Chapter 4 - Gawain and Callandra: a Hidden Love

After Gawain had changed out of his armour, he left his chambers and wandered outside. His arm was still causing him pain even though he had washed and dressed it as best he could, and he held it across his abdomen as he walked.

His first thoughts had been to get some food and join his friends at the bar – essentially to get so drunk that he would forget the horrors of the last battle and make the pain go away. However, on his way, he found himself passing the Healer's building.

He paused abruptly. Inside it was dark, despite the torches being lit, and a mixture of smoke and steam gave the place a hazy environment.

Gawain looked down at his arm, and then back up at the entrance. Finally, his mind was made up, and he stepped inside.

Instantly, he was hit with the staunch smell of blood, sweat, vomit, and other things: so potent was the stench that Gawain had to take a moment.

Recovering slightly, he continued in.

Inside, there were tables lined up rows, each with an occupant being attended to by a physician. On the far side, there were wooden stairs which led up to the bed chambers for those who were seriously ill or coming up to their final days.

In the midst of it all, stood Callandra; working hard to heal a young girl who had a broken leg. When she had finished treating her, she gave instructions to two men who stood nearby, and they carried the child upstairs.

Callandra wiped the back of her hand across her forehead which was covered in a sheen of sweat. She then picked up the bowl she had been using, and took it to the side to wash and refill with fresh water.

"I'll never understand how you can work here and not faint or be sick," Gawain said as he walked up to her. Callandra smiled.

"I'm used to it I suppose," she said as she scrubbed at the bowl. Callandra never believed in having servants, so usually when she needed something done, she did it herself, especially when she was in the role of a healer.

"What are you doing here?" she asked curiously. "I was wondering if you could take a look at my arm," Gawain replied awkwardly, "it's only a cut, but it's been throbbing ever since I got back."

Callandra straightened up and motioned for him to sit up on one of the tables. "You were wounded?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner? It might be poisoned – you know how the Woads love to use poison these days."

"I erm – There are others here who are far more seriously injured," Gawain replied apologetically, "and I didn't want you to worry."

"Didn't want me to worry?" Callandra repeated, "I am one woman amongst seven men – six of whom are Sarmations – Gawain, I worry all the time, that's no excuse."

Gawain laughed as Callandra pulled up his sleeve and gently peeled away the meagre dressing, revealing a largely sized open cut that was purple around the edges and was slowly oozing out a foul - smelling pus.

Callandra glanced up at Gawain. "What do you think?"

Gawain raised his eyebrows. "I think I should've come to you sooner."

"Right answer." And without warning, she picked up a bottle of old wine and poured it over his arm.

"Argh!!"

"Serves you right," Callandra said sharply, though she dabbed at the wound tenderly, "if you had come to me sooner and I had dressed your wound, it wouldn't have become infected. You're lucky it wasn't poison."

"I'm sorry," Gawain said, wincing as she tended to him.

She didn't reply, but a small smile appeared on her face as she bent over his arm. Gawain watched her as she worked. There was never a mistake, never a pause, never a doubt in any of her actions. When she touched him, her fingers were cool and soothing as she massaged ointment onto his arm.

It was only ever on these few occasions that Gawain was able to get close the Callandra. Close enough to admire her soft skin, her loose silky curls that fell around her face. At one point, as she was turning to get rags to bandage his arm, her hand fell and rested on his thigh. It was away almost instantly, but the delicate touch had made Gawain stiffen instantly as another area of his body began to throb.

'Can't she see what she does to me?' he thought as he tried to regain his self-control. He glanced at Callandra, but she was so absorbed in what she was doing that she was obviously oblivious.

'And if she were paying attention, she would be disgusted,' he thought sadly, 'a lady of Rome – even an adopted one – would never be interested in a filthy, uneducated, pagan Sarmation...'

"Gawain?"

Gawain looked up. While he had been thinking, Callandra had finished tending to him and had bandaged is arm up properly.

"You looked like you were in another world for a moment," Callandra said.

Gawain jumped off the table and rolled his sleeve back down. "Just lost in my own thoughts."

They didn't look very pleasant," Callandra commented.

"They weren't."

"Were you thinking about today's battle?"

Gawain smiled sadly, "Yes," he said quietly, "that's what I was thinking of."

Just then, Jols came in. "Excuse me, Callandra, but a message has arrived from Rome for Arthur and he would like to see you when you are free."

Callandra nodded. "Tell him I'll be there directly."

When Jols left she turned back to Gawain.

"I'd better go," she said. "It'll be better in the morning, Gawain – everything seems better in the light of day. Get something to eat, then try to get some sleep."

"I will. Thank you," he said.

Callandra smiled. "You're welcome."

She was about to turn to leave, when Gawain took her hand in his. It was not unusual for the knights to kiss Callandra's hand as a symbol of their affection or of their gratitude, if she had helped them, so Callandra was not at all taken aback when he took it. However, when she looked up and her eyes met his, her heart fluttered to her throat as their eyes locked momentarily.

It was not the first time it had happened, yet each and every time Callandra looked into those fierce blue eyes, she could never look away. Looking into those eyes was like looking into the eyes of a lion: strength, power, courage and honour – and something else...Something that only appeared whenever he looked at her. She couldn't read what it was, but it always made her melt.

Slowly and deliberately, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it so softly that all Callandra felt was the bristles of his beard.

"Goodnight, Callandra," he said softly, and forcing himself to break their intense gaze, he walked out, leaving Callandra standing herself; cradling the hand he had held as though it contained the most precious item in the world.

Had to restructure the story a bit - the mystery Roman won't be introduced for a wee while yet. Next - Chapter 5!!