25 The tavern 2
Balan turned around in his bed and stared at the ceiling. A barely audible conversation between Tristan and Dagonet drifted over from the other side of the room. He tried to understand what they were saying. But other than a few words here and there, he could not comprehend a thing.
Normally the sound of the soft, deep voices would have lulled him to sleep. But after what had happened in the tavern earlier, he felt restless.
Why had Tristan and Dagonet reacted the way they had?
He felt disgusted about the way Tristan and Dagonet had lied to the bulky Roman. If the man had meant trouble, why hadn't they just taken him on?
He turned onto his stomach and peered at the two knights by the fire.
When Dagonet and Tristan looked up and returned his gaze, Balan could no longer hold his tongue.
"Will you tell me what was going on?" he asked.
Tristan and Dagonet exchanged a brief glance.
"What did you find out about the Roman, Balan?" Tristan asked, ignoring his question.
"Nothing!" Balan replied glumly. "Save that his game of dice seems to cover up some sort of payment, which they all seem very eager about. But I did not see any sign of what was traded."
Balan lowered his head in shame.
"You already found out more than many others," Tristan replied calmly. "Most people in the tavern have no idea what is going on. Grab a blanket, boy."
Tristan beckoned Balan to join them by the fire.
Dagonet moved his chair to make some room.
"The man you watched is trading opium, Balan," Tristan said as soon as Balan was seated. "It is a substance derived from a flower that grows in the Eastern part of the Roman Empire. The surgeons use it to numb the pain of wounded soldiers."
Dagonet cleared his throat. "Sometimes soldiers want to keep taking it after their injuries have healed, especially those who used it for longer periods of time," he added. "The medicine makes them feel wonderful and gives them beautiful visions. It helps them forget the hardship of their military lives."
Balan nodded thoughtfully. Dagonet's description reminded him of the milky tears leaking from poppy seed pods that his mother had used for her injured patients. They, too, had sometimes come back for more.
"There used to be plenty of opium for all army surgeons and healers in the Roman Empire," Tristan continued. "The soldiers could easily get some substance to fix their needs. But the supply caravans have been suffering from increasing instability in the eastern part of the Empire. The opium routes are no longer safe."
"It is a long and dangerous road from Babylon to Britain," Dagonet added. "Most of the opium that reaches Rome is now subject to very strict trading rules. There is barely enough substance to supply the military surgeons throughout the empire. We are lucky that we are still getting some."
Dagonet looked down into the attentive eyes of the boy.
"But not long after you came to Britain, our Roman friend managed to obtain a large quantity of opium at a very low price. We do not know how he did it, nor where he got it. But he has been selling small quantities to the soldiers for barely less than a fortune."
"Why is that a secret?" Balan asked. "It's a good trade!"
"Ruccius forbids it," Tristan replied. "He says that he doesn't want his soldiers to use the substance."
"Which means that the officers confiscate the opium and have their share of it, while the soldiers get nothing," Dagonet explained.
Balan's eyes widened.
"You will understand that none of the lower ranking soldiers want the officers to find out," Dagonet said pointedly.
"And many of them have good reasons to silence you forever, should they suspect that you know about it," Tristan stated, his eyes boring deeply into Balan's.
Balan swallowed.
"You made me observe this man all night!" he said hoarsely. "What if he suspects me?!"
"He won't," Tristan said calmly. "He's very stupid."
"He believed our story about your wish to learn to play the dice," Dagonet added. "Just make sure not to show him that you already can!"
"And keep your eyes away from him," Tristan warned.
"And don't tell the other boys," Dagonet concluded.
The next morning Tristan took Balan for a walk outside the fort.
"Listen boy," Tristan said as soon as they were out of ear-shot. "From now on you will learn to observe without anyone noticing that you do."
Balan nodded vehemently, understanding why. The bulky soldier had not been the first one to respond with irritation when he noticed that Balan was observing him. Nobody liked being watched.
Tristan headed straight for the forest and Balan had to run to keep up with him.
"Wait here," Tristan said when they reached the edge of the woods. He motioned for Balan to sit between a few bushes and walked deeper into the undergrowth, carefully scanning the area for any hidden spies or other kinds of danger. Then he returned to Balan.
"Run out onto the field, boy. After seventy paces turn around and look at me."
Balan did as he was told. When he turned around and looked towards the forest, he initially thought that Tristan had disappeared. But when his eyes searched the treeline more carefully, he eventually saw Tristan standing on the edge of the field, almost invisible in the shadows of the trees and bushes that surrounded him.
Tristan motioned for him to come back.
When Balan joined Tristan on the edge of the forest, Tristan pointed towards the fort, which was basking in sunlight. Peasants worked on the fields, soldiers marched on the road, merchant wagons rode in and out of the gates, and sentries stood guard on the wall, the light of the sun reflecting on their helmets.
"Can you see them well enough?" Tristan asked.
Balan looked up at the scout, comprehension dawning in his eyes.
"Yes! But they can't see us!" he exclaimed. Clearly the shadows of the forest were a very good place to observe the fort unnoticed.
Tristan smiled.
"Well done," he said approvingly.
Tristan stepped onto the field and headed back towards the fort. Balan hesitated, but then he ran to catch up with the scout.
"Aren't we training in the woods today?" he asked, clearly disappointed.
"No," Tristan replied curtly.
Back in the fort Tristan led Balan into the stables.
"Find a place in the shadows, boy."
Balan looked around.
"Here?" he asked, pointing to a deep shadow behind the door to the tack room.
"Can you observe what happens in the stables from there?" Tristan asked with an amused twinkle in his eyes.
Balan wanted to slap himself. He blushed and lowered his head in embarrassment.
"Find a better place, then," Tristan said encouragingly.
Balan tried a few other places, but found that either he wasn't able to see enough, or that he was in plain view of anyone passing by.
Finally Tristan pointed to the wall beside the largest entrance.
"But there's nothing to hide behind! Everyone will see me there!" Balan protested.
"Not if you sit very still," Tristan replied.
Balan frowned, but sat down with his back against the wall.
Tristan sat down beside him.
Balan tried hard to sit very still, as Tristan had said.
"Relax, boy. Not so tense. You won't remain unnoticed like that. Be like the bricks in the wall and the wood of the rafters. If you were a brick in the wall, you would belong here and no-one would notice you."
Balan waited for his breathing to calm down. He leant back against the wall and relaxed.
He looked up at Tristan, who calmly sat beside him and apparently did the same.
Voices approached and moments later Gawain and Galahad walked into the stable. They collected their gear and disappeared into the stalls to brush and saddle their horses.
Tristan looked at Balan and put his fingers on his lips.
"They will come out soon," Tristan whispered. "Don't move. And don't make eye-contact. Don't watch them too intently. If you do, they will feel it. They'll look around and might discover you."
Gawain's high-voice murmering to his horse alerted them that the knight was about to lead his mount from its stall.
Balan made himself relax again and sat very still. Gawain's horse appeared in the center of the stable, closely followed by Galahad's. At first he could only see two pairs of legs behind the horses, so he knew that the two knights couldn't see him. But then Gawain and Galahad mounted up. They began to ride around in the central space of the stable, allowing their horses to warm up before they tightened their cinches.
Balan did exactly what Tristan had told him. He avoided eye contact and he frequently lowered his gaze to break its intensity. Although Galahad looked in their direction several times, nothing betrayed that the curly-haired boy actually noticed them.
"Why didn't they see us?" Balan asked after Galahad and Gawain had left the stables.
Tristan pointed to the roof, where small, yellow windows let the sun's light into the stable.
"The light from the windows doesn't reach this wall," Tristan explained. "But it does reach much of the rest of the stable. It blinds them a little. As does the open door. It seems to them as if the place where we sit is completely dark."
Before Balan could say anything, Arthur and Bedivere marched into the stables.
"With all due respect, Arthur, I do not believe it wise," Bedivere stated firmly.
He walked into a stall and from the sound of it, he angrily saddled his horse. The horse kicked and jerked in protest and nervously stomped in its stall.
Arthur seemed to be in the midst of an internal conflict.
"We will discuss this again upon your return," he said to Bedivere. "We do not have to decide today."
When Bedivere led his horse from its stall, Arthur moved aside to let him pass. It looked as if Arthur wanted to say something, but Bedivere led his horse outside without looking back at his future commander. Arthur seemed a little taken aback. Perhaps even … sad?
Balan watched Arthur intently, his instructions forgotten. Suddenly Arthur turned and looked straight at him. Balan quickly averted his eyes, but to no avail.
"Tristan! Balan! I hadn't seen you there!" Arthur greeted kindly.
"Arthur," Tristan nodded, standing up.
Balan followed Tristan as he walked over to speak with Arthur.
"Tristan, I would be grateful for your opinion on a certain matter," Arthur began. "I have spoken with Lancelot and Bedivere and I would like to hear your view on it as well. Do you have a moment?"
Tristan turned to Balan.
"Go to the armoury and get my weapons, your sword, your bow and two full quivers. Take them to the practice yard. You can practise with my bow until I come to you."
Balan's eyes widened. He turned and ran from the stables. He could practise with Tristan's bow! He hoped that his conversation with Arthur would last long!
Tristan and Balan had spent most of the evening sitting in a dark corner of the tavern, away from the other knights. The trick with the shadows worked almost as well in the tavern as it had in the stables. Of course some people did see them. But nobody seemed to take notice so far.
Tristan put a piece of wood in Balan's hand.
"Take your knife out, boy. Whittle."
"I don't know how to whittle," Balan protested.
"Then learn it," Tristan replied, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Balan began to carve at random.
"Keep looking around, boy," Tristan commented.
Balan kept his focus on the piece of wood for a minute, but then he casually raised his head and glanced around. The soldiers were still seated where they had been earlier, Gawain threw his hands in the air and laughed loudly, Vanora slapped a pawing hand away from her behind and the two new Optios were chatting up one of the barmaids.
"Now carve again," Tristan said in his ear.
Balan obeyed.
"Keep yourself occupied like this, boy. Make it seem as if your focus is with your carving, then no-one will suspect you when you look around."
Tristan shifted in his seat.
"Listen closely, boy. I'm going to get us a drink. Stay here and don't get on anyone's nerves. Make sure no-one sees that you're observing them. I haven't informed the others that we're here tonight, which means they won't be looking out for you. Stay alert, for I can't look back at you either. It would give you away. You'll be on your own."
Balan nodded.
"If you get into bad trouble, call my name as loudly as you can," Tristan said. And he was off.
Balan kept on carving, occasionally looking around the tavern. He noticed that Tristan had been held up at the knights' tables.
He had just returned to his whittling, when four shadows appeared in front of him.
"Well, well, well. Look who we have here!"
Balan's hair stood on end at the sound of that sneering voice.
He slowly raised his head and looked straight into Lanolan's eyes with as much contempt as he could muster.
"Unchaperoned in the tavern and not even seventeen?" Lanolan asked nastily. "You have become too full of yourself since Tristan started taking you here at night. Tell me...did you really believe that you would get away with it?"
His companions, Sidain, Nerwic and Beril, three of the older Sarmatian boys in training, sniggered.
"I think that I will report you to Ruccius, Balan," Lanolan whispered. "Let's see what he thinks of your audacity. Just know that I will stay and listen while he whips your back raw and bloody. Perhaps even offer to take you to the infirmary afterwards. It will be my ... pleasure."
"Where is Aggs?" Balan asked, unfazed by Lanolan's threats. "I do not see his head up your behind tonight. Has one of your flunkies left you? Don't tell me he has finally come to his senses."
Lanolan's face contorted with rage at Balan's insolence and he clenched his fists, ready to strike. Sidain, Beril and Nerwic glared dangerously. But none of them was willing to be provoked by an eleven-year-old. It would only lead to trouble. If they caused a brawl and it led to a tavern fight, Ruccius would let them be whipped alongside the runt. It was safer to simply report him.
Lanolan made to grab Balan's arms to drag him out of the tavern, when Tristan appeared out of nowhere with a jug and two mugs. He frowned at the boys.
"No conversation, Balan," he said curtly, shooing the older boys away with a glare.
He handed Balan one of the mugs and filled it with apple juice from the jug.
"Put your knife away. Make it seem as if your focus is with your drink," he ordered.
Balan returned his attention to his training. He sipped his drink and tried to relax. He belonged here and no-one was going to notice him, he said to himself. He looked up to see Nerwic make a rude gesture. Lanolan sent him an ominous glare from the other side of the tavern.
He shrugged. It had been like this ever since he had first arrived. It couldn't be helped.
Author's note:
This chapter continues below. But before you continue, read the following:
Warning! The last part of this chapter contains the sexual harassment of a child by a drunken adult. It also contains some adult-child conversation about sexuality afterwards. If you are offended by such content, DO NOT READ ON!
You do not need to read the last part of this chapter in order to understand the rest of the story!
(end of author's note)
Several days later Balan was alone in the tavern again, when a woman with a very low-necked dress approached him.
"Hey sweetie," she said, swaying a little as she sat down beside him. "Mind if I join you?"
She smelled strongly of ale. Balan's eyes went to the woman's belt. Like most other tavern wenches, she carried a knife. He would have to be careful.
"Are you alone tonight, handsome?" she asked huskily.
Balan blushed.
The woman wrapped her arm around his waist and pulled him closer. He carefully tried to worm himself out of her grip, but she held him tight.
"I am alone tonight," she sighed wistfully. "Will you keep me company?"
Balan glanced around the tavern to see if Tristan had already returned. Bors lay sprawled under the knights' table, too drunk to get up; he wouldn't be of any help, either.
"I hear that you are becoming a great knight, Sir Balan," the woman whispered. "Your mother will be so proud of you."
She fingered his hair. Balan looked the other way and said nothing.
"Do you miss your mother, Balan? Do you remember how she kissed you goodnight when you were little?"
She softly planted a kiss on his forehead and briefly licked his skin as she did so.
Balan grimaced but kept an eye on her knife, hoping she wouldn't draw it on him.
"Do you remember how your mother cradled you in her arms?" the woman crooned.
Before Balan could stop her, the woman pulled him tightly against her chest, cradling him as if he were a baby.
He tried to squirm out of her grip, but she didn't let go. Her breasts were almost in his face and he began to feel very … uncomfortable. He stared right at the barely covered, round, warm, creamy white, soft-looking breasts in front of his nose.
"Aaahh!" the woman smiled. "I see that you have a taste for what I have in my dress, young man. Tell me," she continued in a whispered. "Would you like to touch them?"
Balan gulped.
"Do you remember how you drank from your mother's breasts when you were a baby?"
Balan thought of Gilly. Surely Vanora would never talk to him like this?
"You will become a man soon, Balan. Did you know that it gives grown men great pleasure to suck a woman's breasts?"
Balan squirmed to get away from her, but she pulled his face closer to her heaving bosom.
"No ma'am, please," he pleaded. But she crooned and told him to be quiet.
"Lick them, Balan. Touch them! Tell me that you like them!"
The more he resisted, the more desperate she became.
Suddenly two strong hands freed him from the woman's grasp and he was pulled to his feet. A loud smack reverberated through the tavern and the woman fell to the ground, clutching her face.
When she got up, Balan saw that she had Tristan's handprint across her face.
"If I see you near him within the next four years, no-one will ever enjoy looking at your face again after I am done with you. Do I make myself clear?" Tristan snarled.
The woman fearfully backed away from the scout and hurried to leave the tavern.
"Come, boy," Tristan said curtly. He pushed the boy to the knights' tables, which were nearly empty by now.
As Balan made to sit down beside a very drunken Bors, Tristan roughly grabbed Lancelot's tunic and jerked the knight's face out of a pretty woman's neck.
"What…?!" was all that Lancelot managed to shout, before Tristan's fist landed squarely on his jaw.
"I asked you to watch the boy!" Tristan snarled angrily.
He turned around and motioned for Balan to follow him out of the tavern.
Balan silently followed a fuming Tristan back to their room.
Tristan threw a log into the fire and sat down in his chair. He rubbed his knuckles as he angrily thought about Lancelot. He had only been away from the tavern for a short while. It couldn't have been too hard not to let oneself be distracted by a woman in that time. Specifically when watching a young boy!
"Are you going to beat me?" Balan asked nervously.
Tristan looked up, returning to the present moment. "No, boy," he said. "Go to bed."
He stared into the fire.
Dagonet had already gone to his room when he had left the tavern. Bedivere had been dragging a drunken Gawain to his quarters and Agravaine had declined his request to watch the boy. Bors had been too drunk, so Lancelot had been the only option.
Tristan knew, of course, that Lancelot had a hard time keeping his eyes off anything female. Especially after a few drinks. But he had thought better of the arrogant knight. He knew better. Lancelot was perfectly capable of controlling himself if need arose. Had the fort been attacked that evening, Lancelot would have sobered up instantly. He would have taken charge until their officers would have taken over, and he would have delivered a spectacular fight.
But the boy's safety had not been enough cause for the knight to sober up. Not even to simply stay alert.
Tristan frowned. He would speak with Lancelot in the morning.
"Tristan?"
"Yes Balan?"
He looked up to see two dark, insecure eyes asking for some clarity in the evening's confusion.
"Why did she do that?" Balan asked uncertainly.
"She was drunk and she was lonely, boy. She didn't find anyone whose bed she could warm for the night. She did not mean you any harm."
"Then why did you hit her?"
"Because the attentions that she gave you should not be given to eleven-year-old boys."
"I'll be twelve next month," Balan said pointedly.
"That's still too young," Tristan replied.
Balan was quiet for a moment.
"Can I still come into the tavern?" he asked, a little worried.
"Yes, boy. I will keep the women away from you."
Satisfied, Balan laid his head down on his mattress and thought about Tristan's words. Suddenly he lifted up his head again.
"But not Vanora!" he said urgently.
Tristan bit back a grin.
"Sleep now, boy. Not Vanora."
Silence returned to the room. When the fire began to die, Tristan stretched his arms and decided to go to bed as well. He took off his boots and his breeches, and pulled off his shirt.
"Tristan?"
Tristan ignored Balan, surprised that the boy was still awake. He blew out the candles and got into bed.
"Tristan?" Balan's voice came hesitantly. "Do you enjoy sucking women's breasts?"
Tristan's dry laugh exploded into the room before he could suppress it. It took him a moment to contain himself.
"That's none of your business, boy. If you don't sleep I will beat your butt."
His eyes still twinkled with mirth while he listened to Balan turning around in his bed. The room became quiet again.
He smiled into the darkness. The boy would grow up soon enough.