"The legion came upon the village when tracking more woads east, parallel to the wall." The soldier said pompously, watching the ongoing battle fade in the valley below. He glanced up to the tall, dark-haired man on his grey horse. "They've been putting up quite a resistance."
"So I can see." The man replied shortly, nodding to his mounted companions. "We'll go down and have a look. Perhaps you brutes haven't killed someone so that we may talk to them." The last sentence was said venomously, and made the soldier blanch as the eight riders made their way into the village. They wound their way through abandoned huts – straw-covered buildings of mud and stone. Bodies were strewn in halted mayhem on the churned muddy pathways, with a few abandoned weapons glinting red in the sun. The man curled his lip in disgust, glancing to his companions to see his loathing reflected. Most of the bodies were unarmed women and children. Fires crackled – some forsaken by the villagers, some set into the straw roofs of the huts by the legion.
A scream of rage met them as the rounded a hut and came across the most surreal sight they had encountered. Four Romans, their armour splattered with blood, surrounded a woman in a semi-circle, a hut cutting off her escape behind her. She stood in a fighting stance, sword clasped between two grimed hands, her blue dress torn and dirty, and her dark red hair plastered with mud and blood. At her feet were two dead Romans, and there were more nearby. What was so strange was that she didn't seem to be looking for an escape, but rather she seemed doggedly determined to remain where she was, for as any of the men tried to approach, she swiped viciously at them with her sword. Hanging back, the riders watched as a Roman darted forwards, lunging at her. She parried and forced the sword backwards until it was suspended above his shoulder. With a lightening quick movement, the Roman flashed a dagger from his belt and sliced at her forearm. She yelled in pain as scarlet rivulets welled up through the cut and poured down her wrist. She dropped the sword, falling to her knees to clutch the cut with her good hand to stem the bleeding, her fighting arm was ruined. The Roman who had attacked nodded to one of his friends, and the man started forward to go into the hut. She growled, and snatched her sword from the ground with her still capable hand and drove it upwards into the Roman's chest. The force drove through his thin armour and pierced his heart, but shattered the blade at the hilt. The Roman who had produced the dagger darted in again and dug his sword into her flesh below her ribs. She cried out, tears springing to her eyes and rolling down her dirty cheeks. As the Roman drew back to deal the final blow, the man dismounted and approached. He saw the defiance in the woman's eyes as she stared at her death without fear, and his gut twisted.
"Stop!" He announced, halting the scene suddenly. The Romans turned to him.
"Artorius." The Roman said in surprise. "I had no idea you were coming."
"Indeed." Arthur replied coldly. "What has this woman done?"
"She won't let us in the hut, we think she's hiding something."
"Or someone." Another Roman solider interjected. Arthur silenced him with a glance. He turned and headed for the hut, but the woman, still bleeding profusely dived forward from her knees to stop him, roaring with pain and anger. Two Romans grabbed her and pulled her roughly back, tearing another cry of agony from her throat. Arthur ducked his head to enter the gloomy hut, and stared around as his eyes adjusted to the sudden dark. One of his companions followed – a man with dark, curly hair and a beard.
"What would she hide in here?" He asked in surprise. There was a straw pallet, baskets of food and a bucket of water. Clothes were hung near a fire to dry, and steam rose in swirling patterns from them.
"I don't know, Lancelot." He paused, his eyes resting on a basket near the pallet. The bundle of cloths that were lying in it moved. "There." He said, approaching it and kneeling beside it. Lancelot looked over his shoulder and the round, pale face of a sleeping child.
Arthur stepped back outside, cradling the baby to his chest carefully.
"This is your secret prize." He said bitterly to the Romans. "A baby." The words elicited a moan of anguish from the woman, whose captors were holding her so tightly the blood had drained from her wrists, but it still seeped from her wounds. Lancelot, looking at her closer, saw the bloody, swollen lip and caked blood at the collar of her dress at her neckline. She struggled vehemently against her restraints, which only got her a kick in the stomach with a metal-capped boot, driving the breath from her lungs in a rush of air. The Roman, who seemed to be the leader, stepped forward and sent her a blow around the jaw that flew her backwards and knocked her unconscious. Arthur shook with rage as the Roman shouted at the still body:
"Stupid woad! How dare you challenge us for a child!" Lancelot took the baby that was handed to him as Arthur drew Excalibur and hewed the Roman's head from its body. There was a shocked silence. He had committed treason for a woad girl and her child.
"Anybody else dare to defy me?" He pointed his sword at each Roman, who all shook their heads violently. "Get a cart. Dag, look after the girl and the baby." He instructed another of his companions. Dagonet, a tall, bullish man with a shaven head and few words, dismounted and picked up the girl as if she were as light as an apple. In truth, she probably weighed little more, her body so starved.
