Chapter Twenty-Two: You Have A Lot To Teach

Cavan had decided to ignore her fears about what the knights where hiding from her. Whatever it was, they would not tell her and it was no use worrying herself over it. After all, how would she find out apart from them? So she put it from her mind and focused instead on enjoying the run-up to the festival of Samhain.

Her Christianity was not wavering - she was still loyal to God – but it was a festival full of happiness and the joy of life, and Cavan had more reason than most to be thankful. She had suffered terribly, but after all that, she had beaten her fears and was alive – she had dropped so low that she had to climb high, and it was the fact that she had managed it that she was thankful for.

Cavan was sat on her bed, wearing only the necklace Tristan had given her, a pile of clothes beside her and a tired look on her face. The burns on her shoulders and chest were as red as ever, and the brand in her arm, cut through with a deep line, was dark and ridged. Her hair was unplaited and loose, tumbling in a knotted black mess down her back.

The clothes beside her were her new wardrobe. She had visited Levin the day before, and asked for two chitons and two peploi of the softest cloth she had, and a Roman cloak. Cavan missed the type of clothes she had worn when she lived with Evin - not everything about him was pain and anger. The quiet words he mumbled in his sleep, his silken voice, the way he kissed her when she was willing.

She may have been a slave, but she didn't live like one. The food she ate was rich and good, the bed she slept in was warm and comfortable, the dresses she wore expensive and elegant. But she would have given all that away if she could have spent just one night out of Evin's painful grip.

Gathering her strength, Cavan stood up and tried to shake the memories of Ireland out of her head. She tied her breast band over her chest and slipped into one of the dresses from the pile on the bed. It was green. Although not as soft as the clothes Evin had gifted her, it was still less painful on her skin than her old shirts and breeches. The caligae sandals she had found in Dagonet's chest had become the only shoes she wore, and her feet were growing used to the supple leather in place of her heavy boots.

Running her fingers through her hair, Cavan pushed it from her face and tied the heavy locks in a knot at the nape of her neck, securing it with her cloak pin. She picked up an iron box from the table beside her bed and opened it, pulling from within a ring. It was a thick band of gold, shaped like a snake, with the head swallowing the tail in an endless circle. Cavan slipped it onto her hand slowly, gazing at it. She remembered Evin wearing it, reaching out with his hand to slap her around the face. It only fitted his little finger.

Bastard.

Cavan snapped the box shut and slammed it down on the table. Then she filled a cup with wine and downed it in one. It slid easily down her throat, the fruity taste pervading every corner of her mouth. She refilled the clay beaker and took another sip, then turned and left the room.

Halasir and Osolet were both at the armoury, having leather cuirasses made. Cavan remembered this only when she turned round, looking for Halasir, only to find him absent.

She found Gawain, along with Lancelot, Bors and Galahad, in the training squares: it was late morning and the knights had long since woken. They were fighting in shirts and breeches, their feet bare on the cold ground. However, every man had large sweat patches on their backs and beneath their arms - it was clearly hot work.

Gawain and Bors were fist-fighting, and Galahad and Lancelot both wielded Roman short-swords, the clashing sound they made harsh to the ear. Cavan watched them for a few minutes, admiring the fluidity of Lancelot's movements and the pure strength that Bors' muscles contained.

Gawain noticed her watching and ceased his fight with Bors. The others were happy to stop: they had been training since daybreak and the sweat was running down their skin like water. All would be glad to wash and eat.

'Sleep well?' Lancelot inquired, grinning at Cavan.

'Not particularly,' she replied shortly.

Lancelot's face changed from flirtatious to concerned. Cavan turned her gaze to Gawain, looking a little upset. Bors saw the look and clapped his hand onto Galahad's shoulder.

'Come lads, let's leave these two and wash the sweat off our balls!' he cried, pushing both Galahad and Lancelot in the direction of the baths. Lancelot sent one last look over his shoulder, his eyebrows knitted together in worry, but then turned back to Bors and the prospect of getting clean.

'What is wrong?' Gawain asked, taking Cavan's face in his hands and embracing her in a warm hug.

'He is in my dreams. I am so afraid of nightmares that I no longer sleep,' Cavan replied, her face buried in his tunic.

The two were quiet for a long time, before Gawain released his hold on her and stared into her eyes.

'Samhain is this evening, the end of the harvest - the beginning of a new year and a new life. We can enjoy it together and you will forget about him. I promise,' he said, smiling. But his smile did not reach his eyes; they were full of hidden pain.

'Tell me, why is everyone in such anticipation for Samhain?' Cavan asked, remembering Galahad and Bors' excitement over the festival.

'It marks not only the end of the Woad season, but also the year mark of our service. There are now only two years left in our service to Rome.'

Gawain smiled infectiously - this time the gesture disappeared deep within his eyes - and Cavan smiled back.

'I am hungry,' she said, looking towards the kitchens. 'Shall I bring you some food?'

'I'll wait in your rooms,' Gawain grinned, winking. He moved to kiss Cavan but as he did, she twisted her head a little so that his lips landed on her cheek.

'I shall see you there,' Cavan whispered, and then her hand was vanished from his, and her back was all that he could see.

She knows we are hiding something, Gawain thought. Why are we not doing more? He spat on the ground, angry at himself - and at Arthur and Tristan - then turned and headed off in the direction of the baths.

Cavan was just in time to join the boys in the kitchens for breakfast. One of the boys gave her a bowl full of warm porridge and a chunk of bread, then returned to his seat. As Cavan sat down opposite Fabius, the memories of her first meal in that very room came back to her.

'How goes your enterprise?' she asked, grinning at the tall cook.

'My boys are ever quiet, and ever watchful,' Fabius said, his spoon hanging from his fingers. 'In fact, I think one of them heard something about you just a few nights ago.'

Cavan's heart stopped: had they discovered that she was Gareth's murderer? Or that she had intended to assassinate Arthur? She hid her fear behind her bread, taking a large bite and swallowing.

'Something interesting, or just idle gossip?'

'Now I come to think about it,' Fabius mused, 'the boy didn't tell me what it was he had heard - just that it concerned 'the Irish girl.' I shall ask him about it.'

'No!' Cavan said quickly, lowering her eyes when Fabius frowned at her. 'I shall ask him, and then if it is just idle gossip, you won't have wasted your time.'

'Valerin!' the cook shouted.

A boy at the other end of the table with blond hair and dark eyes stood up, and nodded towards Fabius. The cook beckoned him closer.

'This is Cavan,' he explained to the boy. 'Your 'Irish girl.' She wants to know what you heard of her.'

'If you would,' Cavan said, smiling at him. 'We could talk a little later - when everyone has finished their food?'

Valerin bowed his head towards her deferentially, his eyes wary, and returned to his seat.

Fabius began to talk about a visitor who was coming to the fort, some Roman with connections at Castellum. Cavan had no interest in his words and her mind wandered - to the boy Valerin and what it was he had heard of her.

Slowly emptying her bowl and cup, Cavan mulled over what the boy could have heard. He seemed cautious, but not afraid - it couldn't be that Valerin had learnt of the circumstances over Gareth's death, or he would have told someone. Was it… no! Cavan's heart skipped another beat. Had Valerin overheard what the knights were hiding from her?

The other boys had finished their breakfast; they cleared their bowls and cups, and dumped them in the sink, filing out through the door. Cavan mimicked them, submerging her bowl in the warm water, thanking Fabius for his courtesy, and leaving through the door.

Valerin was waiting outside. His hands were dripping with water - obviously from the trough that the other boys were clustered around.

'Shall we?' Cavan asked, gesturing to the empty expanse of green between them and the training squares.

They walked in silence for a minute, but then Cavan could hold it in no longer. 'What have you heard?'

'It was Arthur and Lancelot,' Valerin said. 'They were in the meeting hall. Lancelot was angry about… he was angry about you.'

'Why?'

'He was talking about you to Arthur,' the boy continued. 'He was so angry - shouting and yelling about protection and cowardice. He said, 'Tristan is a coward for not telling her. He has no more right than she to know.' I didn't understand it then, and I don't now.'

Cavan contemplated Valerin's words carefully.

'And there was nothing else you heard?' she asked.

'There was one thing. Arthur said that the law is the law, whether in Rome, Hibernia or Britain.'

She frowned at the use of the word 'Hibernia' to describe Ireland, but thanked Valerin for his help and sent him back to the kitchens. He went gratefully.

The law is the law, Cavan thought to herself. But the law of what?

She ambled slowly towards the knights' quarters, a vague idea of talking with Irri floating through her mind. However, those thoughts were overcome by her reflections on what Valerin had said. No matter which way she tried to tackle the confusing conversation she had shared with him, she couldn't make head nor tail of his words.

Cavan was brought from her reverie by a couple of Bors' children - what looked like Four and Five - ran across her path, laughing and screaming. Following them, looking a little lost and forlorn, was Six, the silver-haired, blue-eyed girl, who was so often separated from the others' games.

'My little Luna,' Cavan said gently, picking the girl up. 'Whatever is the matter?'

Luna was Cavan's pet-name for Six. It seemed appropriate, using the Latin word for the moon for a girl who looked just like it.

'They run too fast,' Six replied.

'And you would find yourself as fast as they?' Cavan asked.

Six smiled, pondering Cavan's question.

'If I could be as fast as… Nikalay! I could catch everyone!'

'Who is Nikalay?' questioned Cavan, as she set off towards Vanora's, Six clinging on to her happily.

'Dag's horse. You didn't know?'

'It seems you have a lot to teach me.'

Six grinned up at Cavan, playing with a lock of hair that fell over her shoulder. She was very advanced for her age - she could talk fluently, better than her older brother, Five, and was clever. Cavan suspected she had inherited that cleverness from her mother, as Bors was no great intellectual.

Cavan walked slowly towards Vanora's, the child in her arms chattering quietly. Bors, Lancelot and Galahad were there, all of them with sopping wet hair - save for Bors, who had no hair for him to wet. The large knight smiled at Cavan as she came into the square, then stood and took his daughter from her arms.

'You haven't been pestering her, have you?' he asked.

'Not at all,' Cavan smiled.

Six waved goodbye to Cavan, then ran off into the taproom.

'Wine?' offered Lancelot, holding out a cup for her.

'No, thank you.' She had to remind herself to speak in a tone of gratitude, as her anger was suddenly bubbling up. 'I'm to meet Gawain.'

'Oh, well then, have fun!'

Lancelot winked at her cheekily, but she ignored him, turning around and heading for the knights' quarters.

'That girl does not deserve what's coming,' Bors said slowly, watching Cavan disappear from the square.

'But it's still coming,' interjected Galahad, his voice bitter.

'Yea, but she won't be the only one hurt by this. Gawain's face, when Arthur told us - this is going to take a long time to fade from his life,' Lancelot added.

'It will take a while to fade from all our lives.'

Gawain was sat on Cavan's bed, hair dripping onto his bare chest. He liked the feel of it; the way the water dribbled over his skin, following his scars down to his stomach and soaking the linen of his breeches. It was soft and cold, and made him feel sharp.

There was a faint knock on the door, and Cavan entered. Gawain felt his body stir even by just looking at her. The way her top lip overlapped the bottom one, the pale skin of her neck, her long, thin fingers, the flesh visible at her waist where her dress had been cut, the way the fabric gently brushed over her breasts; he could see the outline of them through the delicate material. How Gawain wanted to take her in his arms, and kiss her ivory skin and trace his fingers over every scar on her body and lay down beside her and -

'I brought you some food,' Cavan said. In her hands, she held a tray with salted bread, meat stew, two cups and a pitcher balanced carefully on it. 'Are you still hungry?'

Gawain stood up and took the tray from her hands, placing in on a circular table in the corner. There were two Roman-style chairs there too; they each took one.

'Is it not a bit early for meat stew?' Gawain asked. 'Fabius normally gives us porridge.'

'It is nearly noon,' Cavan replied.

She waited as her knight ate the stew and bread, refilling his cup with wine when he finished, and smiled, watching the motion of his throat as he swallowed. Gawain saw her looking and grinned back. Cavan let her eyes drop to his sculpted chest, gazing at the planes of muscle, interrupted by the dark scars that ran down his torso. She felt Gawain mimic her, felt his eyes rake over her body.

Desire pooled unbidden in Cavan's stomach. She felt a tremble of anticipation in her skin and stood up. Gawain's breath hitched as she slid onto his lap, her legs either side of his. Their eyes met and Cavan laid her hands onto his chest, blinking slowly. She leaned forwards, and brushed his nose with hers, feeling warm breath on her lips and strong hands at her back.

Their kiss was tender and fragile. Gawain held her lightly, his lips smooth and velvety on hers, gently prying his way into her mouth. Then the kiss softened and they broke apart. Gawain's hands moved from her shoulder blades to her thighs, and he kissed her again, stronger this time. Cavan's arms found their way round his neck; she dug her fingernails into his skin as he embraced her passionately, pushing her dress over her hips. She fisted her hands in his still-wet hair and pulled him closer, feeling his hands roaming the inside of her thighs.

'Gawain,' she murmured, her whole body tingling with delight.

Then suddenly the door to Cavan's room opened and, with a rushing sound, Irri ran in. She gasped at the couple, intwined on a chair. Cavan gaped at Irri and then looked back at Gawain, blushing terribly. She rose from his lap, making sure her dress covered herself appropriately, and then turned to Irri.

'I'm sorry!' Irri stuttered. 'I just need to talk to you…'

I hope you enjoy that Cavan/Gawain moment, as I had a lot of fun writing it. Do tell me what you think!

Oh, and by the way, Castellum is the name of the fort town where the knights are stationed. Just in case you didn't know.

PS, the big climax is coming soon! Hold on to your pens, this is going to be bumpy...