Year Fifteen: Tristan is 32. Lancelot is 31. Raja is 22.
This Must Be the Place
Raja waited excitedly for Tristan to enter the courtyard. He was gone for two days with Lancelot and the others to retrieve the Bishop Germanius from Rome, the man who was to deliver their dispensation papers. At long last, Tristan, Lancelot and her kin would be free from their services, free to go where they wanted. The long years of Raja's hopeful planning were to finally bear fruit. First, they would travel to Egypt where she would see to the building of their villa-farm. It would be in the same compound of her childhood manse – just for her and Tristan, and Lancelot should he choose to come. She was eager to finally see her uncles again, to live near them once more. She would miss her kin, though. Galahad and Gawain had voiced desire to return to Sarmatia. What Bors would do with Vanora and his children, Raja did not know. One day he was to return with them to Sarmatia, the next he claimed he would stake out his own land in Britain with Dagonet. Arthur was to return to Rome to live a life of honor and wealth. Her second family would be scattered, the thought weighed heavy on her.
Her hands squeezed over her chest fretfully, expectantly as Tristan finally came into view. She smiled and waved. A grin only for her spread on his face. He dismounted and kissed her gently. More gently than Bors was kissing Vanora now. The other knights passed the older couple, amused at their ardor. Penelo, the falcon perched on Tristan's arm, made a sound for attention for which Raja obliged her. Lancelot pecked her cheek in passing, saying he would see her later.
"Horus missed her," Raja said, petting Penelo under her beak. "He's been in our chambers pining for her."
"Come," Tristan voiced. With Penelo still in hand, he led them to their quarters. Penelo happily joined Horus on their perch by the window.
Three years ago she had hired an architect to expand their chambers, knocking part of the wall to make a door to connect their room to the vacant one next door. The extra space was used for sitting and eating, while their bedroom was used now solely for lovemaking and slumber.
Her happiness sparked something in his heart as she helped him out of his armor. All these long years with her as his wife had fortified him in ways he could not explain. Tristan let her be the one to hope this day would come, nearer the end he began to hope, too. Now, their day was here. He could leave with her. Spend their days as they wished. Long had he wanted to return his Raja to a life of ease and relative safety, now he finally could. The only thing that could spoil it was if Lancelot refused to come with them for he knew Raja desired that greatly.
"When do you meet with the bishop?" Raja asked.
"After sundown."
"I am so excited," she whispered, trying to hush her almost childlike exuberance. "Let us get you to the baths."
Tristan allowed her to tug him to the baths where she had soap and food waiting, as she always did. Her meticulous care of his person never diminished, tending to him after patrols or battles with a reverence he was sure few wives showed their husbands.
He groaned as he stepped in the warm water, feet tired, neck sore. This was clearly what getting older felt like. Tristan submerged himself in the oiled water, sighing as he came up for air. Raja kissed him on his shoulder before handing him an apple and unbraiding his hair. She lathered soap on his head, her fingers massaging, threading through his unruly locks.
"How does your hair become so after such a short time, Trissy?" she mused, a rhetorical thought not the first time presented.
"Because I care not for it," was always his reply between a mouthful of apple. "You wish me to cut it?"
"Never!" she exclaimed. "I love your hair."
He chuckled and they lapsed into silence. Tristan became thoughtful again as she combed his hair. They would before summer's end. Time enough to pack thoroughly before making their way to the east. Memnon and Ardeth will have sent a ship to them, ready to sail them off to the next chapter in their lives.
"Trissy?" Raja asked quietly, breaking through his reverie, gently sponging his back.
"Hmm?"
"Do you wish to return to Sarmatia?" It was a question asked before, often met with a laconic shrug and non-answer. "Do you think of it?"
He pondered the inquiry with more seriousness than he'd done in the past. Now that he could – did he even want to? Was there anything there for him? He had been on this island longer than his homeland, yet he never considered Britain home. He felt the open plains and mountainous wonder of Sarmatia a distant stranger. Conjuring images of it in his mind was almost like finding the remnants of a forgotten dream. It sparked nothing in him, only a faint tug.
"You are my home," he finally answered. "You have always been my home. I only care to go where you are. So if you want to go to Sarmatia, we will go. If you do not…" Tristan shrugged. "I can be anywhere so long as it is with you."
Raja smiled, bringing her arms around his chest, resting her chin on his shoulder, heedless of the water dampening her dress. Tristan brought his hand over hers, kissing her fingers.
"I am clean now," he said, spark of ardor in his brown eyes. "Let me bed you, then I will see this bishop."
xxx
The men sat around the table joking lewdly as they waited for the Roman to come to the hall. All were eager and impatient, though hid it well. Young cupbearers handed them gold plated chalices for expensive wine. Their laughter cut short as the obsequious Roman they had met the previous day walked with haughty importance into the hall, announcing his companion.
"His Eminence, Bishop Gnaeus Germanius…" His voice trailed, looking around with something akin to horror or disgust.
The Bishop followed with a supercilious grin; quickly it faded as he noticed what his secretary just had. He shrugged off the immediate discomfiture, gesturing for all to sit.
"I was given to believe there would be more of you," the Bishop observed, again looking around.
"There were," Arthur responded dryly. "We have been fighting here for fifteen years."
"Of course," the bishop replied, his tone implying he cared not at all. He set a box of polished wood in front of him, hands running over it possessively.
The meeting was almost interminable. The Roman coveted their papers as if they were his own. Germanius said Rome was extricating themselves from Britain, leaving it to the Saxons.
"So I've risked my life for nothing?" Galahad questioned acerbically, barely containing his temper.
Germanius grinned dismissively. He stood, opening the box. "Gentlemen, your papers for safe conduct throughout the Roman Empire. But first, I must have a word with your commander, in private."
The men had stood as that box opened, wanting to hold the scroll in hand, an inexplicable itch on their palms.
"We have no secrets," Arthur said.
The box slammed with finality.
"Come," Lancelot finally interjected, raising his goblet with smirk. "Let us leave Roman business to Romans."
Tristan glared at the bishop. Who was he to deny him this? Deny him what would allow him to be free with Raja? Suppressing his frustration, he grabbed the gold-plated goblet, thinking it would make a good drinking cup for Bennu.
Arthur watched as his men exited the room, nodding at them assuredly. Finally, he turned back to the bishop, an old friend of his father's, though Arthur could not fathom how or why.
"Rome has issued a final order for you and your men," Germanius spoke once they were alone.
A weight settled on Arthur's stomach. He glared at his countryman, green eyes boring into him like fire, lips set in a grim line. "Final order?"
"You are to travel north, to rescue the family of Marcus Honorius, and return, in particular, with his son Alecto. Alecto is the pope's favorite godchild and pupil. It is his destiny to become a bishop, perhaps even pope, one day."
Arthur was silent. Dumbfounded and aghast at what he was hearing. "On this day. You ask me of this, on this day. My men have risked their lives for fifteen years for a cause not of their own, and for a final mission you send them on something far more dangerous than they have ever undertaken?" He stood, pacing angrily. "You tell me, Bishop. How am I to go to my men and tell them that instead of freedom, I offer death?"
The bishop sighed, eyes rolling to the heavens. "If your knights are truly the knights of legend, then perhaps some will survive, if it is God's will." He looked upon the younger man sternly. "You want your men to go home, they will have to cross the entire breadth of the Roman Empire. Deserters will be hunted down like dogs." He stood. "And you are correct; it is a very dangerous mission. This leads me to my next order."
"There is more?" Arthur asked, cheeks reddening with fury.
"Yes," the bishop replied. "As we've agreed, this is a highly dangerous undertaking. This family is incredibly valuable and important. Who knows what troubles may become you, or them along the way? For that, it is important one who is learned in medicine accompany you. The physician of this fort will go, and see to any ills that befall the family of Honorius and ensure their health along the way."
Arthur's fury turned cold, hands clasped behind his back. It took a moment to find words. "The physician of this fort?"
"I have heard it is a woman," Germanius spoke with some disdain. "While it is not my preference for a woman to be part or use of anything, many soldiers and commanders who have come here have spoken only good of her. They have said her knowledge of medicine is vast, and her care unmatched. She will go."
"She will not," Arthur voiced before he knew what he was saying.
Germanius' face went slack, cruel lines etched around his eyes as he peered at the commander. "She is a citizen of Rome. She goes. Or no one gets their papers."
Arthur exhaled slowly. "Surely you know who her family is?"
"I care not who her family is," Germanius spat. "She serves Rome, even has a highborn citizen, as we all do."
"She is not a part of this legion." Arthur cloaked his desperation behind a steely tone. It was one matter to say he and his men must go north, another altogether to say Raja must leave with them. The news of this setback would anger his men, the further knowledge that Raja was being ordered to go would only incense them further.
"Again, I say, it does not matter. These are your orders. Will you defy Rome, Arthur? The pope? God himself?"
"Everything I have done has been for the pope and for Rome!" Arthur shouted. "Do not mistake a loyal soldier for a fool, Germanius."
"Fulfill this mission, and you and your men will receive their discharge. You have my word." He made to walk away, final in his word, but the ominous threat of Arthur stopped him.
"You think very hard upon that vow," Arthur growled. "For I will hold you to it."
"Hmm." Germanius nodded and left.
The air left the room. Arthur bowed his head wearily, placing his palms upon the table. How was he to do this? What was he to say? Nevertheless, he had to find the will.
xxx
"I aim for the middle," Tristan said affably, pointing at the board. He turned to Raja who was smiling and laughing.
"Your aim never fails, Tristan." She wrapped his arms around his waist, leaning her head into his chest.
He kissed her head, relishing the smell of meadowsweet in her hair. He pulled her to the side so they would not be in the way of drunken soldiers elbowing their way past with whores. Raja watched as Lancelot playfully grabbed Vanora onto his lap. Her cousin caught her eye and he winked at her, his laughter carrying to her ears.
"He is being crass," Raja told Tristan.
"Hmmph." He peeled his apple with his dagger. "He is full of drink. Give him whores and he will debauch himself until sunrise."
She shot him a censuring look which he took with equanimity. "Should I interrupt his gambling, Tristan? He's done nothing else all night."
"Leave him be," he told her. "You fuss over him too much."
"Who else will if I do not?" she questioned. "Will you?" When he scoffed, she added, "I did not think so."
"Sing!" Bors yelled, ushering Vanora to the center of the crowd.
Tristan leaned against a post, Raja against him, his arms around her possessively. Her hands gently grasped his forearm as they listened to Vanora sing a tale of going home.
The song was meant to be an uplifting one, yet it filled Lancelot with melancholy. He watched as his cousin leaned against Tristan, eyes alight with happiness. She was looking forward to returning to Egypt, finally. Lancelot knew she wanted him to go with her. He did not yet know if he should seek out his family in Sarmatia, or go with Raja, the only family he'd known for the last fifteen years. Raja had been in his life longer than the ones he had been forced to leave. Lancelot couldn't imagine not seeing her every day. She may have been his cousin by blood, but in his heart she was his sister. A sister he could not imagine being without.
All these years talk of the future was avoided as he didn't like to think of it. Thinking too far made his time here seem unending, words he'd spoken once to a past lover. Perhaps he would go to Egypt with Raja and Tristan. Then, when he was ready, he would go to Sarmatia to look for his family. Maybe Raja and Tristan would go with him for a time, he could show Raja in person the places he'd only told her about in stories.
Thoughts of home were interrupted by Jols yelling Arthur's name. The men came to stand around their commander, the latter looking grim. Both Lancelot and Tristan noticed Arthur's eyes settle upon Raja briefly with regret.
Raja squeezed Tristan's hands, receiving a tender pressure in return. As Arthur began to speak, she knew it was not good news. Tristan had been aggravated when returning to their chambers earlier, no papers in hand, only a pretty goblet for Bennu. Now, whatever the bishop had spoken to Arthur about was laid upon Arthur's face.
"Knights," Arthur began, "brothers-in-arms. Your courage has been tested beyond all limits." He sighed. "But now, I must ask you for one final trial."
The men studied their commander, revelry slowly fading, minds sobering, as he spoke about a family up north in need of rescue, their papers held in abeyance until they returned with the Romans.
"Let the Romans take care of their own," Bors growled.
"Above the wall," Gawain pointed out dryly, "is Pict territory."
"Our duty," Galahad spat, "if it was ever duty is done. Our pact with Rome is done!"
Raja bit her lip, fighting back sadness as they argued. She looked at Tristan, who was only glaring at Arthur with a cold menace, a look she'd never seen directed towards his commander before. His hand held hers in a death grip, cutting off her circulation. Lancelot, her beloved cousin, only looked weary, his expression otherwise blank.
"We have the word of Arthur," Dagonet admonished, "that is good enough. I'll prepare."
Bors shouted drunkenly and followed Dagonet. Gawain said Galahad would go, as well, the younger man smashing his ale with a clatter that echoed through the night before walking away in disgust.
Only Lancelot, Tristan and Raja faced Arthur now.
"I must speak with Raja now." Arthur voiced nothing more as if continuing was the last thing he wanted to do.
"What about her?" Tristan asked as if she were not there.
Arthur looked first at Tristan, the brown eyes of his scout filled with a cold displeasure. Lancelot's obvious dismay was something Arthur was all too familiar with.
"You would speak with me alone?" Raja asked.
"You will speak with her here," Tristan interrupted before Arthur could answer.
Arthur nodded. "The Bishop – he has ordered you to go as well. If the circumstance arises that the family should need a physician-"
"You dare?" Lancelot yelled. "You fucking dare?" He ignored Raja's attempt to calm him.
Tristan stepped in front of Raja. "This is not something she will do." His voice was calm, monotone, yet held a threat of death, for whom – Arthur or the Romans - not even Tristan knew.
"What does he say will happen if I do not?" Raja questioned, stepping beside Tristan, grabbing Lancelot's arm to quell him.
Arthur was silent for a moment, feeling the full wrath of the two men before him, and the quiet acceptance of the woman he'd come to love as a sister. "He says no one will receive their discharge."
This silenced them. Raja swallowed, setting her shoulders firmly. "Then that is all. I will go. And there will be no further discourse about it." She glared at both Tristan and Lancelot, willing them to be silent. "This cannot be changed." Taking Tristan's hand, she said, "We must go prepare then."
Tristan tore his eyes from Arthur to look at his calm wife. Large gray eyes met his with a genteel repose only she could muster. She smiled tenderly at him, then turned to her cousin. "Lottie?" Her hand touched her cousin's face, his jaw rigid with rage.
Lancelot's dark eyes examined her face. He patted her hand, kissing the back of it, nodding. He did not trust himself to speak just now.
Raja turned to Arthur. She stepped away from her husband and cousin to approach him. Her smaller hands reached for his familiarly, squeezing it with reassurance.
"If I had the power to stop this," Arthur told her.
"This is not your doing." Her voice was gentle. She placed her lips on his knuckles lovingly before releasing him. She turned, taking Tristan away with her.
xxx
A tepid knock sounded at his door as he stared into the fire. He sighed heavily. Only his cousin knocked like that.
"Come in," Lancelot called.
Raja poked her head in, serene smile on her face, a hot cup of tea in her hands.
"No, not your wretched tea, cousin," he complained. "You cannot ply me with your potions and all be well."
"It's hardly a potion, Lottie," she said, placing the mug in his hands before taking a seat. "And it will help you sleep. You did nothing but drink, gamble and harass Vanora tonight. I saw you take no sustenance at all." She wrapped her robe tightly about her, settling into the larger chair.
"I needn't any help sleeping," he griped, taking a sip.
"I think you will," she rejoined. "You always do when you're in a mood."
He glared at her, both annoyed and touched she knew him so well. "I've every right to be in a mood, as you call it."
She nodded. "I know. It is unfair what is happening. Did you speak with Arthur?"
Lancelot grimaced, recounting his entirely unproductive conversation in the stables with his friend and commander. They'd gone round and round about duty, serving, and higher callings. Finally, Lancelot had told him to simply burn his body if he were to die in battle, as he could not stomach the thought of being buried on this land for eternity.
"Then the talk went well," she gleaned from the expression on his face. "It is not his fault, Lancelot."
He scoffed. "He could have kept you out of it."
"He tried. You know he'd not have me go if he could help it."
He shook his head, dismissing her congenial acceptance on the matter. "It is dangerous up north, Raja." His face was serious. "Too dangerous for you." Lancelot rubbed his eyes again, his headache pounding. "What has Tristan to say on it?"
"He says nothing," she replied with a shrug. "He's not spoken to me." Then, quieter, "I know he is angry."
"That makes the two of us."
His cousin was silent now, staring into the fire. Lancelot looked at her profile. She was healthy, vital, strong in her own way, he knew. He feared for her now though. The very idea of her upon this mission was a poison burning a hole through him. He had ever tried his best to keep her from the ugliness of this land, the ugliness of the things he'd had to do in the name of duty; but now he worried she would see the worst of it.
"Lottie…when will you speak with me of the future?"
He paused mid-sip, eyes darting to her, then away quickly. "Not now."
Raja bit the side of her mouth. "When?"
Sighing, he replied, "When we return. I promise I will make plans with you then."
"Truly?" Hope alit her face now.
"Yes."
"And…and will you try to send word to Sophia?"
His face darkened. Raja rarely brought her up, let alone uttering her name aloud, at least in his presence. Raja had kept a correspondence with her for the past five years, even going to Beckfoot to visit her a few times. When Sophia first left, and Raja received the first letter, she asked if he wanted to know anything of his lover. His cousin respected his boundaries, especially those she thought may bring him pain. Sophia was an ever present ache. A wound that had been reopened when she had returned to his fort nine months ago. Her husband had died, and she was returning to Colchester to her mother. Sophia had stayed for a week before leaving with her brother, Septimus. Lancelot had lain with her once during that time, only once, the sweet memory of her still lingered on his skin and his sheets.
"We did not part well," he finally told her.
"I know it. She loves you, Lancelot. I wish you told her you felt the same."
"No more of this," he stated, abruptly standing. "I say we will talk of the future when we return. Not tonight."
Raja pursed her lips, though conceded with a nod. "Very well, Lottie." She stood from her chair, embracing him, head barely to his shoulder. She smelled the familiar leather of his jerkin mixed with some faint perfume from a recent woman. "I love you so much."
He exhaled, holding her to him in one arm, cupping the back of her head against his chest with the other. "I love you, too. Utter nuisance you are."
She laughed, poking his ribs playfully. "I would not have to be a nuisance if you were not so stubborn."
He kissed her forehead. "We are both of us stubborn in our own ways."
xxx
Tristan made no attempt to bed her. He only held her tightly, as if someone were trying to pry her from his arms in that instant. She could feel his unrest; it was set in his features, quiet, permanent. Raja soothed him with her acceptance in the matter, saying nothing, for she knew words could not penetrate the wall of displeasure he'd erected.
Her head lay upon his shoulder now. She stroked his chest, willing him to sleep. His breathing was not even, though his eyes were closed, Raja knew he did not slumber. Sighing, she kissed his breast, snuggling closer. Raja felt no fear for what was to come tomorrow. Perhaps that was naïve of her, for she knew north of the wall was incredibly dangerous. It was uncharted territory, territory that not even Rome had been able to tame. Why was there even a Roman family up there? It made no sense to her. How had they survived up there for so long? Normally, these were questions she would have put to Tristan in the dark of the night, yet her husband was not up for talking. She could not blame him. Raja knew Tristan loved her above all else; her health, safety and pleasure all he truly desired. In truth, the only part of all this that made her angry was the disquiet it brought her husband's heart.
"You will do nothing foolhardy," he spoke, surprising her. "You will stay next to someone at all times. If we meet enemies, you will fight only to protect yourself."
Raja rose on her elbow. "Tristan, I promise I will do nothing foolhardy. But I will help where and when I can."
His eyes flicked her to, then to the ceiling. "I'd not have you up there."
"I know it." Her hand turned his face so he would look at her. "This is not on you. Nor Arthur, for that matter." He snorted. "It's not, Trissy. He has as little choice in this as we do. You know this."
"I only want to return you home."
"You are my home, Trissy," she said softly. "Just as you said I was yours." She kissed him, it took a moment for him to respond, his ire abating. "Make love to me now. I'd feel you within me before we set off."
His mouth pulled in a half-smile, large hand grasping her hip and turning her so she lay beneath him, his member already hard and ready.
xxx
The morning was cold. They were first in the stables, Galahad trotting his horse in circles furiously, Gawain watching him worriedly. Bors was himself, cracking jokes, making light of the situation, his ire from the previous night forgotten. Raja sat next to Tristan on the tiered bench as she doubled-checked her sack, and he polished his sword. Penelo and Horus perched nearby watching the goings-on. Lancelot was to her right, still in a poor mood.
Arthur walked in, Galahad barely missing him with his horse.
The bishop and his secretary entered from a side door. "To represent the Holy Court," Germanius announced, "my trusted secretary, Horton, will accompany you."
The men fell silent, glaring at the interloper as if he were a crude stain. Bors cursed under his breath, Dagonet walked passed abruptly, bumping the frightened Roman.
"He looks scared, Tristan," Raja whispered.
"Jols, find him a horse," Arthur commanded.
"He should be," Lancelot replied.
"I shall help him," Raja said.
Tristan took his hand off his sword to grab her wrist. "You will leave him be. Sit down."
Raja snatched her arm back, paying him no mind. She followed Horton to where Jols was showing him his horse.
"Hello," she spoke.
Horton's brow rose, surprised someone, anyone, was breaking words with him at all. This must be the woman physician his master had told him about. She wore fitted breeches and a knee length tunic; a blue vest of hardened leather laced about her bodice. A fine cloak of Merino wool, the inside lined with silk on her back. A silver brooch of a cobra pinned it together. Her long hair was tied in a thick braid, curled tendrils shaping her face.
"You can ride with me if you'd like," Raja offered.
"I thank you, my lady," Horton said gratefully, a faltering smile on his lips. "That is very kind."
Tristan sighed as he watched his wife. "Every stray," he muttered under his breath.
"You didn't try very hard to stop her," Lancelot accused, receiving only a glower in return.
"What is little dove doing?" Bors questioned, sitting heavily. "Lancelot, you didn't stop her?"
Lancelot scoffed as Tristan smirked.
xxx
"Get some rest tonight, Horton, we set off early." Raja patted the man on the shoulder and departed to the campfire.
"Ah, Raja, is your Roman pet all snug in his tent?" Gawain asked whimsically.
Raja smiled and pulled the hood of her cloak closer to face as she took a seat next to Tristan. It was pouring unrelentingly, adding a deepening bite to the air. Horton had been her riding companion all day, she was able to talk to him to ease his nerves when they were not galloping at full pace. And when the Picts had cornered them in the woods earlier in the day, it was Raja who calmed Horton's panic. She'd let him pray under his breath until his quivering ceased before helping him back onto his horse so that they could continue their journey.
"Gawain," she said, "he has been nothing but kind. He is an ignorant, frightened man, but I see his mind changing."
The men laughed at her optimism, though not cruelly. Tristan only side-eyed her knowingly, his wife's good nature often a thorn in his side with those she attempted to befriend.
"What is he changing his mind of?" Galahad questioned. "What've you been whispering to him this long day?"
"I have told him of you all," Raja replied.
"You mean us dirty pagans?" the young man quipped dryly.
"He does not believe you're dirty," she told him. "His master may, but Horton does not. He is only, as I said, ignorant of your ways, and has only been eager to listen to what he does not know."
Dagonet grinned at her fondly. "Well, if anyone can change his mind, it will be you."
Lancelot, shaking his head, sat aside, facing outwards to the night. He yearned to change the subject. "Bors, do you intend to take Vanora and all your little bastards back home?"
"Eat something," Tristan told her quietly as the men teased Bors about his offspring.
Raja nodded, taking some dry bread and cheese from her pouch, careful not to let the rain soak it. She shivered, listening keenly as the men around her continued to joke crudely, remembering a time when they may have tempered their words around her, but no longer.
"…that's because he's mine," Lancelot retorted.
"Lancelot!" Raja censured, entering the conversation. "You shouldn't say such a thing!"
The men laughed more heartily as she lectured her cousin, apologizing to Bors on his behalf while insisting Lancelot do the same. He only rolled his eyes while chortling, but was careful not to push it too far or else he knew he would be on the receiving end of a very long lecture.
"I only jest, Raja!" he defended. "Bors knows it. Tell her Bors, or she'll not let me alone the rest of the night."
"I should let her box your ears." Then, he added, "Aye, I know he jests, little dove. I'm going for a piss now."
"Raja, will we be welcome in your palace in Egypt?" Gawain joked, taking the attention off of Lancelot.
She laughed, but her response was serious. "My family will always be welcome, though it is not a palace. There is room enough for you all should you wish to stay with Tristan and me. We should always love to have you."
Tristan snorted. "My wife has rooms marked for everyone." He stood. "I'm to patrol." Raja took his hand, squeezing it in goodbye before he departed into the night.
"Tell us again how big this palace is," Galahad urged. "It makes a nice story."
Raja looked at her cousin across the fire. He was turned away, though she could tell he was listening. "It will have a watering hole for the animals," she spoke. "Mortar of stone with marble flooring in every room. It will be just near the main villa of the compound. My great-great-great grandfather and his wife created such a wonderful place. Justice is fair, no one goes hungry, there is work for all. Should anyone be in need they are fed from the main storehouse. There are fresh springs that have been channeled near every dwelling so all may have access to clean water. People may practice whatever religion they wish so long as they respect others. No one is allowed to harass or defile another religion's temple on pain of banishment. No one is allowed to own any slaves, either. All who pass through our walls are free. "
"It sounds like a utopia," Dagonet interjected.
"It is, at times. It has become such a place of fairness and productivity that people far and wide come to witness it. Not even Rome has dared touch it, you know. When they heard of the attack that killed my parents, they sent a small detachment directly from the emperor to help see it to rights and keep it safe. The pharaoh, too!"
"And what did they want in return for that?" Galahad questioned. "Rome does nothing simply for its own good."
"I don't recall them asking for anything, but of course I was a child then. Born in Egypt we are citizens of Rome, and my forebears fostered nothing but peace with them."
"Well, it sounds like a nice place, Raja," Gawain commented. "Perhaps we shall visit it someday."
"I hope you all do, Gawain," she replied. "I should like it very much."
xxx
They reached Marius Honorius' villa the next afternoon. Further near the mountains flecks of snow pelted the ground and their shoulders. Tristan was not with them as they approached the main gate; he'd been ordered by Arthur to find their returning path. Lancelot stuck closer to her while eyeing Arthur testily. Hour by hour her cousin had become more impatient with the task at hand.
Raja tuned out Marius' refusal to leave, her head craning behind her to see a cluster of villagers looking frightened, cold and hungry. Behind them were three large stakes in the ground, a man suspended weakly from them. No one was paying attention to her now, not even her cousin, so she dismounted from Odin, patting him to stay still before she approached.
"Sir?" she called softly.
The old man groaned. He was barefoot and shirtless, fresh whips on his back. He could barely hold himself up. He clearly had no food for days, and there was no telling how long he'd actually been positioned there.
"Oh, sir, what have they done to you?" she whispered.
The man's eyes flickered at her touch. Quickly, she unhooked her water pouch from her waist and brought it to his lips.
"You shouldn't do that!" someone hissed.
Raja turned. A woman was tucked behind a small hut. "Why not?" she asked.
"You'll be in trouble," the woman replied.
"Please, I need something to cover him," Raja implored. "Will you not help?"
The woman shook her head fretfully, eyes widening as she looked over Raja's shoulder, afraid of discovery. Raja turned, only to see Arthur drawing near, enraged.
"Arthur," she said, "he is hurt. I cannot get him down." Her hands were about the man's waist now, trying to hold him up so the tension on his shoulders could be alleviated.
"Raja come away from there!" Lancelot shouted, sensing the unease of the crowd. "Now!"
Raja frowned, shaking her head, refusing to let go of the old man. Her cousin scowled at her obstinance.
"What is this punishment for?" Arthur demanded. "Answer me!"
"He defied our master Marius," a young man answered earnestly.
Seeing the woman was not going to get her a blanket or covering of any sort, Raja began to remove her own cloak, but Arthur told her to step aside before cutting the man down. Raja caught him before he could hit the earth, setting him down gently. Now that the villagers knew they were being defended, they rushed to their village elder, covering him with blankets.
"We must get him inside," Raja told them. "He will rest in there until the wagons are prepared."
Two men hauled him up and took their elder away.
Lancelot dismounted, grabbing his cousin and returning her to the knights' company. "You mustn't interfere here. It's dangerous."
"Lancelot, these people need our help," she lectured. "I am going to see to those that are coming with us, and make sure those that aren't are truly fit to travel."
"You keep in my eyesight," he told her. "If not mine, then one of the others, understood?"
Raja nodded. It did not take long for a trail of wagons to be amassed. Some villagers were already leaving with their families, but due to the dearth of food many were weak. Some had children, some not, all wanted to take what they could for they knew not where they were going or what would become of them once they got there. Raja espied Tristan galloping past her, heading for Arthur. After placing a young child in the wagon with his mother she went to follow her husband.
"…they will never make it," she heard him say.
Tristan looked at his wife with an expression only she could read. A mixture of frustration and weary toleration of something he could not change. His attention was wrested from her as a soldier shouted at a villager walling up a door.
"What is that?" she questioned.
He straightened, face serious. "Get back on Odin," he told her. "You've helped all you can for now."
Raja conceded to his request, knowing he was right. Something was brewing with the villa's soldiers at the door they were guarding. Arthur demanded for them to move just as the drums echoed over the mountains. She felt it reverberate in her heart, looking about as if any moment Saxons would appear around the corner.
"How close are they?" she asked.
"Too close," Gawain muttered.
Dagonet broke the door down with his axe at the request of Arthur. Lancelot, Gawain, and Dagonet entered, leaving the rest to make sure they were undisturbed with their inspection.
"Stay back," Tristan said to her, unsheathing his sword.
Soon, Dagonet rushed from the dark hovel, carrying a young boy. Arthur carried a woman. Raja dismounted, unsure of which to help first for they both appeared near death.
"Water!" Arthur yelled. "Get me some water!"
Raja rushed to him, cupping the woman's head with her hand to let her drink from her pouch. She coughed, eyes fluttering, coming to rest on Arthur with an intensity that was palpable. Raja could see something was amiss with her fingers; her face was pale, lips dry and cracked.
"She's a Pict," Tristan voiced contemptuously. "Raja, come here, now."
She wanted to deny him, but his eyes were fierce.
"You! You kept them alive!" Marius shouted, giving his wife a vicious slap.
Raja covered the Pict woman with her body, thinking Marius was about to attack her next. Raja looked upon Marius with disgust – for what kind of man would treat his wife so harshly?
"We will get you in the wagon," she told the Pict in her language. Raja could tell the words startled her. "You're safe now." She said to Dagonet, "The wagon at the end is empty. Take the boy there and I will join you." Seeing the woman was losing consciousness again, Raja entreated Tristan for his help. "I need move her."
Her husband let out a breath of utter vexation, but nevertheless dismounted and gathered the Pict in his arms. "You will see to her quickly and return to your horse, Raja. If the Saxons come upon us I'll not have you trapped helpless in the wagon with those that are already dying."
"You don't know that, Tristan," she whispered.
He looked at the woman he carried, his face plainly stating he disagreed. Tristan stepped into the wagon to place her in the back. Dagonet was already tending to the boy.
"Be quick," were his parting words.
xxx
"I think she is taken with Arthur," Raja commented. She and Lancelot trotted parallel at the front of the caravan, the miserable village and its horrors far in the distance.
Lancelot glanced behind him as Arthur hung back to speak with the Pict Guinevere once more. He had already placed her fingers back where they belonged after the injured woman refused to let Raja do it. Yet, somehow, Guinevere had acquiesced to Arthur.
"Hmm," was his only reply.
"Do you think he is taken with her?" She looked behind her again, Arthur now had an angry look about his face. "Well…I suppose he seems perturbed now."
"Do not bother with them or her, cousin," Lancelot said. "You've done enough to help, and that woman least of all deserves your care."
She peered at him, the scorn in his words was odd. "Why do you hate her? She's done nothing to you."
"Need I remind you that it was her people who took you as a child?"
She laughed shortly. "Lottie, you…you cannot be serious now. That was so long ago. They did me no harm."
"No harm?" he retorted. "I rather think our recollection of events differs greatly. Your head was broken open. You could have died. Do you not remember?"
"Of course I remember. I remember you finding me in the woods. I remember that so many people came to look for me because I am loved." She stared at him until he felt the weight of her gaze, no choice but to return it. "You have fought against her people for many years, Lancelot. Please know I do not take that lightly. But we are all of us here now, and we must help one another. There is a common enemy at our backs and it does us no good to fight amongst ourselves."
"Oh, Raja," he sighed.
The thudding of Tristan's horse sounded behind them. They each fell back to the side, joining Arthur and the rest of the men near the crest of the hill.
"We will take shelter there, behind those trees," Arthur said. "Tristan."
Tristan gave Penelo a lift off, and Raja did the same for Horus. He gestured his head for her to follow him, having not had her in his sights for hours. They galloped ahead in silence until Tristan came to a stop in an open copse near a stream.
"We stop here." He dismounted, helping her down from Odin. His brown eyes looked her up and down. "How do you fare?"
"I am fine, Trissy," she told him, kissing him lightly on the lips. "I only worry for these poor people. And I wish for nothing to happen to you or my brothers."
He saw the worry on her face, and wished there was something he could say to reassure her, but he'd never lied to her, and would not start now. "There is a good chance, Raja, that we do not outrun these Saxons, especially with all these people."
"But we could not have left them behind," she insisted. "They were suffering."
"Many suffer," he stated. "It is not our job to placate it." His eyes flicked to the approaching caravan.
"Tristan, if we have to fight, you will not turn me from your side, will you?" A cold breeze bit into her face, causing a shiver to her bones.
He sighed. Tristan did not want her to fight, but he also wished for her not to be from his side in so dangerous an environment. Now that she was near, he could not ignore the worry he carried for her curdled in his chest, a feeling he had been able to put aside while patrolling.
"Do not order me away, Trissy," she said more insistent, grasping his cloak. "If you go to battle and are hurt, I will only feel it and run back to you. You know it."
He tucked a wisp of her hair behind her ear, nodding solemnly. "I'll not turn you away from my side. I can protect you better when you are near."
"And I will protect you, Tristan," she returned softly. "I know you'd not have me fight, but I can protect you. Will you let me?"
"Aye," he conceded. "You will stay by me or Lancelot, understood?"
She nodded and he hugged her to him tightly. The caravan was closer now. He kissed her before letting her go.
xxx
"The villagers look upon me as if I'm the devil, my lady," Horton told her. "I cannot say I blame them after what they've suffered."
She made a sound of understanding. "You are not to blame for what others have done, Horton. Your actions are your own, and theirs are theirs."
"I thank you for your understanding." He shivered, wrapping his cloak around him tighter. "How is the young boy?"
"He still has a fever. I am going to bring him some tea now. Are you all settled for the night?" she asked.
"I am, thank you. I hope I still have my toes in the morning," he tried for a joke.
Raja chuckled. "Then rest well." She walked away, finding Dagonet nearer the stream tucking the young boy named Lucan in. "Dagonet, I've tea here for his fever." She kneeled down next to him, palm on his forehead. "Poor boy."
"He is a fighter," Dagonet said, tender look upon his face. He helped Lucan sip some tea.
Raja left him to tend to Lucan and set off looking for her cousin. She had orders from her husband to stay near Lancelot during the night while he was off near the perimeter of the camp keeping watch with Bors, Gawain and Galahad.
"You are Raja."
She turned, the sudden voice startling her. The Pict woman, Guinevere, stood behind her, bathed and dressed with a burgundy cloak.
"I am," she replied. "You look much better." Raja saw the campfire Lancelot made for them a few paces off, though he was nowhere in sight. He must be seeing to their horses, she thought. Raja was aching to sit down for spell so gestured Guinevere to follow her for the native seemed of a mind to talk. And Raja had never spoken to a Pict before, so she was intrigued as well. Her old tutor, Galen, would have had a list of questions to put forth.
"How do you know my language?" Guinevere asked as she followed.
"My tutor taught me. He taught me many languages."
"Oh? Which?" Guinevere sat near the fire with Raja.
"Besides yours, I speak the language of the Saxons and Greeks, along with my native Copts and Sarmatian." She offered Guinevere some bread and cheese which was taken readily. "You speak Latin well."
"I had to," Guinevere said bitterly. "It is a language widely spoken in this land now, while mine is being ripped away."
Raja tipped her head sympathetically.
"You are a warrior?" Guinevere questioned.
She laughed. "No. My uncles taught me to fight so I may defend myself, but I am no warrior."
Guinevere peered at the two small swords Raja had taken from her back, disbelieving. "So, you, a woman who is much learned in the world and fighting, meddles with herbs and healing? Men command you to stay at their side and you obey?"
"There is use for healing," Raja replied. "I have always had an affinity for it. And these men, my husband, and cousin, command me stay at their side because they worry for my safety."
"There is use for healing, but not for killing? You can fight but are still ordered to stand next to a man?"
Raja's eyes widened. The Pict's retorts sharp and swift. "No. Killing weighs on my heart. I have had to only three times in my life and I think of them every day. I'd not take life unless I had to. And even then I wonder – did I?"
"That is strange," Guinevere mused. "Is that why your man does not take you to fight next to him? He rides off without you, and even now is at the perimeter while you idle here."
"My husband would not have me fight." She could see this made Guinevere's hackles go up. "He knows I am capable, but also knows it is not for me. We all of us find our places in this world, you know. When we find them we tend to stay with that which keeps our hearts unburdened. I find that in healing and caring for others. My husband finds that in battle. He was raised that way. It is his tribe's way." Attempting to change the subject from her, she asked, "You are a fighter. I can tell."
"Women fight equal to men where I come from," Guinevere stated proudly. "We bed who we want, and take a husband when we choose. Is it that way where you come from?"
"Egypt? No. I would say my family is unique in its way that we have always chosen our life partners for love. The women in my family do learn to fight if we wish it, but we've also left battle to our male counterparts. In Sarmatia, though, women do fight next to men often. But when they marry they put down their swords."
Guinevere snorted. "Truly? What a waste."
Shrugging, she replied, "I think if a woman is content with their choice, then it is not a waste. Choosing our own paths in life is a freedom everyone should have. Whether that is to fight or raise a family, or both."
The Pict peered at her curiously. "You are full of contradictions."
Raja laughed. "It is no contradiction. I am simply saying we should all be able to choose though so few of us are actually granted that."
"You are a hopeful person," Guinevere observed. "Like people in stories and poems."
"If we cannot hope, we are doomed," Raja told her. "Tomorrow is not guaranteed to all, and there is no bargaining to fate for it. Sometimes, all we can do is hope and lay trust in those we love."
"We can also fight for it," the Pict returned. "We can fight for tomorrow."
"I agree," Raja said softly. "I think that is a cause worth fighting for."
"Cousin." Lancelot approached, displeased expression on his face as he glanced between Raja and Guinevere, clearly disapproving of the company.
The Pict stood, meeting Lancelot's gaze baldly.
"Lancelot, have you met Guinevere?" Raja inquired.
"We've spoken," Lancelot answered, not sparing the woman another glance before taking a seat next to Raja.
Sensing a tone, Raja only said she needed to relieve herself and would return.
Guinevere continued to watch Lancelot's movements, wondering what it was about this man that intrigued her so. He was first-in-command to Arthur, yet was so different. While Arthur wanted to help, Lancelot seemed intent on doing the opposite. He was of relations to Raja, and while they shared a similarity of expression and curl of hair, there was nothing else that seemed to bond them, at least nothing she could tell. She had heard him order Raja stay at his side, and seemed possessive of his cousin's company, but there was always a moue of malcontent about him.
"She was telling me of Sarmatian women," Guinevere said. "How they fight next to your men."
He scoffed. "Yes, we also sacrificed goats, drank their blood and danced naked around the fire." He saw his jape only made Guinevere's stare harden, and it annoyed him. What did this woman want with him? With Arthur? They had saved her life yet she only seemed to want to quarrel. "My cousin tells you only good things."
"You remember nothing good of home then?"
He was silent for a moment. "What I do remember…oceans of grass from horizon to horizon, further than you could ride. The sky, bigger than you could imagine. No boundaries."
Finally, Guinevere smiled. "Some might call that freedom. That is what we fight for – our land, our freedom. The right to choose your own destiny. We are much alike, you and I." She stepped closer to him. "And when you return home - will you take a wife? Have sons?"
Ever this talk about the future, he thought acerbically. If he didn't speak of it with Raja, he certainly would not say anything of it to this woman who thought them alike – a notion so far from the truth. "I have killed too many sons. What right do I have to my own?"
"No family, no religion. Your cousin seems to believe in the goodness of the world, in hope. Do you believe in anything at all?"
He laughed dryly. "My cousin's heart is pure. Unlike mine, or yours, I imagine. She thinks if people are kind and understanding fighting may cease. She believes in compassion, even for this sorry lot." He continued plainly, "I would have left you and the boy there to die." Lancelot turned away, staring into the fire before he heard the quiet retreat of the Pict. Sighing, he ran his hand down his face.
"Lottie?"
He mustered a smile for his cousin, scooting over so she may rest in his arm. "It is too cold out here for you."
"I will manage. I have you." She kissed his cheek before resting her head on his shoulder. "Did she talk to you?" Raja had heard the tail end of their conversation and it saddened her. Her cousin sounded so defeated and hopeless it brought tears to her eyes.
He grumbled. "The woman talks nonsense. Far too many questions."
"I liked talking to her."
Lancelot scoffed. "You would."
She took out her dragon amulet, and bid him do the same. "These were carved separately, by two different people, yet they're so alike."
"An observation you often speak of."
"And you've always been kind to indulge me. I wish we knew who made them."
"We will never know," he replied.
She was silent for a moment. "Tristan said he would not turn me from his side if we had to fight."
His exhale was so heavy it moved her head. "I know it. He told me."
She looked up at him, the grim lines of his face etched deep as the wind whipped his curls across his forehead. "Are you angry?"
"I am past anger. You will stay with me or him, Raja. I've taken care of you these long years, and I am not about to lose you now."
Raja snuggled into his arm, and she felt him also relax against her for support. "You have always taken good care of me."
"I will always, so long as I breathe." He kissed her head. "Try to rest now."
xxx
Raja heard a scuffle coming from a few paces away as she saddled Odin. Marius yelled he had the boy, Dagonet shouted, and she instantly grabbed her bow and arrow, running towards the commotion. Men grabbed at Dagonet, Marius held a knife to Lucan's throat, threatening to cut. Dagonet broke free, brandishing a dagger from his boot.
Instinctually, she nocked her arrow and aimed. "Let him go!" she commanded. "Let him go, now!"
"Bah!" Marius yelled, madness upon his face. "Why should I listen to a pagan whore?" To his soldiers, he demanded, "Kill him!"
Raja's fingers twitched on the arrow. "Let him go," she ordered once more. "I will not miss." She prayed she would not have to shoot. She prayed for it with all her might, but she would not let Marius kill a little boy. She would not let these soldiers kill Dagonet. She felt her blood pulse in her veins, the coldness of the morning entirely forgotten. Her mind went blank as she saw a bead of blood drip from Lucan's neck. Almost imperceptibly, Marius' hand moved, and Raja let loose her arrow. It landed with a thud in Marius' chest, and the Roman fell to the icy ground.
"Does that make four?" Guinevere asked as she approached behind her.
Raja let out a shuddered breath she did not know she was holding. Nausea overwhelmed her as she swallowed a lump in her throat, hoping the trembling of her hands was not too obvious. Lancelot came to stand at her side, Arthur on the other.
"I…he had the little boy," Raja defended shakily.
"Your aim was true," Guinevere told her, "and justified."
Lancelot put a steady hand on her shoulder. "Go now, cousin, we have this." He watched her worriedly as she returned to Odin.
"Her actions confuse me," Guinevere spoke. "Why does she feel badly?"
He smirked at her. "Because she is not a monster like us." Then, "Are your hands better?"
xxx
"Do not think too harshly upon your actions, cousin," Lancelot told her gently. He rode next to her; the Saxons drums a distant accompaniment to his cousin's regret. "You did no wrong."
Raja turned slightly, seeing Arthur speaking to the boy Alecto. "I took his father from him. Her husband. Rome is a pater familias, and I have robbed them of their security."
He inched close to take her hand. "You took nothing. Only saved a young boy and likely Dagonet, too."
Her gray eyes still worried. "Still…I know my actions have caused them sadness. Shall I say something to them? I fear no words would suffice though."
"You'll say nothing," he said. "They would say nothing to you if roles were reversed. And I promise they would not feel as contrite as you do." He let go of her hand to take control of his reins, head turning back only to see Arthur with a bewildered look about his face now.
Soon, they came upon a frozen lake. The other knights rode swiftly behind, coming to a stop near Tristan and Arthur.
"We have to cross the ice," Tristan stated.
They dismounted while Jols rode back to prepare everyone. The ice was vast, spanning over a thousand paces. The drums echoed throughout the valley, snow-capped mountains trembled from its knell. As they all spread across the ice, taking the terrain slowly, they were silent, as if even an errant breath would cause the frozen floor beneath them to crack. Their horses startled as the ice groaned under their feet, threatening to break. The drums grew louder, and Arthur held up his hand to still their forward march.
It was decided then. They would stay and fight. Tristan glanced at Raja, nodding, remembering his promise not to turn her from his side. The villagers made their way ahead without them.
Jols hurriedly gave each of them a clutch of arrows wrapped in cloth, setting the weapons at their feet. Guinevere added another bow, though Raja feared it still would not be enough. Soon, the shadow of Saxons approached the ice across from them. They were dirtied and grim, covered in furs.
Raja took a breath, Lancelot and Tristan like sentinels on either side of her. Her fingers twitched on her arrow, joints stiff, ready for an order.
"Bors, Tristan," Arthur commanded.
Her husband nocked two arrows, aiming upwards and out; both his and Bors' arrows hitting their marks on flesh and sinew. Raja squinted, seeing whom she assumed to be the leader grimace in anger as he ordered his men forward.
"Aim for the wings of their ranks, make them cluster," Arthur ordered.
They did. Arrows flying high, darting down to fell their enemy. The Saxons huddled closely, trying to avoid the onslaught, but to no avail. The wind was at the smaller group's backs and therefore in their favor.
"Back!" Arthur shouted. "Fall back! It's not going to break. Prepare for combat!"
Raja dropped her bow, pulling her two short swords from their scabbards. She heard Dagonet yell before running forward with his axe.
"Dagonet!" she screamed, echoing Bors.
"Cover him!" Arthur yelled.
She dropped her swords to take up bow and arrow again. Dagonet continued to hack at the ice until it finally broke just as an arrow impaled itself within him. Her breath caught in her throat, Dagonet fell. Arthur ran to him, grasping Dagonet's armor as he hit the water. They ran forward, shooting furiously. Raja saw the Saxon leader go down, sinking into the stygian darkness of the lake. The Saxons yelled, for whom she did not know, for nothing and no one was coming to save them now.
"Dagonet! Stay with me!" Bors shouted.
Raja hurried to them. His face was blue, his body unmoving. She shooed Arthur aside, listening for a breath, feeling for a heartbeat – there was nothing. Three thick arrows protruded from him. Her giant, her gentlest older brother had fallen to senseless violence. Raja cried in desperation. In a last ditch attempt, she tried something she had seen in Greece during her travels. Her fist clenched and she pounded on Dagonet's sternum above his heart – once, twice, three times, as the men looked at her oddly. Finally, water spurted from his mouth, he coughed roughly.
"Dagonet!" Bors exclaimed.
"We must get him warm," Raja said, voice shaking from relief. "Immediately. Prepare a fire to cauterize the wounds after we pull the arrows. Quickly!"
xxx
"Will he live, little dove, you think?" Bors asked her quietly.
They had made it back to the fortress. Germanius had handed them their discharge papers in the courtyard, but it was bittersweet. Dagonet now fought for his life, lying in the infirmary, swaddled in poultice and cloths. Raja tended to him for hours as soon as they arrived, no moments for rest.
Raja placed a cloth soaked in cool water on Dagonet's forehead. Her eyes were sad. "I do not know Bors."
Bors grimaced and fought back tears. "You should go then. Rest up. Eat. I'll stay with him now." Gently, he lifted Raja from her seat and hugged her tightly. "You're exhausted."
"I want you to rest, too, Bors," she said. She wiped an errant tear from his face.
"I need no rest. I've got my ale. I'll sit here. Drink with Dagonet like I always do after a long journey." He attempted a smile, though it fell short.
"Then I shall leave you. I will return to check on him, and you."
Bors had already assumed her seat, pouring a cup of ale for Dagonet and sitting it next to him while he drank directly from the jug. Raja squeezed his shoulder before departing, weary to her bones.
Tristan was waiting for her in their chambers. Stripped of his armor, clean clothes set out for both of them. He said they would bathe together, then eat. In the baths, he undressed her wordlessly, then himself before slipping into the warm water behind her. She leaned against his solid chest, exhaling.
Tristan had barely a moment to speak with her of anything – the Roman she killed, the battle at the lake, her care of Dagonet. He felt her strain, how she carried it, the weight of it holding her down.
"You did good," he finally spoke, hand brushing damp hair from her face. "You have nothing to be ashamed of. Everything you've been taught, you used. And I'm proud to have you as my wife."
She trembled then, tears breaking the dam of her distress. Tristan squeezed her, placing soft kisses in the crook of her neck as she cried. He needed no more words to comfort her for his presence and strength of his hold was enough. When her sobs abated, he loosened his grip. He unbraided her hair and washed it, then her back and her arms. They turned so Raja may do the same for him. When done they dried themselves, donning fresh clothes.
Back in their chambers, Raja prepared a stew for them over the hearth in the antechamber.
"I must go check on Dagonet when we are done," she told him.
Tristan nodded. He did not tell her that he anticipated needing to leave here sooner than planned. The Saxons would not accept that defeat at the lake, their march here inevitable. He wanted her mind and heart to rest as much as they were able before they engaged in another harsh journey.
"Tristan…his wounds are bad."
He reached over the table and took her hand. "You've done all you can, Raja."
She shook her head, tears welling once more. "I've not done enough. We are all of us supposed to leave together. How will he travel?" Her gaze met his. "The Saxons will come, won't they?"
He sighed internally. "Aye, they will."
xxx
The infirmary door opened. Raja looked up to see her cousin, glancing first at Dagonet, then at her, sadly.
"What's wrong?" she asked, standing.
He shut the door. "The Saxons are outside the walls. Tristan wants you to go to your chambers and pack what you can. We leave at first light."
Assessing him, she felt something was being unsaid. "And?"
His brow rose. "No 'and.' We leave in the morning. I need you to go pack."
"You are not telling me something, Lancelot. You come here not only troubled, but angry."
His jaw clenched, damning her astuteness. His talk, if you could call it that, with Arthur had not gone well. His friend was insisting on staying and fighting, bidding them farewell as if they had not been together for fifteen long years, not seizing freedom, instead only waylaying himself on this island for a lost cause.
"I will explain later. But, please, go pack and rest. Bors will come spell me later. He and I will prepare Dagonet for the journey. I'll not have you take ill, too, because you refuse to rest."
She placed her hand on his chest, eyes never leaving him, her gaze heavy and knowing. "I wish you would tell me what troubles you, Lottie. I do not like to see you in this pain. Your heart has long been heavy, and I see it grow heavier with each passing day."
Lancelot hmmphed dryly, taking her hand in his to place a kiss on her fingers. "Go. Do not trouble yourself with my heart."
"I will always trouble myself with your heart. For I love you. And I shall never, ever, give up on you. No matter how you wish me to."
"You are stubborn," he said, keeping the emotion from his tone. "But I love you, too, and your stubbornness."
xxx
Once Raja hastily packed for both her and Tristan, she waited for him in their room. Bennu slept on the chair in front of the fire while Raja paced anxiously, awaiting her husband to tell her everything. It was a few hours before he finally entered. She hugged him like she'd not seen him in days.
"Dagonet is ready," he told her.
"And I have packed for us."
"Good." He took off his boots and coat. "We have not much time to rest before we must awaken and leave."
"And what else? I know there is more than just Saxons. Lancelot told me nothing."
Tristan sat by the fire, taking an apple. "Arthur is staying."
This was not what she had expected to hear. "What do you mean? He is staying…to fight?"
Nodding, he took a large bite. "He says his place is here."
Struggling to find words, she finally asked, "And he does not ask you all to stay with him?"
"He wouldn't do that." He tugged her onto his lap so she would stop pacing, apple forgotten for the sweet smell of wife made him forget all. He rested his head in her bosom as her fingers trailed through his hair thoughtfully.
"He will be alone," she thought aloud. "How can we leave him alone?"
"This is what he has chosen"
In fact, he wanted not to think of it further. The days had been long, and none of it had gone to plan. His Raja was burdened by bloodshed and the injury of one she loved and feared she could not save. These were days meant for calm planning of their future, instead he now had to swiftly leave with his wife. Letting out a heavy breath, his hand roamed to her knee, pulling up her shift to touch the supple expanse of her thigh. He felt goose pimples under his fingertips as they creeped higher until they felt her moist warmth.
Tristan fondled her as they kissed, her soft moans whispering against his mouth. He stood, her with him, placing her on her feet to divest her of her shift, the shadow the flames cast lapping over her nakedness. Lips took hers till they were on their knees in front of the fire. Raja slipped off his shirt and untied his breeches, hardness springing forth. She ached for him, yearned, needing his weight on her body. The sadness and worry of these long days were momentarily forgotten as he entered her. She cried out, trembling, on the verge of rupture if not for the stilling of his movements, and the sureness of his kiss. Thighs clasped his waist, urging him deeper. He held her wrists above her head, claiming her body as he thrust zealously.
Raja begged for him not to stop as she clung to him, moaning in his neck. It went on for what seemed forever before he switched their positions. Raja lost no beat to their rhythm as she ground her hips into his, mouth tantalizingly open with her keens of ecstasy, bosom heaving, nipples hard and pointed.
Tristan gritted his teeth, incensed with pleasure, his phallus slick with her liquid want. He thrust upwards, kneading her breast, heady at the vision above him. His wife was perfection, his whole heart and being. They cried out simultaneously, climax synchronous. Raja bit her lip, continuing to move her hips languidly as little jolts of euphoria washed over her.
Finally, she sighed, her body slumping over his, curling into his side like a kitten. Her palm rested over his thudding heart, counting the beats until it returned to normal pace. They slept for a bit before Tristan awoke and carried her to their bed.
xxx
Arthur was a lone figure atop the hill as they trotted past with their caravan. Bors returned in line after saluting him with a Sarmatian cry. Soon, Arthur, their old friend, was out of sight. Raja had hugged him goodbye this morning, telling him she would think of him every day. He bid her go forth and live a long life, thanking her for her love all these long years. Recalling their farewell, tears filled her eyes, the smoke from the pitch carrying on the wind causing them to burn more.
Raja was startled as their horses faltered, staggering to the side from the increased volume of the drums. She patted Odin, soothing him to still. Something in the air had changed just now, she could feel it. The men all gave each other knowing glances, perhaps a sign from the gods that they were not to leave here now. Vanora gave Bors a sad, understanding look as her children waved to him goodbye.
They dismounted to let the Roman caravan pass.
Raja and Tristan locked eyes. She knew the battle was calling to him. Battle came to him as natural as his love for her. It was not in him to deny either. Would he stay if she asked him? Yes. She knew the answer unequivocally – yes. But would she ask him? Would she dare do that to him – deny him what was in his blood? As much pain and anguish it caused her, Raja knew she could not.
"You keep her here," Lancelot hissed quietly to Tristan as the scout dismounted.
Tristan ignored him, already knowing what he was being told. Raja stood with Odin near the wagon Dagonet was being carried in.
"Trissy," she whispered. "You will come back to me."
He caressed her face silently. "If I do not…you will go from here."
"I will go where you are, I told you. My heart does not beat without yours."
"It will," he insisted gruffly.
Shaking her head, she replied, "No. I give you leave to go to battle with no regrets. But I will never leave you here alone."
"You are stubborn," he sighed. "I love you."
"I have loved you forever."
Tristan let her say goodbye to her cousin while he readied his armor.
As Raja helped tighten his armor, Lancelot said, "I will watch out for him, cousin, so Tristan may return to you."
"And what of you?" Raja asked sadly. "I want you to return to me, too."
"Ah, Raja," he replied blithely. "You've ever been hopeful. But I know you know the truth of life. Of this life."
"I do." A tear slipped down her cheek, the rough pad of his thumb wiped it away. "But I will always hope for you, Lottie. You are not just my cousin, but my brother."
"Aye, and you my sister." He hugged her, careful with his armor on now. "Your love is like the sun, you know. It alone has gotten me through the years. So do not be sad for me, sister. You've reminded me what love and goodness is and it has given me peace." He kissed her cheek a final time before mounting his horse.
Raja let go of his hand, turning back to Tristan. She held back her sob, for she did not want Tristan's last sight of her to be of her tears, but only of her stalwart love. He kissed her openly, deeply, feeling as at home in her arms as he did riding off to battle, though the former was infinitely sweeter.
"I love you," he told her. "I love you forever."
xxx
She stood with Vanora and her children as the men rode away. By now, the Roman caravan was far ahead. They had agreed to wait, for neither woman could imagine traveling further without them.
It was an hour before Raja felt it. A growing dread, then a burning pain in her side.
"Tristan," she gasped.
xxx
Tristan groaned, crawling towards his sword on the battlefield. Corpses and the smell of blood and smoke were all around him. Cerdic, the Saxon leader, trailed behind him ominously. His body wracked with pain as he willed himself to move. After the stab to his side, the Saxon has pressed his advantage. He suffered a slash to his neck and leg in succession, before a dagger was implanted in his forearm. Tristan's vision swam, the only clear thing the thought of Raja. He fought to return to her, but somewhere deep now, he always knew this was to be – him going first, leaving her behind.
He coughed, blood splattering the muddied ground. He felt someone grab his hair, lifting him. Tristan was too weak to struggle. Eyes to the sky he saw Penelo circle above, the bird he and Raja had nursed back to health so many years ago. He never thought the falcon would fly again, but it had, defying all odds.
"Raja," he muttered.
"Hmm?" Cerdic bent down, mocking him. "What did you say?"
Still looking up at the sky, he saw Horus join Penelo. His vision darkened at the corners.
"Raja," he breathed.
"Tristan!"
He knew he was dying now, for he was hearing things. Hearing his wife, her voice the sweetest in the world. A vicious scream rent the air and Cerdic dropped him, yelling in pain.
xxx
Raja aimed for Cerdic atop Odin, the arrow embedding itself in the man's leg. She screamed, leaping from Odin as she ran to the Saxon, kicking him to the side.
The Saxon growled, brandishing his sword at her.
"Raja, take him and go!" Arthur commanded, running into the fray.
Raja dropped to her knees by her struggling husband as Arthur clashed swords with the Saxon leader. There was still fighting about and Raja tried to shield Tristan's injured body as best she could.
"Tristan, I am here," she crooned, "I am here." She heard him groan her name in return. "Put your arm around me." She whistled for Odin, and her steed was by her in minutes. "Try, Tristan! You must stand!"
But he couldn't. He was too weak. It mattered not for Arthur killed the Saxon leader, and soon the battle was over. When the smoke cleared, Galahad, Bors and Gawain approached her. They helped her with Tristan, setting him atop Odin.
"Where is Lancelot?" she questioned. "Has anyone seen him?"
They shook their heads sadly, looking around. The Picts they fought alongside with on this day combed the battlefield for their own lost brethren. Across the way, Raja saw Arthur fall to his knees in front of a body, Guinevere nearby.
"Lottie," her voice a hushed whisper. "Take Tristan to the infirmary," she ordered them. "Now!"
She ran to Arthur, seeing her cousin lying limp upon the earth.
"Lancelot!" she cried. She let out a relieved breath; he lived. An arrow had pierced his armor, high on his chest. "Lancelot, I am here."
"You," he groaned haltingly, "are not supposed to be here."
"Yet, I am," she smiled wistfully at him. "And I will care for you."
xxx
Two Weeks Later
"Raja, I want out of this bed and this dreadful infirmary," Lancelot demanded. "You cannot hold the three of us here forever."
Tristan, Lancelot and Dagonet took up three beds in the infirmary. Bors had a few scrapes and bruises after the battle, Galahad, too. Gawain suffered an arrow in the shoulder, which he had ripped out himself to continue fighting. He was up and about in no time. The three remaining men suffered the worst, though they were all awake now and bemoaning her insufferable ministrations, except for Dagonet who took it with more alacrity.
"Lancelot, you whine like child," she lectured, as she mixed his stew. "None of you will leave here until I say so. That is final."
Lancelot glared at Tristan in the bed next to his, as if the scout somehow held more sway over his wife.
"Do not turn to him, Lottie. He is in the same boat as you." She poured some stew into a wood bowl and handed one to each of them. "Now, eat."
"We should all listen to Raja," Dagonet voiced calmly.
Two weeks since the battle, and much had changed. Arthur was brokering a tentative alliance with the Picts, and Raja was guessing that he had intent to marry Guinevere at some point to cement it. It was quieter about the fort, not as many people, with much of the Roman military taking their leave. Some men had decided to stay as they'd married wives and had children, and there was much land to be had, more so than Rome.
"How are the men today?" Arthur walked in the infirmary, inspecting his comrades.
"We are fine," Lancelot stated haughtily. "Though my dear cousin seems to think otherwise."
"How much longer till they are about, you think?" Arthur questioned.
"We could be about now," Tristan grumbled between bites of his stew.
Raja studiously ignored them. "Soon. Why?"
"I've need of a meeting, but if I have to hold it in here, then so be it."
"Has this to do with your new allies?" Lancelot asked.
"Our new allies, I hope," Arthur replied.
Lancelot scoffed. "That's presumptuous. Why don't you just tell us what is on your mind now?"
"I'd like to tell you all at the same time," Arthur said.
"Hmm, that important?" Lancelot quipped.
"You will have to bring everyone in here," Raja told him. "While Tristan and Lancelot can walk some, Dagonet cannot."
Arthur nodded and said he would return with the others. Once they were all gathered, Arthur was ready to impart his news.
"I am to be married," he announced with no fanfare. "To Guinevere."
Raja smiled. "I am happy for you, Arthur. As are we all."
"It will serve as an alliance between me and her people, and what we hope to build here," Arthur continued.
Raja frowned. "Just an alliance? Surely there is love to be had, too." She looked at the men as if they should share her concern, but they seemed to have no thoughts on the matter.
Arthur smiled indulgently. "Yes, Raja. There is love, too."
She heaved a sigh, glad that was the case, for she could not imagine anyone simply marrying for anything less than that.
"An alliance is a bold order," Lancelot intoned.
"It will not seem so, with you all at my side," Arthur finished, letting that sink in for all of them.
Raja took Tristan's hand, a small smile on her lips. He squeezed it in return.
"Well," Bors said, "I've too many bastards to cart around, so I'll stay. I have every intent on governing my own village. Dagonet is my personal guard, aren't you Dag?"
Dagonet shook his head wearily at his friend's declaration. As it was, Galahad and Gawain agreed to stay for a time. Lancelot said nothing; Tristan and Raja promised nothing as they wanted to speak amongst themselves first.
They got the a few days later when Raja allowed Lancelot and Tristan to leave the infirmary. Dagonet stayed near Bors and Vanora's house so they could tend to him. The tall night had taken on little Lucan as an adopted son as the young boy made fast friends with Bors' children.
"You wish to stay?" Tristan asked. He watched her as she combed her long hair, savoring the vision of her.
She shrugged. "I don't know." She braided her hair before getting into bed with him. "It's odd. It's not what I planned."
"I know," he replied, stroking her arm.
"If Lancelot stays, I don't see how I can leave without him. He's not made a decision yet." She looked up at him. "And you have no say in the matter?"
"I care not either way," he said.
She nodded. "But I want to see my uncles again. I miss them." Raja had only seen her uncle Ardeth three times in the last five years, and saying goodbye to him never got easier.
"Then you must choose," he told her, not unkindly.
"Am I selfish, Trissy? For wanting us all to be together? You, Lancelot, my uncles?"
"No. But you realize that may not happen."
She was silent, not wanting to agree aloud to that possibility. For the last five years the image of them all living together in Egypt had been forefront in her heart. Now, Tristan told her it was unlikely, even after all they'd been through. She snuggled closer to her husband now, the only certain presence in her life.
"If Lancelot stays," she voiced, "we will stay for a little while. A year maybe. I will see him settled and content before I leave him. Then we will go to my uncles, for I know they are old and have need of me, too." She sniffed. "My heart beckons me in different directions and I feel I will let someone down no matter what I choose."
"You let no one down," he assured her. "And I will be with you, no matter where."
Raja smiled at him. "You are always with me, aren't you?"
He kissed her. "And you with me."
This Must Be the Place – Song by Talking Heads