Tristan took the reins of his brilliant stallion quickly from the Romans hands and immediately began soothing the spooked horse.
It had been a long journey across the oceans and horses weren't accustomed to being stored beneath the deck of a ship for that long.
It took a long time for all of the horses to be brought out from the ship and when finally they were all out, Argus addressed the Sarmatians'.
"Welcome to Briton".
Although he tried to make it seem so, his voice wasn't all that enthusiastic. Tristan had guessed by now that Argus didn't really want to be there.
"Each of you will be given a placement where you will train for the next four months. Then you will each be given your posts which will rarely change. It's simple and easy and would be quite sad if these orders weren't followed".
No one made a sound as Argus waited to be challenged. He gave a triumphant smile and continued.
"Now you will be given a ribbon each and then you will go to the pole marked with the same coloured ribbon".
Argus pointed to a row of poles, each marked with a ribbon. There five poles meaning there would be ten boys in each group.
Tristan waited patiently and boredly as the ribbons were handed out.
He patted his horse and whispered in his ear calmly.
He still had yet to name the beast but couldn't find a suitable name for it. It was quite a wonderful creature and was obviously a Sarmatian breed.
"Take it boy!"
Tristan had been so engrossed in his stallion he hadn't realised that a Roman soldier stood with his hand out and a faded, pale blue ribbon.
Tristan took it without a word and took his place behind the designated pole.
He was the last of the ten boys surrounding their pole.
One of the other boys was Keighley's brother. Tristan did not yet know his name but he was sure he soon would.
A tall sturdy man that didn't seem much younger than Argus walked up to their group with a cruel smile upon his disgusting face.
"We are going to have lots of fun aren't we boys?" he said slyly.
"More! More!"
The shouts from their temporary commander, Hangis, were becoming unbearable.
They had only recently arrived at their lodgings and already he had them outside doing laps around the archery range.
Bedivere knew he was a cruel and selfish man who enjoyed watching Sarmatians suffer.
But Bedivere really didn't care about Hangis right now; his thoughts were on his sister. She had accompanied Argus to his lodgings when they had arrived and ever since Bedivere had been worried sick about her.
His worst conclusion on what would happen to her was that they would be separated for ever. Bedivere hated to think of that.
Percival didn't show it, but secretly he almost fainted with happiness when he and Tristan were put in the same group.
He was homesick and completely miserable, so much that he was on the verge of tears.
Percival didn't like his cousin at all for the lack of manners and also his social ways but at least it was some sort of protection.
He and Tristan had never got along, that was for sure but Percival figured they may aswell right now when they only had eachother.
Little did he know that Tristan felt completely the opposite.
Finally night came and all ten boys staggered into bed tired and worn out.
They all shared a room with wooden frames and hard blankets as poor excuses for beds.
Bors was the one to break the silence as they all lay upon their beds.
"I'm still gonna throttle the Romans when all this is over".
A small wave of slight giggles from all the boys went through the room. Bors had lightened the mood just a bit.
Bors was older than most of the boys whom ranged from about seven to eleven. Bors himself was fourteen, going on fifteen.
While most of the others were feeling homesick and sorry for themselves, Bors was nether sad nor glad to be in Briton.
He didn't really know why, or he just didn't want to admit why to himself because the truth was too deep.
So Bors sat there in a confused and slightly plain state and every now and then he would say something to lighten the mood.
"Am I talking to myself?" he asked sarcastically, sick of the awkward silence.
Bors sat up and looked around. The moonlight shone brightly through the window and Bors could see just about everyone's faces clearly.
His eyes met those of a young lad; one of the youngest but not quite. He had black curls that sat atop his little head and bright, glistening but miserable eyes.
"Cheer up pup, I hear the women here are quite good," joked Bors. He laughed aloud as the boy's face turned from gloomy to surprised and awkward. Obviously he wasn't accustomed to talking like this.
"Good at what?"
A great roar of laughter filled the room from a number of boys and the littlest looked embarrassed and shocked, not knowing what to say or think.
"Whats your name?" asked a boy blonde hair.
"Galahad".
"Well Galahad where abouts did you come from?"
The little Galahad looked a little nervous and shy as he felt the stares of all the boys in the room.
"North of Sarmatia".
"Well little Galahad we had better give you a good teaching then shouldn't we".
Galahad just shrugged nervously not really knowing what to do. He then lay down and rolled over trying to get to sleep as the other boys talked.
Bors looked over to the blonde haired boy. He sat next to another that looked very similar to him. Bors guessed they were brothers.
I think its Gawait or Gawain or something, he thought to himself.
Bors turned and began to chat with Bedivere, the one he had talked to the before.
Lancelot sat silently against the wall with a tired and miserable expression while everyone else talked. Well almost everyone.
Apart from himself there were two others that were not talking. The little boy Galahad was trying to sleep away his embarrassment as he curled up underneath the scratchy blankets he had.
But Lancelot's interest was caught by the other silent boy.
He had chosen the bed underneath the window and sat on the window sill, one leg propped up and the other stretched from one side of the window to the other.
But what caught Lancelot's interest wasn't that the boy was sitting on a window sill, it was that his face and ways were completely and utterly unreadable. There was not single air of expression about him.
Lancelot marvelled silently at how well the boy's emotions and feelings were hid and that his straight-face never faltered.
Another boy with tidy, short, brown hair crawled up onto the boy's bed and began to talk to him. When all he got for answers were slight movements of the head he went back to his own bed not looking happy.
Lancelot's thoughts rested on the silent boy for a moment or two more until they soon changed to a different person.
He wondered what Layla was doing at that moment.
His beloved little sister was probably being comforted underneath a pile of furs by their mother. He could just see the little girl sobbing uncontrollably and his mother cradling the child in her arms.
His fingers automatically wound themselves around the string that held the lion pendant around his neck.
His heart gave a great thump, like a roar.
Sorry I changes from Galahad being the youngest to him being one of the youngest but not quite. I thought it sounded better.
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