For disclaimers: see Chapter One.

Warnings: Minor language, and some very angry Knights

I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter Four – One by one

The Knights had gravitated to the tavern that night. Not because anyone wanted to drink or wench, or had anything to celebrate. There was just nowhere else to go.

A group of off duty Romans had been drinking and laughing in the tavern when the Knights had arrived. Kai drew his knife, and Bors snarled "Out!", and despite most of the Knights hoping desperately that they would not so they had an excuse to punch someone, the soldiers had fled without a backward glance.

The Roman General Arpagius might have been stupid, but even he had not dared to try and give orders to the Sarmatians in Arthur's absence. Not on a night like tonight. Not when he had issued the commands that had led directly to three of their own being missing. Commands that put Lancelot in prison, Arthur in the infirmary, and Gawain's body at the mercy of the Woads.

Rome was taking them, one by one.

The Knights sat in silence, grief and fury warring on every face. Galahad looked up to see Dagonet approaching from the Valetudinarium. The gentle giant was the closest thing the Sarmatians had to a healer, and no injured Knight, especially Arthur, was left to the mercy of the fort's medicus without Dagonet watching over them.

"He'll live," said the big man, without preamble, "though he's still unconcious."

The Knights nodded. They were beyond relieved, though no one could show it yet. Arthur meant everything to them.

"And Lancelot?" asked Tristan, who was standing a little way away in the shadows of the wall.

Dagonet shrugged. "They won't let me see him. Arpagius probably won't release him until Arthur wakes up and orders it. Don't know when that'll be. Arthur won't lose the arm, though it's badly broken. Medicus said it would have been different if he hadn't gotten back here so quickly." Having said his piece, Dagonet sat.

"Much good that did Gawain," muttered Kai.

The tension that had dipped at the news of Arthur's immanent recovery notched back up again. That was the reason Arpagius had given for ordering the Knights back to the fort of course; Artorius was injured, he needed a healer immediately. No time to hunt for the body of one unkempt barbarian slave bastard that had been useless enough to get himself gutted by a single Woad. Arthur's injury was also the only reason the Knights had agreed to leave, but that had only been after Lancelot had hauled off and punched the Roman in the face for those comments, got himself arrested, and after Arpagius had threatened to do the same to the rest of them if they didn't head back to Camboglanna immediately. Anyone would think he was scared of a few Woads.

No-one doubted that had it come to a fight, the Knights would have wiped the floor with the legionnaires; but afterwards, the Romans would not rest until every one of the Sarmatians was hunted down and slaughtered for it, and that would have broken Arthur's heart. And a battle would have wasted time Arthur might not have. So they had left Gawain and turned back to the fort, for Arthur. They truly were slaves to the beast that was Rome.

"I'm going to kill him," Galahad said darkly, staring towards the Praetorium where Arpagius no doubt dined in guilt-free comfort. "He won't be expecting it and then I'll..."

"Shut up, Pup," said Perceval, wearily. "No-one's going to kill anyone."

"Oh yeah?" demanded Galahad, spoiling for a fight. "He threatened Lancelot, you all heard it! Why aren't we doing something about it?"

"Galahad, you're drunk and thicker than baked horse shit," said Bors, downing the rest of the ale. "Ain't nothing we can do. You know what the Romans do to deserters."

"I could cut his eyes out and make it look like an accident," Tristan offered. "Might do it anyway."

"No-one is doing anything!" snapped Ector. "He's a Roman, don't be so bloody stupid! We wait for Arthur, we don't betray him by killing Romans as soon as he's down."

"Betrayal?" Galahad shouted. "You want to talk about betrayal?"

"Pup..." growled Bors, warningly.

"I wasn't the one that left Gawain out there!"

Kai pushed the chair back with a scrape, and stood up, furious, Bors right beside him. "You'd better watch your mouth, Galahad..."

"You think we would have left if we could have done anything else for Gawain?" Bors shouted. "You think we betrayed him? Maybe should come closer and say that!"

"At least some of us were out there fighting, and not limping around at the Wall with a twisted ankle," said Tristan, scornfully.

Galahad swung round to punch the scout, and Kai leapt forward to join the fray just as another voice rang out across the courtyard.

"Stop!"

The furious Knights pulled up short as Vanora appeared between Galahad and Tristan. The small red-headed woman, tavern owner and mother of Bors' eight children was glowering more terrifyingly than any bloodthirsty Woad.

"Stop!" She shouted again, "All of you! I'll not have fighting in my tavern. It's too late. You think Gawain would want this?"

"We don't know what Gawain would want, because unfortunately, he's dead!" said Galahad bitterly, but the desire to pick a fight was already fading in him. He remembered Gawain's good humour, his ability to cool any situation, calm the other Knights out of anger with just with a laugh or a joke. Gawain would not want this.

"We will perform the rites," said Dagonet, quietly. "We don't need his body. He died in battle, and Valkyr will claim him, with honour. His sword can stand monument in his mound, even if the mound is empty."

"We don't have his sword," said Tristan. "It's still on the battle field."

There was a tense silence.

"What if he wasn't dead?" said Perceval suddenly, and his voice sounded choked. "What if he was injured, and he bled to death because we left him out there? We killed him."

"No," said Bors. "Rome killed him."

Vanora nodded. "Now," she said. "No more fighting. Or you can find some other shithole to get pissed in, understand?"

There were nods and the Knights slowly sat.

"I'll get you some more ale." She said, squeezed her lover's shoulder and walked away.

There was silence for a moment, before a shadow detached itself from the wall.

"I'm going back," said Tristan. "I'm going back to find him. Tomorrow. Come, if you want."

And he was gone.

Gawain was woken by a raindrop falling onto his nose. He wiped the cold water from his face with a groan, and cracked open swollen eyelids, peering through his tangled mane of hair. The forest around was lit grey by a dull daylight, heavy rainclouds above casting the ground into gloomy arboreal shadow. The lulling patter of raindrops onto the leaves all around seemed to be mocking the parched dryness of his mouth and throat.

Memory returned slowly, and Gawain tried to move, groaning at the stiffness in his cold limbs and joints. He must have slept the whole night through without moving once. The armour might have dug uncomfortable groves in his skin as he slept, but at least it was keeping him a little bit warmer. The Knight sat up very slowly, swearing hoarsely as agony awoke too, sending knives of fire through his side and shoulder. He froze, breathing slowly to let the pain pass. Cautiously, Gawain peeled back his brigandine. Blood had seeped through the cloths he'd packed about the wound last night, but they weren't sodden yet. The bleeding had slowed at last.

"Well Gawain...now what?" he asked out loud, his voice emerging as a croak from his dry mouth.

Get back to the wall. That was obvious, and if he didn't get there soon, he'd never make it. He was pretty sure they'd been half a day's ride north from the wall when Tristan had spotted the Woads. That meant about fifteen miles, give or take. So on foot and in prime condition he could do it in a day. As he was now, who knew? Two days? Three?

Gawain sighed, but it wasn't in his nature to complain about things he had no power to change, or to whinge about the inevitable. Except for the weather of course.

"Better get moving then. Won't get anywhere sitting around on your arse."

Numbly, slowly, Gawain pulled his knees under him and pushed himself up onto his feet. He could stand. Good. The Knight took a moment to pin his tattered cloak back on to his shoulders one handed as he considered what to do now. Should he stay in the woods, or try and get back to the open land? There were probably Woads in the forest, so if he left it, he'd be less likely to encounter them. But on the plains he'd be far more visible, in the woods he might be able to stay concealed. In the end, it was the rain that decided him. He'd travel south through the trees until the rain stopped.

He really, really hated rain.

"Alright Gawain," he said, and spared an idle thought to wonder if talking to yourself wasn't normally considered a Bad Thing. Well that was tough. If talking to himself got in back to the Wall, he'd put up with the funny looks later.

"Alright. The Wall is south." He paused. "Which way is south?" It was completely cloudy above the trees, no sun to guide him. He vaguely recalled Tristan once telling him how you could tell your way by looking at which side of the tree moss grew on. He eyed the tree he leaned against; the entire trunk was so thickly grown with lichen and moss that it looked like a carpet.

"Thanks, Tristan. Thanks a lot." With another sigh, Gawain took a wild guess and set off.

TBC...

Thanks to anyone who reviewed. I'd love to hear if you enjoyed this chapter too.

See you for Chapter 5 next week, when we visit Lancelot in prison. Boy, he is not a happy bunny...

N x