Spirit like a war goddess

Everyone had gone silent, their hearts thudding wildly in their chests, as if they awaited judgement on Doomsday. They silently prayed for mercy, so that they could survive this grave danger in one piece. Unfortunately, that was similar to asking for a miracle to happen. It was a well-known fact that the assailants in those parts were cold-blooded people and if you were attacked then that was the end of your story. They were not just muggers, they were rapists and murderers, psychopaths who would not think twice before snatching away someone's life. Concealed by black masks, bloody eyes and dressed in black, who moved like a shadow, they were scarier than the Grim Reaper himself, because it was usually not the guilty who got punished by them.

Madame Veronica was probably the most alert at this time. She squeezed Marie's hand in a reassuring manner, that they would definitely survive this critical milestone. Her warning look brought the others back to their senses and they started thinking of ways to escape.

They had barely thought of an idea, when a burly figure thrust open the coach door. One of his eyes were patched, a big moustache curling over his face, while there was barely any hair on his head. His skin was severely tanned as if it had been roasted in the fierce desert sun for years. Chest hair were visible through the ragged garment that he was wearing, with old leather boots on his oversized feet. In one hand he gripped a dagger, as he scanned through the passengers with a petrifying look on his face. His eyes landed on Marie and a sly grin came over his face. Leaving the coach, he signaled his companions to join him. They came, each one as ugly as the other, smelling awfully of feculence and blood, with a strong metallic scent to it.

The first man signaled them to bring all of them out; nobody resisted, well aware of the consequences of such reckless behavior. They were made to stand in a line while Marie was pushed to the front. Veronica had understood their vile intentions, watching her self-willed daughter's white ashen face, as she became submissive for the good of all. Marie had become numb, not feeling anything or showing any reaction when she was thrown onto the grass, or when that sinful man began unbuckling the belt of his pants. She was wholly aware of her mother watching her in this state and wanted to get over with it as soon as possible. There was still some hope that those ruffians might let them go after fulfilling their evil desires. Just as the man lowered himself on his yielding victim, Veronica let out a high-pitched scream and threw herself on him. Amidst this distraction that had caught everyone off guard, Veronica told Marie to run and get help.

Marie ran, ran for her life, for her mother's life, whose last glimpse was of the men dragging her away. She ran as if the world was ending; which as a matter of fact was because her mother's life was at risk. Tears streamed down her face in the form of rivulets, as she thought about what her mother might be going through at that time.

.....

Seeing the light of her eyes quickly disappear to safety, her heart was at peace. Death did not frighten her; it was the thought of being unable to protect her daughter that had made her question her life. She was still living because of that angelic child that had enlightened her life sixteen years ago. It was a disgrace to her motherhood to see that ruthless act be practiced on her daughter, that is why she had lunged at that man like a beast, ready to be the 'Wall of China' that secured Marie from that fiend.

Veronica knew the repercussions of her audacious behavior; but she was not afraid, neither was she going to easily submit to the lust of these thugs.

Veronica struggled and struggled to come out of his grasp, but in vain. She was just like a small, defenseless kitten, making futile attempts to break free with her 'claws'. Unfortunately, a single woman can't exert enough power to protect herself from powerful males. That is the sad reality of a well-bred female; she is not taught self-defense. Which is why, ultimately Veronica had to give up and submit herself to their lustful wishes, being sexually assaulted by all of them, one by one, and later branded like a whore. It was the most embarrassing scenario to face for the servants, who had to be silent spectators of this dirty act on their kind miss.

...

On the other hand, Marie had spotted some influential looking horsemen, probably on their way for a hunting soiree. She made her way to them; looking despicable in her disheveled state. Approaching a gentleman, who gave the impression of being discerning, she croaked, while gasping for breath, 'Sire, I am in dire need of help right now. Our stagecoach was attacked by hoodlums. I barely made it out to fetch aid for my companions, which includes my mother. Could you please help me? I beg you not to judge a book by its cover. I can guarantee that you will be awarded generously for your help.' By the end of this speech, Marie was in tears, her eyes welling up in desperation.

Sir Arthur, was a trader, who had inherited his retired father's business. He loved all kinds of sports, especially hunting. That day, he had set out with his younger brother and a few other companions to hunt in the thick forest of Elenore, when they had encountered that young maiden. Her dress was all crumpled up, maybe due to running around like a wild horse. Hair messy, falling in tangles on her face, eyes like the ocean, calm and fiercely threatening at the same time. When he saws tears in those deep eyes, he lost control. He wanted to do anything for her; itching to pat her head in order to calm her down. He fell for her at first sight; but Arthur was not an easy man to blinded by this alien feeling, so he decided to test her first.

'Comment tu t'appelles?' (What is your name?). He had deliberately used French to address her, because only the most refined and high-standing people in England knew this language.

Marie understood that he wanted to test her, but she was running short of time and patience. 'Je m'appelles Marie Bonett' (My name is Marie Bonett). 'Sir are you satisfied by my qualifications now? Please follow me before something terrible happens to my mother.'

Arthur was assured. The girl, who appeared to be of pubescent age, had a spirit like a war goddess, one who wanted to be domineering, but was compromised due to the lack of support that she received. Of course he was not afraid to fight those hooligans who made such a pretty fille (girl) cry. He and his companions were heavily armed with guns, a precaution implemented by his father. Holding out his hand, which she took without hesitation he pulled her up on his horse with him, following her directions to the crime scene, signalling his fellow travelers to follow him.