Chapter 5-Truly Sarmatian Knights

Tristan looked over at the boy he had been assigned with. It was Gawaine and Galahad’s younger brother, Gareth. Arthur had said that this was the first of three trials necessary to see if their training was complete. This trial was to be on foot and one dog had been assigned to each pair except for Tristan’s; Hodain was to be their hunter on this mission. They were now listening to Arthur give the last of his instructions as he stood near the front of their camp. They were camped at the base of a mountain.

“Each group is to head up the mountain and search out the charges to which your item belongs,” Arthur was saying. Gareth held a rag doll in his hand; their charges were obviously children. “When you find them, you must find your way to the top of the mountain where a Roman Mountain Post is located. Deliver your charges to them and then return to the camp. You have four days.”

The other boys started off and Gareth was about to follow but Tristan stopped him. “Let Hodain get the scent first.” It’ll be easier to know which way to go.” Gareth nodded and then stood still, waiting for something to happen. Tristan sighed. “Let him smell the doll.”

“Oh. Sorry, Tristan.” He leaned down and let Hodain smell the doll.

Hodain then began smelling the ground, looking for the scent. He soon found it and started following it. Tristan tightened his grip on his spear then started forward. They followed Hodain through the day, only stopping to relieve themselves every now and again. They didn’t stop until a few hours after nightfall and then made camp in a small clearing not far off the trail. They ate a bit of bread and after that Tristan took first watch. Hodain lay next to him as the fall winds whipped around them. As the moon reached the center of the sky, he woke Gareth and when he was sure the boy had taken his spot, he went to sleep. The next day they traveled just as they had the day before. Two hours after noon, Hodain began barking and broke into a run. They rounded a corner and saw three children being held by Roman soldiers.

Tristan held up the doll. “Is this any of yours?” The smallest of them nodded. Tristan dropped his spear and drew his sword, as did Gareth. He knew he couldn’t actually hurt these men; it was to be a mock fight. Either way, it was nine against two- hardly a fair fight. One man ran towards them and Tristan quickly blocked his sword and “struck” him down. The man walked off to the side of the glade. Three more rushed at them but they were defeated just as quickly with Gareth “bringing down” two and Tristan taking care of the other one. Then they rushed towards the others and defeated them in a matter of a few minutes.

“Good work. Now complete your mission,” the man who had been defeated first said as he handed them a folded map. Then all the soldiers started heading back down the mountain.

The wind picked up and a light rain began to fall. Gareth picked the doll up off the ground and handed it to the little girl. The oldest of the children was a boy about ten and after him was a girl of maybe seven. The youngest was no more than five. Tristan picked up the little girl and put her on his back. Gareth followed his example with the seven-year-old.

“Are you a good runner?” Tristan asked the boy, his airway slightly constricted by the girl’s arms around his neck.

“Yes, sir. I chase the pigs home everyday and I am the fastest of all the boys.”

“Good.” He unfolded the map and looked at it. A little red dot where they were located. They were about two miles from the mountain post. He showed it to Gareth, and, after deciding which way to go, they started off at a fast jog. The girl on his back slowed him but he knew they would never make their four-day deadline if they didn’t run. The wind nipped at his fingers and ears and the wind blew his hair in his face. He ignored it and continued on, intent on his mission. Finally, the mountain post came into view and Tristan breathed a sigh of relief. He slowed and then set the girl down. They walked the rest of the way to the mountain post where the children’s frantic mother greeted them.

“Thank you, sirs,” she said over and over again as she hugged her children.

“You two, come with me,” said a soldier who was standing behind the mother.

Trying hard to get his breathing normal again, Tristan followed the soldier along with Gareth and Hodain.

“Names,” he ordered as he stopped by an open book on a table.

“Tristan and Gareth,” Tristan answered.

“Any injuries?”

“No.”

“Did any of the children’s captors escape?”

“No.”

“Head back down the mountain then.”

They turned and walked over to a small creek that ran into the post. They splashed their faces with the water and drank some of it before starting back out at a run. They managed to get passed the place where they had camped the night before and stopped a half-mile away. The next morning, they walked. Near the bottom of the mountain, they met up with Launcelot and Bors and exchanged stories. Launcelot and Bors had encountered fifteen soldiers guarding a mother, her baby, and young son. Just before they left the forest. Gawaine and Dagonet caught up with them. They had to rescue an elderly couple. Arthur was waiting for them when they entered the camp.

“Welcome back, knights. Good work. I have heard of your accomplishments. You may go to your tents now.”

They all sat in their four-person tents until Arthur called them back at sunset. Tristan searched the faces around him, trying to see who, if any, had not made it back.

“Can anyone tell me who is not here?” Arthur asked.

“Gaheris,” said Percivale, one of the boys in Gaheris’s barrack.

“Who else?”  

“Lavaine,” Bors said, his voice brimming with anger.

“Yes. Gaheris and Lavaine have not yet made-” he stopped when he saw Tristan running from the crowd. “Tristan! What are you doing?” he called out to the boy.

Tristan jumped onto his horse, not caring that she was not saddled. “I have a hunch, a bad one.” He turned Eshtaol and leaned down to Hodain. “Find Lavaine, boy.” The dog began searching the ground for the familiar scent. While the dog looked, Tristan strung his bow and placed it in his right hand.

“Tristan, you cannot just go running off during a briefing.”

“I am sorry, Arthur. I have a feeling something bad has happened and I will not leave my comrades alone.” Hodain suddenly broke into a run and Tristan kicked Eshtaol in the side, causing her to rear slightly before starting after Hodain. Not long after he had entered the woods, he heard more hoof beats behind him. He turned and looked back and saw Gawaine, Launcelot and Bors coming after him. He sighed and turned back, keeping his attention on Hodain. The dog disappeared for a minute and then let out a yelp of pain. Tristan put an arrow to the string and drew it back. Hodain lay on his side, a dagger protruding from his stomach. Behind him stood twenty warriors, all painted blue and bearing tattoos all over their bodies; they were the Picts. He loosed his arrow and it struck its mark. Three more arrows flew past his head, all three of them bringing down one man each. Tristan loosed two more arrows before he was forced to dismount and fight with his sword. The other three behind him dismounted, each brandishing their weapon of choice.

They brought down the remaining eight men in a matter of seconds. The end of the fight revealed Lavaine and Gaheris tied to a tree, their weapons lying not far off and their dog missing. While the other three tended to the rescued trainees, Tristan ran over to where Hodain lay. His breathing was greatly labored and his fur was wet with sweat and blood. Hot tears ran down Tristan’s face as he felt his beloved dog draw his last, ragged breath before passing into the void. He pulled the dagger out and threw it and it stuck in a nearby tree, just barely missing Gawaine. His final gift from his father that he had was gone from him. Hodain had saved his life many times and had never failed him in a hunt.

“Tristan?” came Gawaine’s hesitant voice.

The boy didn’t answer but instead removed his cloak and wrapped Hodain in it. Then he mounted up and rode from the site, leaving the Picts’ mangled bodies behind.

 

*          *          *

 

Arthur paced back and forth nervously. If Tristan’s hunch had been right, then he had ridden right into trouble. But Tristan was a prince and was well trained in all the arts, as Arthur had discovered since Tristan arrived a month and a half before and he could take care of himself, couldn’t he? He shook his head. He had already sent the rest of the trainees off to their tents for the night but he could tell from the murmurs he heard coming from the tents that they would not be sleeping until all the excitement died down. He had sent the other three not only because they were the oldest in the group but also because he knew that they were all well established as fighters. He looked up at the stars. “Oh merciful God, bring them all back safely. If something were to happen to them, I would blame myself for many years for not stopping Tristan. Let it be as you wish.” He looked back out at the mountain and was relieved when he saw four horses coming toward him. But his concern returned when he saw that there was no dog in their company. No, that was Tristan leading them back. In his lap was a black bundle and his face was covered with dirt and blood but there were small streaks running down his face where it had been washing away. Then it struck Arthur and his breath caught in his chest. The gap between him and the makeshift rescue party closed quickly and they were soon standing in front of him. He swallowed before speaking. “Launcelot, Bors, Gawaine, Tristan; good work. You may all retire now except for Tristan; I want you to stay here.” Lavaine and Gaheris slipped down from behind Bors and Launcelot and then they all left. Tristan dismounted then took the bundle down, cradling it in his arms like a baby. “What happened, Tristan?”

“We were riding through the woods and Hodain, he got out of my site for a minute. I heard him yelp and then I saw the Picts. The had captured Lavaine and Gaheris and we fought them off and headed back.” His voice wavered, its tone telling that he was on the verge of crying again.

It troubled Arthur that the Picts were this far south of the wall but he momentarily pushed that trouble aside. Right now, he had to deal with Tristan. “Tristan, disobedience to a commander is severely punished in the Roman army. But, I believe the loss of Hodain is punishment enough. I am truly sorry that you had to loose such a great companion. Shall we bury him?”

Tristan nodded and then wiped his wet eyes on his shoulder. After finding a shovel, they went off to discover the perfect burial spot for Hodain.

 

*          *          *

 

“But their training is nowhere near complete. They still have two more trials to do and from the results of the first, I know not all of them are ready,” Arthur argued with the messenger who had entered their camp and now stood in his tent.

“I am sorry, Artorius, but you have no choice. I have the orders from the Emperor himself,” the messenger answered, holding up a scroll.

Arthur looked out the open flap of his tent. Some of the boys were sparring and others were practicing their archery. Beyond them, Tristan and Launcelot kneeled by Hodain’s grave, engaged in what looked to be a conversation in which Launcelot was doing all the talking. “This is not a good time,” Arthur growled as he took the scroll from the man’s hand. “One of my knights has just suffered a heavy loss.”

The messenger shrugged. “Grief passes with time.”

“Grief also blinds a man and causes him to do things that he later regrets.” Arthur was fighting to keep his voice level. “Grief causes a man to fight and fight and fight until he kills himself.”

“Then he will die honorably.”

“Honorably? Is that what you call it? I would rather that a man have time to recover than die because he fought before his mind was stable again. It is like a wound. A wounded man is not sent into battle until he is fully recovered because if he goes into battle injured, there is a very good chance that he will die.”

The man held up his hands defensively. “I am just the messenger, Artorius. I cannot change it.” He saluted Arthur by taking his left hand and balling it into a fist before touching it to his right shoulder. Then he left.

“Jada,” he said, turning to his weapons bearer who stood at the back of the tent beside his old advisor, Merlyn, “gather the men.”

“Yes, Arthur.” He ran from the tent and sounded a horn.

“You defended Tristan’s honor well,” Merlyn said in his slow voice.

“Not as well as it should have been.”

The sounds of swordplay stopped as the men turned and gathered at Arthur’s tent.

“But it was well. Go now. Your men await.”

Arthur sighed and walked out to face them, scroll in hand. The fell silent when they saw it, thinking it contained the instructions for their second trial. “Knights, I have just received a message; a message from the Emperor. Your trials and training are over. You are truly Sarmatian Knights now. We are to pack up and head north to join a small army. This army is going to meet the challenge of seven hundred Pictish warriors just north of the Wall. Our assignment is to kill every single one of them. Prepare to leave.” He looked over their faces-some expressed fear; others showed excitement and still others held no expression at all.

One by one, they left the group, heading to pack up their tents in the wagons. Tristan helped Bors, Gareth, and Launcelot pack their tent. After saddling his horse and packing his saddlebags, he walked over to the willow tree under which Hodain was buried for the last time. “Good-bye, my good and faithful friend.” A tear fell down his face, but he wiped it away, refusing to cry anymore.

“Do not worry, young one,” came Merlyn’s voice from behind. Tristan turned to see him standing behind him, leaning on his staff and his black robes blowing in the wind. “Two others will come to you that will be just as faithful as Hodain was.” Then the old man turned and ambled away.

Tristan shivered as the wind picked up. Since Hodain was wrapped in his cloak, he would need a new one soon. Sighing, he turned his back on the grave and walked away quickly before he could change his mind.