Beneath the black banners
A/N- Sooooooooo sorry for the long wait. There's been a lot of crap going on (and I don't mean that in a good way) We're getting close to the end…I promise! In this chptr, I decided to have Camille experience one of the things I deal with after I get super pissed at the world and kick box my cares away for a few hours- extreeeeme, make you walk funny for three days, muscle pain. :) I am very sorry for the word repetitiveness of this chptr, I mean I must say "crack" when referring to the ice like fifty million times, which seriously bugs me, but how many ways can you describe ice cracking (btw I will be seriously pissed if anyone flames me on this comment, it is not an invitation to remark on my intelligence or vocabulary :) lol)
Satiana- thanks- I love getting into descriptions of the characters emotions, or appearance and its great to find that readers don't just consider it long-winded!
Delis- definitely true, Camille may be tough, but its not like she's inhuman
Lalane- it would be "je t'aime l'histoire beaucoup" but thanks anyways; have a good time in Colorado
Evenstar-mor2004- yeah, if it had been me I would've smacked him then kissed and made up…but then again, Camille's always been nicer than me :)
Several hours and one reconciliation later, the knights, the women and the refugees found themselves on the edge of a colossal frozen lake.
"Is there any other way?" Arthur inquired shortly to Tristran. The scout shook his head but rode ahead to check anyways. Camille shivered. It wasn't the cold that bothered her but the look she had seen in his eyes. It was if the eloquent although quiet Tristran had gone from a loyal friend to a rogue wolf, a loner in everything, and the danger that manifested itself in his easy posture and calculating eyes was a strong reminder that ice could burn just as well as fire. Arthur ordered everyone down. Camille complied quickly but her wince and short gasp of breath was enough to summon Lancelot to her side. She heartily regretted skipping the earlier workouts, which revenged themselves on her in the acid that coursed through the sheaths of muscle encasing her legs.
"What's wrong?" he asked in a low voice. She smiled wryly and limped a couple of steps gritting out
"Uhn, just out of shape" he almost laughed at this for she was obviously lean and agile as a cat…at least a temporarily lame one. Nonetheless, she was laughably fit compared to the peasants and the bulk of the mercenaries as well. She limped over to Arthur and offered to lead the group since she and her horse were considerably lighter than he and his mount. He declined gravely, of course, and she smiled fondly and shook her head. She took a spot behind him instead and they took a tentative step forward on the unstable ice. They all swallowed nervously and glanced at each other in response to the awful groaning and cracks it make, but the ice held. Behind them the drums, which had barely bothered to register any longer, suddenly rose in volume. Tristran arrived suddenly, from behind, walking the ice as if it were second nature.
"They are here," he said simply. Arthur stopped abruptly and turned, leading his horse.
"Knights?" he inquired
"There so close, my arse is hurtin'" Bors grunted,
"never liked looking over my shoulder anyways" mused Tristran
"It'll be good to finally get a look at the bastards" spat Galahad.
"Here. Now." Smiled Dagonet serenely. Arthur looked to Lancelot last, and found his eyes locked with Camille's. He could find no fear in them, so he broke the stare and met Arthur's eyes. He inclined his head gravely in a gesture of agreement. As if an unheard of signal the warriors immediately began to gather weapons and strap on armor. Camille pulled off the leather tunic and pulled out a heavy dark tunic of mail. Her white linen under tunic slipped aside exposing a shoulder that, like the rest of her skin had stayed remarkably fair despite her life in the elements. Lancelot ran a hand over the crown of braids her hair was confined in, fondly and joked
"where was this when you got this?" brushing a hand over the star shaped, puckered white arrow scar on the exposed shoulder. She smiled and gave him a mock glare. Their bantering was cut short by the nervous intrusion of Marius' widow, Fulcinia, who coughed timidly then shyly drew Camille aside. She pressed something into her hand and Camille recognized the letters she had delivered to Marius. Remnants of the seals were still intact and she could see a corner of the papal cross in purple on one and a fragment of the imperious Germanus' coat of arms in red on the other. She looked back to Fulcinia, confused. The older woman hastened to elaborate, whispering
"these were with my husband when he…he…passed on, I think you should have them, lady, they…" she gulped audibly and Camille remembered the brave little woman who had launched herself at her husband to save Lucan only to be thrown aside, and she closed her free hand around Fulcinia's, who went on shakily "they concern you and you should…should have them, I think…" the poor woman trailed off rather lamely. Camille smiled, trying to put her at ease and thanked her. Looking relieved, Fulcinia hurried back to the wagon and her son, where the peasants were beginning to peel off from the depressingly small group of fighters. Camille's eye caught on the young firebrand, Ganis, who looked on forlornly as the knights made their final claims from the departing wagons. She sighed and hurried across to Arthur, who was sternly telling the young man to accompany the wagons. Just as he was rejecting Ganis' offer, Gwenivere sauntered by, toting her longbow and interjected casually
"You could use another bow" as she flashed him a lazy smile his mouth hang slightly ajar. Camille almost laughed at her friend's masterful control over Arthur, a man of stern control and will. She grabbed Gwenivere's gaze and shot her a conspiratorial visual thumbs up. The taller woman's mouth quirked and she jerked her head, indicating Camille to join them. They arrayed themselves, all nine of them in a crescent in the center of the lake and watched the seemingly endless wave of dirty brown-gray Saxon foot-soldiers pound towards them under the grim, fluid black banners of ill omen. The knights held their bows with the easy grace of men who knew exactly how to use them.
"Hold until I give the command" Arthur tossed out, almost carelessly, as Lancelot turned to the two women who flanked him.
"There's a large number of lonely men out there" he stated his eyes twin dark chocolate pools of suggestion.
"Don't worry, I won't let them rape you" shot back Gwenivere sardonically.
"You think to outrun them, then" Lancelot prodded, teasingly, attempting to pull his pride out of the flames
"No we just think to outrun you" mused Camille wickedly. His mouth twisted and he retreated into glares at the other knights, who were hiding their chuckles. All activity ceased when a Saxon crossbowman was belched unceremoniously from the ranks and dispassionately aimed his weapon at the small line on people, whom he was sure he could not hit. As expected, the arrow fell dismally short and skidded across the ice stopping feet in front of them.
"I believe they're waiting for an invitation; Bors! Tristran!" Arthur commanded and the two stepped forward, bows raised
"They're far out of range" Gwenivere said, frowning. Arthur answered her with only a very small, grim smile. They pulled their bowstrings tight and let fly. Predictably, a man fell from each side of the horde, and across the ice the Saxon commander, Cyric, snarled, showing twisted teeth and ordered his force forward.
"Aim for the outsides, make them cluster" barked Arthur, tersely. Nine shafts hissed through the chilly air and nine Saxons fell. The cycle repeated rhythmically as the foot soldiers clustered together shoving their companions aside to reach the safety of the center. As the ice began to creak and moan even louder Cyric yelled frantically for the army to stop, shoving his officers and menacing the men. Everyone on the ice held their breath as the moans of the stressed ice echoed eerily across the expanse that lay between them. Gradually, it subsided, and filled with triumph the Saxons once again began to march. Arthur showed no sign of fear or disappointment save the slightest twist of his mouth. He turned to the little party, pale green eyes solemn, and a little sad.
"It's going to hold, fall back." His voice was almost conversational but everyone knew the enormity that lay beneath his words. Nine fighters, no matter how brave or skilled, held little chance against two hundred or so odd Saxons, regardless of their lack of skill or courage. As they dropped their bows and grabbed their weapons, no one noticed Dagonet's strange lack of movement. He stared intensely at the approaching force and then glanced up at the sky but once. Suddenly, he seized his battle-axe and sprinted forward, oblivious to the cries behind him. He brought his axe crashing down with lethal force on the ice, burying it to halfway up the blade.
"Cover him!" Arthur shouted, desperately, for he saw that Dagonet's action was both their only chance for survival and also suicide. Simultaneously, Cyric yelled frantically for his crossbowmen, shoving them forward. The stupefied Saxon archers were no match for the knights however, who acted with a speed and ferocity almost inhuman as crossbowman after crossbowman fell. Lancelot's face contorted with rage and he yelled in pure animal rage and hatred. However, numbers once again came to thwart them and an arrow thudded into Dagonet's arm, a second into his chest.
"Dag!" screamed Bors and surged forward, Gawain on his heels, bearing small round shields. With a final hoarse bellow, the big man brought the axe slamming down into the ice, falling to his feet; the giant was felled. Bors and Gawain arrived seconds later pulling him from the icy hole he had created as cracks sped like fingers of ill-intent across towards the Saxon army. Bors and Gawain dragged him back and laid him down a safe distance from the breaking ice
"Dag! Stay with me Dagonet!" Bors yelled desperately, but it was too late, Dagonet was gone. Across the lake the ice snapped and tilted skywards, turning the lake into a field of deadly white petals. The Saxon soldiers tried desperately to hold on, leaving smears of crimson behind them as they fell into the freezing water. Gwenivere met Camille's eyes over Dagonet's body and they read their similar rage and purpose. Standing they aimed one final arrow at Cyric who was a small figure, safely retreated beyond the broken ice. They let fly and immediately the two officers, just inches to his right and left fell, dead before they hit the ground. Camille snarled and threw down her bow as he retreated out of arrow range, but Gwenivere watched him, forcing him to hold her gaze, as she marked his face in her memory, vowing to face him again someday. The world fell silent under the dark sky only to be broken by the scream of Tristran's hawk. From beneath the ice, the blank staring eyes of a Saxon soldier were looking up at the sky, but seeing nothing.