28 Ruccius' decision

A satisfied smile played around Ruccius' lips as he watched the freckled boy deal a smashing blow to Gaheris' sword.

What was his name again?

Pelleas.

The boy was a promising warrior, a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. He had a stubborn head on his shoulders and a certain disrespect for the rules. But it was nothing a regular whipping could not cure.

The commander chuckled. The boy was as familiar with Gaheris' belt as he himself had been with his trainer's whip, back in his years as a young recruit. The boy had spirit!

Ruccius' trained, experienced eyes wandered to the second boy, the curly-haired one.

Like Pelleas, this boy was doing well with the spear. It was no secret that Galahad was an excellent archer and Arthur Castus had informed him that the boy was making progress with the small axe. However…

Ruccius closed his eyes in dismay as he watched the lad practise with his sword. The boy's footwork was disastrous! Instead of planting his feet firmly on the ground - as he should - the boy rather resembled a nervously prancing pony.

"Stop!" Ruccius bellowed.

Gawain and the boy looked up as their commander stepped between them.

"No more of this! Let him fight with a shield!" Ruccius bristled. He turned to Galahad.

"You look like a bouncing dog, boy! Stop advancing on your opponents like that! Grab a shield, from now on you will let them come to you instead. Focus on your stance and your balance. It is your only chance to defeat your enemy. Keep dancing on your tiptoes like this, and you'll be knocked over the moment your sword touches theirs!"

Ruccius took Gawain's sword to demonstrate his point. He motioned for Galahad to defend himself and attacked the nervous boy. Galahad tried to counter the onslaught, but Ruccius beat him so hard that he was driven backwards and lost his balance.

Galahad blushed a deep shade of crimson. Gawain had been trying to make him improve his footwork since he had first arrived here. His problem was that he had learned it the wrong way. His father was no swordsman. He was an archer who had insisted on training his son with the sword to prepare him for his service to Rome. Galahad had not managed to get his father's training out of his body and mind.

Gawain pulled him out of his musings. "Go on! Run to the armoury and ask Ellis for two shields!" he urged.

Galahad muttered about his dismal life as an unworthy errand boy, but with a glance at Ruccius he obeyed.

Ruccius shifted his focus to Balan.

Though the youngest boy lacked in size and strength what Galahad lacked in footwork, the boy nimbly circled Tristan, avoiding the swings of the scout's sword with impressive agility. The eleven-year-old swung his wooden sword with skill and he even managed to deal a few blows to the scout's stomach and neck that would have been deadly had the sword been real and the fight more than just practice.

Ruccius knew that Tristan was giving the boy opportunities to strike him, but the scout was certainly not making it easy on the boy. Just then the boy made a mistake. He ducked from a swing to his head and stepped forward to embed his wooden sword in the scout's armpit. However, the scout did not pivot as Balan had expected. Instead the scout halted his sword mid-swing and placed it against the boy's throat with a threatening glare.

Balan gulped.

"Stay alert, boy!" Tristan admonished. "Read my body language to see what I'll do next. Don't assume!"

Ruccius smirked and turned around. Here was another young talent in the making. He nodded to Artorius Castus, who supervised the training, and left the practice yard.


Tristan collected his weapons. He had just sent Balan away to have lunch and spend the afternoon as he pleased. The boy was to train in the tavern that night and he couldn't expect him to remain alert after a full day of hard work.

Tristan wanted to spar with Lancelot in the afternoon, but neither the cocky knight nor his twin blades were anywhere to be seen.

"Sir?"

A young Roman infantrist appeared beside him.

"C-c-commander Ruccius s-s-sends for you, sir," the soldier said nervously.

"Tell him I'm on my way," Tristan replied gruffly.

The young Roman hurried away.

Tristan knew that the Romans purposely sent their new recruits to the knights as messengers. The fierce reputation of the Sarmatian cavalry was well-known in Rome. These boys had grown up with tales about brutal Sarmatian warlords and bloody victories won by the skilled but fearsome knights.

Meeting a real Sarmatian knight never failed to impress new young Romans. Many were as afraid of speaking to the knights as they would be of finding themselves surrounded by a pack of hungry wolves - much to the amusement of their Roman superiors.

Bors delighted in frightening the Roman boys, pretending to be very much the ferocious brute his reputation described him to be. Lancelot frequently vented his frustration on them, scolding the boys for every possible misdeed he could find them guilty of. Gaheris had once fooled a new recruit into believing that he was unable to understand Latin. He had made the boy repeat his message more and more slowly, until the boy had become so desperate that he had been about to cry. Finally an officer had stormed into the practice yard and had ended the offending game. The officer had whipped Gaheris in front of the Roman boy – which had resulted in a major temper tantrum from the red-haired knight afterwards.

Tristan did not like having the awestruck recruits near him. Most of the time he simply ignored them or sent them away.

He returned his weapons to the armoury and made his way to Ruccius' office.


Arthur opened the door.

"Tristan, enter!" Arthur greeted kindly.

Ruccius stood behind his desk, his hands resting on the table.

"I hear that you are training your boy to become a scout?" the commander asked instantly.

Tristan nodded.

"How does he progress? I was informed that you are training him inside the fort. When will you take him out with you?" Ruccius demanded.

"He needs to learn more skills with his weapons before he can come to the woods with me," Tristan stated calmly.

"Yes, his weapons…" Ruccius said slowly. He scratched his chin and looked from Arthur to Tristan.

"I want to give the boy more weapons to train with. He is a good archer and he looks promising with the sword. I want him to train with a real sword from now on."

Ruccius' gaze lingered on Arthur.

"I believe that he has brought a sword from Sarmatia?"

"He has," Arthur answered.

"Very well," Ruccius continued, fixing Tristan with his glare. "Apart from his bow and his sword, which other weapons do you think he can learn to handle?"

Tristan didn't need long to answer that question.

"Long-knives, dagger, throwing-knives and a small battle-axe," he replied.

He had been contemplating Balan's potential for months. The boy had a deadly aim and his arm was certain. Any weapon that the boy could hurl at his attackers from a distance would come to his advantage. If it should come to close combat, the boy would have to rely on rapid anticipation and speed. Smaller weapons, such as an axe and a long-knife, would help him there.

"Has he tried any of them yet?" Ruccius asked.

"He learnt to throw knives at his father's knee and he knows how to use a dagger. Gawain let him try a small battle axe once, he did quite well with it. I can teach him how to wield a long-knife," Tristan answered.

Arthur nodded thoughtfully and Ruccius looked pleased.

"Right then, tell Gawain to train the boy with the small battle axe. In return, you shall take over his boy's archery training. That lad is talented with the bow. Gawain is a good archer, but his boy is better. He needs an archer with your qualities to let him improve," Ruccius decided.

Tristan nodded his assent and made to leave. But before he reached the door, the commander cleared his throat.

"You will take your boy and Gawain's boy to the target field outside the fort and practice skirmishing with them. I want these boys ready for battle!" Ruccius stated firmly.

An icy silence filled the room.

Tristan turned and saw that Arthur looked shocked. It was plain that Arthur had been unaware that Ruccius would play this final trump. Tristan kept a stoic expression for Balan's sake, but he was boiling with anger. He had suspected that Ruccius might urge him to take Balan on scouting missions before the boy was ready. But not this.

He knew better than to show the commander his aggitation, for Ruccius would likely use it to get a rise out of him. He had to avoid that at all cost. He would not risk putting Balan in even more danger.

"I see no use in a pair of conscripts hanging around in the fort just to be fed!" Ruccius barked when he noticed Arthur's hesitation. "Especially these two! They were conscripted for a shorter time than the other boys, so they'd better fill their ten years of service by being of use to us!"

Ruccius glared at Tristan.

"Your boy will join the light cavalry. He will ride on the fringe of battle and shoot enemies from a distance. Get him ready!"

He turned to Arthur.

"Gawain's boy can do the same. Perhaps a confrontation with battle will motivate him to train harder with his sword!"

Arthur nodded reluctantly. Tristan could tell that his future commander heartily disagreed with Ruccius. He suspected that the final word had not yet been spoken about the boys.

But Ruccius was cunning. Arthur could not question Ruccius' decision in front of Tristan, a Sarmatian conscript. Doing so would equal questioning Ruccius' authority in public, which the Romans considered treason. But even if Arthur were to dismiss Tristan and speak with Ruccius behind closed doors, it would be nearly impossible to overturn Ruccius' decision now. For Ruccius had already announced it 'in public,' in front of that same Sarmatian conscript – a lower ranking man.

Not without reason had Ruccius withheld his decision from Arthur until now.

Tristan worked hard to keep the glare from his face.

"Right then. Let us speak of getting the boy weapons for his training," Ruccius said sternly. "He'll need throwing-knives, a pair of long-knives and an axe."

"I believe there was a set of four throwing-knives with the weapons Balan brought from Sarmatia," Arthur remembered.

"Will you need more?" he asked Tristan.

Tristan shook his head.

"Four will do. I have plenty myself. He can use one of Gawain's old axes to practise with. He already has one of my daggers, but he will need his own long-knives, I always take mine with me."

Ruccius broadened his shoulders and raised his chin.

"Very well. I will send word to Ellis to get the boy a pair of long-knives. Artorius, please accompany him to the armoury to collect the boy's weapons."


Neither Arthur nor Tristan spoke as they walked down the hallway. Arthur had seemed baffled earlier, but now he positively fumed. Just before they exited the building, he stopped the scout.

"I wasn't aware of this," Arthur began.

Tristan merely looked into Arthur's eyes. He did not respond. If Arthur wanted someone to assuage his feelings of guilt and concern, he would have to find someone else. An eleven-year-old boy was about to face hordes of Woads, Celts or Saxons. Tristan would be there for the boy. But not for a grown Roman.

Arthur hesitated when he recognized the distant expression in Tristan's eyes. He wanted the scout to know that he was on his side. That he did not want the boy in battle. But the scout didn't appear to be open for such conversation.

Arthur Castus, future commander of the Sarmatian knights, tried hard to keep his composure. But a deep sadness in his eyes betrayed his true feelings. Tristan waited for Arthur to regain control of himself. Finally the Roman turned and walked out the door, ordering his knight to follow him to the armoury.