Author's notes: Sorry for the delay but work is piling up and trying to decide my next step after university is awfully hard. Whatever I think will be interesting tends to have no jobs in it! Anyway I hope you like this and please leave feedback as I am beginning to drown in essays and any nice words will be so appreciated.

OO

Lancelot's head snapped to the side with the viciousness of the blow. He staggered and a warm metallic taste filled his mouth. Spitting out the blood he cried out as another blow landed propelling him backwards. He hit the ground hard knocking the wind out of him. For a few seconds he could do nothing but lay still as his chest heaved desperate for some air. The fight had been horrendously one sided as every one of his thrusts was met with equal ferocity by his opponent.

Blood loss from his chest wound plus the others he had subsequently acquired had weakened him so that every time he raised his swords they shook, the trembling of his limbs indicating his rapidly diminishing strength.

A couple of blows to the head had left it in agonised pain and he could see clearly only when he squinted, probably not a good sign in any circumstances. His leg kept giving way but each time he hauled himself defiantly to his feet.

Raising his eyes he saw his opponent stood in front of him, a malicious grin marking his features. Lancelot sucked in a deep breath and dove forward again putting together a routine of moves that would have made any master of the sword envious, well he tried but he could barely pull off a turn. Each block to counter a sword blow sent waves down his arms forcing him to grit his teeth in both frustration and agony. Within seconds he was on the ground again cursing at his weakness he again crawled to his feet. He would not die on his knees!

"Keen for punishment knight!" the man sneered. In response Lancelot raised his swords.

"THAT IS ENOUGH!" A voice commanded. The leader stepped forward and his son stepped backwards.

"We want him alive! As a messenger."

"I am not a bloody messenger boy! Leave a note!" the knight snarled angrily.

Someone knocked him to his knees and held him them there with a vice like grasp on his shoulders. Even if he wanted to, and at the moment he didn't, he would have been unable to get to his feet. He felt so weak, so light headed. He could not fight anymore and that realisation was devastating. They had defeated him, it had not been glorious or brave, his body had faltered, and it had failed him. He was not a Sarmatian knight anymore he was just a bloodied, exhausted man. He was nothing better that his forefathers.

"It is not verbal boy." The leader laughed and the others took it up. He felt hands grabbing him, forcing him onto his stomach; the swords were pulled from his hands. Cold snow and mud pressed into his face, filling his nostrils and mouth with the bitter freezing taste. Words were whispered in his ears, mocking and derogatory. They unbuckled his armour flinging it away carelessly. Suddenly an agonising sharp pain across his back made him yelp.

"I want the Romans to see what happens to any of their number we find. No mercy until they leave these lands."

The lash continued marking his back but he made no further sound, he couldn't stop it but he wasn't going to give them the pleasure of knowing how much it hurt.

"This brave act will fail. We've only just started."

"You've made a mistake." Lancelot snapped in between blows. "I'm Sarmatian, the Romans like you more than they do us."

Lancelot was pulled roughly back to his knees and his vision swam alarmingly. He swallowed hard trying to stall the nausea.

"I care not who you are boy." The man said hitting him hard across the face. For a brief moment he blacked out but was brutally dragged back to the present with another blow.

"Don't pass out on me now boy. You'll miss the best part. Your defeat!"

Lancelot was hauled to his feet and he bit his lip hard to keep silent. They dragged him towards the fort and he noted the fort gates had been opened. So they had been betrayed! Arthur was going to love that!

The fort was well a blaze, the horses had obviously been moved before the fire started and were running around in a state of panic. The woads were turning the fort inside out in an attempt to find the inhabitants or any 'booty'. The leader was furious at the deserted state of the fort.

"Where are they?" he demanded grabbing Lancelot's chin tightly and bringing his face to stare straight at him.

"Who?" he asked innocently.

"Those who live here? The guards?"

"A field trip to study the mating habits of woads I think? Should be back the day after tomorrow."

An incensed cry of rage was the response to Lancelot's answer.

"You have one last chance. Where are the inhabitants of this fort?"

"With your wife?"

Realisation that that wasn't the best thing he could have said in this situation was readily apparent when the man descended on him with a crazed blood lust. My bloody big mouth!

Lancelot found himself on his raw back and he couldn't hold back his scream of pain.

"Seen as you like the sound of your own voice lets put it to some use." The man sneered. He produced a corked pot and knelt next to the struggling knight. Lancelot had an inkling of what was in it and he thrashed with his remaining strength.

"So you think you can deal with pain? Do you know what this is?"

"Ale?" the knight questioned. Arthur would have cut out his tongue by now in an attempt to stop his sarcasm he thought as the man's hands began to shake in fury. The expected blow split his lip and blood ran freely down his chin.

"I was going to give you one more chance to tell me where they are hidden but I'd rather hear you scream."

"I could say the same for you but I'd rather you leave. I'll give you one last chance instead." Lancelot said allowing his natural bravado to take over. The man laughed heartily. He then indicated that his men were to hold him tighter. The man uncorked the bottle and grabbed Lancelot's chin forcing his mouth open.

The knight choked and attempted to spit out the foul black liquid. His head was swiftly immobilised and someone pinched his nose. Eventually he swallowed and it burned down his throat. Immediately he was released and he curled on his side gasping for breath.

"You are going to die in agony and it is going to take days."

The whip crashed down on his back and he screamed. It was as if he was being beaten by twenty whips simultaneously. As the beating continued he began to sob, tears of pain running down his cheeks.

"Are you going to beg now brave knight?"

"I will not beg!" Lancelot spat out and darkness quickly enveloped him.

"He is barely conscious." One of the woads reported. While the beating had continued a few of those who had been sacking the fort appeared at their leader's side.

"They must have fled my lord we have found only a few and they told us so before we killed them."

"RAISE IT TO THE GROUND!" the men hurried off. The leader withdrew a knife and knelt next to Lancelot. With quick strokes he marked the symbol of a slave on the knight's wrist. The knife was coated with a toxin that would prevent the wound from healing. It would be a permanent reminder of his defeat for the remainder of the knight's days.

"Attach him to the gate as a warning. Then gather our forces and return to the woods. We will return and this time we will not be denied. Every invader and traitor will be exterminated."

As the knight was lifted up the leader whispered into the Lancelot's ear knowing the knight could hear him.

"We shall meet again and then I will see you beg."

OO