Chapter 6 – A Drunk's Mistake

Word quickly spread throughout the occupants of Hadrian's Wall, and within a day, it was the only thing everyone talked of.

The morning after he had told Callandra, Arthur called a meeting at the Round Table and explained the upcoming events.

The reaction of each man was different, but none of them reacted positively.

Bors cursed venomously and proceeded to rant without taking a breath:

How could Arthur allow this?

He was giving his sister away to a complete stranger?

Do Callandra's feelings mean nothing?

Doesn't she have an input?

Dagonet remained silent; his hands clasped in front of him, but made Arthur aware of his opinion through his penetrating glare.

Galahad, like Bors, swore when he first heard, but then leaned against the table, his head bowed in silent dismay.

Lancelot stood rigid with an expression of disbelief on his face.

Tristan stood with his eyes fixed on the table, his mind going back to the night before, when he had seen Callandra in the sentry tower. This was the news she had received; that was why she had been crying. The others didn't know how she had reacted, and judging by Arthur's attempts to calm the others, he was in denial as to how upset she really was. This thought made Tristan clench his fists and grit his teeth.

Gawain was the only one who remained seated when Arthur told them, and for a while, all he could do was sit there and stare dumbly at his hands.

"Does Callandra know?" Dagonet asked eventually; a question that made the room silent once more.

"Yes," Arthur replied.

"And does she agree to this?" asked Lancelot.

"She had agreed to meet him," Arthur answered firmly, "I would ask her to do no more than that. It is her choice as to whether or not she marries him."

"And if she decided she will?"

Gawain's voice sounded hollow and empty, and it echoed in the great hall so that his words were drummed into all of them.

"If she marries him," Arthur replied, "she will probably return to Rome with him."

Gawain closed his eyes, Arthur's words sinking in like a dozen knives through his body, causing a pain like no other. Knocking back his chair, he stood up abruptly, and without a word, he pounded his fist against the table withall his strength.

Now, it was the worst kept secret amongst the Sarmatiansthat Gawain was in love with Callandra. He had never confided in any of them, but they all knew – with the exception of Arthur, who seemed oblivious to the obvious signs, such as now. So, when the thunderous noise subsided, the Sarmatianslooked at their brother knights with varied looks of anxiety and sympathy, while Arthur looked at him in surprise.

Gawain ignored them, and rubbing his hand, he walked silently out of the hall. He couldn't think straight; all he thought of was Callandra, the wife of another man – a Roman, no less – and forever separated from him.

He stood in the corridor, with one arm against the pillar for support. It was for the best, he supposed. It had always been his belief that Callandrawould never consider him as anything more than a friend, and so he had remained silent as to his own feelings. Perhaps this was a blessing; for now, with Callandraaway to Rome withher new husband, maybe he'll be able to move on with his life, and stop pining after something that he couldn't have.

'It's the life she deserves anyway,' he reasoned, 'a palatial home with servants and the finest silks and foods; feasts with lords and ladies – a life I could never give her.'

Gawain found himself settling into an uneasy calm as he thought this.

Yes, she would be better off there, and he would get on with his life, as though he had never met her.

"Gawain?"

Gawain spun round to find Galahad standing behind him.

"What is it, Galahad?" Gawain asked, trying to look composed.

"Are you alright?"

"My hand's a bit sore, but I don't think there's any real damage."

"I'm not talking about your hand, you idiot!"

Gawain paused for a moment, unsure if he could trust himself to speak without his voice cracking.

"I'm as upset as the rest of you," he said eventually, "I mean, I don't think the centurion will allow her to visit us on a regular basis, he'll want her with him all the time."

"It's a bit early to think like that," Galahad said cautiously, "she might not like him, in which case she obviously wouldn't marry him."

"Arthur wants her to marry him," Gawain said, "he's a Roman, and he wants Callandra to marry a Roman. Arthur is going to do everything he can to persuade Callandra that she should become the wife of this Centurion Octavius"

"He wants what's best for her, but I don't think he would push her into such an arrangement against her will."

"It doesn't matter, in any case. She'd be well looked after, and she'll have a comfortable life. That's something she could not be guaranteed if she became the wife of a Sar- of someone else."

The bitterness in his voice when he spoke the last part was not lost on Galahad, who desperately tried to think of a way, he could keep Gawain's spirits up. But at that moment, the great doors opened and the other knights came out, headed by Bors.

"C'mon, Gawain," he said, "we're all goin' to the Tavern. C'mon and I'll getcha a pint."

Gawain smiled. At this point, drunken bliss was a welcomed prospect – anything to make him forget.

"Lead the way, Bors."

Callandra held the little girl's hand as the fever continued to rise.

She was one of the casualties of the last Woad raid: only seven years old, and a broken leg.

Upon examining her, Callandra had discovered that the break was in several places, and so severe that there was no chance of a full recovery. She harnessed the child's leg to keep the bones as in line as possible, but as the leg healed itself, the girl became sick, having been exposed to other illnesses during her residence in the Healer's Building.

Holding the tiny, cold, clammy hand in her own, Callandrafelt her own woes being put into perspective: What did she have to complain about. If this little girl survived the infection – which was highly improbable – she would have to deal with a deformed leg that will cause her great pain for the rest of her life.

For the last twenty-four hours, Callandra had sought sanctuary in her work, unable to face the stares and the whispers as she walked by, about what was going to happen within the next few days. She knew the Sarmatians had been told; Dagonet, who frequently stopped by to offer any help, had came in the early evening. He said not one word about it, but put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it firmly. He then told her that he was joining the others at the Tavern and that she was welcome to join them if she wished.

At the time, Callandra said no, feeling that she would not be able to handle their reactions. But as time went on, and the deteriorating state of the little girl making her more depressed, she thought that a little merriment might do her some good, and she was always guaranteed a laugh when she joined them at the Tavern. Changing into a dress of red and gold, she walked quickly towards the Tavern.

The torches were lit around the area, which, combined with the laughing and cheerful banter, gave a warm and inviting feel to the environment.

Callandra stood hidden in the darkness for a moment, surveying the scene.

Vanora, Bors's lover and mother of his children, was walking quickly up and down all the busy benches, refilling mugs with one hand and holding a rosy-cheeked baby in the other. Bors and Dagonet were sitting by the bar, a pint in their hands as they talked. Galahad was practicing his knife throwing, while Lancelot, who was meant to be competing against him, was getting distracted by the many different barmaids that walked by. Tristan stood nearby, watching the scene while fingering his own knife, ready to throw it if either of the combatants became too arrogant.

Callandra smiled. Placing one foot into the circle of light, she was about to make herself known when her eyes fell on Gawain and her foot froze while her smile disappeared.

Sitting apart from the others, Gawain gulped down yet another mug of ale, and when he was finished, he slammed it down to join the other ten mugs he had already emptied. He was obviously drunk, and was mumbling and laughing softly to himself as he motioned to have another mug brought to him. What caused Callandra to freeze were the actions of the barmaid after she gave Gawain the mug. She stood behind him and then proceeded to massage his shoulders, and comb her fingers through his hair seductively. Gawain responded by sitting up straighter and closing his eyes, enjoying the feeling.

Callandra stepped back into the darkness, pressing her lips tightly together and clenching her fists. Suddenly she didn't feel like socialising very much. She turned around and slowly walked away, pausing only when she was about to turn a corner, and looked back, as though hoping that the scene would have changed, it had, but not in the way Callandrahoped. Gawain was now standing, though not steadily, withhis mug still in his hand, and made his way out of the Tavern down the opposite direction towards his quarters, with the barmaid following him, hugging and stroking his arm as they walked.

Stifling a whimper, Callandra turned away and ran quickly down the dark alley.

Gawain cursed as he continued to stumble towards his quarters: he really shouldn't have drunk too much. He had done it forget Callandrafor one night, but found it only made him think about her more, and think about the upcoming situation with less honourable thoughts. It was only when he was half way down the alley did he realise that he was not alone.

"Get off me, Flora," he said, trying unsuccessfully to release his arm from her grip.

"What's the matter, Gawain?" Flora asked, teasingly, "Get turned down?"

Gawain growled and consumed the rest of his ale. It wasn't so much getting turned down as being avoided. He had hoped that Callandra would have came so he could see how she felt about her semi-arranged marriage, but she hadn't, and this had only made Gawain drink more.

Flora reached up and cupped his face in her hand making him look down at her.

"If you want," she whispered seductively, "I can make you forget her."

Gawain looked at her. He was not so drunk to not know what she was saying.

Part of him wanted to push her away from him in disgust, but then...

Without thinking, he reached out and taking Flora by the back of the neck, brought her to him and kissed her fiercely. She responded to him instantly, wrapping her arms around his neck and forcing her tongue into his mouth.

Throwing away his mug, he put his hands around her waist, pushing her back up against a wall before lifting her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist. She groaned as he kissed her jaw and neck, while his hand made its way under the skirts of her dress and began travelling up her thigh.

Gawain closed his eyes, feeling her soft hair fall about his face, her hands moving all around his upper back, the touch of her silky skin, her soft lips kissing his forehead...

"Oh, Gawain!"

Gawain's eyes snapped open.

That wasn't the voice he wanted to here.

It was as though all the alcohol he had drank that night had suddenly lost its influence over him, and he came back to his senses as he realised what he was doing.

"NO!"

Before Flora knew what had happened, Gawain had let her go, and she fell to the ground in the most undignified way.

Panting, Gawain backed away from her like she was a demon and wiped his lips against the back of his hand.

Flora looked up at him, dazed and confused.

"What th-"

"It wasn't you I was thinking of," Gawain gasped, "it wasn't – I thought – For a moment I thought you were-"

Flora began to think he had gone mad. Feeling annoyed and awkward she arranged her dress to cover her properly while Gawain paced for a moment, running his hand through his hair.

Finally, he felt himself calming down and covering his eyes with his hand, cursed himself for having been so stupid.

"Never again," he said softly, "never again."

"Gawain!?"

He had begun to walk away, but Flora's cry made him pause and look back. She was still on the ground where he had dropped her, her head held high in an indignant, you-can't-do-this-to-me fashion.

He would have laughed had he not felt so ashamed of himself, and disgusted with her.

"Go home, Flora," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "you're not my type."

And with that, he walked away.

Sorry about the delay, and sorry about the crappy heading for this chapter, but I couldn't think of anything else. I'll try and put the next chapter up as soon as poss. Please let me know what you think!!