Hey guys! I hope you had a great Halloween! etraya- thanks for your comments! I hope your essay goes well!
Here's the next chapter.
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"Do we have a plan?"
Jillian's words hovered in the air unanswered for what seemed an eternity before Guinevere's face hardened, her shoulders straightened, and she declared firmly, "We fight. Come."
Bors shot for the door after Guinevere as if sprung from a catapult, but halted suddenly turning back to Jillian. "You wait here," he ordered, pointing his finger authoritatively at her.
"Like hell I will!" she cried in protest, jumping out of her bed and following close at his heels. They chased after Guinevere through the halls that were filled with frightened people who darted in every direction in panic and hysteria. Those that recognized the two Britons and the knight watched them race through the halls with eyes hopeful for some kind of guidance or leadership, but Guinevere, Jillian, and Bors did not have time to stop to give them assurances. Instead they darted through the fort with only one purpose in mind and that was to get up to the parapet at the main wall where they could overlook the offensive assembling outside the fort and evaluate the threat.
They bounded up the steps and leaned over the edge of the wall, panting and gasping for air from the exertion of their sprint. An entire army, the size of which they had not seen since the battle at Badon Hill, was congregated at the edge of the forest, but it was not the usual army of homogenous warriors, but a conglomeration of Saxons and Britons.
"Britons?" Jillian uttered in disbelief. She knew that Arthur had not yet completely succeeded in uniting the country, but she never thought the day would come that her own people would join forces with the Saxons. Her blood boiled at the thought.
"The Itis tribe and the Udela tribe," observed Guinevere, her voice dripping with disdain, "The only two tribes left that have continued to resist the unification."
"The bloody maggots don't seem to have any trouble joining forces with the Saxons, though," spat Jillian in disgust.
"I'll call for the evacuation," Bors offered more as a definite course of action than as a suggestion.
"What! You can't be serious!" exclaimed Jillian in dismay.
"Over my dead body!" added Guinevere.
"And a dead body is exactly how you're going to end up if you don't get the hell out of here," Bors warned, his voice authoritative and severe.
"You coward!" Jillian shouted angrily. Any sweetness Bors had grown accustomed to in Jillian's manner had evaporated at the first sign of a threat of invasion. This was her land, her country, and she had been fighting all her life to see it free and under the protection of a leader like Arthur. She would die before surrendering it to anyone, least of all the Saxons and those two damned traitorous tribes.
"Hey!" Bors bellowed, insulted by her accusation of his cowardice, "I ain't scared of any measly little Saxon army, woad army, or any army you can find on this earth, but I ain't stupid either. We have no Arthur. We have no knights. We barely have a cavalry stationed here. We have a chance to save these people if we can get them evacuated. I'll go myself to fetch Arthur and be back with the rest of the knights to kick some Saxon ass before any real damage is done."
"No," said Guinevere resolutely, "We stay."
"Listen here---" Bors began to protest.
"No you listen to me," Guinevere interrupted, raising her voice in a firm, commanding manner, "I am the queen of Briton and with Arthur gone, that puts me in charge, so you will just have to shut up and listen. You're right. We do not have Arthur or the knights, but we have you and we have me and we have Jillian. But most importantly, we have this wall, and it is our greatest defense. Let those unwilling to fight evacuate immediately and if that includes you, then so be it. Jillian, myself, and anyone else willing to fight for our country will stay and defend this wall right down to the last man. I will not surrender this fort so long as there is British blood running through my veins."
"Nor I," declared Jillian, her voice stirring with vehemence.
Bors stood still for a moment, staring at the two women who stood defiantly before him. He evaluated their composures for any sign of weakness, but found none. Their mouths were flat and even; their eyes were steady and unwavering. "You women are bloody crazy! You're going to get yourselves killed!" he exclaimed finally, throwing his hands up in defeat, "But goddess knows I'll never turn my back on a fight. I'm with you. What's your plan?"
Guinevere threw herself into action, marching imperiously along the wall with Jillian and Bors following her steps. "Our goal is to hold out and keep them off the wall for as long as possible," Guinevere commanded, "We'll need oil and fire. And we'll need a line of archers all along the parapets. Jillian---"
"I'll fetch my bow," replied Jillian in anticipation of the order and darted off to the armory with a quick nod of her head to Guinevere. In any other situation, Jillian probably should have felt debilitated from her weakened state, but the adrenaline coursed through her body so that she felt as though she could take on the entire army herself. She hastened to the armory where she retrieved her bow and tested the string with the confidence of familiarity. She felt the fire surge through her veins in the anticipation of battle. 'Let them come,' she thought, 'Let them come.'
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At the end of a long day of hard riding, the knights made camp in a small clearing just off the trail. For the most part, the forest of France differed little from the forests of Briton, but the knowledge that they were strangers in an unknown country made the knights weary of their surroundings. While the rest of the knights scrutinized their vicinity with untrusting eyes, Tarra, accustomed to feeling out of place no matter where she went, hummed lightheartedly as she unloaded her camping supplies from her horse.
Lancelot trailed her with his eyes and found himself revisiting the same thought that had taken up permanent residence in his mind since the start of the journey. Had he misjudged her? All the other knights (even Tristan for goddess' sake!) had seemed to have forgiven her for her plot against Arthur and had practically even accepted her as part of the clan. In particular, Galahad had taken an earnest liking to her and Lancelot could not help but note the tinge of envy he felt at the supposition that the feeling was mutual. Lancelot noticed Galahad retrieving his baggage from his horse and approached the young knight with exaggerated casualty.
Galahad had his back to Lancelot, so Lancelot cleared his throat hoping to catch the knight's attention. When this act was ignored, however, Lancelot finally spoke, his voice low as though speaking in confidentiality. "Galahad?"
"Yes?" replied Galahad with a shade of defensiveness in his tone.
It was at this point that Lancelot realized he wasn't sure exactly what he wanted to say to his friend, so he improvised, "Well I---I just still feel badly about what happened between myself and---"
"You have already apologized once," said Galahad dismissively.
"Yes, but I feel that I must do so again. Please, I could not bear it if our friendship was compromised because of a terribly stupid mistake that I swear shall never be repeated," Lancelot pleaded humbly.
Though Galahad's face did not soften from Lancelot's sincerity, he appeared to be considering what Lancelot had said. The two knights had been friends since they had arrived in Briton from Sarmatia, which was practically as far back as they could remember, and that was a bond that could not be broken so easily. "I will accept your apology," said Galahad stolidly, "But only because that makes me the better man."
Lancelot smiled faintly at Galahad's backhanded forgiveness. "Thank you," he replied with a dash of undetectable sarcasm; then added with more sincerity, "It was truly never my intention to cause you any pain."
"It's okay. I'm over it," insisted Galahad, "Really."
"You and Tarra seem to have gotten rather close…" Lancelot observed, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.
"Yes, we have," replied Galahad with a knowing smile, "What is it to you?"
"Oh, it's nothing to me at all, I assure you," Lancelot protested a little too eagerly, "Is there anything between you two? Do you---have feelings for her?"
Galahad laughed out loud. He had seen that question coming a mile away. "Well, if you must know: yes. She is beautiful, intelligent---perhaps a little screwy in the head---but unique and intriguing. How could I not be attracted to her?"
"Oh," was all Lancelot could manage to say as he felt a thickness rising in his throat. He let his eyes fall to the ground, trying not to let the disappointment show on his face. He really needed to pull himself together. It was not like him to feel this way about a woman, especially in the singular sense of the word.
Galahad, however, all too readily perceived the effect his words had had. "But regardless of those feelings I have for her, I will never act on them or even entertain the idea that they could ever be returned," he said somewhat reluctantly because he knew those were the words Lancelot wanted to hear.
"What?" stammered Lancelot, his head shooting up in hopeful surprise despite himself.
"I've already lost one woman to you," explained Galahad bitterly, "I'm not stupid enough to let it happen again. Tarra fancies you. Anyone can see that, you dolt, and even more obvious is the fact that the feeling is mutual. If you would just get over yourself, stop acting so stubborn, and make amends with her, you would save the both of you a lot of misery."
Lancelot found himself bursting out in uproarious, involuntary laughter. He felt a strange amusement at his own blindness and relief at his sudden regaining of sight. "I have been rather foolish," he admitted more to himself than to Galahad.
Galahad responded anyway with the forewarning, "Yes. You have. And I warn you---don't hurt her again. Because I will be there to pick up the pieces. And as we determined earlier, I am the better man."
"Yes," Lancelot replied seriously in agreement, "I daresay you are."
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Tarra's horse reared obstinately as she tried to loop its reigns around a nearby tree. "Stubborn mule!" she cried in frustration. Just then, a pair of able hands grabbed the reigns, soothing the agitated animal till it was finally stifled. The competent hands belonged to Lancelot who quipped, "It's a horse actually---not a mule."
"Really? Is that so? Thank you for enlightening me," Tarra muttered sarcastically.
"Glad to be of service," he replied cheerfully.
"Perhaps you could clarify your own breed as well," she suggested derisively, "Because all this time, I've taken you for an ass." With that she picked up her feet and quitted Lancelot's company with her head held high in triumph. Lancelot, however, was not so easily put off and followed closely at her heels.
"Can't we put all this animosity behind us?" Lancelot called, practically breaking out into a run, trying to keep up with her quickened pace.
"Well that is up to you," she answered without stopping, "Since there are certainly no sentiments of animosity from me."
"I'm glad," said Lancelot in a genuine tone, "Nor do I feel any malice towards you either. I was perhaps too harsh with you previously and I regret that, but you must understand that Arthur is my best friend, so---"
"Forget it," said Tarra dismissively, "If anyone should be apologizing it's me---for my plots and scheming and what have you---really, I've lost track of it all. And I would apologize---if only I felt guilty about it."
Lancelot swallowed back the offense at how lightly she spoke of her plan to kill his brother in arms and fought the urge to rebuke her for her lack of remorse. But then he reminded himself that he had decided to forget his grudge against her. After all, she ultimately hadn't actually done anything. "Well," he said, deciding it was best to change the subject, "There was also the incident of you finding me in bed with---"
"Look, Lancelot," Tarra interjected before he could finish, "I don't know why you feel suddenly obligated to explain all this to me, since it's really none of my business. But your insistence on voicing these vindications vexes me and I'm terribly irritated by vexation. Allow me to speak plainly then in saying that who you sleep with is no concern of mine, so please, cease with the superfluous explanations. They're giving me a dreadful headache."
"Of course, of course," cooed Lancelot haughtily, "I apologize. I should have foreseen the topic would distress you given your rapacity for my affections. I should have known better than to afflict you with the reminder of the ever wanton competition for my attention, but let me assure you, that girl meant nothing to me. I regret the entire affair, short-lived as it was."
"Do not project your infatuations on me!" seethed Tarra, livid at his insinuation of her jealousy, "Your vying for my attentions has always been as blatantly obvious as an arrow through the skull, but let me assure you that you do not, will not, and have not meant anything to me. And that's definitely a fact I do not regret."
With that, Tarra stormed off in exasperation as Lancelot followed her this time only with his eyes that gleamed with self-satisfaction. He then sauntered over to Galahad with a bemused smile on his face.
"Well?" Galahad asked.
"Oh you were quite right," Lancelot said smugly, "She fancies me very much."
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Tarra made her way over to where the knights were gathered around the campfire and took a seat next to Galahad who subsequently tossed a victorious glance over at Lancelot. She may fancy Lancelot, but she had chosen to sit at Galahad's side, and Galahad did not hesitate to show his satisfaction.
"So what's tonight's topic of discussion?" she whispered to her companion, not wanting to interrupt the conversation at hand.
"We're describing our ideal death," Galahad replied softly out the side of his mouth.
"How uplifting," Tarra muttered sarcastically.
"For as long as I can remember, I've known that I will die in battle. It's only a question of when and where," said Arthur gloomily, "I can only hope that the answer to the 'why' will be for a good cause."
"There is no greater honor than to die in battle," added Tristan soberly.
"I used to think that I would die in battle," Lancelot mused plaintively, "But now I have my doubts. I've come close so many times, but fate has always intervened. So I've begun to wonder if perhaps my destiny has parted from what it once was."
"I hope to die of old age," submitted Gawain, "peacefully in my sleep."
"I only hope that it be quick and painless," said Galahad.
"When I die, I want it to be as excruciatingly painful as possible," Tarra interjected boldly in disagreement, her words earning her shocked expressions from her listeners.
"You are braver than I, then," revered Galahad, not sure whether to take her seriously or not.
"On the contrary, I am the worst of cowards," Tarra objected, her eyes ablaze with intensity, "and like any coward, I love my own life too much and am far too afraid of losing it. I admit there is nothing more terrifying to me than death. But since it is inevitable, when the end comes I want to experience with it so much suffering, so much misery, so much pain and torture, that death will no longer be a fear---but a relief."
"Tarra that has got to be the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Lancelot blurted out impulsively.
"No one should fear death who has lived a good life," rang in Arthur's voice of idealism.
"Aye, but unfortunately that isn't very comforting in my case," Tarra countered with a sly smile.
"Well maybe you should change that," suggested Arthur somewhat condescendingly.
"Yes. Perhaps I should," Tarra said thoughtfully, "But not tonight. I'm tired."
"We should all get some rest," Arthur advised, "Tomorrow is a very important day."
And he was right. Tomorrow they would reach the estate where they would find Lucia Gaius. Tarra reviewed the plan she and Arthur had devised over and over in her head so as not to forget a single detail. She lay her head back and closed her eyes. Yes, tomorrow would be a very, very important day.