Lys: Liberties

Aithne felt a chill in the air. The braziers had been lit, and that staved off most of the cold, but autumn was drawing near, and her bare arms had goosebumps between the air and the atmosphere. She listened to the men make their plans and tell their coarse jokes. They became more coarse as the night- and the wine- wore on. She could tell the Gauls were not used to wine. Ale was their drink of choice, and she began to wonder if they knew how well grape could hold its own against grain.

After a while she took Gwenhwyfar's cup to be refilled. Her stomach rumbled- normally when attending a long feast she would eat something beforehand. But she dismissed the feeling and moved on. Halfway to the wine, one of the men grabbed her wrist and pulled her nearer, saying something she didn't understand. She fought down the mixture of panic and anger. She was not some common slave, for goodness sake! She was Master Lucius's, on loan to Lady Gwenhwyfar. But as that lady was on the auction block tonight, perhaps this warrior thought she was the same.

She forced herself to remain pleasant-looking and sounding. "Would you like more wine, sir?"