Inheritance of the Sarmatian Born
"She gave me fleas!" Gawain screeched from his seat in the tavern. The knights erupted in laughter as each sat around their usual table, mug of ale in their hands.
"You better hope they're fleas!" Galahad joked, causing Kay to burst, nearly falling from his chair. Dagonet had to steady his friend, lifting his arm around Kay's shoulders as the knight carelessly swayed in his seat.
Drowning themselves in ale and wine after a mission, in fact after everything really, was the Knights most joyous retreat. The Tavern was their sanctuary; a place where the horrors of the outside world could not reach them, and where they could, in a way, be free men.
After he had dried the tears of laughter out of his eyes and caught his breathe, Galahad sighed, "Come, Lamorak, Gawain. It is time to teach you a thing or two about throwing knives."
"Oh, Galahad, have you not learned yet," Gawain shook his head, "you are no match for me."
The three stood and held a contest on a nearby beam. One of Lamorak's knives just nearly missed Vanora as she passed by, drinks in each hand.
"Lamorak!" Vanora's eyes were filled with unspeakable rage as she slammed the mugs hard on a table. Lamorak froze in place, eyes growing wide with fear of the red haired woman's fury.
"You'd better start running, boy!" Bors yelled with a laugh, the five ales he'd consumed slurring his speech.
As Vanora chased after the helpless Lamorak, wooden spoon in her hand, the crowd once again erupted in laughter. All, except for Tristan. He sat at the table with his fellow knights, but in a very secluded corner. Although he enjoyed the company of the men, Tristan preferred to observe, rather than completely join in. He sat, one foot propped up on the table, slicing into a fresh green apple, and silently watched the resumed game between Galahad and Gawain. He knew that he would soon rise and teach the both of them, once again, how to properly throw a knife.
"Here Tristan, you've hadn't had a drink," Kay said as he noticed the scout.
"No, thanks," Tristan responded without the slightest change of his calm countenance, "One of us has got to have some wits about them."
Kay chuckled and shook his head. Tristan hardly ever touched ale. Kay was always the one to offer, but was always denied. He remember once, a few years back, when he had asked the dark scout why he never drank. 'Why would I poison myself?' he had said, 'Besides, the Woads would have an advantage over a portly, drunken scout."
"Sienna," Lancelot spoke into the neck of the cheap blonde tavern wench on his lap, "do you know that you're the prettiest girl here."
The wench giggled and turned to kiss Lancelot full on the lips. Kay turned to Tristan rolling his eyes, and pretending to gag at the sight. Tristan just smirked. Lancelot had always been one with the wenches at the wall. He had probably went to bed with every single one more than once. Tristan saw such behavior as a weakness. Completely unnecessary. Sure, he had been with one or two, but only when he was looking for a kind of release. They weren't completely satisfying encounters for him. The women were all the same, none appealing to his tastes.
"Knights!"
The men looked up to see that Jols, the squire of the Knights, came running into the open tavern.
"Arthur requests your presence at the table."
Bors sighed openly, and hung his head with annoyance, "That can only mean one thing."
All the Knights of the Wall stood around the great round table. Arthur had had it constructed the day that he had truly became their commander; the day after they had first all plunged into their first battle. All were equal, all voices heard.
"Let us not forget that we are the fortunate ones," Arthur said at his seat at the table. Lancelot sat three seats down to his left, Kay right next to him. Farther down, Lamorak sat in the middle of Galahad and Gawain, his cousin. Two seats after Gawain sat Tristan, and two seats after his seat sat Bors with Dagonet completing the half circle. After fourteen years, only nine seats were still occupied. They had lost many companions, many brothers.
The knights each held up their goblets, following the lead of their Roman commander, "Let us raise our wine to those gallant and extraordinary men we have lost but who will be remembered for eternity."
"To Freedom!" Bors called out.
"TO FREEDOM!"
After the men had toasted, they sat in their respected chairs, all eyes bearing down at Arthur expectantly. They knew why they had been summoned.
"Knights, we have been summoned to the very Eastern outpost of Hadrian's Wall. There is a caravan of Celts coming from the Island of Shalott, and we've been ordered by Rome to go and survey their activities."
"Celts?" Lancelot interrupted, "They are not under the surveillance of Rome, not yet at least. Why are we to watch them?"
"Rome fears an alliance between them and the Woads."
"Celts hate Britons as much as Rome does," Gawain murmured, "As much as we do."
"Since when have there been Celts in Shalott?" Lamorak asked with a dumbfounded look. Shalott was a small island, between Briton and Ireland, that was filled with deep forests and vast shores. Though none of the Knights, nor Arthur had ever seen the secluded island, they had heard tales from Irish merchants of its beauty.
"Shalott has been inhabited by a large tribe of Celts, who branched away from Ireland when it became Catholic two hundred years ago. Since than, this group has remained pagan and have retained their Celtic heritage."
"I like them already," Lancelot said sarcastically as he finished off his wine. All the Knights had remained pagan, and all had held a disdain of the Catholic religion of their commander.
Ignoring Lancelot's remark, Arthur continued, "It is rumored that a Celtic healer is among the small group. It is said that the Celt's healing powers have advanced even those of Rome. We are to find this healer and bring him back to the Wall with us, leaving the caravan after we know of their intentions."
"We're going to just take him?" Kay said, raising his eyebrow. "Arthur, we can't just seize a man, take him from his people, just because Rome wants to learn the secrets of his trade."
"Rome did it to us, remember?" Galahad spit out. "Why not do it again with this Celt."
Arthur sighed, taking his head in his hand, fatigue still running through his bones. He loved his men as he would brothers of the same blood. They knew him as a man, as well as a commander. But why couldn't they understand? Arthur let out another sigh as he realized that he truly didn't understand his life, his charge too.
Dagonet took noticed of his leader's distraught look, and took pity. "It is Rome who commands this, not Arthur. If you go to the East Arthur, than I will follow."
Arthur looked at the giant of a man with a relieved smile, thankful as always for his presence. His loyalty.
The rest of the men sat in silence for a few moments, slightly ashamed that they were questioning the leadership of Arthur. Lancelot stood first, "I shall prepare."
Arthur smiled and stood as well. "We leave at dawn."