Chapter Eight: An Indefensible Outpost

Chapter Eight

An Indefensible Outpost

 

Tristan and the rest of the knights rode into the courtyard with the De Bigots in their company. They lined up along one side of the courtyard and waited for the De Bigots to dismount their horses. A man in expensive robes of mauve and black walked into the courtyard with a beaming smile on his face. He greeted the De Bigots in Latin and then turned to the knights.

“Artorius, Miles militis di Sarmacia, exspectata,” the man said in Latin and the all the knights except Tristan looked at him with confusion on their faces.

“He says ‘Arthur, Knights of Sarmatia, welcome’,” Arthur translated for them. He turned to the man. “Welcome to Hadrian’s Wall, good sir.”

“Ah, I see you all do not speak the Latin,” the man said with a thick accent of one coming directly from Rome.

“I know it well as does another of my knights, but the rest of them do not understand you when you speak the language of Rome.”

“That is understandable. They are all pagans anyway.”

Tristan shifted in his saddle. He knew the others carried the beliefs of the Sarmatians, but he, like Arthur, did not.

“Artorius, I need to speak with you.”

Arthur looked at him and waited for him to speak.

“Alone.”

“We do not have any secrets.” Arthur looked from face to face of his knights and knew that he had lied when he looked at Tristan. But then again, Tristan did not even acknowledge his status anymore. He had seemed to forget that he was ever a Roman.

The man stamped his foot on the ground and Dagonet pushed his horse forward. “Come, let’s see what Sara has got cooking for us tonight.”

“You know I’m all for that,” Bors said as he followed his son’s lead.

Soon all the men rode out of the yard after Dagonet to the place where Sara normally served them dinner even though the Romans had told the knights when they came here that they were to cook their own food. Arthur sighed and decided he did not like this man already. “I am sorry, good sir, but I am afraid I do not know who you are.”

“I am Theras Baukis, the chief advisor of the Emperor of Rome.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you. What brings you from Rome all the way to Briton?”

“Saxon hanno assunto la direzione del Nord. Penso che sia tempo abbiamo lasciato Hadrian’s parete di, Artorius.”

“Please, speak in English. There is none here to overhear us and I prefer English over Latin.”

“The Saxons have taken over the north. I think it is time we left Hadrian’s Wall, Artorius,” he repeated, this time in English. “Well, the Emperor has decided that Briton is an indefensible outpost, therefore we think it best that we withdraw from the Wall.”

“Do you mean that all my men have done here has been for nothing all these years?”

“We must leave or the Roman Empire will crumble. Do you not see that?”

“I see that my men have worked for a cause for fifteen years that was not their own and now would make that amount to nothing?”

Theras bit his lip before speaking again. “The Sarmatian Knights are going to be disbanded, Artorius. From this day on, they are free to return home or stay in Briton if that is their wish.”

Arthur chewed on the inside of his cheek. He knew that the knights would be happy to return home, but what of all the work they had done here? And what of Bors? How would he take that many children and a pregnant wife across the sea back to the place where he had come from? “They will be happy to hear that they will be able to return home before their fifteen years are over but I am not so sure that will calm their anger over all their work being undone over one decision. I have lost twenty-eight men to the hands of Picts and though it may not sound like much, each was a heavy blow dealt to me and each of my men. I will not have it that they died in vain.”

Theras wrung his hands nervously. “You will find their papers of discharge waiting for them in the morning. Good day, Lucius.” He turned and walked back the way he had come.

“What will you tell your men?” came Merlyn’s voice. Arthur knew the man had been listening from the shadows.

“That they are free to return home. That is all that is needed.”

“It would be best to tell them why there was this sudden change.”

“I do not like seeing my men mad.”

“I do not think that anyone likes making anyone upset. Your men should understand.”

“What about Tristan? His uncle does not expect him to return for another year.”

“I would not worry about Tristan. I have sensed that he has taken it upon himself to forget his former life, which he has done and now he only knows his life as one of the Sarmatians.”

Arthur shook his head. “I will go to them now. If I do not tell them, they will know in the morning when they receive their discharge papers.”

“Where will you go, Arthur? Back to Rome?”

“I have come to love Briton as much as I love Rome. No, Merlyn, I cannot leave you and your fellow Britons to the hands of the Saxons. I will stay and fight.” He turned and walked from the courtyard, praying that his men would not take this the wrong way.

 

Tristan was leaning up against his usual pole, eating an apple with his dagger as he often did as he waited for Sara to finish her cooking. The other men sat around drinking, as always. Tristan was the only one who had not taken to the stuff as a means of pleasure and escape from troubles. He had put Teghan in his barrack earlier but left the window open incase she would want to go out and hunt. He knew that if she did, she would return to him. Galahad and Gawaine, both drunk and stumbling, were throwing daggers at a dagger with practiced ease although their drunkenness caused them never to hit the center mark. Tristan, not being able to help himself, picked up an abandoned dagger on a table and walked over. He threw the knife and it landed in the center of Galahad’s wooden-hilted dagger.

“Tristan, how do you manage to do that every time?” Gawaine asked, his voice slightly frustrated.

Tristan shrugged. “I aimed for the middle.” He took a bite of his apple and returned to his pole. His eyes wandered around the scene as he waited, not really taking in what he saw. He saw Arthur enter the hall and knew immediately that something was wrong with the man.  He saw him turn to go but Bors’s call stopped him.

“Arthur!” the man called out. “Come and have a drink with us,” he said as he walked toward him and the rest of the knights followed.

“How did your talk with the Roman man go?” Gareth asked.

Arthur didn’t answer but instead waited until all eleven of his knights had gathered around him. “Knights, I have word from Rome. The Saxons have begun taking over the north.”

“The Saxons?” Launcelot asked, surprise on his face. “The Saxons haven’t invaded since-”

“I know, Launcelot. The Romans have decided to withdraw from Briton calling it an indefensible outpost.”

“What! Where do we go then?” Lavaine asked, anger creeping into his soul.

“They have disbanded the Sarmatian Knights. You will receive your discharge papers in the morning. You are free to return home or stay in Briton if you wish.”

“So all I have fought for all these years-every Pict I have killed and every one of us who died was all for nothing?” Galahad asked, his brash side coming out.

Arthur sighed deeply. “I have no say in what the Emperor of Rome decides. I am a mere commander in his army. I cannot defy his commands. But, I have made a decision to stay and fight for Briton. If the Romans will not defend these people then I will. You are all welcome to join me. I could use your help.” Silence greeted Arthur at his request. He looked from face to face.

Lavaine looked down at his feet before speaking. “I’m going home. My ma will be happy to see me again.”

“I’m with Lavaine,” Pedivere added. “I’ve always wondered what happened to the girl I once had my eyes on.” The two looked at the others and then looked away.

“I’ll stay,” Bors said. “I don’t know much of where home is anymore.”

“I’m with my father,” Dagonet said.

“You can count on me, as well as Galahad and Gareth,” Gawaine said as he emerged from a whispered conversation with his brothers.

Launcelot shrugged. “I’ve got nowhere else to go. My brother sent word that my mother died not two months ago.”

“Samuel and I will stay,” Steven said. “We live here in Briton anyway.”

All eyes moved to Tristan who had not yet said a word. Tristan nodded. “I will stay. I do not think my uncle would so much as look at me if I returned home.”

The others clapped him on the back and then returned to their drinks. Tristan turned and returned to his pole, apple in hand.  

 

*          *          *

Tristan sat on the walltop and watched as the last of the Romans rode away from the Wall, heading for a port at the southernmost tip of Briton. After they left, it would just be the ten of them here, not counting Bors’s children. Arthur had said to meet him at the Round Table at the end of the hour and this Tristan intended to do, but not quite yet. He still had time and he wanted to watch as two of the men he had thought so trustworthy and loyal turned their backs on the men they had fought with for fourteen years.

“It is disappointing, is it not?” he heard a soft female voice behind him that made him jump.

He turned around to see a woman who looked much like Arthur and a boy who looked to be seventeen or eighteen. “Who are you?”

“I am sorry. I am Morgan le Fay. I am Arthur’s half-sister and this is my son, Alisander. Arthur told me to meet him at the Round Table but I am not sure where that is.”

“I will take you there. I am to meet with him as well. My name is Tristan.” He stood and stretched like a cat before heading down the stairs to the ground below. He knew that time was running slim and the hour was almost up. He picked up his pace and noticed that Morgan and her son had no trouble keeping up. He soon came to the door that led to the hall in which the Table sat. He opened the door and walked in to see all the others already seated. He took his place and kept his head down. Usually he was the first to arrive, not the last.

“Tristan, who is this woman?” Bors asked. He had all of his sons old enough to bear arms seated around him.

“I am sorry, I thought Arthur would have informed you of my coming,” Morgan said, dropping into a graceful curtsy. “I am Morgan le Fay. We share the same mother, but not the same father. This is my son, Alisander.”

“It was good of you to come, Morgan,” Arthur said. “Please, take a seat next to Merlyn.”

The woman did so but not after looking at the man with a disgusted look on her face.

“Now, I thank you all for staying with me here to protect the Briton we have all come to love. I know that my knights and I cannot defeat the Saxons alone; we need all the help we can get. Launcelot and Gawaine, your job is to go into the countryside and recruit as many as you can but none no younger than fourteen. As the recruits come in, it will be the job of the rest of you to help train you. Alisander is the son of a Pict so it is up to him and his mother to try and sway them to our side if at all possible. We cannot be fighting two enemies at once. It would drastically reduce our numbers. I ask that all of those who need to prepare to leave prepare at once and waste no time.”

“But, Arthur, Alisander and I have just arrived,” Morgan protested.

“Then you shall not have need to unpack. We cannot waste time in this, sister.” Morgan crossed her arms and grunted but Arthur ignored her. It was obvious to all of them that Arthur and Morgan where not on the best terms. “The rest of you need to search the fort and see what all the Romans have left behind. Bors and Dagonet, I want you to ride to the surrounding forts and search those as well. Bring me back a report.”

“Of course, Arthur. You can count on Bors and me.”

“Bors, if you would, introduce your two sons,” Arthur said, gesturing to the two boys who sat as Bors’s side.

“Well, the oldest here is Gilly and then the other here is Jeffery. Tilley tried to get me to let her fight, but I won’t have it. I know Sarmatian women traditionally fight, but her ma needs her.”

“Thank you, Bors. Everyone, go and do as you have been assigned. When you have finished, report back to me.” All of them stood and left in the groups in which they had been assigned. Tristan turned to leave but Arthur put a hand on his shoulder. “Tristan, I almost forgot. I need you to arrange hunting parties out of the civilians who have stayed here. We’ll need all the food we can get.”

“Yes, Arthur. I’ll fetch Teghan and get right to it.” He turned and walked from the room and Arthur followed him, going to make sure everything was going as planned. When Tristan was once again out in the open, he whistled for Teghan and she let out a call and then appeared among the clouds and began her descent down to him. “It looks like it will snow,” Tristan observed to no one as he glanced at the graying clouds. The bird landed on his outstretched arm and he hurried to the south gate. He went out into the small village that he had not been in since Gilly’s birth fourteen years ago. The little wood houses looked more pathetic than he remembered and few people remained. He walked up to a boy gathering wood. “Excuse me, who is the oldest man in this village?”

“That would be our village elder. He lives in that house over there.” The boy pointed to the shabbiest of the huts and then returned to his wood gathering.

Tristan walked over to the hut and pushed back the deerskin door. A man about sixty-three years of age sat on a wolf pelt at the back of the one-room hut, smoking on a long pipe. He was clean-shaven and his head was completely bald. He opened one eye when he heard Tristan approach.

“Ah, you are one of Arthur’s knights. I thought you all had left,” the man said, his voice raspy and distant.

“No, sir, only two of us decided to return home after we were discharged. I have come to ask a favor of you.”

The man’s other eye opened. “Please, sit.” Tristan did so. “What is it that you have come to ask, lad?”

“Arthur is raising an army to fend off the Saxons. He has asked me to arrange hunting parties of those civilians who have stayed behind rather than make a journey when they do not yet know where they are going. I have come to ask you out of all your men left, who among them are the best hunters?”

The man puffed thoughtfully on his pipe. “I will arrange the hunting parties for you, young sir. You need not worry. We will give Arthur more than he needs.”

“Thank you. I will tell him.” He stood and bowed respectfully. “If you have any need of me or my bird, please tell me.”

“Of course I will. Now, off you go to Arthur.” He waved his hand and then shut his eyes again.

Tristan bowed again then left the hut and hurried back into the fort. He found Arthur in the stable counting the number of horses they had left. The Romans had left thirty behind for Arthur. Arthur turned when he heard Tristan come. “Ah, Tristan, how goes your assignment?”
            “The village elder says he will arrange the hunting parties and not to worry. He will give you more than you need.”

“Good. That is good.”

“Do you need anything else of me?”

“No. You are free to do as you wish for the rest of the day.”

Tristan nodded and walked from the stables. He sent Teghan off to hunt and then climbed to the walltop again and sat down with his feet dangling over the courtyard. It looked so empty and void now that the Romans and all their servants were gone. Now there was an occasional cat or dog here and there and maybe one of Bors’s children. Tristan began to wonder if Arthur’s scheme would work or if it would have better to leave on one of the last ships from Briton. His thoughts were interrupted by the clatter of hooves and the shouts of voices. He looked toward the sound and smiled. It looked as though Launcelot and Gawaine had already managed to recruit about thirty villagers, all of them young and ready for training. What was better was that more than half of them had horses. He pulled his legs back up and hurried down the steps to greet them. Arthur was there as well and together they looked over the group. The oldest of them looked to be in her mid-twenties and the youngest was fourteen. All of them were hardened from hard labor in fields, forges, quarries, and mills and they all looked able to bear arms.

“Welcome to you all,” Arthur said to them. “Most of you may know that I am Lucius Artorius Castus but you may call me Arthur as I prefer that name anyway. This is Tristan. He is one of the former Sarmatian knights. He is a great fighter and he will be one of the commanders here. For now, he will take you to a barrack so you may get settled in.”

“Arthur, I don’t-” Tristan started in a quiet voice.

Arthur held up his hand, cutting him off. “We will talk about this another time, Tristan. Now is not the time for such discussions. Take them to a barrack.”

Tristan stepped back a pace, startled that Arthur had spoken so roughly to him. He nodded and then hurried off to take them to the abandoned barracks. Since the Romans had left in a hurry, they had left many of their things here including training equipment and all that was in the barracks. They had only taken weapons, horses, wagons, food, tents, blankets, and clothing along with them. He separated them into four different barracks and then left them to settle in.

“Commander Tristan!” a man called out and Tristan turned back to see who it was. One of the men had come back after him.

“What is it?”

“My name is Gaines. I am a blacksmith. You will need weapons and armor and I think I can provide it for you. I do not want to a soldier.”

Tristan sighed. Arthur would not like that one of their number had already fallen, but the man had not come to fight. “I will show you to a forge.”

The man nodded. “Thank you, sir. Thank so much.”
            “Please, just Tristan will do.”

“Yes sir, I mean Tristan.” The man ran back into the barracks and came back out carrying a satchel.

Tristan led him to the forge, a place he had only been once when his dagger’s tip had broken off. The blacksmiths had left everything behind and there were plenty of tools and metals left. “Here you are. I will tell Arthur of your switch.” He turned and left the man to his new shop and went off to find Arthur. He was afraid to approach the man for fear that his anger toward him had not died down but he found him, he saw him talking to Steven. He waited for their conversation to finish and then approached Arthur.

“What are our numbers, Tristan?”

“Thirty-one soldiers to be trained and one blacksmith.”

“Blacksmith?” Arthur asked, confusion on his face.

“One of the men came to offer his services as a blacksmith, not a soldier. He said he did not want to fight.”

“And you let him?”

“I do not wish a life of killing on anyone and I would not put it on anyone who does not want it.”

Arthur ran his hands through his matted hair and bit his lip to keep himself from lashing out. “Fine. Go and take a record of all the names and ages of the recruits since you are the only one of the knights who can write.” He waved his hand, as if shooing him away.

Tristan stood stunned for a minute. He had never seen Arthur act this way before. Perhaps the stress of leadership over a country doomed to fall was getting to him. He left Arthur to himself and hurried to find an empty records book and a quill and ink. He found one in one of the captains’ old quarters and then went around asking the recruits for their names and ages.

“Haniel, son of Hynes,” the fourteen-year-old told him. “I’m fourteen, fifteen in twelve days.”

“Thank you, Haniel,” Tristan said as he scribbled down this information.

“Guenevere,” said the next in line, her voice soft and smooth.

Tristan looked up. She had light brown hair and blue eyes that shone like sapphires. She wore breeches and a loose tunic. Tristan shook himself. “Who is your father?”

“It is just Guenevere,” she said. “I am twenty-five years old and I have been working in the mill since I was ten.”

“Thank you, Guenevere,” Tristan said as he penned down the information.

“How is it going?” Steven asked and Tristan looked up to meet his eyes.

“Long and tedious.”

“Tell me Tristan, how is it that you know so much more than any of the other knights?”

“My father was wealthy.”

“Oh-ho, so that’s it.”

“Not as wealthy as you would think. He was wealthier than most Sarmatians though.”

“Uh-huh. Tristan, what do you think of Arthur’s scheme?”

Tristan shrugged. “I’ve seen others like it that have worked before. The people just have to be willing to help defend their country.”

“Have you seen any fail before?”

“Yes, there was once. It was in a country where the people cared more about their own comfort and security than defending their country’s freedoms.”

“What happened to them?”

“The Romans took over and they lost everything. But that was a hundred or so years ago and they, through a good and mighty king, have almost gotten back all their freedoms.”

“What country is this?”

Tristan let out a little laugh. “Lyoness.” The name of the country threatened to bring back forgotten memories, but he pushed them away.

“Well, I have to get back to work. Good luck on your work here and try not to upset Arthur too much.”

“Thanks for the warning. You are a little late,” he muttered as he watched the man walk away.

He let the ink dry before shutting the book and putting it in Arthur’s quarters for him to look over. Then he wandered aimlessly around the fort for a while before returning to his own barrack and flopping down on his bed, hopelessly bored. At least, back home, he had been able to go to his father’s study and pick out a book to read. They had something like that here at the fort, but he doubted any of them would be interesting. Shrugging the thought off, he went in search of the place they kept the books. He soon found it and began looking through them for something to read. He soon came across a book called “The Birth, Reign, and Death of King Ulectes.” He pulled it off the shelf and decided it would have to do. Then he returned to his barrack and escaped into the world of Ulectes.