Disclaimer: After seeing the wonderful movie King Arthur (director's cut, of course, the theatrical version is terrible in comparison), I grew very interested in Lucius Artorius Castus, and the Sarmatian knights, both of which I'd never before heard. Upon some preliminary research, I found out that Castus actually lived in the late 2nd century AD, not the late 5th century. Consequently, his circumstances for being in Britain were much different, and he may have been the commander that (rather ingeniously) defeated the Sarmatians in the battle spoken of in the first part of the movie (though the movie claims this was in the 3rd century). Regardless, however, I love the movie and the knights and the story, no matter how historically inaccurate, and therefore have endeavored to write this fic. Also, because the movie itself, though it may be accurate as far as military dress, etc go, is not truly accurate, I'm not going to worry about that very much in my story, though I shall try to make it as realistic as possible under the circumstances. Another note is the question of the relationship between Galahad and Gawain, and their ages. The line, "It's different for Galahad; I've been in this life longer than the other" suggests that Gawain is younger, but it could also mean that since Galahad is younger, he is closer to home. I don't know. There are other things in the movie that suggest they are related, such as when Gawain answers for Galahad to Arthur (something that makes me think that he is older), so that's the road I'm going to take. Lastly, I've read some of the book 'based on the screenplay,' and let me tell all of you, that it is much different than the movie, and…let's say…that I like what Antoine and the actors did with the script much better than this…Frank. I absolutely will not take anything from that book as fact, such as Vanora being into Lancelot and Dagonet being fat and stupid and all the blatant 'Christianity is better' phrases he likes to put in there…-breathes deeply- -attempts calming down rising ire- So enjoy! Oh yes, and I don't own anything having to do with the movie…unfortunately…and I'm not profiting from this, except perhaps indulging myself in exploring the knights' pasts, and their psyches.
Prologue:
Rus
The wind flew through the warm, open air, causing the long grass to wave back and forth in a frenzied dance. It was subservient to the wind, so the air paid it no more attention. Nothing was there to stop it, naught could cause it to stray from its current, violent path…it whipped along the open plain, pushing in front of it dark clouds, boiling with energy and rain. The clouds, herded by this determined shepherd, clustered together and rolled over one another, increasing the energy, yet decreasing space, so that with one large groan, they opened themselves up to let out the rain. The wind cared less for the rain than it did for the grass, and simply pushed the water before it as well. Miles with nothing, nothing to stop the wind from doing what it wished…except, what is this? Earth, above the grass? A village, huddling together with its small sod houses bravely withstood the wind's onslaught, yet it would not have that. The clouds rumbled and heaved together, catching on to their shepherd's anger, and the rain poured down hard on the houses. The wind whistled through the makeshift paths in the village, and sneaked through every crevice or hole it could find in the earthy walls of the houses. Finally, the clouds had had enough, their energy could not be contained, and lightening flashed across the sky and to the ground, momentarily illuminating the dark scenery. Almost as an afterthought, the sky wrenched itself apart and gave forth a primal scream, causing the ground and all connected to it to shake.
Galahad's eyes snapped open and he clutched his chest. The light from the storm came through the window, showing the little boy to be sitting up in bed, breathing hard. Again it thundered, and Galahad cursed himself for getting startled by it a moment before. Well, there's no going back to bed now. "Gawain!" he whispered, to see if his brother was also awake. "Gawain! Is the baby up?" When Galahad said baby, he didn't really mean a baby at all, but was referring to their cousin, Maaret, who at five years was only three years behind Galahad himself. "Gawain!" he whispered again, and this time turned to shove his brother in order to wake him, for he didn't want to be up alone.
But Gawain wasn't there.
Galahad looked then for Maaret and found her sleeping peacefully despite the storm, her long blonde hair half-covering her face, forming a contrast to the single grey blanket that rose up and down with her breathing. But where is Gawain? He threw aside his own meager blanket and tiptoed up to the long drape that separated his room from the main room of the house. About to step through, he suddenly paused, for he noticed light coming from behind it that, though it flickered, had nothing to do with lightening.
"Is your brother asleep, Gawain?" came a female's voice. It was their mother.
"Yes," answered his brother softly. "And Maaret as well."
"Good." This was their uncle's voice.
Galahad moved the curtain as slowly as possible and peeked into the next room. The main piece of furniture was a wooden table, around which were situated six chairs. Four of them were occupied; along with Gawain, his mother, and his uncle, his Aunt Trella sat there as well. The two candles in the middle cast a dancing light that made their shadows grow bigger and smaller against the wall with each second.
"Now what is it, then, Uncle Kalman?" asked Gawain. The young man, or boy, really, as he was only fourteen, was sitting the closest to Galahad's hiding place. His shoulder-length blonde hair was still pulled back in its leather thong, and Galahad wondered if he had gone to bed at all, and how late (or early) it was.
"Would you like to begin, Busana?" Kalman addressed their mother.
She nodded, though she did not say anything, but simply gazed at her clasped hands. She, too, had long blonde hair, though it wasn't as coarse as Gawain's (in fact, Galahad and his uncle were the only two members of the house who had dark hair). Finally, however, her lips relaxed and she found the strength to look at her son, who was sitting across from her. "Your father, as you know, once fought for the Romans in their army." She paused, and waited for Gawain's acknowledgement. He nodded, and she continued. "He and your Uncle Kalman were stationed in Britain for fifteen years, where they fought the uprisings of the natives, and other invaders, to keep peace under Roman rule. This was before you were born, of course, for I married him upon his return. It must have been about seventeen years after he first left. It's a long way to Britain- and back."
Here she stopped, and there was a long pause which Gawain felt needed to be filled. "Yes, mother. And I know he died from a long-lasting injury he sustained there."
Busana nodded once and gave her son a wan smile, grateful she did not have to reiterate that. "Not only did Rome take away the prime years of his life, but they shortened it as well. Gawain…" Closing her eyes, she sought to find some lasting strength within herself. "Gawain, you were but seven when he died. I don't suppose you remember him too well, at least, not well enough to guess his age accurately. From that you might have been able to discern…but no matter. Do you know how old he was when the Romans came for him?"
"No, mother."
"He was seventeen, Gawain."
No one spoke, and all that could be heard was the wind, still howling in rage and oppression as it rushed past the sod houses.
At length, her meaning came to Gawain. "That would mean…that Uncle Kalman was my age when he left with father and the Romans."
"That is so," responded his uncle. "Your age, Gawain. Do you remember last week when one of the nomadic tribes went by? They were trying to escape, to run ahead. The Romans are coming, Gawain. You will have to serve them, just as Damek and I did, and several of the other men here. But this time, they will take you. They are coming for you."
"For me," Gawain repeated softly. The gravity of the situation slowly sunk into him, and even though in fact he understood, in reality he did not truly know what it would mean for him. But what little he did know caused him to fear- for his brother. "Galahad! But what of Galahad?"
Busana hung her head, so Trella answered for her. "We all fear for him as well," she told Gawain, "but I would not worry too much. We believe that eight is too young for them, but we aren't sure."
"But if there's even a chance-" began his brother.
"There won't be," said their mother firmly. "We will make sure of it."
"Now, Gawain," Kalman interjected. "There are some things you should know about the Romans…"
But Galahad was no longer listening to the conversation. He let the drape drop back down and stumbled backward, feeling winded as if he had just galloped a horse for miles. Gawain is getting taken by the Romans! Gawain, leaving! Galahad simply could not fathom it. His older brother was everything, his role model, his idol, his friend. Fifteen to seventeen years without his brother…if he even survived the journey, the tour, and then the journey back. He knew it would have to happen sometime, but…I won't let them! I won't let them take my brother from me!
Suddenly, however, he noticed through his tears (he didn't even know he was crying) that the lights outside the room were moving.
"Goodnight, Gawain," whispered their mother tenderly. Galahad scrambled to get back under his blanket.
"Goodnight, mother," he responded.
The blackness of his closed eyes momentarily turned red as the curtain was drawn back and the candlelight glared into the room. Then it was dark again, and he felt rather than heard Gawain lay down next to him.
When he was sure his mother had truly left, he opened his eyes and stared at the wall. I will not let them take my brother from me.
---
Galahad awoke with a hard shove from his little cousin. "Get up, Gally! Daddy wants you!" He groaned and swatted at her to go away. Maaret just giggled and nimbly skipped aside. "Gally, come on!"
He rolled over and squinted in the sunlight that streamed in through the window. Her job done, Maaret ran out of the room and began talking with her mother. Sitting up he rubbed his eyes and sighed. He had gone to bed early last night, so why did he feel so sick, as if he had had no rest at all? Again he groaned, and stretched. Finally he got up and went into the main room, where his mother and aunt were together cooking breakfast. Normally his stomach would grumble in anticipation, but today the mere thought of food made his headache worsen.
His mother turned and smiled at him. "Why don't you go to the stream and wash for breakfast?"
Galahad nodded and left without remembering to put on his shoes. The feel of cold, muddy grass between his toes woke him up further and made him feel considerably better. He looked off to his left and found a fair part of the village up and about near the stream, which was swollen with the rain of the previous night's storm. Almost immediately he spotted Gawain and his uncle near the bank. Something about seeing his brother made his intestines twist into a knot, but when the older boy turned and waved, Galahad forgot this and sprinted forward to meet them. "Gawain! Uncle!"
"Late, as usual!" greeted Gawain, catching his brother in a friendly headlock. "You'd best wash quickly, or I'll eat all of your food!"
"Well I can't do it if you're holding me, cheater!"
Gawain laughed and released him. "I'm going back to the house, Uncle."
"You go ahead then, I'll make sure Galahad washes properly," Kalman grinned.
Once Galahad had washed his face and hands with the cool water, he felt much better and forgot all about his brief illness in the morning. He and his uncle walked to their sod hut together, talking and laughing about something Maaret had done.
Galahad did not notice the stares they were getting from the other villagers.
When they reached the house, Maaret and Gawain were already seated and eating. Galahad went to join them, but before he could sit down his mother came and handed him a leather pouch. "There's some food in it for you," she told him.
"Why? Where am I going?" he asked, confused.
"I want you to go down to Chandra's," responded his uncle. "And trade for some eggs."
"Right now?" Galahad whined.
"Yes right now!" said his Aunt Trella. She handed him another pouch, which had a small wood carving in it, of a dragon. "Your uncle made this from some of the wood that we got from one of the peddlers that came through last week. It's very valuable. You should be able to get some goat's milk from it, too."
"But you know if I go to Chandra's, the old woman will keep me at her house all day, doing chores and telling me dumb stories!" complained the boy.
"All the more reason for you to leave now," answered Kalman without skipping a beat. "But to soften the blow, I'll let you ride the couple miles, instead of walk it."
Getting to ride one of their prize horses by himself was indeed a privilege. "Will I get to ride Cyrus?" he asked eagerly. Cyrus was a large, dark stallion descended from their father's own warhorse.
"No," refused his uncle. "But you may ride Danica."
Galahad, though slightly disappointed, had to admit to himself that the mare would provide just as good an adventure. "Can Gawain come with me, at least?" he begged as a last ditch effort.
"Absolutely not!" chuckled his older brother. "I've got man's work to do." However, he got up and hugged his brother. "Have fun, and watch yourself! Don't ride too fast! Danica's a powerful horse."
"And make sure you're polite to Chandra, and do as she asks!" added Busana. "Don't forget, eggs and milk."
Galahad nodded and embraced his mother and, after he remembered to put on his shoes, opened his food bag as he walked out the door. He took out a piece of bread and began to nibble on it. Someone had already let the horses out to pasture, so he scanned the plain for a dappled grey mare. "Danica!" he called, tying his pouches to his belt and picking up her tack. "Danica!" Eventually he spotted her not too far away from the village, so he went up to her, speaking softly. She whinnied when she spotted him and suffered herself to be arrayed with the various pieces of tack. After Galahad had done this (on his tiptoes for the most part) he jumped and heaved himself onto her back. "To Chandra's!" he called, and guided her to trot in that direction.
About twenty minutes later, after he had eaten all his mother had packed for him, Galahad's attention was now able to be given to other things. Unsurprisingly, he became sour when he thought of all the work Chandra would make him do. The ugly old woman lived alone with her chickens and goats, and made the children of the village stay and keep her company every time they came to her house. Galahad didn't feel meanly toward her per se, but he was young and full of energy, and simply felt he had better things to do than be her slave. Gawain didn't stand for it anymore, so why did he-
Slave? Gawain? The Romans! The Romans are coming for Gawain!
Instantaneously he felt ill again, and nearly vomited his breakfast. That's why he had felt sick in the morning; he knew that something terrible was about to happen. But when would it happen? How long would it be until there would be no more Gawain, no more older brother to look up to and depend upon? Surely it wouldn't be soon. Surely.
Or would it?
Galahad and Danica had now traveled for about three quarters of an hour, mostly at a walk; he was quite nearly to Chandra's. He looked behind him and could not see the village, for it was hidden at this distance by a slight rise in the land.
"Galahad! But what of Galahad?"
Busana hung her head, so Trella answered for her. "We all fear for him as well," she told Gawain, "but I would not worry too much. We believe that eight is too young for them, but we aren't sure."
"But if there's even a chance-" began his brother.
"There won't be," said their mother firmly. "We will make sure of it."
Could they have sent him off to Chandra's, knowing that he'd be gone for most of the day? Did Gawain hug him before he left because he was saying a true goodbye? Were the Romans coming today?
"Danica, Danica!" cried Galahad. "Back to the village! Back home!" He tugged on the reins to turn her and dug his heels into her flank. Surprised, the horse sprang into a gallop, and Galahad was forced to squeeze his legs together for dear life. Yet still, it wasn't fast enough. "Faster, Danica! We must get back to Gawain!"
He leaned forward, gripping the reins tighter, and Danica tossed her head as they ran, whipping her mane into his face. Soon his legs began to burn with the effort, and the wind whistling past his ears caused them to ache. The mare's hooves dug into the ground, churning the grass and splashing mud high enough even to stain Galahad's clothing. But this didn't matter to him; nothing mattered but getting back to the village.
Finally, finally the village came in sight. Ignoring the pain in his legs, he straightened up in the saddle to get a better look- and found his fear to be realized. Even from this distance he could see the group of horses milling around near the village with riders, a couple of them with long red cloaks and helmets sprouting horse hair. "Gawain!" he cried out in distress, but his voice was lost in the wind. Danica galloped a few paces more and he called again, "Gawain!" This time he got a response. Everyone visible turned to look at him, and some of the mounted men turned their horses in his direction. "Gawain!" He finally spotted his brother astride the great Cyrus.
From his viewpoint he could not see the look of horror upon the older boy's face, but he could hear the voice of one of the Romans as he spoke to his mother. "I thought you said you only had one boy!" He spoke their language, but with a thick accent.
Galahad had almost arrived.
"Only one boy of age, sir!" she responded. "He is much too young to go off and fight!"
"No, Galahad!" shouted Gawain, seeing that his brother was nearly with them.
He ignored him and, reining in Danica, practically fell off the mare as he dismounted. "Don't leave, Gawain!"
Busana quickly knelt and stopped Galahad's progress to Cyrus and his brother. "Galahad! Did we not give you orders this morning?"
"So you did contrive to hide this boy from us?" sneered the Roman officer.
"No, sir!" Gawain came in quickly. "We just knew he'd have trouble parting with me, is all!"
The soldier stared long and hard at Gawain, then at Kalman with his wife and daughter, and finally at Busana and Galahad. At length he said, "He looks old enough to me."
"He's barely eight!" cried his mother.
"And the next time we come around here it will be another ten years, and he will be nearly too old to train in Roman military ways." He turned to another of the officers. "He can start out as a page."
"No!" Busana cried. "He is too young!"
"You already have me, sir!" objected Gawain. "And other boys from the village!"
"Shut your mouth, boy!" said the officer. He dismounted and ripped his mother's arm from around her youngest child. Galahad was incensed at the treatment of his mother and kicked the man on his bare shin.
The officer swung his arm and boxed him in the head.
Galahad crumpled onto the ground and for a terrifying few seconds he thought he'd gone blind. When his vision finally cleared, he blinked and tried to stand again, the pounding ache of his head added to the throb of his tired legs. When he finally got his bearings again, he saw Gawain standing on the ground but being held back by another Roman, and his mother kneeling at the officer's feet, begging. Noise eventually permeated his ears again.
"You plotted against the long-standing pact between the Romans and Sarmatians!" the officer was saying. "Do you want me to send for an army to come raze your village? No, no you wouldn't. So I will take the boy, and the horse he was riding! And I will have no more from you," he addressed Gawain, pointing at him. Then to the rest of the Sarmatian boys already in the entourage he added, "Nor will I stand for any dissidence from you!"
"Galahad, Galahad," wept his mother. "Why didn't you listen to us? Galahad, Galahad!" Trella ran to her and helped her to stand, dragging her away from the Romans.
"Mother!" Galahad yelled as the officer plucked him from the ground and set him back onto Danica. "Mother!"
The Roman remounted and nodded to Gawain. "On your horse, boy."
Gawain's jaw jutted out and set, and Galahad knew he was trying very hard to keep his temper. But he did as he was told, and mounted Cyrus. "Goodbye," he directed at his family.
"Oh Gawain!" sobbed his mother. "Gawain and my Galahad both!"
"Move, boy!" commanded the Roman, and slapped Danica on the rump. "Do you think I like it here?"
Gawain moved his stallion over next to Galahad. "You stay with me, little brother."
"Gawain, I didn't, I just…" He turned in his saddle to look back at the solemn faces of the villagers. His mother, he could see, was still weeping in Trella's arms.
"It is too late now, Galahad," his brother answered. "How is your head?"
But Galahad didn't answer. He slumped in his saddle and sat there, gazing back at his home, his comfort, his family. And he stayed staring, long after his neck grew sore, and long after the little sod houses had faded into the distance.