At dusk Arthur eyed the twenty four youths standing before him, nodding with satisfaction. They had dressed to ride, wearing their armor and weapons as though they were born to wield them. And so they had, Arthur remembered, recalling dread accounts of the Sarmatian armies of old.
"I have walked the villages we protect during the daytime," Arthur said. "With our soldiers guarding the people, our forest enemies do not attack."
He whistled to his horse, a great white stead, and swung a leg across its back. "Tonight we ride to the village of Eorland," he said. "It is not far from here, and we shall guard its streets til the break of day."
The knights looked at each other in confusion but nonetheless went to their horses. Did he think they had no night sentries for that? There were common soldiers enough for the task he had outlined surely their legendary skills could be put to better use.
"My lord?" and it was Percival who spoke, seeming lost in his armor and helm.
Arthur turned to him, smiling kindly when he saw who it was. "What is it?" he asked gently, for Percival was among the youngest of them and looked frightened of his own shadow.
"The barracks has soldiers posted at every village, my lord," he said. "Even at night."
"I am aware of that, Percival," said Arthur. "But it is not the Woads I seek to repel tonight. If you would but follow me, knights of Sarmatia, I would show you that which you are blind to."
And so he lead them out into the night, their horses trotting quickly across the plains. Eventually they paced into a canter, and it was not long before the small wooden gates of Eorland came into view.
"Who goes there?" called a sentry from the wall, and Arthur raised his sword.
"Artorius Castus and his knights," he called. "Open the gates."
The soldier signaled to another out of sight, and the gates opened to admit them. They were not overly large doors, and Arthur fancied he could simply take his stead and bolt over them if he wished. Formality had to be stood on however, and so he waded patiently through their pleasantries.
"What brings you to the village at this time, my lord?" asked the guard, watching keenly as they dismounted.
Arthur smiled. "Nightly rounds," he said. "It's a new policy in Rome all the rage now."
"Ah, very good sir," nodded the guard, turning to a stable boy who hovered close by. "Erik, take their horses to the stables."
The boy nodded and came forth to take the reigns from Arthur's hands, and he nodded to his knights. "They are thirsty this eve," he said. "Might we know where the tavern can be found?"
Understanding dawned in the guard's eyes and he smiled shrewdly. "Down the street to your left," he said. "Their ale is cheap… and other forms of company as well."
Arthur inclined his head and set off, walking down the dirt path at a leisurely pace. The knights followed behind him quietly, trying to guess at his purpose.
"So he takes us out whoring and drinking on his first night?" Bors muttered from the back. "I like him already."
Galahad snickered behind his hand and Arelenne rolled her eyes.
"If he passes out from drink we can roll him in a ditch and be rid of him," she said. "Then we can say that Woads killed him."
Percival looked fairly ill at the idea, and he grabbed Tristan by the forearm. "They shan't do that, will they?" he asked.
Tristan pursed his lips. "Well, perhaps Arelenne and Lancelot might," he said thoughtfully. "Though I think Dagonet would stop him first."
They chanced a look behind them at the tall lad more a man than a boy, really and Percival nodded. He was imposing and brooding and dark, and he looked fit to stop the duo of trouble (Arelenne and Lancelot) from committing such an atrocity.
"Nothing to worry about," Tristan said solemnly, and Percival nodded.
Then there was a noise up ahead, and they turned to see Arthur standing quite still in the middle of the road. Gawain had walked right into his back, and their armor clanging together had created the startling sound.
"What is it?" Tristan asked, striding forward.
Arthur set his jaw, pointing to a scene not quite hidden behind a canopy of trees. The tavern loomed ahead of them invitingly, but he had heard strange sounds and turned to see firelight burning from some distance away. They could hear curses and shouting, and amidst all of that a cry of pain and fear.
"I see nothing but shadows," said Galahad. "A dance, perhaps?"
"I have seen no dance that causes such cries," Arthur replied, straying from the path to the alehouse. "I desire to see what mischief lies ahead those of you who wish to go to the tavern may continue on. I will follow soon enough."
Their interest piqued, no knight left his side. They had not been long in Briton, and as such knew little enough of Roman and native customs. They rode across the plains and fought the Woads they did not interact with the villagers they protected.
Arthur, for his part, wasted no time in pushing forward into the shadowed crowd. They stood around a fire and were loathe to part for him, but when they saw his armor they did not resist.
The knight stopped dead when he saw what they had circled against, and he drew Excalibur nigh. "What is this?" he demanded of a man nearby. "Why have you hurt this man so?"
For it was indeed a man that cowered by the fire, a dozen wounds on his beaten flesh. There were rocks and refuse thrown about him, rotten fruits scattered about his feet.
"Answer me," he snarled, and the villagers stepped back in fear.
"Are you blind?" one said indignantly. "He is a Woad our enemy. We caught him spying and now he deserves to be put to death!"
Arthur turned to look at the cowering man with new eyes, and upon closer inspection saw that his blue markings were already faded with blood and dirt. Unexpected fury welled within him, his memory taking him back to a place of fire and ash where his mother desperately called his name.
He had come here to free the man and yet now faced with the actual sight of him, the sound and smell of him, Arthur found his resolve wavering.
Pelagius, he thought, reminding himself of the man's wisdom. Remember what you fight for. He shook himself of the thought and stood in indecision, the tempting call of vengeance swaying him.
"My lord, it is the common way," came Percival's voice from his side. "Do they not also keep prisoners in Rome?"
Arthur's mouth set in a grim line as he let the knight pull him away. He did not make the choice, he reasoned; it had been made for him.
The villager turned away from him and back to the chained Woad, letting loose a stream of curses.
Likewise did the other knights withdraw from the circle of villagers, and they did not speak as they made their way back to the road.