The Long Way Around

by HeadintheClouds16

She was once told the there is no worse death than the end of hope. Yet after two years trapped in the 5th century AD under the thumb of the Romans, Charlotte no longer agrees with that sentiment. Loaded onto a ship destined for Britain, Charlotte soon realizes she must decide quickly who she needs to be; a woman longing for the past or a woman ready to hope again.

5. The Ride

Galloping into the next chapter. Technically speaking, I've written up to the end of the movie but I want to expand out as I feel the movie speeds by things a bit too fast. Like I said before - I am stretching things out.

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.

By mid-day, the inner parts of my legs were raw and sore. We had ridden hard for several hours before Arthur had called the column into a short walk to cool the horses. I wore no leggings or tights under my dress so my skin was red and chaffed after rubbing against the leather saddle for hours. I grimaced in pain as the horse shifted its gait, jarring my tender skin.

I let out a low hiss. It would be days before I could walk normally again.

Shifting in my saddle, I let out a soft groan as the motion stung the irritated skin. "How did people do this …" I muttered in English, silently cursing the Bishop's name silently for what felt like the hundredth time.

The man had sent me to die but he did not even have the courtesy to do it himself. Instead, he had to sent me out into the wilderness with nothing more than the hope I would be trampled to death or stabbed by barbarians.

I grimaced again. Maybe it would be worth it to simply fall off and let it be over.

"How are you feeling?"

I looked up to see Gawain had slowed his horse, moving to my side. Sitting tall in his saddle, the man looked unperturbed by the hard riding we had just endured. Dressed in his strange leather armour, he blinked at me in curiosity.

Watching me with the same open expression from the night before, I wondered if he knew how strange his gentle features looked underneath a mane of such wild hair. A lion surrounding a lamb. It was a jarring combination.

His light blue eyes flicked to the awkward way I was holding myself. He tilted his head slightly.

"Truly?"

I was in too much pain to lie. Grunting, I tried to ease the pressure on my chaffed skin.

"I don't have enough words in Latin to say how I feel. I think my legs are going to fall off."

He smothered a weak smile. Running a hand over his beard, he pointed at the horse beneath me.

"It'll help if you move with the horse's stride. The more you tense in the saddle, the sorer you'll be tonight."

"Stride?"

"How the horse moves," he explained easily. He demonstrated a sort of rolling motion, his hips moving along with the motion of the horse. I frowned.

"You make it look so easy…" I muttered in English, sighing as I tried to understand how the blonde knight looked so loose.

"How to you move so…easily?"

I attempted to follow suite and found that it was a lot more challenging than the man made it appear. I gritted my teeth in annoyance as I struggled to follow the rhythm of the horse. I felt like an idiot. While Gawain looked as if he had been born ontop of a horse, I felt like I was swaying side to side like a drunken idiot. I cast a somewhat exasperated look at the other man.

"It is not so easy."

"I've had years of practice," The man joked grimly. A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. "Give it another ten years and you'll be as comfortable as the rest of us."

I snorted out loud, the noise escaping before I could hold it back. I felt tired, uncomfortable, and after being nearly petrified for the first few miles, my emotions were numb. I covered my mouth and flicked an cautious look at Gawain. He did not need to be speaking with me, let alone offering riding tips to someone who could barely hold the reins.

I quickly sobered, remembering why I was here and lowered my head. I was nothing but a burden to the men and needed to remember that any pointers were so they would be able to focus on the task at hand, not the woman being dragged along behind them.

These men were not my equals. Whatever comradery I had mustered the night before over cups of ale was when I was nothing more than another slave in the fort. Today I was extra weight.

I needed to stop forgetting that I could not let my mouth get ahead of me. Yesterday I could have at least made the excuse that the few sips of wine and food had loosened my tongue. I had no excuse today.

Bowing my head, I muttered quietly. "I don't think I have that long but thank you for your help."

"It'll come to you," Gawain responded softly, in a much kinder tone than he needed to use. I did note that the man did not outright deny my statement. He too thought I wouldn't last. I briefly wondered if the other knights had clued in to why I was on this journey with them.

The excuse that I was here for 'healing purposes' was weak, at best. So why the Bishop would be so adamant that the slip of a woman who had been dragged behind the caravan was now being forced to ride days northward towards an encroaching army (something I had figured out after going through the previous conversations while hanging on for dear life) must have been something that the knights were beginning to wonder.

I peered at Gawain. His gentle expression did not crack but I thought I saw something in his eyes that confirmed his suspicions. He knew there was more to my being here.

I was jolted out of my musings when Bors suddenly reared his horse backwards. The man flashed a feral smile my way before moving to my side. His eyes gleamed with mischief as he took in the sight of me, breaking the awkward tension that had fallen over Gawain and I.

I eyed the somewhat intimidating knight warily – he was far more wild than the soft-spoken Gawain. With his bald head and abundance of scars, he looked more like the harden killer that the Romans had whispered about on the way to the fort. The sharp daggers at his side glistened threateningly.

The bald knight smirked when he noted the awkward way I held myself. He chuckled darkly.

"Still hanging on then. I thought we lost you a league back in the mud."

I grimaced at the attempt at humor but felt shrugged, keeping my eyes down.

"No, still here."

"Pity," he declared blandly. "I'd bet two silver pieces that you'd fall off your horse before noon. Now I've got to pay Lancelot. If you're going to fall off, make sure it's before nightfall otherwise the slimy bastard will win."

"I heard that," Lancelot called back from further down the column, his voice mildly amused. "I expect my money, Bors."

Gawain and even Jols smirked at the exchange. I found I wasn't too sure how to feel at being the source of their amusement. Though at my expense, I was at least somewhat pleased that the knights were at least were not being hostile but I also knew that slaves were often the butt of jokes. How many times had the Romans in the villa made comments about my height?

It was par the course so I remained quiet. Gawain said something to Bors while we rode, their voices drifting over my head as I tried desperately to disappear. It would be easier if they simply ignored me.

I realized they were still discussing bets, talking about some other wager that Bors had made. Gawain commented that Bors had made a poor decision but Bors shook his head widely.

"I've just had a short bout of bad luck, is all. Trust me, when this girl finally decides to topple off the horse, I'll win my money back."

"Bors…" Gawain warned, shooting a nervous look my way. However Bors was nonplussed. He turned in his saddle until he was nearly nose to nose with me. I blinked in surprise and apprehension.

"What? She knows she ain't going to last long. Isn't that right?"

I raised my brows but Gawain interrupted with a stern edge to his voice.

"Bors, leave her alone."

"Why should I?" Bors countered. "The way I see it, we've been sent to get some bastard Roman and his family, all while dragging along a woman and a monk. And to make it better, the Saxons are around the corner and the Woads… well, all I'm saying is that the less we have to carry the better I think. So, woman, any chance you can just…"

He flapped his hands in a sort of shooing motion. I glanced down quietly.

"Fall off?"

"I knew she was smart," Bors cackled. Gawain rolled his eyes before looking back at me. He shook his head firmly.

"Just ignore Bors. Most of us do."

"I'm just saying what we're all thinking. Maybe she can take the monk with her…"

Gawain gave his companion another withering look but kept his mouth shut. Bors, looking a bit proud of himself, snorted.

I stared between the two men, weighing my options.

I cleared my throat carefully.

"If I fall off now, will you give me the three silver pieces?"

Bors' laugh boomed across the field. A few of the other knights peered over their shoulders, their expressions ranging from curiosity to confusion. I felt my cheeks flush but managed to keep my head up, feeling a bit emboldened.

I was going to die anyway. If I had managed to survive a few drunken comments the night before, then I was confident that Gawain at least wouldn't decapitate me. Bors I was still uncertain of.

Bors flashed me a smile that looked far less predatory than before, his eyes crinkling at the sides as he took his time to scan me. His booming laugh shifted into a light chortle.

"Well, well, well… looks like the little healer's got some backbone. Where've you been hiding?"

"A badger's burrow…"

Gawain peered at me in amusement. I could see he was smothering a laugh. Our conversation from the night before fluttered to the forefront of my mind. While I didn't know what 'burrow' was, I remembered the word 'badger'.

Big rat.

I found a hesitant smile tug at my lips while Bors frowned in confusion. Looking between Gawain and I, the bald man finally huffed.

"Maybe you'll make it through this yet, woman."

Then, without warning, Bors heartily slapped me on the shoulder. I grabbed the pommel to avoid toppling off the horse and winced at the force behind the action. I thought I saw Gawain twitch a hand as if planning to ensure I didn't fall off.

Bors, oblivious to his own strength, nodded thoughtfully.

"Vanora said she thought you had some fire to you. And here I thought we would be lugging your corpse behind us by mid-morning."

"The day's not over," I tested, and I easily earned another laugh from the boisterous man. Tipping his head back, his laugh sounded like a boom of a cannon.

"You're not so bad."

Suddenly I had a thought. Turning to the laughing man, I asked.

"How do you know Vanora?"

"She's his lover," Gawain offered, his voice light. I looked over at the blonde man who suddenly smirked in mirth. He cast an askance look at the other man and pointed. "And the mother to his eleven children."

"Eleven children?" I gasped loudly. Suddenly I remembered the overheard conversation from the day before where Bors spoke about his brood. Remembering the red-head from the night before, it seemed almost impossible that someone who looked like she did had had eleven children.

She looked amazing. She also did not look like a woman that would be so enamoured with the oddly animalistic man seated to my left.

Bors puffed up his chest in pride, no doubt thinking along the same lines as me and grinned. "My beautiful Vanora. I love the little bastards too. Vanora's hoping for a twelfth."

Blinking, I cast a glance at Gawain to see if this was a joke between the men but the blonde knight did little to hide the smile under his beard. Jols, who had been quiet throughout the conversation and riding behind us coughed down a laugh. I had forgotten he was there.

Unsure how to politely respond to such a statement, I simply replied, "I hope it works out for you both."

Gawain's smile deepened when Bors proudly smirked. I managed to keep my own smile to myself at the sight.

"We will ride hard for the rest of the afternoon!" Arthur called, causing both Bors and Gawain to look forward. Bors shot me a jaunty smirk before he urged his mount forward. Gawain lingered for only a second, leaning closer.

"Roll with her gait. Remember that."

And then with that, he too kicked his horse into a gallop. Left behind, I stared after the two knights. It had been…nice speaking with the pair of them. Just as it had been the night before with Galahad and Gawain at the bar.

It was almost normal, despite the situation.

Have I been that desperate for normalcy? I thought grimly, thinking back to the few conversations I had had since I arrived in Rome that did not end in a beating or an awkward look. I paused for a moment. I could only think of Pelagius which meant it had been a very long time.

I looked at Jols, my face no doubt somewhat confused. He smiled kindly.

"Gawain is right. If you let yourself move with the horse, it'll be easier for you to ride. Stop fighting it and you'll be less sore tomorrow."

I had been enjoying the slower pace, primarily since it did not rub as painfully against my thighs. I bit my lip in anticipation. For a few minutes I had forgotten about the fear I felt of flying off a galloping horse but it came back with a vengeance. I gripped the pommel tight once more.

Jols maneuvered his horse around mine before he gave a quick 'yip'. The horse bolted forward, my own mount quickly following suit. I knew this time to keep a tight hold so as to not slide off the horse but I once again felt the pain course through me at the rough motion.

Holding on for dear life, I willed myself to last a few more hours as we sped over the hills towards a series of low clouds in the distance. The wind whipped at my face.

I simply hoped that Bors would not win the bet so soon.

Lying on the small blanket Jols had packed for me, I tried my best not to groan out loud. While extremely thankful to the kind man I was learning was more or less Arthur's valet, I was unable to give my proper thanks for the thoughtful packing before I collapsed onto the ground.

My legs felt stiff to the point that lying flat was almost too painful. The muscles in my thighs and calves screamed, and the skin of my inner thighs was tender. Thankfully there was no blood, but I was certain the skin was rubbed red from the near constant gallop Arthur insisted on.

We had set camp not long after it had gotten dark, just outside a small cropping of trees that looked far more ominious that the open field. I had briefly wondered if it would not be safer to camp out in the windblown fields, but Tristan, the quiet knight who barely spoke, led the group to the trees instead.

I was in no position to question the man and was mainly just relieved to be able to get off the horse for more than a few minutes. I nearly fell off my horse in my eagerness to get off, flopping off the animal with as much grace as a newborn fawn. Horton, annoyingly, seemed less impacted by the ride and casually slid off his own horse.

I was too tired to be annoyed.

Tristan informed Arthur and the other knights of a nearby stream, the hawk on his arm cawing loudly. When I had stumbled off my horse, I had to lean heavily on the gentle mare as my legs shook painfully.

The chestnut horse neighed lowly and swung her head to look at me, as if wondering if I would collapse on her. Jols, seeing my inability to do more than stand, moved over to my side and took the reins, nodding to the small clearing beyond.

"I'll cool her down. Best thing you can do is stretch your legs. Take a small walk around camp or you'll not be able to move tomorrow. You did well today. I've put a blanket over for you to rest on. We'll be up early so sleep while you can."

"Thank you," I replied genuinely. "You have been very kind me, Jols."

Jols inclined his head before he led my mare off to the side.

I hobbled more than walked, keeping to the small area the knights had claimed before I succumbed to my exhaustion and collapsed onto the blanket that had been set aside for me. The walk lasted no more than a minute or two as I was fearful that I would simply fall on my face if I remained upright any longer.

The other knights did not seem to care, busying themselves around the makeshift camp with their own horses and weapons. Horton however caught my eye from where I sat on the blanket.

He glanced around before he approached, pulling a blanket from his own pack that I noticed Jols had not set aside. Sniffing his nose, the monk moved so that he was right next to me before putting his blanket down.

I knew it was because of what the Bishop had said. Though the monk had been quiet throughout the ride, I had felt his eyes fall on me more than once, checking to see if I would risk an escape. Given my weak horsemanship, his eyes stopped drifting towards me when it became very clear by mid-afternoon that a risky escape on horseback would not be in the cards for me.

Horton had arranged his blanket next to mine, shifting until he was comfortable on the cold ground. I glared when his back was turned. I had already decided I would ignore the monk for the duration of the trip – he was in many ways a reminder of the Bishop's continued power over me. I adjusted myself on my blanket so that I did not have to look at him, instead focusing my attention on the knights.

Within five minutes, the knights had the camp set up and organized, their horses patiently waiting close by. I had never been camping before in my life, and other than the several weeks spent trudging our way through the fields to the fort, my attitude towards the pastime was not great.

Cold and usually uncomfortable, I couldn't help but be jealous at how easily the knights seemed to get comfortable despite their surroundings. Tristan and Dagonet both settled onto the ground not far from where I lay and went to sleep, not even bothering to place a blanket on the cold grassy ground. Their chests moved up and down slowly as they fell into a quick sleep.

Arthur and Lancelot wandered away from the small grove. I knew enough from the trek with the Romans to recognize that they were going to patrol the camp. Arthur spoke quietly to Jols before he left, and then Jols moved around the clearing letting the others know the rotation for the night.

The knights didn't even bat an eye.

Arthur and Lancelot would have the first watch, followed by Tristan and Dagonet which quickly explained why the two men had immediately gone to sleep before trying to eat something. Bors and Jols would be next, and then lastly, Gawain and Galahad until dawn. I noticed Jols did not include myself or Horton to the list. It did not bother me in the slightest.

I would be no use to anyone if we were attacked and I was so tired, I wasn't sure I would be able to stay awake long enough to complete my shift.

I let my eyes linger on those who were still awake.

Galahad, the young dark-haired knight who had stayed near the front of the column the entire day, had had the foulest mood in comparison to the others. Though no one looked particularly happy to be on this mission, the youngest of them held his anger around him like a shield.

Stomping around the clearing, the man muttered darkly to himself as he fixed his weapons. He threw something onto the ground with a loud huff, before collapsing onto the cool ground. His eyes shot up and met mind from across the grove.

His lips pulled back in a snarl while I hastily looked away.

Throughout the day, Galahad had focused his impressive ire on both Horton and I during the rare moments Arthur allowed us to walk. Whether it was to walk the horses, hand out provisions, or go to the restroom, Galahad's dark eyes bore into us with a fury that was frightening.

I heard him mutter curses our way, some which I couldn't understand but could assume were not pleasant. The man I had met at the kitchen bar the night before was gone. In his place, was a young man angry at the world and doing his damnedest to find someone to blame.

Tristan and Lancelot ignored Horton and I for the most part during the day, keeping to the front. I had only spoken to Bors, Gawain and Jols while Dagonet cast me kind looks that I surmised were his way of comforting me. Though I was still afraid and uncomfortable, I appreciated the big man's efforts regardless.

I kept my gaze lowered while I felt Galahad's anger float over me. I knew better than to give someone more ammunition to want to harm me by being belligerent. I made a mental note to stay out of the young knight's way as much as I could. Though the daggers on his waist were not as intimidating as say the swords strapped to Lancelot's back, the curved bow the man wore set my teeth on edge.

The last thing I wanted was an arrow to the back.

Galahad's furious focus on me was thankfully broken when Jols began handing out small, dried pieces of meat to everyone who were still awake. I took the meat thankfully, nibbling on the tough tack that reminded me of bad convenience store jerky.

Silence stretched between the group. Everyone seemed to be absorbed in their thoughts, quietly eating their meals. Bors, who I was fast understanding was a very interesting character, chattered away either oblivious or uncaring about the somewhat dark mood that settled over the camp.

Pulling the cloak Jols had found me tighter around my body, I put my small piece of meat away and shivered against the cold. The temperature had noticeably dropped the further north we went and with the sun gone, I could see my breath in front of me.

Winter was fast approaching. I had thought it was perhaps sometime in the fall, but as we move northward, the air grew more chilled and dark clouds hung heavily around us making me realize it had to be at least November.

I had heard Tristan speaking quietly to Arthur before we urged our horses towards the woods mention that he expected snow in a day or two. While I had been sceptical with the sun still peaking over the hills, I now decided I couldn't doubt the more mysterious knight given the nip in the night air.

No one else seemed to notice the cold so I merely tugged my cloak tighter, ignoring the breeze on my cheeks. I did not want to draw more attention towards myself by asking for a fire. I knew better than that as based on the general kindness I had been shown (Galahad excluded), I did not want to push my luck.

I felt a small lump press against my hip as I readjusted my position. It took me a moment to place it but as I pulled out my idol, the familiar wood grain soothed my unsettled spirit. The grooves on the wood under my bare fingers lent some minor comfort after a long day, and I finally felt a sense of control as I held the small item. I had almost forgotten I had placed it in the folds of my dress before I had gone to sleep in the fort but was immensely thankful that I had not left it behind.

It reminded me of a past that seemed so far away but brought with it a longing that had not yet dimmed. Though as depressing as the memories were, I feared the day where I would wake up and believe that this time was my home rather than the continual nightmare I knew it to be.

I sighed quietly as I began habitually wearing another crescent into the wood, twisting my thumb back and forth in a motion that had become almost instinct. My nails were ragged after weeks on the road but I was able to slowly wear away a section of the wood.

"Can we not have a fire?" Horton suddenly asked, breaking the silence that had settled across the camp now that Bors had finally petered out. Horton sniffed dramatically and brought his brown cloak around him, eyeing the knights as if they would suddenly leap from their spots to provide firewood.

Gawain, who had been sitting on a rock, turned from sharpening his axe and gave the monk a flat look. I grimaced at the expression and unconsciously shifted away from Horton at my side. I would rather sit in the freezing cold in silence for days if needed if that lessened the animosity between myself and those in the group.

If Horton wanted to stir the group's anger, then let it be strictly on him.

Gawain returned to his sharpening before he spoke.

"We are in Woad territory, monk. The less attention we draw to ourselves here, the less likely we will to find our heads on their spikes by dawn."

"Oh… I see," Horton stuttered, his eyes rounding at the prospect. He threw up a hasty sign of the cross and murmured a prayer under his breath. Chastened, he turned away from the other men and laid down beside me, bundling himself as deeply into his cloak as he could so that he resembled nothing more than a bundle of fabric.

The blonde knight snorted at Horton's reaction and shook his head. Looking up momentarily, his gaze shifted to meet my own.

His eyes lingered on the blanket I had cocooned around myself along with my cloak but I hastily shook my head at the look on his face.

"I'm okay," I said instantly, not wanting to be associated with Horton's complaining whatsoever. I cleared my throat and tried to look like the cool breeze wasn't affecting me.

"I mean, I'm not cold. I don't need a fire."

Gawain paused, his hands hovering over his axes as he surveyed me from across the circle. Galahad, who sat next to him and still looked murderous, let out a low growl.

"Is that a word from your language? 'Okay'?" Gawain asked carefully, noting the sudden suspicious expression on his companions face. He slowly put his axes down on the ground as he slide from the rock to the grass. He let his back rest against the granite outcropping while he stretched his legs out in front of him.

It was hard not to notice that he too did not have a blanket. I suddenly wondered if Jols had added the blanket knowing I would not be able to suffer the cold ground and felt another stab of thankfulness go out to the somewhat gruff valet.

I realized I hadn't responded to Gawain's question. His blue eyes stared into mine in waiting as I remembered the question he had asked. Galahad's eyes were narrowed into slits. I felt heat rush to my face.

"Yes. I forget some days," I explained. I tried to shrug my shoulders but under the amount of fabric I had on, it went unnoticed. A few of the other knights who had been minding their own business suddenly looked over. I gripped the idol tightly between my fingers and grimaced. I did not want the attention focused onto me but it seemed that entertainment was lax.

I licked my lips and tried again.

"I've only been speaking Latin for a year so I find the language hard. It's very different to what I'm used to."

"You speak Latin well for the most part," Gawain admitted, tilting his head to the side. "Though you have a strange accent."

I fumbled for something to say.

"I…uh, didn't know."

Gawain shrugged unbothered. Of all the knights, besides Dagonet and perhaps Jols, Gawain was by far proving to be the most tolerant to my presence. From the night before to the morning in the barn, Gawain had been surprisingly kind in his interactions and even going as far to be helpful. He was friendly when he had no reason to be, but I appreciated his geniality nonetheless.

"It is not unpleasant but I have never heard it's like before."

"She sounds like a Woad..." Tristan suddenly piped up from where he lay, startling me. The rest of the group also turned to look at the quiet knight who I had assumed was sleeping. "Her accent sounds the same."

Tristan did not open his eyes while he spoke but it became abundantly clear that he had not been sleeping at all. I felt a trickle of fear flush through me so I snapped my jaw shut. Though Galahad's blatant hatred was manageable, something in the nonchalant way Tristan spoke was far more dangerous.

Gawain flicked his eyes over to Tristan while his brows rose. He cocked his head to the side and seemed to consider the darker man's words, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. Galahad shot me another suspicious look.

I cursed silently, now feeling the intensity of the volatile knight's glare back on me in full force. I shifted uncomfortably while I tried to think of a way to explain I was no Woad. I didn't even know what a Woad was until yesterday.

"I'm not a Woad. But maybe I just sound like one?" I said carefully, hoping to ease off of the conversation. Tristan hummed from his spot.

"You don't look like a Woad. More like a Saxon."

The air around us seemed to chill even further at the word. 'Saxon' had been haunting me since the morning, when the Bishop had mentioned the mysterious groups' approach towards Alecto. I had assumed they were similar to the Woads but given the tense response, I suddenly felt my stomach drop.

If these men looked unsettled by the mere mention of Saxons, then they had to be worse than the blue men they had seen the day before.

"What is 'Saxon'?"

My question hung in the air for a second and I immediately regretted asking it when even Bors looked a bit unsettled. I ducked further into the safety of the blanket, feeling a bit foolish.

"They are Northmen from beyond the seas," Tristan explained from his position on the ground as if that would answer my question.

My mind tried to place 'northmen' and I frowned, unsure what that meant. Somehow, despite still not having his eyes open, the mysterious knight spoke again to further explain.

"They come to this land to raid and pillage and kill. Whatever they do not kill, they leave for the gods."

I didn't understand most of the words but I knew the word for kill. I shifted in my seat. At the sight, Gawain sighed and his gentle voice cut through the air.

"They are men from another land. They wear furs and come to Britain to steal from the Romans. They take everything they come across – and kill the rest. There is no mercy in what they do. Their people are not welcome in these lands."

"I'm not a Saxon or a Woad," I blurted out immediately. The men shot each other amused looked at the outburst, minus Tristan who was still pretending to be asleep and Galahad who looked as if he expected me to suddenly burst into flames.

"Jols, you know some of the Woad language," Bors said, startling the man who had been keeping to himself near the horses. "Does she sound like a Woad to you?"

"I would need to hear more than a few words…" He responded honestly. "But I don't think so. She has a different accent from what I know."

I thought I saw him give me a conspiratorial look though it was hard to tell in the dark. Regardless, I nearly hugged the man for defending me. I sent him a weak smile in return.

Twirling the idol in my hand, I hoped that the conversation would fall into a lull. I did not need these men picking apart my past and wished to remain on their good graces for as long as possible.

"Is that a figure your god?"

Tristan's voice once again caused me to jump, my hands immediately hiding the idol in the folds of my cloak.

Glancing over, I felt my face blanch to see the shaggy haired knight was now assuredly awake, and was watching me cooly. His dark brown eyes were fixed on where I had been holding the idol, an unreadable expression on his tattooed face. I had not had a moment to truly examine the strange symbols on his face but in the dark the lines only seemed to accentuate the danger that ooze off of him.

I had had little interaction to no with him since I had arrived at the fort but his intense eyes unsettled me. They were an uncommon shade of blue, almost black that seemed to vary based on the light. It was like staring into the ocean – unknowable and dangerous all at once.

I slowly took the idol back out from beneath my cloak. His dark eyes followed the motion, nothing in his face giving away his thoughts.

"No… it's a child's toy I was given a long time ago. I don't know what it is, really."

Tristan quirked his head. His expression stayed the same.

"If you don't know, then why carry it."

It was not a question. Just a statement of fact and I honestly didn't know how to respond to it.

Holding the figure in my hand, I twirled it slightly. It was small, no bigger than the size of my own palm and worn smooth. I remembered the day I received it and felt the familiar guilt claw at my stomach. I never liked to think on how I ended up with the small idol in the first place.

"A little boy gave it to me… on the day I came to Rome." I said, my voice quiet at the memory.

"I was taken to a slave house. I didn't understand Latin so I was afraid. I... I cried all day and all night, but then a little boy came to me and gave me this. I think he was a slave too. I've had it with me ever since."

My lips pursed at the memory.

The young boy's face, dirty and equally streaked with tears, as he crawled over to where I sat still flashed vividly within my mind. Holding out the small idol in his grubby hands, the boy had somehow managed a grin, showing the small gap between his two front teeth.

The sight of his smile made me feel so strange, forcing me to forget for a moment where I was as I stared at his grinning smile. I took the idol almost as if in a trance. And then the next day, he was gone.

My heart panged at the memory but Tristan's voice brought me out of my darker thoughts.

"Can I see it?"

"Tristan…" Someone scolded quietly, but I nodded to the quiet dark-haired man. I had no reason to hide it from him.

I stood and moved over to the other man, still draped in my blanket. I carefully passed over the idol before returning to my spot.

Tristan turned it over in his hands, flipping the idol over in the darkness to get a better look at it. His fingers traced the small crescent grooves idly as he studied the wooden animal.

The other knights and I observed as the quiet man perused the idol thoroughly. After what felt like minutes, Tristan finally seemed appeased by what he found. He lightly placed the idol down on the ground in front of him.

"It's of Sarmatian make," he said, a faint hint of a smile tugging at his lips before it disappeared. I almost missed it.

I blinked in surprised, but the other knights all perked up at the sudden revelation. Galahad immediately moved closer to look at the toy. Some of the anger in his face had faded as he peered at it eagerly, his expression suddenly boyish.

"How can you tell?"

Tristan shrugged noncommittally.

"I had one like it when I was a boy. It's a fox. A winter fox from the north lands most likely. Some Sarmatian tribes to the north would wear their white furs to battle."

"What is a 'fox'?" I asked, once again frustrated at my lack of a grasp of the language. Tristan handed the idol over to Galahad, who eagerly examined it himself. The young knight's dark eyes seemed almost desperate as he scanned it.

"It's like a little red dog, that lives in the wild. Clever little bastards," Bors supplied, joining the conversation. I quickly nodded in understanding and murmured my thanks to the bald man. Bors looked uninterested in the overall exchange and fiddled with a dagger instead.

Looking back at the toy in Galahad's hands, I could see how it could have been a fox at one time. The tail had been worn but I could easily make out the four legs and what could have been a snout at one time.

What are the odds, I wondered to myself. The young boy must have also been a Sarmatian, like these men. The coincidence seemed uncanny and incredibly unlikely.

"Tristan, are you sure?" Galahad asked again, his dark brows furrowing over his eyes as he glared at the toy. He flicked another suspicious look my way. I almost expected that he was thinking I had murdered the boy and stole the toy from him rather than the story I had told.

Tristan merely nodded, his voice bored. "Yes."

Shooting me one last unreadable look, Tristan rested back onto his side before closing his eyes once more.

"A woman who looks like a Saxon, sounds like a Woad, serves the Romans, and carries a Sarmatian toy...You are a strange woman."

"Strange indeed…Let me see it," Gawain said, moving to take the toy from Galahad who glowered in protest. Running his hand over the small notches, Gawain squinted at the rows. "What are these marks on it?"

"Days…" I replied and he cast me a curious look.

"Days? There must be at least a hundred marks on here."

"722 days…" I began, however I realized I had spoken the number in English. Sighing, I tried again. "Nearly two years since I was home… It feels like longer."

I hugged my knees to my chest. I knew it was nothing in comparison to what these men had been forced to endure. Hadn't Gawain said it had been nearly fifteen years since they had seen their homes?

"It always does."

I looked over at the young mercurial knight and could see how his lips pulled down at the corners, whatever semi-good mood he had been in immediately gone. I suddenly felt guilty. Though the pain of being away from home was fierce, what was it like for these men? Did they even remember home?

I glanced over at Gawain and he gave me a pained look, one that spoke of the unanswered questions in my mind. My heart clenched at the sight but he turned away, handing the toy over to Bors. He barely looked at the toy before he passed it back.

Gawain held the idol for one more moment before moving across the clearing to hand it back to me. My heart immediately calmed at the familiar weight as it touched my hands and I unconsciously tucked it back into the safety of my pocket.

Gawain offered a faint smile before he returned to his spot. The mood around us had shifted, and I knew it was in part to the reminder of Sarmatia.

Each man looked lost in thought, their mind's moving to fragmented pieces of childhood memories. My heart went out to them.

"We'll be riding even harder tomorrow. You should get some rest," The blonde knight said quietly before he too sat back down. He turned his back to me and went to sleep.