Chapter 3: Papers and Burial
They cantered towards the stable area and anxious villagers surrounded them. Ariadne looked around her nervously. The stallion sensing her unease reared up, slashing at the people trying to get close to the new comer. The court they were standing in was filled far back with people and it was a miracle that her horse's hooves struck not one of them. The Roman bishop came out, ready to give a speech on their bravery, but Arthur's stormy face silenced him.
"Bishop Germanius, friend of my father," he said in a terse, menacing tone.
Arthur stormed out and Lancelot walked forward to receive the papers for the knights. Ariadne glanced hurriedly around to see what had become of Guinevere. She stood beside Dagonet's horse with Lucan. The young boy pulled a big ring off the dead knight's finger and rolled it carefully in his fingers. Guinevere left a comforting hand on his shoulder. A loud noise made her turn back to the knights.
Bors's face was crumpled in anger and grief. He had thrown his papers on the ground and stormed out. Gawain picked up the fallen papers and they walked out, except Tristan who was carefully inspected the box that had held the papers. He plucked it out of the soldiers hands and walked off to the others. Ariadne remained frozen in the midst of the villagers. She had no idea where to go and where the stables might be. A roman soldier came up behind her and very quickly had a knife around her throat as he bent her backwards over the top of the saddle.
"Pretty wench. Might I assist you in getting off your horse?"
And with a mighty heave, he yanked her clean out of the saddle and into the dirt. They scuffled and she punched him clean in the lip, her side throbbing with every blow she delivered. Finally, the Roman punched her square in the temple and her world blacked for a few moments. His knife was back at her throat and little drops of blood dripped down as he maliciously held it too close.
"I like them with spirit," he said disgustingly, his eyes filled with lust.
Ariadne's head swam and she became frightened as to what to do. The man's grip seemed to loosen and he dragged her to the stables. Her horse was being restrained and thrown into a nearby stall. He tied her to a post with ropes. She sat there, hidden by huge sacks, her face and side bleeding freely onto the dry straw. Her horse banged menacingly on his stall door. The man looked at her one more time.
"Tonight will be one of the best ye have ever participated in," he said, his face getting it's disgusting glow back.
So she went from one jail to another. This one just didn't have iron bars.
"Aria!"
Her head perked up in an instant. A shadowy form came around the corner and hurriedly cut her bonds. She turned to look up into the face of her liberator. Lancelot smiled down on her and carefully wiped the dripping blood off her face.
"Roman scum," she muttered.
"Try having to be around that every single day of your life," he joked.
She rolled her eyes.
"So how'd you find me?"
"That devil came out of here with the biggest grin on his face and I didn't see you come in behind us. So I took that as a sign," he said with a very charming grin.
"Well, thank you, Sir Knight," she said, a hint of a mocking tone in her voice.
He offered her his hand and she stood up, taking a sharp breathe. She clutched her side and winced, but then her face began to hurt. She then fell to her knees, unable to keep going for that very moment. Lancelot knelt down next to her and gently removed her hand from her side and looked.
"Well, I'm no Dagonet, but I can stitch you up a bit," he announced.
"Great," Ariadne replied, rolling her eyes again.
He helped her back up and they slowly made their way to his rooms. There he took out cases of medical supplies. He threaded a needle and lifted up the side of her shirt so it was out of the way of the wound. He quickly averted his eyes to just the wound. Now wasn't the time to start thinking of anything else. He began cleaning and stitching. Ariadne winced and almost pushed his hands away, ready to tell him that she would just leave it.
"So, Sir Lancelot, you're free now. Where do you plan to go on from here?"
He stopped stitching as visions of his home came to mind.
"You know where I'd go. And as soon as possible. I have wasted enough time here as it is."
Ariadne grinned and gave a hollow laugh.
"What?"
"I just find it strange how you found nothing here of which you found worth your time. The Roman's held you against your will, but they didn't keep you from seeing something beautiful or incredible. You're determined to hate it. You haven't seen the surprises held within this very land."
"I'd rather not stay to witness them," he replied, liking the conversation less and less.
They continued in silence until he pronounced her wound was all done. He then took a wash clothe and cleaned her face.
"There," he said with a sigh.
Ariadne grinned and stood up. She gave a deep curtsy, which was quite humourous to Lancelot for she had pants on, and clasped his hand and kissed it.
"Your kindness has been very much appreciated."
And she walked out to the stables to see to her horse.
As she continued on the path, she saw the knights heading out to the small cemetery. She glanced at the stable and back to the knights. Quickly, she decided that she'd rather pay her last respects to Dagonet. She followed the knights, staying well behind them. They walked in and Arthur spoke of Dagonet in great words and Bors dumped some remaining wine upon the grave and sat next to it. The other headed back to the Wall. They would more than likely celebrate their freedom, but subdued after the death of their brother at arms. The brother with one of the biggest hearts of all.
As the knights left, she walked up to the grave and dropped a single flower she had picked on the way. It twirled gracefully before settling on the mound of new dirt. A single tear dripped into the dirt and she said a final good-bye to the kind giant of a knight. She stood up and saw Guinevere sitting with Arthur, deep in conversation.
Ariadne brushed off the knees of her borrowed pants and started to walk back up the hill. Lancelot surprised her as he came out of the bushes leading their horses.
"Alright, you have one shot. Show me the beauty of this land and I shall bow at your feet and worship the ground you stand upon," he said, his eyes sparkling.
"Fine."
She threw him a look and gingerly pulled herself into the saddle. She gave her horse a kick and they galloped off from the Wall. The wind whipped around their faces and hair. Ariadne took a deep breathe and swallowed the great feeling of freedom on the back of a fleet steed. Days like these were so rare to her. She wanted to go on forever. However, she couldn't. Her horse began to start breathing heavily and she pulled him up.
"Well, that wasn't anything different. We do that most of the time we leave the Wall."
"That wasn't it. I'm giving the horses a break," she replied.
Lancelot shrugged and hopped off. He looked up at her, squinting in the brightness of the day.
"You name this beast yet?"
"No, but I'm sure I'll think of something," she laughed.
A cloud moved in above them and the horses breathing had slowed a bit. She checked her horse's chest and decided they could continue at a slower pace. She got back into the saddle and motioned for Lancelot to follow her. They set off again and plunged into the woods. She had gone through these woods so many times when she was younger that she could have found her way in the dark. It had certainly been a while though. Many of the paths were overgrown and trees had fallen. She paused at one section before picking the right path that lead down a well traveled path. Bright leaves were set about to illuminate the path with their different colours and the carpet of leaves from the Fall were thick and crinkled under the horses' hooves.
"The Woads use this path. They carry their dead upon it and when there is a ceremony, they travel upon it. It's part of tradition. The trails off this path lead to glorious things. Things that are awe inspiring to most people," Ariadne explained.
"So why are there no Woads on it today?"
Ariadne shrugged and pushed her horse on.
They traveled a little farther before coming to a path that was marked with brilliantly coloured leaves that were arranged in a special form. She turned down it and came to another fork. She gave her horse a long rein and let him choose the way. They started down the more over grown path and Lancelot made a noise of displeasure as they started down a steep hill.
"That beast seems to enjoy difficult paths."
"He just chose the one that was more appealing to him, more welcoming you might say. Either way, there's something wonderful at the end."
"Might I ask what was down the other trail?" Lancelot questioned.
"A gorge with a river at the bottom. It's quite beautiful. My mother and I used to ride there and swim," she answered.
They continued down the path, branches sometimes scratching at their faces. They seemed to have hit a dead end when Ariadne jumped out of the saddle and looked up at him.
"We're here."
Lancelot looked around dubiously. All he saw were more flowers and leaves.
Ariadne began walking straight into a bush and she carefully pushed aside the branches. There, unfolding before their eyes, was a breath taking waterfall. The water plunged down into a crystal blue lake and mist sprayed up from the collision of waterfall and lake. Lancelot's breathe caught in his chest as they stood and watched.
"You're probably wondering how they keep the leaves as you have seen. There's a caretaker that is given the post of this trail and some of the adjoining ones and he takes care of the leaves at all times and makes sure they are arranged nicely. The post passes along the generations. It is an honor to have it. The waterfall itself is considered one of the ceremonial places for all the Woad tribes."
"Incredible."
Ariadne looked at him with a triumphant smile on her face. Lancelot looked down at her with a look that clearly said he didn't want to get into it and they both began laughing.
"We should get back. After all, you do have freedom to celebrate," she said quietly, still staring at the waterfall.
Lancelot nodded, lost in his own world of thoughts. Ariadne looked at his face, searchingly. After a moment, she turned away. This was stupid. What made him so different in her eyes? Every other time a man had been around her, something awful had happened. The same thing could happen at any moment. She shook her head and got back on her horse and looked down at Lancelot, who was still transfixed by the waterfall.
"Ready?"
He blinked a few times and quietly walked over to his horse.
They rode back in an eerie quiet. Both thinking. Finally, Lancelot spoke.
"Well, you've proven the beauty of your land. But I have a question for you. Would you not even be a little bit curious to see the land of your father? I know you wanted to see it someday, but why not travel with the knights when we leave. It'll be safer and you'll be with guides who know the land."
He said this all very quickly, only glancing at her once. Ariadne narrowed her eyes.
"I will one day venture to the land of my father. But for now, my people have a problem here. Rome has left. But how do we know for sure that none others will try to claim it. I appreciate your offer, but I will see you at a later time in that land," she said sadly.
Lancelot nodded and a grin came onto his face.
"Well, I know Gawain and Galahad will be a bit disappointed that you will not be accompanying us."
Ariadne laughed. It was a crazy, free laugh that sang to the sky surrounding her. It surprised her as much as Lancelot. She hadn't heard herself laugh like that in years. They were coming up on the field and she leaned forward slightly in the saddle and yelled to the horse and he opened up over the field. Lancelot came up beside her and they galloped back towards the Wall, almost floating on the wind. The soldiers opened the gate and they slowed to a walk and made their way to the stables. They dismounted and unsaddled their horses. Lancelot came over to her stall and watched her brush down the horse's sweaty back.
"I must say, it was beautiful. Thank you very much, my lady," he said cordially, complete with a mock bow.
Ariadne raised and eyebrow and inclined her head a bit.
"Go celebrate. I promise I'll come be social once this guy is taken care of."
"I'll probably find you half way back to your village in that time," he quipped.
"You won't. Promise."
With that, she returned to grooming her horse and Lancelot left. She hummed as she went about her work. She thought about how nice Lancelot had been. Her stitches were fine, they were not even bothering her. She then thought about what to name her horse. She couldn't keep calling him 'beast'. But she wanted something that fit him. As if reading her mind, he threw his giant head up and down causing her to start laughing once again.
"Silly boy. What to call you? Huh? What are we going to call you?"
She wasn't expecting a response. The horse gazed upon her, his chocolate brown eyes fixed lovingly upon her. He would be a great steed for when the war came. If it ever did. A sudden thought struck her as well. Knights come back as great horses. She figured that somewhere, in the heart of this horse, her father watched over her. She gave him a final pat and went to the well outside the stable. She quickly splashed some water on her face and dug spare clothes out of her bag. A simple dress that she tied in the middle with a worn leather belt. The sleeves were long and hung low at the wrists. The hem was singed and stained from trudging through mud. And the neck had a tear in it, making a small 'V' on her chest. She put on her worn leather boots and braided her hair back. At least she wouldn't look like a torn ragamuffin. With a deep sigh she headed down to the courtyard where the nights were being attended by many barmaids and villagers.
There were flaming torches everywhere and many rough, wooden tables and stools. There were Romans playing dice and knives. Barmaids rushed around with large mugs of ale. Some soldiers had barmaids, with very little clothing on their upper bodies, perched on their laps. She spotted Lancelot, sitting at a table with a few of the nights, his expression was anything but celebratory. She walked over, but was caught around the waist by a Roman playing a game of dice.
" 'Ello sweet'art. You got any plans?"
He ran a long, dirty finger along the arm of her dress and she gingerly picked it up between two fingers and pushed it off.
"Actually, I'm booked for a few weeks, but that woman over there looks pretty lonesome," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
The man took no notice and drunkenly walked over to her. He promptly received a slap on the face and he waltzed back over to his friends to find her sitting with the knights. He quickly made his way over and got his nasty, rotten toothed face right up against Lancelot's.
"She was at my table first!"
Lancelot just looked at him lazily, ignoring the fact that he was being accused of something. The man whipped out his knife and immediately the knights sprang into action. But they had nothing to do because Ariadne already had her own knife at his throat.
"Kind sir, please return to your table. I told you I am booked and would not be caught with the likes of you anyways."
The man gave her a dirty look, but scampered off and vomited at his friends' feet.
Ariadne rolled her eyes and took a drink of the ale that was sitting in front of her. The knights smiled and raised their mugs.
"To Dagonet," they all said.
Ariadne raised her glass with theirs and took another drink.
Galahad got up from his chair and pushed Gawain out of the way to sit next to Ariadne.
"Lady, where do you hail from? We are all certain you are a Woad," he said.
She smirked.
"Why yes. I am part Woad. Half, to be exact. My father was a Sarmatian knight who died when I was young. He captured my mother during a fight between the Woads and it was on a night much like this. It was a surprise attack. They hoped to swiftly overtake the Woads and gain the territory. But that didn't happen. The Woads were ready and launched a volley of fire arrows which set many areas of grass on fire. This made it harder for the knights but they struggled on. Women in the village ran hurriedly from their homes, deeper into the forest. The knights galloped their horses in and one knight, found my mother stopped at a stream. She was wetting her clothes so as not to catch fire. He grabbed her wrist and she looked him in the eye and said, 'I do not fear you'. He pulled her onto his horse and galloped back, putting her with the rest of the captives. The next day, he went to her and she rode beside him on a spare horse. He could not over come how unafraid she was. Eventually, they fell in love. I was born. And he died when I was but 3 or 4 years of age. My mother always told me stories of their adventures together. How he took her to Sarmatia at one time. As much as you dislike the Woads, they are people just like you and hold pride in their land. It is what they fight for. My mother had respect for both countries, just as I do."
Lancelot sat there grinning. She had certainly shut up Gawain and Galahad. Tristan had even come over.
"So you're half Sarmatian?" Gawain asked, still in a bit of wonder.
"Aye."
Galahad turned to him and they started whispering.
"Bors was right though. How rare a beautiful Sarmatian women is. The only reason she's beautiful AND Sarmatian is because she's got Woad in her."
"I heard that," she quipped.
The knights looked at her a bit sheepishly.
Gawain stood up as a song was being played by a villager hoping for pay. He bowed to Ariadne and offered her his hand.
"Would you care to dance?"
She looked up at him, a blush creeping onto her pale cheeks.
"I don't know how to," she said quietly.
Lancelot stood up.
"I'll show her," he said.
Ariadne looked up at him, suspiciously, as he took her hand into his and guided her away from the table.
Gawain stood their muttering obscene things about Lancelot and how he always stole away the best women to grace his presence. Galahad handed him a drink and told him to shut up.
Ariadne stood awkwardly in front of Lancelot as he placed her hand in his and began to pick up the rhythm of the song. He was a decent dancer and he led her around drunks and bustling barmaids. It made her dizzy after the excitement from today. At the end of the song she curtsied to him and made her way back to the table. Lancelot followed her back and they sat down once again.
"Well lads, we're free men!" Bors yelled as he walked over.
The knights nodded their agreement and a cheer rose up. Ariadne was beginning to tire and she felt the men should have some time to speak of their victory and lost friend. She stood up and headed out. She would sleep in the stable. She was sued to that by now. Lancelot noticed her leave and quickly ran after her, to the muttering of Gawain and Galahad.
"Wait," he called after her.
Ariadne turned around, a disappointed look on her face.
"Ah, Lancelot. You go stay with your friends. I'm just a little worn out."
"You have every right to be. Where are you going?"
"The stable. The straw will keep me warm. It'll be fine," she replied.
Now it was Lancelot's turn to look disappointed. But his expression quickly turned.
"Stay with me. It wouldn't be good for you to stay outside again. I'll have extra blankets brought in. Come with me," he said.
"No. I can't. That would be awful of me and it would start people talking. I don't want that kind of reputation."
"I think you already have one from telling the Roman that you were 'booked' for sleeping with other men," Lancelot joked.
She covered her face and started laughing.
Lancelot put a hand on her shoulder.
"It's fine. Come with me," he said.
Just then a horn sounded from on the Wall and Lancelot's face turned ashen. He grabbed her hand and they ran up the nearby steps. The scene before her made her gasp. Tiny campfires were lit on the open field. The Saxon army had returned. This time, with its full numbers. Arthur and Guinevere soon joined them on the Wall and Ariadne looked at her friend's light blue dress. The shoulder hung down and it was rumpled. Arthur's clothes seemed to have been hastily put on as well. She raised an eyebrow and grinned at Guinevere who gave her a mixed look of happiness and worry. Lancelot had run after Arthur and Guinevere turned in pursuit of them both. Ariadne stopped at the top of the steps for a final look at the field. So the eve of battle had come. Beneath her, Lancelot stared after Arthur's retreating back, his head tilted to the side in sadness. She ran down and took his hand.
"He's going to die in a battle that he should never even be taking part in," Lancelot muttered.
"As will I. My duty is to my mother and family."
Lancelot turned to face her, an incredulous look on his face. He took her hand in a firm grasp and led her into the fort. They went down several candle lit corridors and finally stopped at a thick wooden door. He pushed it open and began fumbling with blankets on a spare couch. Ariadne awkwardly stood there, watching him. She stepped over and placed a hand on his quickly moving one.
"Lancelot, if these were your people, you'd be saying the same thing I am," she said softly.
He turned to face her. His dark brown eyes searching hers. He brought his hand to gently cup her face and his thumb gently caressed her cheek. And for the first time ever, Ariadne did not flinch at a man's touch upon her face. He slowly brought his face close to hers and kissed her gingerly on the lips, as if she was made of the finest glass and his touch would break her. She kissed him back and ran her fingers through his curly dark hair, this feeling so new to her. They fell down onto Lancelot's bed and he expertly undid her belt and pulled the dress over her head, soon undoing his own clothes. A deep feeling of regret set into his heart that this would be the only time he would have with her.
Ariadne was a bit terrified, but was so enamored by the new sensations that she let Lancelot do whatever he pleased. She felt for once that some one loved her and would take care of her, not leaving her all alone. But the thought of the impending Saxons outside made her push away.
"I can't. This is wrong that we're doing this to each other."
"We may never get another chance," Lancelot replied, his eyes desperate.
Tears began to well in her eyes and she fell back into his arms and the dark engulfed them. It was a darkness of mystery and heartbreak.
