AUTHOR'S NOTE: AHHHH!!! THANK YOU AGAIN TO EVERYONE WHO REVIEWED!! Well, I'm here again, and apologizing for the lateness of this entry. University has been absolutely CRAZY lately, and I haven't had much time to write. On the upside, I recently discovered a guy in my history class who looks EXACTLY like Galahad…or Hugh Dancy as Galahad…I guess it depends on what reality you're living in…anyways, he is identical, and I must say that I have been attempting to sit closer to him….but I digress! I'm sorry if this chapter is a little void of action….Its purpose is to introduce some of my new characters…so I apologize if your favourite is overlooked for the moment, but I had the urge to add some newbies. Just a note on pronunciation, Derfel is actually pronounced Der-VEL…and yes, I did steal that character from Cornwall's "Warrior Chronicles"…but I changed him somewhat for my purposes…and also, Eboracum was an actual place in Northern England ca 500, and its ruler really was named Cunedda Wledig…but knowing absolutely nothing about him, I have totally fictionalized him…anyways, here is Chapter 4……
Chapter Four
The snow fell wet and heavy as they rode back into Eboracum; a small fortress town, and also the only inhabitable city within miles of Hadrian's Wall. Its ruler, Lord Cunedda Wledig, had come in person to plead with Arthur to come and aid his people, who were being ravaged by the raiding Saxons. Consent from Rome had allowed him to, and now he wished that consent had never come-or that Cunedda had never arrived to tell him of his plight.
The whirling grey flakes of snow greeted him like old friends, matching his inner turmoil, his shame and worry, his anger at himself. And every second that passed was another second he left Lancelot's fate in the hands of the Saxons. They rode in silence up to the front of Cunedda's steading, his men matching his grim demeanor. Leaning against the great wooden double doors that led into the feasting hall was a medium sized man with long fair hair and beard and a warrior's build. The sight of him made Arthur relax slightly, and when the man saw Arthur, he slowly straightened and threw down the piece of wood he had been meticulously carving and sheathed his small dagger.
Arthur reigned his horse in before the man and dismounted. The two stood looking at each other for a moment, the man's light blue eyes penetrating into Arthur's deep brown, and after a moment the man spoke.
"What happened?" Arthur didn't say anything and allowed the man to scan the other knights, who were still seated on their horses. The piercing blue of his eyes flickered across all of their hardened faces and noted the one that was missing. He looked back to Arthur, "Lancelot?" Arthur refrained from wincing at the sound of the name, and nodded. The man nodded simply and then inquired, "Is he dead?" Arthur paused a moment and then spoke finally,
"Taken…but we don't know if he's alive or not." The man nodded his fair
head and then said,
"So when do we move out?" Arthur smiled and embraced his friend.
"How do you make me feel better with such limited words Derfel?" Derfel returned the embrace and shrugged as he took the reigns of Arthur's mount.
"What happened?' he asked as he and Arthur and the other knights walked their horses over to the large stable that stood opposite to the great hall.
As Arthur explained the happenings of the morning, Derfel nodded solemnly and registered no surprised at anything his commander told him. The middle-aged man was a hardened warrior, and one of the first knights to come to Arthur. Aside from Lancelot, Derfel was his most trusted confidant, besides being a terror on the battlefield. His preferred weapon of choice was a huge long sword, and many men had tasted its sting and not lived to tell the tale. When Arthur had finished going over the bloody morning he and the other knights had experienced, Derfel simply nodded and continued brushing down Arthur's horse as Arthur put away his tack and saddle.
"Well, he very well might be alive…" he commented after a few moments had allowed him to absorb the story. "Saxons always like a good slave."
"Not that Lancelot would make a good slave," Dagonet said from the next stall, "Boy's too proud."
"In which case, we should probably leave as soon as possible." Arthur stated, addressing all of his men. "One nights sleep and then we ride tomorrow." He paused, waiting for his men to acknowledge this news. When they had, he continued, "I will ask Cunedda for men, but I doubt he will be willing to spare any after his people have been terrorized for the past months. So again I will give you the choice of refusing this mission. An army of Saxons against the eight of us is not the fairest of odds, but we have the advantage of experience and-"
"Arthur," Derfel interrupted, making Arthur brake off and look at him in confusion.
"What?"
"There is only seven of us here… you haven't told him yet…" Arthur looked at him in surprise and then around the stable
"I forgot all about the little bugger!" Bors exclaimed, and the others nodded in surprised agreement. Arthur looked back to Derfel, his expression hardened again in the anticipation of what he must go and do now.
"Derfel, where is Mathurin?" Derfel reflected his commander's countenance and gruffly answered,
"In the Hall."
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The atmosphere in the Great Hall differed in everyway from the outside. A fire blazed in the enormous hearth behind the large dais where Lord Cunedda, his wife, and the elders and other nobility sat feasting. Down the sides of the hall were two long wooden tables where Cunedda's men stuffed themselves and elbowed each other in attempts to get the better cut of meat. The air was filled with smoke, the smell of hot food, and general jubilation. Everyone believed that the coming of Arthur signaled the end of the Saxons, and after months of torment and death, they were ready to celebrate something.
When the large double door opened and Arthur and his men strode through, they were not immediately noticed. The lighting was dim within, despite the torches in brackets lining the walls, and the enormous fire at the far end of the hall. Though no one took notice of them at first, Arthur instantly saw Mathurin amongst the other men sitting in the table on the left side of the hall.
Mathurin, being the same age as Galahad, was the youngest of all Arthur's knights. Though he and Galahad shared their year of birth, that was where the similarities ended. Galahad was imprinted with a stoic sense of responsibility, and an intense longing for his home. He felt his services to Rome to be an imprisonment-and he hated the fact that he was forced to kill on behalf of an Empire that he didn't belong to.
Mathurin, on the other hand, had no sense of responsibility, and was more of a wild animal. He felt no attachments to his home, because he felt he had no home to go to. When the Roman soldiers had gone to call him into service, they had discovered a small wiry boy, who cringed from their touch and whose steadily blackening eye was a sign of having been beaten earlier that day. There was no fierce cry of hope from his family as he rode away from their tiny home. In truth, his family had not even said goodbye to him. They simply went about their daily jobs, and felt relieved that there was one less mouth to feed. This detachment from his Sarmatian roots gave him a greater freedom then the other knights experienced, with the possible exception of Tristan, who had no attachments to anyone or anything. But Mathurin differed from Tristan aswell, because while the older man was more of a lone wolf, Mathurin craved attention, and usually wanted attention from women. And women were more then willing to give it to him.
While many of the knights were seen as handsome by the bevy of women they met in their travels, Mathurin had a kind of inherent beauty that none of the other knights possessed-except for Lancelot. He had straight black hair that he wore in short waves around his face, and his deep blue eyes stood out against his pale skin and dark hair like gems. He had come a long way from the frail and skinny boy he once was, and now he was tall and lithely muscular, and more then able to hold his own on the battlefield. The other knights thought of him as a protégé of Lancelot's, and indeed he had attached onto Lancelot more then any of the others-which was why Arthur was hesitant to step any farther into the hall.
Taking a breath, he walked over to Mathurin's table, where serving girls were doting on the young man. When the knight saw his commander, he raised his glass in a toast,
"Arthur! Come join us!" Arthur pulled up in front of the table with his men in tow and shook his head.
"Come outside," he said simply, not wanting to discuss anything with him in the middle of a feast. The young man shook his head and smiled, gesturing to the girl pouring more mead into his glass.
"I'm a little busy right now actually…" and he winked at the others and smiled. Arthur didn't return the smile.
"Come outside Mathurin." He repeated again, this time allowing the heaviness and angst of his heart to creep into his voice. He saw so much of Lancelot in the young man in front of him, and it broke his heart to think of where Lancelot was now, and what he must be going through. Hearing the tone of Arthur's voice, the smile slipped off Mathurin's face and he set his drink down heavily.
"What?" he asked quietly, his eyes searching Arthur's for a clue to what was about to be said.
"Just come outside-" Arthur repeated, but Mathurin cut him off by leaping to his feet, causing the serving girl next to him to drop her pitcher. The shattering of porcelain rose above the din and attracted stares from those sitting nearby.
"No!" Mathurin shouted, completely oblivious to the broken object at his feet, the liquid seeping into his boots. "Just tell me now," he said, somewhat quieter, seeing the look on Arthur's face and knowing his commander did not react well to being shouted at.
The commotion had alerted Cunedda to Arthur's presence in his hall, and he shouted above the many voices,
"Lord Arthur! What news? Have you driven the Saxon vermin out of our land yet?" A roar of approval from his men greeted his words, and Arthur stepped forward into the middle of the Hall, where there were no tables, only open space making him the center of attention.
"My Lord," he said, giving a small bow of the head to the man seated in the middle of the dais before him. "We found the Saxons and fought them, wounding and killing many…" He glanced over to where his knights were watching him, most with stony expressions, knowing what he was about to say. Mathurin watched him with a guarded stare, not knowing what he was going to say but knowing that it was not good news.
Cunedda, a great bear of a man, overflowing with thick curly hair and large animal skins looked at him expectantly.
"The Saxons retreated." Arthur continued, "and we plan to follow them tomorrow." A murmur broke out amongst the inhabitants of the hall and Cunedda vocalized what they all wanted to know,
"But if they retreated, why follow?" Cunedda asked, "They'll go to where their numbers are larger-you'll be walking into a death sentence!" The people of the great hall quieted and looked at Arthur, wondering what his answer would be, wondering if some great madness had over taken him.
"My Lord," Arthur answered, "One of my men was taken by the Saxons." He glanced over to his men and saw Mathurin's eyes quickly look over the other knights and his face blanche when he saw that Lancelot was not among them.
"One man!?" Cunedda sputtered in disbelief, "You would risk your life, the lives of the rest of your knights for one man?" A loud thump and clatter followed his question and Arthur turned to see Mathurin storm out of the hall in long strides. He sighed. This was not how he wished for him to find out. He turned back to Cunedda.
"I cannot ask for you to understand, but I cannot leave this man to suffer slavery and death at the hands of the Saxons. I wouldn't do it to him, I wouldn't do it to any of my men. I am going after him tomorrow, whether you will help me or not." He bowed slightly again and left the silent hall amidst the trail of stares and grieved thoughts of many that their savior was now walking into certain death.
When he pushed the doors open and stepped out into the frosty air again, he saw Mathurin's figure standing a few feet away in the waning winter twilight. His back was to him and his shoulders were hunched down dejectedly. Arthur reached out a hand to place on the young knight's shoulder, but as soon as he made contact with his tunic, Mathurin jerked away like a wounded animal and spun to face his leader.
"Why did you do it?" He snarled, his brilliant eyes flashing. Arthur dropped his hand to his side and calmly asked,
"Do what?" He had fully expected rage from Lancelot's pseudo younger brother, so he was prepared to take any accusations in stride.
"Why did you make me stay behind!?" He raged, "I could have helped you! Maybe he wouldn't have been taken…" His voice dropped and he turned away again.
"I made you and Derfel stay behind because there was a chance that the Saxon's might work around us, and come back here to sac the town…I needed to know that the town would be safe at least in part." He answered quietly. Mathurin remained silent for a while and then spoke again with his back still turned.
"What happened? Why was he captured?" Arthur sighed. He was tired of relating the story.
"He was sick, he fell, he was caught while he was unconscious." Mathurin turned back to him,
"He was sick? And you made him fight?" Arthur gave him a pointed look
"We both know how stubborn he is…" Mathurin nodded, his handsome face twisted into a frown. Arthur placed his hands on the shoulders in front of him.
"We are going to get him back." Mathurin nodded and allowed Arthur to pull him back into the warmth of the hall. While the previous events had put a damper somewhat on the night's festivities, it is difficult to bring drunken men into the reality of a situation. So as Arthur and his men quietly ate their dinner, laughter rang out around them, making everything that had happened in the long, dreary day seem very surreal. Arthur could not help but hear his words echoing through his ears, and doubt them. As a wash of desperation filled him he wondered if they would ever get him back. And if any of them would make it back out alive.
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Well, there you have it! Next up: More hard times for Lancelot….
Now pleeeeease review and make my next week of exams more enjoyable!! PLEASE!!! I'm gonna need SOMETHING to cheer me up!!