positively try to meet those high standards! if there is anything you see in any of the chapters that needs some work, let me know (:
katemary77: I'm sorry the prologue wasn't very long but I hope you like this next chapter!
Sheiado: i'm glad you liked the story so far and the unique plotline. I sort of decided that if i was going to do a longer King Arthur story it was going to have to have a different idea i could work with. i hope you like this chapter!
Blue Eyes At Night: lol, i see i've peaked your interest! i promise to continue this story so your questions can be answered, deary!
ephona: thank you for your double review! and you shall see who her father is in due time!

:II:

The Bowels of Hell

"Viola,"

My mother's voice drifted through the black as I awoke. I slowly opened my eyes, believing I had slept late, but found that I was wrong. Night still reigned heavily upon the world.

"Viola," I looked up to see my mother hovering over me. She wore a cloak and her hair lay loose on her shoulders, "Get dressed."

The tone of her voice was urgent and hurried. I did not question it as I stood and reached for my toga. Mother helped me fasten the pins at the shoulders, covering my under dress with its midnight blue folds. Her hands were shaking.

"What is the matter?" I asked quietly as she handed me a covered basket.

"I heard your father talking," She answered softly, picking up my cloak and tying it about my shoulders.

"What did he say?"

She took my hands in hers and looked me directly in the eye, "Do you have a weak stomach, daughter?"

"No."

"You father has been keeping innocent people in the old arms cellar, where the door is locked from the inside. He has been having them starved and tortured."

I felt pin pricks at the base of my skull and my face redden with horror, "W-why?"

"He says it is for their own salvation. Yet they are merely those who would not do his bidding." She explained, walking over to the door, "I refuse to stand by and watch." Her voice was low and dangerous.

I needed no explanation as to what we were doing. I followed her out into the quiet hall, our bare feet whispering on the dusty floor. It was the coldest hour before sunrise. Mother held a covered torch in her hand as we made our way along the dimly lit halls, down further and further till we reached the kitchen cellar. Dried vegetables and herbs hung from the ceiling, giving off their scent of dirt and forgotten summer. She stopped before a deep impress in the wall.

"Your grandmother showed me this passage when I first came here as a bride," She said handing me the covered torch, "Incase the natives ever attacked." She grunted as she pushed with her shoulder on the wall.

It gave slowly, groaning as it cracked open, giving us just enough room to slip through.

"I do not believe that your father ever knew of this place." She whispered, taking the torch from me and uncovering it. The flame flickered against the walls of the cellar.

Quietly, we slipped into the tunnel. It was a thin, rectangular passage with thick air and many shadows. The torchlight bounced off the forms of mice as they scurried past our feet. Neither of us were afraid of rodents and somehow I felt that what lay before us was worse that any rat.

We walked for what seemed an eternity till mother stopped abruptly. We stood quiet for a long time. I tried to quiet my breathing, though I swore the beating of my heat could drown it out.

"Here," My mother spoke, just below a whisper.

She knelt to the ground, handing me the torch. I looked down to see a half a door, rotted and locked in the wall next to us. She drew a rusted key from the folds of her cloak and opened it, the hinges crying out with years of neglect.

"Stick the torch in the wall so we can use it to return to the kitchen cellar." She ordered softly, crawling into the tunnel.

I obeyed and followed on my hands and knees, pushing the basket ahead of me and trying not to breathe the acrid air. When my knees and hands felt as though they were to fall off of me, I heard mother's voice.

"We are almost there."

Suddenly, the tunnel joined a larger way where water ran through. We splashed into the bitter current, the light at the end growing brighter. I guessed that this was a drain heading out from the vault and found that I was correct as we emerged into the cellar. Mother stood immediately while I took a moment to regain my senses. However, I wished I had not the moment my nose grew accustomed to the smell of the room.

I stood and looked about, as equally stunned as my mother. The smell of rotting flesh and feces was strong, making our eyes water and stomachs lurch. In the dim light, the forms of inhuman figures could be seen hanging from walls and decaying in caged alcoves. I could not see how any of them could be alive.

Mother turned to me and grabbed my arm to get my attention. She then pointed to a small stair leading up from the horrors. The sound of snoring drifted down into the darkness. I guessed that that was where the monks watching over the souls of these people would be sleeping. How anyone could rest in such a place I did not know.

Mother took the covered basket from my hand and opened it to reveal an abundance of bread and a few casks of water. She handed me a few and nodded. We set to work, searching the alcoves quietly for the living and checking the pulses of those who hung from walls. I heard mother let out a cry of quiet surprise from by a row of holes I had thought vacant. I rushed over and looked down through one of the iron barred niches. A child was crouched at the bottom, his eyes full of surprise at seeing a new face.

"You must not speak," My mother said quietly, sliding her small hand through the opening and taking the child's fingers, "You must not be frightened."

While she handed the boy two loaves of bread and one of the water skins, I noticed what seemed like an unoccupied alcove. I walked over and peered into its darkness. Thinking it was empty, I turned to leave when I saw a form against the wall. I stopped and squinted.

"Hello," I whispered, "Is anyone in there? I won't hurt you."

At the sound of my voice, a girl's face appeared in the wavering light. It was pale and small, her face lined with dirt and blue paint. I recognized her immediately to be a woad; not for the markings on her countenance but for the fire that smoldered in her weary dark eyes. She looked the same age as I.

I snaked my arm through the grate, holding out both a loaf of bread and water cask by the handle. She drew back suddenly, like a singed cat. Yet the sight of food was too much for her to bear. Her hand flew out and took the water cask. She tore it open and drank greedily. When she was done she glanced back at the bread in my hand. Slowly, she raised her arm and drew the loaf from my fingers, our hands touching for a moment. She nodded thanks, not taking her eyes off me.

A sudden sound came from the staircase. It was Latin being chanted slowly.

"In nomine Dei Patris omnipotentis et in virtute Spiritus Sancti…"

"Viola!" My mother whispered harshly, as she rushed over to the tunnel.

I gave the girl one last look before I followed.

"Exaudi orationem meam…"

I felt my breath catch in my throat as I went onto my hands and knees in the freezing water. I could still hear the mumbled Latin as we waded farther away, making our way back toward the living. I felt as though I had just escaped from hell; resisting the temptation to look back and make sure no avenging demons were following.

We did not say a word till we were far away from the kitchen cellar, our togas soaked and dirty and our faces raw with dust and tears.

"Viola," My mother said, turning to me as we stood before my bedroom door, "Remember what you saw this evening and know that your father is not a man of God and never will be."

With that she walked down the hall back to her own room.

Once inside the safe, familiar confines of my bedroom, I sank to the ground shaking. I do not know how long I cried. When I woke, the sky outside was grey with dawn. I stumbled up, undoing my cloak and toga and letting them drop to the ground. I collapsed on my bed and fell asleep in moments. My last thought before slumber took me was of the woad girl's eyes; scared and angry in the hell my father had created.

"Your father wishes to see you," My mother said.

The fire in the hearth was bright, its golden light trying it's best to erase the memories of the night before. However, it had not succeeded. At the mention of my father, I felt an immediate rush of rage.

"What does he want?" I asked evenly, walking to the window. The sky was steel grey with threatening snow.

"He will tell you," My mother answered.

A single streak of grey decorated her dark hair. Her toga was the color of berries, like the kind my brother and I used to pick for her when we were children. She was bent over her work, her pale hands scurrying across the pages of numbers. We had not spoken of the old arms cellar.

I did not say anything as I left.

Marius sat by his own fire, holding a letter in his hand. His embroidered toga glinted gold on the edges.

"You asked to see me father," I spoke, announcing my presence and spitting out the words like sour wine.

He looked up and set the letter down, "Yes, Viola. Come sit." He waved me over.

"I'd rather stand," I replied, my light blue toga wavering slightly as I took a step back.

He looked up abruptly, "You will do as your father wills you to."

I hesitated a moment, my body unwilling to do what my mind said. I walked slowly over and sat myself on the edge of a high stool by the fire.

"I have been keeping correspondence with the Centurion Marcellinus," He spoke, his voice even as he lifted a cup to his lips, "He is a great man with a long military heritage. His estate in Gaul is widely known for its prosperity." I wondered what this Marcellius had to do with me as I listened, "Though he is rich and has no need to marry for money, he is looking for a wife."

His last word hung despondently in the air. Wife. That was his game. Marius intended to sell me as a marital slave to this old soldier from the mainland. I held my tongue as he continued.

"He is willing to meet you and make marriage negotiations." Marius set down his cup and looked over at me triumphantly, "Well? Aren't you proud of your old father? Arranging a betrothal so smoothly?"

I stilled the fire on my tongue as I held my head up, "I will not marry this man." I answered evenly, "I do not even know him."

"You will know him and you will marry him, daughter." Marius spoke in a low tone, "You will do as I say."

"I will not be your pawn to gain prestige and wealth," I answered standing.

"Viola, you walk on dangerous ground," My father stood, meeting my height, "Disobedience is a sin and disobedience to your parents is the worst of all. God will turn his back on you-"

"I will not be lectured to by a hypocritical pig who dare calls himself a man of god!" I cried, unable to hold back my tongue.

Marius's hand suddenly lashed out and struck me across the cheek. The silence that followed was more terrible than anything before. I held my head high, my face burning and eyes beginning to prick with tears. I walked away from the man I had called father and down to the stables.

I could stay no longer.