Authors notes: Thank you to my lovely reviews from Maeghan, babymeeko, ellelovemax, Beling, mollziki, jemiul and irishfire! I hope you enjoy this chapter!
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The atmosphere in the cold, damp cellars was unbearably tense and bordering on panic. The men were shifting nervously fingering weapons waiting for what they considered their imminent discovery. The women were quiet although there was soft sobbing. They were used to danger but still there was barely concealed fear. The children were silent, even the babies, as if they knew the slightest sound would give them away.
Jols sat next to Vanora and her brood. Ever since he had sat down he had felt increasing guilt, guilt that he should be out fighting and not sat in here waiting for the attack to be over. Taking a deep breath he came to a decision.
"I am going out there!" he whispered to Vanora. A look of fright passed across her features.
"No Jols you will be killed!"
"I can't let him fight alone." He whispered in anguish.
"Lancelot told you to remain here…You cannot help them."
"No but I can keep the Woads from discovering us. Vanora I need to do something. I am sorry."
Without waiting for a response the squire scrambled to his feet, ignored the shocked glances and crept as stealthily as he could out of the cellar. The sounds of battle assaulted his ears. He darted up to the battlements and peered over the top. It was a slaughter. The battle group fell apart breaking into little groups which were picked off easily.
He looked for Lancelot and saw that Palatine was thrashing around on the ground. The knight was not nearby and after quick searching he found him fighting a one on one combat with a monster of a man.
As he watched the fight Jols realised that his friend was going to lose. His previous wounds were causing the knight to react and fight slower. His opponent was good, not good enough to defeat Lancelot on a normal day, but this was not a normal day and the knight was beaten. Just as Jols thought the killing blow was going to be delivered the fight was stopped by a third man. Jols soon realised that Lancelot was being kept alive for a purpose, not a pleasant one either.
A hail of flaming arrows caught his attention; he dashed down from the battlements and ran to the stables. Hopefully before the flames took hold he could get the animals out before they were too scared to save themselves. Luckily they followed Demon's lead and charged out. They all fled except Scimitar who stopped by Jols and nudged him.
"I am sorry." The squire said patting the stallion before ushering the horse out.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" an angry voice demanded. Jols quickly left the stables to see that the gates had been opened and Julio, Plautius and a couple of legionaries had staggered back in.
"Where is Lancelot?" the squire demanded.
"Dead!"
"He is not dead." Plautius snapped. "He is still out there. We need to open the gates and let him in."
"To open the gates would be suicide you idiot." Julio snarled.
"So what is the plan now?" Plautius said. "The fort is ablaze and we are now trapped inside."
"You are a Roman soldier act like one!" Julio roared. Then he let out a cry of pain. An arrow had been driven deep into his shoulder. Plautius caught him and they both fell to the ground.
'This was all going to hell!'
"There is no doctor." Jols said as he helped drag the centurion out of the courtyard.
"Where's the hospital doctor?" Plautius asked.
"I don't know. WHAT?..." Jols dropped Julio who groaned in response. Plautius turned to see the gates being cracked open. Immediately woads poured in.
"Shit!" Jols exclaimed. He quickly whispered in Julio's ear.
"Play dead!" He then grabbed Plautius and indicated the other two legionaries should follow him. Hoping that they had moved unseen he led them into one of the narrow passages within the walls.
"Whatever happens we need to keep them away from the south cellar. It will be a slaughter if they are discovered."
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Bors nudged his horse into trot and then quickly slowed it down to walk. The horse sensing the nervous tension began to prance, shifting its head nervously.
"This is bloody stupid!" he snapped after a while. "By the time we get there they will all be dead."
"Shut up you daft fool!" Gawain replied equally snappish.
"We are going too slow" the knight continued not listening to his comrade.
"What would you have me do Bors?" Arthur questioned softly drawing alongside the knight.
"Leave them behind."
"And the six of us will manage to defeat a woad army."
"We've done it before!"
"No Bors we haven't. If the fort is on fire then something more than a small skirmish has befallen it. Even with all the men here I predict we are going to have problems."
Arthur paused.
"I feel as you do Bors. If will was all it took we would be there now. We would have defeated the enemy and be sat in the tavern listening to Lancelot's tales of bravery. But I can't…"
Again the Roman paused. Taking a deep breath he continued.
"Right now Lancelot will be fighting despite the fact that he is wounded and shouldn't be. I keep seeing in my mind the many ways he could be wounded or killed."
Bors looked apologetic.
"TRISTAN!" Arthur called. "Scout ahead."
The knight cantered off.
"Just be patient Bors there will be plenty of action for you later."
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As consciousness slowly returned the first thing Lancelot was aware of was burning pain. He was in agony, never had he experienced such pain before and he had experienced pain.
He couldn't help the whimpers that escaped his numb lips and as the shakes increased due to the freezing sleet that was battering his body he felt tears slide down his cheeks.
Lancelot considered himself a brave man, someone who wasn't easily cowed but this was pushing it. As much as he wanted to maintain his arrogant personality he knew that his body couldn't take much more and if the man returned Lancelot wasn't so sure he wouldn't beg. That was more of a failure, an admittance of defeat, a humiliation than anything else. How could he look his fellow knights in the eye? Or Arthur? After being defeated so quickly and easily!
'Now I know why I don't like being alone my thoughts are truly depressing and morbid'
A gust of wind blew against his frozen body and he bit his lip to try and muffle his cry. As more awareness seeped into him he realised where he was.
'I'm hanging from the gates. Brilliant!'
His eyes drifted across the field in front of him. The bodies were frozen in death and the man closest to him had died with his eyes open. The sightless orbs burned into him as if condemning him and Lancelot had to avert his gaze.
He wondered where the army had gone and then realised they were probably lying in wait for the Romans to return. There was no way he could warn anybody.
The cold was settling deep into his bones and he could no longer hold back his cries. The potion he had been given heightened the feeling of pain till it was all he could think on. He writhed against the gate making his back even more raw. Blood continued to run from his back, from his wrists due to the rope securing his hands above his head and from his lip that he bit through in an attempt to quiet himself.
'Please help me' he begged as unconsciousness claimed him again. He forgot all about supposed bravado!
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