Days passed, and Tristran began to lose hope of seeing his beloved stallion ever again. Ina had been too clever. Had really blindsided him this time. And hurt him beyond repair.
Now, he no longer envisioned her lying beside him, but more of him standing over her…sword in hand, as she begged his forgiveness. He gritted his teeth, and tilted his head back to glare at the sky. He glanced at a tree, and noted how the color of its branches mirrored Ina's eyes.
He ground his teeth again, and willed the thoughts away. Concentrating on the task at hand…riding the incorrigible beast he now called his own. Arthur had pestered him for days, asking him to tell them whom it was that had stolen the other…if he had found any signs of them along the way.
And at the smallest word of complaint from Tristran about the new horse, Arthur used it as leverage to try to get him to talk. The others looked on in interest. Especially Lancelot, who hated being left in the dark, and Galahad, who didn't know better.
He had been especially patient with Galahad, resisting the urge to clout him smartly about the head, and tell him to leave him alone; no, instead, he humored him, raising an eyebrow when he was questioned, but not giving any answers.
And whenever Tristran had a moment to himself, he pondered on Ina's face, wondered if she had given away any TRUE emotion during their encounter…. he back tracked, and remembered when he had first come upon her…how her face had alighted in surprise, and almost fear.
She had not expected him to return to the stables that much was obvious. Or perhaps, it was because he had caught her readying his horse to ride.
Then she had cared only for the animal…reaching out, and protesting as his horse bucked in distress. Demanding he release her, so the animal would not be harmed.
After that, the emotions had all been false, he concluded. The arrogance…the bitterness. He doubted she was ever dating Mikhil at all. Doubted that she had really cut her hair out of love…or spite of him.
But what still did not make sense to him is what she had done after that…
Allowed him to get close to her…touch her…chase her. He had had one thing on his mind at that time, and he had thought she shared the same thoughts. She had looked so sure, when she stole a gaze over her shoulder as she ran…She had wanted to share a bed with him as well.
He wondered what had gone so horribly wrong that he had not seen it. The deceit in her eyes…the note of it in her voice. But it had been such a long time since he had seen her at all, and he had been determined to make the most of it.
She had betrayed him, and when he found her, she would pay for it. He would make sure of that….
He moved his horse once again off the trail, and slunk into the woods. Once inside, he slipped off of the animal, and began walking slowly, scanning the trees for any unusual markings or signs.
He was at least a mile in when he noticed the small, unobtrusive bits of dyed blue leather.
Woads.
With a gasp of surprise, he quickly and silently turned around and made his way back. There was something wrong here. This was south of the wall, though not by much.
But even so, to leave markings of their habitation meant the woads claimed the territory as their own, and were planning on staying at least for a while. And Tristran had no way of knowing just how long they had been there to begin with.
He mounted his horse again quickly, and galloped back to where his fellow knights had stopped to rest…
OOO
The light hurt her eyes. They felt dry, and were swollen from crying. She cursed her weakness, and was momentarily glad Tristran had never had a chance to see how she really was…vulnerable and afraid.
Just the thought of him made her want to cry once more, as images of his slain horse filled her mind…For the rest of that night the woads had celebrated their sick little sacrifice. Chanting, and laughing, roasting whole deer, and feasting upon them, and all the while she had sat huddled in her cold dark hut and sobbed.
She wondered what had happened to the stallion's body. Already knowing for sure that they had extracted the heart of the animal, and probably decapitated him as well. Using the mane to make charms, and other horrid items. She shivered and pondered on how much she hated it here. Wondered why she didn't just leave.
But she had nothing left in this world. Nothing but a futile hope that as Bajarni grew up, she would look to her for comfort, and truth. She stayed only for her, now. All of her hopes for Henri dashed when she had seen the bow in his hand.
When first she came to be a woad, she had often been given to dreaming that Tristran would find her…take her from this horrid place and people, and promise her that he would marry her when his bondage to the Empire was spent.
She had always awoken with her hope renewed, and everyday she had looked to the horizon, ineffectually looking for a white stallion, bearing upon his back a sharp faced, handsome knight. She had cut her hair only months after being abducted.
She remembered how they had looked at her, when she had emerged. Bajarni had laughed then, clapping her pudgy little hands together and climbing into her arms. She was so innocent…she loved Ina no matter what she did to herself, or what she looked like.
The cut had managed to keep the men away from her as well. Even though she had been a rebellious outsider, some men of the tribes had been eager to take a young virgin to their beds, and renew the blood of their families.
And she had been pretty then too. Sharp faced and dark, all inky hair, and unmarred maidenhood. And her dark, afraid eyes had always been the bait. She had wanted to keep Bajarni too. Hadn't known that if she didn't have a husband, it wouldn't be allowed, or Ina would never have cooperated.
But they snatched the girl from her the morning after. Apparently, they had spent the night looking for a family for Bajarni. Ina didn't require a family…only housing, and perhaps food. And before she had flawed her beauty, tokens of affection had not been in short supply.
But afterwards, they began to laugh at her, finally realizing that it stung her worse then their words of scorn. Bajarni's mother hated her. As did Henri's. And there was nothing she could do about it. Sometimes, when things got too rough on her…she thought of participating during Beltane, and hopefully getting pregnant from the experience.
A child would love her no matter what. But she had always decided against it. She was saving her maidenhood for Tristran. And she would have rather fantasized over the child they might someday have, then be stuck with the squalling offspring of some traitorous woad. And so she waited.
Ina swallowed a sob as she realized that now, that dream would never be a reality. She had made sure of it herself. And the dying screams of an innocent animal…her last hope of rescue, rang in her ears once more.
She shivered and brushed herself off…when her hands struck the dried blood and filth, she realized how she must look, and every exposed bit of her skin chafed and itched. She peeled the dirty clothing away and changed her underlinen. After sliding into a new skirt, and a dark blue shirt and leather tunic, she flaked the blood off of her skin.
There was no way she would stoop to begging for water to wash herself. Not now…not after what they had done to her. She would try now to take as little from them as possible. But she would still claim what they owed her…she would get her tattoo tonight….
With a sigh, she shielded her eyes with a hand and crouching to avoid hitting her head on the doorframe, then emerged into the light, already planning out how she was going to ask Merlin for her tattoo after last night's behavior.
Ina groaned as the sunlight turned it's full force on her, and cursed as she moved her hand so her eyes could adjust. Still walking, and not watching where she was going, she was no more than two paces outside before she ran into someone.
Brilliant bursts of pain erupted in her vision, and she was thrown flat on her back with the impact. Struggling to refill her lungs and get up, she allowed herself to be pulled to her feet.
"Oh, gods..." she groaned, wiping the blood from beneath her nose, and knowing that she made her face that much more of a mess by doing so.
The person who had toppled her was standing in front of her, shielding most of the sun, and babbling what must be apologies in woad. He was tall, and square shouldered, with a red blond beard and striking yellow hair that was braided, and tied into ceremonial knots. His blue eyes stared at her openly.
Ina's skin pricked under his gaze, and the word SAXON was being screamed over and over in her mind. But this man spoke woad too well to be a foreigner.
She scowled at him despite his sunny good looks, and told him in one of the only woadish sentences she knew "I do not speak woad"
He stared at her blankly, thinking what she had just told him impossible, but the look on her face told him it was the truth. He spoke slowly to her instead, still in woad, thinking that perhaps she could not translate when he spoke so rapidly.
Ina gaped at him, brows knit, and wondered what was the matter with him. Instead of even trying to comprehend what he was saying, she just tried to push past him and make her way towards Merlin's abode.
He moved to block her, and when she tried to go around him, he grasped her by the shoulder, almost hard enough to bruise. He hurriedly tied to speak to her again, but she only answered with a shout of "I DO NOT SPEAK WOAD!"
The man looked distraught, and turned to the on lookers for help. He spat out a sentence in woad, and suddenly Henri, or Broc as the others knew him, appeared.
At the sight of him, Ina sighed in relief, and said in common, "Tell him to let me go, Henri, or I swear I'll remove the hand that's touching me..."
The lanky youth smiled, and turning to the man, told him what Ina had said.
The Saxon look-alike only shook his head, and said something gruffly in woad. Henri looked surprised, and his eyebrows disappeared underneath his bangs. Ignoring Ina, he asked something in woad, and his face looked crestfallen when he received an answer.
He turned solemnly to Ina, and said quietly in common, " He says he doesn't have to let you go. You are his property, his wife."
Ina felt as if she was still gasping for breath after her fall. His WIFE? No...no that was impossible. Oh no...Her stomach began to sink. Perhaps Merlin had tricked her again...
"He can't be my husband, I did not marry him. I don't even know his name." She replied stubbornly, hiding her fear.
Henri told him so, to the man's obvious discomfort. He answered curtly in woad, and when he was done, his grip tightened on Ina's arm.
"He says that no, you wouldn't know his name. The maiden who brings the stallion to be sacrificed does not know her husband's name at all until after they are married. But he also says, since the deed is done, his name is Lucca. And yours must be Sarma."
Henri looked a bit surprised when he relayed the message, as if he did not know of this ritual either. But he accepted it. After all, he was still young, and unlearned in all the ways of his clan.
But Ina was another story. She glared at her captor, and twisted out of his hold. Pointing at him she said his name, "Lucca?"
He nodded vigorously, and with a smile, reached a hand out towards her. Ina shied out of his reach, as shaky as a new foal. But she pointed to herself with strength and said firmly, "Inara."
Lucca looked confused, and angry. He shook his head no, pointed at her and said just as firmly as she had, "Sarma."
Ina spat on the ground and pointing to herself once more said, "I.N.A.R.A!"
And before Lucca could answer, Merlin pushed his way through the crowd and into their sight, staff in hand...
OOO
"Tristran, are you absolutely sure?" Arthur asked again.
And Tristran had to momentarily pause, to avoid shouting. "Yes. I saw both old and new signs of their settlement, Arthur. I am sure that they have been there for some time."
He excused his partial lie, and told himself that he WOULD in fact, find Ina within the Pictish camp.
When he had been reminiscing about their meeting, his mind had stuck on her clothes. She had worn nothing but a plain green skirt, a thin white shirt and her cloak...Naught else but her shoes.
That told him that she was close to her residence. No one would dress so frivolously else wise. That fact coupled with his knowledge of having seen countless women involved in Pictish sacrifices, and ceremonies dressed the same way, told him all that he needed to know...
"Well then, what are we waitin for? Let's go bash some skulls." Said Bors, pulling out his knuckle-dusters, a morbid grin on his face. Galahad cringed and looked away, a hand going to the scar by his temple.
"We do not know if they are peaceful, or warring. They may have women and children with them, if they have set up camp without fighting reasons." Answered Arthur logically.
"Aw, who cares? A woad is a woad is a woad. They're all the bloody same in my eyes." Answered Bors, angrily.
"I will not have the blood of innocents on my hands." Arthur said again, looking at them all in turn. "OUR hands." He added, as Bors opened his mouth to protest.
"Arthur's right." Commented Lancelot dryly. "Why should we look to do Rome favors by clearing their land out of people we were not ordered too? We are only miles from the next town, and I, myself would rather like to enjoy my stay at the inns, not be nursing wounds in a cold bed."
The others grinned at that, though Bors still looked sullen, like a child denied of a favorite sweet. Lancelot smirked at him, which spurred his anger more, and the larger built man gripped the hilt of his sword.
Lancelot snapped his gaze back to Arthur, and added, "Besides, I thought we still needed to find Tristran a decent mount. I wouldn't want to ride into battle, even if it were only with women and children...on such a horse as that." He pointedly took in the shape of Tristran's gelding.
Tristran glared at him, willing him to flinch, or look away, but Lancelot just smiled, damn him. Trust that young rooster to ruin his only chance of revenge Tristran thought angrily. But there was nothing he could do now. Not unless he wished to expose himself...
He nodded instead, in agreement with the others. And Arthur looked relieved. Tristran momentarily wondered how a man who had taken so many lives could be so soft half of the time. But then the sunlight glinted off of Excalibur and Tristran recalled how deadly Arthur was with his father's sword in hand...
With a sigh, he kicked his horse into a trot, and moved to follow the others...
OOO