A/N: Thank you to all who reviewed, and don't worry the unfamiliar characters will be explained a little more in this chapter!

Chapter 2

"Lucius Artorius Castus. We've heard a great many things about you," Bishop Adeodatus announced while coming down the wide marble staircase of the Donato Cathedral in Rome. He was ornamented in gold and red that successfully hid his broad shoulders that had once supported at least one broad sword in his time. His face was softly shaven and his eyes held a thirst for blood. It was difficult not to find a Roman in such a state. The desire for land, for power, was strong amongst its people. Even if there were disagreements amongst the mode of achieving Rome's grandeurs, there was little dispute over the advanced culture that Roman culture had created and the potential it held to civilize its conquered people.

"But you have been named Arthur amongst your men, have you not?" Arthur gave the bishop a curt nod. "Well, you've made quite a mark on the church. A good mark at that. We feel that a commission of greater fortitude would better accommodate your abilities." Arthur said nothing but continued to penetrate the bishop with his intimidating gaze, causing the bishop to continue somewhat nervously.

"The church is sending you to southern Briton. There you will find a league of Sarmatian knights fully trained and readied for your command." The bishop stopped as if expecting Arthur to become giddy that Rome was entrusting him with such a gift, but Arthur remained impassive.

"I promise you I will serve Rome well, there," Arthur spoke in a voice that even in its natural state of being, commanded respect and authority.

"We have no doubt in that," Bishop Adeodatus confirmed. "You will leave when you have made ready." Arthur bowed the power vested in his body forward in a silent contract as a loyal servant to the church before leaving the church and making for his quarters in town.

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Little time was wasted in preparation. Arthur took provisions of water and bread for the journey, which he estimated would be a three days ride. Angelo, an orphan boy of thirteen who was taken in by the church and spent most of time in the upkeep of the stables, had prepared Arthur's horse for the journey. The nights to the little boy were free for him to dream of knighthood and the fairy tales that surrounded damsels in distress and survival through daring ventures that almost always spelt sudden death. He knew very little of what a knight really was.

Arthur found his horse in the stable aisle way decked out in fantastic silver armor that made him resemble a beast fortified out of rock. Arthur detached Excalibur from his waist and attached the sheath to the saddle so that it could be easily accessible if needed. Arthur took one last look around, and found Angelo standing in the middle of the stables watching him. His blond hair barely reached his ears but draped down almost to an annoyance at the tip of his eyes. His rather skinny figure was decorated in a simple green tunic with matching trousers that did much to cover most of the dirt stains that barn boys were susceptible to.

"You're leaving, my lord," the boy said quietly, but there was no question.

"I have duties to Rome," Arthur replied while mounting.

"I speak to you, my lord, for fear that the journey for which you prepare, will keep you long away from Rome."

"Indeed, I cannot be assured of the time for which I'll be away, but tell me why this concerns you so."

"Your horse holds much beauty and wisdom, my lord. I fear I shall miss him," the boy said bowing his head as if admitting to weakness.

"There are never any guarantees to what the days ahead will bring, but to your fears, there's faith in days forthcoming you will serve a stead of your own quite well, and in return he will be as loyal to you as my own is to me," Arthur said with much conviction.

"I thank you for your faith, my lord. I will not delay you any longer," the boy said stepping aside.

"You have served my horse and I quite well, hold truth in my words." With that Arthur gave his horse a light kick and exited the stables at a trot.

The cobblestone streets made rhythmic clicks of the horse's feet, and Arthur looked around the city as he made his way to the gates in reminisce. Never had a city affected him as much as this. There were no limits to what such an awesome power that was Rome, could do. For Rome to spread its wisdom to so many unknown lands, was a great cause, a cause that many lands would see in due time.

Finally, Arthur reached the large iron gates of the city. The gates themselves were decorated with fearless creatures such as the characteristics that lions and bears brought. They held the memory of all the past soldiers who had fought with bravery and strength to make Rome the great power it was today. The gates alone made him thankful to be a Roman, but the people for which the gates represented, made him feel invincible to the world.

The gates took little hesitation in opening. Obviously his presence had been expected, for when he reached the vast open land hidden behind the gates, he found twenty Roman men armed with golden armor and red cloth waiting on horseback on the other side.

"For whom have you men come?" Arthur demanded upon seeing them.

"We wait to ride with Arthur Castus," one of the Roman soldiers answered him back.

"I am Arthur."

"We were sent to accompany you to Hadrian's Wall by the honorable Bishop Adeodatus." Arthur looked at the men, unsure really for the reason of their presence, but had the intention of keeping to his plan. They were going to reach Hadrian's Wall in three days time.

"Let us ride then," Arthur said as he finally opened the wings of his horse and took off down the grassy hill away from the familiarity of Rome.

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The journey was tiring and the Roman riders of his company were lagging in speed. The first night had been fair riding. The ground had been slightly moist to give the horses traction and comfort in the stability of the ground. Their pace had been quicker then, but the second day brought many delays. The skies brought rain and to the dejection of the men, seemed to have the intention of following them their entire journey.

Arthur however, felt no duty to them to slow his pace. Had it been up to him, he would have refused the escort. If any of them had the desire to stop he did not have the intention of stopping with them. They had the choice of resting a night and meeting him at Hadrian's Wall as soon as they were rested, or even turning home if they wanted, but Arthur had no responsibility to these men. These were not the men of his command and they could do as they wished.

The rain however, did dampen even Arthur's pace. The ground was absorbing as much water as a water-filled sponge and therefore made the ground treacherous for the horses. Otherwise, the rain brought a refreshing outlet. Though the land was gloomily darkened by bulging rain filled clouds, Arthur still marveled at the vastness of the Roman Empire. On a map the empire looked immense, but no distances were truly admired until they were attempted in travel.

The night of the second day the rain had lessened, but still kept the air thick with moisture, and a thin mist that did little more than decrease Arthur's visual distance by less than half a mile. By morning, a few men had taken the opportunity to rest, with little understanding of Arthur's haste. It was his strength that pushed him so, and his loyalty to Rome. There would be plenty of time for relaxation and merriment once he reached the wall, but until then, the focus was only on getting there, and if safety behind the walls was what Arthur was looking for, there was no reason to stop and delay the journey.

Late afternoon brought Arthur and the remaining Roman soldiers to a village about forty miles away from the wall. They entered the village at a walk, being careful not to trample anything on their way. Through the village, women stopped in the midst of raising buckets full of water from wells to stare at them as well as men who were finishing an evening's work in the field. Even the children stopped their childish games to allow their gaze to fasten on these new comers.

The red and gold were colors the villagers easily recognized. They found them every few years coming to their land taking their sons to fight for a land none of them believed in. Some would return after having served their time, many did not. Fear and hope was seen in their faces. Mothers and fathers were seen hoping to catch sight of long lost sons, others took to hustling the sons into houses in hope of diminishing their chances of being taken. Arthur found the scene somewhat confusing. There was no reverence to their presence. For the most part, the sentiment was mutual in a general desire to see the parade of Roman soldiers disappear. Of course he understood that not all people honored Roman rule in the same way he did, but the thing that disturbed him the most was the lack of respect. The only emotions the Roman presence seemed to have on them were fear and hatred.

"Roman scum!" Arthur subconsciously stopped his horse abruptly and found himself turning in the direction of the voice. A man taking punishment for a crime only God could forgive with his head in arms through a well-crafted set of stocks was looking at the roman horsemen in disgust. He was thin and sunburnt as if he had been enduring his punishment for a good many days. A white beard decorated his face, and his white hair on his head was thinned out with age.

"You're good to come in here with superiority, aren't you? All the land on this glorious Earth belongs to Rome, doesn't it?" The man said sarcastically. "Yes, the colors of Rome. They're much appropriate. Gold is the power made to sop up the blood. All that red. Your blinding red! It's the power that lets the Roman bastards sleep. For the blood, the blood of our sons means nothing to you! It's always the gold. Never the blood—"

"Oh there will be blood!" A Roman soldier yelled. He dismounted his horse and within moments found himself in front of the old man a fist made ready. Before Arthur could stop him, the soldier had slammed his fist into the man's jaw. The Roman soldier pulled his arm back for another hit but was stopped by Arthur's voice.

"Enough!" The Roman soldier looked into Arthur's eyes, but the anger for what the soldier had done far outweighed any anger the soldier had for what the man had said. The soldier gave one last look at the man before making his way back to his horse and mounting without a sound. The whole village was silent.

The man in the stocks sputtered, his face hung over the ground. He grinned when he saw a few dots of blood splatter across the wooden platform as he shook off the blow, and to Arthur's surprise he laughed.

"Here's the blood, but where's the victory?" He asked as he laughed at every single one of the soldiers in front of him. "You will uncover no gold from me."

Arthur left the village not saying a word in Rome's honor. There was no need to debate with a senile man. Rome's colors were filled with prestige and honor. However, the pain the man broadcasted did not go unnoticed by Arthur, and he began to understand a little better why these people were so unsettled by a Roman presence. The blatant hostility unfortunately, was not expected. These people had yet to discover what possibilities Rome still held for them. In time he hoped, these people would see that, and the views of that single bitter man would come to see how wrong he was.

The Roman soldier who had stepped out of line however, was unwilling to let such rude disregard for Rome go. As soon as they had traveled a fair distance away from the village, the Roman soldier trotted up along side Arthur.

"Are you not a Roman?" The soldier demanded.

"I am," Arthur replied confidently.

"Then why in God's name did you allow Rome to be befouled by such blasphemy?"

Arthur replied without giving the soldier a single glance. "I did nothing to taint the Roman name. You sir took care of that yourself when you allowed yourself to be baited by his meaningless banter and become the soldier he was coaxing everyone to despise."

As well proven as Arthur's point was, the soldier would not relent. The anger the man in the stocks had evoked in him would not allow the matter to be dropped. "Men like that unsettle the people. They increase the number of the Woads who follow that devil Merlin and set out to destroy all that Rome has worked so hard to built. They need to be made to understand that those beliefs will not be tolerated. Not if Rome is to survive."

Arthur let his eyes trace the ground as he found that the man's rants about blood more accurate than he would have liked to admit. "You want to turn every piece of land, every single village into a battlefield when it cannot be so. It is understood that after victory there is a fight to keep what was won, but not every battle needs to be fought. Choices have to be made, and those are the choices for Rome."

From the corner of his eyes, Arthur could see the soldier's glare. "Laziness is choice. Every battle in the name of Rome is worth fighting." Arthur let the soldier have the final word. The arguments had made sufficient points, neither with any leverage to the other, and that's why there needed to be an end. Even in the last breath of an argument, the end came down to choice and it was Arthur who had chosen.

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Arthur and the Roman soldiers reached Hadrian's Wall by early morning of the fourth day. The rain had proven to be Arthur's biggest delay, but managed only to hinder the journey by a few hours, and that was a relief. As soon as the Roman soldiers from the wall caught sight of the approaching soldiers, efforts were made to open the heavily spiked iron doors so by the time they had arrived, all they had to do was slow their pace to trot and make their way into the city behind the wall.

The town was quite inactive. Very few people had awakened yet. Arthur made his way into the stables, dismounted, and removed Excalibur from the horse's side. He gave his horse to one of the stable hands, and regretfully, not with the same reassurances of care that Angelo had provided him with back in Rome.

Arthur let his gaze trace the wall that was made out of large cobble stones for as far as the eye could see. He was exhausted to be sure, but the temptation of standing on the wall and looking into the valley as the sun began to rise was too tempting to surpass. The morning had cleared up sufficiently, and though the ground moistened his steps as he walked, it left no trace of any of the earth's moisture on the outside of his shoes.

From one side of the wall, Arthur could view the path from which he came along with acres of billowing green grass and vast forests of healthy green trees. Behind him, he made the outlines of yet another path that twisted and turned on the outskirts of the forest, before disappearing some great distance into it. To the far left of the path, Arthur could make out large green mounds that protruded as shallow man-made mountains. Walking paths of brown dirt separated the mounds like many intertwined spider webs and at the base of every one of those little mountains was peaked a sword, a small token of each man and the glory that had accompanied his life.

Arthur's gaze stopped on one particular grave whose mound had yet to turn green in the freshness of newly turned earth, for at its side a man sat facing the grave with his knees near his chest and his arms keeping them in place. He was dressed in a loose black tunic and matching trousers. Long black curly hair decorated every inch of his head and a dark circle seemed to encircle his mouth. Twin swords rested on his back and crossed each other at the midpoint of the soldier's back. His face was downcast but in the pride of a knight, no tear had moistened his face.

"Arthur Castus!" Arthur turned away from the solemn man to see who was calling his name. A man in a golden tunic was making his way up the stairs of the wall. His blond hair in fact, complied very nicely with the tunic, for his hair was long and pulled back in a half ponytail to restrain it from his face. Even the ruffles that surrounded his chin were blond and almost invisible in the morning light. A sword rested at his side, but the sheath was decorated in all those brave beasts that had decorated the iron gates of the city of Rome.

"I am Panador Aurelius, commander of the Sarmatian knights here." Arthur slowly shook the man's hand.

"It's my understanding that I am to take your place," Arthur commented.

"Indeed, I've served Rome faithfully for twenty years here, and I look forward to returning to the city." The two men fell in silence and Arthur once again found his gaze turning to the man in the graveyard. As all people enviably do, Panador's gaze shifted to find that of Arthur's and he found himself sighing.

"He is a grieving man, Lancelot. A knight dear to his heart fell in battle not four days ago, but was not buried till the rain settled to a drizzle just yesterday. He however is strong, as you will see is true of most of the men," Panador mused. Arthur was sure that was true, but even from the great distance that separated Lancelot from their position on the wall he was positive that he saw more than sadness in that knight's eyes. There was anger.

"Come, you must be tired from you journey, I will show you to your chambers." Arthur followed Panador down the steps of the wall, and Lancelot as a result, quickly disappeared from his view. The vision of the man in the stocks however, only grew stronger in Arthur's mind.