Free Warriors of Ethandun by N. M. Browne

companions were equally overwhelmed by Ursula’s presence and helped him haul the deer’s carcass away. They butchered it nearby. Ursula was not interestedin watching that; she was not much interested in butchery of men or animals – it was all too familiar to her.
    After a while the hunter returned with yet more men – young, proud men, armed with axes and dressed in war gear. Some of it was very fine – mail shirts and iron helms, thick woven cloaks fastened by gold brooches, and round, painted shields. These were important men, warriors, predators. It showed in the way that they moved. She was surprised that they too bowed to her where she lay, surrounded by unseasonal flowers and dressed in her blue polyester school sweatshirt. These new important men had brought servants or slaves to help bear her away. They had a wooden cart and horses. The horses were good specimens but weary and thirsty. She lost herself in them for a moment. She felt the burden of the cart for an instant before she pulled away. The cart was decorated with leaves and berry-bearing branches, with gold belts and silver chains, with chalices and church plate, jewelled boxes and decorated crucifixes – with all the wealth that could be found at short notice to carry the Goddess home. It was all plundered treasure; Ursula knew that and did not care. What had she to do with such things?
    The men spoke a language that was new to her, but it was easy enough for her to learn it. It was, in any case, clear that they took delight in the riches in the cart and that they thought they had come by it legitimately by the killing power of their weapons and the honest greed of their hearts. They honoured her. She found herself unmoved by their care for her inert body. No one dared touch her with their bare hands and those that accidentallybrushed their naked skin against hers jumped away, burned. They sang as they lifted her reverently to the cart and carried on singing as the cart bore her through the woods. Their songs had an unfamiliar rhythm, which held her attention for a while because they were quite unlike the songs she had heard in Arturus’s court. She hadn’t much of an ear for music, but when the hunter added his voice to the song even she could tell that his singing was very bad, off-key and discordant. She turned her attention away, glad to explore further afield. For all her power she could only listen to one thing at once. She wondered what it would be like to split her consciousness. It was probably possible, but she was a little afraid to make it happen. There was time enough for all that later. She let herself drift away from all that anchored her to her body, becoming lost in the thoughts of a wild hare, and then eventually, exhausted by so much experience, she fell into a kind of a doze. Waking up was disorienting. She forgot about the magic for a moment and opened her eyes to find herself looking straight up into the grey gaze of a warrior. Fear flashed across his face and he called out:
    â€˜She has woken!’
    Ursula was aware of a crush of people all around her, while a bonfire burned not far away. The stars were briefly lost in the smoke from the flames and the pungency of woodsmoke was everywhere. Her eyes watered.
    She could not easily turn her head, as it was wedged in place by a number of hard-edged objects. It was as well that magic heated her from within because the night was a cold one and she could see her breath in the crisp air. Forthe briefest of moments Ursula was panicked by the sudden press of men staring at her, their faces curious, frightened, awestruck. She started to pay attention to them. They were all of them alert to any danger she might pose but not one of them backed away. They were ready for whatever she or anyone else might throw at them and that caught her interest. She wondered where she was and when. They were strangers to her, she knew that, and yet they were familiar; their