Fealty and Honour
© 2006 Random Rose

Conscription

"Hurry, Ryn. They're almost here."

The young girl did as she was told, shoving the last of her meager belongings into a sack before rushing outside to mount her horse. The Romans, come to collect the next round of Sarmatian boys conscripted for knighthood, were just over the ridge and closing fast.

Ryn felt her horse shudder beneath her, as reluctant to leave as she was. She stroked its neck in reassurance, catching the eye of the boy she was determined would not leave her behind.

Lancelot had known his fate since he was a babe in his mother's arms. Their people had been conquered by the Romans, and 'rewarded' for their bravery and horsemanship by being conscripted into the Roman army. Some reward. Torn away from family and home in order to serve in foreign lands to protect an empire they'd rather destroy. He gazed out over the rolling hills at the approaching company, resigned, but unhappy.

Looking back over his shoulder, he watched Ryn calming her horse. He had spent months trying to dissuade her, but she would not hear it. Her disguise was effective enough – she was at an age where her femininity was hardly developed, so to pretend to be a boy was hardly a stretch.

He didn't really understand her insistence on going with him. Why would you choose to leave your people and your land? Granted, her family had all been killed in a harsh Sarmatian winter six years ago, but others had taken her in – his own family had all but adopted her. He sighed heavily and turned back to watch the approach of the horsemen.

"Father, they are here," he stated the obvious. More for something to say than anything else.

"The day has come," his father answered, sadness and pride mingling in his voice.

Ryn stepped her horse closer to Lancelot's, watching his interaction with his father and missing hers with a fierceness that almost brought tears to her eyes.

"There is a legend," Lancelot's father started, stroking the heads of the two horses in front of him, "that fallen knights return as great horses. They have seen what awaits you, and will protect you."

"Lancelot! Ryn!" a young girl shouted from one of the tents they called home. She rushed over, holding out gifts in both her hands. She presented them to the two riders, bear amulets carved from stone – symbols of protection; symbols of home.

Lancelot ran his thumb over the amulet, and made up his mind. He looked over at Ryn and saw that she had also made up hers. "Don't be afraid," he said to his family. "We will return."

And with that, he and Ryn set their horses in motion and made their way to the rag-tag group of riders.

"How long will we be gone?" he asked one of the Romans.

"Fifteen years," the man said brusquely, "Not including the months it'll take to get to your post."

"Lancelot! Ryn!" his father called out, then, along with the rest of the people at the camp, raised his fist in the air and bellowed the Sarmatian battle cry, "Rus!"

Ryn watched her friend's dark features grow darker and knew in that moment he had become the most dangerous of all knights – as likely to kill a Roman as to protect him. She vowed in her heart that if she were allowed to do nothing else, she would make every effort to protect him from himself.

Their ride to the south of Britain did take months. The trek cross country was as hard and unforgiving as the hearts of the boys in the company. They only spoke to each other when the Romans were asleep or out of hearing. They rarely spoke of where they were going; rather they spoke of where they had been – their homes and families.

It didn't take long before their rag-tag crew became a family unto itself. The boys were united in their hate for the Romans, but also in their resignation that this was what their fate required of them. They had each determined that they would do their best to make due until their time of conscription was past and they could return to the home they were leaving behind.

At first, Ryn had not been sure whether to keep her secret from the Romans only, or to keep it also from the boys she was with. However, she discovered that it had taken one of the boys, Dagonet, about two days to determine her true identity. In the quiet of one moonless night, he informed her of such.

"You are not a boy, are you?" he stated more than asked, as the troupe quietly ate their meal together after the Romans had retired.

She looked at him carefully, trying to gauge his reaction to her. "I am not," she admitted.

He just nodded and continued eating.

"You did not have to come," Gawain observed. "Why did you?"

"I would not be left behind," she answered. "Am I welcome?" she asked quietly.

"I would there were more like you, little sister," Bors said sincerely.

She bowed her head in silent thanks and returned to her meal.

Lancelot looked at the faces of the boys around the fire, trying to determine what they really thought of having a girl in their company. None of them seemed even the tiniest bit fazed. She had already proved her riding skills and had enough tracking abilities that the Romans had quickly put her to use to help them hunt for meat along the way. He caught her eye and nodded slightly, acknowledging that he approved of the situation. She nodded back, relieved at the acceptance given her.