A/N: Sorry for the lack of update yesterday, I was completely absorbed in the House of Hades. Which was AWESOME, by the way! I ship Percabeth. Anyway...here's another chapter for you all. Thank you for being patient with me :-)
Being a slave would only be to my benefit were I bought by the correct person. What I knew about Roman slave auctions, however, really did not encourage me. I had no desire to be stripped of my possessions, paraded naked across a platform to be poked, prodded, groped, and inspected by a stranger before being hauled away. There had to be another way and there had to be a means of escape.
Fortunately for me, however, I had no sooner begun to think of how to get away from a roar erupted from behind me. Streams of warriors ran across the fields, their weapons raised high. "THE CALEDONIANS HAVE BREACHED THE WALL!" A distant voice declared. The commander of the squadron swore angrily.
While he was deciding what to do with me, the Caledonians (also known as the Picts) continued to advance, striking Romans down by the dozen. The Romans had been woefully unprepared and the natives were taking full advantage. The way I saw it, I had two options: the first was that I could wait for the Romans to decide whether to kill me or set me free, possibly to only be recaptured once more; the second was that I could make a break for it and try my luck with the Caledonians. They had to be better than the Romans.
The Picts, however made my decision for me. They swarmed nearer, shooting the guards who held me with arrows. A moment later, their commander fell. A giant of a man with flame red hair and completely covered in tattoos grabbed me by my wrist and pulled me against the oncoming tide, the sound of arrows whooshing overhead.
As I looked back, I began to notice the Romans had begun to recover. The Picts began to fall steadily and I grimaced at the sight. Upon glancing around, I noticed a few others being strung along as I was. I couldn't help but notice we all had similar physical features. Looking at the man himself, I saw a resemblance. The Romans may have called me a Celt but I couldn't help but think I looked like more of a Caledonian. Clearly, they must have as well.
"I will take you as far as the wall. From there, you may return home." He stated gruffly. I had no idea what was going on but decided it was in my best interests to act as if I did. I nodded my head in appreciation, too dumbfounded to speak.
He pulled as far as the wall, just as he had promised, before leaving me alone to return to the battle. I stood on the opposite of the twenty foot high wall, staring through the holes in wonderment. Earlier that day, I had been on Asgard, my life considerably less strange. I was in another realm with a bunch of immortal beings, but it seemed far more normal than my current situation.
Unsure of my next move, I began to wander as far from the wall as possible. While my research had given me a vague location of where the scythes were located, it did not specify. The hours ticked by, the sounds of battle slowly fading the farther I traveled. As the sun began to sink beneath the horizon, I realized that I had no idea where I was or what I was looking for. How foolish, I had been. What had once seemed like a brilliant plan, now looked like idiocy.
Though I had travelled in time before, I had never come back this far. Not intentionally, at least. Certainly not in Roman Britain. My trips had always been short and brief. Never before, had I intended to stay for any amount of time. I was unsure of what I had expected, perhaps to find the scythes lying before me upon my arrival. How incredibly thoughtless I had been. I had to find them, of that I was sure. But as to how, that remained a mystery. I stood on the peak of hill, pondering my predicament, when a voice interrupted my thoughts.
"Are you lost?" I turned to see a small woman standing behind me, her eyes slit in suspicion. She was likely near my age, if not younger, though her eyes appeared aged. Life in the ancient world was not as easy as it was in mine. Her long, brown hair was pulled into a braid that fell down her left shoulder. I noted similar tattoos to the men I had seen at Hadrian's Wall.
"Maybe."
"You're one of them, aren't you?"
"One of who?"
"One of the captives our men set free from those Roman mongrels." Her tone had an accusatory edge to it, something I didn't particularly appreciate.
"So what if I was? What does it matter to you?"
"You may look like one of us, but I am not entirely certain. You lack the marks of our people." She had to be referring to the tattoos. Well, lies had always come easily to me.
"Neither would you, were you taken from your home as a child!" I snapped angrily, attempting to seem as bitter as possible. The key to deception, was to mix truth into the lie. While it was true I had never lived in ancient Britain or had been taken from my Pictish family, I was able to direct some of my old pain into the words I spoke.
The woman shifted her stance, though her tawny eyes remained fixed on me. Finally, she acquiesced and dropped her crossed arms. "Forgive me. Please, stay with me for the night." I made it a point to appear as if I needed to think it over, to look suspicious. "Consider it my way of apologizing for my distrust."
"Fine. But I leave tomorrow." She shrugged her shoulders in disinterest. I followed her down the hill and to the east for nearly five miles. A small hovel came into view and I reminded myself that this was not modern day America. This was first century Britain. And this was likely the closest thing to a good night's sleep as I was going to get.
I stooped low to enter the mud house, a small fire burning in its center. From what I could observe, she lived alone; though there were remnants of an infant having lived there once. I thought of how terrible it must be to lose your child, thinking of Sarah as I did so. I couldn't begin to fathom it. "Do you live here alone?" I asked quietly, despite already knowing the answer.
"Yes." Her tone was short. I watched as she stirred something in the pot over the open flame. Silence passed between us for a moment. Finally, I decided I would attempt civility.
"Thank you. For letting me stay here...?" Surely she had a name.
"Eithne." She replied brusquely.
"Eithne. Thank you."
"Mmm-hmm." Eithne looked up at me, still attempting to discern who and what I was. "And you are?"
"Olivia." I stated blandly.
"Is that one of their names?" She asked with disgust.
"Yes."
"I don't suppose you can remember your true name?" It was a test and I knew it. If I had truly been taken as a child, were I able to remember it, I must have been able to remember the name my parents had given me. I thought of the Irish girl from my introduction to cognitive psychology class.
"Muirgheal." I replied firmly.
We ate our dinner in silence. It was far from tasty and I had no desire to know what was in it, but I appreciated her gesture all the same. "Are you wed Muirgheal?" The question was so sudden that I nearly spilled the mysterious stew on myself.
"Am I wed?" I repeated with surprise.
"You wear the bond about your neck. I couldn't help but notice."
"Oh, er, yes."
"A Roman dog, I presume?"
"No, he's not Roman." The idea was nearly laughable. Loki was the farthest thing from a Roman imaginable. Of course, he was also a far cry from a Caledonian.
"I take it that was why you were held captive?"
Oh, she really had just given me the perfect cover. Silently, I thanked her. "I was taken from my home here as a child. The Romans sold me into slavery and I grew up in the house of Marius. If I were to marry, it required my master's permission. Which, I didn't have." I paused for effect, furrowing my brow in mock thoughtfulness. "My husband was neither a fellow slave, nor was he a Roman. As you can imagine, when my Roman master discovered what I had done, things didn't go well."
"What happened?"
The time to mix truth with lies was perfect. "He was banished, expelled. And I was to be executed. I tried to escape but was caught near the wall. Then, the wall broke and I was rescued."
From looking at her, I knew she had the inborn ability to see through people. However, given that it was my job to uncover deception, I was inherently good at doing it myself. I was confident in my abilities, which meant the only proof she had was a natural instinct that I was not telling the truth. Still, she made the decision to let it pass. "I do not suppose you will ever see him again."
Her tone was one of sympathy. "And you?" I goaded, watching her expressions intensely. The faintest twitch of sorrow flooded her features. It was quickly overshadowed by anger.
"My husband was killed by one the dogs of Rome." She replied coldly.
"And your baby?" Her eyes betrayed her alarm. "It's quite obvious from looking around you had a baby here, once." I gestured towards the back of the hovel.
Eithne licked her lips nervously and I watched as her eyes filled with tears. She coughed, trying to choke back her pain. "My son took ill. He died two weeks after he was born." She smoothed the tattered fabric that was her dress in attempt to calm herself.
I could scarcely imagine the horror. "I'm sorry, Eithne. That must have been-"
"Happens all the time." She shot back, a steely edge to her voice. Eithne raised a trembling hand to wipe a stray tear from her cheek and I felt sympathy rise within me. "You should rest. I imagine you have a long day ahead of you."
"Yes," I began pensively, wondering where it was that I was headed. "I suppose I do."