Fealty

By Cerasi

Chapter 3: To Battle

Several weeks of training passed without incident. Each morning the boys would rise and meet Bedivere in the training square in the Sarmatian area. It was a huge, open area with a pebble-littered ground. It served the dual purpose of a practice court and the central point for the Sarmatians, as their quarters surrounded it on three sides, the fourth being blocked with a gate that was rarely closed.

While Bedivere was in charge of the training, they never actually saw him using his legendary skills. Some of the boys began to speculate that his technique and ability were perhaps failing him with his years. Thus it was mostly Kay and Lamorak who took their training. Percival often stepped in to help, but he was never quite able to grasp how one 'taught' skills. To him they came as naturally as walking, and he was nowhere near as patient with the young lads as the other two.

Tristan, with the return of Arthur and the addition of the new boys, had stepped back into training. His skills still surpassed the rest but he was quiet and patient when he needed to be, and was often given leeway to continue on while the others went over what they were doing.

Lancelot, ever the courteous knight, was sociable with all present, if just for a reason to speak to Arthur. At any given moment one could catch him standing near Arthur, talking to Arthur, or looking at Arthur from whatever distance. He seemed happiest when actually speaking with the commander, but none bar Tristan seemed to note this.

Mordred had recovered reasonably well, but he was still quite obviously not well. At night he would retire to his bed early, often shaking from the evening coolness. He would sit as close to any fire as he could, without burning himself, and he was obviously not going as well as the others.

During those weeks Tristan watched Galahad and Gawain particularly closely, but with the subtlety of a scout, so nobody knew. He noted Gawain's somewhat dark passion for the Art of Death. In the first few days of training it became obvious that he was not comfortable with the sword. Bedivere quickly changed the boy to working with an axe, a weapon to which he took immediately. Bedivere seemed to still be musing that it was not quite right, but he hadn't found anything else just yet.

Galahad was reasonably quiet over those first weeks. He would answer questions, and he did not seem overly reticent but he never seemed to feel at home. They put it down to his not being used to the change yet. He still attached himself to Gawain and the older boy seemed quite pleased with this. Then, after only those short few weeks of training, all hell seemed to break loose.

One afternoon, early spring by now, shouts broke out from the outer gate, the north end of the station. Bedivere halted the boys' practice by lifting his good hand, and tipped his head to hear better. A huge bell began to suddenly ring and this spurred him into action.

"Attack on the Wall." He said quickly. He turned a worried stare to the young boys. He knew they were not ready, but he also knew they were all sworn to defend the Romans, or face Roman punishment. With a sigh he nodded to Kay who was running through the exercises with the older boys, including Arthur.

"Where to?" Kay questioned, knowing what Bedivere was suggesting.

"Not too close to the wall, but close enough that it looks as though they might be defending it." Bedivere answered. He turned to Lamorak, who had been teaching the younger boys. "And slightly behind them." He instructed. "Then I need you both, and you Percival, to meet me at the gate. We shall be needed soon, I'm sure."

The men quickly nodded to the boys and then dashed off, the young men trailing quickly behind. As an afterthought, Tristan grabbed a bow and a quiver of arrows and chased after the group. Percival saw this and promptly followed with several more of each.

The group ran through their quarters, suiting up as much as possible, as fast as possible. Leather jerkins were thrown on over chain mail shirts, swords and shields were taken, and each man wore the dragon symbol somewhere on his form. Arthur's knights would be seen from a distance as the fearsome knights not in roman gear, a force not to be reckoned with. If an enemy got close

When they finally reached the gate they saw found the Romans lined up in formation, ready to march. Shouts rang out in the din, men dashed to and from position, and villagers ran in the opposite direction, fleeing to safety. Bedivere and Percival took Arthur to report to the Roman officer in charge, while Lamorak and Kay positioned the young knights where they were likely to be safest. Arthur and the other two soon returned, having gained an understanding of their position. They all took up position.

"There aren't many." Arthur told his men, his voice pitched so that only they would hear it. From their respective positions all thirteen of them leaned in to hear their commander speak. "The roman scouts have counted ten score Woads approaching."

"The Roman scouts?" Lancelot questioned with some disbelief. "And when, in their tracking, did they decide to inform us of the situation?"

Somewhat reluctantly, Arthur answered: "They told those in charge three days ago."

"Three days!" Bors growled. "Three bloody days and we get the order today!" He shook his head, glancing to catch an agreeing nod from Dagonet.

Galahad turned to Gawain and Tristan saw their apprehensive stares. He noted an understanding between them, something akin to brothers, but slightly askew from that concept. Tristan was still staring at the two of them when they broke their gaze, and Gawain's swung to Tristan. Again, there eyes met.

The look he received from the young boy was nigh unreadable. Tristan ducked his head quickly and turned away before Gawain could see the colour that flushed his cheeks. Tristan quickly focused on the most unattractive thing he could find to keep his mind off Gawain's fresh young face. The back of Bors' head proved to be a convenient focus point.

A voice suddenly rose up near the Knights. Tristan recognised it as Ronus', the man who had brought the youngest Knights to Hadrian's Wall.

"Bedivere." He called. "Shouldn't you get those boys to the front of the line?" The comment, while innocent alone, had a tone that implied insult.

Evidently, however, Ronus had not seen Arthur amongst the group, if he was even aware that the young man had returned from Rome. For, as soon as Arthur stepped clearly into his line of sight, a horrified look passed over Ronus' face.

"Ronus." Arthur said. His voice was not loud, but all talk amongst those within earshot died down, and the power in Arthur's voice resonated through the crowd. "That is my second-in-command whom you address. And you speak of my Knights. Do you assume authority over my men?"

"No, Artorius." Ronus stammered. "I meant nothing… uh, assumed nothing."

"Good." Arthur nodded. "Then return to your post."

No sooner had Arthur finished, however, than another voice rose up.

"Castus." Said Maenus. He was the only person at Badon Hill in a position of authority over Arthur, and used it with some degree of pleasure.

"Maenus." Arthur nodded his head.

"Artorius, you have to move your men to the head of the group, and I want you on horseback." Maenus said with a smile in his voice.

"Maenus, they are not ready to be in the front line, and I do not want Mordred to fight, not today." Arthur said. "I will offer four of my men to the front line, and four to the main section, but the newly arrived Sarmatians must remain at the rear of the company."

"No, all of them." Maenus said. "Including Mordred." There was an intensity in his eyes that suggested he was enjoying this power. "Horus, get these men their horses. All of them." He yelled at a young page running about between the soldiers. Everyone watched the boy run off until he had disappeared into the stables.

"Eight of my men up front, the other four remain at the rear." Arthur implored after a moment. "Mordred is not ready for battle."

"All of them up the front." Maenus said, his voice crisp with an order. Another pause. "Unless you wish to defy Rome."

"I am loyal to Rome, you know this." Arthur glared, speaking through gritted teeth. "But those boys aren't ready for the front line. Not yet."

"Well, they had best learn quickly." Maenus grinned sickly. Other Romans observing this were amused also. Tristan had a feeling Maenus was playing this up for his audience. "Orders of Rome, Artorius. Your men all report to the front line immediately." He paused with a grin. "Including Mordred."

As Maenus finished Horus approached with several other boys, all with horses in tow. Arthur growled somewhere in his throat and Lancelot watched him with a keen concern. The men all mounted the horses, an action that was second nature to the born and bred Sarmatians. Arthur brought his horse about to confer with his men.

"Stay close to me, watch out for each other." He said. "And above all, remember this. Running from an enemy more powerful than you is not a sign of weakness, but a sign of intelligence. I do not want anyone killed out there."

The men and the young boys nodded in acceptance.

Tristan sat at the edge of their group as they paced their horses to the front of the lines. Some of the Romans laughed, while others looked on with pity at the young boys that rode upon these mighty steeds. Looking about, Tristan sighed to himself.

Gawain and Gaheris sat steady upon their mounts, staring straight ahead with occasional concerned glances about the group. Galahad masked his fear with a passionate fury that fixed itself on his face and in his deep, heavy breath. Still, the lad was only ten years old, and small even for his age. Gareth sat beside Lancelot, fear more apparent on his face. He gripped his reigns and moved about in his saddle. He would glance occasionally at Lancelot's steely expression and try to mimic it, eventually subsiding back into a fretful glancing about.

Lancelot noted the young boys behaviour and extended an arm to grip Gareth's shoulder.

"Stay with me." Lancelot told him. Gareth nodded a few times before meeting Lancelot's eyes again. He saw concern there, but also a trust. Lancelot trusted him to stay safe, and stay with Lancelot. Therefore he would.

Gawain turned to Gaheris, his face suddenly stricken with uncertainty.

"Gaheris, I don't know if we're ready for this." Gawain pleaded. His comments went unheard to most, but Tristan was listening intently.

"Each man will meet his fate." Gaheris said, still staring at the gate. After a pause he turned to Gawain. "At least, that's what I was told." He said with a smile.

"That's not very helpful." Gawain grumbled, searching his older brother for support in this.

"No, it's not." Gaheris conceded, a sad smile on his face. "I have always believed we make our own fate. Nothing controls us other than choices others make, and those that we make."

"Then you believe that we made this fate? That we have chosen to-"

"No." Gaheris silenced Gawain with a look. "I believe that other's choices have brought us to this point, and it is now up to us."

"Stay with me, brother." Gawain implored.

"You and I will be fine." Gaheris said. A slight jerk of his head brought the attentions of both Gawain and Tristan to the face of another.

Mordred sat in his saddle, taking shallow breaths and staring down at the mud. His face was sweaty already, from fever and fear. He twisted one hand on the reigns, and the other gripped the hilt of his sheathed short sword.

"If your safety is assured, it falls to you to defend the weak." Gaheris said quietly. "Defend those who are unable to defend themselves, but do not do it at your own expense."

Both Tristan and Gawain nodded to this. Then the gates opened wide to reveal the grassy plain. At the other end, still half in the trees, the Woads roared with ferocity.

It was a sight that would make a grown man fall to his knees, had he not seen it before.

The Woads had no order, no rank nor discipline. They stood as one huge force, arms and weapons raised to the heavens, mouths open and screaming in their native tongue. Some wore armour of leather strapping, some wore cloth only to keep themselves warm and a significant portion of them wore nothing but what was necessary to keep them in place.

All around them the Knights could see Romans trembling. It had been several months since the last woad attack, well before the younger boys had arrived. Arthur had been in battle many times, and the older four had been a part of it also. This was the first time, however, that the younger boys had faced an enemy in bloody combat.

Arthur looked over his Knights. He knew full well that the four who had served his father were more than capable of this battle. They had fought many times more than Arthur had, and their survival was tribute to their skill.

As for the other four, Arthur was positive in his attitude about them. Bors had fought neighbouring peoples when he was in Sarmatia, living on the border of the next land. Dagonet had been there also, fighting by Bors' side since they were young. Tristan, Arthur knew, was merciless in his killing, and quite apt to doing just that. His skill rivalled that of the older Knights, and Arthur had very little fear for Tristan's life so long as he didn't overestimate himself. And as for Lancelot, Arthur could not have more faith in anything bar his God.

When Lancelot had first arrived at Badon hill, Arthur had been there to greet them. They had spent several weeks training and a bond had formed between them almost instantly. When Arthur had returned to Rome he had found that there was something that he truly missed in leaving Britain.

Then Arthur looked over the younger Knights, and his fear of this battle grew immensely.

Gawain and Gaheris he had faith in. They were more than capable swordsmen, and Gawain had taken to the axe beautifully. Mordred, he feared, had not had anywhere near enough training and he was still weakened from his illness. Arthur sighed, knowing full well that Mordred should not be in the battle. Arthur would still try to send him back, he decided, at the first sign of trouble.

As far as he was concerned, Galahad and Gareth were just plainly too young to be involved in war, either. It was true that Arthur had been fighting since their age, but it always seems more difficult to put another in the dangers you have faced.

"Artorius, we move." Called a captain who stood with his infantry beside the Knights. Arthur nodded and put his horse into a walk, the other men following the lead.

They moved out and started down the path, the slow pace seeming ridiculously underplayed in the face of what was to come. Lancelot, it seemed, noted this.

"Arthur, are we to walk our horses into battle?" He said with a cock of the head.

"We stay close to the Romans, or we will be destroyed before they reach the Woads." Arthur said simply.

"I do not thing the Romans agree with your logic." Gawain said, peering behind them. The others followed his gaze and saw, with some trepidation the way the Romans glared, and also the one boy who road out towards them, unarmed. A messenger.

As he neared he called out to Arthur, his young voice pitched higher than all other sounds and clear over the still day.

"Artorius, you've orders to ride ahead." The boy called.

"Who sends them?" Arthur asked, more quietly as the boy drew closer.

"Maenus does." The boy said, a nod of his head showing the respect he held for Arthur.

"And what is your name?" Arthur asked.

"Jols, sir." He replied with some confusion at being asked this as they rode into battle.

"Jols." Arthur repeated. "Tell Maenus that Artorius has accepted enough orders from him today, and that I plan to ride at whatever pace I choose."

Jols smiled a little, nervous at replying to the commander. "He may not be pleased…"

"If he argues, simply tell him that I plan to keep my men alive. If he wishes our service at Badon hill then he will respect my decision." Arthur grinned at the young boy.

"Yes sir." Jols replied. "And good luck."

Arthur nodded and Jols turned the messenger horse about and headed back to the gate. Arthur glanced back at the Romans, seeing that they were keeping pace with the horses, and then looked about at his men. They were getting closer and closer to the Woads and the sounds were growing steadily louder.

"Men?" He queried.

"Let's ride." Bedivere said. The rest of the men nodded and Arthur looked forward with one final deep breath.

"Arthur," a small voice spoke up before they could take off. Arthur turned to see Gareth peering up at him, confusion all over his face. "Will you give no war cry?" When Arthur only looked at him somewhat stunned and confused, Gareth elaborated. "The Sarmatians have a war cry, if you think it acceptable…" Gareth looked about at the older men. Percival, Kay and Lamorak smiled nostalgically and Bedivere had a look of pride on his face. The rest of them nodded to Gareth and turned to await Arthur's response.

"Very well. The cry is yours." Arthur nodded to them all.

"The Woads shall know it is Sarmatians who ride today, and not Romans." Galahad said quietly.

All turned their faces to the Woads, resolution in their minds. At last a small voice with all the strength he could muster, leapt up above it all, crying 'Roars' to the wind.

It was joined by another and another and at last they all yelled together and spurred their horses to a gallop, charging at where the Woads were partially stunned at the display. The Sarmatians rode into battle.