46 Scapegoat 3
Author's Note: My apologies for the long wait. Several bouts of the flu demanded that I take care of my family first. Reviewers Saintlikeweasley, alien94, beautyinpain, heart of a cynic, lex and Book lover: Thank you so much for your kind words. Your enthusiasm and fierce support for Balan gives me a smile every time!
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The first light of dawn slowly turned the walls of the fort from black to grey. A single male blackbird perched on the roof of the knight's quarters and burst into song.
Balan stirred in his sleep and whimpered. On the foot of the bed sat a shadowy figure, watching him. Dagonet was tired. He had slept on his bedroll beside the hearth, but the boy's moans and cries had woken him frequently. He pulled his cloak more tightly around himself and debated whether or not to light a fire. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift into a slumber. When he woke up, bright daylight shone through cracks in the shutters. Muffled voices filtered into the room and footsteps went up and down the corridor. The knights were waking up. Dagonet stretched and yawned. He would have to wake the boy to check on his wounds. He stared at the relaxed features of the child in his bed and fervently hoped that Bedivere was right. His encounter with the Wolfsbane seeds had been far from pleasant. It would be a relief to know that the boy hadn't wanted him dead.
A loud knock on the door shook him out of his reveries. Balan awoke with a start and winced when he tried to move.
"Come in!" called Dagonet, leaning forward to put a large hand on Balan's forehead. He smiled when he felt no fever.
Bedivere entered the room with a tray in his hands. He put it on the floor and joined Dagonet by Balan's side.
"How do you feel, son?" Bedivere asked kindly.
Balan stared at the floor and made no effort to reply.
Bedivere and Dagonet exchanged a look of concern. Balan's eyes were dull and dead-looking. They had lost their lively, boyish sparkle. Despite having just woken up, Balan looked exhausted. There was no curiosity, no vitality behind his eyes. The boy seemed to have withdrawn inside himself.
"Come," said Dagonet gently. He helped Balan to take off his shirt. Together, Dagonet and Bedivere examined the welts and cuts on Balan's legs, buttocks and back.
"No sign of infection," said Bedivere approvingly. He applied copious amounts of a greenish healing paste to Balan's wounds, and said, "A messenger has come in the night. There's been an attack on a village. Arthur has called a meeting. We will ride in two hours."
Dagonet nodded curtly.
"Balan, you are to stay behind. Arthur's orders," said Bedivere. He got up from the bed and pointed at the tray. "I brought you some breakfast. There is enough for two. Dagonet, I'll see you later. I'm going to prepare." Bedivere laid a gentle hand on Balan's head. "Get some sleep today, boy. Rest. You'll feel better if you do."
The door closed behind him with a thud. Dagonet handed Balan a piece of meat pie and some bread, and began to collect his gear.
Balan stared at his breakfast.
"Eat. You'll feel better," encouraged Dagonet.
But Balan did not touch it. Silent tears rolled down his cheeks
Dagonet paused beside the bed to look at the unhappy boy.
Balan grasped Dagonet's sleeve.
"Can you help me, Dag? No-one believes me. And…"
Balan's throat constricted with emotion. He could not continue. He swallowed and tried to regain control of his voice.
"And Tristan…" he tried. But he choked on his words as more tears kept coming.
Dagonet sat down on the bed and put a comforting hand on Balan's head.
"And Tristan… won't talk to me," Balan managed between heaving sobs.
Dagonet said nothing as grief and anguish shook the boy's body. He remained by Balan's side and waited for the boy to calm down.
"Do not lose hope. There is always a new day," he said after a while.
Balan nodded through his tears.
Dagonet put on his vambraces. It was time for him to go. He ruffled Balan's hair.
"Stay here today, boy. Rest."
Balan stared numbly at the wall. The noise of daily life in the fort drifted in through the window, but the knights' quarters had become quiet again. It felt strangely safe and peaceful to be in Dagonet's bed. No-one would harm him here. The events of the previous days seemed oddly remote, as if they had happened to someone else in a long distant past. He pulled the blanket up to his chin and shifted a little to be more comfortable. His back hurt and so did his buttocks and legs, but the memory of the whipping was not clear in his mind. For a while he lay awake, tormenting himself with hope that Tristan would pay him a visit before leaving. But the door remained closed. Exhausted with grief, Balan drifted into a dreamless sleep.
Arthur's briefing did not last long. A group of robbers had raided a nearby village in the night. Two women and a child had been killed. The cavalry's task was to find the culprits and bring them to justice.
Tristan entered the stable to prepare for departure. Balan had been absent from the meeting. But despite imploring glances from Dagonet and disapproving frowns from Bedivere, Tristan had not inquired about the boy's condition. He growled inwardly as he picked out his horse's hooves. He wanted nothing to do with the boy at the moment.
He fetched his saddle and laid it on his horse's back. He lowered the cinch – the girth that held his saddle in place – and reached under the horse's belly to fasten it, when a brief burst of adrenaline made his heart go faster and put him on his guard. Something had drawn his attention. He was unsure what it was, but years of being a scout had taught Tristan to trust these impulses, as they were never wrong.
He glanced around for the source of his unrest. He checked his horse's condition, but failed to see anything out of the ordinary. He took his saddle down from his horse's back, intending to carry it outside to examine it by daylight. But when he lifted the cinch to drape it across his saddle, his eye fell on the very thing his mind had already registered: His cinch had been sabotaged. Someone had cut it nearly all the way through, leaving only a narrow strip of leather to hold it together. He bent down to take a closer look and snarled. Sucking air between his teeth, he got up and called Jols.
The quartermaster joined him, blanched and hurried away to call Arthur.
The knights crowded around Tristan's stall, craning for a look at Tristan's cinch.
"This is murder!" hissed Geraint. "In normal conditions a narrow strip of leather like this will hold for a few hours. But under heavy strain, such as in battle, it will snap."
"If Tristan hadn't seen it, he would have fallen off his horse in the thick of battle," exclaimed Gawain, outrage written all over his face.
"He would have been killed," added Brumear hoarsely.
Everyone began to talk at once. The knights were all shocked by this abject, devious and cowardly ploy to kill Tristan.
Bors' face contorted with rage. He glared at Arthur.
"Will you do nothing until one of us is dead?!"
Arthur looked at him gravely.
"If one of us dies, I will break his bones," warned Gaheris.
"Let's find him now and break his bones," growled Bors, rolling up his sleeves. "I've had enough of that boy's attempts to kill us!"
"Wait! You can't just assume it was Balan!" protested Galahad.
Gaheris rolled his eyes. "Of course it was Balan!" he snapped impatiently. "Who else would it be? That boy has been nothing but trouble for months."
"Balan didn't come to our briefing, did he?" Lamorak asked Galahad smugly.
"Haven't seen him," agreed Bors. "A perfect opportunity to sneak into the stable. Let's get him!"
Several knights nodded and slapped their fists.
"There are many others in this fort who did not come to our briefing," said Bedivere sharply. "I agree with Galahad. We must not blame Balan yet."
"With his record?" asked Brumear incredulously. "I'm telling you, Balan simply wanted revenge after Tristan thrashed him."
"Balan attacked Tristan from behind and did not hesitate to stab and bite him," reminded Lamorak. "That boy has no honour. He would have killed Tristan had he been given a chance."
Bedivere raised his eyebrows.
"Really? Why didn't Balan shoot Tristan during archery practice then?" he asked sarcastically.
The knights glanced at each other. Lamorak scowled.
Geraint picked up Tristan's cinch and examined it closely. "This cut was made with a sharp blade," he pointed. "I see no trace of hacking or sawing. The blade sliced through with ease."
"Then it can't have been Balan," stated Galahad firmly. "I returned all of his weapons to the armoury last night. His utility knife as well."
"Oho, then it can't have been Balan!" repeated Lamorak scathingly. "Boy, this place has more blades than you can count! How long do you think it took him to find one?"
Galahad blushed and lowered his eyes.
"When was the last time you left an unattended blade lying around, Lamorak?" sneered Lancelot. "Enjoyed the flogging much, did you?"
A few knights laughed, but the seriousness of the situation soon silenced them.
"Enough!" said Arthur. "Knights, has any of you seen Balan in, or near, the stable this morning?"
Everyone shook their heads.
Gaheris rolled his eyes. "Who needs to have seen him? We all know he did it!"
"That will need to be determined," said Arthur.
"Do you still not know what he is capable of?" demanded Bors hotly. "He doesn't care about killing us. Have you forgotten those seeds?!"
"If you ask me, that boy's gone round the bend," said Lamorak. "I've said all along that he was too young to be here."
Dagonet said nothing. He very much doubted that Balan had cut Tristan's cinch. But was there any way to be certain?
"Dagonet, did he sleep in your room?" asked Arthur.
Dagonet nodded
Arthur looked grim.
"See if he's still there, then bring him here. The rest of you, check your cinches and get ready to leave."
As soon as Dagonet had left the stable, Bedivere approached Arthur.
"Arthur, I do not believe that Balan did this. I saw him this morning. That boy didn't have enough fight left in him to commit murder."
Arthur looked doubtful.
"There was enough fight in him when he attacked Tristan last night."
Bedivere shook his head. "Not anymore. He's exhausted."
Arthur frowned and hesitated.
"Arthur, we might have a killer in the fort," said Bedivere urgently. "One who does not hesitate to a incriminate a twelve-year-old boy for murder. We must look into this."
"Can you prove it?" asked Arthur.
"Not yet."
"We will discuss this after we return," said Arthur with a tone of finality.
"What about the boy?" asked Bedivere. "You won't punish him, will you?"
Arthur looked Bedivere straight in the eye. Bedivere watched his young commander struggle with his options.
"I admire your defense of Balan," said Arthur finally. "I would love to believe you. But after Balan's attack on Tristan and all that's happened recently, I have no choice but to take action."
Bedivere's face fell. "Don't do it, Arthur. You've got the wrong man."
Arthur gave Bedivere a hard look, warning the scout not to challenge him further. He turned on his heel and walked away to speak with Jols.
Bedivere sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. He knew that he was powerless to defy the Romans.
"Don't be too harsh on him," he muttered quietly.
When Dagonet entered his room he saw that Balan was fast asleep in his bed. He shook the boy to wake him.
"Did you leave this room while I was away?" he asked urgently.
Confused, Balan looked up at him.
"Did you?!" demanded Dagonet.
"No."
Dagonet sighed and sat down on the bed, shaking his head.
Balan stared at him. The grave expression on Dagonet's face boded ill. A deep sense of weariness came over him.
"Something's happened again, hasn't it?" he asked timidly.
Dagonet did not answer. He put a hand on Balan's shoulder and patted Balan's cheek.
"Come," he said kindly.
Balan gingerly got out of bed and put on his clothes. He wrapped himself in his cloak and stiffly followed Dagonet out of the room.
The knights stared when Balan limped into the stable behind Dagonet. Their faces reflected anger, disgust and resentment, although a few also looked uncomfortable and in doubt.
Balan wondered what he was supposed to have done.
As they passed between the knights, Arthur and Jols came into view. Jols held up Tristan's saddle and pointed at the sabotaged cinch.
Balan's eyes widened in shock. The floor seemed to be spinning as he processed the horror of what he saw, what could have happened to Tristan. Numbness and fatigue began to spread through his body when he saw the accusing looks on the faces around him. It was too much. He could not handle it.
In the shadows behind Arthur and Jols, Tristan observed Balan's reaction. He had not spoken since Arthur had questioned him about his cinch. Instead, he had been questioning his own judgment. Despite his anger with the boy, he had not expected Balan to try and kill him. Although the boy had attacked him the previous day, Balan had merely slashed - not stabbed - Tristan's thigh. When the gravel in his eyes had blinded him, Balan could have delivered a fatal stab to Tristan's chest or abdomen. But Balan hadn't done so. Despite the boy's explosive fury, Tristan had seen no indication of bloodlust.
He watched from the shadows as Balan stood before Arthur. There was no trace of defiance in the boy's eyes. No determination, no guilt, no pride and no shame. The boy looked confused and broken, a mere shadow of his former self. Tristan growled inwardly. For the first time in days, he began to doubt his judgment of Balan.
Arthur stepped forward.
"Balan, someone cut Tristan's cinch and endangered his life. I must ask you: Did you leave your bed during our meeting?"
"No," whispered Balan.
Arthur looked at him very seriously.
"Can you stand here in front of your Sarmatian brothers and tell me truthfully that you did not do it?"
Overwhelmed by the situation, Balan stared at Arthur and the knights.
"You would not believe me anyway," he croaked hoarsely. "None of you do."
"And righteously so!" bellowed Bors. "You're a liar!" His words were followed by jeers, but these were quickly shushed.
Balan wrapped his arms around himself, afraid of what was to come. He expected to be flogged, most likely worse than all previous times. Or would the Romans sentence him to death? The fog in his brain increased. He felt numb, warm and sleepy, but he could still feel fear coursing through his veins.
Arthur looked down at Balan. He regretted that the boy was not more forthcoming.
"Balan, all circumstances point towards you. I have no choice but to order your imprisonment."
"How long?!" demanded Bors.
"Four weeks," said Arthur.
Lamorak snorted. "There goes hope he'll be locked up for four years."
"Forty!" scoffed Gaheris mutinously.
But Bors was livid. Turning to Arthur, he bellowed, "If Tristan had been Roman, the boy would have been hanged! But all you will give him is four weeks?! You care more about Romans than you do about us?"
Arthur's eyes narrowed with anger. "Bors, I did not make these laws. And I will not sentence a boy to death for a crime no-one has seen him commit."
Bors spat on the ground and pointed his finger at Arthur. "You know as well as I do that the boy is guilty. He tried to kill his own brother. That is much, much worse than killing a bloody Roman!"
Balan said nothing. The words "I did not do it" lay on his lips, but he could not utter them.
Arthur glanced at Balan.
"Bedivere, take him away," he said curtly.
Bedivere shot Arthur a dark look, but he put his hands on Balan's shoulders and steered him away from the knights.
A knife hit the ground between Balan's feet. When he looked up, he saw Bors standing with his arm still outstretched.
"If you try to harm any of us again, I will kill you with my bare hands. Remember that!" Bors threatened.
Balan swallowed. He glanced around until his eyes found Tristan. Tristan's eyes bored into Balan's, but his face was unreadable.
Bedivere increased the pressure on Balan's shoulder. A deafening silence followed the pair of them as they left the stable.
A guard led Balan and Bedivere down a flight of stairs and into a dark corridor. Near the end he unlocked a door with iron bars and held it open. Balan saw a small cell, furnished with a bare wooden cot. Bedivere gently urged Balan inside, then put his hands on the boy's shoulders.
"Four weeks and you will be out of here, boy. Obey the guards and behave, then it won't be so bad. I will see you again soon."
With a look of regret he stepped back and motioned for the guard to lock the door. Balan stared at him through the bars. Bedivere sighed and followed the guard back towards the stairs.
To be continued...