03 First weeks

Balan opened his eyes. He had only been here for a week, but he already disliked the place with passion.

"Get up, boy!" Tristan urged.

Balan sighed and pushed his covers aside. As much as he wanted to hate the older knight, he hadn't failed to notice the incredible skill that Tristan possessed; not only with his sword, but with his bow and his knives as well. Tristan was a good knight to learn from.

He got dressed, put on his boots and picked up the wooden sword he had been given to practise with. Not that he had used it yet. Tristan made him do all kinds of chores, mainly cleaning and carrying weapons, while Tristan himself sparred with the other knights. At home his father had taught him to fight with a real sword. But here, no-one seemed interested in teaching him how to wield a sword. Not even one made of wood! Tristan wouldn't let him fight yet.

For now, Balan didn't mind if he wasn't sent into battle. He knew full well that his chances to survive were slim. But before he had left Sarmatia, his father had advised him to learn as much as he could. To pay attention when being taught, to work hard and try his very best.

He wondered if Tristan would begin teaching him soon.

After their early breakfast the knights gathered in the practice yard.

"Balan!"

Galahad, the curly haired boy who had arrived in the fort with him, waved from a distance. A long-haired knight whom Balan remembered was called Gawain was chiding him for not paying enough attention to his foot work.

"Galahad!" Gawain spat.

Balan watched as Galahad focused on his sword fighting again.

Behind him Bors chuckled. "Oi lad, gimme my gauntlet, will ya?" he called.

Balan hurried to do the knight's bidding. He had not been able to decide what to think of Bors yet. He had every reason to be wary of Bors' large hands, as Bors had no problem boxing his ears several times a day, even for no reason at all. But there was also something very good-natured and friendly about the broad knight. And it was friendliness that Balan was longing for. Tristan showed no sign of kindness, not even interest, in the young boy at all, which made Balan feel lonely.

"Boy!"

Tristan's voice startled him out of his thoughts.

"Run to the armoury and ask Ellis for more arrows."

Balan looked up at the dark haired knight. But Tristan was already walking away again.

A dejected feeling washed over him. Balan wished that Tristan would address him with a little more than indifference for once. He let out a small sigh. Tristan didn't seem to like him at all. One more glance at the sparring scout told him that Tristan had already forgotten that he existed. He turned and left the practice yard.

Dawn was still far away when Tristan suddenly awoke. He listened carefully. He had heard a sound coming from the narrow bed on the other side of his room. After listening for a minute, he realized that the boy was lying underneath his blankets and was trying to conceal his sobs.

He stared blankly at the ceiling. How old was this boy? Eleven summers? The child probably missed his mother.

He had to admit that he approved of the boy's silent resilience. He had seen frustration flare up in the boy's eyes each time he had refused to let the boy fight. But each time the frustration had soon been replaced by a quiet determination, giving the boy an almost serene appearance. He had done every task Tristan had given him without complaining. Not once had the boy challenged him so far.

Gawain and Gaheris were having quite some trouble with their charges already. Galahad simply seemed too angry about his conscription to Rome to be either willing or able to pay much attention to his training. And Pelleas, the tall boy who had been appointed to Gaheris, was a stubborn rebel who refused to do anything Gaheris told him to do.

He listened to the quiet sobs of the boy. He would need to begin the boy's training soon. He would have to find out what skills the boy possessed and make sure that he improved them. After that he could see what other things to teach him.

"Balan, come with us!"

Pelleas, Galahad and a tall boy he had not seen before, pushed him into a corner of the stables.

The tall boy introduced himself as Agloval and studied Balan's face with interest. "He's quite a young one," Agloval laughed.

"That's not his fault," Pelleas retorted. "Let's make him a man!"

Agloval snorted.

"What about you then? Are you a man yet?"

Pelleas glared at him, but didn't say anything.

"How old are you?" Agloval demanded of the boys.

"Fifteen," Galahad replied.

"Sixteen," Pelleas said with a hint of pride.

"And you?" Agloval asked Balan.

"Eleven," Balan stated. "But I will be twelve before the end of summer."

"Good!" Agloval laughed. "Any of you seen a woman before?"

"I have three sisters!" Galahad exclaimed. "Of course I have!"

"He means a naked woman," Pelleas interrupted patronizingly.

Galahad instantly looked up at Agloval, eyes widening.

Agloval beamed and looked down at the three younger boys, asking a question without speaking. The boys nodded eagerly.

"Tomorrow night after supper, come to the stables. Do not tell anyone and make sure nobody sees you. We'll sneak out of the fort and then I'll show you something!"