This chapter: Lancelot begins to suspect something is bothering Arthur, and the knights make a trip to question the magus.

Six.

I jerked awake at the sound of bare feet making that slight slapping sound they do on stone floors.

"What?" I said, rocketing from dead slumber to sitting upright with my small dagger held in my hand in under two seconds.

No one ever said I wasn't a good soldier.

"What are you doing out here?"

"Sleeping, or rather, I was," I replied, grumbling, resheathing my knife in its holster in my boot.

The garrison around us was soundly quiet, the only noise coming softly from the torches in the wall sconces.

I shivered at the draft that blew through the old place, and Arthur sighed, offering me a hand. I took it, if only just to touch him momentarily.

"Come inside," he commanded, and I obeyed.

His room was dim, but warm. It smelled vaguely of incense, and the particular oil that the Romans use to light their lamps.

"Arthur, I'm truly so-"

"Leave it, Lancelot," he cut me off. "I know your feelings on my religion well. I just didn't expect you to be that callous about them."

"Arthur, you great idiot, I'm trying to apologize if you'd just let me finish," I snapped, frustrated and angry at myself, and at him for being so bullheaded. He knew me, therefore I would hope he'd know I would never intentionally hurt him.

He whirled around, his eyes dark and his body taut with tension.

"I'm the idiot? I'm the idiot that goes off on his own and tries to look for trouble to get into? I'm the one who taunts people to the point of them killing me? I'm the one who-"

"Yes, yes, I see your point," I retorted, stepping to stand in front of him. We had a knack of making each other angry to the point of shouting and heavy breathing quite often.

"I realize the comment was in poor taste. I am sorry for it. But Arthur, for the love of the gods, you have to give me a chance here. You know I care for you. You know I'd never hurt you on purpose. And if you don't…well then, you are an idiot."

He pulled his lips back from his teeth, and suddenly we were against his wall, his trembling body pinning mine, his forearm under my throat. I laughed, although not so easily.

"God help me from killing you myself, Lancelot," he gritted out. I just grinned, and rolled my hips to touch his.

That definitely distracted him.

"You wouldn't do that – it would mean you weren't so perfectly good after all."

He actually growled at me.

I pushed him off, because he allowed me to, and stalked to the drink service he had in the corner.

Taking up the goblet of half drunken wine he had left there, I swallowed the rest of it, my face heating and my body betraying me by wanting nothing more than to run to his arms.

"Is that how you think of me – like some perfect avenging Roman braggart?"

I shut my eyes; the pain in his quiet voice was more than I cared to take.

I cursed under my breath, and turned to face him. He was sitting at his desk, outwardly calm, but I knew him too well to not understand the hunch of his shoulders or the tightness in his hands.

"Gods, Arthur. No, no. Never. But, give me a little credit, yes? I'm not so dumb I can't see what your religion does to you. It eats away at you, day after day. Each time you come back from … that place," I jerked a thumb toward the window, in the direction of the chapel, "you are remorseful, and quiet, and hurting. And I don't like it. I don't want to see you like that. You don't deserve it. You are the center of most of these knight's worlds," I said as I crossed to kneel in front of him, taking his hand and smoothing out the knots he had worked his fingers into.

"I don't understand why your god demands this type of obedience and servitude – and I know that you don't need to feel the way you do when you come back from there. You are a good man, Arthur. A good man. True, and honest, and my friend. I am not a bad judge of character," I added smugly, and a small smile decorated his stubbled and worried face, "so I know of what I speak."

"What a strange and unfortunate place for finding such love," he murmured, and it was my turn to smile.

"It is the only place we have for now, Arthur. So accept it and honor it, and that will be enough for me."

I bit my lip as he sat silent, contemplating his hands in mine.

He looked up at last, and I swallowed past a suddenly thick throat at the sight of his wet eyes.

He looked to the window, and sighed, threading his fingers through mine at last.

"We have a few hours til dawn," he whispered. "Will you stay with me?"

"You only have to ask, Arthur. Anytime."

He surprised me by not doing anything but laying in the circle of my arms, our foreheads together, his eyes shut, his breathing a little ragged.

I petted and soothed as best I could, allowing him time to let the exhaustion and confusion slip out in the guise of tears.

I murmured nonsensical words to him as he clutched at me, my hands in his hair, on his back, wound around his fingers.

I had only seen Arthur like that one other time. That weak, that hopeless, that open.

It was frightening, to say the least.

Not that I didn't want him to feel; by all means no. But to see him behaving so unlike himself…this must have been the way he was after his family died.

"Arthur, Arthur," I crooned his name, and he settled into me, his breathing finally slowing, his chest moving with the slow rhythm of sleep.

I held him until the dawn broke, troubled and disquieted.

Had I done this? Had I forced a line of thinking on him that made him doubt himself?

I would sooner eat glass.

And I thought not. We had had a similar conversation earlier that week, in Tore, the first time he and I had…

I forced my mind from that pleasant memory, and concentrated on just him.

Something was going on – and it wasn't just his relationship in all its incarnations with me.

Perhaps on the road, I'd have a chance to pick his brain.

Oh yes. And perhaps goats might fly. Arthur could see through any ruse I ever tried to sneak past him.

I would have to come up with a really good plan this time.

I buckled my light weight breastplate on over the shirt of chainmail I had borrowed from one of the infantry men who was getting out of the service for good in a few days. I didn't think he'd mind if I didn't return it.

Arthur had been distant and silent when we had woken, and he had not spoken of his disquieting behavior at all, as much as I tried to get him to talk about it.

Something was going on with him, and I was not going to take his ignoring me for an answer.

Nevertheless, he seemed his normal self when he rode up, ready to leave, his own armor in place, Excalibur resting in its sheath at his side.

Gawain and Galahad were staying behind, Galahad still healing, Gawain ostensibly to look after him.

So Dagonet, Bors, myself, Arthur, and five men from Decimus' infantry division, who looked rather funny on horseback, rode out an hour after dawn.

Arthur rode beside me for a while, his brows drawn together, his eyes half shuttered. I knew better than to try and breech that particular wall.

At last we reined in for a brief cool down period for the horses, and to let the poor foot soldiers rest their aching arses after having ridden for way longer than they were used to.

They all groaned as they tried to move their stiff legs and bodies, and I supressed a smirk at the sight of one of them rubbing his backside with his hand.

I had been there; albeit many years before.

I pulled an apple down from the low hanging branch of a tree that rested beside the small river we had been following, and bit into it, watching as Dagonet and Bors walked their horses and talked.

Or rather, Bors talked, and Dagonet merely nodded.

Interesting pair.

They both came from offshoots of the same tribe, so they had more in common than some of us. I shook my head, and ate my lunch. Sometimes simple and pleasant sounded really rather wonderful in comparison to the – whatever it was I had with Arthur.

And the physical relationship was only part of it. That was new; but not surprising. We were always close. To me, it just seemed an added bonus to our connection.

It had nothing to do with preferring men over women. I just prefered Arthur over anyone else I had known. Period. There was no one like him.

He had been a handful from the moment we first sparred. Strong, compassionate, yet overly forgiving. He had confused me from the get go, but his attitude and good heart had also sucked me immediately.

Any other commander would have scoffed at the sad little group of Sarmatian brats sent to the wall to be trained. Arthur had taken one look at us, and jumped right in. Without him, who knows where we would be now?

I shook off my melancholia and watched Arthur study the small map of Tore and the surrounding areas, while the others either walked their mounts or rested their bodies.

I stood, and walked to him, looking over his shoulder as I finished off my apple.

"Any ideas?" I asked, and he raised an eyebrow, then sighed.

"I wish I had some. The only thing to do now is to make it to Tore, and find that magus. Snap him up and hustle him back to the wall before anything else strange can happen."

"Arthur," I started hesitantly, "you know it may not be him doing this. It may just be Woads, or possibly yes, even Druids. I have to doubt any kind of 'magical' doings here."

"I'm not saying any kind of fantasy is involved, Lancelot," Arthur answered, a bit sharply. "But I must investigate all angles, and this seems the most likely one. Wouldn't you agree?"

I nodded my head reluctantly. He was right. The man did need to at least be questioned.

"So let's go," he said, and whistled to the other men. I laughed as the infantry men hoisted themselves back on their mounts, and just winked when they scowled at me.

"Boys," I said as we broke into a trot, "now you know why no one wants to be in the calvary."

Arthur rolled his eyes heavenwards, and I laughed again as we sped up.

We arrived at Tore near dusk, the journey having taken a little bit longer than normal due to the slower soldiers riding with us. By the time we got there, Arthur's face was pinched and my knuckles were white with anticipation.

The moment we rode into the square I knew something was wrong.

No sound was heard, no horses, or people, or market stalls were about.

"Damn it," Arthur swore under his breath, and I knew it was serious for him to use the name of his god in vain.

"Seamus!" he called the name of one of the three brothers we had met loudly. I waited, sweat trickling down my back and flies buzzing about my head.

Nothing.

I dismounted, drawing one sword from the double sheaths on my back. Arthur got off his horse as well, and called to Bors and Dagonet, who rode up.

"Something's not right," he told them. "You each take the men, split them up, and search for villagers. Lancelot and I will find this magus, and meet you back here."

They nodded, and dismounted, calling the infantry men over to them.

Arthur and I made our way across the square, and down the small alley where I had seen the Kali statue and the strange old man.

The statue was nowhere in sight, as last time, but I had no problem finding the door of the old man's hovel.

Arthur and I looked at each other, and he stepped forward, bringing Excalibur up and beating on the door with the hilt.

"Open up!" he shouted, and I waited, ready to spring any second, my grip on my sword tight and painful.

When no answer was forthcoming, he shifted his eyes to look at me, and I raised my blade, knocking with it as he had done.

"Come on, old man," I bellowed, hiding the fear in my voice well, "open the door. We know you're here."

"Blast it," Arthur muttered, and backed up. He motioned me away from the door, and I moved, allowing him to do what he was going to because he was larger than me.

I was confidant in the knowledge that I was a better hand to hand fighter, so my pride stayed intact for the moment.

He raised his booted foot, and launched it at the wooden door, which gave in with a crash almost immediately.

We both gagged and choked, covering our faces with our gauntleted hands.

"What is that stench?" I said, eyes watering.

"I'm not sure I want to find out," Arthur answered, but grimly pushed on, his sword held in one hand, one of mine in my own as well.

We made our way inside, the darkness of the place added to by the fact the windows were covered by linen cloth.

Arthur ripped one down to allow light in, and we both gasped, unable to hold in the reaction.

Bones, dried body parts, strange bits of herbs, things I couldn't identify everywhere.

Arthur crossed himself, and I swore in my native tongue as we stared about us.

"Jesu, what is this?" he whispered, and I just stood frozen, trying to process everything in the room.

In the center of the place, a massive stone table rested, and a replica of the statue I had seen took up most of the top of it.

I would guess the more correct thing to say would be the statue I had seen was a replica of this one.

It was huge; rising at least five feet over the table, and spreading about three feet across, not including the multiple arms, each one holding a sword, which gleamed in the dim light.

They were real swords.

Oh gods.

I got a hold of myself, and marched to the altar, examining the necklace of skulls around the deity's neck.

"Arthur," I breathed, and he followed me.

I pointed at the heads, and he made a gagging noise, but valiantly did nothing more than that.

The swords weren't the only things that were real.

Some of the skulls were still rotting, and Arthur slowly reached out a hand to touch one, some of the flesh dropping off it as he did so.

I coughed dryly, my stomach roiling and tossing.

"Lancelot," he hissed out, "what sort of evil is this?"

"Ask Dagonet," I answered, my throat closing against the smell. "I wouldn't even hazard a guess."

We both backed away from the horrible sight, and stopped a few feet away from it.

"We must search the rest of the house," he said suddenly, I shut my eyes, knowing he would say that.

"As you say," was all I could muster.

We went methodically from room to room. Lucky for us, the place was small and only contained a tiny kitchen area and the magus' sleeping quarters, which were strangely bare of anything save one musty cloak and a pallet on the floor.

We didn't find the statue I had seen, but we found belongings and things that couldn't have been the old man's, unless he liked collecting girl's dolls and Roman trinkets.

"I've seen these before," Arthur said, holding up a pair of discs that sparkled gold in the spare sunlight that filtered into the dusty room.

"And they are?" I asked.

"Earrings. From one of the Greek isles," he answered, examining them closely. "Do you remember the senator that rode through the garrison with his family a few weeks ago?"

Did I ever. The man had been an arrogant ass, pompus and whinging and awful to his wife and young daughter. It went to prove to me again that just because you have power, doesn't mean you have to show it every moment.

"Yes," I replied, not wanting to voice my opinion on that subject just then.

"They belonged to his wife. She was wearing them."

"Arthur," I stated, "are you sure? Killing a Roman noble is a serious business in these parts. Especially killing and stealing."

He was nodding even as I said it. "I remember her wearing them, because I commented on them. She told me they had been purchased in Greece, for her birthday," he mused, still looking at the things.

It was always hard to investigate a murder; it was even harder when you were connected somehow.

"Arthur, I'm sorry," I told him sincerely, "but we should probably meet with the others."

He nodded again absently, and pocketed the jewelry.

We made one more sweep, trying to avoid the disgusting Kali statue. My eyes kept drifting to it, however. It was like a particularly messy battle; you couldn't look away.

I noticed something out of the corner of my eye, and sidled up to the altar, Arthur still looking over the dusty bookshelves by the broken door.

Arrows littered the base of the statue, partially hidden by a large woven cloth that draped over the half naked stone woman.

I picked one up, examining it. It was identical to the arrow that had pierced my horse's flank a few days ago.

"Well, we know who provided the arrows in the attack, at any rate," I said, and returned to Arthur's side, showing him the thing.

He plucked it from my hands, and turned it over, studying it.

He made a hmmmm noise, and tucked it into the top of his boot.

"Let's get out of here, Arthur," I said, tugging at his tunic sleeve. "I feel as if I need a bath."

"You do need a bath," he answered, still looking at the bookshelf. "That has nothing to do with this place."

I gaped at him. "Did you just make a joke?"

One corner of his mouth curled up, and he looked at me at last. He pushed me out of the open door, which lay on it's side, testiment to the weakness of the wood, or the strength of Arthur's leg.

Carrying the earrings and arrow, we made our way back to the center of town, where Dagonet and Bors and the infantry men were waiting.

"A bloody mess," Bors said as we walked up. "Nothing to see but dead chickens and dust."

"That's not all we found," Arthur said, and proceded to fill them in on everything.

Bors spat on the ground, and the soldiers alternated between crossing themselves and staring at Arthur pop eyed, as if he had made the whole thing up.

Dagonet simply nodded, and crossed his arms.

Arthur held up the earrings, and described the senator and his family.

Bors started, and held up his hand.

"Were they in a litter, Arthur?" he asked. Arthur concured.

"Then you need to see something," Bors added, and strode off. We followed quickly.

Behind one of the houses at the end of the main street, a broken litter and braces for a team of oxen or horses sat on it's own.

Arthur's face went alternately red, then white.

I moved to him in alarm. "Arthur?" I whispered, grabbing his arm.

He shook me off, and walked around the thing, picking up bits and pieces from the broken wood.

"Knights," he said after a moment.

"We ride for the wall. Now."

"Arthur, what –" I started, but he just walked faster.

Bors and Dag got the legionaries mounted up, and we followed, wheeling our horses around as fast as we could in the small space.

"Arthur," I yelled as I raced to catch him, "What's the hurry? What's going on?"

"Just ride, Lancelot. Ride fast."

And he spurred his horse into a gallop. I could only pursue him. The questions fighting to break their way out of my mouth would have to wait until we got back.

I could only hope it wasn't something worse that what had already happened.

end six.