#27 Roman

Arthur never came to her, Kirra didn't know why. Maybe it had something to do with him being a Roman and a Christian, she couldn't figure it out. He made sure that she had all the supplies and herbs that she needed. But Kirra didn't even think he had ever set foot in her House after it had been renovated.

"Arthur, what are you doing here?" She asked, without stopping to think about what she was saying.

He looked surprised, "Am I not allowed to come and see the healer?"

Kirra eyed Arthur suspiciously, as if she didn't fully trust his answer, "No." – she shook her head and began again -- "I mean, yes, you are always welcome, but you never have before. I'm curious. Something wrong with the man who normally cares for you?"

Arthur knew that Kirra had little patience with the physicians in the fort; she thought that they charged too much and did too little, and his personal physician was one of them. "No, he is fine, but has been unable to do much about a scratch I received while riding."

"A scratch? You trust this man with your life and he can't heal a scratch?" Kirra didn't believe him. Of all people, she never would have thought Arthur would be one to put up with incompetence.

"He has never failed me yet," Arthur replied simply.

"Well, come in and sit down. I have to finish this up," she motioned to the parchment in front of her, "and then I'll take a look at your scratch." Kirra turned back to her writing and seemed to forget him.

Arthur entered, leaving the door open, and sat on the edge of a cot. He eyed the clean white walls and swept floor, the bundles of dried herbs, and the neatly organized jars and pots. This was definitely the place where a woman worked, but he was impressed by how bright and clean it was. It smelled good too. He watched Kirra for a moment at her scratchings.

Even after the time she had been here, Kirra was still quite a mystery to him and Arthur knew of no other women like her. How and where she learned to write was a question to which she gave short evasive answers. Actually, she only ever gave short evasive answers to anything Arthur had ever asked her -- her talents were a mystery that still puzzled him.

"What is it that you write?" he asked.

Kirra turned and looked at him blankly for a moment, still lost in her work, "Oh, it's a record of what I have done with Galahad. All of the men have one and now you will too. It helps me to remember what I have done, what worked, and sometimes -- as when Lancelot got that rash, what doesn't."

She grinned, evidently pleased with herself. That had been a highly successful failure in her eyes. Lancelot was still wary when he came to her.

Arthur chuckled, the rash had been funny, well, the placement of the rash had been funny. Knowing of the somewhat antagonistic relationship between Lancelot and the healer, he wondered if it really had been accident. "May I see?"

"Sure, but," -- she handed him the page -- "you won't be able to understand it. It is easier for me to write in this language then in Latin. Though I can."

He studied the parchment, most the letters were familiar, but the words were foreign to him. He handed it back to Kirra. "I should use you to write my messages."

"You could, but no one understands it and I am far too busy to teach anyone."

"Busy?"

She got up and looked at him in exasperation, "What do you think I do all day? Sit around and eat bonbons?"

Arthur had no idea what a bonbon was, "I know only what the men tell me."

"So, they think that I just sit around all day?" Her voice was hard and it was obvious that each and every one of the men were going to pay for that remark.

Arthur saw the look in her eye and realized, too late, his mistake. He tried to placate her, "No, I am not sure they know what it is you do with your days."

"Well," Kirra's grey eyes flashed in feigned anger, "you may tell your men, the next time they ask, that I am more busy then they will ever be and if they want to keep in my good graces, which would be a very good idea, then they had better keep their opinions to themselves."

Arthur chuckled, causing Kirra to smile too. She was so lively it was hard not to feel comfortable around her. She turned from him to put the parchment away and then walked across the room to close the door.

"You left it open," She stated, mildly rebuking the Roman commander. "Didn't the men tell you how things work in here?"

Arthur shrugged, "No, they rarely tell me much about what goes on in here – except that you sit around all day and eat bonbons. Does it matter if the door is open?"

Not even Lancelot would give Arthur a straight answer of what exactly happened in Kirra's healing House. It seemed a secret that the men were unwilling to share, this was part of the reason that Arthur had decided to come and visit Kirra.

"Have you ever seen the door open when one of the guys are in here?"

Guys?

Arthur thought, come to think of it, he hadn't ever seen the door open. He had seen his men go in and out, but while they were in there, it was closed.

"Why must the door be closed?" He asked with a smile, playing Kirra's game. This was, after all her place.

"Well," Kirra's voice got soft and secretive; Arthur leaned closer to her in anticipation. "It's for privacy." She finished in her normal tone and laughed at Arthur's exasperated look.

"Okay, okay, a small part of it is privacy, but the real reason is that I want the men to feel safe here."

"Safe?" Arthur was intrigued.

"Yes," Kirra poured hot water into a clay mug before explaining, "I want them to feel safe here. Being hurt is no fun, even men as battle-hard as they are still afraid of needles."

That was interesting, "Who?"

Kirra looked at Arthur with wide, shocked eyes, "Why Arthur Castus, I never pegged you for a gossip." Her expression changed and she raised a single dark eyebrow, "Do you really think I am going to tell you that?"

Arthur smiled again and shook his head. Kirra's words were strangely comforting to him. It was apparent that she truly loved and respected the knights for who they were as men, not warriors or hardened killers, but men, with fears and dreams and a future when this nightmare was through. He listened to her closely as she explained further.

"I want the men to feel that here with me they only have to be as strong as they wish to be. That if one dislikes needles; he can look away, and not be teased unmercifully about it by the others or if one would like to make a noise while I am stitching him up, he can.

"Men are very different creatures around women than they are in the presence of their brothers."

Kirra paused and scrubbed at her hands and arms with harsh soap. Arthur noticed, uneasily, that a marking, he hadn't seen before, on the inside of her wrist shimmered as if it were alive. She continued.

"Here I want them to be the men that they would have been. I think you and I glimpse and see different things in the men. The warriors you see, I only glimpse, and for the most part, I see the men you only glimpse."

Kirra had become quiet, Arthur watched her as she concentrated rather hard on a plain bowl of water. She swirled it a bit and then set it on the table. He suddenly remembered seeing her do it when she had healed Bors' baby and only now did he wonder why.

"Okay," She was abrupt as if she were embarrassed to have said so much, "Show me this little scratch?"

He pulled up the sleeve of his shirt and began to remove some old bandages. Kirra moved to take over. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of it. Arthur winced as the bandage pulled at the gash on his upper arm; it stuck forcing Kirra to soak it. When at last the bandage came off, Kirra shook her head in disgust.

"This is not a scratch."

Arthur's upper arm was swollen and hot to the touch. The flesh surrounding the gash was red, and raw, and inflamed. The wound itself was crusted over, but full of pus that would have to come out in order for the wound to be cleaned properly.

Kirra frowned, Arthur was lucky that it hadn't turned gangrenous. She touched his head and neck briefly, checking for fever. There was none -- a good sign. She turned and chose her herbs and set them to steep in the bowl that Arthur had seen her concentrating on. Then she pulled her chair to face him and sat down.

"What caused this?"

"It was just a scratch. I received it riding in the forest. A branch brushed against my arm." He shrugged.

Kirra wrinkled her nose in disgust. Yet another reason to not like being in this time, one little scrape and you could die.

"You are lucky. Had you waited a little longer and I may have had to cut off your arm." Her tone was light and teasing, but Arthur heard an underlying note of truth in it.

Arthur held very still as she explained.

"It is extremely infected and, well -- can't you smell it?"

He gave a curt nod.

"What did your last healer do to help?"

"He washed it and wrapped it."

"Humph. Well, it appears that there is more to this scratch then he saw. I have to lance it to get all the poison out and I want to make sure that there are no little slivers of wood in it."

Kirra's procedure didn't sound all that comfortable, but Arthur, being Arthur, squared his shoulders and said, "Then you must begin."

Kirra removed little silver knife from a sheath at her belt and slipped it into the pot of boiling water hanging over the fire. She then picked up a small packet and removed a tiny silver needle. "You didn't by chance have the foresight to bring a couple of hairs from your horse's tail, did you?"

Arthur thought that this request was strange, "No, why?"

We-ell," Kirra began, uncertain whether she should have mentioned it. "I like to use that instead of thread. I do with all the guys. By using the hair from their horse, the horse lends his strength to his rider. It also strengthens their bond with their horse. It may seem strange, if you would prefer, I will use regular thread for you."

"That may be best." Arthur was leery of Kirra's pagan customs.

"Very well," She looked at him as if reading his thoughts, "You know, my adoptive parents raised me as a Christian."

Arthur looked up at her, surprise widening his hazel eyes.

Kirra nodded and continued, "But the woman who taught me how to heal was, well, I'll say pagan, for lack of a better description. So, when I heal I call on the goddess as she did. I believe that it is she who gives me the power to do what I do."

Again Arthur was intrigued.

"I have found that I don't necessarily believe that there is one God, but I do not discount that there isn't, either. So, I'm really not a full pagan, but I am also not a full Christian. I know there is someone or something out there controlling our lives, but I don't pretend to know who or what it is." She paused, thoughtful, "If you are uncomfortable with that then it would be best for you if you went to someone else. It is the only way I know of to heal."

Kirra watched as he contemplated her words. It would be a struggle for him to accept how she did what she did.

"I have seen your work and my men trust you, so I will trust you."

Famous last words, thought Kirra dryly remembering that Gawain had told her that same thing about Niara right before Niara had blown their worlds apart.

"If you were one of the men, I would tell you at this point to take of your shirt, but you can leave it on, Arthur."

"Another of your rules?"

Kirra nodded.

"Why?"

She grinned devilishly, "Why not?"

Arthur laughed, "That is fine with Gawain?"

Kirra's grin faded and she became wary as she usually did when Arthur asked her questions about her relationship with his knight, "Why do you ask?"

"Because I can't figure it out," Arthur saw her shoulders tense. "Why won't you or he give me a straight answer, Kirra? After all the time you have been with us, why must it be a secret?"

Kirra stared at the Roman for a long moment then sighed, "Do you remember how you felt just now when I spoke of my religious convictions? About the goddess and God?"

Arthur nodded.

"Well, it's all a part of the same story. If you cannot accept that, you will not be able to accept what happened between Gawain and I and it is something, so meaningful to me, so deeply personal, that I am not sure I would like it if I saw disapproval or disbelief in your eyes."

Kirra fished her little knife from the pot of water and placed it on a clean rag to cool, "It's not a respect issue, either. Gawain respects you as he does his brothers – which is saying a lot and I respect you because you care – truly care what happens to those I love most in this world. So it's not about that." She was silent as she thought, then she snorted and giggled, "And truthfully, it's a crazy story that I can scarcely believe and I lived it."

"Can you at least tell me what you are to each other?"

Kirra raised an eyebrow, "I would have thought that would have been obvious. What do you think we are to one another and I'll tell you if you're hot or cold."

The girl said some surprising things, "Hot or cold?"

Kirra grinned as she threaded her needles and set them beside the little knife, "Yeah, it's a children's game. Something is hidden and when the finder comes to find it, they are helped with the words hot or cold. Hot meaning you're very close and cold, well, I'm sure you can figure that out."

Arthur's brow furrowed. Was life only a game to the girl? "Well, it's obvious that you are lovers."

"Oh, you're hot," Kirra said with a mischievous smile, "but still not there."

Arthur frowned, "But there is something more."

Kirra made a soft sound of apology, "Oh, so close, yet still so far. Think about it Arthur. You're highly intelligent, you'll get it eventually. But I don't know why it matters so much, it won't change anything."

"So why not tell me and end the game?" Arthur said reasonably.

The girl grinned again, "I could, but it's so much more fun this way."

Arthur sat back and gave her a hard look. It was apparent, he was not going to get anything more out of the girl, "Oh, yes, quite the joyful experience."

Kirra laughed, "So, what story shall I tell you as we begin our little tryst?"

"Story?" He was confused.

"The men haven't told you?"

He shook his head.

"Well, every time they come they get a story. It helps to pass the time and takes their mind off of what I am doing."

"What stories do you tell them?"

Kirra chuckled, "Fairy tales mostly, although some prefer poems or songs."

"My men listen to children's tales?" Arthur's hazel eyes were disbelieving.

"Yes, and they like them, but they won't tell you that."

"Who likes what?" He was interested to know who listened to what.

Kirra laughed, "Again, I never thought you a gossip. You surprise me. That is why the door is always shut when one of them is in here. They must not discuss it outside of this room. Maybe they know that it happens with all of them, but maybe not." She leaned in conspiratorially and said in a low voice, "I will tell you that if you listen for the story that Bors' children like the best, then you will hear the one that he likes best."

Kirra was ready to begin working on Arthur, "Since you don't have a favorite yet, I will tell you of a man named Robin Hood. I think you will like him, maybe not. We'll see."

She commenced with the story, strangely her voice had the same effect on Arthur as it did on the others. He relaxed as she spoke, pausing only to warn him that she was about to cut him and that it would sting.

It did more then sting and Arthur grimaced as she cut his crusted wound open again. Pus poured out and Kirra squeezed his arm to make sure she got out as much as possible. Her voice never wavered in the story throughout the whole process. Then she held the wound open wide as she searched for any possible tree residue. Arthur clenched his fists and forced himself to sit still. She pulled out a few splinters and satisfied that she had gotten them all she had him hold a cloth over the raw, bleeding mess as she turned to get a cloth to wash it.

Arthur was already regretting coming to Kirra when she once again warned him that she was going to hurt him. He held his face impassive when she said this, which seemed to amuse her because she grinned at him, then touched the cloth to the gash on his arm. Without thinking, he shot up and away from her.

"What was that?" He clutched at his arm, it was on fire.

His eyes widened, he had forgotten that the water she had used on the infant had foamed in the same way. It must have been the same type of water. No wonder she had caused the baby to sleep. It would not have been able to handle that kind of pain.

Kirra came towards him and took his arm to lead him back to the cot, "It is just a little wash water, Arthur. Do you want it to stay infected?"

"No, but that is no water that I have ever felt."

"You are right there. It is a little different. The stinging will subside and you will not have even the threat of infection again." Then Kirra chuckled, "Just remember: no pain, no gain. Now hold still, I am not finished yet."

"Oh, I quite think you are." He stated turning to keep his body between her and his wounded arm.

"No, I'm not. Really, the great Arthur Castus afraid of a little wash water." She was teasing him, taking his mind off of the throb in his arm. He could understand why the men came to her; she made them feel good even when they were hurting.

Arthur scowled, but sat and let her continue. The remaining cleansing was much more tolerable then the first had been and he had to admit she did a thorough job. By the time she was finished there was no doubt in his mind why there would be no threat of infection. She and her water had practically scoured his skin away.

He sat back against the wall when he saw her coming at him with a needle and thread. "Is that really necessary?"

"Don't like needles, huh?" Kirra was threading the needle and didn't look up, "What would Lancelot say?" She taunted and laughed at the dark look that covered his face. If Lancelot found out, he would never hear the end of it. "Don't worry, that's why I keep the door closed and I will never tell him."

Kirra leaned in close and pinched his arm drawing his attention from the first stick of the needle. Arthur found that she was swift and sure in her stitching and he was glad and she had resumed her story, which eased the pricking of the needle further.

It was an interesting story, but one he was not sure if he liked. He was too civil minded to put up with a bandit who stole from others -- even if it was for a good cause. There were other ways of doing things and getting the same point across.

Kirra finished stitching and slathered on a rather smelly paste, then she quickly re-wrapped his arm with clean bandages and placed a mug of tea in his hand.

"Drink up. It tastes better warm than cold and you can't leave until it's finished. Once Bors sat with me in here all afternoon because he refused to drink it." Arthur peered into the mug as Kirra continued, giggling, "He only finished it because Van came in and yelled at him to get home."

Arthur took a gulp and immediately wished he hadn't. It was vile. "This is better warm then cold?" He asked in a questioning voice.

"Well, a bit." She was still laughing, "It doesn't really taste great anyway, but it is very good for you. It will make a man out of you." Then she leaned down and whispered, "But there is some honey up on the high shelf if you would like it."

Arthur practically leapt off the cot to get it, knowing that it was hardly the dignified behavior of a Roman commander, but the tea tasted almost like the wash water had felt.

Kirra handed him a spoon as he sat back down and laughed merrily, "You can only have it the first time. So enjoy."

"I don't think I will be coming back."

Kirra had sat down at her little table and was writing on a clean piece of parchment, she snorted at his comment, "That is what they all say, but I am irresistible. I don't think that you will be able to resist me either. When you are done you can leave. Oh, and if any little rashes show up, let me know." She grinned again at his dark look.

Arthur finished the tea. The honey helped a bit, but he would rather let a limb rot off then have to drink that again anytime soon. He opened the door to leave and stopped when Kirra called him back.

"I forgot something."

Arthur dragged himself back in and sat down. Kirra rose and surprised him when she reached for his hand and held it firmly in her own small, warm hands. She murmured a few melodic words, that he didn't understand and suddenly he felt light, like his worries had disappeared. He smelled the cool misty hills that rose all around the fort and he tasted the dampness of the early dew in his mouth. It caused the bitter after-taste of her vile tea to disappear. He looked up at Kirra in amazement.

"What was that?"

She smiled, "Just a special service I offer to all my patients."

"But what was that?"

"I will assume you mean the smell or taste. That, is the desire of your heart."

His eyes darkened in distrust, "How do you know the desire of my heart?"

Kirra smiled gently, suddenly looking the child she was, "I don't, but you do. It is different for everyone. Some can smell the steppes of their homeland, others their children. The tastes range too, but it is always something wholesome and comforting."

"What do you smell and taste?"

Kirra smiled, her grey eyes sparkling, but Arthur knew her meaning "That is my own business, Sir." And she turned back to her table.

"Kirra,"

The woman glanced back.

"Do you have everything that you need? I mean for your comfort here at the fort."

She looked startled at the question. "I think so."

"If there is anything that you need, please tell me. I have noticed that having you here has done something for the men. They are changed and now that I have visited with you, I am sure that you are the cause for it. They seem to have hope." Arthur eyed the young woman steadily. She didn't seem to know what to make of his words.

She frowned in thought, "Well, since you are offering, I would love to have someone to help me with my clothes. I never have enough time to wash them. Oh! And someone to help me draw water for a bath some nights. One not in the public baths."

Arthur smiled at her, only a woman would ask for such things, "I will see what I can do. In the meantime, thank you, Kirra."

She nodded and he left her House.