Cynric knelt in the tent containing the prisoners, his arms tied behind his back, the fresh whip scars on his back stinging in the cold air. He wondered numbly what time it was, trying to get a look at the moon through the tent canvas, but couldn't tell. He could see the silhouettes of the guards out the front of the tent, and the vague outline of his father's horse, Pazyric, grazing next to a nearby copse of trees.
There was a soft, stealthy sound from near the back of the tent and then Cynric heard the canvas being cut open with a knife. He turned around to see who it was, narrowing his eyes in the dim light, and sighed in relief when he discovered that it was Ytria.
She knelt in front of him and then threw her arms around his neck, and he could feel the tears on her face against his shoulder.
"You shouldn't be here," he said to her softly.
She shook her head. "Neither should you. Which is why we're both leaving,"
He looked at her in shock. "Leaving? But… we can't."
She sniffed as she sliced the ropes that were knotted around his wrists. "We have to. It's the only thing we can do,"
"But… we are Saxons. This is where we belong," he said, and then thought about it.
She kissed him and then sat back on her haunches, tears streaming down her face. "Sometimes you spend so much time thinking that you should be somewhere that you don't realise that you belong somewhere else."
He nodded and then hugged her. "Where do we go from here?"
She stood up and led him cautiously out of the tent, checking to make sure that no one was watching. To his surprise, she led him to Pazyric, and he shook his head emphatically.
"If we're going to catch Arthur's coloumn before they reach the wall we're going to need a horse," she said, not meeting his eyes.
"Arthur?" he asked her incredulously. "They won't let us near them!"
She nodded. "They will. I know they will. Or at the very least, Jessamine will try."
He looked at her for a long time and then nodded. "I hope you're right,"
They both mounted and then he looked up at the moon, noticing that it was only a short time before midnight. He directed Pazyric into the stand of trees, and then, when they were blessedly out of earshot and scouting distance of the camp, they began to gallop, and Cynric reflected as they flew over the rocky terrain that he had never felt more free in his entire life.
----------------------------
Dawn was just staining the sky with the usual pinks and golds and Jess sat with her back against a tree, doing her watch duty, when she heard the sound of galloping hooves coming from the northeast. It was very impressive that she actually knew that it was the northeast because normally she wouldn't have been able to find north with several compasses, but the sun rises in the east and she knew that they were travelling south to the Wall, so she actually managed to deduce the direction of the rider's approach to whisper in the knights' ears as she woke them and handed them their swords.
She and Tristan, the quickest of the risers, crouched in the undergrowth beside the caravan trail to get a good look at the rider to see if they were going to be a threat. They could tell, even from a distance, that whatever horse they were riding was dying under them.
"It's a woman," she said quietly to Tristan.
He shrugged. "One of them is,"
"Know anything?" Arthur asked, appearing beside them.
Tristan shrugged again. "Not much. There's a man and a woman, so they may be escaping from something. Or he may have kidnapped her."
Jess sighed and shook her head as the riders came into view and she saw who it was that was riding the horse. "Whatever they're doing, they're not going to be a threat. That's Ytria,"
Arthur looked at her. "Are you sure? Even if it is her, the man with her was the leader of the Saxons."
She shook her head again and stood up. "He's the leader's son, not the leader."
She stepped onto the road and flagged them down, and was relieved to see as they got closer that she wasn't about to get them all killed; Ytria's husband wasn't even wearing a sword and he looked barely fit to ride, let alone fight.
They halted about five metres away and then Cynric dismounted, and she exchanged a horrified look with Cimmeria, who had materialised in between her and Tristan, when she saw that his shirt was stuck to his back with blood, some of it black, indicating an infection. He helped Ytria down from the exhausted horse and then looked around at them all uncomfortably.
Ytria stepped forward and knelt, head bowed, in front of Arthur. "You have already saved my life once,"
Arthur looked at Jess and then suspiciously at Cynric. "You want us to do so again?"
Ytria nodded. "My husband and I both face death if we are found by our people," she said, and her voice shook a little as she neared the end of the sentence.
Arthur turned to Jols. "Can any of the stores on the pack horse be moved to your horse?"
He nodded. "Almost all of them, I'd say. We don't have much left."
Arthur nodded as well and then pulled Ytria to her feet. "All right. But you'll have to leave that horse here. We'll be moving too fast for it to stay with us."
Cynric bowed his head. "Thank you,"
Arthur shrugged. "Have you eaten?"
---------------------------
They sat around the campfire eating what remained of their meagre stores and, in the case of Jess, Guinevere, Eunyphore, Ytria and Cynric, trying to avoid drinking koumiss. Their horses looking a lot more energetic after their nearly half-day rest yesterday, they decided that they would leave straight after they had eaten.
"You're going to need to take a look at his back," Jess said to Ytria as they sat watching Cynric sit stiffly about a metre away.
"At the moment, I'm trying not to," the young girl replied.
"How far away are we?" Eunyphore asked Galahad across the fire.
He shrugged and looked at Tristan. "Two hours, maybe three if it rains."
Gawain looked at him. "This is Britannia we're talking about. Not only is it almost certain that it will rain, the stuff is so thick it would more likely take us four hours,"
"You can tell we've been riding for a long time," Lancelot said, sitting down beside her, "when Galahad and Gawain start fighting about the weather."
She laughed. "And if we're all about to kill each other, Dagonet and Bors would be fighting?"
He nodded. "Something like that,"
She shrugged. "I would have said that you could tell we'd been riding for a long time when Arthur stops complaining about having to cook, and that we're all going to kill each other when Galahad and Gawain start fighting about the weather."
He laughed. "Both work,"
She sighed. "Three hours,"
"Or four, according to Gawain."
She shook her head. "Galahad said two first. I took an average."
"Three hours and then we'll all be free," he said, looking off into the distance.
She nodded. "Back to Sarmatia,"
He was silent for a while. "Where does your clan live?"
She hurriedly tried to recall a place somewhere in ancient Europe that she remembered the Sarmatians had lived in. "Um… down near the Caucasus mountains, mostly."
He seemed not to notice her hesitation, or the inclusion of her 'um', but merely sighed. "My clan lives between the Danube River and the Carpathian mountains."
Her limited memory for ancient geography failed her and she was forced to rely on modern geography, recalling that the Danube was somewhere in northeastern Europe, and the Caucasus mountains were actually in Asia, west of Turkey.
"That's a long way," she said finally, more than a bit regretfully.
He nodded. "Five weeks journey,"
Before she had time to ask him how he knew all the distances off by heart, Arthur came over and informed them that it was time to leave.
"Are you going to ride on your own today?" Lancelot asked her.
She shrugged. "I could. But I probably shouldn't."
He nodded. "May I offer you the services of my horse?"
She laughed at him. "As you wish, my lord,"
-----------------------------
The ride was blessedly quite short and the going fairly smooth, even though it did drizzle a little bit, much to the annoyance of both Galahad and Gawain, and it seemed like a lot less than three hours when they caught up with their coloumn of peasants about a kilometre out from the gates into the southern half of Britannia.
The girls – including her, much to Jess's annoyance – and Cynric were transferred back into their cart when they caught up with the caravan, and Jess, Cimmeria, Guinevere and Eunyphore sat idly against one of the walls as Ytria tended to Cynric's scary wounds.
"Who's Palagius?" Guinevere asked curiously after a while.
Jess sighed. "Arthur's mentor. He was lecturing on freedom and the equality of man in Rome before he was excommunicated and killed by the Church."
Guinevere sat back against the cart. "No wonder Arthur's so upset,"
Eunyphore looked at her confusedly. "Why?"
"Because he only found out the day before yesterday," Guinevere said sadly. "And he thought that he would be able to see Palagius again when he got back to Rome."
"Not only that, he mentioned Palagius to the Bishop who's back at Hadrian's Wall a while ago in terms of future meetings and the Bishop said nothing," Jess added. "And it also puts into question all his beliefs about the righteousness of Rome."
Cimmeria snorted. "It's about time,"
Jess shrugged. "Well, I mean, Sarmatians drink too much and Scythians are somewhat beyond suicidal, but its nothing that you question, is it? It's how you were brought up to be so you think it's the way things are meant to be. You never stop to think that there might be something else out there."
"We're not that suicidal," Cimmeria said defensively.
The others all laughed. "Trust me, Cimmeria, you are," Guinevere said, grinning.
They heard the gates creak ponderously open and then heard the cheers of what few townspeople remained in the settlement just beyond the gate. Jess noticed Bartatua tethered to a cart that was just behind them and decided she wasn't going to keep sitting with the rest of the rather unfairly labeled invalids, and as she slipped off the back of the cart she waved to them, receiving a few glares in return.
She untied the knot that tethered Bartatua's reins to the back of the cart and then pulled him off the road to mount so that she wouldn't hold up traffic. Then she spotted the knights riding near the front of the coloumn and cantered forward to meet them, passing several carts and a lot of scared-looking peasants.
"Don't you ever do what you're told?" Lancelot asked her amusedly, as she drew level.
She shrugged. "You didn't seriously think I was going to miss the triumphant entrance, did you?"
He laughed. "How's the leg?"
She shrugged again. "It doesn't actually hurt all that much. I probably could have made this morning on my own."
He looked at her. "I'm glad you decided not to,"
She couldn't actually think of anything to say to that, but was saved of having to fumble through an awkward pause by Arthur's coming up on her other side.
"Don't you ever do what you're told?"
She laughed. "That's exactly what Lancelot said,"
Lancelot shrugged. "Great minds think alike,"
"I appreciate the compliment," Arthur said, grinning. "Although I fear you may be raising yourself a little too high."
Jess shook her head. "You can tell we're nearly home when people start insulting each other."
"Are you still going to go back to Rome, Arthur?" Lancelot asked good-naturedly, waving off the slight on his intelligence.
Arthur's face grew sombre. "I don't know, Lancelot. I really don't know."
As he said that they rode through the gates, and they assembled in the courtyard that held their stables, the carts that held Alecto and his mother and the girls the only two that followed them towards the barracks. Bishop Germanius came, praising God at the top of his lungs, into the courtyard as they dismounted, followed by a rather harried-looking squad of Roman legionnaires who seemed to be arguing over where they had last seen the chest containing the discharge papers.
"No, I swear! You had it last!"
"No, I gave it to you!"
"Good Jesus! By the grace of God, you have returned!" Germanius exclaimed, walking towards them. "You are free now!"
He waved at the soldiers, who looked uncomfortably at each other and then at him and then shrugged. Thankfully, a centurion walked past them holding the box and opened it, standing beside the Bishop.
"See? I told you I didn't have it!" one of the soldiers whispered furiously at one of the others.
Arthur shook his head and walked up to Germanius, who, by now, was beginning to detect a slight lowering of the temperature in the courtyard. "Bishop Germanius," he said, his voice dripping with hatred. "Friend of my father."
Lancelot walked over to the box and pulled the six papers out of their holdings, handing them to each of the knights, and, although they were met with a rather less gloomy reception than in the movie, Dagonet being there this time, the atmosphere was still icy, the knights obviously still not happy about their final mission. Jessamine looked questioningly at the Bishop, wondering if she was going to be expected to stay in Britain, and he sighed and produced another scroll from his robe.
"We had another paper drawn up,"
She took it they all walked out of the courtyard, with the exception of Tristan, who walked over to the soldier holding the box, assessed its monetary value and then walked off with it, leaving the shocked Centurion standing in the middle of the stables, Bishop Germanius beside him.
"Shall I get it off him, sir?" he asked confusedly.
The Bishop shook his head. "Rome will have no more to do with these barbarians. Just let him keep it."
--------------------------
By lunchtime, they were seated around a big table in what could by rough standards be called a bar; at least, there was a barmaid and there were drinks, so it was probably the closest thing. Vanora came over holding a jug of wine, shouting to be heard over the carousing and singing and laughter. It was amazing what an amount of noise seven people could make, she thought amusedly, as she reached across to get a refill.
Gawain got out a knife and drew a rough map of Europe on the table, drawing a big X on the places where she surmised they all came from. He looked up at her.
"So, where does your clan come from?"
"Down near the Caucasus mountains," she said, grinning. "I think you're going to have to make the map bigger."
He grunted and did so, drawing Caucasia in. "Right. So we drop Tristan east of the Pindus Mountains, then head north to lose Lancelot near the Carpathian Mountains." He labouriously drew a line between the two places and then looked inquiringly at the rest of them.
"Then go east to drop Dag and I in Crimea," Bors said, leaning across to help, drawing the line himself.
"And then us up near the Don River," Galahad said to Gawain, also helping to mutilate the table.
"And then me directly south to the Caucasus," Jess said, drawing the line in even though it was upside down and she wasn't sure if she was even going towards the right line of triangle shapes that she assumed were mountains.
Dagonet laughed. "You've got the longest journey home and you've been here the shortest amount of time."
She shrugged. "I guess it balances out."
"Are we taking Eunyphore home to Hellas1, Galahad?" Lancelot asked him. "And Cimmeria, is she going home to wherever in Scythia she lives?"
Galahad and Tristan both looked uncertain, and Jess smiled slightly, thinking of what Campbell, her friend from Toowoomba, would be doing to the poor Scythian girl now if she could see the look on Tristan's face.2 Then she sighed. Not only did she miss her friends, she was about to be cast adrift into a world where she had absolutely nowhere to go. She didn't even know specifically where the Caucasus was, let alone how to get there, and they were going to abandon her near the Don River, wherever the heck that was. All she had to go by was a rough sketch on the top of a table, and she couldn't very well take it with her.
"Where are the girls?" Gawain asked her, breaking through her slightly hysterical mental soliloquy.
She shrugged. "Even if they had told me, they'd probably be gone from wherever it is by now."
They all looked at each other and Jess got the feeling that as soon as they had mentioned the girls they all wanted to go and see their respective love interests.
She sighed again and stood up. "I think I'm going to go for a walk,"
Lancelot caught her up just outside the central courtyard where they had all been – for want of a better phrase – getting drunk. "So where are we going?"
She shrugged. "A look around, I guess. I haven't seen practically any of this town."
He laughed derisively. "It gets pretty tired pretty fast, I have to tell you. It's not really all that magnificent."
She shrugged again. "I also have to find Arthur and ask him if I can take the previous gildatore's armoury and Bartatua back to Sarmatia with me."
He nodded. "Then I shall give you the grand tour first, and then we shall partake of a spot of Arthur hunting,"
She laughed at him. "You're hopeless,"
He grinned at her. "It's all in the eye of the beholder, my dear. Shall we?"
She laughed again, helplessly, and allowed him to steer her off towards the direction of where she vaguely remembered going to reach the Round Table.
-------------------------
They searched the whole town for Arthur and came up with nothing, but when Jess thought about it, she already knew where he would be.
"Is there a cemetery here?" she asked Lancelot.
He nodded. "Down near the north gates. But why would Arthur be there?"
She shrugged. "Guinevere said he's been thinking a lot about his father lately."
"Ah," Lancelot said slowly. "Shall we go and have a look?"
They turned up at the graveyard and found Arthur, but he was talking to Guinevere, and they looked at each other and decided wordlessly that they probably shouldn't interrupt. She was just about to suggest that they should come back later when Arthur turned and walked away from Guinevere, and then looked surprised to see them.
"How are our Saxon friends?" he asked them, walking away and leaving them to follow.
Jess and Lancelot exchanged a look. "They were with Cimmeria, weren't they?" she asked him.
He shrugged helplessly. "I don't know,"
"Perfect," Arthur muttered. "Just what I need. A Saxon warlord loose in the town."
"It's not that bad, Arthur," Lancelot said, slightly shocked at his bad mood. "Cimmeria isn't stupid enough to leave them by themselves, and, besides, they're only two people."
Arthur sighed and stopped, turning to face them. "Was there something in particular you wanted to talk to me about?"
Jess nodded. "I was wondering if I could commandeer some other things from your previous gildatore's armoury to take home. And I was also wondering if I was going to be allowed to take Bartatua with me."
Arthur passed his hand over his eyes and nodded. "It's all fine. Do you remember where to find all the stuff?"
She nodded. "I think so. In the big building that looks like a church?"
He sighed again. "That's the one. Now, if you'll excuse me."
He walked off, and Jess and Lancelot exchanged a confused look.
"What was that all about?" he asked, shaking his head.
Jess turned around and saw Guinevere still sitting near Arthur's father's grave, her head in her hands. "I reckon I could make a pretty good guess,"
Lancelot nodded speculatively. "I think you're probably right. Anyway, where's this big building that looks like a church?"
She frowned, remembering. "It's up near the stables, isn't it?"
"Oh. You mean the church," he said, and then laughed at her face.
"Shut up, Lancelot," she said, as she walked off.
-----------------------------
It was late afternoon, just before sunset, and they were once again seated around the crowded and now defaced table, this time with the addition of Cimmeria, Eunyphore and Maechises, Gawain's girlfriend – whose name Jessamine had still not managed to catch – and Vanora and all of her brood.
"Tell us a story!" one of Bors' children begged, tugging at Dagonet's tunic.
Dagonet shook his head. "I've told more than my fair share of stories this month. I think it's someone else's turn."
"Well, I told the last one," Gawain said, dislodging another of Bors' kids from his leg.
Lancelot laughed. "I think we've all done a fair few stories. There remains, however, one person at this table who hasn't told any."
Jess sighed.
"All right. I'll tell the story if you will all help me act it out," she said, rising and moving around to stand in front of the table.
"Agreed," Galahad said, grinning.
"Right," she said, mentally deciding which epic story from 2007 she would get them to re-enact, and deciding on the first, and the best.
---------------------
"And so, Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli ran after the orcs, trying desperately to free their hobbit friends."
She frowned at Galahad, who was laughing too hard to convincingly portray Legolas, and waved them across their makeshift stage after Lancelot, who was carrying two of Bors' children on his back.
"Can I stop running now?" he asked, out of breath.
"Yeah, all right, that's enough," she said generously, and he collapsed onto a bench, still carrying Number 7 and Number 9, or Merry and Pippin, as it were. "Anyway, the three hunters entered a land called Rohan, the land of the Horse Lords."
"Finally, some decent characters," Gawain said from his bench. "When do I get to come back?"
She laughed at him. "Right now, as a matter of fact. You are now Éomer, the king's nephew."
So far it had been a well-received story, starring Tristan as Aragorn – and how well he fitted the part – and Galahad as Legolas, Bors as Gimli, Dagonet as Gandalf, Gawain as the now departed Boromir, Cimmeria as Arwen, Eunyphore and Maechises as Galadriel and Celeborn, Number 3 and Number 6 as Frodo and Sam, Gilly as Gollum, and Lancelot as Saruman, Elrond and any other parts that needed doing (he would probably end up playing the Ents once they reached Fangorn Forest).
Dinner came and went and she was forced into continuing the story, and they had just retreated into the walls of Helm's Deep when Jols came sprinting into the courtyard.
"You'd better all get up on the wall. There's something you need to see."
The points of light from all the Saxon campfires as they set up outside the Wall glowed in the late night air, mirroring the stars in their many thousands.
"Oh, bugger," Cimmeria said, and Jess agreed.
1 The ancient name for Greece.
2 Campbell is, needless to say, an avid Tristan fan. Pascoe likes Galahad and Fulwood thinks they're all cool, but Campbell is obsessed with Tristan.