I held my hands up, under no illusions that my reflexes would best a seasoned Brettonian Knight. All I had for a weapon was a knife for Myrmidia's sake. The knight made a negligent gesture to a bed in one of the plater walled rooms. 

"Sit down Signoritta," he directed. Reluctantly I complied. Du Pounce was a knight but I knew too many men who spoke of high principles only to abandon them to temptation. I sat down, my hand positioned as closely to the hilt of my dagger as I could without being too obvious about it. The mattress was clean and newly filled with down and straw, for all the outside evidence of dilapidation, it was obvious that Marco had been using the place.

"So what now?" I asked, shifting my hand slightly closer to my knife.

"You needn't worry about your virtue Camilla," a sensual female voice declared. Through the door came the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I know that phrase gets thrown around alot but you have to understand, I was brought up in the Convent, where women fit for marble statues teach your lessons and tuck you in at night. This woman was beyond gorgeous, her skin seemed to glow despite a slightly exotic caste, her cheekbones high, her lips full, her face heart stoppingly lovely. Her figure was slim and classical, lacking my curves but making up for it with a mathematical precision of proportions. I started at her in amazement and Du Pounce sank to his knees.

"My Lady," he whispered reverently. My mind told me to spring to my feet and plunge the dagger into his neck but I couldn't even twitch an eyelid for fear it would take my gaze off her. 

"My you are a pearl before swine aren't you," she declared, seeming to float across the room towards me. She was dressed in the height of Tillean fashion, a dress of dark burgundy with black lace accents, corseted with dark leather inlaid with gold and semi-precious stones. Expensive jewelery of a foreign fashion I didn't recognize was at her wrists and throat, glistening with blood red rubies.  

"Perhaps there is more than one treasure to be found this night," she mused, then paused and cocked her head at me in a peculiarly avian motion.

"You are one of Xanthippe's girls?" she asked in amazement, her beautiful lips curving into a delighted smile. "Goodness she will be furious."

I had no idea who Xanthippe was, not that it much mattered because I couldn't speak, I was still paralyzed by her beauty. She was very clos now her dark hypnotic eyes holding mine. I could feel my heart thundering in my chest, I could smell the soft scent of sandalwood on her, like the wind of the desert. She leaned closer and I thought she was going to kiss me, which was fine with me I am ashamed to tell you. She put one of her hands on the back of my neck and wrapped the other around my waist, cradling me like a lover. She was very cold, like the marble statues she reminded me off, but the cold was forgotten as my own heat filled my body as she kissed my neck. I felt an electric tingle and something sharp the pulse in my neck wobbled and I felt something being drawn out of me. I started to swoon, then something began to pulse into my veins, making my nerves tingle with fire.

"Mistress!" the voice came from very far away. I wasn't at first convinced it wasn't mine, but then it repeated and this time I could make out Du Pounce's voice.

"Mistress!" he called again, urgent and insistent. The lips lifted from my neck and she let out something between a sigh and a snarl. The sense of loss was unimaginable. I tried to reach out for her, but she let me go, dropping my stunned body to the bed.

"Deal with him and bring me the girl," she ordered Du Pounce, dabbing at her lips with a silken handkerchief that came away bloody. My skin prickled like sun burn and I tried to force myself to move, to go after the vision of loveliness, but I couldn't move. My nerves were as fire, burning in my body without giving me leave to move. I heard the rattle of the wagon as the horses took up the strain. Groaning I forced myself to roll, falling off the bed and hitting the floor as my muscles refused to take the strain. Du Pounce was gone but I could hear shouting. Inch by painful inch I forced myself to my knees, reaching up to touch my neck, my finger tips came away with black brackish blood.