45 Scapegoat 2
This is part 2! I posted two chapters at once, read part 1 (chapter 44) first. ;)
Lancelot looked up when Balan entered the tavern and said loudly, "Let me move my knives to safety. Our resident burglar has just arrived."
Laughter rose up from the knights' table and several knights drew their possessions closer, as if afraid that Balan would steal them.
Balan glowered and walked to the counter to get his breakfast. He tucked his food beneath his cloak and hurried to exit the tavern.
"Oi! What's he hiding beneath his cloak? Don't say he's been thieving again!" called Gaheris from the knights' table.
"Seize him!" called Lamorak.
Balan glanced over his shoulder and saw several knights jump up to come after him. Holding tight to his food he sprinted away. Dashing between soldiers and merchants he glanced around for a place to hide, but he overlooked Bors coming out of a side street.
"Who are you running away from?" demanded Bors, seizing Balan by the neck of his cloak.
Balan fumed and said nothing.
Bors pointed at Balan's cloak "What have you got there?"
"Nothing!" spat Balan. "Just my breakfast."
Bors looked at him suspiciously.
"Why do you hide it then? Did you steal it?"
"No!" said Balan angrily. "I just don't want the others to take it from me."
Bors glanced at Lamorak, Gaheris and Brumear, who watched from a distance.
"Oh ho!" he mocked. "Let me see what you've got there."
Bors pulled back Balan's cloak and chuckled when he saw Balan's breakfast. "Give me that," he demanded. He grabbed Balan's apple and took a large bite. Then he tore a small piece off Balan's bread and threw the rest of it in a puddle. Finally he confiscated Balan's meat pie.
Gaheris and Lamorak grinned.
Bors forced the small piece of bread into Balan's mouth. "There, now nobody can take your food."
He patted Balan on the cheek and walked away.
Balan stormed into the armoury to find Tristan. Skidding to a halt in front of the scout, he burst out, "Bors has taken my food again! The knights all think I'm a thief. But someone else is doing it, and…"
Tristan shoved Balan aside and walked away.
"Tristan!" called Balan.
But Tristan pretended not to hear him.
All morning Tristan refused to train with Balan. The knights did not take away Balan's weapons, but their taunts and bullying were as bad as before. Balan trained on his own. He rammed his sword against a wooden stake and brooded on ways to make Tristan speak with him.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Tristan walk towards his gear. Here was his chance! Balan reached for his bow, notched an arrow and shot it into the barrel upon which Tristan had deposited his weapons.
Tristan glanced at him briefly, but then averted his gaze.
Balan notched another arrow. It hit the ground between Tristan's feet, but the scout ignored it completely.
The knights spent the afternoon out on the fields for an intensive training on horseback. Sweaty and splattered with mud they returned to the fort.
Balan lingered in the stable. The others had long since left, but Tristan was still at work, trimming his stallion's hooves. Balan hovered nearby. He had tried to initiate conversation, but Tristan still ignored him.
"I know that you can hear me," he muttered angrily.
Balan sighed and took his bridle to the tack room. Perhaps it was better to give up. Supper would be served at the next call of the buccina and he was hungry. At that moment Tristan walked in with his saddle in his hands. Balan quickly climbed up onto the last free saddle rack and looked down with a determined glare.
Tristan growled.
"Move!" he warned.
"No!" said Balan. "I want you to talk to me. I need your help!"
Tristan rolled his eyes. He put down his saddle and roughly pulled Balan down from the saddle rack. Balan tried to hold on, but Tristan was much stronger.
Tristan laid his saddle on the rack and returned to his stall with Balan at his heels.
"Why won't you listen to me?" said Balan angrily. "Someone has it in for me. I keep getting whipped and punished. And yet you do nothing to help me!"
Tristan put his tools away and pretended not to hear.
"Tristan!" cried Balan exasperatedly. He tugged at Tristan's sleeve. But Tristan gathered his weapons and left the stable without a word.
Balan ran after him and followed him down the street. A light drizzle was coming down, but Balan did not care.
"I did not steal those things!" he yelled.
Tristan calmly bit into an apple and did not look back.
Something snapped inside Balan. He picked up a pebble and with a flick of his wrist threw it after the scout, hitting Tristan sharply on the back of the head. Tristan froze, but Balan did not wait for Tristan's response. He drew his sword and bellowed, "Fight me then!" Alerted by the sound of sword-leaving-scabbard, Tristan turned around. Balan stormed forward. He wanted to hurt Tristan, stab him, and cut the infuriatingly stoic expression off his face. Tristan drew his sword and calmly waited for Balan to reach him. In one fluent motion he dodged the boy's first blow, stepped forward to disarm Balan and knocked the boy down.
Balan felt his sword leave his hand and he hit the ground hard. Reacting instinctively, he grabbed a handful of sand and gravel and threw it in Tristan's eyes. Tristan cursed. Unable to see, he reached down to prevent the boy from getting away. Balan rolled aside to avoid Tristan's grasp and crawled backwards to reach his fallen sword, but Tristan pulled him back by his legs and pinned him down with one knee on Balan's chest. Driven by fury, Balan drew Tristan's bootknife and slashed it across Tristan's thigh. But Tristan did not let go. The scout's strong hand found Balan's wrist and twisted it, forcing Balan to drop the knife with a cry of pain.
Tristan turned Balan onto his front, put his knee in the small of Balan's back and, blinking profusely, wiped the tears from his stinging eyes. When he was able to see again he yanked the boy to his feet and dragged him to the practice yard. Balan did not come willingly. He fought and struggled against Tristan's grip and aimed a few vicious kicks at Tristan's kneecaps.
'We've trained him too well,' thought Tristan wryly, grimacing at the pain in his thigh and knees.
In the meantime they had attracted quite an audience. Cheers and insults followed them down the street. Everyone seemed fascinated by the small boy who had taken on the tattooed scout.
"You're dead, boy!" shouted someone.
"Don't give up, lad!" cried another.
"Put that boy back in his place, Tristan!"
"Get him, son!"
"The mite doesn't stand a chance!"
"Pity the boy didn't kill him!"
Several knights emerged from the tavern and joined the crowd.
When they reached the practice yard, Tristan took a coiled rope from a hook in the wall.
Balan twisted and managed to jerk himself free, but Tristan seized Balan's cloak and pulled him back. In the struggle that ensued, Balan sank his teeth in Tristan's arm and didn't stop when he tasted blood.
A loud grunt of pain was followed by a dull thud. Tristan had head-butted Balan and the boy sank limply to the ground.
"You don't bite me! Understand?!" Tristan growled.
Dazed and groggy from the blow to his head, Balan did not resist when Tristan pulled him to his feet.
Tristan was furious. He dragged Balan to the large wooden stakes on the other side of the practice yard, tied the boy's wrists and bound him to a stake with his arms over his head. Then he removed Balan's cloak and belt, yanked the boy's vest, tunic and shirt up over his head and pulled down Balan's breeches, leaving him bare from his shoulders to the top of his boots.
Several onlookers cheered when Tristan took off his belt.
"There you go, boy!" shouted someone in the crowd. "Shouldn't have taken him on!"
"Is Balan going to get it?" piped up the voice of Bors' son One.
Tristan proceeded to give Balan a very harsh whipping. He drew blood, but he did not care. When he finally threw aside his belt, Balan hung limply against the stake, whimpering softly. Tristan grabbed a fistful of Balan's hair. "You can stay here tonight," he growled. Without another look at Balan he picked up his belt and left the practice yard.
It was getting dark. Now that the spectacle was over, the onlookers returned to their fires and meals. Nobody questioned Tristan's verdict. The boy would have to spend the night out in the rain, naked and alone.
Tristan went to the infirmary to suture the gash in his thigh and clean out Balan's bite. He pushed aside a healer who came to his aid, asked for vinegar, needle and thread, and set to work on himself. The surgeon checked on him briefly, but as he knew that Tristan was used to treating his own wounds, he left him alone.
The door opened quietly and Dagonet walked in. He stared at the stitches in Tristan's thigh.
"You should have let the healers do that," he said.
Tristan shrugged and bandaged his leg.
"Will you go back tonight to release Balan?" asked Dagonet.
"No," said Tristan curtly, hoisting up his breeches.
"Tristan…"
Dagonet looked at Tristan imploringly, but Tristan put on his cloak, picked up his gear and stalked out of the room.
"If you don't do it, I will!" called Dagonet after him.
Tristan did not respond. Moments later the door slammed shut.
The drizzle had turned into a downpour when Dagonet hurried back to the practice yard.
"Dagonet!"
Dagonet looked over his shoulder and waited for Arthur to catch up with him.
"Where are you going?"
Dagonet did not respond immediately. He glanced towards the practice yard and wondered how the boy was doing. Would Arthur forbid him to release Balan?
Arthur followed his gaze and nodded.
"Come," he said, leading the way to the practice yard.
Together they untied the shivering, half-conscious boy. When Arthur lifted Balan in his arms, Bedivere and Galahad emerged out of the shadows with a blanket. Dagonet wrapped Balan in the blanket and the four of them took Balan to the infirmary.
Before they entered Dagonet stopped Bedivere and raised a questioning eyebrow.
Bedivere chuckled. "I intended to free the boy myself. When I arrived, I found young Galahad lurking in the shadows. He had brought the blanket to keep Balan warm; wanted to keep him company during the night."
With a smile Dagonet followed Arthur into the infirmary.
Galahad was sent to the tavern to fetch hot broth for Balan. The exposure to cold and rain had exhausted Balan and Dagonet had to spoon feed him, he was so out of it. Meanwhile the surgeon washed and dressed Balan's wounds.
"There are some in this fort who need a wake-up call concerning the frequency with which this child is whipped," muttered the surgeon. He looked up at Arthur. "This boy has more stripes on his back than many a grown man I have seen. At this rate I doubt he will survive his years of service. Infection will claim him before the sword."
Arthur looked grim. Dagonet, Bedivere and Galahad exchanged uncomfortable glances.
"The boy hasn't exactly been an angel," said Bedivere.
"I'm not surprised," said the surgeon. "He does not belong here. The battlefield is no place for children."
"Had he stayed at home, he would have ridden into battle with his family," said Bedivere.
"At least he would have been with family! Who does he have here?" demanded the surgeon.
His words were followed by a long silence.
"Lately, no-one," muttered Galahad bitterly.
The surgeon looked at Balan.
"He's twelve, is he not?"
Galahad wrapped his arms around himself. The others looked down to the floor, lost in their own thoughts.
After a while the surgeon looked up at Arthur.
"This boy should be kept warm. He's young; a good night's sleep should see him back on his feet in the morning. But those stripes will hurt for a while."
Arthur nodded that he understood and thanked the surgeon for his efforts.
Dagonet wrapped Balan in the blanket and carried him out of the room.
"Where are you taking him?" asked Arthur.
"He can sleep in my bed. I will sleep on the floor," answered Dagonet.
Bedivere and Galahad returned to the knights' quarters with Dagonet. Bedivere went to Tristan's room and returned with a clean set of clothes for Balan.
Galahad made a fire in Dagonet's room and hung out Balan's wet clothes to dry. Then he knelt beside the bed to speak with Balan, but Balan was not in the mood for conversation.
"Let him be, son," said Bedivere to Galahad. "Let him rest. If you want to help, why don't you clean his weapons and take them back to the armoury?"
Galahad nodded and hurried away.
Dagonet offered his chair to Bedivere and sat down on the foot of the bed. Neither of them spoke until Balan had fallen asleep.
"What do you think?" asked Bedivere.
Dagonet looked intently at the oldest scout.
"I believed he had done it," confessed Bedivere. "But his actions and behaviour…they just don't fit."
Dagonet stared into the fire. He wasn't certain either.
"Imagine that we're wrong about him, how would you feel if you were in his shoes?" asked Bedivere.
Dagonet glanced at Balan.
"I'd be pretty damned furious," said Bedivere. "Did you see him attack Tristan?"
Dagonet was silent.
"Balan has never confessed to anything, has he?" asked Bedivere.
Dagonet shook his head.
"We'll have to keep an eye on him," said Bedivere, getting to his feet. "If someone is framing him, they are likely to do so again. Perhaps we can catch them at it."
To be continued…