The Wench is a Lady.

“Since you are not having any luck why do you not take a walk down to the edge of the village?”

Men chuckled and women laughed. Dagonet knew the joke. The far edge of the village had a wooden house where a woman lived. They went to her easily when their illnesses and wounds demanded it, but otherwise preferred to dismiss her. Women made nasty remarks about her, and men always threw out the insult that when another could not find a whore to warm his bed he should take a walk to the edge of the village.

“A man would have to be very desperate to go see her!” one barmaid shouted.

Vanora scowled. “Just do your work, woman, or I will make you do it. We cannot all be whores like you, lifting our skirts as soon as a man’s eyes fall upon us.”

“Oh no, and you would not know how that is with the knights, would you?” the woman shot back haughtily.

Bors stood and took the few steps that brought him to the woman’s back. He did not touch her, but his voice was cold and dangerous. “Has any other man here found my woman easily lifting her skirts for many?”

The woman stiffened, paling, and saw all the men shake their heads and turn away to avoid confrontation with the knight. “I did not think so,” he added. His hand fell on her shoulder. “And you? Do you have proof of your accusations? If I were to ask that all the men who fucked you rise how many would stand?”

He did not squeeze. His touch was light, but to her it had the weight of her life balanced beneath it. “No, no proof.”

“Get to work,” he told her. “Be it serving drinks, or spreading your legs. Though I hear you are better at the second.”

Lancelot stood. “You have made your point, Bors. Now let the wench be.”
……………………………

It did not need great care, but he knew better than anyone how a small wound, left untended, can fester and poison a man to death. Holding the cloth wrapped bleeding hand he walked to the edge of the village. It was a plain square house with no second floor, but it was clean and cared for. An herb garden to one side, a small pen with a goat and a pig and several hens to the other side. Knocking upon the door he waited.

The door opened, and a woman warily looked at him. “Aye?”

Dagonet held up the wounded hand. “I need your skills.”

Stepping out some she took his hand and gently unwrapped it to look at the wound. “Hmm, come ‘round to the back, Dagonet knight. I will not have you bleeding all over my clean floor.”

One brow arched up. “You know me?”

“I know of you,” she told him, leading him around the pen and to an area where there was a well scrubbed wooden table and wooden benches. “There are not many who do not know of Arthur and his knights.” She motioned to him to sit. From a large barrel she scooped water into a wooden bowl. “Soak your hand. I will get what I need to tend your wound.”

Dagonet obeyed, and watched her enter the house. The woman was plump, but she was pretty enough. He did not see why others would mock her and insult her. She seemed wary, and yet pleasant enough. She returned, and handed him a beaten copper tankard. “Drink. Your wound it deep, and will need proper cleaning and stitching. If it poisons you will not be able to wield a weapon.”

Tilting the tankard to his lips he took a deep pull of the liquid, and grinned in appreciation. “Your cider is beyond compare.”

“No need for flattery,” she flushed. “It is strong to overpower the taste of the herbs within. The herbs will numb the pain.”

“I have never seen you at the garrison.”

“I do not go near it,” she told him, removing his hand from the water. She probed at the wound, opening it to see if there was any dirt. Bending lower she sniffed at it. “It does not smell poisoned. This is good.”

Dagonet winced, but did not pull his hand away. “Why do you not go near it?”

“I would not have others suffer my presence,” she truthfully told him. “I know what they say of me, and I do not favor hearing it more than once.”

“But should you need food, or aid?” he queried, blinking in surprise.

“I exchange my skills in healing for food or aid. What I cannot do a man I healed will do. For you, for tending your wound, I would ask of you that you help me with the roof of my house. It leaks, and I find I do not like leaks.”

“It is a fair trade,” he nodded. “When you are done I will look at the roof and see what needs be done.”

“Thank you.” She glanced at him, found him already frowning in thoughtfulness at the roof, and smiled before she went to work. He hissed a few times as she plied the needle to his wound, but otherwise neither moved nor said a word. Once the stitching was done she smeared a thick waxy substance upon the wound and wrapped it in clean cloth. “I am done.”

He nodded, examining his hand. “Good clean work, lady. I am grateful.” Rising he stretched to loosen his muscles. “I will now climb up to examine your roof.”
……………………………

Dagonet laid down a layer of straw, firmly packed, and then covered it with wooden slats. Lastly a thick substance was spread upon it to keep the wet of rain and snow at bay until spring. Crying got his attention and he glanced up to see a group of three boys half carrying a fourth.

“She will curse me!” the injured boy stated. “Me ma says she is a witch.”

“She will heal you. She saved my baby sister when she had the coughing sickness. Me da said without the wench’s aid the babe would have died.”

“She is a whore some say,” one boy whispered loudly.

One of Bors’ boys scoffed with a loud snort. “Me da says she is no whore. He says nearly all the serving wenches are prone to lift their skirts easily, but that the healer here is a good woman.”

Said healer opened the door. “And what have we here?”

“He fell,” Bors’ son stated. “If you heal him I will catch you six fish!”

“Bring him out back,” she went back inside.

Dagonet continued to work, but paused to watch as she exited once more and smiled reassuringly at the boy lying upon the table. “How old are you, boy?” she probed gently at his leg.

“Ten summers,” the boy replied and then cried out.

She lifted the leg of his loose breeches. “It is not broken. I will bind it tightly, and you will be fine. But you must not run or walk upon it for long. You must let it heal. Do you understand me, boy?”

The boy nodded, and she went to work. When she was done he tested his weight upon it, and then grinned. “It does not hurt so much.”

“Good. Now return here in four days, and I will look upon it once more. I ask of you one favor, boy. When you are healed snare me a hare.”

The boy nodded. Dagonet watched her point to a spot beneath the eave that he could not see. “There I have four small honey loaves. You may each have one, and then be on your way before your families worry.”

Dagonet blinked, startled by her generous nature. He did not understand why this woman was the brunt of such cruel words. Especially when she called up to him a few minutes later. He stood and found her putting a tray upon the table. “It is not much, but it will fill your belly.”

Climbing down he washed his hands at the barrel, and then nodded to her. “My thanks to you.” The tray held a small honey loaf, some soft goat’s milk cheese, a bowl of stew, and a crisp baked apple. There was a tankard of cider, and he sat to eat.

“How goes the work?” she asked, peering up towards the roof. There were still bundles of straw and slats of wood in a bucket.

“I have found several other areas that are weakened and should be fixed before the rains come,” he told her.

“It will soon be dark,” she told him. “Will you have time to finish?”

“Nay, but I will return tomorrow to do so.” He ripped the small loaf apart, and with a finger spread cheese upon a chunk. “You make this cheese?”

“Aye. I make much of my own things,” she told him. She fiddled nervously with the folds of her skirt. “I would thank you, Dagonet, for this aid. You should not feel the need to speak to me, but I would thank you for the conversation. It is kind of you. It will soon be dark. Eat, and I will clean later. There is no need for you to remain to work after you eat.”

Dagonet could only watch her hurry back inside, his mouth full of the delicious stew. He continued to eat, and when he was done he climbed atop the roof and lowered the bucket and straw so they would not fall upon any unwary passersby.
…………………………

The Roman landed hard upon his back, his arms flung out, and blood spattered upon his face. Everyone stared, stunned. Dagonet snarled at the soldier. “Should I hear you did as you planned I will gut you, and let the crows feast upon your entrails.”

Lancelot, always aware that a fragile peace existed between the knights and the Romans, took Dagonet’s arm and pulled gently. “Come, let it be. It is over.”

Bors spat down upon the man sprawled on the ground. “I will help him gut you, and I will drink wine while I watch you die a slow and painful death.”

“Bors,” Lancelot exasperatedly called. Turning to Dagonet he made the man sit. “What has brought this on? Are you bedding the wench?”

“He would be only one of many,” a serving wench snorted.

Dagonet grabbed her arm and yanked her face to his. “I hear even women can fall afoul of a sword.”

The woman was pulled away, and Lancelot slammed an angry hand upon the tabletop. “You will go to your rooms, Dagonet, and await for Arthur to speak to you.”

Rising Dagonet slapped the tankards of wine off the table in one fell swoop of his arm, glared at everyone, and obeyed Lancelot. Bors pursed his lips. “You know he is not apt to behave thus.”

“And yet he threatened a woman,” Lancelot snapped.

“He threatened a low born whore,” Gawain shot.

The serving wench glowered at the blond knight when she heard those words. “You’ve crawled up these skirts a time or two, Gawain.”

“Before you became more well worn than the roads the Romans built,” he told her. “It would be easier to count the number of men who have not ridden you on this damn island.”

“Whoreson!” she spat.

Lancelot got between the woman and the blond knight. “Remove her before she has all of us wanting to kill her!”

Vanora took the woman by the hair. “Gladly.” There were screeches and curses, and Bors laughed in delight as he watched his lover drag the other female off.
………………………………………

“You threatened a woman!” Arthur snapped. “We are all equal…”

“Even you would agree that though we may believe in equality we never blindly accept cruelty of any kind towards another.”

Sighing heavily Arthur sat. “Then speak to me, Dagonet. The woman would have you publicly whipped for laying hand upon her. She cries she has witnesses. Tell me what is going on.”

“Then whip me, for I will not apologize to the whore. I cannot feel guilty for what I did,” the knight shot back.

“I will not have my men whipped,” the commander shouted. “Speak to me, Dagonet! Have I ever given you reason to not trust me?”

“No,” the bald knight sighed. “Very well, Arthur.”
……………………………

She exited the back doorway of the house, and put hands upon her ample hips. “You are mad!” she shot. “Why would you risk so much simply for words they utter?”

“They speak unjustly of you,” he began to tie rope about the bundles of straw.

“They are but words,” she told him. “I have shut my ears to them long ago.”

Dagonet turned suddenly to face her. She was short, barely reached above his chest. “Will you tell me they do not wound? Will you tell me that their cruelties do not affect you? When you begin to walk to the garrison and be with us I will stop beating to a pulp any man who demeans you and threatening any wench who insults you.”

Staring at him she was lost for words for a long moment. “I do not understand you,” she whispered. “Why should you care? No others do.”

“We all have the right to justice and to live peacefully,” he told her. “You have given me no reason to dislike you, and no proof of their lies. If no other would champion you then I will.”

Flustered beyond words she hid it by throwing up her arms and marching quickly into the house. Inside she stood a moment, gazing about, unsure what to do next, or how to feel. There was knocking upon the wooden front door, and she hurried to it. Opening it she found Vanora and Bors’ son.

The boy held up a string of fish. “As I promised,” he grinned.

“Thank you, lad,” she told him. “Hang them ‘round back of the house, and then sit at the table.”

She had always liked children. They were more curious, more apt to know someone before judging them, and always eager to learn or willing to help. Often a few brought her things from the woods that they knew she hunted for and needed for her medicines and cures. Going to a shelf she drew down a cloth, and unwrapping it cut two thick slices of a flat cake. She covered it with honey and ground nuts. Next she poured two tankards of cider, and carried the tray out back.

The boy beamed as he finished tying the string of fish to the side of the house. “I caught them fresh this morning,” he proudly told her.

She set a slice before him. “Eat.”

The boy dug into it, licking his fingers after each bite. “Ma told me to find out if you need anything from the woods, or the garrison.”

“Should she find some flour for me tell her I will make her a winter’s worth of her salve,” she told him.

The boy nodded. “She hoped you would,” he admitted.

“Whore!” The scream was seconds before the attack. A large stone hit her in the side of the head. The boy shouted in fear as she slumped and blood sprayed.

Upon the roof Dagonet let out a bellow of rage, jumped down, and chased the attacker halfway through the village before he caught her. Slamming her to the bole of a tree he held her there with one hand about her throat. “Give me one reason I should not snap your throat,” he snarled. He was impervious to her nails that clawed at his hand and wrist.

Villagers gathered a few feet away, curious at the display. One villager sent a child to the garrison to fetch the knights and Arthur. The small girl took off running, zigzagging through the adults in her way, and finding Galahad first. Going up to him she tugged upon his tunic, and when the knight glanced down she stared up pleadingly at him.

Galahad knelt. “What is wrong, little one?” Her hair was a tangle of blond hair, and her face smudged with dirt.

“Dagonet is angry at a lady,” she whispered to him, leaning closer so only he would hear her. “He is choking her.”

“Where?” he asked her in a moderate tone, but inside he was tense and demanding.

She threw one thin arm out, pointing down towards the village. “There.”

Galahad nodded. “Now, little one, I need you to do something for me. Go to the stables, and there you will find Lancelot and Tristan caring for Lancelot’s horse. Tell them that Galahad asks them to hurry and follow you and bring them to where Dagonet is. Can you do this for me?” The girl nodded so he sent her off with a teasing little tap to her behind. Rising he headed for the village, his strides long and hurried. On the way he saw Bors. “Come. Dagonet is about to kill a woman.”

Bors did not question, but followed. They found the crowd, and pushed through. “Dagonet,” Bors cautiously spoke. “What are you doing, Dagonet?”

“She may have killed her,” Dagonet growled, still not relinquishing his hold on the serving woman’s throat. “I want to know why, and I want her to be punished for her attack.”

“Who, Dagonet?” Galahad asked, moving around to be on the large knight’s other side.

“The healer,” he replied. “Galahad, I did not have the time to see if she lived.”

“I will go, but Dagonet, do not do anything foolish. Swear to me,” the curly-haired knight finished.

“I make no promises,” Dagonet said more to the woman whose life he held in his hands, enjoying how tears sprang to her eyes.

Bors nodded to Galahad. “Go. Dagonet and I will talk. Right, Dag?” The reply to his question was a non-committal grunt. Bors neared and eyed the hand on the woman’s throat. Not tight enough to kill her, but enough to make her fight for breath and regret whatever she had done. “What did she do?”

“Threw a stone as big as my fist at the healer’s head and called her whore,” Dagonet replied.

“You are certain it was her?” It was Lancelot as he and Tristan neared. Gawain and Arthur were steps behind.

“I was there fixing the healer’s roof as payment for tending my hand,” Dagonet told him. “One of Bors’ bastards was also there. Had she missed she could have easily killed the boy.”

Bors shoved his face near the woman’s. “That you did not kill my son is the only reason I do not slice you open.”

“Enough.” Arthur neared. “Let her go, Dagonet. We will have a fair trial. Lancelot, manacle the woman, and put her at the center post.”

The center post was a tall wooden post near the garrison where criminals were kept until trial. Public punishments were done there. The woman’s eyes were wide, and she tried to croak pleas, but the knights ignored her. Arthur faced Dagonet. “Is the healer alive?”

“Galahad has gone to see,” Bors replied.

The knights marched to the healer’s house, and the villagers followed more slowly to not miss a moment. Galahad opened the door. “The boy ran to get his mother. Vanora tends the healer. She has not awakened.”

Arthur glanced down at the woman who lay upon a pallet. Her skin was pale, and a bandage was wrapped around her forehead. “Will she live?”

“I do not know,” Vanora honestly replied. “I am no healer. I believe that should she not awaken soon she may not live.” Her hands fisted. “She is a good woman, Arthur. She is no whore, and asks so little in return for her healing skills. That cow must be punished for hurting this woman.”

Gawain stepped forward. “She is right, Arthur. I have often come here seeking healing aid, and never have I had reason to dislike the woman.”

“Then why do so many speak ill of her?” Arthur was confounded.

“She is not a small woman,” Vanora bluntly told him. “She is a large woman, and for this reason men insult her, and women treat her unkindly. And yet they would run here for healing should their children be ill, or to tend wounds. When all is well they return to the insults and harsh treatment. It is why she never goes to the garrison. It is why she asks for food or help about this house in payment for her skills. The children like her. She does not have much, but she will never let a child go by without feeding them even a small thing.”

Bors patted her shoulder in comfort. “You will ruin your pretty face should you cry.”

It was not the most romantic thing, but she knew it was his rough way of offering her comfort. “Arthur, do not let this go unpunished.”
………………………………

“We are here to address not only the attack from this woman upon the healer, but the cruelties of many of you towards her.” Arthur glared at everyone gathered about the center post. He let his angry green gaze touch each person in turn. “Who here has proof that the healer is a whore?”

The villagers and soldiers looked at each other, but none spoke.

“And who here would say her whoring is worse than the whoring of any other woman?” Arthur shouted. Again none answered. “Who here has proof that the healer has committed cruelties upon others?” Once more none spoke.

Arthur shook his head. “And yet you call her whore, and spit upon her when she walks by. Some of you will not trade with her unless it is for her healing skills. You would ask her to treat your ill and wounded, and yet you would show her no kindness.” His anger rose, and his lips thinned. “We are all equal here! We are all entitled to justice. You ask this for yourselves, and offer it to no other. Why? Because the healer is a large woman? Because she is not wed and does not care for babes? Why? Why have you turned your backs on her? I demand answers now.”

There was no sound. Arthur was disgusted. “Should she awaken and live she will be under our protection. You will not go to her to demand healing unless you are prepared to treat her with respect and dignity. She has healed many of your children. Think of their lives before you again call her whore or spit upon her.” He eyed the soldiers. “You will all find reprimands upon your records. For the next fortnight do not let any of us knights find you in flagrant delecto with any woman. A man found in any compromising situation with a female will get ten lashes for disobeying an order. There will now be no skirt lifting from any female upon garrison land. The women who serve at the tavern will behave as ladies.”

He turned now to the woman manacled and chained to the post. “Willfully have you attacked an innocent. You will receive ten lashes for the crime, and should she die you will be cast out. And this, woman, is only because I will not let my soul suffer by hanging you. But do not mistake my merciful nature. I am no fool. You were reprimanded and told not to return to the tavern. You took revenge upon a woman who did you no harm. And for this your back will be striped, and the healer cannot aid you. Pray she does not die.”

Knowing she would not be spared the serving wench spat at his feet. “The fat cow is a whore and deserves to die, and you are her fool!”

Dagonet was only just restrained by the other knights. “The wench is a lady. She is more woman than you ever could aspire to.”

Arthur shook his head. “So you will not repent. Fine.” He turned to a Roman soldier. “Twenty lashes.”

The sound of the whip whistling through the air, and the slap of it hitting flesh was soon mixed with cries of pain and the wet noises of it hitting torn flesh. By the tenth lash the woman fainted. She was roused with a bucket of water thrown at her face, and the whipping continued.
……………………………………

“Don’t you think you went a little overboard with the whoring near the garrison and the soldiers abstaining?”

Arthur shot Lancelot a glare. “They must be punished. Should I have everyone who showed cruelty whipped? Perhaps abstinence will teach them all some mercy and tolerance.”

Lancelot shrugged. “It might. But you will have some very moody soldiers. Do not be surprised if fights break out.”

“Then they will be handled with quickly,” Arthur returned.

“I only hope you know what you are doing,” Lancelot replied. “To fool with a man’s natural inclinations towards procreation…”

“Let’s not give it a polite name when it is nothing as polite as that,” snorted the commander.

“Very well,” Lancelot nodded in acquiescence. “Fool around with a man’s natural inclinations to fuck, and you could end up with more trouble than you wanted.”

“So be it.”

Lancelot sighed heavily. “So be it.”
………………………………

“I must be dead. No man has ever been in my room. Especially one as beautiful as Lancelot.”

Lancelot actually felt himself flush. “No one told me you were such a charmer,” he teased. Rising he went to the door and called in the others. “She is awake.”

Dagonet was the first inside. “How do you feel?”

She reached up to touch the tender spot on her temple. “As though I went into battle against Arthur and his knights.”

Arthur neared her pallet. “Many have been worried about you. You did not wake for four days.”

Dagonet nodded. “The roof is fixed. Your larder is full. All those who owed you for tending wounds and illnesses have come forward to pay you. One of Bors’ boys will help you care for the cow, ten hens, and two pigs.”

Her eyes widened. “Goodness!”

“And it seems the miller has a problem with coughing all winter. He wants to be certain you will aid him so he offers you flour for the winter, and oats.” It was Lancelot grinning as he told her.

Vanora entered then. “Everyone out. She needs real rest now. First, she will have some broth and bread.” She neared the pallet. Glancing back she noticed the men had not left yet. “Well? What are you waiting for? The Woads to invite you to battle?”

Bors cackled, pulled her near for a deep kiss, and then waved the others out with him.
………………………………

They were free men now. While the others went to the tavern to drink and celebrate Dagonet walked to the edge of the village. It was still light out, and he found her in the pen, milking the cow. For a few moments he simply watched her. She hummed while she milked to keep the animal calmed, she had once told him.

“You will make me nervous if you continue to stare,” she suddenly spoke. Reaching up she patted the cow’s side.

Dagonet blinked, and neared to lean against the wooden fence. “I wanted you to know that our duty here is done. We are free men now.”

Her hands stilled, and for a long moment she did not move. Slowly she finally rose, and took the bucket of milk with her. She put it down outside the pen, and glanced up at him. “So you will be leaving.”

His gaze did not leave hers. “I will remain… if I have reason to.”

The pause made her heart pound. “My roof may leak again come spring.”

Dagonet’s lips twitched in amusement. “So you will need me?” He watched the blush erupt upon her cheeks, and he would have taken pity upon her, but he wanted to hear her say she needed him, or wanted him.

Her gaze fell, and she chewed upon her lower lip. “I would never presume that you would stay simply because I would need you.” Forcing herself to look up she held her chin up in stubbornness. “Safe journey, Dagonet knight. I have valued your friendship.”

His mouth opened, but no words issued forth as she escaped into her house. The sun was setting, and he returned to the tavern. Damn! He should have pressed the matter. He should have bluntly asked her if he held any small part of her heart. He could hear Bors asking him where he’d been, but he did not want to discuss it yet. He downed his drink, and turned in time to hear Vanora sing. Home. Fifteen years on this gods forsaken island, and he was free to go home, but he wanted to stay. He wanted to feel the healer’s plump body against him during the cold winter nights, and teasingly slap her plump bottom as he kissed her in the morning before going off to hunt or to work in the fields. He wanted to settle down and build a real home here. He wanted to have a family. He wanted a woman he could respect, and who would respect him in turn. He knew she was that woman.
……………………………

The pounding at the door startled her. Believing it was someone hurt she drew a fur about her, and hurried to the door in her shift. “Dagonet!”

He pushed in, pacing agitatedly. Finally he turned and caught her by the arms, making the fur fall in the process. “He sends us upon another mission, north of the wall. I must know now. I cannot wait.”

“Wait, wait!” Blinking she shook her head. “Who sends you?”

“The bishop,” he replied. Gently he shook her. “I would know, before I leave, the nature of your heart.”

“My…”

“When I return would you consider building a home and family with me?”

Her eyes widened. “I think I need to sit down.”

He led her to the pallet, and sat upon it with her. “These months past I have grown to care for you. I do not want to return to a land I barely remember. I want to build a home here, have a family, and I want to do so with you. Will you have me?”

Staring into his eyes told her how earnest and honest he was. “Dagonet,” she whispered, smiling softly. “I would be honored to share that life with a man like you.”

A relieved chuckle escaped him, and he hugged her. “Good.”

“Will you stay?” she meekly asked against his broad chest.

“I will.”
…………………………………

Dagonet glanced down at the axe in his hand, up at the approaching Saxons, and down once more. He could save his friends. He make certain the Saxons advanced no further, and give the knights and the people escaping time to get to Hadrian’s Wall.

Bors shouted his name as he ran forward, slid to his knees, and lifted the axe high to bring it crashing down to the ice. A few more blows should break it. Only a few more blows. When the first arrow hit his breath left him in one fell swoop. He had survived an arrow hit before. He would survive this one also.

Another hit. He wavered. Lifting the axe was difficult. Another arrow found its mark. The ice cracked with the loudness of booming thunder. Dagonet stared, unseeing, and began to topple forward. He did not feel the cold immediately. He felt her. Her plump warmth against him that night, and the softness of her lips in the morning when he had kissed her goodbye and teasingly slapped her plump bottom.

The icy waters closed over him, but he remembered that for one night his dream of being with her had come true. He would have brought the boy to her. He knew she would have taken the boy in to be a part of their family. That was the kind of woman she was.

He would miss her.