18 Privileges
Balan brought up his sword in defence to block a strike from Tristan. The scout instantly halted his sword when it hit Balan's.
"Good!" he praised.
They stepped away from each other. Tristan slowly circled Balan, his sword swinging leisurely in his hand. Balan followed his every move, making sure to keep his body and sword in the right position at all times, ready for any possible attack from the scout.
"Breathe," Tristan ordered. "Breathe more deeply. It will help you remain focused and alert."
Balan obeyed, his eyes never leaving the scout. He kept on looking for signals, be it in Tristan's eyes or in his body language.
Suddenly Tristan charged.
Balan ducked as Tristan had taught him and rapidly stepped aside while stabbing his wooden sword against the scout's stomach.
"Faster, boy," Tristan commented. "You don't want your enemy to behead you before you have lodged your sword into their innards."
Ruccius marched through the fort towards the practice yard, closely followed by Arthur Castus and two other officers. The people in the street quickly moved aside to let them pass. Ruccius' unmistakable and overwhelming air of authority – as well as his infamous outbursts of explosive rage – filled them with a fearful respect.
The Sarmatian knights, in contrast, barely looked up when Ruccius and his followers entered the practice yard. If Ruccius came to see them here, it was to watch them spar. They knew from experience that interrupting their practice to stare at Ruccius would only result in a chorus of loud expletives, threats and insults resounding through the fort. Therefore they ignored his presence and simply focused on their opponents.
"Tristan!" Arthur's voice called out.
Balan and Tristan lowered their swords and turned to look.
Ruccius beckoned to the scout with an impatient wave of his hand.
Tristan signalled to Balan to wait and walked over to the four Romans. He did not bother to hurry, despite the irritation on the commander's face. He stopped in front of Ruccius and looked him straight in the eye, waiting for him to speak.
Ruccius was slightly shorter than Tristan, therefore he had to look up to face the Sarmatian scout. From this position it was hard to maintain his authoritative air. Irritated by this disadvantage, Ruccius cleared his throat as ominously as he possible could and glared at the tattooed man in front of him.
Tristan noticed the throbbing vein on Ruccius' temple and smirked inwardly.
"I was given to understand that your boy has shown a talent for archery," Ruccius began in a stern voice, determined to maintain his dignity. "I want to see this for myself!"
He waved at Tristan to hurry up.
Tristan calmly walked back to where Balan was standing.
"Get my bow and a few arrows," he said. Then he waited motionlessly until the four Romans followed him to the targets.
Balan was already there, holding Tristan's bow out to him. But Tristan shook his head and pointed to one of the targets instead.
"Shoot, boy," he said.
Balan hesitantly looked from Tristan to Arthur, to Ruccius and back to Arthur.
"What are you waiting for, boy!" Ruccius bellowed indignantly.
Balan's keen eyes rested on Arthur's face, questioning.
"You have permission to shoot," Arthur smiled, realizing the boy's dilemma.
Balan pulled an arrow from Tristan's quiver. He notched it, aimed and sent it straight into the target's center.
"Do it again!" Ruccius ordered gruffly.
Balan's second arrow landed right beside the first one.
Ruccius grabbed Balan by the neck of his tunic and roughly dragged him about fifty feet to the side.
"Again! Same target!" he barked.
Balan obediently shot another arrow into the target's center.
Ruccius frowned, but then he nodded, apparently satisfied.
The three officers and Tristan walked to where Ruccius and Balan stood.
Ruccius stuck out his chest and pompously lifted his chin.
"Right then, Artorius! I see that the boy has talent. I will allow him to practice archery," he stated with a nod of his head.
Balan couldn't believe his ears. Save on that one day when Tristan had gotten permission from Arthur to let him shoot some of his self-made arrows, he had not been allowed the use of any real weapons! Well, with the exception of the Woad attack by the river, of course.
"Train him well!" Ruccius growled at Tristan. "I will monitor his progress!"
With these words he walked away.
Arthur cleared his throat.
Ruccius turned around and looked at Arthur sharply. Arthur inclined his head towards Balan. Ruccius frowned, but suddenly he seemed to remember something.
"What's your name, boy?" he barked.
"Balan, sir," Balan answered.
"Balan, I hear that you blatantly disobeyed the orders of your commanding officer during the attack by the river. Do you deny this?" Ruccius spoke threateningly.
Balan froze. He had not yet forgotten the flogging Ruccius had ordered after his attempted desertion.
"No, sir," he spoke, his voice a little higher than usual.
Tristan noticed a familiar flicker in the young boy's eyes. But other than that, the boy's face betrayed no emotion.
"You will remember to obey your superiors from now on! Understand!?" Ruccius boomed.
"Yes, sir," Balan said timidly.
"I will know if you tresspass! Remember that, for you will regret it!"
Tristan chuckled inwardly when he noticed that the boy's attention was not with Ruccius, even though the boy looked straight at Ruccius's face. Balan's focus was on taking deep and slow breaths in order to stay calm, so that he would not show Ruccius how afraid he was.
Clever move, Tristan thought approvingly. It never served to show your opponents your weaknesses.
"What is your name again?" Ruccius demanded.
"Balan, sir," Balan repeated.
Ruccius importantly cleared his throat.
"Balan of Sarmatia, you risked your life to rescue three knights and managed to bring them back to safety. You shall be rewarded for this action."
After these words Ruccius shrugged and motioned for Arthur to continue.
Arthur stepped forward and placed a hand on Balan's shoulder.
"When you came to Britain, Balan, your weapons were taken from you. As all Sarmatian recruits, you must wait until your commander deems you fit to have them back. A few months ago you harmed our trust by your attempted desertion. But yesterday you demonstrated great courage, and loyalty to your brothers. As a reward, we have decided to return one of your weapons to you."
Arthur reached for an object which was handed to him by one of the other Roman officers.
Balan's eyes grew wide.
"My father's bootknife," he whispered.
"Stop, Artorius!" Ruccius barked.
Startled, Balan looked up at the Roman commander, who stepped forward and snatched the bootknife from Arthur's hand.
Ruccius towered over Balan and glared him down.
"Listen very closely, boy!" Ruccius said with an intimidating growl. "You will have this knife returned to you, on one condition: You will never use this knife against a Roman, nor against any member of a Roman community, nor against any friend or ally of Rome or of a Roman community! For if you do, your knife will be taken from you and it will be destroyed in the nearest smithy's fire! Not to mention the flogging that you will receive!"
Balan silently stared into Ruccius' eyes and nodded.
Ruccius glared at the boy a little longer, but then he handed Balan his bootknife.
"Remember my words, boy!" Ruccius warned.
Tristan noticed the bright light in Balan's eyes when he grasped his father's bootknife. Balan bent his head when Ruccius passed him by, but his fingers clutched the worn leather sheath tightly.
"What are you all staring at!" Ruccius bellowed furiously when he noticed that none of the Sarmatian knights were sparring anymore. They had all watched the scene between Balan and Ruccius unfold.
Some knights coughed, others shrugged, but they all hurried to resume their training before Ruccius could start another ear-splitting tirade.
Tristan looked down at Balan, who was tying his father's knife to his boot. He waited for the boy to finish and then pushed his quiver into the boy's hands.
"Practise, boy," he admonished with a grin.