As we were congratulating ourselves, a shrill scream caused me to spin around just in time to see a crazed woman flying at me from behind one of the wagons. She was brandishing a nasty dagger over her head and would surely have struck me, had not Metelus alertly stuck out his foot to trip her, sending her sprawling across the grass. Her weapon was knocked from her grasp by the impact, but she quickly got to her hands and knees to scramble after the knife when two of my men pounced on her. She howled her outrage and struggled under them, screaming all the while in that guttural tongue of the northmen. I knew only a few words, but I recognized the Teuton words for “Roman pigs”.
She was expertly subdued, and one of the men who knelt on her with his knee pressed between her shoulders, gathere
