I was tempted to push the horse into a mad dash for the fort, but figured that it would look really suspicious and instead loaded the horse with my travelling packs and walked on foot beside it. It was on the second day that I realised she needed a name. Too tired to think of a good one, I ended up calling her Numa after the (probably fictional) second king of Rome. Yes, it was a boy's name, but it suited her.
Chewing on a strip of dried venison (tough as shoe leather… like the ancient version of chewing gum. It'll keep you busy for hours), I hummed indistinctly as I walked ahead of Numa, her reins looped over her head. She was smart enough to simply follow me as we trudged through the light drizzle. I tugged the hood of my cloak up over my head and turned my thoughts to what lay ahead. It was going to be tough. A thousand different tactics presented themselves, and I worked my way through them all, swatting most away as impractical or impossible with the current technology and issues surrounding my perceived abilities and status in the social hierarchy. By the time I neared the village outside the fort, I re-located the packs and mounted Numa again. It would be nice to arrive in style. The mare was a bit bushed from all the walking, but I figured that it would be too risky to hang around when the Prefect's men might even now be keeping an eye out for his precious horse.
After throwing back my cloak and tucking it back and under the strap that held my sword across my back, I whistled through my teeth at Numa, squeezing my heels into her side. The little mare surprised me by tossing her head and leaping forward like a thoroughbred from the starting gates. I was lucky not to run into any trouble during the final stretch, but I knew worse was to come once I'd actually reported to Arthur. It was inescapable. After doing a very brutal review of the possibilities (what's the very worst that could happen?), I decided to just go with it and stand my ground. If they didn't like it, I'd leave. Simple.
Once I was a hundred metres from the walls of the fort, I reined Numa in and slowed to a stop. Luckily the gates were open at this time of the afternoon and I rode up to the sentries.
"What do you want, boy?" the elder man sneered up at me.
"I'm a returning message courier under Commander Castus," I replied curtly. "It's urgent."
"Where's your pass? And what does a courier need so many weapons for?" he asked, eyeing the pommel of my sword that peeped over my shoulder. I was saved from the urge to give him a straight answer—it could only lead to trouble—by a familiar voice screeching my name at a truly ear-splitting volume:
"KATION!"
All three of us looked up sharply to see Dinadan, Galahad and Lancelot sprinting towards me. They actually looked… were they actually pleased to see me?
I had now seen it all.
Gently nudging Numa past the gawping soldiers, I approached the knights with as much dignity as I could muster (a considerable amount, believe me). But that ended when Dinadan reached up, caught me around the waist and hauled me out of the saddle to enfold me in a bone-crushing hug. Lancelot and Galahad joined in too, exclaiming loudly.
"Where have you been?"
"Did you get involved in that bar fight too?"
"Oho, if so then Gawain's going to murder Kahedin…"
I was, frankly, a little shocked by the warmth of their greeting and managed to push them back far enough to get a good look at their faces. "Have you really started drinking this early?" I gasped, trying to get my breath back.
They looked offended but unrepentant as they turned to examine Numa who was being a very good girl and waiting patiently for some attention. Clearly I had managed to exhaust her.
"Who is this?" Lancelot said, shooting me a cunning smirk.
Since they'd probably felt the weapons strapped to me, it would make no difference if I failed to hide them now. Flicking back my cloak, I crossed my arms and lifted my chin. "Her name's Numa and she's mine."
"Right, because Tristan is bound to have that kind of money to spend on a slave." Galahad drawled, his expression openly suspicious as he eyed my impressive set of throwing knives
"Believe what you like," I returned calmly and turned away, grabbing Numa's reins and walking off in the direction of the Sarmatian barracks. The knights immediately followed, all demanding answers that I couldn't give them. But as we walked past the tavern, Brenna and Verica caught sight of me and with a simultaneous shriek of delight, dropped what they were doing and hurried over. I managed to stay on my feet as they caught me in a group hug.
"Oh my god, your face!"
"What happened?!"
"We missed you!"
"Have you heard about Gilly?"
"Who?" I asked, looking over my shoulder at the knights, who grinned.
"Bors' son."
"Oh," I breathed. "Right." I had no idea what to say so I stayed silent, nonplussed.
"Well aren't you going to go and see him? And Vanora's been asking after you every single day too!" Verica exclaimed.
I shook my head. "Alas, I have to report to our magnificent leader at once. Urgent business. I'll stop by as soon as I'm free though, I promise." To them, I was the charming slave of a conscripted warrior—a harmless mascot of sorts to be doted upon and trusted despite my eccentricities.
The women looked a little downcast, but nodded and after another round of hugs and smiles, returned to the tavern. There followed some good-natured but extremely lewd teasing about my prowess with the ladies as I entered the stables. Amandus and Mato ran over, going into ecstasies over Numa and asking me how the trip had been. I replied it had been alright, but I was glad to be back. They seemed satisfied and ran off to tell Jols that I'd brought back another horse.
Ha, I did seem to collect them, didn't I?
Then Dinadan and the others grabbed me and hauled me off to see Arthur who was in his quarters. Not even being allowed the time to see Tristan and Kahedin to corroborate facts as best I could, I was unsure of what lies and what truths to tell as I stared down at Arthur's astonished expression. The knights seemed keen to stay and see what I had to say for myself (and my new weapons), but Arthur dismissed them in the sort of tone that was all business.
Well shit.
We were silent for a long time as the Sanctimonious One eyed my new weapons and threads with what can only be described as 'poorly concealed disapproval'. His gaze lingered for some time on my battered face, which had mended considerably—the swelling had all but vanished and now it was just discoloured and scraped.
"What do you have to say for yourself?" he asked after a long moment.
I could answer that one straight away. "Nothing, sir, until my master gives me leave to speak." I replied promptly.
"Your loyalty does you credit, lad, but whatever you tell Tristan will be reported to me under orders," Arthur replied.
Such a tactless way of expressing power, I think one of my eyebrows lowered involuntarily. Arthur caught it and frowned back at me. "Don't be stubborn, Kation—tell me what you have been doing for the past two weeks."
I actually folded my arms, but remained quiet. He'd have to get Tristan and/or Kahedin in here before I'd even consider saying anything.
Luckily, raised voices outside told me that my partner in counter-espionage was already making his way here. Judging by the noise, Gawain was with him and talking about responsibilities. I almost groaned. Now was so not the time for a lecture from Gawain…
The door flew open without any warning and I turned sharply to look up at Tristan who bore down on me like a—
Well, whatever he was like I couldn't say because Gawain had shoved him to one side and (as usual) swept me up in a tight hug. Good grief, I'd only been gone for two weeks and everyone was behaving as if I were the Second Coming. The embrace was almost as painful as Dinadan's. "I was so worried about you!" he exclaimed in a sort of muted bellow—right next to my ear—as he set me down again and scrutinised my face. His aspect darkened considerably at the sight of my bruises and scabs. With a wrathful look at Tristan, he straightened once more.
"This," he said, in doom-laden accents, "is why I insist that you—"
"Gawain!"
Arthur's bark restored him to some awareness of his surroundings and the appropriateness of whatever he had been about to say. He swallowed, visibly gained control of his spleen and then with a dark look at me (the inescapable promise of a lecture) and a more apologetic nod to Arthur, he stormed out.
Tristan sighed and closed the door before moving to stand beside me, facing Arthur. We shared a quick glance, but it wasn't long enough to really say anything besides a swift check to make sure the other wasn't missing any body parts.
Arthur, who had stood at their entrance, now sat down again behind his desk and fixed us with what he clearly hoped was a stern, intimidating look. "Tristan," he said stiffly. "It seems that your slave is unwilling to disclose what he has been doing for the past week. He insists that he will only speak with your permission. I order you to command him to tell me everything he knows."
It was rare for Arthur to use words like 'order' and 'command' as imperatives with his knights. Usually he went for the softer 'we're-all-brothers-under-the-skin-right?' method, which seemed to work well enough. I could feel Tristan's displeasure radiate off him, but was happy to let it play out. After all, it was important that from now on we all knew where we stood.
"And he's right to do so," Tristan replied in the sort of frosty tone that was barely the right side of polite. Arthur noticed the curtness, but didn't say anything. "Although I respect your authority over me, Kation answers solely to me. In fact, I would grant him his freedom this instant if I thought that it would afford him any protection. As it is, I believe that he is far safer if still formally bound to serve me."
Now Arthur looked stunned, his eyes went a little misty as he looked between us. "You really mean that?" he asked softly. "You truly see him as your equal?"
Tristan and I exchanged another quick look. I could read his flicker of amusement. "Absolutely," he replied. I smiled at that and looked at my boots. "Now, Kation," he added. "I'd like a full report of your week, please."
Oh now he was just rubbing it in. I lifted my head and stepped away so I could keep both men in my line of sight. "Alright, where shall I begin?"
"Kahedin has told us everything up until when you parted ways at the inn—I must say that I'm surprised at all the weapons you're carrying," Arthur said, a measure of disapproval creeping into his tone.
"Very well," I said, deciding to correct Arthur right away. "Tristan and I have agreed that although it ought to be common knowledge that I am still his slave, between the two of us we shall behave simply as equals. I no longer have to obey his orders, and if he is still technically my master, he can prevent others from exploiting me." I paused and licked my lips, steeling myself for this next part. "We also agreed that I would be more helpful against the Prefect and other enemies of Rome if I was no longer solely your clerk." I reached up to touch the pommel of my short sword to emphasise my point. "These weapons aren't for show—I am fully capable of using them and will do so to protect your interests."
Arthur's initial response was a long silence. "You're serious, aren't you?" he finally said.
"Deadly serious, actually," I said with a slight smile. "I have been very well trained."
"So… you were actually the one responsible for escaping the Prefect's capture?" Arthur said slowly. I nodded and considered the small salt-filled pouch currently tied to my belt. Should I show it to him? It was really meant for the Prefect, but it might just convince him and so I pulled it free and threw it onto the desk.
"That's just a little something I'm going to return to the Prefect," I said, letting my voice stay silky and calm as Arthur picked it up and cautiously opened it. He peered inside and then violently jerked away, dropping the pouch with an instinctive noise of disgust. Something slightly shrivelled, dark and stiff rolled out across the parchment. A sliver of pale bone peeked out of one end.
"Wh-what…?" he gasped, glaring at me.
I shrugged. "Thumbs, Arthur. Nothing dangerous. I cut them from the men I defeated or slew in the Prefect's villa while escaping. I fully intend to add more to the collection before gifting it to the Prefect. It's important he knows just how many of his thugs this will cost him."
Arthur was rather pale, but Tristan looked positively demonic as he asked: "Why thumbs?"
"Because if some did survive, they'll never be able to hold a sword again. One less brute to worry about." I reached forward and put the fugitive digit back into the pouch before taking it back and reattaching it to my belt. "Waging war on the Prefect's mind could lead to him making a crucial mistake that we can exploit. And frankly, I want this whole thing concluded quickly. It's boring." Really, it was. Stupid men playing stupid power games with no thought for the people who'd actually get hurt. "And I suppose Kahedin has warned you about the Prefect's plans?"
Arthur nodded, apparently grateful to have the topic changed. "We have increased the inspections, but we can't pin-point who the instigators will be."
"There are two options," Tristan said. "We either catch them before the riot, or we wait until it starts to happen and then crush it."
"How? We do not know who in the legion is loyal anymore," Arthur said glumly.
A light-bulb went off in my head. "The Batavians," I said. "We get the Batavians here for…" I wracked my brain for some plausible excuse. "Training exercises. Some sort of spectacular demonstration of cavalry techniques for the governor's visit. It'll also mean that we can exhaust the infantry with endless drills and kit inspections. They'll be too tired to stay up and seriously plot anything."
Both men scowled and I prayed for patience. The Sarmatians and the Batavians were not on best terms… both peoples had pledged men and arms to Rome, both were remarkable for their use of cavalry, and both thought themselves very special and different. See where I'm going with this? Male egos and national pride were involved so it could only result in a long-simmering competitiveness that would have resulted in countless tavern brawls and pranks if a Prefect hadn't decreed (over two hundred years ago) that the Sarmatians would operate from the east end of the wall, and the Batavians from the west. It had worked perfectly well, despite the endless bitching and rude hand gestures, but what I was suggesting could shatter all that in an instant.
Both men spoke simultaneously.
"No," Tristan said.
"We can handle this on our own," Arthur argued.
I nearly screamed. Instead, I had to resort to reasoning with these stubborn, stupid men. "Think it through—do you really believe the Prefect will stop after he's eliminated you?" I asked, pointing at Arthur. "He'll go after the Batavians soon enough. This is to protect everyone—not just ourselves. And besides, we could make the training demonstrations into… a little competition or something." That way the men wouldn't be starting fights with each other at every opportunity. "Think of a really nice prize and have each unit elect champions for various feats." I was plundering the medieval jousting tournament handbook, but it seemed to catch Tristan and Arthur's interest.
"But…"
I did growl now. "Then call a Round Table meeting, since it's the knights who'll be dying for you if we don't think of something soon. Put it to them and see what they say. Besides, haven't you lost enough already?"
This caused Arthur to flinch back and I pressed my attack, striding up to the desk. Planting my palms on top of the piles of documents and leaning into Arthur's space, I held eye-contact as I hissed out the next words. "How much is your pride worth?"
He looked ready to slap me, but I didn't care. My face was already battered—what was another bruise? I straightened and looked over my shoulder at Tristan, whose expression was inscrutable as he stared back at me. "Tristan, would you set aside old grudges for the sake of this duty?" I pressed, quietly.
Tristan hesitated, but only for a second. Then he nodded. "I do not trust them, but they are not our enemy," he said reasonably. I was sure he would sulk at me for hours… possibly days. I could live with that, since Arthur really valued Tristan's unsentimental opinions, even if he seldom acted upon them.
I smirked triumphantly and turned back to Arthur. "See? If I can win Tristan over, then you can definitely convince the others."