Chapter 2

Ariadne swiped her curls almost viciously out of her face. It was an unseasonably warm spring day, and everyone in the fort was taking time to enjoy the spring sunshine. Which still did not explain why Ariadne herself had been left behind that morning, her hair tied back with a rag, from which her hair was even now escaping, wearing an old dress she was considering consigning to the rubbish heap, with a broom and an army of servants around her.

"One month… One whole month," Ariadne muttered to herself as she carried on sweeping, "As if I didn't already have enough problems…"

Ariadne had long ago come to the conclusion that Guinevere had no idea of how to run a castle, not surprising given her background. What had galled was that at no point had the queen attempted to appoint a steward or other servant to take over the running of the castle. Things had been running luckily there were enough competent people around, although the job or trying to of co-ordinate it into a running castle had given Ariadne a headache.

One which had receded in time as the woman had begun gently, but nonetheless with authority, to make her mark on the castle. Anyone with any problems had been directed to her door, instead of straight to Arthur's, leaving him mainly to the normal run of petitioners at any court. Which was a headache for Ariadne, and she wondered if she looked quite as harassed as Arthur always seemed to be.

However, now Ariadne was facing a completely different challenge, in the form of helping cleaning the knight's quarters in the castle. Apparently Lancelot had been refusing anyone entry to his room since Badon Hill, and very little laundry was collected. Add to that the knight seemed to spend more evenings in his cups than out of it, and the room was filthy.

This morning Ariadne had flown into a temper, ordering the knights to throw Lancelot into a bath, after first heaving a cold pail of water over his head. Then, she and some of the other cleaners had set about making the room presentable. It had taken a while, and was almost done. Really Ariadne's presence had been more of a hindrance than a help, but her being there was the only way she could have persuaded the cleaners to go anywhere near the room. She had never cleaned a room, even when she and her husband had fallen on hard times, and she had to admit, at first it had been a novelty.

Now though her hands had begun to blister and she was tired. She didn't understand how these women managed it, working so hard for so long. They had all been friendly towards her, chivvying her gently, almost as if she were new. Although she didn't feel new, she felt much older than her twenty five years at this moment in time. She was sure she looked nothing like the poised Roman lady she seemed to outwardly project.

Without knowing it Ariadne had just risen a notch in the servants' estimation. She didn't have quite the natural empathy Arthur seemed to, but it seemed to stem from her ability to blur the class lines. She could treat even the lowliest servant with concern, and listened to her pleas as she would the mistress of the laundries. Ariadne had, however, shown a hard-headedness to certain problems, and an ability to simply get stuck in.

"I think we're finished here for the day now milady," Jennet, the eldest cleaner in the castle commented.

"I do not know how you keep this up day after day," Ariadne admitted, picking up a bucket that had been discarded, and following the others towards the kitchen.

"It gets easier after a time. You sound like one of the new girls we get in."

"How many of them last?"

"More than you think. There isn't much honest work girls can get round here, and it can be hard."

"I can imagine. Do you think we'll be able to find anyone willing to clean Lancelot's rooms?"

"I'm sure, if not I'll have to do it myself. I can't expect you to appear every week to help us."

"I don't think I could manage it once a week. I'll make a deal, I'll go back to my books, and you keep up the hard work."

"You didn't do so bad, for someone not used to the work."

"I'm not sure that my hands agree with you."

Ariadne had no more time to answer, as the small army of maids had reached the kitchens, and begun depositing their equipment. They all fell about gathering up something for lunch, chattering and happy. And for the first time in her life Ariadne felt alone. She wasn't part of these girl's lives, not really, and somewhere along the way she'd lost… well something.

The cook informed her, helpfully, that food had already been sent up to her room, along with hot water for a bath. Ariadne smiled politely, she had had manners beaten into her at some point along the road, before making the weary trudge up to her rooms, avoiding most other people who would stare, and then carry the message back to Guinevere.

It was only in the bath that Ariadne let some of her tears flow. She had thought that coming back here she wouldn't suffer the soul destroying loneliness that she had experienced in her marriage. Oh yes, there was the work, there had always been more work. Work enough to keep the loneliness at bay. It was something that Ariadne had promised herself wouldn't happen here.

She was among family here, wasn't she? She was among friends. Apart from the fact these very same family and friends had far more responsibilities it seemed than talking to someone who'd been away for ten years. To be fair to them, that probably wasn't the case; they were just as busy as everyone else, setting up the fledgling country. And also, wasn't it the case that everyone met for dinner, and it was not their fault that Ariadne was generally too tired to do more than just eat, before staggering off to her bed.

After bathing, Ariadne sat at her desk, munching on some hard cheese and bread. She picked the piece of parchment that had been set down on her desk that morning. It had been rolled, tied with a forest green ribbon, and with her name carefully scribed. Rolling it out, it brought a warming smile to her face as she saw the careful hand which had scrawled across the expensive parchment a letter.

Ariadne

The farm is coming along well. All of the spring planting has been completed on time. Marcus is beginning to become very efficient at running the farm and the villa. Perhaps it may be best if we try and find him a position elsewhere; perhaps you could take him on as your apprentice.

Lucilla has taken up her weaving with a vengeance. I am thinking that we will be able to clothe all the other children from her efforts. Her baby thrives, although seems to be sadly abandoned at times. I am wondering what you wish to be done about this.

The other children are all well, and thriving. They seem to be enthused about the picture that you painted for them, and so far the country life has not lost its appeal. They do ask after you, and wonder when you will next come to visit.

Iseult

Ariadne smiled as she put the letter back down on her desk. The children, Lucilla and Iseult, the Irish princess who'd been sold into slavery. Ariadne had slowly collected them over the years, and they had become a substitute family for the one at the wall. The woman had taken over their education, and essentially stood in their stead as parents.

However, instead of bringing them to court she had sent them to the farm she had purchased, barely a half day's ride away from the fort. It had been her father's land, but had been sold. She had purchased it back cheaply years ago, due to its proximity to the wall no one had wanted to purchase it. Ariadne had sent her small family there, and had begun to regret her decision.

The letter said very little about its writer. Iseult was a fiery character, with bright red hair, and green eyes, one who was generally taciturn. She had learnt to write alongside the children, struggling away. She had taken it upon herself to inform Ariadne about everything that was happening on the farm. She was not the most natural of writers, but as the unofficial second in command of the group, she felt it was her job, not anyone else's.

And now there was the slight problem of Marcus. The roman orphan had been almost adopted by Ariadne after he was found stealing in one of her storerooms. After he had worked out that Ariadne was not going to hurt him, and provide him with food and clothing if he were to work for her. The boy was intensely loyal to whom he considered to be his mistress now. Ariadne also suspected somewhere deeply buried was the soul of a trader, if only she could find it.

In that moment Iseult's suggestion that Ariadne find the boy other employment seemed, perhaps as her apprentice seemed to strike a chord. She needed help, if only for a few years while the castle was settling down into its new patterns. After that she was sure she could twist Arthur's arm to find him a position elsewhere, but still somewhere where she could keep an eye on him.

Ariadne knew she would have to ask Arthur for an escort, but wondered realistically how soon she could be gone. If she wished to, she would leave this very instant, she suddenly wanted to see everyone, and see how the children were getting on. It didn't matter that it had only been a month; she wanted to see them desperately.

She was tired, overworked and felt one hundred instead of twenty five. Everyone had always used to look at her like she was old, past it. And she had been for a while. She had made a snap decision, come back home, and she had felt like she was a girl again. Apart from the fact that everything had changed, so she was back to feeling like she was one hundred again. So why she thought that going back to her father's old farm would help she didn't know. But she just felt it would.

Author's note: Okay, this chapter was rather hard to write. Hence why it's so short. I just wonder if people could take a few moments to drop me a quick review? If you don't like something, please let me know, and I can rectify it.