Chapter Two: Family Is Wealth

'Well, they weren't that well trained. Tristan and I managed to overcome them quite easily.' Lancelot was describing to Arthur and the other knights the recent events at the tavern. Arthur nodded.

'But you said there was one, the leader…?' He asked, nearly anxious.

'He was a good fighter. Well trained. Almost killed Tristan, didn't he?' Tristan grunted in agreement, then winced as Dagonet poked at his arm.

'You think there will be more, Lancelot? Good, well let's get going,' he continued as Lancelot shook his head. The knights, who had been standing just off the road, all mounted their horses. Arthurs armour rattled as he climbed into the saddle.

'Tristan, ride ahead. If there are no more disturbances, we may still reach the Wall by tomorrow.'

They set off, Tristan urging his horse onwards into the darkness before the others. He enjoyed scouting, enjoyed the feeling of being free and ahead of Arthur. While scouting, he often let his mind roam to his family. Tristan knew nothing of them - whether they were alive or dead, at peace or war. Being so far away from them had never really bothered him - he had left at such a young age he barely remembered his mother's face, or his sister's.

His arm ached, and he tried to push it to the back of his mind. Trees rushed out of the darkness, and suddenly Tristan was encased in thick black trunks and wiry branches. He heard the phoootof an arrow being loosed a fraction before it buried itself into the tree a millimetre away from where his head had just been.

'Woads!' He yelled, pulling the reins of his horse sharply, turning her round. As he kicked his heels in, a flurry of arrows came shooting from the darkness, narrowly missing the knight and his horse.

Tristan urged his horse faster and faster until they broke through the boundaries of the forest, followed by yet more arrows, and onto the road. Faster, faster, he shouted inside his head. 'Woads!' Tristan roared again as Arthur and the knights came into view, heads down, galloping towards him.

The knights pulled up, on the brink of entering the forest. Everything was silent, and the moon shone down on the knights, lighting up their faces.

'Are you sure –?' Lancelot began, only to be cut off as an arrow thudded into the ground right in front of him.

'Dammit!' Galahad yelled, as around twenty men raced out of the woods, sparsely clad and brandishing hand-made swords and bows. As they drew closer, the blue marks swirling over their chests and arms became clear.
The knights drew their weapons, plunging into the wave of Woad soldiers. Gareth's horse was the first down, followed by Bors'. The latter wielded a huge mace and short sword, using them to sweep aside the blue-painted men. Arthur was on the ground, trying to use his shield to force away a manic Woad. Suddenly the Woad went limp, and Arthur pushed him aside to see Dagonet standing over him. Arthur nodded his thanks, and thrust his sword into another Woad, who screamed as the metal pierced his flesh.

Lancelot was slicing with his two swords, seemingly enjoying himself. He ducked under a wild swing and sunk his sword into the offending Woad. Tristan was battling away a man with massive muscles and an even larger double-handled sword. He parried and blocked, unable to find a hole in the mans defence. Abruptly, his opponent lost his balance, and Tristan pushed him away, forcing his curved sword between his outstretched arms. The man hit the floor with a satisfactory thud.

Galahad and Gawain were fighting back-to-back, disarming and killing Woads quickly and skilfully, and leaving no time for their opponents to get a sword between their arms.

Gareth, armed with only a small dagger in each hand, was facing an exceptionally blue Woad soldier. The Woad had a double-handed long sword clutched in his hands, ready to attack. With no warning, he launched himself towards Gareth, with an unexpectedly large amount of force. Gareth, caught unawares, fell back, dropping one dagger and barely keeping a hold of the second. He slashed at his adversary's face, rewarded by a spurt of blood, and sliced again at his chest. But in doing so, he left his own abdomen unprotected.

'Gareth!' Gawain yelled. Gareth, confused and distracted from the Woad in front of him, turned to see who had called.

Knocking the dagger out of his hand, the Woad sliced with his sword, lacerating Gareth's unprotected stomach.

'No!' Gawain roared. The Woad pulled back his sword to finish Gareth's life and Tristan threw his own sword towards him. It soared through the air and buried itself nearly up to the hilt in the Woad's back.

Gareth fell backwards, limp, blood pouring from his stomach, the dead Woad on top of him.

'Gawain?' He whispered, blood bubbling in his mouth. 'Where are you…?'

As the sun rose over the Roman-run town at Hadrian's Wall, Arthur and his seven knights raced through the gates and town on horseback. Over one horse laid a body, seemingly lifeless. Gareth's blood dripped from the horse, even through his bindings. The triangle of horses rushed to the stables outside of the knights' quarters, and their riders jumped down hurriedly. Gawain lifted Gareth's body with Tristan's help and heaved him into the building, towards the healer's rooms. They lay him on the table, and Tristan left, touching Gawain softly on the shoulder, shutting the door tightly behind him.

Inside the room, Helsin the healer unbound Gareth's bleeding stomach and winced. Gareth moaned in pain, and Gawain looked up at Helsin worriedly.

'What did you do to him this time?' the healer asked, sighing. Gawain put his head in his hands. Helsin sighed again and set to fixing the hole in the youngest knight's stomach.

Helsin finished binding Gareth's stomach and stood back from his flaccid body.

'He'll be okay… he just needs to rest. Only the Gods know what'll happen if the wound doesn't heal. But I can guess, and so can you, Gawain,' she said grimly. Gawain nodded and pushed a strand of white-blonde hair from his brother's face. 'He'll never be able to fight again if he doesn't listen to what I say. Maybe in a few days I'll let him walk around a bit. Get some rest, Gawain. You look like you need it.' Helsin rubbed his arm in a friendly way before leaving the two brothers alone.

'Oh Gareth, my brother. Don't ever leave me…' Gawain mumbled to his brother's unconscious form.

Meanwhile, a dappled grey horse was galloping full-pelt towards the Roman-run town on Hadrian's Wall, it's rider a seventeen year old girl, with waist-length black hair, entwined with green beads. As the horse moved beneath her, the wind caught her hair and pulled it back from her face. She was pretty, some might say, with a very angular chin and prominent eyes the colour of the sea. They were very deep, and the harder you looked, the more colours you could see swirling around the black pupil. Her cheeks were flushed a slight pink from the exertion of riding, and there were beads of sweat on her brow. She was slender, not extremely tall, with a slightly flattened chest for one her age.

Those who saw her might think she looked free, but those who thought that were cataclysmically wrong. She was bound by the worst of all bargains: a bargain to her self. For who can escape themselves? Only the dead can be truly separated from their minds.

She wore a pale blue linen tunic, and high-waisted brown wool breeches – plainly dressed in male clothing. As she moved with the motion of the horse, a chain pendant slipped from under her tunic and swung forwards. A pendant made of high-quality silver, shaped like a hawk, hung heavily from the chain. Its obvious wealth was stark against the girl's plain dress, and anyone who was looking closer would have noticed the ring on her index finger, a small emerald encased in silver. And had she been robbed – which was unlikely due to the large and very visible sword at her belt – any cursory search of her bag would have revealed more jewellery, all very fine and valuable.

But the girl riding the horse didn't care about the money her jewellery could fetch at any pawnbrokers. For her, wealth only meant one thing: family.

As she neared her destination, the girl thought ahead to what would happen when she got there. She would need lodging, of course. Who knew how long she would be there? She had to note the number of guards, where the best place would be to… she felt a tug on her insides as she thought about the fact that it would happen soon. All these years of waiting, hoping, hatred,fear… the constant hole where her heart should have been, as if someone had ripped away her skin and torn her soul out, burnt it, mutilated it – and then put it back.

So soon, so soon, she thought to herself.I will have fulfilled my purpose on this earth. Not long now. The girl trembled with anticipation as she crested a hill and looked down at the town and fort spread out like a fat beetle below her. A large white building, surrounded by trees and with a vast expanse of green land behind it, lay just to one side of the fort. And all the while there was the wall. The never-ending snake she had followed for days now.

But there it was: the end of her journey. She let loose one breath of relief and kicked her heels; the dappled grey horse cantered down the hill, coming ever closer to the fabled Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table.