Jenny: Into the Light

The Guttersnipe hit the ground running, hauling the colt after her, cursing softly under her breath. "They are Gauls," she told Domitia, considering that the answer would not jeopardize anything, not any more than everything already had. She shoved the colt into the pen, having loosened its girth and tied its reins to keep it from tripping. There was no time for Domitia to do it herself. She ran over to Concordia and began loosening the mare's girth, nodding at the girl to tie up the reins.

"Now, come with me," the Guttersnipe told Domitia. "And remember that you are a slave."

She did not mean it quite the way it came out, but her heart was racing so wildly that she could not think how to put it gently.

Head held high, riding crop smacking at her side, she crossed the stable yard, all but bodily dragging Domitia after her in her wake. She came under the eye of the Gauls and the big pale-haired man and she gave them back look for look, as though she did not care and could not be bothered to be curious, though her heart was in her throat for fear. And, taking the poppy-bordered path around the house, she came to the garden with Domitia and burst in upon Gwenhywfar, Master Lucius, and Wulf.

"Gauls!" she said sharply as they all swung round at the bang of the door. "And one Attacotti, looking like a cat with a mouse in his mouth. He brings the Green Branch to Vortigern."

Gwenhywfar and Master Lucius exchanged a look of mute despair. But almost at once Gwenhywfar rose to the occasion, dropping the last of Pliny into a satchel and handing it over to Wulf. "Come here," she told the Guttersnipe, and took hold of her shoulder. "You're to go to my chambers and keep packing. I will take Domitia and see what is afoot. You are not to show your face, do you hear? Stay in my room."

The Guttersnipe nodded, resisting the sudden urge to salute the flame-haired woman, who suddenly seemed bright and beautiful and wonderful. The eyes that reminded her of Champion glowed with the sinking red sun. "Now go!" she said, and gave the Guttersnipe a little shove.

She picked up her skirts and darted out of the room down the passage, slipping between the bustling bodies of the slaves turned out in double force for the unexpected visitors.

Or were they unexpected...?

She found Gwenhywfar's cat in the room when she arrived, which was at once unsettling and comforting. She considered that if, for any reason, she should be looked for, she could grab hold of the wicked thing and hurl it at someone's face. But they won't know me, she told herself and she plunged into the farthest corner. We're not blood-related. And I'm a girl. The last thing they would suspect would be - unless - unless Vortigern tells them...

Panic was encroaching most uncomfortably up the back of her throat as she tore aside the boxes and found her old clothes. There in the shadows they lay, just as she had put them, and somehow the sight of the military red steadied her. It was a thing that did not change, something that was ancient, the mark of great peoples and great deeds. She put aside her fawn-dappled dress and pulled on the familiar red folds, feeling as though she were finally stepping back into the light. She crushed the folds in her hands, felt the warm curve of the ring and the horse beneath the fabric, and thought, Hello, old friends. I'm back. Lord Ambrosius' Guttersnipe is back.

And with a savage jerk she put on her belt, shoved on her weather-worn riding boots, and began to see to the last of her packing.