Wow this is really sad….I procrastinate on studying a lot….hmmm….seems to me writing is a good way to keep my mind off tests, haha. Its not a good thing, but it sure is fun. Once again, I have mixed tidbits of history with fantasy. Hope you like, and I hope I can update the next chapter soon. REALLLLLYYY SOON!
Chapter 18
The weeks to follow were dark days in the house of Camelot. We learned later that the Saxons were building up their armies once more, and that the few ships some of our villages had seen before were just scouts. This invasion would be bigger than Badon. This was an entire fleet of Saxon warriors, bent on revenge over the loss of their fallen leader and the pride in proving they were better than us. Arthur guessed we had a month to rally our allies.
The worst was that there was barely any time for mourning. Guinevere was the most reclusive, having lost her father. She did not cry in consul over the following days. She kept silent, staring off into space with a stone look plastered on her face. I noticed Arthur try and touch her once or twice, but she was cold to him. The look on his face told me he was just as hurt for not being able to heal her pain. For his burial it seemed the entire legion of Woads came out to pay tribute. There were funeral games and pagan rituals, none of which I took part of. Instead, I said my prayers to God.
Gawain knew how to take the loss of a fallen comrade. He had experienced it so many times before. He was a mentor to the younger men, and they looked to him for solace and answers.
As for me, I don't think I will ever forgive myself for the travesty that has occurred. Of course, others would say, there was nothing I could do. But they were my charge, my brothers in arms. I now knew the pain Arthur told me would arise with being a leader. Aedan put his hand on my shoulder, rubbing my back during their burials. Bors kindly embraced me. "Tis not your fault, lass. This is the life we all chose, and none of us will live to be old men."
As Conall was being covered with soil, I looked over to see the bar girl, Margery, clutching her slightly bulging stomach. Images popped in my mind of his carefree nature, his excitement over becoming a father, his playfulness at keeping the men's spirits alive. Remus was a quiet, obedient comrade, always wanting to do right in the eyes of justice. He was an extraordinary archer. My stomach was turning knots at describing them aloud to everyone. Arthur had taught me well to control my anger, and hide my suffering, but it was almost unbearable. The warrior inside me sought vengeance. The scholar in me made peace. I was torn once more, battling my feelings and desperately wishing to crawl into a small hole.
But I was a Captain. I had to be strong now, for my men. For the people of Britain. I foregone my emotions the day I swore allegiance to Arthur and revoked Roman citizenship.
A few days after we had heard the news, I had Gawain stay in the practice yards with the men, urging them to continue their exercises. It was a stuffy climate outside, with dull moods to match. There was no playful pranks, no guffawing or chuckling. Instead, they did as I would have done, and trained intensely on their fighting skills, honing them until they had mastered it.
I spent my time with Arthur, Lancelot, and Bors in consul, strategizing our next move. I felt bad for thinking it, but we desperately could have used Merlin's guidance. A few times I brought Aedan with me, hoping he would have some type of input.
After a particularly long night of overanalyzing, Lancelot met up with me in the corridor.
"Captain, wait." He called, leaning against the wall. I never sported gowns anymore. Instead, I dressed simply in a long tunic and trousers like the rest of the men. I no longer felt like a woman at all.
"Please Lancelot, save the titles. Call me Arria, unless it pains you to do so" I murmured, standing a few feet away from him with my arms tightly crossing my chest. "What do you want?"
He had grown his curly brown hair long now. It was almost to his shoulder, but tonight he had tied it back. "In this time of need we best not ignore each other. We need to work together-"
I cut him short. "And we shall. I'm not so weak as to put our frivolous quarrels ahead of the task at hand." I turned to go, but he lightly grabbed my arm.
"No, indeed you are not weak." I turned around slowly to face him, that same sorrowful look gazing at me. "I've always said you are a lioness, and I mean it. You are strong, stronger than most men in spirit, and your men see it in you."
"I do not need you to tell me what I already know.." my eyes narrowed accusingly. How dare he tell me what he thinks me to be? How could I ever trust his words again?
He lowered his gaze. "Perhaps I merely just wanted to remind you."
We didn't speak for a while, both of us begging questions mentally. "Why do you care how I feel?" I finally asked, though it was more of a whisper. The dim lights from the torches flickered on his face.
He sighed heavily and looked away. "We should talk later, after everything is taken care of." He was biting his tongue, I'm sure…he always did that when he was nervous.
"You know what happened to Conall and Remus. You saw Tristan and Dagonet fall. We may all go at any time. You would wish to keep everything inside, buried perhaps for the rest of your life?" I kept my voice calm and level, not wanting to scare him off. I simply wanted answers, answers to make peace with myself.
He rubbed his nails through his hair in frustration. "Later, Arria. I promise we will discuss everything later."
And we all know what good a promise from Lancelot was, I thought bitterly. Lyrics burst into my head, the tune of a very depressing song I had heard pass through his lips one cold night, passing through the lips of another young solemn man. A Sarmatian tale to which I did not understand its meaning. At first I began humming it, humming the sad tune. Lancelot looked up, unsure of what I was doing. He raised his right eyebrow, his lips slightly parting in disbelief. Words came to my mind, words I had only understood when Gafran sang it barely above a whisper.
"Sun of morning, star of night
Tis for the best that moon shall die
Bleeding earth, o hear my cry
In shadows let me lie
In shadows let me lie
For heaven sees not my plight…"
He stared intensely on me as I finished, my look as sullen as his. He was stiff, breathing heavily, a few drops of sweat escaping his brow. His voice cracked when he spoke. "Where did you hear that?"
I decided it was best not to answer that question. So instead, I merely stated, "I do not understand its full meaning, but I know it speaks of a pain deeper than flesh, of a pain buried within the soul." I stared hard at him, not menacingly, just questioningly.
The flames seemed to glimmer harder, covering half of his face in shadow. "One day you will understand." He exclaimed, and turned around, walking away from me once more.
At night I dreamed of Conall and Remus, a dark hooded figure in the background raising his sword to their backs. Their screams. Their blood flowing along the ground. I woke up in a pool of sweat, my vision blurred by the secret tears that I would not let out in public, tears of love for the brothers I had lost. Perhaps I also cried for my father, my sisters, my mistakes. It had been a long time since I had felt drops of pain surge heavily down my stained cheeks.
That morning I met with Arthur, and together we figured out the best route for sending word of the war that was to come. I would take Avery west with me, while Aedan and Tobias headed south. Gabriel and Gawain would venture north to our Pict friends and recruit as many warriors as we could. Gafran, Bors and Lancelot would stay with Arthur as he coordinated tactics.
"Be careful" I commanded as Aedan packed his bag unto his chestnut mare. As he mounted up, I lifted up my hand, intending on giving him his water jug. Our hands touched. He took the jug, and kissed my palm in the process.
"Same to you" he stated, his vibrant smile perking its way out. It took a lot, but I smiled back, amused as always by his optimism. He and the others left soon after.
"Arria! May I have a word?" My queen spoke, knocking on my door later that afternoon. Opening up the door, I gave Guinevere the slightest of bows as she entered, her face pale and emotionless.
"How may I be of service?" I questioned, nodding for her to sit on my chair.
She stayed standing up. "The girl…Sorcha…she's been itching to speak with you for days. She wishes to return home immediately." Her voice was hoarse and low.
"Your Majesty…you heard what your husband commanded. The girl must stay here."
This time Guinevere stared intently on me with pleading. She spoke once more, her tone softening, her look distant. "I remember, when I was at Marius' dungeon, the cold and the dark so vividly. The shadows mixed with the screams of innocent prisoners dying beside me. I remember being tortured, my only thoughts begging to return home to my kin." She glanced at her hand and made a fist, rubbing the fingers slowly in deep thought. "I know what my husband said. But I also think it matters little whether this girl will be trouble in the long run. I will not condone keeping a mere child as a prisoner during a war to which she is not a part of."
I could see there was no changing her mind, nor was there any excuse I could think of to sway her reasoning. I sighed heavily, knowing already what it was she asked. "You wish Avery and I to take the girl west with us."
She cut in before I could finish. "All I'm asking is that you give her a chance to get back to her people. Take her down to the sea port, let her find her way home on her own. It is not out of the way. I'm asking you as a friend, Arria."
I didn't like it, I didn't like it at all. Though Lancelot and I disagree on a great many things, my military instinct told me to keep your enemies close. But is that not judging to think she is an enemy when she could very well not be? An inner voice within me claimed. Innocent until proven guilty used to be your stance. Freedom for all your motto. Would you sink to the level that corrupts the elite in power?- This voice grew louder and louder in my heart.
I drew out of my trance and turned back to my friend. "Let me see her."
She looked healthier from the last time I saw her. Her bruises were beginning to fade, and her cuts on her face were expertly stitched. Someone had reasoned with her to take a long bath, and her once mangy hair was now a blossoming blonde color again. She did not smile nor frown when I entered, simply stared. Silence befell us both as we sized each other up.
"They say your name is Sorcha. Interesting tale I've heard, no doubt named for your strength of mind." Not even a hint of amusement did she give me. I continued. "I hope you've been treated well here…my-"
"I hope you will accept my gratitude for saving my life" she began, her lyrical voice heavily accented. "I had heard Britains were ruthless barbarians."
"The same could be said of your kinsmen. What is it you want in Britain, anyhow?" She did not scorn my pertness, indeed she seemed ready for such a forthright question. But instead of answering, she herself began a harsh interrogation.
"Why have you not killed me? Surely you realize I am the enemy."
I sighed. "The Irish are far from our most pressing matter right now. If you look for the worst in people, the worst is what you'll find. But perhaps if you assume that everyone has some good in them, you have more a chance of making a companion than a foe."
She scoffed. "That is a foolish way of looking at it."
"Indeed, it is how good men are betrayed or killed. But at least they tried, instead of assuming the stereotype their society has placed on others. That is how wars are made. It is how grudges form, and continue for generation after generation, the blood of the innocent spilling over feuds that nobody even remembered how they began."
Her eyes widened in surprise. "I did not know Britons could look past the surface. You surprise me, captain."
"Hmm, and you are older than you seem. Tell me, you speak as if your are of royal or noble blood. Is this true?"
I struck a nerve, and she looked around in apprehension, pulling the few blonde strands on her forehead behind her ear. She sat up straighter, and cleared her throat. "I suppose there's no harm in saying I am, unless you intend to keep me as ransom, which for some strange reason I doubt you are."
"Your instincts hold true, Sorcha. To be sure, many would seize on to such a prize. But I have a different approach to this matter, one I hope will be to your liking."
She raised her left eyebrow, pondering my words with uncertainty. I continued. "You may go back to your people, unharmed of course, if you swear to whatever gods you obey not to bring trouble to the kingdom of Arthur."
"What? You…you'll let me go, just like that? Based on the word of a young girl from a land your kinsmen deem barbarous?" I could n tell whether she was gracious or thought me imprudent, for she stared long and hard into my eyes, searching for truth.
"Yes."
"I cannot guarantee raiders will not flood your countryside…I don't control Ireland."
"I'm not talking about bands of ruffians scourging the land for a few bits of minor wealth and provisions. I'm speaking of invasion. You will not tell them any of what you have seen, how many men patrol the borders of Camelot, how best to seize our king. All that you have learned and seen in Briton must be kept silent. Only then will I grant you safe passage to the sea."
Perhaps is was the light playing tricks on me, but for a moment I thought I saw the slightest inclination of a smile pass through her upper lip. Chills went down my spine, my mind begging to overthrow my righteous attitude. This was not wise.
"I care little for my own safety when my people are attacked as much as your warriors are. I've seen the Britons flood the peaceful villages, rape our women, kill our offspring for sport." There was an anger such as I had never seen in one so young. I tried to ignore what she said, but knew part of it was true. There were stories of such incidents.
"What is it you want, then?"
"I wish to make the same deal. Stop invading Ireland, and I shall not speak of what I have seen."
"Just as you said before, I cannot guarantee rebels of King Arthur's laws will not try and insinuate their blood feuds. But I assure you, these attacks are not condoned by the court. I myself punish the lawbreakers of such acts."
She gulped. "I can see these negotiations we speak of are harder to follow on both sides. Very well. I will return to my country and speak to no one my knowledge of your land. But in the future, I trust under different circumstances further negotiations of peace can be made between your king and my kinsmen."
Yes, she was of noble blood alright. Too bold, too knowledgeable in politics, and too cultured was she to be anything less than the daughter of some esteemed Tuath leader. She took my hand and we shook, a bond forming between us. Trust was hard for me. Many had tarnished all meaning of the word for me. But once more, I looked to my convictions, and trusted the girl I had saved from death.
Guienevere assured me Arthur would not charge me with treason by doing this, and at dawn the next morning, Avery, Sorcha and I set out to the west.
I made Avery ride ahead, to scout for unwelcome visitors, while I brought up the rear, just in case the girl tried to run for it. Sorcha kept pace, her injuries not giving the smallest of fits, or so she let on. We did not speak all day, and I did not let the two rest before sundown, when we made camp. As Avery went to collect firewood, I unpacked a blanket for the girl.
"Here" I said, tossing it to her. She took it graciously, and scratched her neck. "I never truly thanked you properly for saving my life."
"I just pray I won't live to regret it." I stated with a smile. She smiled back, the first real smile I had ever seen her give to me.
Avery came back shortly after. "Here you go ladies." Tossing the logs on the ground, he proceeded to ignite the flames that soon warmed us up. I boiled a light broth, and gave each their portions. Uncomfortable silence swept through as we ate.
"I was told the Irish have a way with the telling of tales that Britons would die to hear" Avery began, sensing the rigidity.
She turned to him, tilting her head to the side, her blonde hair glowing by the flames. "Indeed."
"Might you spare a tale?"
She looked to me, then back at him. "Perhaps another night. I am weary from the ride." I thought of the pain she must be going through both mentally and physically, the area between her legs sore from riding and past cruelties done.
Avery realized the same thing. "Of course, silly of me to suggest it. Well then, maybe Arria or myself can regale you with a story, though I doubt either of us can tell it grandly."
I smirked. "I am no bard. Go on Avery, give us a show."
He was now sweating, and it was plain to see he was not used to being only in the company of women. With the men he was the jester, the trickster. With women, who knows?
He cleared his throat as Sorcha looked at him amusedly. He stared back at her, confidence rising once again.
"Well, since I am with two female warriors, it is only appropriate to praise the deeds of past heroines of my homeland, of Britain. Tonight I hail a queen long gone, a queen whose reign inspired thousands-" I widened my eyes. I never knew Avery had a talent with words.
"And finished in tragedy. I sing of a warrior who stopped at nothing to save her people from tyranny. I salute Boudicca, Queen of the Iceni."
My guard was kept down as I listened, intently drawn into his story that appeared to be true. Sorcha lay down beside me, her eyes fixed into his as he accounted the bravery of such a woman. Boudicca was Queen of a Celtic tribe in Britain when the Roman Emperor Nero decided to invade her homeland. Many tribes, too fearful to resist, paid homage to Rome. Her husband did likewise, the taxes on her people escalating as time went on. After the death of her husband the King, the Romans ordered the heart of the Celts, their weapons, to be disbanded and given over to Rome. This was the last straw. The queen, whose hair was as red as flames and a temper to match, gathered what few tribes she could, and led a resistance movement against the Empire. She fought alongside her countrymen, slaying those who oppressed her people and took away their freedoms. She drew blood from the wicked, and was the first to succeed in battle against Nero's forces. But tragedy struck, and her two daughters and herself were captured.
Raped and tortured, the Queen would not accept defeat. She would not give Rome the satisfaction of conquering her spirit. In valiant response, Boudicca killed herself before the Romans could, having never lost her freedom. The story speaks for itself as to what happened after. Rome took over, until a new cry of freedom began.
As he finished the tale of centuries ago, none spoke. A slight breeze swayed the trees as owls hooted and frogs croaked around us. I let his words sink into my heart, empowering me with hope for the future ahead.
"Where did you learn to talk like that?" Sorcha asked, as mesmerized as I was.
Even in the darkness, I could tell he was blushing. "It is something I've always known. My mother told the tales in such a way."
Sorcha smiled in delight. "You have the soul of an Irishman. Are you sure your British?"
He chuckled and rubbed his shoulder in discomfort. It was I who spoke next. "A fine tale, Avery. Best we get some sleep, and rise early to get as far as we can quickly. I want to be back at Arthur's side as soon as possible."
That night I dreamed of battles, of a woman warrior leading hundreds of men against the invading Saxons as the field drew red with blood.