"Were you trying to get yourself killed?" It's Ecgwine, clearly less than happy with his woman.
"You can talk. What in the Christ's name were you doing charging back into the Praefectus'  men?" Lavinia. it would appear, is no less upset. "Especially after he'd already taken down most of our Gedriht. You're good. Not immortal."
For a Briton, she doesn't make a bad fist of the Saxon word for hearthguard. Ecgwine stares at her, blinks. Shakes his head. Quietly. "I though he'd killed you all."
She blinks. Sighs, reaches up and lays a hand on on his cheek, wordlessly.
Ah, me. Young love. I manage a smile, despite being bone-weary. I can hardly blame either of them for looking for an oultet for their frustration, either, Today was.... hard. On all of us.
The little village on the edge of the fens looked easy pickings, especially since we'd managed to sneak most of the way past one of the British watchtowers before they spotted us, and Beornwulf and his warriors were in the village almost before the main force of the Britons got anywhere near us.
It should have been easy.
The British Praefect seems to care a lot about that village. Those damn Britons would not lie down, despite Aelftric's first charge, and Ecgwine proving himself more than competent to deal with their little man and his warriors. We fought, and fought, and fought again, till both sides were just about dead on their feet. And in the end, they prevailed, as with their final charge with the remains of their hearthguard they broke Ecgwine's war band, and, damn them, killed Theobald.
Theobald's been with us longer than just about anyone - he had Ecgwine under his wing and talked some sense into him the first year we were here in Britain, and his grizzled grey hair hid a warrior's cunning, someone Aelfric often turned to for an opinion.
Tonight, we get drunk, and light pyres for him and the others we lost. Tomorrow? We start planning afresh. Those Britons won't get away with this forever.
 Yes. They finally found out Andrusius got promoted. :D