Author's notes:

Again, no harm or ill feelings are meant to any religion or gods or goddess in the telling of this story. I took the bare bones of a Hindu myth and twisted it to serve my own purposes. The Indian gods are fascinating to me, and I'm glad to have to do some research on them. It's cool. :p
Like I said, blame Indiana Jones for the inspiration.

Five.

The following day went quickly, Arthur spending most of it discussing strategy with Lucius Scipio, a bald, portly man, who had never risen higher than Legionary commander. I was sure he was a bastard partly because of that.

He was also a bastard just because his power dictated that he could be. Arthur must have the patience of one of his Christian saints to put up with the man, much less to discuss reports and tactics with him.

I spent the time practicing my weaponry skills, hacking a practice pole to bits with my blades. I whirled them in an arc, the fading light shining off them. I smiled; in the beginning of our term here no one had thought anyone could use two blades in battle. They had all insisted I was just trying to be the showoff that I was.

I proved them wrong.

The short Spanish swords I carried now had been purchased from a market dealer in Londinium – the farthest I had ever been from the wall.

I would never forget that trip. Apart from the sheer overwhelmingness of the city, I had gotten myself and Galahad lost.

Oh, we had still had fun, and I would never have found the dealer from whom I bought my blades, but for a while there, I had been terrified that I would never see my friends again.

More to the point, I had been terrified that I would never see Arthur again.

And in that moment, my twenty year old self had realized that as much as I missed home, and as stupid as I thought defending a remote outpost like Britain was, I would keep on doing it.

I would make it for fifteen years for him.

I would follow Arthur through the gates of Hades. Would I be happy about it?

No.

But I would do it regardless. He was a true man among idiots. Romans were mostly arrogant fools; not capable or caring to get to know the men in their service.

Arthur Castus was something I never thought I'd see outside of Sarmatia.

He was honorable.

What I saw in his eyes when Galahad and I had finally reappeared at the end of that confusing day in the city was something I'll never forget.

Fear. Anger. Relief.

And overall, love.

He had berated us for hours afterwards, all the way to our campsite on the trip back to the wall.

But as I had sat sulking, he had snuck up on me, and pulled my new blades from their sheaths across my back, sitting to admire them.

"Fate is a funny thing, Lancelot," he had said. "You'd do well to remember that."

I hadn't really understood him then. But now, remembering his actions on our recent mission, his concern only for his men; his kindness in coming with me on my own personal quest, and his darkening eyes as we had loved one another, I was certain I did understand him now.

As I was making my way to the tavern, having sharpened my blades and and taken care of my armor, I ran smack into Dagonet, who was exiting the stables.

"Dag, my boy," I said to him, trying to make my voice sound companionable. He merely raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, which made his muscles stick out ridiculously. By the gods, the man was more a mountain than a human.

I made a pfffft noise, then got back to the matter at hand.

"Listen, I need to speak with you," I said, lowering my request as a few serving wenches walked by. They waved at me, and I winked, then turned back to the other man.

"Indeed," he intoned, "Can I get some sustenance first? Or is this matter timely?"

"No, no," I replied, wanting to be generous. "I'll join you. I was just heading there myself."

He sighed, then nodded. I knew the man wasn't one for lots of company, but my questions were too important to be put off for too long.

We seated ourselves at a small table, and I waved at one of the barmaids for stew and drink. She dropped an exaggerated curtsey and went to get the food.

I turned back to Dagonet, who was eyeing me with somewhat of a strained air.

"Are there any whose beds you haven't warmed?" he asked. I showed my teeth, and leaned back against the wooden wall.

"A knight never tells, Dag. If you knew that, perhaps you'd have more company."

He merely stared at me, and I sighed.

The food arrived, and I squeezed the hip of the young woman who brought it. She whirled, and pinched my arse before I could say anything. Then she was gone in a flounce of skirts and hair.

Dagonet actually laughed. I grumbled something about wenches and their manners, and took a huge gulp of my wine.

"Where is Arthur?" he asked.

"Probably still wasting time with that ass, Lucius Scipio," I grated out, still angry that I hadn't seen our commander all day. I was slightly worried; he had been tellingly silent the previous night, only using his voice once in calling out my name during the midst of lovemaking, which had been a pleasure to be sure, but odd when he hadn't said much else afterward.

"Oh? Another raid being ordered?"

"No," I answered, and proceeded to fill the other knight in on what exactly Arthur and I had found at Bodaciam, dead bodies and all. I didn't mention the statue. I was waiting until I had him relaxed and willing to talk first for that.

"Trust you, Lancelot, to find a trail of blood and murder whilst on vacation," a new voice said, and a blond, disheveled man joined us, towing with him a sullen, dark haired one.

"Ah, Gawain and Galahad," I said, running a hand over my rumpled tunic. "How nice to see you out of your quarters."

Galahad blushed, while Gawain had the presence of mind to glare at me. "Galahad has just been released from the medicus' care," he told me in a grand tone, "no thanks to you."

I narrowed my eyes dangerously, as Galahad rolled his eyes. "And what does that mean?"

"Gawain, leave it," the younger man said, but Gawain shook his hand off.

"You didn't get to him in time," the blond said, and grabbed my forearm in an unbreakable grip. "I relied on you to protect him. You were closest to him. And now look at him!"

He made a sweeping gesture that encompassed Galahad's bruised forehead and stitched arm.

I winced inside, but smiled at Gawain; it was actually more of a baring of fangs than a friendly grin.

"Had I not been a tad bit preoccupied by trying to keep my own arse alive, I would have been there. I called to him; Galahad, didn't you hear me call your name?"

The dark haired knight nodded, saying "I did hear you, Lancelot. And I don't blame you, unlike some," he added, tossing a look of annoyance at Gawain, "but don't be angry at him for it. He's only being overprotective, as usual."

"Bah," Gawain spat, and dug into his own food as the same waitress placed some before him and Galahad. I scooted a little away from her unconsciously, and the ghost of a smile appeared on Dagonet's lips.

"Shying away from wenches, Lancelot?" Gawain said, through a mouthful of stew. I tried to ignore him.

"Have your beloved Arthur's teachings on Christian behavior finally gotten through that thick skull of yours?"

"Tread lightly, my friend," I said, my jaw muscles bunching and twitching. "I can show you later just how 'Christian' my fighting can be, if you so choose."

"Knights," came another voice, "I'd ask that you don't discuss me or my religion in my earshot without including me in it, all right?"

Galahad blushed slightly, and Gawain mumbled out an apology.

I merely stared at our commander; he looked terrible.

"Well, Lancelot? Are you going to move over, or do I have to sit on the floor?"

I slid my rear end over next to Dag, and allowed Arthur to sit.

"Arthur," Dagonet said, "Lancelot told us what you discovered. Do you have any idea what did this?"

Arthur dropped his head, and shrugged his shoulders. I could almost smell the anxiety coming off him, and I slipped a hand under the table, squeezing his fingers gently.

The corner of his mouth rose without looking at me, and he squeezed back before letting go.

"Unfortunately, no. Lancelot encountered what we think was a magus," he said, and I hemmed and hawwed just a bit, not forgetting the argument about the man Arthur and I had had, "but he managed to get away. Did Lancelot ask you about the deity?"

Oh, gods. Arthur, Arthur. No tact.

I bounced a hand down on the table to distract them. Gawain and Galahad jumped, Gawain almost choking on a mouthfull of stew. He glared at me, then at Galahad, who was trying not to laugh at him.

Arthur looked at me, raising an eyebrow. "Yes? Do you have something to add?"

"Arthur," I started, trying to keep the whine out of my voice, "Don't you think we might talk about this later – when the others aren't so tired?" My voice rose in pitch until I sounded like an annoying child.

"…if you say so," he answered, puzzled. My eyes promised him I would explain later.

Arthur's food arrived, and we all finished eating in relative silence.

The two G's rose, blond G determined to get younger G back to bed. I smirked at this, and Gawain threw me a look that said this isn't over. I just opened my eyes widely, all innocence, and they left, Galahad hauling Gawain away.

"Lancelot. Explain," Arthur said. I took a deep draught off my goblet, and belched unexpectedly. Arthur rolled his eyes; Dag just stared.

"I really think the less people that know about this, the better," I said, and Arthur's brows came together.

"Lancelot, we have no secrets here. You know that."

"This isn't a secret, Arthur," I clarified. "Dag is the only one who knows anything about foreign gods; I didn't see the reason in putting the others through something they really didn't need to hear."

Arthur shifted his gaze to Dagonet, who cocked his head in concurance. Arthur sighed, and yielded the floor to me.

I took Dagonet through the whole thing, from us arriving at Tore, the strange decorations in the inn and the weird non-christian brothers with the christian names, the Kali statue, and the magus.

I described the statue in detail, and when I was finished, I took another pull off my drink, my throat raw from speaking.

"Well?" I queried after a silence from the big knight.

"I'm thinking, little man," he said at last. I snorted, and got up to get us all more libations.

I was going to need more drink if I was going to be able to put up with Dagonet's cryptic act all night.

After mine and Arthur's third game of dice, and as many cups of wine, Dagonet spoke.

"You said the magus called her Kali?"

"Yes, Dagonet," I said with more than a little impatience. "Many arms, many swords, many dead men's heads…really large breasts, come to think of it," I mused tipsily, and giggled to myself. Arthur removed the wine goblet from my hands.

"The only deity that I know of like that is called Kai-ili," he added. "She's a representation of the mother goddess of the cow worshipers. They have some type of myth that tells the story of how their gods were taken prisoner by two demons, and Kai-ili was the goddess that rescued them all by killing the demons. She's said to be strong, and compassionate, but merciless when faced with enemies of her devotees."

He thought more, tilting his head to the side. He looked almost like a statue of the Greek's boy god Cupid, and I told him so, laughing. He ignored me.

"No sense of humor," I groused, but was silenced by Arthur's hand on my neck, squeezing just a tad too tightly to be comfortable.

"I haven't run across any worshipers of Kali outside of Sarmatia," he continued, "but this island is known for it's varied religions. Remember the arrow we found? The one that injured your mount, Lancelot?"

I did, and said so.

"Now that I've heard your story, I don't think it was Druidic at all. I think it might be a creation of this magus, perhaps made to look Druidic. Have you mananged to find anyone to translate the runes on it, Arthur?"

Arthur shook his head. "Strangely, no. And there are some here who can read the rune marks."

"Then that's probably it. It sounds as if this old man has something in for Romans, and is using his goddess and the fear of Druids to get it done."

"But all the dead animals…and the dead people," I said, still a little muzzy, but not drunk enough that I couldn't put two and two together. "What would the purpose of that be? So many innoncents – they weren't just Roman citizens. They were Britons as well. What could he want?"

Dagonet shook his head. "If I tell you what I think he's doing, you won't believe me."

Arthur leaned forward, while I crossed my arms behind my head. "What, Dagonet?" Arthur asked him, deadly serious.

"He's using the animals and the people for blood sacrifices. To power up the goddess."

Arthur stared, and I burst out a laugh.

"Dag," I said as Arthur frowned at me, "really now. Magic goddesses? You know Arthur and his Christian beliefs won't take any stock in that. And in as much as I have participated in the rituals of our country, I don't follow the horse goddess or Mithras or any of the soldier's deities. The only things I believe in are the things in front of my face – and the things I can make bleed."

"How can you explain the mist? Us getting separated? You being beaten – twice?"

I stopped laughing, and put my hands on my thighs.

And how could explain that thing I saw in said mist? The hackles on my neck rose so quickly I couldn't surpress a shudder.

"There are things, Lancelot, bigger things in this world than you or I. How can any of us claim to understand the workings of any one power?"

I popped my eyes wide at Arthur, not believing that those words had come from his mouth.

"I am hearing right?" I said, jiggling my finger in my ear. "Did Artorius Castus just admit something might be unexplainable by the might of his God?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes, and I snapped my mouth shut; somedays, I wondered why I didn't just wear a sign that said, 'Warning: insensitive lout.'

"I'm sor-" I got out, before he turned his back on me, and spoke to Dag.

I felt the heat rise in my face, and tensed my shoulders. Damn it, Lancelot, you great bloody fool.

I stood stiffly as they finished their conversation, and at last Arthur turned to me as Dagonet escaped from us, probably happy to have a few moments alone.

How the man was as close friends with Bors as he was, I'll never know.

Arthur's grey green eyes were clouded, and the look on his face was enough to deflate any feelings of trying to defend myself and the stupid comment I had made.

"Arthur," I placated, my hand out. He interrupted me.

"We will take a patrol of Lucius Scipio's men and our unit with us in the morning to Tore, and will retreive this magus. Be ready to leave at dawn."

He nodded awkwardly to me, and turned on his heel, making his way to the garrison proper and the knight's quarters.

I called out after him, but he kept going.

Stupid, bloody great fool.

I knew how sensitive Arthur was about his religion. It was the one thing he really didn't like to argue about. He never pressed it on any of us; in fact, he tried to keep it a quiet part of his life.

I had asked him once why he didn't try to convert us, like some of the other commanders had.

He had merely answered that to find God, one must want to find Him.

He would occasionally come to the round table or the tavern smelling of incense, and I would know where he had been.

But if praying on his knees in the cold little chapel afforded him so peace, who was I to argue with that?

The man had a hard life. I wouldn't be the one to object to his ways.

I sat back down, anger and embarassment warring on my face.

I signalled to the barmaid who had pinched me earlier, and she sashayed over with another mug of wine. I took the tankard from her, and pulled her down into my lap, and she giggled, her hand resting on my neck.

I found that it was too warm, and too smooth.

But I didn't say anything. Instead, I spent the better part of the evening drinking, then a few moments up against the wall of the stables with the willing maid.

She stumbled away afterwards, happily satiated, planting a large wet kiss on my lips before making her way back to the tavern.

I pulled a piece of straw out of my hair, and stared at it.

What a piece of work. Lancelot, king of discretion.

I snorted at my introspection, and slowly began the walk back to my quarters, which I knew would be disheveled, empty, and dark.

I stopped as I passed Arthur's door; there was still light shining from beneath it, and I held out my hand, hesitating.

A moment; and I let my hand drop without knocking.

I looked around, and noticed a leather coated bench across the hall from his rooms.

I settled myself on it, and lay down, watching the reflection of fire on the stone floor underneath his door.

The smell of lamp oil wafted out, mixed with that of myrrh.

I closed my eyes, and slept, only ten feet from the place I desperately wanted to be.

end five.