Compromise

Approaching the noblewoman calmly, you assess her and her family. The mother and daughter are dressed in fine white cotton knee-length tunics trimmed with expensive embroidery. Certainly not the clothing they would have been seen in outside the sanctuary of the peaceful garden, these light tunics were designed for comfort, not concealment of their feminine shape. The son's tunic, made of much heavier fabric, is belted awkwardly with thick leather weapon's belt complete with the empty sheath. The women's tunics are also belted at their slender waists, but their clothing has been tailored to flare out over their hips smoothly. The noblewoman has a ring of keys hanging from her belt; probably the keys to every room and chest judging by the number and variety. Reaching forward calmly, you smoothly lift the ring of keys from her belt pleased that she neither protests nor fights.

"Right then," you tell your men "Alpha team, use these" giving one of the scouts the keys, "take ten minutes to search the house - No looting, just bring anybody you find out to the garden. Petros, get to the top of that tower and find the best way for us to get to South Tower from here. I have an idea that should work for all of us."

As you step even closer to the trembling woman the image of your earlier fantasy nearly makes you forget your duty. You can't help but brush the backs on your fingers against the smoothness of the noble woman's cheek as you say, "You and I should talk."

"Keep your bloodstained hands off of her!" Yells the boy and he charges, swinging the gladius wildly. Not very well trained for a young man his age you think to yourself; by the time you were that old you had already killed a handful of enemies. You strike hard at his sword hand with the flat of your sword and the gladius flies from his grip, on the backswing you hit the boy's temple with the pommel, and he drops with a surprised look at your feet. "Chain him" you tell your sergeant.

Pointing at the woman again "Your son just assaulted a Captain of the Army of Heliopolis; by all rights his life is now forfeit - "she starts to panic as your words register, but you continue before she falls into hysterics. "- but I think you and I can help each other."

The woman steps closer until you can smell the citrus scent of her perfume. "I don't seem to have much choice." With her head this close to yours you can see her hair has been perfectly arranged and pinned into place with several silver combs, only the row of curls that soften her forehead and a few wisps of hair on the back of her neck have escaped the arrangement.

"Please, what do you want?" she says softly enough that only you can hear her words.