Tristan's Story

Chapter 24

Calm before the Storm

"Let us hold to the light while we may, for darkness ever encroaches." Anon

Before each journey, brew the tea and the mint leaves together. He might even take some along in a separate pouch. It should settle his stomach."

"Thank you, doctor," Lancelot said. He rose to take his leave, but the doctor stayed his motion with a question.

"What is your name, son?"

Lancelot stood by the table and met the man's eyes. "Lancelot. My name is Lancelot."

"Well, Lancelot, if any man ever again calls you a slave, you bust him in the nose, and that includes me. As long as you're free up here," he indicated his head by tapping on his temple with his finger, "you'll never be a slave."

Lancelot nodded his head slightly and turned to leave. He paused by the door to look back. "Thank you for the herb and tea leaves for Pelleas."

"You just remember what I said," replied the doctor, "and next time you come to see me I'll tell you about the Egyptians." As the knight left and closed the door, the doctor muttered to himself, 'that is if I'm not dead drunk again.'

Lero appeared at the curtained door. "Doctor, the young one is feverish."

As Lancelot exited the infirmary, he was surprised to find Patrobas and Scaro pacing nervously outside. Seated on a bench to the left of the door were Quentas and Rufus. The younger pair immediately came to him as he exited.

"How is Lucius?"

"Did you see Lucius?" they both asked at once.

Lancelot flashed back to the covers ending at the knee and realized that these two did not know their friend had lost his leg, and still might lose his life to the fever claiming him. "Perhaps you should talk to the doctor," he hedged, noticing out of the corner of his eye the look Rufus gave Quentas at his comment. Both of them were experienced enough to know exactly what that evasion probably meant.

"Well, I cannot just wait out here knowing nothing," growled Scaro.

The man made a move towards the door, but Rufus was faster. The big man rose from his seat and put himself squarely in front of the door, shaking his head slowly at Scaro. "You are too frustrated to even think of going inside, Scaro," he said. "Gather yourself and stand down." His dark brown eyes never left the face of the Roman.

Scaro stared over Rufus' shoulder for a moment and then forced himself to step back. "I only want to know how the boy is doing," he murmured.

"Quentas will speak with the surgeon when he is available and let us know how Lucius fares," the Carthaginian replied. "In the state you are in now, you would only distract the physician and delay your friend's care. Is that what you want?"

"You know it is not, but I saw the surgeon talking to Lancelot," challenged Scaro. "Why is he not available to speak to us now?" Frustration at the waiting and fear for his friend sharpened his words.

"Since he has spoken with the surgeon, perhaps Lancelot can shed some light on the situation." The softly spoken words had come from Quentas, and the three men turned to look at him. "Well, Lancelot, what about it?"

Lancelot swallowed. For all their bluster and discipline, he could see that the Romans were not any different than him and his fellow Sarmatians. Whatever uniform they wore, they cared about their fellow soldier...their friend. The politicians never seemed to appreciate the lengths to which a man at arms will go for the man fighting beside him...and they could never truly understand the depths of loyalty that shedding blood together forges. The Sarmatian cleared his throat nervously. "As I was leaving, the physician was told that Lucius had a fever." He would gladly leave it at that, and moved to leave.

Quentas' words halted him. "Give us the rest, young one, for I can see on your face there is more."

Lancelot sighed. He should have known they would not let it be. There was no easy way to say it. "They had to cut off his leg at the knee."

Patrobas groaned and turned his back to the group, and Scaro's grizzled countenance grew even stonier. "He cannot even go back to his father's business now. What use is a one legged fisherman?"

"Easy lads," said Rufus, "he has his life, and he will have his pension, which is more than many we've left dead on the fields of battle."

It was then that Quentas rose from where he had been seated. He put his hand on Lancelot's shoulder. "Thank you, Lancelot. That was not easy news to bear, but we needed to hear it. You may leave now."

"Thank you, sir," the Sarmatian automatically responded, falling back into the easy discipline of his training days. Lancelot walked quickly away, leaving the four Romans to await further news of their friend. He still held the bag of tea and mint, so he decided to go put it in the bunk house until he could speak privately with Brumear and Pelleas and explain to them what the physical had suggested.

As he entered the bunk house he noticed that Tristan was sitting on his bunk fletching arrows. The scout preferred to make his own rather than use the standard Roman issue and spent a lot of his spare time perfecting his craft. Batraz was perched - where he often was - in the rafters above Tristan's bunk, his keen eyes following Lancelot's every movement as he entered the room.

The ones Lancelot sought were together as he knew they would be. Brumear had taken a bad fall from his horse a few days earlier and sprained his knee. He had been on enforced bed rest since. He was growing quite tired of it, and Pelleas spent his off time sitting with his friend telling him stories and catching him up on what all the others were doing.

"What is this?" laughed Lancelot, stopping at the foot of Brumear's bunk.

"Jols constructed it to keep his leg elevated," said Pelleas. "Is it not something?" The redhead's fair face shone with a sea of freckles acquired from the amount of time he spent outdoors on patrols.

Lancelot walked around to the side of the bed examining the elevated leg. It rested on a padded platform that began with a slope from the knight's hip to his knee and then leveled off so that his lower leg was parallel to the bed. "It is...something."

"If you laugh, I swear – bum leg or not - I'll get you back," warned Brumear.

"Don't mind him, Lancelot," grinned Pelleas, "he is just tired of the inactivity."

"I told him I would cut off his leg," observed Tristan, seemingly completely serious, "but he did not favor that solution." The knight shrugged his shoulders as though surprised that his solution was not accepted. He continued fletching his arrows as though this bizarre conversation was completely normal.

Lancelot started at him a moment, flashing back to the surgery and the paleness of Lucius. Shaking his head, he turned back to Brumear and Pelleas. "Here," he said, tossing the bag of tea and herbs onto the bed, "brew some of this before each mission."

In a flash of feather, Batraz swooped in and snagged the bag before Brumear could even pick it up. "Hey!" the knight shouted. "Damn it, Tristan, get that back for me!"

Pelleas jumped up and was following the eagle as he worked his way from rafter to rafter, his treasure securely held in his talons. "Come on, Traz, give it to me," he coaxed. Several times the knight made a jump for it, but Batraz was enjoying the game to much to surrender his prize just yet.

The chase was interrupted by Arthur coming in. "Lancelot, Tristan, let's go."

Putting aside the arrows, Tristan whistled for Batraz and held up his arm. The eagle obediently came to him. Tristan pulled the bag from Traz's talon and tossed it Brumear.

"I'll be back," Pelleas told Brumear.

"No Pel," interrupted Arthur, "you just got off patrol. Sit this one out."

"I'm not tired," protested Pelleas, "I don't need to be coddled."

"Don't argue with Arthur," snapped Lancelot, which in itself was laughable given that Lancelot argued everything with Arthur.

Brumear snorted, obviously picking up on the irony of Lancelot's statement. "Come on, Pel, keep me company. I'm am about to die from boredom here."

Pelleas sighed and sat back down mumbling to himself. "They treat me like I'm a baby. I bet Galahad is going!" His face was flushed and his green eyes flashed with anger.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," replied Brumear. "Galahad didn't just get off a long patrol either. Settle down," he smiled, "you're as flustered as Batraz when he spies a rodent." Brumear, as always, was a calming influence...one on which Arthur often relied with this tempestuous group.

Pelleas blushed at the truth of his friend's word and gave Brumear an embarrassed smile. "You're right," he sighed sheepishly. "I just hate it when they all go out without me."

"I know," Brumear said, sobering. "I know..."

Lancelot caught up to Arthur as the commander strode quickly across the training yard. "What is up?"

"One of the scouts picked up signs of Woad activity close by. They may be planning a major assault, and we're going to see what we can learn."

"How many," Tristan questioned as they headed for the stables.

"That's what we're going to find out," answered Arthur.

Tristan glanced at Lancelot with raised eyebrows.

Lancelot whistled softly. "So we could be facing a thousand."

Arthur gave him a sidelong glance. "Being your usual optimistic self, Lance?"

The knight was saved from answering by their arrival at the stables.

Jols was preparing the supply horses, packing them with extra weapons, healing supplies, food, and anything else he thought might be useful. The squire was a native born Briton who had lived among the Romans all his life. His father, Wallis had served as a squire for the Sarmatian Knights a generation before, and Jols was proud to follow in his footsteps. Wallis had died a few years earlier, but Jols' mother still lived nearby. As boys he and Arthur had played together until they reached an age where the difference in their stations had forced them to seek different paths and Arthur was sent away for training. Oh, the boys had ever felt a difference in themselves, but the conventions of the times made acceptance of such dictates, especially for Jols, normal. He was proud of his service and happy to serve such good and brave men. Jols had no desire for the mantle of leadership with its inherent responsibilities. He had seen all too clearly how heavily it rested upon Arthur's shoulders.

The squire watched the knights gathering as he continued loading the pack horses, noting the easy camaraderie of the group. Gawain was teasing Galahad about something or other, and the boy's cheeks were pink with embarrassment. Bedevere was strapping his gladius to his saddle. The knight was left handed, so Jols had made a special attachment to hold the instrument on the right side of the saddle so that Bedevere could easily draw it with his sword arm.

Bors was talking, as usual, as he led his horse from its stall...and just as usual, Dagonet was silently going about his business. Together they balanced each other out quite nicely. Lamorak was securing extra arrows for his quiver. Tristan and Lamorak were easily the best archers in the group and constantly competed, each trying to be the best, which was probably why Tristan was always experimenting with different arrows.

Percival and Gareth were working on their saddles. As he watched them, the squire realized that he rarely ever heard Gareth stutter any more. He smiled to himself as he realized that the youngster had grown not only in body and ability, but in his self confidence. He had come a long way from the cowed boy that arrived at the base. Jols had heard, of course, of the discipline that had been meted out to Gareth and Lamorak during the journey here, and he was glad to see that it had achieved its desired end, for both were fine soldiers now.

Jols knew that Pelleas had just returned from a patrol with Lionel and figured that they, along with the injured Brumear, would not be joining this mission. He made sure himself that their horses had been walked, dried and brushed and were now stabled, for he never trusted the knight's mounts to the stable boys without overseeing them himself.

With a last flurry of activity the knights complete their preparations and led their horses out into the yard to mount. Arthur in the lead, the troop departed the fort for their mission. It would be a momentous one.

TBC

A/N: If you're still with me, you have my thanks. I hope you enjoy this chapter.