By
300 AD, the Roman Empire extended from Arabia to Britain. Thousands died in that field. And when the smoke
cleared on the fourth day, the only Sarmatian soldiers left alive
were members of the decimated but legendary cavalry. In
exchange, these warriors were incorporated into the Roman military.
But they
wanted more.
More land. More people's loyalty and subservient to
Rome. But no people as important as the powerful Sarmatians to the
east.
The Romans,
impressed by their bravery and horsemanship, spared their lives.
Better
they had died that day... For the second part of the bargain
they struck, indebted not only themselves...
...
but also their sons. And their sons and so on, to serve the Roman
Empire as Knights.
Our
post was Britain – or at least the southern half. For the land was
divided by a seventy-three mile wall, built three centuries before
us, to protect the empire from the native fighters of the North.
So,
as our forefathers have done, we made our way and reported to our
Roman commander in Britain – ancestrally named for the first,
Artorius – or, Arthur.
There was something about his castle that made Arthur shiver. It was not his home, yet he lived there. Everyday, he wanted nothing more than to leave the wretched place and go back to Rome. He urged his horse forward and yelled to his Knights,
"Remember my friends; this is the last time you will have to ride towards this castle!"
They let up a cheer and pushed their horses faster.