38 Weapons

"Come on, Balan! Try again!" called Dagonet.

Balan grimaced and averted his eyes.

Dagonet exchanged a glance with Bors. They were practicing battle skills on the fields outside the fort, but Balan refused to comply. Bors rolled his eyes and dismounted. He had recognized the mulish expression on Balan's face: the boy was digging in his heels. Bors knew that he was in for a battle of wills.

As he stomped towards the boy, he weighed his options. He could beat the boy into submission, but he knew that it wouldn't work. Not now. If Balan meant to resist, he would endure a lengthy beating without giving in. Bors had grown wary of this self-destructive side of the boy. Balan's father had encouraged him to resist and endure pain if he believed it was worth it. But Bors was fond of the young lad and preferred not to thrash him. At least not so hard, not if he could help it.

He stopped next to Balan's horse and chortled when Balan looked away.

"I can't blame ye for hating it, boy," he said good-naturedly. "But you'll have to try again. No use fighting it."

Balan glowered.

"No use trying, either," he said bitterly.

"You can't always have fun, boy. Life in this place sucks. Get used to it," shrugged Bors.

Balan's eyes narrowed.

"Everyone knows that I can't do it. Even Arthur agrees that I'm not strong enough. Then why do I have to keep trying?"

"You just have to. Now come here, you!"

Bors reached up to box the boy's ears, but Balan quickly urged his horse sideways and managed to stay out of his reach. Bors chuckled and grabbed the reins to prevent the horse from backing away, then pulled the boy's head down for two hearty slaps on the ears. He ruffled Balan's hair fondly.

"Come on now, lad. Do it for old Bors, eh?" he coaxed kindly.

Balan glared and said nothing. He shot a sideways glance at Bors. The older knight had become something like an uncle to him. Balan was very fond of Bors and now that Bors appealed to their friendship, he could not bring himself to disappoint him. He sighed angrily and wiped his hair from his face.

"All right," he muttered.

"That's my boy!" smiled Bors, handing Balan his sword. "Go for it, lad!" He slapped Balan's horse on the rump and Balan galloped away.

Bors grinned triumphantly at Dagonet. Dagonet smiled. He was glad that it hadn't come to blows. Crisis averted…for now.

In the distance Balan reined in his horse and turned around.

"Ríííííde!" Bors bellowed, raising his arm.

Balan kicked his horse into a gallop and stormed back towards the two knights. A few yards behind them stood a man-high warrior made of straw and clay.

"Faster!" shouted Dagonet.

"Kill him, lad!" yelled Bors. "Rúúúúúús! Aa-ie aa-ie aah!"

Spurred on by their cries, Balan galloped even faster and drew his sword.

"Swing!" bellowed Dagonet. "Now!"

Balan swung his sword forward and rammed it into the dummy with all force that he could muster. The impact knocked the sword out of his hand and it fell to the ground.

Scowling, Balan reined in his horse and returned to the two knights.

"Well done," said Dagonet kindly.

"That was a good try," praised Bors. He smiled ruefully. "You know the rules, lad. Two penalty rounds."

Balan muttered curses under his breath and dismounted. The Romans were very firm about their rules regarding practice, one of them being 'If you drop your sword, you die.' Balan spat on the ground. His sword arm and hand weren't strong enough to withstand the impact of the dummy, his sword always fell. But if he slowed down, or hit less hard, to keep a better grip on his sword, it also resulted in penalty rounds. Therefore he kept finding himself running penalty rounds, no matter what he did.

He briefly considered refusing to run. But then he saw Tristan look at him from afar, and thought better of it. He retrieved his sword and handed it to Dagonet. Then he ran away.

The knights spent the entire day practicing offensive battle skills on the fields outside the fort.

Towards the end of the afternoon Balan sat on a bale of straw and watched Tristan spar with Arthur. The two men advanced and parried with astonishing speed. Their blades sang and the passes, lunges and pivots followed one another so rapidly that Balan hardly had time to distinguish them. He watched with interest until the buccina sounded the next watch and the end of practice. The knights gathered their weapons and gear, and rode back to the fort.

Tristan took Balan aside.

"Don't make trouble again, boy," he said sternly. "Bors and Dagonet are training you. Obey them."

"I did!" Balan protested.

Tristan snorted.

"Skip the scowling and glowering next time," he admonished.

Balan lowered his eyes and nodded meekly.

Upon reaching the gate they were met with loud giggles from Bors's children.

"Balan! Balan!" squealed Two. The little girl held out her arms to him. Balan laughed and reached down to lift the five-year-old onto his horse. She snuggled in his arms with a happy smile.

"Baláááááán! My turn!" screamed Four. The three-year-old yanked at his foot as she ran beside his horse, her eyes blazing with fury.

Bors reached down and scooped the little vixen off the ground.

"Where is your mother?" he demanded from the little girl. "You shouldn't be here without her!"

"Mama is tired," piped up Two. "She made us take Four and Gilly to the nurse. But One said that we could watch them ourselves."

Bors' eyes widened in horror.

"Gilly, where's my Gilly?!" he asked urgently. "Two, where did your brothers go?" He glanced around for a sign of his children.

"There they are, papa!" Two smiled happily. She pointed at One, who was waiting beside the entrance of the stable with Gilly on his hip.

Bors sent his eldest son a threatening glare when he rode into the stable. He left his horse in Dagonet's care and marched outside to deal with One. Balan followed with Two and Four.

Bors took Gilly in his arms and dragged One by his ear to the nurse's small apartment. Balan spotted Three behind the dunghill. The four-year-old was totally immersed in a game of catching mice. Balan called him, but Three stuck out his tongue and ignored him. "Three! Get your butt here if you know what's good for you!" roared Bors. The boy scowled, but he let the mouse escape and hurried after his father.

Bors deposited his four youngest children in the nurse's care and took One outside. "Your mother's going to give you a thrashing," he said to the seven-year-old. "But since she's too tired to do it properly, I'll give her a start." Without another word he put his son across his knee and vented his anger on the boy's backside.

Balan winced and hastily returned to the stable.

He had just carried his saddle to the tack room when Arthur entered the stable and informed Tristan, Bedivere and Geraint that Ruccius had sent for them.

Tristan turned to Balan.

"Take care of the horses. Clean my weapons and return them to the armoury for me."

Then, in a move no-one had anticipated, Tristan handed the curved sword to Balan.

"Here, this as well."

The scout turned on his heel and stalked away.

Balan stared open-mouthed at the blade in his hands. Never before had Tristan left him alone with the curved sword. He had only been allowed to carry it – under Tristan's watchful eye - which had been a great honour, for Tristan never let anyone touch his sword. To be entrusted with Tristan's sword like this was a privilege he had not expected.

From every corner of the stable knights were watching him.

"Coming from Tristan, that is a vote of confidence," said a voice in his ear. Lancelot looked intently at Balan. "Be sure to repay him for it and take good care of that sword." Lancelot patted Balan's shoulder and left the stable.

Balan placed the sword carefully on a wooden bench, together with Tristan's bow, dagger and long-knives. He brushed down the horses and picked out their hooves. After the animals had been fed and watered, Balan fetched some dry rags and oil cloths. He had a plan. He would not merely clean Tristan's weapons, he would also oil them. It was a lot of work, but he wanted to do something extra in return for the trust that Tristan had given him.

The following morning it rained and a damp chill hung between the buildings of the fort. Tristan and Balan shivered when they entered the tavern for breakfast. Balan ate ravenously, as he had skipped supper the previous night to finish his work. He was just reaching for another piece of bread, when Jols entered the tavern.

"Tristan, Balan, you had better come to the stable."

Alarmed by the grave expression on Jols' face, Tristan and Balan abandoned their breakfast and hurried after him. Balan was worried sick. Had anything happened to one of the horses? He wanted to ask Jols, but Tristan did not ask Jols anything, therefore Balan knew that he was not to ask either.

When they entered the stable they were met with many solemn stares from the other knights. Balan saw Arthur and Lancelot near the stall of his stallion and his heart sank. He gazed intently at the stall behind them, but his stallion was chomping on some hay and appeared to be doing just fine. Balan swallowed nervously. It was clear that something was amiss. But what?

Arthur looked at him gravely and then looked down. Balan followed his gaze. In front of Arthur's feet was a large muddy puddle, right beneath a leak in the roof of the stable. Balan had been avoiding the muddy patch for weeks, as it was right in front of his stall. Frowning, Balan noticed that several weapons lay discarded carelessly in the mud. When he got closer he recognized his own bow and his axe, and Tristan's long knives. His eyes widened in disbelief. Then his heart skipped a beat and his mouth opened in horror. Half-submerged in the muddy water lay Tristan's curved sword…

Balan was frozen with shock. He felt Tristan's eyes on him and turned to look, but Tristan pushed past him and picked up his sword from the mud. Balan wanted to say something, but Tristan exuded an air of cold fury.

"You disappoint me, Balan," said Arthur.

Balan opened his mouth to protest, but Arthur silenced him with a glare.

"In all my years in the army I have never known a young recruit to take such excellent care of his weapons as you. And yet on the day you are entrusted with your brother's weapons, you have the nerve to dump them in a puddle like this."

"But I didn't…" stammered Balan.

"Be quiet!" bellowed Arthur. "There is no excuse for leaving weapons on the ground like this! This is a military post. Weapons must be kept in good condition at all times. Any weapon not in use is to be stored where it belongs. You were tasked with cleaning these weapons and returning them to the armoury. And yet you failed to do so!"

The knights quietly went about their business in the stable. An air of anxious anticipation hung in the air. Nearly all of them had been there. The Romans were extremely disciplined where weapons were concerned and the rules were enforced with harsh punishments. Most of the knights had tasted the whip at some point for forgetting a sword or knife after practice. But none of them had been trained by Tristan.

Lancelot stared at Balan and shook his head in disbelief. How Balan could have left the sword in the mud, was beyond him. Tristan all but killed anyone who dared so much as touch his sword. He glanced at the unreadable face of the scout. Balan had better pray to his mother's gods.

Tristan sat on a bench on the opposite side of the stable and examined his sword. He had wiped off the mud and dried the blade. He turned it in the dim light from the windows, but it was hard to assess the damage without proper daylight.

He shot a calculating glance at Balan. Had he misjudged the boy?

Up until now, Balan had been very reliable when it came to care of weapons. Tristan knew that Balan's father had had a firm hand in this. From an early age Balan had been instilled with the importance of caring for his weapons. Tristan knew that he could entrust the boy with his weapons and last night the moment had seemed right to give the boy his confidence. And yet the boy had failed him...

He glared angrily. Something must have happened. Perhaps the boy had been distracted? Whatever the cause, Balan would pay.

Arthur looked down at Balan. "You know the rules. You will be whipped and you will receive half-pay for two weeks."

Balan had quietly endured the tirade, but now he looked Arthur straight in the eye.

"I didn't do this!" he said angrily. "I returned all of these weapons to the armoury!"

"In your dreams, boy?" jeered one of the knights from the stalls.

Arthur glanced from Balan to the weapons that lay scattered in the mud. During his years in the military he had become familiar with a plethora of excuses and he was inclined to ignore Balan's protest. But something held him back. He hesitated. What if the boy spoke the truth? Was it likely that someone had taken a bunch of weapons from the armoury, only to leave them here in the mud? Arthur steeled himself.

"All evidence points to the contrary, Balan."

He looked across the stable.

"Tristan, make sure that he never repeats it."

Tristan nodded grimly.

Arthur turned on his heel and left the stable.

TBC