Artorius Castus was a lad who believed in God. He believed in Rome, in
equality, and Justice above all.
He had been assigned a band of striplings when he was no more than a
stripling himself, perhaps but a few seasons older than the oldest of
them. He did not know them and yet he was made to lead them, his
only advantages that which his commanders had seen fit to teach.
It was his father's blood that gave him rank, his father's legacy that
woke Rome to give him this chance.
Today he would meet his knights for the first time, his first look at
the men he would be spending the next fifteen years of his life
commanding. Arthur set his jaw as he slid Excalibur in its sheathe.
He would make his father proud.
Arelenne was twelve years old and thought she knew everything. She was
good with his sword-- perhaps more so than even the older lads beside
her-- and she knew this fact well.
"Your commander is coming today," said one of the soldiers who watched
over them. "He is to be your captain for the next fifteen years; take
care what you say to him."
Bors, one of the larger boys, snorted. "Respect is earned, not given,"
he said. "I say he proves his worth before we're made to bow and scrape
before him."
The soldier shook his head. "He commands even I," he said. "In Rome,
what matters is the rank you are given. His word is law, and you must
follow-- if you have complaints, make them in fifteen years."
"Or in three days," Lancelot called from the back, brandishing his
sword in a mock salute.
The soldier frowned. "What happens in three days?"
Arelenne grinned unpleasantly, meeting his gaze head on. "Three days
til he runs back to Rome with his tail between his legs," she said. "Or
three days til he perishes on the plains of Briton. No Roman has dared
venture far from this camp, nor has any dared to cross the gates.'
'I would wager against all of you," Lancelot continued for Arelenne. "that our commander shall be gone in three days time-- whether of his own accord or by the Woads' blades."
Bors slammed a meaty fist onto their small table, grinning broadly. "I
shall take that wager, though in Lancelot's favor," he said. "Let them
send their commanders forth; we shall be ruled by no Roman."
The rest of the boys nodded in assent, and the soldier frowned darkly.
"Such talk is treason," he growled. "He could have your lives in an
instant if he heard you!"
Arelenne laughed, brushing blonde hair from her delicate green eyes . "Not to mention the fact that no one wishes to give odds in his favor," she said. "Will not even you wager on your precious Artorius? I've known him for seven seasons, he's a bloddy coward."
"I shall wager on your Captain," came a quiet voice from the shadowed
door, and all the tawny heads turned to look.
The man who stood there looked barely older than they, shrouded as he
was in the half-light. His face was shaven and his dark curls pulled
back with a band, a small smile playing upon his lips.
It was Lancelot, of course, who found his voice first. "And who the
bloody hell are you?" he asked.
"Artorius Castus, servant of Rome," said the man, striding forth into
the light. He was a tall man, his chest encased in plated armor and a
jeweled sword hanging at his side. His face, however, belied his age;
his features still belonged to that of a youth.
At the casual admission, all knights save for Arelenne dropped their
eyes to the floor. It was one thing to wager behind your commander's
back but another thing entirely to face him while you did it.
Arelenne was no less fazed, but she would be damned if she let this Roman see it. She ignored the pounding of her heart and, taking her life into her hands, sketched a sarcastic bow. "The famed commander at last," he said. "I shall be glad to take your wager, sir-- how many copper pieces would you like to put up?"
Arthur smiled. "I shall gamble my month's wages in my name," he
answered. "Twenty gold pieces for your noble cause."
The insult was taken none-too-lightly, and Arelenne's full top lip curled. Galahad casually stepped on her foot, ascertaining the knight would not leap upon Arthur in a fit of pique.
"We have no such wages, my lord," Arelenne replied, swallowing her
anger. "As I am sure you well know-- all our coppers combined would not
even cover half of yours."
Arthur shrugged. "I do not want your money," he replied. "I shall
gamble my pieces against a mere service from you."
"And what service might that be?" Arelenne asked suspiciously. "You forget, Arthur, we are not stable hands to be made to wait at your feet, nor are we skilled in aught but fighting."
Arthur smiled in response. "Your loyal service as my knights for
fifteen years," he said. "That is a fair wager, is it not?"
There was an uneasy ripple through them, and the soldier at back
shook his head. It appeared that Arthur's reputation was well-earned
indeed.
Arelenne lifted her sculpted chin. "We accept your wager, Arthur," she said. "And we shall see your gold in three day's time."
"For my part, I shall see you tonight at dusk," replied Arthur. "As of
now I am still your captain-- whether you are loyal or no-- and I
expect you all to fulfill your duties."
He bowed slightly at the waist, his dark eyes gleaming amused for but a
second, and then he was vanished again through the doorway.