A/N: Thank you Lancey, Freakazoid, Camreyn, and camlann for reviewing. I'm hoping to see more names soon!
Camreyn: Don't worry, I plan I getting rid of the stiffness. Arthur will not be so formal with his knights.
Disclaimer: Right, umm, don't be confused, I did put this on the first chapter it is just uh, invisible. Right, invisible.
Chapter 3
It was evening before Arthur found himself raised from his chambers. The few hours of sleep he had actually did much to revive him of the three days of sleep he lost. Arthur awoke to find the room almost completely dark with a few burning embers in the fireplace to reflect dim shadows on the wall.
He had fallen in bed with his black tunic on, but his silver helmet glimmered slightly in the reflection of the fire. Excalibur never left his side. In the darkness, Arthur somehow managed to find the door without overturning any items that rested on the floor of his chamber. The hallway, he found, was lit more significantly. Fresh white candles that had little shrinkage in their heights performed their duties effectively. From where he stood in the hallway, Arthur could make out the distance sounds of the laughter of men and the clumsy clanging of glasses.
Arthur followed the hallway down to the room that Panador had pointed out as his own. The distance in between was filled with many large wooden doors on either side, most likely they were doors that hid the lives of the knights. Arthur finally stopped at the door at the end of the hall and knocked. Arthur heard Panador's voice clearly from within and he opened the door in response.
"Ah, Arthur, welcome. You have rested well, I hope."
"Yes, the accommodations are more than what I need," Arthur complimented.
"Glad to hear it," Panador answered happily as he took a seat in a large chair covered in the fur of some unknown creature. The room was furnished much more gloriously than Arthur's own with a large ornamental fireplace, two large clothed chairs, a desk that rested near the back wall and a king-sized bed stuffed with straw. Arthur ignored these unnecessary luxuries and addressed Panador directly.
"I wish to meet the men," Arthur declared.
"Of course, that can be arranged. When would be convenient for you?"
"As soon as possible," Arthur answered.
Panador raised a golden eyebrow. "May I inquire why there is such haste?"
"Training purposes. The sooner the better."
"Ah, I see," Panador said nodding somewhat uncertainly. Arthur's driven desire to jump into work unnerved him somewhat. "Well, I assure you they are thoroughly trained."
"I do not doubt that. It's my own preference, I suppose," Arthur said looking into the fireplace. It was taught to Arthur long ago, that the extent of a knight's abilities were nothing if he knew not how to fight for all of his comrade's lives over his own.
"You are a curious man, Arthur," Panador said standing up from the chair and walking over to him. "Very diligent in Roman beliefs, as I once was." Panador looked deep into Arthur's eyes. "Unfortunately, you will discover as I have that the will of these knights is not for Rome. It's for themselves and their homeland. Their commonalities rest in their distaste for me, and the empire I stand for, but they do not sit in dark corners like women do and whisper the magnitude of their hatred. They keep to themselves. You cannot break a knight of his worn ways, Arthur."
Arthur met Panador's gaze with disgust. It wasn't that hard for Arthur to discover why the band of knights would not look up to this man. He'd given up on his men a long time ago. It was no wonder that the knight for whom Lancelot had been in morning died when there had been no one to watch his back in battle.
"I'm afraid I don't share your views, Panador. Tell me, how many men originated in your company?" Arthur demanded.
"Fifty strong Sarmatian men," Panador answered proudly.
"And how many of those men remain?" Panador frowned.
"Five years have passed—" Panador attempted to justify what Arthur assumed was going to be a much lower number.
"How many!" Arthur demanded harshly.
"Thirty," Panador answered.
"You've lost twenty men in five years," Arthur hissed. "Four days of brutal battle and only two of the Sarmatian cavalry were lost! Do you know why—"
"How dare you question my command! You have yet to even experience this life outside of Rome! You don't know what kind of dangers we have faced!" Panador yelled, his face turning red.
"Do you know why so few of those men were lost?" Arthur asked.
"You don't know—" Panador began.
"Do you know why so few of those men were lost?" Arthur repeated. "Because they trusted not only each other, but their leader. I'm aware that these men are from distant conquered lands, and I do not plan on asking for their loyalty to Rome if they wish not to give it. All I ask is that they grow to trust me as much as they will grow to trust each other. There's no reason why a man should be singled out of his cavalry because he's a Roman, and I'm sorry to see that you were."
By this time Panador was furious. If the heat of his anger could be expressed in a visual form outside of his deadly expression to kill, Arthur was sure he would have seen it. "You do not even know my men," Panador seethed through clenched teeth as he referred to the knights as his own possession for the first time since Arthur had met him.
"If they did not trust me, I would have not remained in leadership this long."
"I'm afraid you're confusing trust and respect," Arthur said quite calmly as if he didn't take notice to Panador's penetrating stares. "Your men respected the authority Rome gave you, but never did they trust you."
"You bastard!" Panador finally yelled. "You haven't even met my men and you're describing their feelings to me! Your words aren't worth their noise to my ears."
Arthur grabbed Panador's arm tightly and loomed over him making him rage over their equal heights. "I don't have to know them," Arthur growled. "I could see it in that mourning knight's eyes. My words are there. They speak truthfully there, and probably in the eyes of every other knight under your command." Arthur released the man and Panador shrugged violently making it seem as if he had escaped Arthur's clasp, but no man could turn away from Arthur when he addressed him with full sincerity until Arthur said so.
Panador could find no words, but his pride made him believe that Arthur Castus would find that all his talk was beautiful philosophically, but never could he apply his beliefs on the knights. Arthur would soon find out for himself, he believed.
"I would like to meet with your knights, if you please," Arthur requested, reminding Panador that the reason he had come wasn't for this petty argument. He also made sure to give the implication that the men were still under Panador's command.
"I will summon the men for you," Panador said with a crooked smile. "The sooner I get away from this wall, the better. Just remember, they are your men now."
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Arthur found himself arriving to an empty fortress hall. The room was forged from stone similar to the wall itself. Thick candles hung from iron torches on the wall and were protected by thin globes of glass. Two long polished tables filled the space of the room. Arthur guessed that twenty-five men would fit at one table and twenty-six at the other, for a large ornamented chair sat at the head of the table to his right. Arthur assumed that was where Panador would sit.
Just looking at the long tables Arthur found that he despised them. Every knight was separated a long distances from the other and none of the knights could speak easily from table-to-table. Not to mention that the ornamented chair at the head of the table immediately established superiority over the rest of the chairs. That was Panador's way, not Arthur's.
The large wooden door opened and knights suddenly began strolling in. They never said a word, but took to giving Arthur cold glares and looks of mistrust. After Panador's treatment of them, Arthur wasn't surprised.
Knights flowed in for the next few minutes, each taking assigned seats at the tables, leaving many seats empty for those who were no longer with them. Lancelot, the knight Arthur had seen earlier, was one of the last to arrive, and his attitude towards Arthur was not distinguishable from the rest of the knights as Arthur expected, but he also saw more in Lancelot than some of the other men. What it was however, Arthur could not place exactly.
The arrival of Panador finally started the gathering.
"Knights," he addressed the group. "I apologize for disturbing your festivities, but my replacement has arrived. Rome has sent this man, Arthur Castus, to take charge of Hadrian's Wall and of your training. I will leave you in his hands," Panador said stepping to the back wall and allowing Arthur to take command, but not without taking some pleasure in some of the looks directed at Arthur.
Arthur stood confidently in front of the large group, however. He allowed his eyes to gaze into every single pair of the knight's eyes as he gazed and took to remembering faces so that when the time came, he could easily give the faces their corresponding names.
"I asked, Panador to call this meeting so that introductions could be spared when training begins tomorrow." Arthur paused as he walked down the center between the two tables, his arms behind his back.
"Speak up! Can't hear you!" Arthur turned and looked down to near the end of the table to his left as laughter filled the room. There, a large beefy man sat with only a fuzz of hair on his head chuckling at his own joke. A mug in his left hand sloshed spits of ale onto the table as he laughed. He heard another knight congratulating the man and addressing him as Bors. Arthur believed the name fit the man quite well.
As the laughter began to subside Arthur strode over to the knight nearest him, who had thick strawberry blond hair but a face almost as soft as a child's. The axe that was next to him however spoke a different story. Quietly Arthur whispered into the knight's ear, and the knight gave him a look of surprise.
"Are you crazy?" he demanded, but Arthur didn't answer. Everyone was silent by now and was looking on with interest at the exchange between Arthur and the knight.
"Would you knights please rise and move away from the table?" Arthur asked gesturing to everyone at the table on his left. The knights looked at each other in confusion but slowly did what Arthur asked. Meanwhile, Arthur made gestures to the knight with the axe at a certain distance of the table before stepping back himself. The knight looked hesitantly back at Arthur as if he was expecting him to change his mind, but Arthur just waited patiently.
Almost in slow motion the knight brought his axe up over his head and brought it down on the table where Arthur had first gestured. Panador's eyes shot up in horror as he watched a nice clean split divide a section of the table. The knight then brought his axe down a few feet away from his previous cut. The whole room watched as the small section of table collapsed from the force of the cut and created a hug hole in the center of the table.
"If you would just move that bottom section up to this one, Bors, you'd find it much easier to hear." Bors didn't move. No one did. Everyone in the room found it unbelievable what Arthur had just done. Unknowingly to Arthur, one knight with black hair almost as dark as night and ornamented with rivers of braids smirked to himself. He had understood Arthur Castus the moment he had stepped into the room and had found everyone else's response to him quite amusing, though he portrayed nothing on the outside.
"All right, if you all wish to stand," Arthur said turning his back and heading to the front of the hall once again. "Training will commence at first light tomorrow. Have your horses tacked along with your weapons and armor on. We are finished, knights, enjoy your night." The squeaks of chairs being pulled back against the stone floor filled the room as knights stood up and began to leave. In the process no one said a word and the table was left untouched.
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Bors's figure stirred the bench seat as his large form landed heavily against the wood. A fresh mug of ale was in his hand. Lancelot had seen him around but knew little about him. He did know that Bors had a liking for beer that almost matched his lust. With that said, it wasn't surprising that Bors had found passion with the woman, Vanora, who dispensed his alcohol. In fact, Bors was to be expecting his fourth child soon. Lancelot watched, as Bors looked back at Vanora whose overly large stomach caused her hand to rest tiredly against the counter.
"I'll be expecting my third soon," Bors said proudly turning back to the knights at the table.
"Fourth, Bors," Mace, one of the younger knights pointed out. His family lived near a major river in Sarmatia and had made much money through trade. Bors seemed to be doing a mental count in his head, and shrugged off the realization that Mace was right. "Maybe if the drinking stopped so would the children."
"Stop drinking?" Silas asked incredulously. "If Bors were to stop drinking, I believe he'd die. All he needs to do is find a less—fertile woman." The knights at the table laughed.
"Yeah, tell us Bors, what is it that Vanora has that another doesn't?" Mace demanded.
Bors made a motion for everyone to gather into the middle like it was a big secret. Once Bors was sure everyone was listening, he said, "Moves, she's got moves." Bors nodded seriously for a moment before he burst out laughing and everyone joined him.
Lancelot normally would have joined them as well, but he wasn't in the mood. In fact, Bors was doing much to ignite his irritation.
"You're all talk aren't you, Bors?" Lancelot scoffed from the other end of table. "Your words hold as much truth in them as those of a Saxon," Lancelot spat, not even caring that the room became more silent as Lancelot raised his voice. "I think we all saw proof of that when you stood up against Arthur." Bors stood up angrily.
"Go on, keep talking, and I'll pull every black curl from your head," Bors threatened.
"They're all words, Bors," Lancelot pointed out with a grin.
"Lancelot!" Lancelot didn't even have to turn to recognize Gawain's voice. He kept his eyes focused on Bors who reached unsteadily for his sword.
"I'll show you words," Bors growled as he pulled his sword from his sheath. Lancelot removed his and just as the two were going to make their first hit, their was a loud clang as their swords hit the side of a large broadsword.
"That's enough," the man with the broadsword said as he forced the swords up in order to separate them. Lancelot thought he recognized the man to be Dagonet, a quiet man who normally kept to himself. Why he had decided to get involved Lancelot was unsure, but he didn't care, he just wanted to get out of there. With one last look at Bors he walked out of the tavern.
"Lancelot!" Gawain caught up with him not far from the exit and pulled Lancelot to a stop. Lancelot shrugged him away. "What the bloody hell was that all about?"
"He was annoying me," Lancelot said not meeting Gawain's eyes.
"That he is, but never has it struck you to fight him before," Gawain implored. Lancelot remained silent and Gawain sighed. "You will not talk to me about your feelings, I will not request that of you, but no one is going to put up with that kind of attitude, Lancelot." Lancelot didn't reply, he simply turned away from his friend and headed towards the stables. Once inside he walked over to the nearest haystack and found himself picking up the bale and hurling it with full force at the nearest stall. The horse inside whinnied nervously until Lancelot tiredly decided to sit down on the bales of hay, letting the sadness overcome him.
He missed Toltheon desperately. Gawain was as good of a friend as a knight could ask for, but Toltheon was the only one Lancelot felt he could talk to. He had known that on the outside Lancelot was much like the other knights: loud, drunk, and happy to take a chance at any attractive woman that might look his way. For some reason though, it wasn't as fun any more, for Toltheon was dead, and nothing Gawain or even the new commander, Arthur, could do anything to change that.