Thanks once more for all your reviews…its what keeps me writing. Without further rantings, enjoy!
Oh yea: Disclaimer: I don't own King Arthur, but I did create Arria and her family
Chapter 3
"Sir Lancelot.." I began, unsure of what I wanted to ask him. "Tell me about your home. Sarmatia." Honestly, the man looked so solemn. I congratulated myself, for it was at that moment that I first saw him smile. Domitia would have loved that smile.
"Home," he said, his eyes not glancing on anything in particular. "A land where the sun rises high and beams down it's light; hardly ever a misty day such as here. No, the sun in Sarmatia is its own castle, hugely deceiving to our eyes. The seasons change four times a year…there are no endless cloudy days such as on this god forsaken island. The horses there are stronger and faster, far more beautiful and mysterious." I closed my eyes, trying to envision it. He went on, his voice in a dreamy state, as if he were back in Sarmatia right now. "There are no masters and servants, only family. In Sarmatia, you are free. Why is it you ask?" He turned back to me now, amused.
"It just seemed like you needed a reminder of something that pleased you," I stated. He took in my words for a moment, then smirked in understanding.
"I am content, Lady Arria, for tomorrow I go home." I gazed at him, a bit confused. I glanced out the window.
"Excuse me for being blunt, but perhaps you don't see the thousand Saxon troops outside your front door?"
He scoffed. "They are not my problem. And apparently not Rome's either."
My eyes narrowed. "Yet does not your friend Arthur stay? Alone?"
On these words he rolled his eyes and headed towards the door. "We all choose our own destiny. He seems to think his lies here. I want home." With these few words he left, shutting his door behind him, leaving me absolutely bewildered.
Electo awoke me at dawn, begging me to come with him. Since I had nothing to pack, I went down to the stables where one of the stable boys presented me with a horse. The villagers were starting to move out, and the Sarmatian knights mounted their horses, Lancelot among them. He gave me a quick nod before kicking his horse forward. I looked towards the fields, where Woads began to set fires, filling the air with smoke so thick you couldn't see. Outside the wall I could hear the Saxons stirring, preparing for war. The leader, the Roman man named Arthur sat on his steed on top of the hill, gazing at the enemy.
He fights for something that will never be, I decided. An inner voice within me cried, "My father fought for his beliefs and died because no one had the courage to think it could succeed." I looked over towards the Sarmatians. They fought for a country not of their own, and now flee their leader is his hour of greatest need. Perhaps my father's vision of equality and justice could not reach Rome…but with a leader like Arthur, maybe a new country could be founded on these ideals.
I had no home. Rome was crumbling from within. Perhaps…perhaps I could start a new one, carrying on my father's wishes in a land that would not pursue corruption. It was these thoughts that revolutionized my soul. My path in life. I urged my horse forward, ahead of Electo and a few villagers, towards Lancelot and his friends.
"Wait!" I shouted, catching up. The one called Tristan and Lancelot turned around, surprised and confused.
"Lancelot!" I turned my horse left, right in the knight's way, causing him to stop. His comrades stopped as well.
"What are you doing?" He asked, perplexed.
I gulped. "Why do you turn your back on your commander? Don't you see that he needs you? All of you?"
A burly, bald headed man rolled his eyes. "Please, girl, step aside. We served Rome for 15 hard years. We deserve to go home."
I cut in. "And by aiding Arthur, that is not serving your enemy but helping your friend. Honestly, would he not give his life for you?"
Lancelot chimed in. "That's enough! I told you last night all about my homeland. Arthur has his own destiny to pursue, even if it is a foolish one. I am a free man now, bound to no master."
I looked up at him, eyes widening. "Yet it was you that said 'There are no masters and servants, only family'. Well, Sir Lancelot, I would think that after fifteen years, you would call Arthur family. All of you." I stared at each one. "My father died fighting for equality and justice for all men. So does your commander. And so do I." I kicked my horse back towards Hadrian's Wall, with Electo screaming at me to come back.
I galloped onto the hill where Arthur stood, deep in thought. "Arria?" He asked. I smiled.
"You knew what my father Nicoteles and Pelegius wanted. You can make it happen, Arthur. Someone has to stand behind you." He opened his mouth to reply, but thought better of it. He looked at me with new respect, and bowed his head slightly.
"Nicoteles schooled you in private, did he not?" I laughed.
"Yes sir."
He shook his head in wonder. "We need more souls like yours, Lady Arria. If you were born a man, you would make a fine general."
"That's what my father said." As I spoke, I saw five warriors galloping their horses toward us. I smiled in spite of myself. My speech had apparently worked.
"Lancelot?" Arthur questioned, confused. His friend smirked in response, and Arthur gazed towards the others, whom were introduced to me as Tristan, Bors, Galahad, and Gawain.
Soon Arthur led us down the hill towards the burning stacks. Lancelot rode beside me. "You have a way with words, milady."
"Even the voice of reason needs to step aside every once and awhile and take a chance." He sighed, smiling as he did so. Arthur gave out the orders, and he saved me for last.
"I take it you want to fight," he stated, looking me over.
I cracked a slight smile. "I may not be the best swordswoman, or even a hand to hand combat fighter…but I can shoot a bow pretty straight." He sniffed.
"Archer it is. The best position for a girl still wounded. Good luck, milady."
"Same to you." With that he bowed his head and kicked his horse forward, his eyes glancing toward a Woad girl not far from me…Guinevere they called her. She glanced back at him, winking. Hmm, I thought. Wonder what's going on between those two. But my thoughts could not stay on that subject long, for the Saxons were beginning their attack. I rode along the edge of a treeline, then dismounted, as someone handed me a bow and arrows. Looking left, I saw the Pict leader that had spared my life. He gave me a quick nod of approval before gazing back on the oncoming attack. The Saxons seemed confused, no doubt blinded by the surrounding smoke that enveloped them. The Sarmatian knights charged forward, slashing anyone they could get at, before retreating through the smoke. My father taught me this ancient Roman trick a few years ago. A smart battle tactic to confuse soldiers, making them break away from their commanders and start shooting at anything moving.
One of the Picts beside me raised his bow, and I realized we were about to fire. I aimed high, trying to get the depth right. As others around me let loose their arrows, so did I, and I watched as about one hundred flew high into the thick sky, then landing about two hundred yards away. Screams emerged from heir army, as some men put up their shields. Others were not as lucky.
As fire emerged to divide the army in half, Guinevere raised her sword, signaling our attack. I mounted my horse, taking with me a few extra arrows. My dagger was shoveled into a latch by my left heel. I was nervous, looking out as the knights battled the war hungry Saxons. These were seasoned fighters, and I had only learned a few dodging tricks from Leon. The bow was practically useless in close range fighting, but it was my only hope of staying alive and protecting others at the same time.
As the Woad warriors emerged from the edge of the forest, yelling out their battle cry, I urged my horse forward towards the onslaught. Before coming face to face with any Saxons, I stopped. Holding my bow in my right hand and picking an arrow with my left, I aimed at the Saxon nearest me. He fell quickly, blood pouring from his head. My heart raced, and I scanned the battle, looking for those in need of help. I galloped my horse farther down the right wing. One of the Woad girls was being attacked by two burly Saxons. I let loose two more arrows, both finding their mark. She gave me a quick nod of thanks and moved on to her next victim. I looked back to see a Saxon warrior coming towards me, his axe raised above his head. I kicked the mare left and dismounted quickly, on the outskirts of the battle.
He swung high, and I ducked down, barely missing my head getting chopped off. I unhooked the dagger from my left heel, and while I was kneeling, I rolled to the right and plunged it through his chest. My energy was wearing, and I quickly mounted up again, still moving right along the edge of the fights. It was then that I noticed him. The bald headed boy was lunging at him, his face full of rage. Lancelot easily dodged his swings, his ambidextrous arms moving both swords in for the kill, his curly hair bouncing in front of his sweaty face. The young Saxon was full of energy and matched every blow Lancelot threw at him. More Saxons were coming to their commander's aid, trying to take on Lancelot as well. Even in the midst of battle, the knight smirked his superiority.
I raised my bow as Lancelot turned his back on the young Saxon to battle two huge soldiers. The boy was trudging along the ground, looking for something. My eyes froze in horro when I saw him stand up with a crossbow. As he aimed towards his target, I let loose my own.
Lancelot turned around, his eyes in shock. The bald headed Saxon dropped the crossbow, blood seething from his lips, his eyes narrowing in frustration. My arrow protruded from his chest. The boy spit out the blood, reaching once more for his weapon. Lancelot drove the sword on his right into his stomach. Breathing heavily, he looked left towards where I stood, my bow drawn. That same devilish smirk appeared once more, and I found myself smiling. Still, other fights persisted, and I continued on. The field was stained in blood, littered with bodies of Woad and Saxon alike. Every time I released a new arrow, I cringed as I felt the pierce of it inside another human's flesh. I was not used to such barbaric tendencies. What warfare I knew from books glamorized it, making it appealing to the public to have victory over an enemy.
Rome was defined in its glory, its victory, its superiority over others. These Saxons believed they had the power to take whatever they wanted. It seemed it did not matter what continent I came across; there would always be a lust for power.
The battle was dying. Only a few fights remained, and they were quickly suppressed. I was exhausted, though lucky to be alive. I said a quick silent prayer to God, thanking Him for my safety, and trotted towards the middle of the field, where the knights were gathering.
I dismounted as Arthur fell to his knees, watching as the knight Bors brought the dead body of Tristan over to their commander. All were covered in blood, limping with various wounds, all faces solemn for their fallen friend. The Woad Guinevere stared at Arthur in understanding.
"Knights I have failed you.." Arthur began, angered that he was the cause of his friend's death. I looked down, feeling saddened, not sure of what to do.
Soon we broke up, with Galahad and Gawain leaning on each other for support, Bors not taking help from anyone. Lancelot, I noticed, was grasping his side, wincing in pain. I put a hand on his shoulder, and he stared at me, his face stricken. I didn't know whether he blamed me for making them go back, or the Saxon leader. Or perhaps he was angry at Arthur, or fate, or God. I could not tell, but he put one arm on my shoulder, letting me help him back in silence. I looked back towards the field. Arthur sat silently by the body of his friend, with Guinevere taking his hand into hers for comfort.
I helped him into his bed, getting cloths and hot water to attend to his wound. He said nothing, he only stared with his big brown eyes against the wall. I took off his armor piece by piece, including his cloth shirt. He was very built, with scars of old and new covering his back and front. The slash to his side was not deep, but still needed to be dealt with.
"This may hurt.." I began to say, taking the bottle of alcohol into my hand.
"Just do it-" He cut in. I bit my lower lip, spreading the alcohol, cleaning the wound with a cloth. Still he continued to stare at the wall, used to such pain. After it was cleaned, I closed it up, stitching along the slash, which was about six inches long.
Just as I finished, I had him lie flat on his back. He would not look at me. "You saved my life again," he stated. I didn't know how to reply.
I gave him a quick squeeze of the hand. "Rest, Sir knight. Dream of home." With this statement he took his gaze off the wall and stared into my bloodied face and mangy hair. I gave him a slight closed mouth smile to reassure him, and closed the door behind me. I stood against the door for a moment, taking in everything that had occurred that day. I had gotten my revenge on the Bishop. The Saxons were defeated. What was my plan now?