Author Note: Antoine Fuqua's version of the story of King Arthur was very different from previous accepted versions of canon. As Mr. Fuqua calls his movie the "true story" while missing the enjoyable elements of legend, I've decided to see if I can reconcile them.
Two Years Before the Saxon InvasionWinter in Britain was terrible in its beauty. At dawn, the sunlight crept slowly over the horizon, the frozen ocean of ice stretching for miles and miles over the fields. This was no soft sunlight but a light that pierced the hardest surfaces and left everything exposed.
But although it was well past dawn, the day's rays did not reach the man who stood at the garrison walls. He jammed his fists into the pockets of his warm outer tunic and watched his breath crystallize in front of his eyes. Then he continued on in a loose, light stride down to the rampart just ahead of him, breathing in deeply the air that smelled as sweet as the wheat that grew here in the summer.
Waiting for him was Marcus Publius Latus, the head of their Roman outpost garrison – and his commander. "Ah, Arthur. Good morning," called out Marcus Publius.
Arthur returned the greeting, albeit half-heartedly. Marcus Publius was a full-blooded Roman who could trace his ancestry back to the time of the Kings of Rome. He even claimed that he was one of the descendents of the mighty Julius Caesars, but Arthur had taken that information with a healthy measure of doubt.
This filled Marcus Publius with undeserved pride, and he had found clever and subtle ways to remind Arthur of his own tainted origins. For though Arthur was half Roman, he was also half Briton.
Thankfully, Marcus Publius's tour of duty would be ending next month, and his second-in-command, Lucius Gustus, would be taking his place. Lucius was far preferable to Marcus Publius, and it would be a pleasure to serve under him.
"Sir," said Arthur respectfully. "I have submitted my reports to Lucius."
"I am glad to hear your mission went well." Marcus Publius clapped him on the back. "To think, that in one month's time, I will be in my ancestral villa at Capua, drinking the finest wines and producing heirs."
Knowing that Marcus Publius did not have a wife, and knowing that his commander was telling him this for a reason, Arthur nodded in polite interest.
"As you know, I do not have a wife."
Obviously, for what sane woman would marry such a boasting man? "Yes, sir," said Arthur instead.
Marcus Publius rubbed his hands together. "Do you remember, a few years ago, we were at war with King Anguish of Ireland?"
"My knights and I were there. I lost a knight in that battle." Agravaine had died of several arrow wounds, and to this day, Arthur still remembered his friend's dying face.
"Of course, how silly of me to forget." Marcus Publius looked down at the training yard, where several of Arthur's knights were sparring. "Anguish, as part of the wergild he must pay, must give his daughter to me in marriage. This girl is Irish, a mere fly compared to my own heritage." He leaned closer to Arthur. "But I have heard she is very beautiful. She may give me half-breed pagan children, but at least they will be good-looking ones."
Arthur fought to keep the distaste off his face. "Congratulations."
"Do not congratulate me just yet. Anguish is sending her over by ship, and she will be arriving on the western shores in a week's time. I have better things to do then to bring her here." Marcus Publius turned back to Arthur. "Send over a few of your knights to escort her to the garrison. They will keep her safe should the Woads decide to venture beyond their territory again." He clapped Arthur on the shoulder once more before striding away.
Arthur clenched his fists. The gall of Marcus Publius, to send his knights on escort duty so soon after they just returned from a harrowing mission in the north. Wishing that his commander could die and save everyone the trouble, Arthur made his way down to the training yard.
"Artorius!" roared Bors. "Come to get your ass whipped?"
Arthur smiled as he drew closer to his men. "Not today. But if you are not careful, I might have to whip yours."
Around him, his knights laughed.
"So what brings you here at this time of the day?" Lancelot released Gawain from his stranglehold. "Did you get tired of the Romans and decide to seek out more pleasurable company?"
Gawain pushed him back down. "Then he would be with a woman, not you."
"Lancelot is convinced he looks better than most women anyway," offered Galahad.
"Well, I do," he said, shoving Gawain to get up again.
Dagonet and Tristan watched from the sidelines, one with a smile on his face and the other expressionless as usual.
Arthur looked at each man. "Marcus Publius has requested our help."
"Does he need us to scratch his ass?" asked Gawain, causing the others to laugh.
"Close. He wants us to escort his future bride from the coast to here."
Galahad looked angry. "We just got back. Truthfully, I would rather scratch his ass than go out again."
"Think again. Who knows what Marcus Publius has on his ass?" Bors sheathed his sword. "Are we all going?"
Arthur shook his head. "No. I need some of you with me. We still have to keep up with our regular duties. I want Bors, Lancelot, and Tristan to bring the girl. The rest of you can stay."
Galahad smirked. "I will think of you three from the comfort of my wine."
Arthur placed an arm across Lancelot's shoulders. "And do not seduce the girl. The last thing we need are your bastards competing with Bors's in number."
"The shore is clear for miles," reported Tristan. He, Lancelot, and Bors had arrived on the British coastline this morning and had spent all day making sure that there were no Woads about. "When is the ship supposed to arrive?" He dismounted from his horse and joined his comrades at the fire.
"This afternoon." Lancelot passed a wineskin to the scout. "I hope she did not arrive with a large party, else it will take even longer to get back to the garrison."
Bors snorted. "She is a woman. A princess. She probably has a servant whose only task is to brush her hair."
Tristan looked over from where he was feeding his hawk meat scraps. "Noble born women in this country tend to be fighters. Their kingdoms are so torn by war that I doubt the lady even has time to brush her hair."
"I will never forgive Arthur if this woman is ugly," grumbled Lancelot.
"We shall find out in a few moments." Tristan pointed in the distance. Their temporary camp was situated on a cliff top bordered by a forest. In the horizon, a single ship was approaching.
The three knights rose, put away their belongings, and put out the fire. As they made their way down to the rocky beach, with Bors also leading the two extra horses they had brought, Tristan looked at the ship again. Upon closer examination, it was more of a boat. It looked as if it could carry perhaps twenty people at its maximum capacity.
The princess was arriving with very little fanfare, it seemed.
The three knights stood respectfully on the beach as they waited for the ship to come ashore. "I hope she is a horrible, vile, deceitful woman who makes Marcus Publius's life a living hell." Bors squinted as the ship slowly grounded upon the beach.
"That seems to be the description of every woman," added Tristan.
Bors cocked an eyebrow. "That why you spend all your time with that damned bird?"
Tristan looked up to see his hawk circling in the air above them. "My damned bird does not slap me every time I return from a mission – like Vanora does you."
Lancelot laughed as Bors gave Tristan a superior look. "But the part when Vanora and I make up, ahh, I would not mind being slapped all day."
"That is not possible, Bors, because she spends half her day slapping me," quipped Lancelot. Tristan sighed as he retreated once more into the forest, to check once again that the path was clear.
"Why, you-"
Further arguments were stopped as the beached ship lowered a gangplank. A few burly men ran down and secured the ship, and then more descended. Finally, a woman in a hooded cloak came down, to be followed by another woman and a man. The woman approached them and removed her hood. As Arthur had said, she was indeed very beautiful. Her hair was a burnished gold, and her eyes were a piercing gray. Behind her, a woman with dark brown hair, most likely a servant from her dress, looked over the knights appraisingly. The man must have been the princess's brother, for he shared her golden looks.
Lancelot went forward and bowed. "Princess, I am Lancelot, and this is Bors. We are knights sent by Marcus Publius to escort you to our garrison."
"Unable to spare the time, was he?" spat the man.
"Hush, Cathmor," said the princess. She shared a look with him, and then turned back to Lancelot and spoke in careful, accented Latin. "I am Iseult, daughter of Anguish. I am most thankful that I will be escorted by warriors of such renown." She smiled at them kindly. "Allow me, in turn, to introduce my companions. This is my brother, Cathmor, and my maidservant, Brangaine."
Bors looked regretful. "We were unaware your brother was to accompany you, my lady. We have brought only three horses, one of which is for your luggage."
"'Tis no matter, for Brangaine and I can share a mount."
Lancelot shrugged. "Very well." He whistled, and within moments, horses came towards them. The two knights efficiently strapped the luggage to the packhorse, and then Cathmor helped his sister and Brangaine mount, and then he mounted his own. When all was done, Bors and Lancelot mounted their own horses and led the small party into the forest, where Tristan met them.
"Path is clear, but we must move quickly." Tristan looked over at the travelers briefly and was about to turn away when:
"I know you!" blurted Iseult.
Lancelot raised his brows at Tristan. "I thought it was just the hawk."
Tristan looked puzzled as he examined the princess, but then recognition dawned on his face. "Of course. But I never learned your name."
The others in the party looked scandalized. "Isi, how could you?" Iseult looked confused for a moment but then realized that her brother thought she had met Tristan another way. But before she could speak:
"Lady Iseult is the reason I still am alive today," said Tristan flatly. "She and her handmaidens found me on the shore, when I was wounded during Anguish's assault of our forces."
Iseult's smile faded. It seemed that Tristan barely remembered her. "Knight Tristan exaggerates. I merely healed him of minor wounds."
Lancelot drew closer. "You can heal me anytime you wish, Princess. And I promise to be more grateful for it."
His comment dissolved the tension. "I would be most happy to."
"But only if it is I who deals you the wound," threatened Cathmor.
"We must leave. We cannot tarry here any longer." Tristan spurred his horse and rode ahead.
Bors felt the need to apologize for Tristan's behavior. "Tristan is a good man. But he is not good with words. His behavior may be prickly, but he is one of the best warriors I have ever seen."
Iseult nodded in understanding. "On our parts, there was no offense taken. Knight Tristan was mostly unconscious when we found him, so I did not expect him to remember me." She looked back and saw the sullen faces of her brother and her maid and sighed inwardly. Neither of them wanted to be here, but Iseult could not come to Britain alone. But it seemed as if her two companions were determined to be as hostile as possible. It was understandable, Iseult knew, for these soldiers of the Romans had killed many Irish. But Iseult believed that the past was in the past. There was no use in being rude to men who played no more a role in politics than she herself did.
It looked as it were up to her to be the friendly one. After all, she did not want these soldiers thinking that the Irish were a rude, uncivilized group of people. "Please, Knights Bors and Lancelot, will you tell me of what my home here is like?"
The rest of the day was spent by the two knights telling Iseult of her new home. She seemed fascinated by their descriptions. At the camp they had set up at night, "It seems very similar to Eyre, Ireland in our native tongue. But it is not as wet."
"You grow accustomed to it," said Lancelot. "But I will be the first to confess that I would rather be any place else in this world."
Iseult thoughtfully looked into the fire. Next to her, Brangaine was rolled up in a warm plaid and fast asleep. Cathmor was sitting with his back towards the tree, his eyes flickering suspiciously over the knights. "I hope I do not feel as you do, for it is to be my home forever."
Bors started in surprise. "But Marcus Publius-" At Lancelot's warning look, he smiled at Iseult reassuringly. "I am sure you will adjust wherever you go," said Bors kindly.
Lancelot kept quiet. It seemed as if Iseult was not aware of Marcus Publius's plan to return to Rome. Although he knew she should be told, it was not his place to do so. It was unfortunate, for Iseult was a kind woman, a woman that Marcus Publius did not deserve.
"Iseult," he blurted. When she did not protest at the use of her given name, he continued, "Does this not bother you?"
"What?" she asked curiously.
He gestured with his hands. "This entire situation. Being forced to marry a man that you have never met?"
A frown marred her smooth brow. "This is uncommon among your people?"
Lancelot nodded. "Among Sarmatians, we do not practice such a thing."
She clasped her hands. "For the most part, my people do not either. But this was an extraordinary case. Many lives were at stake."
"But does this not upset you?"
"It is not the path I would have chosen for myself," she finally said. "But I look at it as a form of duty. I am a woman, so I cannot serve my country the way my brother can. The only way I can serve my king is by marriage. Marcus Publius was the victor, and as such, I became part of the wergild he demanded from us." She gazed at Lancelot steadily. "Like you, I have been forced into a life not of my choosing, where I must serve another. Our roles are completely different, but they are both the result of being on the losing side of war. I cannot contest this, for this is the way of all things. I can only hope that Marcus Publius respects me. That is all I seek."
At Lancelot's uncertain look, she smiled reassuringly. "Besides, if such fine men as you knights are around, my life cannot be all that bad!"
From across the fire, Tristan watched them silently.