Disclaimer: I do not own anything that isn't mine.

Thanks, homeric for reviewing again. I'm glad you like the story. I guess other people do too, because there are hits on the new chapters. It would be nice to hear from some of you. But then, I can't talk. I hardly ever review stories. I'll have to change that. Well, anyway, here's another chapter. The longest one so far. Hope it meets with your approval.

If anyone sees anything spelling/grammar mistakes please tell me. I have checked, but I always manage to miss something.

Since That Day

Chapter Six

They arrived at Camulodunum after dark. That night, nothing of import happened. Dagonet changed Bedwyr's bandages, with Cadan kneeling beside the bed, his eyes never leaving his brother's face. Arthur and the other knights retired to their beds, too preoccupied with their own thoughts to think even of food.

The next morning everyone gathered for breakfast, barring the two boys. They ate the meal in one of the Governor's extravagant guest rooms used for such things. For once Arthur could understand why his knights threw hate-filled glances about the room. As he looked around the room he baulked at the ostentatious display of wealth.

"How's the boy doing?" Arthur asked Dagonet, who was doing little but push the food about his plate.

"He's doing well enough. And that Cadan – it would take more than fire and high water to make him leave his brother's side 'til he knows he's on the mend," Dagonet paused, something obviously on his mind. "What are your plans for them? Whether any of us like it or not, they are involved now. And Cadan would be useful if ever we had to go back to the coast."

Whichever direction Arthur had been expecting the conversation to take, that had not been it. But then, Dagonet had a good point. Cadan could, probably would, prove useful if his knights agreed to his plan.

"If no one objects, I think that we should take the boys back up to the wall," Arthur waited for the response to this statement.

Dagonet seemed to be pleased with the answer. Bors, Galahad and Gawain also looked to be of Dagonet's mind. Arthur guessed that on Galahad's part he would be wallowing in the fact that on the journey home he would not be the youngest one there. Arthur had never quite managed to the bottom of why being the youngest bothered Galahad so much. Tristan's face was blank, although when he saw Arthur looking at him his nodded in what could only be agreement. Lancelot, however, seemed a little dubious.

"Lancelot?" Arthur said by way of inquiry.

"I don't know Arthur. The Wall is a long way from here. I don't think the injured one would be able to go that far."

"He could, too!" A sharp voice shouted from the doorway, and there stood Cadan, pale eyes flashing with indignation felt on behalf of his brother. "He came this far didn't he?"

Arthur turned to look at the boy. He face was grey with lack of sleep, but there was no denying the strength that lay dormant below the surface. Arthur had seen many a boy grow to be a useful soldier with much less. But such thoughts would do for later there were more pressing things to think about at present.

"What are you doing here? I thought you to be at your brother's side."

"Sir, Bedwyr's awake. Master Dagonet told me to tell him if his woke," Cadan spoke quickly and, after seeing Dagonet rise he turned and ran from the room, and away from the many staring faces that had brought the colour to his cheeks.

Dagonet followed the boy at a much calmer pace after a nod from Arthur, who was sure he would hear everything that he was about to say from Bors by the end of the day anyway.

"What are we to do now, Arthur? We can't leave now. Whoever it is attacking the villages won't stop at just that. They want land, and British land is good land. They'll land somewhere, set up camp and before anyone knows it they'll have gone from taking an inch to taking a mile."

There was an amazed silence, the same that always seemed to follow after Galahad rediscovered his brain and used it. Generally speaking, the youngest knight wasn't famed for his insightful analysis of precarious situations.

"You're right in what you say Galahad," Arthur told him before giving voice to the idea that had been growing in his mind since the night before. "That is why I think we need a detailed map of the area. There could be method in these attacks, and if there is we need to find it."

"And we find this pattern? What then?" Lancelot asked. "We ride off over land we don't know and attack an unidentified enemy?" he continued sarcastically.

"What's happens next depends on what we do or don't learn from the maps. I have an idea, but I don't want to say anything until I know it would be a plausible plan."

Lancelot reluctantly nodded. Arthur could tell that he and the others didn't like being kept in the dark, they never had. But he was firm in his decision not to say anything until he had something to reinforce his ideas and plans, which at that moment were still nothing but shadows in the back of his mind.

One by one the men rose from the table, each getting orders that sounded more like requests from Arthur. Tristan was asked to travel as far as possible from the city while still assuring a return before nightfall to acquaint himself with the land along the coast. Bors, Galahad and Gawain were to go in search of an all important map. Lancelot would accompany him on another confrontation with the Governor. Dagonet was still keeping watch over the boy and would most likely keep up his vigil until he fell asleep once again.

When he and Lancelot were ushered into the Governor's presence, Arthur noticed another in the room with him. It took him a while to recognise Larcius Ursus through the clean clothes.

"I trust your return journey went well?" Arthur asked the man.

"Very well. I am sorry to hear that there was another attack. But this time, there were survivors, yes?" Larcius appeared to show a genuine interest in the matter, and out of the corner of his eye he saw the obvious surprise on Lancelot's face at this.

"Two boys. I came to ask if there was anyone with any knowledge at all of who the attackers might be," Arthur answered.

Arthur waited for a reaction from one of the two men before him. After a long while Larcius shook his head, and from the look on his face Arthur felt inclined to believe. The Governor, on the other hand, looked uncomfortable for a couple of seconds before regaining his composure.

"How would I have any knowledge of those barbarians?" the Governor blistered and Arthur could almost imagine him puffing up invisible feathers.

"Then you know nothing of who made this trinket?" Arthur said as his pulled the strange necklace from a pouch at his belt.

"I am Tressius Aquila, Governor of this city. How could I possibly have any idea at all?" the Governor replied as though Arthur had somehow besmirched his honour.

"So, the Portly One has a name?" Arthur heard Lancelot mutter under his breath.

Unfortunately, it seemed that Governor Aquila and his aide heard the remark and it produced two very different responses. While Tressius Aquila's face turned a glowing red as he scowled at the dark knight it was obvious to both visitors that Larcius Ursus was fighting a raging battle with himself to stop himself from laughing.

"I was merely curious. I wondered if there was something you had neglected to tell us in our haste to go to the aid of Othona" Arthur said in his loudest, most commanding tone that demanded order from those who heard it.

The Governor stopped spluttering and Larcius regained the control of his facial muscles, which he used to set his lips in a thin, serious line. Larcelot, however, was smiling quiet contentedly and Arthur was reminded of the times when Lancelot had relentlessly taunted some of the younger Roman legionaries at the Wall. He did not want to have to experience those after effects again.

"No, there is nothing which I know and you do not," confirmed Aquila.

"In that case, there is no more reason for us to take up any more of your time. We shall leave you to your official duties as Governor of this great city," Arthur said as he turned to leave the room.

"Will you stay and help us drive them off for good?" Larcius asked, receiving a disapproving look from the Governor that Arthur couldn't interpret.

"The knights and myself will do all we can to put an end to these attacks," Arthur replied as he proceeded to leave the room, Lancelot a couple of steps behind him.

Neither of them stopped until they reached the quarters that they had been given for their stay. They were once more sat at the table, which had been cleared of all bowls and cups by some servant or other.

"Lancelot…" Arthur started, but he got no further with whatever it was he wanted to lecture the knight about.

"There's something wrong about that Governor," Lancelot was looking down at the table top, a strange expression clouding his face. "Something isn't quite right, but I don't know what it is," Lancelot finished, the first tremors of annoyance in his tone.

For a few minutes Arthur said nothing, jus sat regarding his old friend. He, too, thought that there was something more than a little odd about how the Governor had acted in the audience. But Arthur could think of no reason for the man's behaviour. Not one scrap of an idea that would give a good enough reason for the man to act the way he did. The old favourite of people trying to find an excuse – he didn't sleep well – wouldn't account for it, and he hadn't seen anything in the room that would imply that the Governor had been at his drink.

"Forget it, Lancelot," he said with a sigh. "This isn't the time to be unravelling the mystery of the mood swinging Governor of Camulodunum. They should be back a map by now," Arthur said changing topic as he craned his neck to look down the corridor that lead to the room for a sign of any of the three knights returning from their task.

"You don't think he's pregnant, do you?" Lancelot asked with a lazy laugh, which died at Arthur's bemused expression. "Our friend the Governor. Oh, never mind," Lancelot finished with a shake of his head.

Arthur saw Lancelot look at him as he drew a very particular type of breath. Arthur had many different ways of drawing breath, each one signifying what he was preparing himself to say. This one was the cue for some big question, or a mind-lowing revelation. It always made Lancelot a little uncomfortable when heard Arthur draw in a deep breath like that.

"Lancelot," Arthur stopped as he struggled to find the words to ask his question. "Lancelot, what happened to you while you were….gone?"

It was a question Arthur had been plagued with since he had seen his friend walk through the doorway. He hadn't asked it because the time was never right, there was too much else to think about on the journey, it was too early in the day, or too late. Or at least that was why Arthur told himself he hadn't asked Lancelot. But deep down he knew the real reason: he had been afraid of what Lancelot might say. He had been unsure of the territory. But now, he had finally gone through with the asking. And he would have to listen to whatever Lancelot said.

For a long while Lancelot sat quietly, his dark eyes looking anywhere by at Arthur's face. He could remember. He could bring to mind every second he had spent there, on the other side of the bridge. As yet, he wasn't sure whether or not it was a good thing, having those memories. He had spent a lot of his time wondering whether or not Dagonet and Tristan had been similarly afflicted. But he ended up with his hands empty of answers. Trying to read Tristan was like trying to red a brick wall and Dagonet always showed so many emotions Lancelot didn't know which ones were for himself and which ones were felt for others.

But at last he did answer Arthur's question, though all the while he looked like he was somewhere else, some distant place.

"There was a bridge. I think it was made of swords, for it seemed to reflect light as a polished blade would. Beneath my feet was nothing and water as the same time. At the other end of the bridge was an island. As I walked I felt like I was being ripped in two. Something was pulling me towards the island, but there was something trying to pull me back the way I had come. But the moment I set foot on the island it stopped, and when I turned back to look at the bridge it had gone.

"The island had seemed small from the bridge but now there was a sea of grass stretching out before me, as far as I could see and beyond. There was a stream on my left. I followed it. A couple of time I stopped to take a drink. The water was perfectly clear and a couple of mouthfuls was enough to quench the thirst."

Lancelot stopped, drawing in a deep breath of his own. For a while he was silent again, and Arthur couldn't bring himself to speak and break that silence.

"Then I saw this group of huts. I headed for them. When I reached them I saw the people. There were people there, Arthur. So many people. Some I knew from my childhood, some I didn't. My mother was there, but no one else. She told me many things. My father is getting old and stiff. My sister is married now and has two children," Lancelot broke off again. "I'm an uncle, Arthur!"

To Arthur, Lancelot seemed ecstatic about this. He was grinning and his eyes were dancing. Lancelot wasn't Bors; he had never relished the thought of being a father. It would get in his way. But that wasn't to say he hated children themselves. Apparently he liked the thought of being Mysterious Uncle Lancelot, though.

"She told me that they had thought about me every day. Prayed to the Gods for my health and good luck. It reminded me of how much I had missed them all," he stopped and looked at Arthur. "This country is all you have known. But for me, I cannot survive here while thinking of the family I have on the other side of the world. You saw what happened to Daray when he didn't stop thinking about his family. He just faded away. Nothing anybody could do to stop it."

Lancelot stopped himself and the train of thought he had been following. It wasn't good to think of such things to his mind, especially in a room so obviously Roman. Instead he continued talking, he voice so low that Arthur struggled to hear him.

"But then, just after I started to get used to things there, Merlin came. He told me things, and for all else I can remember, I cannot draw his words from my memory. So I came back. Feeling again like I was being split in two as I came back across the bridge. And then I woke up covered in dirt!" he stopped and glared a momentarily sheepish Arthur. "I still have dirt under my nails!" he stopped again and raised his hands with his palms facing him.

Arthur didn't look at Lancelot's nails; he was too busy looking at his eyes trying to work out how he felt about what had happened to him.

"How d'you feel about all this?" Arthur asked hesitantly.

"You know what Arthur? I don't know how I feel," Lancelot said after a long moment's thought. "It was good there, aye, it was. And it was good seeing my mother again, even under those circumstances," Lancelot continued, ignoring Arthur's raised eyebrow. "But, I felt detached somehow. Like the first day at the fort, surrounded by al the Romans in their shining armour. I didn't belong there. Not yet anyway. But at the same time, it's weird being back. So much has happened," he explained, looking pointedly at Arthur. "But no, Arthur, as good as it was, I don't plan on returning any time soon. Too many pretty girls here."

In an instant Lancelot had closed the doors to his feelings, and was once again the Lancelot most took him to be.

It was just then that Bors, Galahad and Gawain marched into the room, oblivious to what had been going on before their arrival.

"We've found your map, Arthur. But I'll be damned if I can read it," Bors stated loudly, dumping the article on the table and sitting down.

Dagonet walked in a few minutes later, tailed by Cadan. It must mean his brother was doing as well as might be expected and Dagonet had drawn him back into the real world, probably with the promise of a hot meal.

Arthur gave Lancelot one last, searching look and then turned his attention to the map as the others took a seat at the table.

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It is early spring now. The first green is returning to the trees. But that is not the real news at all.

The news is this: my father has ordered that the army be gathered, that the Lords bring their men to Isca Dumnonium. I am not sure what he plans, and I do not think I want to know.

I visit my grandfather's grave every day. Often I see familiar faces there, the old and the young. It is heartening that they haven't yet forgotten him. He deserves to be remembered. So do all the others who have passed away over the years, but no more of that. I have more writing to do if I am going to finish this before my hair has turned grey.