02 Mentor
"Tristan!"
Gawain's voice grew more impatient. The scout huffed and put his legs on the table.
"Ye've been 'ere five years now, boy. Ye knew you had this cummin'!" Bors chuckled. "Come with us now, ye bloody grump!"
Gaheris grinned. "May all the Gods have mercy on the boy who will have to live with Tristan."
With a thud, Tristan's bootknife embedded itself in the door frame just above Gaheris' head.
"Easy now!" the large, red-haired knight spat. "Now listen, if you want to keep Ruccius waiting, suit yourself!"
Gaheris stalked out of the tavern, followed by Gawain, leaving only Bors and Tristan. With an amused twinkle in his eyes Bors looked at Tristan, who rose to his feet with a glare and followed the others outside.
The caravan with the boys had already entered through the gates. Most of the boys had been safely delivered to their new posts in forts along Hadrian's Wall. Of the thirty boys that had left Dubris several weeks earlier, only three boys were left.
Ruccius, the Roman commander of the fort, stood in the center of the square and spoke with Junius.
"Gawain!" he ordered.
Gawain stepped forward.
"You take that one!"
Ruccius pointed to a young boy with curly hair, who had shyly wrapped his arms around himself.
"Gaheris!"
Ruccius now pointed to a tall boy with blond hair and freckles.
"That one!"
Tristan groaned. Gaheris beckoned the blond boy to follow him.
"Tristan!"
Tristan nodded curtly when Ruccius pointed to the last of the three boys. Slowly and deliberately he clenched and unclenched his fists as he stared at the boy he would have to train and guide for the next three years.
He had known that this day would come. Every Sarmatian boy who came to the Wall was primarily trained by one of his older Sarmatian brothers, by a knight who had been in service to Rome for a minimum of four years. The previous year Tristan had escaped this fate of having to take charge of a younger boy. But last week they had been informed that three new boys would be arriving soon. He had been ordered to mentor one of them.
His mood had become fouler with each day that had passed and he knew that he had been letting his temper out on the others. But when his eyes wandered to the last of the three boys, he knew that his mood would be even fouler for a long time to come.
Tristan watched from a chair by the fire place.
"What's your name, boy?"
The boy's eyes briefly shot in his direction, but then he hastily returned his gaze to a tear in his kit bag, which he was trying to fix. He hadn't spoken a word yet since his arrival at the fort. Tristan didn't mind.
"Balan," came a soft reply.
Tristan swore under his breath. The boy's voice hadn't broken yet. The high, clear voice made it perfectly clear that this boy was no more than a child.
Without a word, he stalked out of his room and headed straight for the tavern.
"Tristan!"
Dagonet's friendly voice called him over to a table in the corner. Bors shoved a mug of ale in his hand, which he downed at once.
Brumear patted his back. "I feel for you brother," he smiled. "Only six more months and my duties as trainer will end. That filthy piece of rebellion named Agloval will finally be on his own." He chuckled into his mug. "It will be up to the Romans to tame him then."
Tristan refilled his mug.
"I swear I have whipped that boy more often than I have slashed my sword across Woads or other enemies!" Brumear continued.
"That's not quite surprising, is it?" came an amused voice from behind them. "When have you ever slashed your sword across Woads or other enemies, Bru? You and Bors do all the roaring, and the rest of us do the hard work!"
With a smile, Lancelot joined them at the table.
"There ain't nothing like a good battle cry!" Bors retorted. "Rúúúúús!"
Tristan sat down beside Dagonet.
"How has he been today?" the large knight asked.
Tristan shrugged. "Does as he's told."
Dagonet nodded. He knew how much Tristan hated his new task and he decided to ask no further questions.
Nothing was going to change the situation, though. Dagonet knew this as well as everyone else. Tristan would have to find a way to live with it. But Dagonet wondered what on earth had moved Ruccius to put Tristan in charge of such a little boy. Tristan!
He saw Lancelot take a careful glance in Tristan's direction. The cocky knight was probably dying to tease the scout with his baby boy charge. But one look at the scout's dark expression apparently made him think better of it. Good!
When Tristan entered his room much later that night, he found the boy asleep on the narrow bed that had been placed in his room a few days earlier.
The boy had neatly stored away his belongings and the kit bag was lying on the foot of his bed, now fixed.
He briefly admired the boy's handiwork. Then he sighed, took off his clothes and went to sleep.