41 Seeds
Author's note: Sachita and The Saintlike Weasley, thank you so much for your reviews and support! The Saintlike Weasley: There will be light at the end of the tunnel.
Balan remained in the infirmary until the surgeon was certain that he would not develop a fever from his wounds. The healers repeatedly poured honey on Balan's broken skin to stave off infection. Whether due to Balan's youth and resilience or to the mercy of his mother's gods, the dreaded fever never came. On the morning of the third day the surgeon permitted him to return to his room.
Balan quietly sat on a bale of straw in the practice yard, watching the knights at practice. In the previous hours he had run some errands for the older knights and he had delivered a few messages for Arthur. Bors thirstily drained the last drops from his waterskin and pushed it into Balan's hands. "Your turn to do the water run today, boy," he said. "Don't tell me you can't do it! You're Sarmatian! You're strong! Here, take these as well." Bors handed Balan three more waterskins and sent him on his way.
It always fell to the youngest cavalry boys to fill the waterskins of the older knights during practice. Balan had shared this duty with Pelleas and Galahad for as long as he had lived in the fort. His feet automatically carried him down the main street towards the tavern. The Romans had built waterways into the fort from a nearby brook. The merry stream filled four enormous cisterns and also ran through shallow water channels in the streets. A constant flow of water ran through the waste channels of the latrines and flushed sewage out of the fort through an underground channel. Balan had been told that this was supposed to keep out disease. For drinking water there was a well behind the tavern and another one near the soldiers' barracks. These two wells were popular gathering places, where people came together to gossip and chat while awaiting their turn.
Balan deposited the four waterskins on a bench beside the well and lowered the bucket into the water. He reached up to turn the winch and winced when his tunic chafed his aching back. Slowly the bucket rose to the top of the well. Balan reached out and pulled the heavy bucket over the edge and onto the bench. Trying hard not to spill his water, he filled the waterskins.
"Balan!" sounded a cheerful voice behind him. His face lit up: Vanora!
He spun around and was pulled into a motherly embrace.
"Ouch!" he protested.
"Don't be such a baby," teased Vanora. But she released him and patted his cheek fondly. "How is your back?"
"The surgeon says that I'll have two more scars. The rest will heal just fine."
"Well, that doesn't sound too bad!" said Vanora cheerfully. She put down her bucket.
"Bors was terribly upset after Ruccius made him whip you. He was awake all night, swearing and crying. Don't tell him that I told you, though," she laughed.
Balan lowered the bucket back into the well and turned the winch to raise the bucket once more. When it reached the top he emptied it into Vanora's bucket.
"You're a good boy," she smiled, stroking his hair. "Listen, I need to fetch eight buckets of water into the tavern. Do you have time to help me?"
Balan carried the full bucket into the tavern for her.
"When will the baby come out?" he asked, pointing at her belly.
"In about a month, I hope," she smiled.
"Will the baby have a name, like Gilly? Or a number?" he asked.
Vanora laughed. "Another number, I think." She handed Balan two more buckets and he ran back to the well.
Balan was on his way back to the practice yard when Geraint rode in through the gates. Balan raised his hand in greeting.
"Have you seen Tristan?" he asked the scout.
"Not since we left the fort three days ago," said Geraint gruffly, halting beside him. "Balan, where is Ruccius?"
"Away with one of the infantry units. He'll be back in two days."
"Arthur then?"
"In the practice yard."
"Good, run along and tell him I've got news."
Balan nodded. He shifted the waterskins in his arms and walked in the direction of the practice yard.
"Boy!" Geraint called after him.
Balan looked back.
Geraint pointed to indicate Balan's stiff gait. "Did you get whipped, son?"
Balan felt himself turn red. He lowered his eyes and nodded.
Geraint shook his head in disbelief. "You want to be more careful, lad. You've got enough stripes as it is."
Balan shrugged and said nothing.
Geraint rode on to the stable and Balan went back to the practice yard. After delivering Geraint's message to Arthur he handed the waterskins to Bors, Dagonet, Brumear and Lamorak.
"You took your time," chided Dagonet.
"I helped Vanora with a few buckets," said Balan.
"That's my boy!" praised Bors. He took a large swig from his waterskin and grimaced.
"Urgh! This tastes revolting! Did you piss in it?"
Balan chuckled and shook his head. Dagonet, Brumear and Lamorak also made faces at their water, but as they were thirsty they drank it anyway.
Balan collected more waterskins and left the practice yard to fill them.
One hour later
Bors was not his usual self. He rested his hands on his knees. Twice now had he failed to parry a simple blow from Dagonet. He felt dizzy and his head seemed ready to burst. Dagonet was leaning heavily against the wall and had trouble breathing. Bors sat down on the ground and muttered, "I feel like I've had too much ale."
From the far end of the practice yard the sound of retching reached their ears. Lamorak was vomiting between the archery targets. He crouched down on all fours and heaved as if his life depended on it. Brumear leant heavily on his spear. The broad, blond knight had gone all pale and clammy. "My tongue and mouth feel numb," he mumbled.
Without warning Dagonet sank down to the ground.
Alarmed, the knights stopped sparring and ran to their friends.
"What's happening?!" someone called.
"Fetch a healer!" shouted another.
"Call Arthur," ordered Lancelot.
Bors groaned and vomited all over himself. Gaheris and Gareth grabbed him by the arms and turned him around.
Lancelot tried to revive Dagonet, but the giant did not respond.
Sidain and Pelleas pulled Lamorak to his feet, but Lamorak couldn't stand without support. With a dull thud, Brumear passed out behind them.
Arthur came sprinting into the practice yard. He exchanged a few words with Lancelot and bellowed, "Take them to the infirmary. Hurry!"
Four knights were needed to carry Dagonet to the infirmary and another four for Bors. Brumear was carried away by six men, and Sidain and Pelleas more or less dragged Lamorak out of the practice yard.
Galahad and Aggs remained behind and stared after them anxiously.
Arthur and Lancelot spoke in hushed tones, their faces grave.
Galahad and Aggs hovered awkwardly in a corner of the practice yard, unsure what to do.
At that moment Balan returned from the armoury, carrying a bundle of fresh arrows. He stared around in wonder. "Where is everybody?" he asked.
Arthur and Lancelot turned to look at him.
"Come here, Balan," said Arthur sternly.
Balan approached them warily. What was going on?
Lancelot seized Balan by his cloak and shook him roughly. "The water you fetched for Bors, Dagonet, Lamorak and Brumear tasted bad. Why?"
Bewildered, Balan stared from Lancelot to Arthur.
"I don't know," he said.
"All four of them are very ill. What did you do!?" demanded Lancelot.
Balan's eyes widened in horror. "They're ill? What happened?"
Arthur grabbed Balan's shoulders and looked him straight in the eye.
"That is what I want you to tell me."
Balan's mind went blank. It was true that the water had tasted bad, but that was not uncommon. Had the men gotten ill from drinking the water? Alarmed, he looked up at Arthur.
"Do you think that someone poisoned the well?" he asked nervously. Cold dread gripped him when he thought of Vanora and the eight buckets of water.
"Why did nobody else get ill, then?" asked Lancelot sarcastically. "The water you gave me tasted just fine."
"Tell the truth, Balan," said Arthur sternly.
Balan looked up into Arthur's eyes. "I am telling the truth!"
Lancelot picked up Bors's waterskin. He opened it and sniffed the contents, then turned it upside down. A brownish liquid spilled out, as well as several tiny brown and wrinkled things.
Balan stared at them.
"Raisins?" he asked, bewildered. "How could raisins make them ill?"
Lancelot picked up the small brown things and examined them closely.
"These are not raisins!" he exclaimed. "Arthur!"
He held them out for Arthur to see.
"Wolfsbane seeds," whispered Arthur, horrified.
When he turned to Balan his face was contorted with rage. "How dare you try and poison your brothers!" he bellowed.
Balan involuntarily took a step backwards. "But I didn't…" he protested.
Arthur cut him off with a glare.
"I will deal with you later."
He beckoned to two Roman infantrymen.
"You two, guard him!"
The soldiers obeyed at once. They seized Balan's arms and forced him with his back against the wall.
"Lancelot, come with me to the infirmary. Hurry!" said Arthur.
Fear gripped Balan's heart when Arthur and Lancelot ran out of the practice yard as if the devil were behind them.
"What is Wolfsbane?" he asked his guards, dreading the answer.
"Silence!" barked the tallest soldier. He held Balan's arms behind his back so that his colleague could disarm Balan.
Balan did not protest. Arthur's response to the Wolfsbane seeds terrified him. Were Bors and Dagonet going to die? His eyes went to Aggs and Galahad, who stared at him from the other side of the practice yard. Galahad had wrapped his arms around himself, something he always did when he felt uncomfortable. There was disbelief and doubt in Galahad's eyes.
Balan felt lonely. He longed for Tristan's return. Tristan would know the answer to this strange turn of events. Tristan would know how to help him.
After giving the Wolfsbane seeds to the surgeon, Arthur and Lancelot waited in a corridor of the infirmary. Arthur pulled Lancelot into an alcove.
"Why is he doing this?" he asked in a whisper.
Lancelot frowned and shook his head. "Revenge, for the whipping Bors gave him?"
"But why the others? Why them as well?" asked Arthur urgently.
Lancelot said nothing. He wondered if he had misjudged Balan. He never would have sought this in the boy. Balan had always seemed so kind.
"Arthur!"
The surgeon stuck his head through the door and beckoned them in.
The four knights lay on infirmary beds in a small room. They were unconscious and were tended to by healers.
"How are they?" asked Arthur.
"It's too soon to say," said the surgeon. "But I have hope that they will live. The poison was in the water they drank. But it seems that none of them swallowed the actual seeds. If they had done so, you'd be up on the hill digging four graves by now."
Arthur and Lancelot exchanged dark glances.
"You had better stop whoever is behind this," muttered the surgeon.
Back in the corridor Arthur closed his eyes and tried to decide his next course of action.
"Lancelot, find Geraint. Wolfsbane doesn't grow in these parts. I want to know where Balan got the seeds. He hasn't been far enough from the fort to find them in the wild. There must be a source within the fort. Tell Geraint to find it."
"Balan's mother is a healer. He might have brought the seeds from home," said Lancelot shrewdly. "A stash of poison, for use against potential enemies? We all know that his father spared no effort to arm him against Roman army life."
Arthur looked at him gravely.
"We should let someone search his belongings. Geraint can do it."
As soon as Arthur left the infirmary, he was informed by Jols that Tristan had returned from scouting. Ten minutes later Tristan knocked on the door of Arthur's private quarters.
"Tristan," greeted Arthur wearily. "Please enter, I have much to discuss with you."
Tristan's face remained impassive, but his observant eyes watched Arthur with interest.
"I want to hear the details of your mission later," said Arthur. "Tell me only the important things that cannot wait till morning."
Tristan briefed Arthur on the findings of his excursion. Arthur took in the news, but didn't ask any questions. "We'll deal with it in the morning," he decided. "We had some trouble here today. Have you heard?"
Tristan shrugged. "I'm told four knights were taken to the infirmary."
Arthur nodded. "They were."
"What happened?" asked Tristan in his deep, calm voice.
"Balan poisoned their drinks with Wolfsbane seeds."
Tristan looked up sharply. A frown appeared above his eyes and he wordlessly asked for more information. Arthur relayed the events of the day and also told the scout about the apple cellar.
Tristan grew ever more frustrated when he heard about Balan's transgressions. What the hell had gotten into Balan lately? He had gotten to know the boy as an honest, kind and hardworking kid. Since the situation with the sword Tristan had observed the boy carefully. But Balan had shown no sign that he had changed in any way. The boy appeared to be back to his normal self. So much so, that Tristan had begun to see the mishap with the sword as an unfortunate incident. He cursed inwardly. Skipping practice to steal apples was one thing. But poisoning four knights? Had he been so wrong about the boy?
Arthur looked at Tristan gravely. "I don't know what brings about this behaviour in him, but I want you to stop it. Find a way."
Tristan nodded.
Arthur walked to the door.
"As for today, I want you to whip him hard. I doubt that he knew what risk he took. He seemed genuinely surprised by our anger. He may not have known that the seeds were poisonous. Perhaps it was only a boyish prank on his part. But he must know that he can never repeat this. Ever!"
Tristan nodded grimly. He was determined to put a stop to Balan's misbehaviour. The boy would find out that such blatant disobedience would not do for as long as he trained with Tristan.
Down in the practice yard Balan sat on the ground, huddled in his cloak. He rested his head against an empty barrel and sighed. He was worried sick about Bors and the others. Galahad and Aggs had left the practice yard hours ago. It was getting dark and his guards refused to talk to him. He felt lonely.
Finally he heard footsteps approach. Arthur marched into the practice yard, closely followed by – Balan's heart leapt for joy – Tristan!
Balan jumped to his feet.
"How is Bors?" he blurted out, before Arthur had even reached him. "And Dag? And Bru? And L..."
Arthur looked at him venomously.
"They will live," he said curtly.
Balan buried his face in his hands and tears of relief filled his eyes.
Arthur registered Balan's response, but chose to ignore it.
"Go with Tristan, Balan," he said coldly. "I have ordered him to whip you. If you ever poison another person, I will personally make sure that you are locked up in the darkest cell that can be found. Do I make myself clear?!"
"I did not put those seeds in the waterskins!" Balan burst out angrily. He trembled with indignation.
"Don't lie to me, Balan!" bellowed Arthur. "All morning the knights drank from those waterskins and they were fine! It was only after you refilled them that the men got ill!"
"I am not lying!" yelled Balan.
"Then explain how those seeds got into the waterskins," demanded Arthur hotly.
Balan fell silent. He racked his brain for an answer. "I don't know," he muttered timidly.
Arthur nodded. The boy's answer was no different than what he expected.
Balan's anger flared up again. "I did not do it, though!" he said vehemently.
Arthur looked at him with disbelief. "Of course not," he said testily. "Tristan, take him away."
Tristan nodded and motioned for Balan to leave the practice yard.
Balan glared at Arthur. He made no move to comply.
Tristan put his hand in Balan's neck and urged him in the direction of the knights' quarters.
Arthur stared at them coldly.
Flaring up, Balan spat on the ground in front of Arthur's feet. Tristan cuffed Balan's ear, but Balan lost his temper.
"I hate Romans!" he screamed. His high boyish voice echoed through the deserted practice yard. Above them on the wall several sentries turned to look down.
Arthur clenched his fists to control his anger. "Do not sass me, Balan!" he bellowed.
Tristan grasped Balan firmly by the back of his cloak and pushed the boy out of the practice yard.
In Tristan's room Balan seized a water jug and hurled it into the fireplace, where it shattered.
"This is the third time I get whipped for something I didn't do!" he raged.
Tristan ignored Balan's fury. He pointed at the shards of the broken jug. "You'll pay for that," he said calmly. He took off his cloak and began to remove his gear.
Balan paced around the room. He wanted to know who was trying so hard to frame him. Bors had been poisoned, and Dag. And they all thought that he had done it. Tears burnt in his eyes.
He watched nervously as Tristan unpacked his bag and placed his hunting tools and healing kit on a shelf. Balan saw calm determination and detachment in Tristan's eyes, there was no sign of cold fury; no bloodlust. Strangely, this comforted him. Despite the fact that the scout was about to whip him, he knew that he could trust Tristan. Balan bit his lip. The resolute expression on Tristan's face told him there was no escape from this next whipping. Cursing inwardly, he took off his cloak and fumbled with the laces of his vest.
Tristan lit the oil lamps and ordered Balan to light the fire. It didn't take Balan long to get a good fire going. Grateful for the heat, he stared into the flames. He added another log and got to his feet.
Tristan downed the last water from his waterskin. Then he took off his belt. With a barely perceptible nod of his head he ordered Balan to lie down on his bed.
Balan clenched his fists.
"I swear I did not do it," he repeated.
"Be quiet, boy."
Tristan looked at Balan expectantly.
Balan recognized the warning in Tristan's eyes. He knew full well that resisting would only make it worse. Defeated, he walked to the bed. He gingerly took off his tunic and lay down. A tear escaped him as he awaited the lash of Tristan's belt.
Upon seeing Balan's ravaged back, Tristan hissed between his teeth. Bors had been harsh with the boy. This was a severe punishment for being late, even for the overly disciplined Romans. He examined Balan's back carefully. Between dark, large bruises and angry purple welts, the boy's skin was swollen and red. Long, thin cuts crisscrossed from the boy's shoulders down to his hips. Two deeper cuts had widened and would likely form scars. But there was no sign of infection. Someone must have looked after the boy and cleaned his wounds after his whipping.
He laid a calm hand on Balan's head.
"I cannot whip your back. I'll do the back of your legs."
Balan nodded into his blanket. He felt immensely relieved that Tristan would not whip his back. But at the moment he had other concerns, for Tristan took a step back and raised his arm. Balan braced himself.
Tristan's belt whistled through the air and cracked down on the back of Balan's breeches. Balan hissed and bit his blanket to keep himself from crying out.
Tristan stopped. He picked up Balan's belt and handed it to him.
"Here, bite this."
Balan bit down on his belt while Tristan thrashed the back of his legs. But he did not manage to keep his composure. The accusations, the severe thrashings, it was simply too much for him. The tears that had spilled before became a flood. He cried out in pain with each lash that hit his legs and in between he wept with ragged sobs.
Tristan was unmoved. The boy shouldn't have done what he did. He was reaping his reward.
Tristan sat in his chair by the fire, cleaning his weapons.
Balan lay on his front in bed. His body hurt from his shoulders all the way down to his calves and he stared numbly into the fire.
Tristan observed him intently.
"Why do you do these things, boy? It's nothing like you."
"I didn't do anything! I did not put those seeds in."
"Did you let the waterskins out of your sight?"
"No! … Yes, I carried a few buckets of water into the tavern for Vanora. I left them beside the well."
Tristan turned his attention back to his knives and mulled over Balan's words. It was possible that someone else had poisoned the water. But who? And how? Balan had not left the waterskins unattended long enough for someone to spot them, fetch the Wolfsbane seeds from their quarters and return to add them to the waterskins. If someone else had done it, they had to have been prepared. They had to have carried the seeds on their person and they must have been waiting for the daily water run to do it.
It was possible. But not very likely.
He glanced at Balan, who had drifted off to sleep. He wondered whether he should believe the boy. Young boys often told lies to avoid a whipping. But Balan had already been whipped and he still maintained his innocence. Could Balan be telling the truth?
To be continued…