I will place a warning for those about to read this chapter. Things do get dark so please read at your own risk as it does deal with mutilation and torture.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE CHARACTERS OR PLOT LINES AS DEPICTED IN THE 2004 FILM 'KING ARTHUR' BY ANTOINE FUQUA. THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION DEDICATED TO THE HARD WORK AND EFFORT PUT FORWARD BY THOSE WHO WORKED ON THE FILM. THE ONLY CHARACTER I OWN IS CHARLOTTE.

The village men returned with boiling water and some clean-ish bandages not long after Gawain departed. I secretly wondered if they actively were waiting for the Sarmatian to leave before returning, and given the nervous looks they cast towards the doorway, I felt pretty certain they feared him. Though I felt a bit guilty, I couldn't help but be relieved with the reverence they paid me as they delivered the bandages. They were fearful that I would tell the Sarmatian if they treated me poorly. I wasn't about to tell them otherwise.

The villagers had no wine, only a foul smelling ale, so I accepted that the boiling water and my small wooden box of antibiotic cream would have to suffice.

I grimaced at the soiled bandages they had scrounged up but held my tongue. I knew this was about as good as I would get and didn't have the time to demand they find others.

As gently as I could while being fast, I cleaned the man's back with a wet rag and tried to rid the wounds of as much grime as possible. Some of the cuts had begun to bleed again but the blood did not phase me this time. Instead, I carefully applied some of the paste in hearty globs to the areas that bled the worse and wrapped him in the bandages deftly without feeling sick at the sight of the rich red liquid.

I dabbed a little more of the cream onto some of the other shallower cuts such as those on his wrists and ankles before deciding it was all I could do with the time I had been given. The old man barely made a sound the entire time so it was easy to hear the sounds of those outside.

Heavy footsteps rushed back and forth next to the hut, while low voices spoke in hurried tones that hinted at the growing tension. Time was of the essence, and I couldn't spend more time on the old man without threatening the safety of the others.

Finishing by wrapping the old man in a ragged cloak, I had the three men from earlier carry the old man back out into the cold air while his wife and I trailed behind.

I gasped as something cold touched my face, and I lifted my gaze skyward in confusion until the dread from earlier in the morning hit with full force.

Large heavy flakes of snow had begun to float down from the grey skies, and my earlier musing regarding the snowy mountain peaks came into fruition as a cold wind blew harshly against me. A storm was brewing, and it did not bode well for the journey. As if things were not hard enough, it seemed Mother Nature was throwing one more curveball at us.

I could that from the time I had entered the hut, a good portion of snow had already begun to stick to the ground. Villagers rushed by with snow in their hair, their feeble clothing doing little to protect them against the rapidly plummeting temperatures.

Wrapping my own arms around me to conserve heat, I hurried after the men with my patient. A small wagon waited nearby where the men lay the older man on his stomach. The wagon was thankfully covered, and someone had laid some furs on the wooden boards which I hoped would minimize the elderly man from moving too much. His wife tearfully patted my hand in thanks as she clambered in after. I watched the scene they made with a slight ache before a few shouts erupted from further down the line of overstuffed wagons.

Stepping back, I peered around to see what had caused such a commotion.

A horse barrelled past the row of carts and wagons at breakneck speed. I recognized Tristan's familiar shaggy hair as he blew past me, his dark cloak billowing behind him. I had not seen the man since earlier in the morning, after we had sighted the villa when he had left to scout for Arthur.

Urging his horse, it did not take Tristan long to sidle up to Arthur who was already remounted on his white stallion. His red cloak struck an impressive image against the snow. The pair spoke quietly and I could not read either man's expression but the veiled look Arthur cast Tristan caused me to shiver unintentionally.

I quickly scanned the area before spotting Jols nearby with his packhorse and Horse. I made my way over and Horse whinny at my approach, making me feel a little bit better about the situation. I had no idea how long it would take to travel back to the fort with so many people to lead in growing poor weather and the approaching Saxons.

The chestnut mare nickered as I gave her a gentle pat but I found myself leaning my head against her strong neck. She helped block out some of the wind and snow but not much, yet I revelled in her warmth. It soothed the tension that knotted between my shoulders as I tried to conjure up the same strength I had summoned against Horton.

I would need to stay strong if I was going to survive.

"Will that man survive?"

"I don't know," I said, glancing over at Jols who waited on his horse. He nodded thoughtfully, but without emotion. Handing me some cheese and a waterskin from his saddlebags, I smiled thankfully at the man.

"Thank you Jols."

"The lady had brought some stew for the knights, but I wasn't able to keep some for you. Eat what you can. I don't think it'll be long before Arthur gets us moving again."

Stuffing the slightly stinky cheese into my mouth, I did what I was told. Though not a warm stew, the cheese was rich and I wolfed it down gratefully. I hadn't eaten today since Arthur seemed set on getting to the villa as early as possible, so my stomach rumbled happily.

I managed to swallow a third mouthful when a noise echoed across the valley.

I frowned, a mouth full of cheese, at the unfamiliar sound. Even Jols seemed to pause, lifting his head while trying to pinpoint the odd noise. But then the noise sounded again, echoing across the valley and the hairs on my neck stood up.

Jols and I stared at the snowcapped mountains which had begun to thrum with a powerful beat.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

"What is that?" I whispered, suddenly forgetting about my hunger. Jols' stern expression fell for only a second, but I caught the fear that crossed his face. He grit his teeth.

"Drums."

The drumming grew louder. Every villager seemed to be holding their breath as a hush fell across the crowd as we all listened to the drums that echoed ominously from the mountains. As quickly as they began, the drumming then stopped.

But the fear they induced was not forgotten.

"Hurry!" Someone shouted nearby, and this single shout seemed to jumpstart the villagers into cries of fear. Everyone began running, throwing what meager belongings they had onto their backs or into the wagons in haste while others ushered loved ones to leave other items behind.

Children began to cry and mothers wailed in fright while the men tried their best to not panic.

The knights looked eager to leave. Their eyes scanned the surrounding mountains severely while also simultaneously waiting for the command from Arthur. Their expressions were bleak but like the soldiers they were, they did not panic.

"What in name of the gods is he doing…"

Peering back at Jols, I followed his gaze towards Arthur who was strangely dismounting his horse. Armed with his long sword, he marched towards a group of men I had not noticed before near the villa walls. I knew something was amiss when the Roman guards moved to stop him.

"Move," Athur's voice rang out, holding his sword out menacingly towards the men who had blocked his path. Jols urged his horse forward and I moved to follow, grabbing Horse's reins.

The guards did not budge and Arthur's voice deepened menacingly.

"Move!"

A few of the knights went to defend their leader but their eyes continued to dart back to look at the mountains. Without needing Arthur's command, Lancelot pushed the guards back with his horse, the large animal stomping its feet in annoyance when the Romans hesitated. They toppled back to avoid the hooves.

Lancelot shot Arthur an exasperated look. While he would defend his commander, Lancelot's brow was drawn low over his eyes. He wanted to leave, that much was clear.

"What is this?"

Arthur pointed at a dark doorway that had been built into the stone wall. The pair of Romans looked immensely nervous and shared unsure looks with each other.

I inched closer to get a better look with Horse, walking so that I was close to Bors and Tristan.

The doorway was partially a part of an odd protrusion of black stones that jutted out from the contrast of white walls. More or less unremarkable, it was easy to see why it would be missed unless you knew where to look. What was strange was that two monks, based on their shorn heads, were stoning up the doorway.

I frowned.

Why spend your time walling up a door when the Saxons were so close?

With a distinct Roman lilt, one of the monks pushed forward. His straggly, greasy hair and peevish appearance did him no favours. He flashed two rows of rotten teeth at Arthur.

"You cannot go in there. No one goes in there. This place is forbidden."

Arthur calmly moved forward anyway before Marius' voice called, halting his steps. Standing close to Tristan's grey horse as I could, I watched at Marius broke through the growing crowd. He sneered at the Sarmatians before turning his attention to Arthur.

Arthur ignored Marius and gently touched the newly placed stones in quiet thought. His eyes were sharp as he trailed his fingers over the portion of the door that had not yet been obscured.

Lancelot, thoroughly exasperated, tried again.

"Arthur, we have no time."

"Do you not hear the drums?" Galahad added.

His voice was tight like a bowstring. The young knight cast a nervous look over his shoulder and frowned heavily at the gathering crowd. His horse beneath him, sensing his nervous energy, bounced on his hooves.

"Dagonet."

The large man easily swung off his horse at the command and moved to the doorway while the other knights shared looks with the others, their shoulders hunching in defeat. I too stared at Arthur in confusion. The Saxons were close, and yet he wanted to spend the time checking out the plain door in the wall?

Without breaking stride, Dagonet swung a large axe at the walled-up entrance. I cringed as the sound of metal on stone echoed across the yard.

After no more than five strikes, Dagonet was able to knock down most of the hastily stacked stones. I regarded the monks carefully and found my brows furrow at their panicked expressions. Though I still agreed with Lancelot that there was no time, I found their stricken faces worrisome.

What are they trying to hide? I wondered to myself. What was so worth walling up that they look ready to faint at it being opened?

I had no idea what was going on, but I innately trusted that Arthur had recognized something I could not. In the few short days I had spent in his company, the tall Roman man had proven to be a competent leader. Strong yet fair, he had not once treated me poorly even though it was clear I was a burden. Though we had not truly spoken, Arthur's equal treatment of me and the obvious respect he had from the men at his side was something that I had not seen in a long time.

If he thought something was wrong, then I trusted that he knew best.

A large wooden door emerged from beneath the crumbling stones and Dagonet kicked at it. It barely budged.

"Key," Arthur demanded, his voice brooking no argument. The nearby guards seemed hesitant to answer. After a sharp look from the green-eyed commander, one guard relented. He ducked his head.

"It is locked… from the inside."

A cold flush raced across my body when I realized I had not misunderstood his words. A door locked from the inside was never a good sign. Arthur was right.

Something was very wrong.

After a few more hard kicks, Dagonet managed to knock down the locked door down with minimal effort. Arthur proceeded forward and seized a lit torch that lay beyond the dark doorway. Lancelot and Gawain both hopped down from their horses and joined, peering into the blackness alongside their commander.

The four men paused at the lip of the entrance. The crowd that had gathered, along with Marius and his family, all stood waiting for some kind of reaction. Arthur turned his head and searched the growing crowd until his eyes landed on where I stood, still partially hidden by Tristan. His green eyes narrowed but not in anger. Something else lurked in his green eyes and he waved me forward.

"Charlotte. Come with me."

Both surprised at the command as well as the oddly detached tone of his voice, I stumbled after him. Gawain followed behind me once he had gathered the pair of monks, who each dug their feet into the hard ground. His gripped the scruff of their necks and shoved them forward, uttering a few well-placed threats until they stopped resisting.

As I got closer to the door, I realized why I had been called by Arthur. As well as why he and the other men seemed so carefully stoic whilst standing on the threshold.

A smell unlike anything I had ever smelt before wafted from the dark tunnel in waves. Its scent was so unimaginably foul that even Lancelot muttered under his breath in disgust. I nearly gasped when the smell washed over me, striking me like a blow at odor that could only be described as the scent of death. I managed at the last second to not vomit there on the spot.

Despite the darkness of the tunnel, I could make out along one wall a pair of well-worn iron shackles. Things easily clicked into place as I matched the smell with the equipment on the walls. I immediately knew what this place was.

It was a dungeon. And the smell was that of rotting corpses.

Seeing I was next to him, Arthur without hesitating, began to make his way down the dark staircase. Lancelot and Dagonet followed.

I decided to follow Lancelot, who held above him a torch which flickered against the growing dark. I covered my nose with my sleeve at the rotting stench grew stronger the moment I stepped onto the stairs. Nothing had ever prepared me for such a smell – a mix of rotting meat and decay unlike anything I could ever imagine.

Lancelot handed Gawain another torch over my head. His dark eyes met mine, and again a swell of understanding went between us. I nodded my head beneath my sleeve and him grimly turned away.

Gawain motioned the monks further in, pushing them a bit more harshly when they froze on the top

At my back, Gawain muttered something to himself before leaning in closer to me.

"Stay close. This entire place sets my teeth on edge."

My entire body seemed to recoil at going any further down the stairs but I managed take another step forward. I kept my eyes down as we wound our way down a dark stone tunnel, our combined footfalls echoing the deeper we went. I made sure to keep close to Lancelot, practically glued to his back.

A voice began to echo across the stone walls as we descended further. The familiar Latin prayer seemed more ominous than the first time I had heard it and I gritted my teeth in anticipation. The monks behind me whimpered.

Reaching the foot of the stairs, our group entered a small dark antechamber. Dagonet had to keep his head bent to avoid knocking it against the low ceiling. Arthur surveyed the area with a fierce frown, taking in the spartan furniture and scraps of food left rotting on the tables.

At the noise we made, a new monk suddenly appeared from another room. Emerging from a secondary doorway, his eyes widen at our appearance. He looked entirely bewildered, splitting his attention between the knights and the monks we had brought.

"Who are these defilers of the Lord's temple?" The new monk spat. Spit flew from his mouth with each word. His hair was long and greasy like the other monks', and the knights tensed at the wild gleam in his eyes.

Lancelot pushed passed him, ignoring the irate monk and marching into the room he had emerged from. I lingered back with Gawain, still firmly holding my sleeve over my nose. The smell was almost unbearable now. It hung in the air like a miasma, choking off the faint breeze from the world above.

The monk gasped in fury but could do little to stop the armoured knight.

Lancelot's broad back blocked our view into the room beyond, however upon reaching the doorway, his stiffened. Arthur followed closely behind him, his cape trailing along the dirt floor as he joined his compatriot. As he reached Lancelot, the other man shifted so Arthur could see more.

The pair stared into the other room in complete silence.

I shot a nervous look at Gawain and his jaw tensed in response, his blue eyes flicking to mine. His hand tightened on the torch in anticipation.

"Charlotte."

Arthur's voice was rough, but I brushed passed Dagonet instantly at his command. Scooting past the larger man in the small chamber, I didn't have a chance to prepare myself for what I saw.

I staggered, physically reaching out to support myself as my knees buckled beneath me. I felt the cold stone wall under my fingertips but I barely noticed. I didn't even notice when Lancelot's hand moved to my other arm to steady me as I stared into the room I had thought was a dungeon.

This was no dungeon – it was crypt.

"Dear god…" I breathed in English. "What is this place?"

Cages lined a large, cavernous room, spanning each wall at waist height. Their iron bars were set into the low spaces that had been carved out of the stone below, reaching back several more feet. A few torches burned dimly, casting an eerie glow across the room. Shadows creeped up from the edges of the dirt floor and onto the bare walls.

Yet, clear as day even in the dim light, I could see the bodies that lay within.

I fought the urge to vomit, covering my mouth as my world spun. I couldn't seem to close my eyes as I stared into the room.

Dozens of bodies, men and women and children, lay stacked on top one another haphazardly, as if someone had been too lazy to lay them out and merely threw them into the cages. Strewn throughout the crypt in various states of decomposition. Their arms and legs were mangled, their sightless eyes staring up with their mouths opened in perpetual horror at whatever atrocities had been committed to them during life.

The smell was horrific in this space, leaving no room for fresh air but somehow the smell was no longer an issue.

My stomach rolled in horror at the partially mummified remains of what looked to be a child in the nearest cage. Her hair, once perhaps a vibrant red, hung in chunks over pallid skin that had been torn and ripped. Her eyes were missing, no more than jagged voids in a screaming face.

How many people had Marius committed to death in this horrid place? My mind whirled. Never in my life could I have imagined something so gruesome could be inflicted on human beings. Not even in my worse nightmares or the nights I spend cowering in the corners of Lucius' villa, could I have pictured this.

I could almost hear the wails echoing across the stone walls. It was like the room itself was screaming.

Crouching down to the first cage, I nearly retched as the mutilated corpse of a man greeted me. Rats scurried from a hole in his stomach, and I managed to cover my mouth with my sleeve at the last second. I took a few shallow breaths, reminding myself of the strength I needed. I ran a hand over the familiar shape of the fox still in my pocket.

Steadying my breaths, I opened my eyes again and peered at the remains within. I only lasted a second before I completely lost my cool.

Staggering back to standing, I spun on my feet to face the irate monk. I marched right up to him, the horror in my stomach had transformed into fury as I closed the gap between us.

I practically screamed in his face.

"How could you do something like this! How?! These are people you bastard! There were children! God, the children. How could you do that to them? Tell me!"

I did not realize I was yelling in English, but the monk snarled at my ire, his eyes flashing dangerously.

"The work of your god," Lancelot spat, giving Arthur a cold look. "This is how he answers your prayers."

Arthur ignored him but he was upset, staring around him in veiled disbelief. His shoulders were tense and his jaw flexed while his eyes took in the horrors around us.

He motioned to the cages with his torch slowly.

"See if there's any still alive."

Dagonet instantly moved, hurrying over to the far wall while I tried to see through the bars of the first cage once again.

"Move aside Charlotte," Lancelot said quietly as he approached me. I took a step back while he broke the lock on the cage with a simple swing of his blade. The door clanged to the ground and I reluctantly crouched back down, nearly crawling on my hands and knees to have a better look.

"Lancelot, I need your light," I said, my voice wobbling only slightly. "It is hard to see."

Moving behind me, Lancelot held his torch closer so I could better examine the bodies. Tentatively, I moved to reach out to check for a pulse on a body that looked only a few days old. Cold lifeless skin met mind and my heart sunk into my chest.

Suddenly, the monk I had yelled at roar in outrage.

"How dare you set food in this holy place!" He screamed, moving towards myself and Lancelot with fury alighting his face.

I scrambled on my hands and knees to get away from the rushing monk, skittering over bones and flesh. A hand unexpectedly seized me by the back of my cloak and dragged me out of harms way. Gawain tugged me away from the monk and in a single motion, had me pushed me behind him so that he stood between me and the furious man.

He snarled at Gawain but before the monk could even attack, he suddenly grunted in pain. Staring down at his stomach, the monk's glazed eyes widened as Lancelot's sword stuck out from his belly. Lancelot stood with his sword in his hand and growled as one of the other monks hissed at him in disbelief.

The once irate monk dropped from the end of Lancelot's sword with a thump. His body lay splayed against the cool earth, while his eyes stared up blankly.

"That was a man of God," one of the others growled. Lancelot whirred around.

"Not my god!"

Lancelot's yell was filled with fury, as well as pain. It was the same pain he kept hidden inside – the one that we both shared.

Whipping his seething gaze to Gawain and myself, Lancelot searched for me over the blonde knight's shoulder. I nodded tightly, my heart thundering at how fast everything had just happened. In an instant, a man had been killed before my very eyes. And more over, I was glad for it.

"I'm fine. Thank you, Lancelot," I murmured, trying to force the same steadiness from earlier back into my voice. "And thank you Gawain."

Snarling at whatever internal battle he was fighting, Lancelot spun back to the other cages.

Arthur continued to search, completely ignoring that Lancelot had just dispatched one of the monks. He didn't even make a sound of protest when the monk had dropped dead. He just continued walking through the crypt, announcing that he had found no one alive in the cages he had searched.

Gawain, who still stood in front of me, huffed grimly.

"By this smell, they are all dead."

"How could they do this?" I whispered, turning my eyes to the monk who had been waiting in the antechamber. He had joined us at some point, and watched the scene with a sort of detached awe. I waved my hand in front of his stunned face. Pointing at the cages, my hands shook.

"How could you do this to these people? This is… there are no words for what this is."

The monk sneered and took a step to intimidate me however Gawain swung the torch down in front of his face. The man was forced to take a reluctant step back, not before casting the large man a nasty scowl.

Gawain sneered.

"And you. You even move or try to touch her, you join him."

Eyeing the corpse at our feet, Gawain made the threat clear. The remaining monks swallowed but took steps back, flicking their eyes nervously between the knights and myself. Gawain shook his head but gave me a reassuring nod.

"Charlotte!"

At Dagonet's call, I emerged from the safety of Gawain's back. Shuffling over the uneven ground, I hurried over to where the large knight stood. Against the far wall, was a series of pits dug into the soil. Iron bars lined the tops of the pits, secured with locks and preventing anyone from opening them.

Hunched over one of the pits he had managed to open, Dagonet pulled from its depth a small boy. The young boy blinked at the torchlight and I let out a gasp when it was clear he was still alive. Ratty blonde hair hung raggedly around his face, which was covered in dirt and grime. He was small, his limbs skeletal and lanky, but besides he general appearance, he was moving.

Rushing to Dagonet's side, I breathed out in relief as the boy twitched in fear.

"He's alive."

I reached for the boy's beaten face, noting that what I had thought was grime was actually a black eye but the boy flinched at my touch. Seeing the fear flicker in his wide green eyes, Dagonet sat him down on the stone counter.

He bent lower so he was eye level with the child, bending at the waste so that he no longer towered over him. He spoke clearly, but with a soft edge.

"You must not fear me. Nor her. She is a healer."

The boy's eyes widened but he did not speak. I was struck by the familiarity of his words, realizing it had not been long since I had been on the receiving end of Dagonet's kindness. A strange shiver coursed through me but I shook it off, focusing on the child who stared around the room in clear confusion.

I forced a weak smile onto my face, hoping to ease some of the boy's nervousness but worried it resembled more of a grimace. My cheeks pinched at the feeling but I pressed on, speaking quietly to the boy as I began to run my hands over him.

While malnourished, the boy thankfully was not beyond help. Aside from the bruises he had sustained, there was no clear sign of torture which was a staggering relief. With precision, I lightly inspected the boy until I noticed the way he cradled his left arm.

I smiled a bit more kindly, and gestured to his arm.

"Can I see your arm?'

The boy merely stared, still not speaking. I wondered idly if maybe he didn't speak Latin so I tried again, pointing to the limb. He blinked but again, stayed quiet. I decided to proceed, carefully placing my hands on his skinny forearm. The boy didn't flinch this time but he wince, turning his head away.

I studied the black and blue bruising that lined his arm in the low light. As I lightly pressed with my thumb, the boy yelped, confirming my suspicions. Dagonet watched in silence as I stepped away.

"It's broken," I said, turning my gaze to Dagonet. "However it has not… it has not fixed itself which is good. I can tie it with wood so it'll heal the right way."

Dagonet nodded at my judgement, but took a moment to look down at the boy's arm himself. He hummed in agreement.

"Charlotte. There is another."

Lancelot indicated a cage where Arthur was now pulling out the willowy figure of a woman. She was thin, perhaps even thinner than I was, and her eyes were sunken into a gaunt face. She looked far worse than the boy and could barely keep her eyes open as Arthur attempted to not jostle her.

"Bring her outside," I said, sidling closer to Arthur has he held the woman out for me to see. I clenched my teeth. "I can do more in the light."

Nodding, Arthur checked the rest of the room. Gawain was peering into the last of the cages but mutely shook his head.

So that was it then. Only two left living in this certifiable hellhole... I hope this place is burned to the ground by the Saxons.

Grabbing the little boy, Dagonet settled him onto his hip before pursuing Arthur and I back up the stairs. I led the procession, checking over my shoulder as the men made their way up the stone steps. The journey this time seemed quicker, and soon the doorway above loomed into view.

I raced into the snowy sunlight without pause. I gulped in relish at the fresh air but did not stop moving, skirting past the crowd of confused Romans and villagers who had been waiting above. I grabbed the waterskin Jols had handed me earlier which I had left in Horse's saddlebags and rushed back to meet Arthur, ignoring the few shouts from people asking what had happened.

Arthur, who was not far behind me, emerged from the doorway to a clamour of alarmed cries. He lowered the woman in his arms to the ground and a few more worried whispers erupted from the group when Dagonet followed soon after.

If they knew who the woman or the boy were or what they did to earn such a punishment, it was hard to tell. But the nervous looks they cast one another was enough for me to know that they knew something bad had been happening in the crypt – and had been ignoring it for a long time.

I skid to a stop in front of the Roman before dropping to my knees to examine the shaking woman.

She could have been no older than 20 at most, her young face unblemished and smooth. Her dark black hair was long, but it was unwashed and tangled in knots as it cascaded behind her on the snowy earth. She wore very little; dressed in nothing more than an old cloth cloak that had been torn and shredded. I could see blood staining a portion of it, and grit my teeth in sympathy at what this woman had had to endure.

She blinked against the natural light while trying futilely to shield her eyes. I did what I could to check her pupils, noting how blown out they were. She hadn't seen light in a long time.

The woman seemed to come to in the sharp cold air, and her eyes cleared. Seeing myself and Arthur staring down at her, she gazed back in complete confusion, her lips parted.

Setting to work, I checked her pulse while scanning what I could of her body. As I had thought, she was in much worse shape than the young boy and cursed this time's lack of hospitals or urgent care. She needed to be admitted to a hospital for treatment, not prodding and poked by a woman with a packet of herbs.

Bringing the waterskin to her lips, the woman stared at me as she took a hesitant sip. I brushed her long hair to the side. Her dark brown eyes roved over my face before they fixed themselves onto Arthur who continued to stay crouched beside me.

She seemed entranced by the tall Roman, and stared at him in what I could only describe as wonder.

"How is she?" Arthur asked, his gaze not leaving the dark-haired woman on the ground. I ran my hands along her arms and legs, checking for breaks. Then I noticed the state of her hands.

Broken and bloody, her fingers on her right hand had been pulled from their sockets one by one. They looked crooked and mangled, with a slight blue tinge to each finger which meant it had been several days since they had been broken.

Holding her hand gently, I realized there was only one way her fingers could have been pulled out in the way they had been. This was not an accident, or a defensive wound. My voice shook painfully as I tried to explain to Arthur that she had been tortured.

I held up her hand for him to see.

"She's been hurt very, very badly. Those men… they did this to her. They wanted her to hurt."

"Torture," he murmured. I realized this must be the word for torture and I nodded mutely. "How is she?"

I mentally shook my head. Of course Arthur had also come to the same conclusion as I had. She was still injured and needed care. Refocusing my thoughts, I pushed aside my emotion to remain more clinical.

"Weak. Her hand has been badly broken and she has a fever. I don't know how long it has been since she has had food, but she is too thin. There is more but… I don't know how to explain it in a way you would understand."

He took in the weak woman with a look that was neither soft nor pitying. It was an unreadable expression, but the compassion was clear.

"She's a Woad."

At Tristan's calm announcement from behind us, I studied the woman in confusion. I realized that on woman's arm, hidden beneath severe bruising, were familiar blue swirls I had seen before. I tensed at the memories of blue men rushing the trees.

So she was tortured for being a Woad, I concluded, staring into her dark mahogany eyes. She made no noise but her uninjured hand gripped mine a bit tighter. I shook my head.

Woad or not, this woman had been tortured. While in my care, I would treat her like anyone else. Wasn't that not the oath I had once been determined to make?

Arthur spoke quietly to the near unconscious woman but he too did not seem to care that she was a member of his enemy. Instead, I was able to hear how gently he assured her that she was safe while he offered a few more sips of water.

Smiling weakly, the woman touched his face.

"Stop what you are doing!" A voice suddenly roared from the crowd and the villagers scattered like mice, darting away from the man who burst through the startled group. From my spot on the ground, I saw Marius snarl as he pinned his eyes on Arthur.

Snow coated his hair and villagers scurried away to avoid him as he marched forward with heavy steps. He looked practically murderous but Arthur did not flinch.

Arthur stood quietly, placing himself strategically in front of myself and the Woad woman in a clear act of defiance. Marius' scowl deepened at the show of disrespect.

"What is this madness?" Arthur demanded finally. Marius scoffed as it if was obvious.

"They are all pagans here!" He shot back, gesturing at the doorway to the dungeon as if it was as simple as that.

"So are we," Galahad countered from his horse. He earned a hearty glare from the small Roman but Marius wisely kept his mouth shut when Gawain, who stood nearby, crossed his arms over his chest.

I inched closer to the Woad woman and did what I could to comfort her, pulling her so that she lay partially on my lap. I could feel her clutch at me at the sound of Marius' voice and I felt a flash of anger. As I held the young woman to me tightly, Marius' wife joined me. The Roman woman sympathetically tried to stroke the other woman's hair. I spotted bruises littering the Roman woman's arms and grimly realized I had not been wrong in my earlier assessment of her.

She was familiar with Marius' brand of torture and knew, probably better than anyone else other than the woman curled in my lap, what he was capable of.

Whimpering, the injured woman flinched at the Roman's touch. Shushing her calmly, I moved so that she could no longer see Marius and gave his wife a small look. She ducked her head but continued to stroke the woman's hair in a gentle caress.

"They refuse to do the task God has set for them!" Marius continued behind us, punctuating each word with a finger. "They must die as an example!"

"Do you mean they refused to be your serfs!"

Arthur's roar surprised everyone. I struggled to follow their shouting match, but I had never heard Arthur use such a voice since I had been with him. I didn't need to understand some of the words being said to know he was livid.

Marius seemed taken a back by the fierceness in Arthur's tone and scoffed, eyeing the commander in disbelief. "You are a Roman…You understand. And you are a Christian!"

Arthur did not speak.

Setting his sight on myself and his wife, Marius suddenly marched over and screamed angrily, "You! You kept them alive!"

He made a move to slap his now quivering wife but I managed to catch his hand, surprising us both.

"No!"

I positioned myself between the two Romans in a desperate attempt to protect both the injured woman and his wife from the fuming man but it was an awkward attempt. Marius growled in impatience and shook me off, moving to strike me instead.

Moving so fast I barely saw him, Arthur swung his fist first.

With an audible crack, he struck Marius hard in the face. The man fell to the ground and the crowd once more fell into a tense silence.

I threw my arms behind me to shield the two women as I stared at the rumpled form of Marius on the icy turf. My eyes widened at the sight, not quite believing what I just saw but staring in amazement as Arthur striding swiftly to where Marius had landed.

In an instant, he had his sword at the man's throat. Marius' guards moved to help their master when Marius surprisingly was the one to call for them to stop where they were. They hesitated but did as he asked, their swords drawn and ready.

Looking up, Marius gave Arthur a dark look I recognized immediately. I had seen it many time before on Lucius' own face in Rome.

"When we get to the wall, you will be punished for this heresy," Marius sneered, practically spitting the words.

Grabbing him by the collar of his tunic, Arthur hoisted the small man up and hissed back with equal fervor. "Perhaps I should kill you now and seal my fate."

"I was willing to die with them," One of the monks suddenly declared, drawing the attention away from Marius. We all turned to stare at him and he nodded to himself, spreading his arms wide in benevolence.

"Yes, to lead them to their rightful place."

Muttering something about God's wish, Arthur turned to look at the monk though did not let go of the Roman man hanging from his hand. Marius glared at Arthur but made no move to twist free, instead remaining pliant in the other man's hand.

Saying something softly to the monk, Arthur let go of Marius. The Roman man flopped back down with a thump. He practically growled as he stared up at Arthur but the commander had already shifted his attention.

"Wall them back up," Arthur said, causing Tristan to mutter something in protest as Arthur gestured to the monks. Gawain sighed heavily and Galahad made a noise of surprise. However Arthur was no longer willing to heed his men.

Roaring, he wheeled on the knights, the image of righteous fury as his cape flashed out behind him.

"I said wall them up!"

The monk, possibly realizing his mistake for speaking up, immediately began to cry. Arthur refused to look at him. A group of villagers rushed forward and began herding the remaining monks back into the dark tunnel while the knights hung back.

Turning my head away from the scene, I looked back down at the Woad woman. Her eyes flickered shut briefly. She was falling asleep in my arms.

Keeping my voice soft due to the harsh expression Arthur still wore, I drew his fiery attention my way.

"My lord, I need to get her to one of the wagons. This cold is not helping her."

"Our wagon has room," Marius' wife said quietly, surprising me. "We can watch her and the boy."

I hesitated, looking over my shoulder at Marius who was brushing himself off with a large scowl plastered onto his face. I did not think he would want to share wagon with the very people he had been ready to leave behind to die.

But at my questioning look, the Roman woman shook her head.

"He has his own carriage; Alecto and I ride separately. They will be safe with us."

Looking to Arthur, he considered the woman's words before nodding his head. The snow was coming down much harder, billowing around him. He looked like some painting in the Louvre, the heroic hero holding the weight of the world on his back. I had the strangest feeling that I had seen him before… but then it was gone, leaving me feeling oddly hollow.

He crouched down and easily lifted the Woad woman from my lap into his arms. He stood, his red cape a banner behind him as he stared at Marius' wife. His eyes were hard, like two green shards of glass.

"Lead the way, Lady."