Sarmatian Language Latin Language
This will jump from P.O.V. to P.O.V a lot so keep up!
Reunion 13
Roman! How? What? I thought Briton was free of the bastards?
Attila's well-muscled, if a bit older body, collapsed. His body, which had been strong and proud just moments ago, could no longer hold up his imposing strength as his eyesight darkened to black. He didn't fall unconscious, but as he tried to regain his feet, the wall in front of him swam up to meet him.
As his vision continued to swim before his eyes, he tried maladroitly to put out a hand to save himself from falling onto his knees once more, Tor and Artur jolted awake.
Tor was ecstatic! He was no longer the prisoner of those devil-worshippers, and his hands and feet were free. As his face grew into the shape of a hard-lined smile, he yelped and lightly slapped his hand on his cheek. When he pulled his hand back, he gasped softly-it was covered in lines of sticky, dried blood.
Those devils! Those bastards! They burned me so badly that my skin broke open!
Artur grumbled as he said harshly, "Tor, you are a weak-son-of-a-Wolf-btch! Shut your mouth! I've a bad enough headache without your yelps of cheer."
Tor glared at his second-n-command and said in an equally callously tone, "You had better stop all your mutinous thoughts and words, Artur, or you'll find yourself on the wrong side of my sword when we get back home."
Artur snorted and said spitefully, "You don't have the skill to defeat me, BOY, and you don't have the gall to kill a woman let alone a worthy, more superior, male opponent."
The two men glared at one another and growled warningly at one another as they hastily jumped to their feet and circled one another-each ready for a bloody fight.
As he pulled himself into a defensive position, Tor couldn't believe what was happening to him. Just weeks ago, he had been traveling to Briton to find his long lost brother, Bors, and now here he was-locked away in some sort of prison. I should just gut Artur here and now. But, Attila might retaliate since he and Artur are allies…this is all Bors' fault! If he had returned when his term of service was complete none of this would have happened!
Tor conveniently forgot one simple thing-if Bors had died while in the service of Rome, he'd still be in the same position as he was now-the only difference would be that Bors would be dead and not alive.
He was never so glad as to be a stubborn-no nonsense man, who never thought wrong about anything.
Artur grounded his teeth together, spun around slightly, and roared as he, unknowingly stomped his foot like a child would when denied his favorite toy or food, "Attila! Where are we?"
Attila groaned, placed a hand on his temple, and said in a weak, sickly, voice even as he thought we have truly sunk and dishonored our ancestors! If this is how we react, like CHILDREN, our people are justly doomed, "In a Roman prison."
"WHAT?" roared the two younger men of the Bear Tribe as they sprung away from one another and stared at the older man in horror, rage, and maddening confusion.
What are we doing in a Roman prison! Rome left Briton to the Saxons! How could they regain control so fast? And how is it that my DEAREST brother is a person of power and wealth if Rome DID regain its power?
This is not good! How'd we end up here? I thought those, devil Inish, would eat us for sure! If they were to eat us, why are we here? Artur was confused. He didn't like feeling confused-unfortunately that was the one emotion he was coming to tolerate because he'd go insane otherwise because of the situation he reluctantly found himself in.
Attila, from his place leaning up against the moldy, marble, stone walls, sneered at them. If they felt anything like he did, they were doing a much better job of hiding it than he was. Even as Tor's face bled with the fire-burn, the two men lunged at the iron bars and started to heave with all their might-in an attempt to find their freedom.
Tor and Artur banged their hands and bodies against the bars. They shouted as loudly as they could each yelling and cursing in their native tongue and in any Latin and or Briton they had picked up.
"FREE US YOU ROMAN SWINE!"(Tor)
"YOU HAVE NO AUTHORITY TO HOLD US! WE ARE NOT YOUR SLAVES!"(Artur)
"EOGTISTIC BASTARDS! ALL OF YOU!"(Tor)
"WHEN I GET OUT OF HERE, YOU'LL ALL WISH YOU WERE DEAD!"(Artur)
They didn't know how long they had been yelling and screaming, but Attila finally got the strength to stand up and shouted above them both, "SHUT UP, BOTH OF YOU!"
As the two younger Bear Tribal men spun around to start an argument with Attila, a roman accented, male voice cut in smoothly with a degrading drawl, "Yes, do. You are fowling up the air with your very breath, barbarians."
The three Sarmatians spun around and all three felt their glares return with a heated vengeance. There, right in front of them, were five Romans dressed in pure Roman regalia.
The man in the center was the most elaborately dressed so almost immediately Attila, Artur, and Tor knew that he was the leader of the five men. Plus, upon his left shoulder was a symbol that chased away any doubts on just WHO he was-Primus Pilus, the Senior Centurion, the career officer who was the advisor to the Legate.
His feet were well protected by brown leather, knee-length boots that had golden accessories on the top on them, just above his knees, and the boots had three golden clasps to keep his boots securely around his feet. Covering his average body, was a red, long reaching tunic top that had silver metal weavings all along the cuffs. The ends reached just above his knees and were tied around his back for extra support. Over his immortal red symbol of power, was a thick, brown leather vest and kilt. Decorating the leather vest were six, male-fist sized, golden plates that depicted scenes of Jesu's crucification. Those same six golden plates formed the holy symbol of Rome-the Christian cross.
His kilt was freely pleated and there was a brown leather strap that wound around his back and threw his buttock crack to protect his manhood from dishonorable conduct in an honorable fight.
On his right hip, were two short swords sheathed in red leather with golden accented protectors. The man's head gear was not on his head protecting it, no, his helmet was under one of his arms and its infamous red plumage was starting to look a bit frayed at the ends.
Attila frown, this is starting to feel wrong somehow…I just don't know HOW….
The man just to the right of the center man was dressed just as bountifully as the Primus Pilus, but this man's clothes were a little less dignified. He wore brown leather, knee length boots that had no decoration adorning them, a simple red long tunic top with a brown leather vest coving it for light weight protection, and two short swords were sheathed at his hip. He held his right hand over the two hilts clearly showing just how ready he was should they try and attempt any escapes from the stronghold.
Aldus, Lancelot's second-n-command and commander of Hadrian's Wall, was very uncomfortable dressed in King Arthur's old Roman regalia, but he made sure that his face was blank as he said ignoring the two Sarmatian's words, "You are here to await your punishment. You should be glad that we saved you from those demons. In payment, after your punishment, you will serve Rome; serve ME, for the next five years."
Aldus waved to his own second-n-command, Cael, and said, "Bring them to the court."
Cael nodded and said as three men dressed in common Roman soldier armor moved to open the iron bars, "Soldier Uriens, Soldier Angus, and Soldier Flynn, take them, but first bind their hands in irons."
Uriens smiled sadistically and said, "With pleasure my lords."
Attila tried to resist, but he was still too dazed to do no more than weakly hold out his hands in a feeble attempt to withhold Uriens from him. Within seconds he felt the familiar weight of iron chains, and he was dragged unceremoniously out of the door.
At the same time, as Uriens detained Attila, Argus and Flynn chained and knocked out Tor and Artur.
Aldus looked over at Flynn and asked as the man rubbed his jaw and groaned lowly, "All right, Flynn?"
Flynn, a red hared, blue eyed, tall, strapping young man of twenty, grinned humorlessly and said as he pulled his hand away and heaved Artur, his attacker, over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, "Well, I'll have a bruise for a while, but I'll live."
Aldus chuckled lightly and said as he listlessly tossed the helmet, that he still carried under his arm, into a dark corner of the jail cell, "Well, now that, that is done, all that there is left to do is tie them up and await the arrival of the Lords of Briton."
Aldus laughed outright as the skies above them opened up and let loose with the torrent of rain it had been threatening to drop on top of them for the past three days and said with a wave in the air's direction, "Well, if that's not divine retribution on Britannia's might, I don't know what is."
The other four laughed as well as they shrugged at one another and quickly tied the three Sarmatians up to four long, thick wooden poles right smack in the middle of the Wall's courtyard-the once training facility of the Sarmatian Knights conscripted to Rome.
Meanwhile, as the Knights lead their Sarmatian blood-kin to the Wall for the sending off of the fallen Knights of their generation, the Ladies of Camelot were having problems of their own.
Marquess Emogen Serenity Just-Lyon, Lady of Peace and the Queen's Councilor, of Badbury Providence, was aimlessly wandering through the castle's many passages. In her arms was her and Lancelot's firstborn son, Cadman Lyon. She wished he would fall asleep, but he was teething once again and he wouldn't go to sleep. So, she was out wandering the palace as her twin daughters slept on unhindered by their brother's painful howls.
Emogen winced, once again, as her son squirmed in her arms and screamed in her ears. The echoes of the scream bounced all around her making her already excruciating headache grow exponentially.
She sighed and pleaded warily as she leaned against one of the many storage rooms in the hallway, "Please, quite my son. You must sleep. If you do, the pain will vanish, I promise you."
As Cadman's tears grew louder, a strange, scarily, familiar scent wafted up from behind her. With a sigh, she thought great; one of the cleaners forgot to clean the inside.
With a tired push, she pulled herself back onto her feet and shifted Cadman to one arm and settled him on her hip. She reached for the ring-like handle, and froze.
That scent-it was dangerous.
She knew it.
She just couldn't remember where she had smelt it before.
She bit her lip and released the door handle. She took a step back and eyes the door warily like it was Cerdic, the Saxon King, back from the dead, who was explaining to her that he wasn't invading Briton; he was clearing out the evils of the country-Britons and Romans.
She cocked her head to the side as her brain tried to place the awfully familiar scent.
The scent was metallic and dark, if that is a word meant to describe scent. She thought with a roll of her emerald green eyes and a small snort.
She gasped as her vision seemed to fuzz out and she suddenly found herself in the one place she hoped to never remember again-The Battle of Badon Hill.
She knew, intellectually, that she was still with Cadman in Camelot, but couldn't help but shiver in fear, rage, and bloodlust. That's when the scents from Badon hit her and hit her hard. She remembered with a sudden clarity how Arthur and their people had set the entire battle field on fire, and how the men and women she killed smelt as their blood flooded the earth and their metallic scents masked the wondrous scents of Briton.
With a jerk and a sharp kick from her son, she blinked away the memory and stared at the door in repulsion-death had come to Camelot, the first unnatural death since Arthur became King five years ago.
She took a deep breath and coughed. The scent, now that she knew what to "look-for", as it were, was strong to her and she held her son closer. As she placed a hand on his back, she gripped the blanket that she had wrapped Cadman in before leaving their chambers, and pulled it sharply, yet caringly, over his curly back crown.
When she was sure that her youngest child wouldn't see and hopefully, SMELL what she HOPED she wouldn't see, Emogen quickly pulled the door open and stepped in to see what was hidden within.
As her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the storage closet, she gasped and closed her eyes slowly in pain. She bit her lip and said softly in pain and sorrow, "Oh Katheryne…"
There laying flat on her back, was Tristran's favorite Apple-Girl, Katheryne. Her arms and legs were spread as far out from possible from her body and her neck was slit from ear to ear. Emogen bit her lip and hastily backed out of the storage room.
She hugged Cadman close, suddenly wishing with all her worth, to the Goddess, that Lancelot was there to protect her and their children. She may have a warrior's skill when it's needed, but she hadn't seriously taken up a sword since she was pregnant with the twins.
She took another deep breath and shouted, "GUARDS!"
Within minutes, a dozen guards and the Ladies of Camelot had arrived.
Cordelia rushed to her side and demanded as she placed a hand on her upper arm, close to her shoulder, "Why did you sound the alarm?"
Emogen gulped deeply and said as she pointed into the closet, "In there, its Katheryne, she's dead."
Cordelia, with wide, disbelieving eyes, lunged into the small room, and immediately pulled back with her hands covering her nose and mouth. She looked a bit green, so Enys pulled her farther away from storage chamber and said, "Sir Morton, go inside and see if there is anything in there that will give us any clue as to WHO did this to her."
Sir Morton, one of Tristran's men, silently entered the chambers, and almost immediately walked back out. Only in his hand was something that made the Ladies of Camelot pale….
A bloody dagger with a golden pommel carved into the shape of a horse with the Sarmatian letters A.dHuk or…
Attila duHuk.