When I come to my senses, I am lying across a Roman horse with a Roman's dirty paw on my backside. That is my first thought; the second one is a flash of blinding, scalding pain inside my head, as though it was caving in. I retch and have to hold back with all my strength not to vomit down the horse's flank. I try to lie still and gather my wits.

The second blow to my face when the damn Roman beast backhands me is almost enough to make me faint. I look straight ahead until my vision is clear. Relief floods me immediately: Amlaidh and Verica look unharmed. I have been so stupid! I only saw the evident movements of troops and did not notice their stealthy approach. It was impossible to see, but still... I will repay them for this somehow, with their freedom or my life.

I do not care about myself. Indignity at the hand of men is in the contract for a woman working with men. Too many like to take advantage of those weaker than them, because they themselves are nothing. I hide a smile: some women know how to bite back. Men have a critical weak spot that is very susceptible to pain. I amuse myself for some moments thinking how I would repay the Roman if I were free. He is not of my people; no more than an insect is. And just like an insect that has drawn blood from me, he means nothing to me, even though his bite should bring about my death. This too is a part of life. If I can, I will swat him dead, just like an insect. Oh no... with considerable more pain and leisure than I would ever inflict on an insect. He cannot know: he thinks his lust shames me. He does not know I know a greater, more powerful, all-pervasive lust than any of the cheap twitchings he could enjoy nightly with his whores.

Maybe this is what my uncle saw in me when he spoke of my geis: blood lust would always rule me more powerfully than lust of the flesh.

I realize I am rambling in my mind. Another dangerous consequence of the blow to my head. It scares me. I need my wits about me if I want to escape with the others, get my revenge, or find a clean death. I will never leave this place alone.

They sit me a bit more comfortably on the horse. I am calm, biding my time. I try to catch a glimpse of my weapons. I hope they did not leave them in the clearing, but no, they were too valuable for that. Pity I missed the Romans' faces when they saw my gladius. Where are my most valuable things? The widow's brooch, Grandfather's lar? I think I still feel a weight on my chest down my tunic, but I cannot check with my arms bound back. I am reasonably sure that my little dagger is still inside my ankle bindings.

After a while - my sense of time is still shaky, damn it - we ride into camp. They make us dismount and herd us towards a tent. And then, to my everlasting surprise, our fetters are cut. Instinctively I crowd sideways against Verica, protecting her between myself and Amlaidh. I flex my arms, carefully, and touch the drying blood down the side of my neck.

We find ourselves in front of a Roman officer. I cannot read his face. I try to calculate how much time I have and whether it is actually the moment for a suicidal attack or if we have other options, when the Roman grabs Amlaidh in a soldierly embrace!

My eyes almost pop out of their sockets. I glance at Verica and she lets me know that her dagger is still in place too. But now... everything is changing under our very eyes!