The woman thought she was dead. The blurred images when she opened her eyes made no sense, and her hearing must be gone too, because she could hear cart wheels turning, and the low, deep voices of men. She groaned, begging her head to stop throbbing. The voices stopped. At least that helped a little, but them she felt movement nearby and the voices got closer. Frowning, she tried to will her body away from the disturbance, but found she couldn't move. He eyes opened again. There was a face above hers, and a hand with a white thing. The hand descended, and she felt panic as she realised the white thing was a cloth. If she wasn't dead, they were certainly going to suffocate her. A cool, damp cloth laid itself on her forehead, and she felt stupid at her fear. She hadn't been afraid before, she hadn't felt even the tiniest hint, except fear for…

"Genna!" She cried, her voice cracking. Her throat was too dry. The voices hurried themselves over their words.

"Who's Genna?"

"Maybe the baby."

"Must be."

"Tell Arthur that she's waking up and she asks for the child." Instructed the deeper of the two. His voice spoke of violence, and yet was gentle. Healing.

"Genna." The woman tried again, swallowing hard. She opened her eyes once more to see a ceramic cup near her lips, and she felt a strong hand support the back of her head.

"Come on. Drink. Easy now." Coerced the voice, and she managed to sip a little of the water offered before she felt sick and had to stop before she vomited. "Good. Now, rest. Try not to move too much." The woman was coming more and more to her senses, and the water made her feel more awake. She could feel tight binding around her left wrist and her ribs, and there was a dull ache underneath the bandages.

"Who… who are…" She was hastily hushed.

"My name's Dagonet." Came the reply. "Try to sleep a little, it will help."

"I am… Bryanne." She replied, before obeying his commands and falling back asleep.

Arthur climbed into the wagon they had found and looked down at the woman. Dagonet was kneeling beside her, holding a cup of water. She lay on a pallet, in a green dress they had managed to find as her blue dress had been too far ruined. They had dressed her wounds and watched her as she slipped in and out of a fever. The baby, a girl, had slept a lot of the journey back, and when she was awake liked to spend most of her time with Dagonet, or Lancelot who was inexplicably drawn to her.

"How is she?" He asked. Lancelot was close behind, and edged past him to sit with the baby, who was chewing some bread in toothless gums.

"She woke for a little. Asked for the baby and told me her name."

"Her name?"

"Bryanne." Arthur smiled. Bryanne meant strong one. "I think the child's called Genna. At least, that's what she shouted." Arthur nodded.

"Then her fever's breaking?"

"Yes. She gets better every hour."

"Good. We'll be at the wall in half a day. I sent Tristan ahead to warn them that we have casualties." Arthur left, and Dagonet and Lancelot looked at each other.

"He's in a lot of danger, doing this. Killing a Roman and bringing back woads? Madness." Lancelot shook his head, and looked down at Genna who gurgled in delight, reaching up with chubby hands towards him. Smiling, he picked her up and brought her close, watching the pink fingers close around the metal of his breastplate, and the wide brown eyes hazily look at the hilt of one of his swords sheathed across his back.

"Stay away from her." Came a hoarse voice. Dagonet and Lancelot jumped in surprise. "Stay away from her, filthy Roman." Genna giggled and peeped in joy at the sound of Bryanne's voice. Bryanne had struggled up and was propping herself weakly on one elbow as her eyes bore straight into Lancelot's skull, filled with hatred.

"We're not Romans." Dagonet replied, trying to push she back down, but with unusual strength for someone so feverish, she pushed his hand away defiantly.

"I don't care. Just don't touch her." She struggled further up into a sitting position and reached for Genna. Lancelot gave her up without a fight. The baby wound her hands into Bryanne's hair and chuckled to herself, completely unafflicted by the tension in the wagon.

"I'm sorry." Lancelot replied. His eyes met hers, unabashed. The green dress was far too big for her, and it had slipped off one shoulder, revealing pale skin taut across bones. Her eyes were tourmaline green – deep and intense and passionate, and they met his impregnable brown eyes without fear. "My name's Lancelot." He added, deciding that it would be better to be friends than enemies. She looked away, looking down at Genna.

"If you're not a Roman, then what are you?" She asked, ignoring his introduction.

"Sarmatian." Dagonet answered. Genna plucked at the bandages on Bryanne's wrist and a red flower of blood appeared. "It would be better if she didn't do that." He reprimanded. Bryanne glared at him. He shrugged, and stood and left the wagon. Lancelot paused.

"Is she yours?" He asked.

"No. My sisters." Bryanne stared at him again, and he felt all the protective layers he had put around himself stripped away. "She and her husband were killed by Romans." That was all the answer he would have, and so he too rose and left Bryanne and Genna in the wagon alone.