A short chapter but one that will begin to tie Charlotte's past with Pelagius to her present. Get ready for some flashbacks. Also trigger warning for scenes of assault.
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
After Gawain had quite literally dropped me off onto Fulcinia's wagon from the back of his horse, I got back to work.
Dagonet was pleased to see I had returned, giving the other knight a curt nod as I was passed from one man to the other. I felt a bit like a sack of potatoes, but I noticed that true to his word, Gawain had kept my feet dry.
I felt a flicker of unease immediately when I saw the Arthur was not in the wagon but it became clear that he had performed his task before moving on without waiting for me. Waddling my way to the back, I grit my teeth in slight frustration that Arthur had not waited but knew it was most likely for a good reason.
With the Saxons somewhere behind us, the Roman leader undoubtedly had more pressing matters to deal with.
I inspected the woman's hand, who was sleeping peaceful under a mountain of thick furs. The Roman commander had done a good job and I was relieved to see he had realigned the woman's fingers properly without causing any unnecessary damage.
With the woman and boy sleeping, and Fulcinia curled into a corner under a bundle of furs looking particularly woeful, I explained to Dagonet that I would be back shortly once I checked on Ol' Gregory. He helped me down from the wagon and luckily I only had to stride a few feet down the wagon line in the snow in order to reach the last cart.
Slipping into the back, Ol' Gregory's wife immediately began showering me with thanks. Between tears and sobbing, I could only make out the general gist of her gratitude while I lay trapped in her tight embrace. I patted her on the back awkwardly, trying to explain I didn't do much but the woman continued to cry into my shoulder. Once I had managed to pry her arms off of me, I inched my way over to the sleeping man.
Ol' Gregory was no worse for wear thankfully, and was snoring deeply despite the jostling wagon. He had no fever yet, and I was relieved to see that his cuts looked less red than before. I felt tentatively hopeful that the man would pull through for the first time all day.
I did what I could to reapply some of the salve onto the old man's wounds without waking him, but finally decided that he needed his rest more than anything else. Scraping some of the yellow cream onto a clean strip of linen, I explained to his wife (as best I could) what to do if Ol' Gregory woke again before handing her the linen with the extra ointment.
She thanked me profusely once again but I managed to slip back out into the snow before she could pull me into another bone-crushing hug.
When I returned, Dagonet was now the only person awake. Fulcinia was nothing more than a lump beneath a stack of fur blankets and the two others rested peacefully. Making sure the back flap of the wagon was secure to keep the other warm, I moved to join Dagonet.
The larger man had positioned himself at the entrance of the wagon, close to the driver who urged the horses onwards through the snow. He was cleaning a dagger, his eyes shifting to me when I crawled my way to his side.
"You should rest as well Charlotte while you can. It has been a long day."
I was tempted, eyeing the lavish furs and blankets of the Honorius' family around me. The idea of sleeping in such finery while not atop a horse seemed a rare luxury that I shouldn't pass up.
However, even though I was extremely tired, I didn't want to sleep. With everything that had happened today, I felt the need to stay awake a little bit longer. There was too much happening and I was afraid that if I closed my eyes, the next shoe would drop.
Whether it be the Saxons or the blizzard that was fast settling over us, somehow staying awake seemed a better idea.
Not having the words to explain such a thing to Dagonet, I merely declined politely and set to the task of untangling my hair beside him once I had secured a fur blanket around me.
Naturally straight, the combination of rain, wind, and sleet had turned my white-blonde hair into a snowy knotted mess. I had not had a moment to wrestle it into a braid or something else that would keep it out of my face since we had left the fort. It was partially why in the past, I had kept it so short – I never had the patience to learn how to do my hair beyond a ponytail or a lacklustre braid so it was always easier to simply keep it around my chin.
I had once thought about shearing my hair short while in Rome just to be done with it, but I learned that short hair in women during this era signified a particular occupation amongst lower-class women and I quickly abandoned the idea.
Biting my lip, I spent several minutes simply pulling my fingers through my hair trying to loosen the knots scattered through the greasy locks. Once I had gotten most of the tangles organized into some semblance of order, I twisted the pieces into a simple braid that hung down my front. I had managed to snag a cord of leather from one of the fur throws and used it to secure the ends. With no mirror, I had to pray the braid helped lessen my bedraggled appearance but knew it was an exercise in futility.
Still bruised and battered from my trek to the fort, along with many sleepless nights, I knew I must have looked a sight.
Silence had descended over the wagon. We bounced from side to side as the wheels rattled over potholes and ruts in the snow-covered road. The storm had not gotten worse, but the snow steadily fell in thick flakes that covered everything around us. Tall spruce and pine, coated in white, had begun to dot the barren landscape but the mountain peaks dominated the terrain.
The convoy continued on its slog up the mountain, with no end in sight. Tristan, and his hawk, remained at the front. Wherever he was leading us, it was far from open plains and valley trails we had followed to the villa.
I almost fondly wished for the rain over the biting snow.
Dagonet sharpened his numerous blades, his eyes intermittently scanning the horizon before returning to his task. His horse had been tied and now trailed dutifully behind the wagon.
Dagonet was a man of few words but effused a calm aura that made it easy to sit in comfortable silence together.
We both watched the world pass in front of us, his legs dangling from the wagon while I sat curled up under the large white fur. No words were spoken between us but I enjoyed the odd peace.
It must have been an hour or so later when I found my quiet revere broken by a slight gasp behind me. I peered over my shoulder and could see the Woad woman was blinking in confusion, rubbing away the veneer of sleep from eyes. Sharing a look with Dagonet, I inched my way back into the recesses of the wagon to check on her.
She offered me a small smile when I approached which I took as a good sign. She also looked a bit relieved to see a familiar face, slumping back down onto the furs with a sigh. I wondered if whatever fever-induced delirium she had been caught in had finally dissipated given that her complexion looked far better then the last time I had checked her.
I placed a hand on her forehead. She was still warm, but she was no longer burned with the same fever that seemed to grip the boy.
"I should have thanked you before," she said, her voice surprisingly clear. My brows raised instantly to my hairline in surprise. Her Latin was impeccable and she held no trace of an accent.
And here I thought she didn't understand me.
"You were one of those who saved me from the pit. I remember your hair in the dark…like a light, shining in the distance. I thought I had been dreaming."
I smiled a bit awkwardly in return while I subtly checked her hand. She spoke eloquently, with no hint of the accent that Tristan had identified in my own speech. Her voice was like a rich molasses yet held softer feminine quality that smoothed the edges.
"I did nothing," I explained slowly. I gestured beyond the wagon with my free hand. "Arthur and the knights are the ones who you should thank. They saved you."
Noting that her pulse felt steady and her pupils were not as blown out as before, the woman was on her way to recover fully. The only thing I needed to do was get her to eat something but for that I would have to wait until Arthur stopped the caravan.
Still, I erred on the side of caution. Sometimes not all wounds were so easily visible. My eyes scanned her.
"How are you feeling? Are you in any pain?" I asked.
She shook her head, lifting her injured hand from mine to examine it with a sort of dreamy expression. Her eyes became soft as she studied it.
"No… I do not feel any pain. It all feels like a strange dream; one that I did not know I would wake from. It is as if it never happened at all."
She hummed to herself while I assessed her carefully. I was no psychologist, but I could only imagine what sort of mental trauma someone would have after such an event. Mentally, I skipped through the signs and symptoms of PTSD and other traumatic experience disorders when suddenly her darks eyes darted to mine.
Her eyes, a warm deep brown, pinned me with such ferocity that I actually flinched at the unexpected focus. She practically cornered me with nothing more than her gaze, and I fought the sudden urge to squirm.
It was like I was staring into the eyes of a lion. And I was her prey.
I was immediately disconcerted by such a stare. I placed my hands down at my side and darted a look towards Dagonet, checking to see if the large man was still close enough to intervene if needed. I didn't think the woman would try to attack me, but stranger things had happened in the E.R.
Warily, I tried to shuffle backwards without her noticing to create some distance as a precaution.
She hummed in thought.
"I know of Arthur and his knights, but I do not know of you. I have heard of a woman who travels in their numbers. Are you Saxon?"
Flicking her sharp gaze to my pale hair, she scrutinized me with clinical precision. I licked my lips nervously.
"My name is Charlotte…And no, I'm not a Saxon. Some of the knights told me I look like one but they're not my people."
"It is your colouring," She responded easily, taking her time in perusing my features. I could almost feel her eyes trailing over every inch of me, cataloguing it for future use. It was a blatant show of power, putting me in my place while lying prone on her back. I was inwardly impressed.
Who was this woman?
"Where are your people from?"
"Far away…to the west," I responded, forcing myself to not break her intense stare as I used the same excuse I had told the knights. I had an inkling that this woman would see a lie from a mile away but I couldn't just tell her the truth.
She quirked her brow at my obvious attempt to say as little as possible but I saw a twinkle of amusement in her eyes.
"And you are a healer?"
I sighed. I was getting tired of this question but inclined my head.
"Yes… and no. My people do healing different than those here. What's your name?"
"Do you always speak in such riddles?" She smirked, ignoring my obvious attempt to change the subject. "Or do you truly wish to hide who you are? You remind me of a lake; calm on the surface but secrets swirling within… What secret do you hold so close to your heart Charlotte that you are afraid I'll see it in your eyes?"
My heart thrummed in my chest as I stared at the woman. My mouth opened and closed in startled shock.
What did someone even say to such a statement? I thought, never hearing anyone be so poetic in their interrogation before.
"I'm not hiding. It's just hard to talk about my past," I fumbled. I needed to change her focus as soon as I could. She was proving to be far too perceptive, as well as unnerving, for my taste. I tried to regain control of the conversation, pasting a bland look on my face with a bit of force.
"Do you need anything? I can get some snow to help your hand if it's hurting you."
"We all have pasts. And futures," The woman hummed cryptically instead. She completely ignored my question, her smile deepening when I blinked in confusion. She was proving to be by far the most terrifying and impressive woman I had ever met in my life.
Were all Woad like this? Or is this woman a singularity? I wondered, somehow praying she alone was the anomaly. If all Woad were as clever as this woman seemed to be, then we were in some serious trouble.
Without hesitating, she jutted her chin out imperiously.
"My name is Guinevere."
"That's a very nice name," I commented, for lack of anything else to say and wanting the conversation to be over. I pointed over my shoulder, again doing whatever I could to alter her attention away from me.
"Do you know the name of the boy? He was in the same… place as you. He hasn't woken up so we don't know who he is."
"Lucan. He is my brother."
My eyebrows rose but Guinevere interrupted me with an imperious tone that suggested she was not often told 'no'. Though she used far fancier language than I was used to, her intent was clear.
"I would like to get some air. I have been without fresh air for many weeks and I wish to feel the breeze on my face. Take me to the front."
"You shouldn't be in the cold…" I began, however based on the stubborn frown she shot me I instantly closed my mouth. Coupled with her piercing gaze, I decided that I valued my life more than getting into an argument with the woman who I was starting to see was extremely stubborn.
At all 100 pounds of her, by God she was intimidating.
"You can sit with Dagonet. The air could help you feel better, but only for a little. I don't want your fever to come back."
"That is all I ask," Guinevere replied, but I could see the satisfied glint in her eye. She knew she would win this battle, if one could even call it that.
Helping her up from her pallet, I wrapped Guinevere in a large bear fur blanket which enveloped her thin frame. She was taller than most woman in this era, but I still found her head only reached my nose as I allowed her to lean on me. She was weak however determined enough to force her legs forward.
After a bit of teetering, we managed to side-by-side move to the front of the moving wagon where I had been seated earlier. Dagonet cast a blank look at Guinevere but kept whatever thoughts he had to himself.
"You can't stay here long," I reminded her. Making sure her blanket was secure, I fixed her with what I hoped was a firm look. "If you're cold, then I'll help you come back."
Guinevere snatched my wrist, halting whatever I was about to add. I looked down to see her bruised hand secured tightly around my skin, proving without a doubt that Arthur had done his job well. She was extremely strong and I winced.
"Yes?' I asked, wondering if she had decided to return to the warmth of the inner wagon.
The beautiful woman quirked her head to the side as she pinned me in place once again with what I was beginning to see was her signature stares. I was really beginning to hate that look; making me feel no more than ignorant child missing out on something extremely important.
"You should not dwell on the past. It will only haunt your future."
At her words, I frowned, sorting through their meaning. I blinked in confusion as I shook my head.
"I don't know what you mean," I started but she interrupted me soundly.
"You do. Because you have heard those words before, I think. There is a reason why you are here Charlotee; I can see it around you, hovering like a storm about to break. Your path led you here, to this land for a purpose. But you need to find what you were meant to do. Until then, you must stay strong to weather the storm that is coming."
Guinevere let go, shifting so she could stare into the snow and effectively ignore me, thereby ending the one-sided conversation. She didn't even turn to see the effects of her words on me.
It was as if all of the air had been sucked from my lungs. A cold sweat broke out across me, and goosebumps caused all the hair on my arms to stand on end instantaneously. It was not how she said it – but what she said.
The words… so familiar. So painfully familiar that it was like hearing them again for the first time all over again. The cold wind that blew into the wagon was suddenly replaced by a dry heat, the Roman sun beating down on me as another voice echoed through my mind.
The voice was deeper, full of sincerity and hope. But the words were the same.
I staggered backwards, collapsing into the wagon as my feet tripped on bundled furs. Somehow, I avoided striking the boy, Lucan, in my haste to get away from Guinevere. I scurried backwards, my eyes wide as I tried to understand how it was possible she would say something so incredibly similar.
The odds that a woman I had barely known for a few hours in our first conversation said the first words that were spoken to me in this time was unbelievable. It was too strange. Too intuitive.
Dagonet shot me a concerned look from where he still resided, sending a sharp look at Guinevere. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly in her direction but I shook my head at his clear intent to get involved.
He frowned but remained seated as I finally found my back press against wooden panels. I used the feeling of the wagon to ground myself, breathing deeply as I tried to reason that this was nothing more than a strange coincidence.
She couldn't have known. There was no feasible way she could have.
But yet, it was as if she knew those words would had the desired effect she wanted. My hand hastily grabbed my idol from my pocket, running my fingers over it, over and over, until I could feel my heartbeat steady. But my mind remained in turmoil as I remembered the day I had woken in a strange new world and my life changed forever.
FLASHBACK
Scared, angry, and confused, I screamed in desperation when the two men hauled me behind them. Their clothes were strange, dressed like they were part of some reenactment that I was painfully unaware of, but they seemed unbothered by the wailing woman held between them.
Their armour glinted in the harsh sunlight, reminding me painfully how only a few moments before, I had been waiting in a hospital carpark in the middle of an American northwest snowstorm.
The air around me was hot, beating down like a cruel reminder that I was no longer where I should have been. Dressed in a thick knit sweater and jeans, I was sweating profusely even after only a few minutes.
I kicked out my feet, my sneakers slipping against the sandy dirt and creating puffs of dust in our wake. The two men grunted in annoyance, rolling their eyes in obvious disapproval while the dragged me through an unfamiliar town street like a child throwing a tantrum.
I looked around desperately, trying to see something that would trigger my recognition.
Had I been drugged? Was this some sort of incredibly detailed hallucination?
People poked their heads out of their dwellings in curiosity as I continued to scream. Their eyes were cautious, murmuring amongst themselves as they watched. No one intervened, not even when I called to a pair of elderly women who merely sneered in response.
One of the men finally grew tired of my screaming. With a snarl in a language I didn't know, he whacked me across the mouth with the back of his hand.
I collapsed in their arms, reeling from the pain that bloomed across my face at the shock of being struck. Never in my life had someone hit me and suddenly my fear skyrocketed.
I whimpered, moaning as the two men continued to drag me onwards. I looked, bleary-eyed, at the bystanders who watched on begging them to help.
They had to have seen, I thought wildly, my head snapping to the side. There was no way they would let a woman be struck and dragged through the streets... Someone must have called the cops by now. Someone will stop this.
Yet the crowd looked pleased by the violence. They barked at me in an odd language, it being both familiar and foreign all at once. Dressed in strange robes and linen, everything felt surreal. The men in the crowd laughed while the women yelled in open derision, their children giggling at their feet as they threw rocks at me.
It was like I was in a nightmare except the pain of the rocks raining down on me forced me to see this was real. Somehow, impossibly, this was happening.
Within an hour, I had heavy chains slapped onto my wrist while I continued to struggle. I didn't recognize my surroundings, and when I tried to ask what was happening, those around me snarled in their language until I finally held my tongue in fear of being hit again.
Loaded onto an old rickety wagon and secured by chains, other prisoners who soon joined me stared at nothing in particular with a sort of blank stare, devoid of all emotion. I murmured quietly to those who were chained with, asking what was happening but they merely looked ahead.
But no one spoke to me, focused on staring vacantly out the side of the open wagon. It was then that I started to cry, truly feeling the full force of my confusion hit me. No one took notice of me as I sobbed, clinging to the metal that bound me to the wagon.
I cried for so long that my throat was raw when we finally rolled into a city unlike anything I had ever seen in my life. Towering stone plinths rose around us, marble and granite reaching for the blue sky while thousands rushed around, screaming and yelling in a cacophony of chaos.
I couldn't believe what I was seeing even after I called out to those that rushed around, asking if this was real.
I had seen enough in middle school about Rome from history books and dull documentaries on rainy afternoons to recognize the ancient city. It was impossible, but I could taste the dust that coated my lips, smell the heady scent of unwashed bodies and animals as we rumbled through stone streets that looked straight out of a movie set.
"How is this happening?" I murmured, staring in wonder and horror as we passed the Colosseum. It was magnificent, gleaming in the Mediterranean light in its full glory. It wasn't broken or a shell of its former self like I had seen in photographs. Instead it was complete, and the sheer magititude of seeing it as it was, rocked me to my core.
I shouted, screaming out to those was passed by. I cried for anyone to help me, but the people just stared in bemused wonder as I continued to call out until the driver whacked at me with his riding crop.
My eyes landed on the sights around me, so familiar but too young and too new from what I knew. This place was in a world that shouldn't have existed anymore. A world that had been lost to the annals of history.
It was all too much, and I found myself shutting my eyes against the dawning horror for the rest of the journey.
"This is a dream…Just a dream," I repeated, my words a whisper beneath the creaking of the wagon and the clinking of the chains. Over and over I muttered to myself, placing my hands over my ears to drown out the noise around me. It was like I hoped that I could make it all go away through sheer will.
But it didn't.
With a rattle, the wagon rolled to a stop after what felt like hours. Suddenly, a new group of men appeared at the back and began shouting directions at us. I didn't know what they were saying, but one of the new men, a burly man wearing nothing more than a dirty robe stained with blood and grime, pulled out a whip and began striking the closest person.
The young man who sat closest to the entrance, yelped in pain as the leather hit him on my back. A welt the width of my arm bloomed across his skin.
The rest of us in the wagon cowered almost immediately, and I struggled to put some distance between myself and the man with the whip. But he again barked orders and this time, we were forcibly pulled off the wagon.
Our chains were unlocked, but the shackles on our wrists remained. There was about ten of us in total, mostly men but there were several women as well. I was chained next to a young woman, who held to her side another who must have been her sister. They were young, their dark skin glowing in the afternoon sun but their features were near identical.
They looked petrified, and I suddenly was struck by how I must look as well – wide blue eyes flashing with fear and apprehension. I shuffled closer to them, hoping that in some way there would be strength in numbers if only for a split second.
The men who had pulled us off the wagon regarded us with clinical coldness, their eyes raking over our forms the same way a rancher would survey their cattle. I noticed their eyes lingering over my jeans and knit sweater in interest, snickering to one another.
One of the braver men poked my hip, blatantly feeling my jeans as well as the swell of my waist.
I jumped backwards, but he only held on tighter while he laughed. He said something over his shoulder and the other howled in response. He made a gesture about my height and again the other laughed in mirth. Soon he let go, and our frightened group was corralled from the street into a low-lying building made of sandstone that was tucked between a bustling marketplace and what looked like a stable.
The stench that hit us as we entered the building was immense, but none of us had time to dwell on where we were being led when suddenly the guards began separating us. More orders were shouted, and a different group of men began leading the women to an open courtyard where we were lined against a wall.
I fought when they stripped us down, but my screams did little to dissuade them. The men didn't seem to care about our bodies, but their hands were rough and harsh against my bare skin as they tore my clothes from me. The other women whimpered but stood still until we were all undressed.
Shaking, I gasped when buckets of cold water were thrown at us until we stood drenched liked drowned rats. A few of the guards watched in amusement, their leers pricking at my skin. I did what I could to cover myself but the shame rushed through me.
A heap of linen clothes that I tearfully realized were supposed to serve as clothing, were tossed onto the courtyard ground.
One of the man barked at us again. The other woman hastily scrambled to their knees, grabbing what they could. Following suite, I managed to tug a thin cotton shawl over my body. It did little to hide anything, and hung just at my knees.
By the time we were ushered into a corridor beyond the courtyard and unceremoniously thrown into rooms barred with iron, I was numb.
Other women, and even some children, watched as we joined their ranks in a series of dirty rooms that were lined with straw. There were at least four people per room, and I found I had been thrown into a cell with a mother and son, as well as elderly woman who wept quietly.
The haggard looking boy stared at me cautiously, his dark hair hanging around him, but I didn't notice. Instead, I raced to the corner of the room and huddled into a ball, trying to be as small as possible while I cried.
The worse day of my entire life came and went with nothing more than a whimper to mark it ending.
By the next morning, clutching a wooden toy to my chest like it would save me, our captors returned and started dragging people from the various cells. I remained, hoping beyond hope the nightmare would end.
The boy and his mother had disappeared in the early morning hours, but the elderly woman was dragged out not long after, leaving me alone. I remained curled up, my chin tucked firmly against my knees.
But then, in the late afternoon of my second day, I heard soft footsteps approach my cell.
An older man, with wispy white hair and dressed in an elegant red robe, regarded me with interest through the bars of the door. I curled into myself, muttering in English over and over like I had been the day before.
"This isn't happening. This is just a dream."
The old man watched me carefully before crouching down so he was at eye level. I heard his robe rustle against the straw but I kept my eyes down, squeezing them shut as I continued to chant. The toy in my hands shook fiercely.
I refused to acknowledge his presence.
Instead, I rocked back and forth in the hopes that he would move on.
But then, drifting through the bars like a prayer, I heard it. Nothing but a soft whisper but the words… God it was like being given water after dying of thirst and I looked up in such hopeful desperation, that the man smiled.
With gentle hazel eyes, he let out a soft sigh before he spoke to me in clear and perfect English.
"Don't worry, darling. There's a reason why you are here and why your path led you here to the point. You'll find out one day what it is that you have to do. Until then, have faith and stay strong. We will weather this storm together."