Wandering Home
Tracy: Oh how little you know me! See, the beauty about the parings this time is that they will have everyone guessing as to who belongs with who. : p And yes, you can say I'm evil because of it. I like keeping these women hidden mist for a while; makes the reader think a little bit. And yes, Romans are filthy scum. Too bad they've already been cleansed from the world or I would have suggested a war on the Romans. LOL. And as to something you said in an email…I pale in comparison to what you write! You're about a BILLION times better than I! NO! I will not hear otherwise!
Julianna Edwards: Well, considering how much you have told me, what else can I really say? Favorite character is Forest, eh? I wonder why? Anyway, glad to know that you like learning about the characters through dialogue. I think it really helps.
Barbara: We all know that tense likes to bite me. Who am I kidding? There will always be tense issues. See the response to Jules about the whole learning through dialogue thing.
Chapter 2: Will You Keep Us?
None too kindly, the Roman officer had the Knights drag the women through the passageways of the fort. Forest, Storm and Russet were none to happy about it either. The whole way they put up a tremendous struggle, trying to break free of the strong grips the Knights had on them. A few times they had almost managed to escape, but the Roman guards would strike them and force them back to the Knights.
When the small procession reached its destination, all three of the women had bloody knees, bruised faces and skirts even more tattered than they had been before. The Knights stood grimly behind them, ashamed of what they had taken part in. The Roman stood there, smug as ever, happily taking part in the removal of refugees.
The doors before them were flung open wide, slamming their handles on the stone walls on the other side. The three women tilted their heads to the side when they saw the inside of the room. In the very center was a round table. Its design was that of both Roman and Pagan influence. It seemed that once upon a time it sat more Knights than were present.
Quite unceremoniously, the three were flung to the floor by the Roman guards. After picking themselves up from the floor, they encountered one of the most frightening things they had ever seen. Before them stood the Roman magistrate who lived in a villa here at Hadrian's Wall. He was the ugliest man they had ever seen. His face held no warmth; only hatred for the women standing before him. The Roman stood there in a pose that suggested that he expected them to pay him homage. Apparently he did not understand who these women were.
"You will kneel before the Magistrate," one of the Roman guards said.
They stayed silent, sizing up the authority figure in front of them.
"Why are you not waiting until Arthur returns?" one of the Knights asks the Roman magistrate.
The Magistrate gave a grunt to the Knight with long wild hair. "He knows not how to deal properly with wild refugees. This is my area of….expertise." He turned back to the women. "Now, if you cooperate, this will go much better for you. Keep silent, and you will know the true meaning of Roman justice." He paced a few steps. "Tell me, who are you? Where are you from? Come now, these are not hard questions."
Forest, Storm and Russet looked at each other. There was no way in the name of the Goddess that they were going to speak. It would be the denial of all that they had learned. Resolutely they stood, bracing for the worst.
"Speak!" the magistrate demanded. When silence followed his command, he struck the nearest woman, Russet. She swayed where she stood, but she was too stubborn to collapse beneath the blow of a Roman; a Roman who held no power over her.
Goddess, grant me the strength to persevere through these trying times. He may have the strength to break my body, but he will never have the strength to break my will. I willing travel down the path you have set before me. For in the times of greatest Darkness there is the greatest Light.
"This will be easier for you all if you merely speak. Do not pretend that you do not understand, for I know you understand full well." The magistrate paced angrily in front of them.
Off to the side, the Knights watched in horror. Though they had seen the Roman Magistrate work before, they had never seen his like this. Each one of them longed to interfere, but they knew to do so would cost them their life. They could not understand why the magistrate insisted that the women be questioned now. Arthur Castus, the commander of the fort at Hadrian's Wall was the one in charge and logically, he should be the one conducting a questioning session of these women. As the Magistrate hollered and slapped the women about, the Knights all shuddered and tried not to watch the scene before them.
"Now tell me," the Roman Magistrate cooed, "what are your names and where do you come from?"
Then, Storm boldly stepped forward to speak. What came out of her mouth was not what the magistrate wanted to hear at all. "Tá sibh ocras. Géillimid bia?" Her voice lilted musically over the Gaelic language. The Knights looked at the woman with the copper fire curls. What had she just said?
"Fáth ceistímid muid? Déanfaidh sibh aon dochar." Her musical lilt brought a smile to the faces of the Knights. It brought them back to a time when their sisters, mothers, or even just a woman of their clan in Sarmatia had spoken their native language.
The Roman Magistrate glared at Storm. He was quite displeased that she was speaking in a tongue that he could not understand. Finally, his patience wore thin and he slapped her across the face. He gave her a smug smile when he saw that her mouth had started to bleed from the strike.
"Lock them up in the dungeons," he commanded. "Perhaps after a few days down there they will be…more willing to speak. Remove them." He waved his hand and then turned away. The Roman soldiers were more than willing to obey the magistrate's orders. He was a Roman and they were Roman; it was a natural order of things.
The soldiers seized Forest, Storm, and Russet and began to drag them across the stone floor. "By the way," the Magistrate purred from the far wall, "I am sure that these accommodations will be to your liking. Very much like the hovels you lived in where ever you came from."
Forest spat in the general direction of the Magistrate. While she was unable to hit him, her consolation prize was that she managed to hit one of the Roman soldiers. Putting up a rather nice struggle, the Romans removed the three women with a bit of difficulty. As they were shoved along the halls of the fort, many of the servants who were going about their daily chores had to look at what was passing them by. There were mutterings of how when Arthur was around, such things never took place. They warily stayed out of the path of the Romans, bent on the destruction of those whom they considered inferior.
The final destination of Forest, Storm and Russet was the dingiest little dungeon cell that existed in all of the Roman states. It was dark and dank, not a single thread of light could come in. The stench of rotting flesh reached their nostrils and they had to gag on the smell. On the walls there were stains of old torture sessions; drips of brown blood and smears of melted flesh.
"Ah, the best money can buy," Forest muttered once the grate was locked shut and the guards had wandered off. "Shall we make this our summer home?"
Russet shook her head. "I hear there is much better hovels out in the rural lands of Gallia. Those at least have woods nearby, which I believe sister, would be much more to your liking."
While the dull hours of the women's lives passed, the Knights held council with themselves nearly every day. The conversation held the same general direction and the same conclusions were reached.
"I do not care for the imposing nature of this Magistrate," Gawain said. "His manner annoys me."
Dagonet, with his large frame reclining in his chair, sat up. "I like less how he treats those women. Refugees they may be, and laws he may need to follow, but to abuse them thusly is out of any moral justification."
All of the Knights turned their heads to look at Dagonet. "Once again he says something that leaves the rest of us speechless," dark Lancelot remarked. "But he does prove a point."
Fiddling with the apple in his hand, Tristan spoke. "I agree with Dagonet. The welcome that our dear Romans have shown these women it not acceptable."
"There's nothing that we can do about it," Bors angrily said. "Only Arthur has the power to overrule these Romans." He slammed a meaty fist on the table.
"So we just wait for Arthur to return? Do we leave them to misery for an untold amount of time?"
All the heads turned to Galahad. His anguish was tangible; these women were closet in age to him. "Galahad, we are powerless without Arthur," Gawain soothed. "We have no title except Knight, and little good that does us when we have no commander who has the power to tell us to right some wrong."
With a grey cloud over their heads, the Knights filed out of the room; all hoping that Arthur would return soon. But while the Knights hoped for salvation, the women hoped for a swift end.
"It would be better if it were over now," Storm bleakly said into the darkness one day. "I'm sick of waiting."
"Have hope siúr," Russet scolded. "It does not bode well when the fighter of our trinity begins to see only rain." She gave a push at Storm's shoulder. "Why the despair, siúr?"
Storm gave a heavy sigh. "It just seems that there will never be light again. After all that we have been through, it seems as though this is the end. I wish for serenity again. Do ye remember what it was like living in Cahiraveen? The beauty and the peace of the coast and just how we lived as one with the turning seasons? I want to have that again. I mean not to sound like a spoilt child, but that is where I would like to return to."
"Ye speak the hearts of all of I believe, siúr. Ye were the most connected to that place." Silence followed Forest's words. All of them remembered the times that were spent in the costal village of Cahiraveen.
The clank of keys and the scraping of the grate brought them out of their reverie. Dagonet's large frame bent down and looked at the women. "Arthur has returned. You are to go before him." Easily, as if the three were like children, Dagonet lifted them out of their dungeon pit. Gently he guided them back up to the world of light.
Forest, Storm and Russet all squinted at the sunlight. It had been nearly 3 weeks since they had seen the sun. Storm paused for a moment, basking in the forgotten warmth. Her copper curls glinted despite their lankness. Russets honey waves glinted like gold and she gave a small laugh at the sensation of comforting warmth. Forest reached for the closest bush and let the sunlight soak into her skin and auburn hair.
"Come," Dagonet said gently. "Arthur waits."
Storm reluctantly nodded and followed behind her sisters. They walked through those same halls that had welcomed them here to the fort the first time. When they entered the room where the round table stood, they noticed a change in the atmosphere. There was more warmth here; torches blazed in their wall sconces and there was not a Roman in sight.
Well, there was not a real Roman in sight. There was one man, who was standing who looked a bit Roman, but the three women could see something else there. "Ladies, welcome to Britain and the fort at Hadrian's Wall. I apologize for the previous treatment that you had to endure. Those responsible have been dealt with accordingly. Have you anything to say?"
Once again, Storm stepped forward and repeated the same words she had spoken the first time. "Tá sibh ocras. Géillimid bia? Fáth ceistímid muid? Déanfaidh sibh aon dochar."
"Must be important for her to repeat the same words as before," Lancelot remarked.
"Lancelot, quiet." Arthur turned his attention back to the women. "Ladies, we mean you know harm. If anything, we would like to protect you from what ever you are running from." He looked pleadingly at the three.
"How can you protect us from what is all around?" Forest spat. Everywhere I turn they are there; this inescapable force that refuses to go away!" Her green eyes blazed in fury.
"Of what do you speak?" Arthur was having a difficult time deciding if they were raving mad or actually had true concerns.
"These bloody Romans! They have been an inescapable plague everywhere we turn! What kind of life is that to live in fear of every moment?" Russet came forward and put a restraining hand on Forest.
"No, do not do this," she entreated. Russet turned to Arthur. "We are tired of all of this. If it is death you wish for us, make it a quick one."
"What don't you understand?" Arthur pleaded. "We want to help!"
"Ye have a strange way of showing it," Russet countered.
"Does your sister not speak our language," Galahad said suddenly, referring to Storm who had only spoken in Gaelic during the interview.
"I speak it, fear not boy." She walked around the table and flopped into one of the chairs. "I tire of this incessant arguing. Why keep at it like dogs?" She turned her gaze to Arthur. "What is it that ye wish to know? I'll speak. And do not try to silence me," Storm snapped at Forest. "It is best that we do this."
"First off, what is it that you said when you were brought before me?"
"I said that we are hungry and asked if ye would give us some food. Then I asked why ye are questioning us; we mean ye no harm."
Arthur collapsed into a chair facing Storm. "Alright, what are your names? Can I ask that, considering that you are the one leading this?"
Storm gave a wry smile. "I am Meara Deirdre O'Cearnaigh." Pointing at Forest she said, "My elder sister is Grainne Deirdre O'Cearnaigh. Then my little sister is Alannah Deirdre O'Cearnaigh." Russet gave a little wave. "What else do ye desire to know about us? But remember, I will only share what I feel is necessary at this juncture."
Arthur scratched at his head. These three women were infuriating. One moment they are wrathful and then they become complacent. He tried the next question which seemed innocent enough. "Where are you from?"
Meara paused for a moment. She mulled over all of the different possibilities that she could say. "Clifden in Erie or as you Romans call it, Hibernia. But we have moved often." She glanced at her sisters. It was time for the moment of truth. "If I may pose a query to you? Will ye keep us?"
All of the Knights were taken aback at the question. It was as though these women were testing them, trying to figure out their minds.
"What games do you play with us?" Lancelot snapped. "Don't think for a moment that you can toy with us over small woman's issues."
Meara nearly leapt from the chair. "How dare ye say we are toying with ye! Think for one moment that it is because of a woman that you were brought forth into this world. WE understand more of your "manly politics" than ye care to realize. The clans still accept matriarchal rule; would ye turn a blind eye?"
"Besides," Grainne added, "We posses a higher intelligence than ye realize. Think what your lives would be like if there were no women to do the tasks that are required of us by you every day."
"Never again am I going to take Vanora for granted," Bors muttered under his breath.
"Better hope that these women don't meet Vanora or there might be a civil war here at the fort," Gawain remarked to Bors.
On the other side of the room Arthur stood clutching his head. It ached terribly from all the raised voices that were passing around. "Enough! Peace, please!" He turned to the three. "I will decide what to do with you on a more permanent basis in the morning. Meanwhile, I will have one of the maids show you to more acceptable quarters for the night. Have a restful sleep, for I know I will not." With that dismissal, he left everyone to stand around the Round Table.
"Until the morn then," Alannah said before following after her older sisters and the maid.
"Until the morn," the remaining Knights muttered back. These three would certainly add a bit of color to the fort if Arthur permits them to stay.
Gaelic Lesson for the Day:
Tá sibh ocras – We are hungry
Géillimid bia? – Will you give us food?
Fáth ceistímid muid? – Why do you question us?
Déanfaidh sibh aon dochar – We will do you no harm
Siúr – sister
Grainne – grain
Meara – sea
Alannah – darling child
Deirdre – daughter of the forest
O'Cearnaigh – victorious champion (clan name)