Disclaimer: I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.
Chapter 51: Counting Saxons
Ganis pulled his horse in beside Arthur as they galloped along the road, skirting the wall. Arthur glanced over as the man settled his horse to their pace. The leggy gelding was winded, but his ears were still up and he was drumming forward. Meritas shook his head, and the gelding shied off. Ganis brought him right back. Arthur chuckled as the gelding eyeballed the big grey stallion, and would go no closer than arms length.
"Meritas." Arthur growled and the horse flicked an ear back at his master and bounced through his stride, squealing and swatting his tail back and forth. Arthur laughed harder.
"You're being an ass."
He slapped the horse's neck. Meritas grunted, relenting, and put his head back down onto the bit.
Ganis puffed his chest as the horses matched strides and settled down beside each other. He still felt a bit conscious around Arthur, and felt he needed to really prove himself to the man. Ganis was happy that Arthur trusted him. It made him feel very important, and he liked that. He'd never been important before Arthur and the knights had brought them home from Maruises estates.
Ganis was exhausted from riding. He had been out looking south, and had ridden straight home as soon as he saw the troops, skirting back up and around them. They were most definitely Saxon; the banner they had stuck into the middle of their camp had made his stomach turn.
Awful things, those banners, and he shuddered involuntarily as he remembered.
He had felt he did well to get back home so quickly for the men. He had seen Tristan and Gawain riding by earlier, heading West. They would be riding right into it. He hoped it would be a peaceful encounter. Two against forty was not very good odds.
"How many?" Arthur shouted to him over the noise of horses hooves, snorting, tack and armour jingling.
"Look t'be forty or so." Ganis shouted back. "No 'orses, jussa bunch of men wit' weapons and tents."
Arthur thought a moment. "Alright. Where did you see them?"
"When y'get to th'big rock, turn right, an' gallop 'nother hour past the sunk'n stream an' they was camping there in a clearin'." He said, pointing further south.
"Ganis, I need you to go back to the fort. Gather the men and follow us when you can. We may need your help."
"Yessir." Ganis shouted then, and peeled his horse away from Arthur's, turning and riding back past the knights. They all raised a hand and greeted him as he passed, and he did the same, spurring forward once past them to race back to the fort, legs flapping, elbows out, urging the gelding forward, his small frame thrown out of the saddle with each stride.
"He certainly has enthusiasm." Galahad remarked as he turned to watch the thin man bounce along as they rounded a corner from view.
Perceval winked. "He's a good man."
"An' you've got his woman." Bors yelled from behind him. Perceval laughed, touched his fingers to his head, then lifted them to point up. An obvious signal of victory from the boisterous knight.
Bors snorted. "The lot of you are like fools, all in love and moon-faced."
"You're just jealous Bors. Getting tired of Lorina's beatings?" Lancelot yelled as he spurred Klyndd past him.
It was Bors' turn to send a raspberry at Lancelot's back.
Lancelot moved Klyndd up beside Arthur and the two stallions matched strides. The men nodded silently to each other. Lancelot felt tension rolling off of Arthur as they left the wall behind and started riding south and west. Meritas was not being an easy ride and the commander was clenching his jaw as he fought for a good hold on the horse's mouth.
Lancelot assumed Arthur was worried about Tristan and Gawain. If they got caught, it could be too much for Gawain to handle. This was much like when he and Gareth had gone out. Lancelot shook the thought away. It was mere coincidence, and the wrong time of year. Spring was when they found the aftermath. Would it matter to Gawain?
"Forty." Arthur said as the horses galloped side by side, once he had gotten Meritas back down onto the bit again.
Klyndd and Meritas were well adjusted to each other, and as such, Lancelot and Arthur often had quite lengthy discussions while galloping, able to get close enough to one another to speak normally, their knees often rubbing together, the horses flanks touching, the foam from their mouths flicking back onto both the men.
Well, as normal as one could whilst galloping with armour banging about. Lancelot smiled at the familiarity of it. He was enjoying this gallop, even though they were heading into a potentially dangerous situation.
"That's all?" He replied, nonchalantly looking about their surroundings as they pounded along the road.
Arthur raised his eyebrows and looked to Lancelot. He smiled a bit. Lancelot winked. He needed to make sure he stayed confident, for Arthur's sake.
And his own.
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Tristan was hiding in the brush, not far from the sunken stream, watching the band of Saxons that were camped, on his belly, arms under his chin, both resting on his sword. His eyes darted as he watched them.
He was counting the men he saw milling about. He guessed at around thirty, but there could be more. They usually travelled in troops of no less than forty men when patrolling. He counted five tents, and only one banner. There was a chief with them; otherwise there would be no banner. This camp was strange though. The tents were old; the men were shabby and looked to be disorganized. Not the usual Saxon scouting party.
He had heard talk from some of the people in Wynn's village of a rogue band of Saxons who had split away from a main faction years ago, their chief was a madman, and they pillaged at random, tortured anyone who fell in front of them but did not receive the mercy of death... They couldn't have survived this long in this part of Britain, could they?
Idle gossip, he was sure of it. He dismissed it from his head and turned back to watching the camp.
The banner snapped in the wind. Tristan had never heard skin snap that way before. He didn't like it very much. He made a mental note to destroy that banner if he got his hands on it.
Or better yet, give its donor peace and bury it properly.
Stupid to be so close to the wall, he thought as he watched. He wondered what they were doing. They would find out soon enough, he supposed. He scratched his nose as some grass tickled it, and then broke the brown straw off.
He hated laying on the ground in Spring. It was cold, and the grass was itchy. He would much rather be on his feet. But, the brush as it was would not allow that.
He heard a quiet rustling and turned his head to see Gawain inching up behind him on his elbows, coming to rest beside Tristan.
"You put up the marker?"
Gawain nodded. The horses were tethered a good distance away, lest they whicker or make any noise and give their position, and Gawain had gone back and found some slate, making a pile of rocks on the roadside. A long thin slab on top pointed in the direction of the horses. Tristan had assumed that word would get back to the fort of the threat, and if the men came upon it, they would know to stop there.
He hoped they would notice it. If Bors was leading, they might blow right by.
"Saw Ganis earlier, perhaps he made it this far and was able to get back." Gawain whispered, as he made himself comfortable. He laid his axe out beside him and swallowed, his own eyes darting as he too counted the men.
Tristan looked to the blonde knight. It would do him some good to crack some Saxon skulls today, he reflected. He desperately needed something to let out whatever it was that made him so angry last night.
Tristan realized he was hungry. He fished through his pockets for some nuts and silently popped them into his mouth. He offered to Gawain, who shook his head.
Of all the days to hit Saxons, it would be the day he was not wearing his proper battle armour and had an extra horse to deal with. He was glad that he had Gawain with him, in case they were forced to fight.
Tristan thought briefly that he would be very mad if they kept him from reaching Wynn this night.
Saxons would die if so.
"We could just walk in and challenge the leader." Gawain mused, as he settled further, and broke off more of the brown grass. He stuck the end of one into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.
Tristan could tell that he was spoiling for a fight. He smiled wickedly. He just might get it today.
But not yet.
He motioned with his head and the two men turned and crawled away, moving back towards the horses.
Dear Reader:
And thus the stage is set. I wanted to give the men a chance to fight, and for Gawain especially. Men who fight release their tension when doing so, they open their adrenalin to cleanse their minds of all. This will be good for him, and was always an intention to let him crack some skulls with his mace, as therapy.
But all is not quite set. There is more. Again I ask if you can see it. Any ideas? I am anxious to see if so.
I bid you happy reading and writing. I hope that your muses are as plentiful as the summer lilies that are now adorning my driveway. What helps you with your muse? Look outside your window. Is there anything there that inspires you? Write it down, use it as an element in a story. The laughter of a neighbors child, the whirr of a lawnmower, the gleam off a shiny car in the driveway. The smell of fresh cut grass or barbequing. All these things can inspire.
Here is to you finding something that inspires you to put your pen to paper and scribble furiously, as my farm does for me.
Cardeia
