The governor was 'shocked', 'appalled' and 'bloody furious' (according to my ever-reliable, unbiased knightly witnesses) when he heard of the Prefect's conspiracy. After overseeing the scheduled decimation of the spies and the cohort—a dishonourable horror that left the survivors in a state of shock. Decimation is when out of the four hundred and eighty men present, lots were drawn and one in every ten men was executed by nine of his fellow soldiers—in this case, being clubbed to death. Then the rest were put on reduced rations, and would have been exiled from the safety of the fort for a few nights, but the only unsafe option was beyond the Wall, and Arthur saw no reason to reward the Woads with such a treat.
And I may have helped Arthur rig the lots so that we could eliminate the ringleaders.
Then the governor also commended both the Sarmatians and Batavians for their bravery and loyalty, calling upon his personal cleric to bless them. The Sarmatians and Batavians bore this stoically, not even blinking as they were sprinkled—drenched—with holy water and asked in utterly condescending tones if they really wouldn't consider saving their pagan souls and converting to Christ.
As a slave, I didn't even get a mention, so I sat on the roof of Vanora's tavern and ate nuts while the show was underway.
Gathering up all our evidence and clutching the report like his firstborn son, the portly, officious little man swept back to Eboracum with Arthur in tow to put the Prefect on trial. (For the record, I made Arthur hand him the bag of thumbs and he was incensed at the trophies. Two weeks later, he was forced to commit suicide by self-disembowelment. No one important grieved.) Lancelot and Dagonet were left in nominal charge of the clear-up, while Vanora and I were actually in charge. I ran the books and told everyone what their schedules were, and Vanora kept the peace. Dagonet proved a willing and extremely effective ally, while Lancelot barked orders during the day and twirled his moustache at young woman in the evenings.
When Arthur got back, it was to a much improved fort, but only thanks to Dagonet's insistence that we owed it to Arthur to have the fort in a better state than he'd left it in. The R.F.L. was suitably moved by our efforts and told us to keep going. Sabbaths never became so precious to us.
Tristan and I barely spoke—both too busy and unwilling to sit down and fix The Problem—we kept to our separate rooms and duties. But it could not last and eventually we were trapped on a patrol together.
Yet we managed to maintain our silence until we were out of sight of the fort.
"Never thought we'd beat the Prefect with paperwork," he grumbled.
"Effective wasn't it? Such a clever idea of Arthur's—never thought he had it in him."
"Indeed, one might think that one of those guardian angels he talks about ran into his office and suggested a plan that didn't involve martyrdom."
"You don't believe in angels," I laughed.
"Maybe just one," he said.
I cut him a sideways look, but he had remained perfectly stoic as he said it, not even looking at me.
Okay, that had the potential to be the most clichéd thing I'd ever heard—but considering Tristan had about as much romance as a grape in his soul, I was going to give it a solid 8.2.
"I think I'll take my leave to Eboracum and see if I can't get a copy of the standard school texts," I mused aloud. "Start on the Iliad and the Odyssey right away. Oh, and grab Ovid too. Can't go wrong with Ovid. Xenophon and Plato too… not to mention Thucydides…"
"What are you muttering about?"
"Why, your fine classical education, of course," I replied. "It's unthinkable that you should go through this world—or any other for that matter—without learning the fundamental things of life."
"I can cut a man from his horse with two strokes," Tristan growled. "I think I have the fundamentals covered."
I waved a hand dismissively. "Plenty of time and opportunity for that. I'm talking about literature. Philosophy. History. Geography. Science."
"Is that what you did in your own world? Bullying men into such useless activities?"
"Oh no, I was a student—a scholar, if you like—studying all those things."
"Isn't twenty-two a little old to be in school?" Tristan asked.
"It is like the schools of philosophy and science that the Romans have in places like Alexandria and Greece." I replied. "People devoting their whole lives to thinking, debating and learning."
"And you wanted to stay in this school?" his tone was unflattering, but if I wanted to make this relationship work, I'd just rise above it.
"At least for a little while. Not my whole life," I could feel a smirk coming on. "Don't worry, I shan't drag you off to such a place to be a sage right away." Meaning: 'I will persuade you into thinking it's all your idea that you want to learn Homeric and Attic Greek, and the alphabets, and go to Rome, Alexandria and Athens and a hundred thousand other places with me. Just you wait and see, Tristan.'
"We've still got another nine years or so with Arthur before that," he said. "I think we have time to discuss our options."
"You wouldn't consider leaving early?" my tone was so even you could have balanced a sword point-first on it. I wasn't going to push him one way or another. This was his choice.
"Not unless I'm killed or that green-skinned god interferes," he said firmly. And I knew—had always known—that although he loathed this life, he was utterly loyal to the other knights and—to a lesser extent—Arthur, who always tried to do right by them and even to protect them from the worst of the suicide missions.
"Alright then," and I smiled up at the even grey sky, enjoyed the cold rush of air on my numbed skin, savouring the feeling that washed through me. We rode on in silence for a long time, enjoying the moment.
Eventually Tristan halted by a small coppice and we decided to take a small break before riding into the next fort along the wall to ascertain what their own patrols had found. We ate a small lunch and I swore to myself that I'd create an ancient version energy bars as I chewed on—you guessed it—dried venison, which was as disgusting and tough as the first time I'd tasted it.
"What's going to happen, do you think?" I asked after a long while, watching him pack away the food pouch into his saddlebag.
"Tomorrow? The usual, I expect."
"Don't be facetious," I sighed. "I meant… about us. The curse that's now laid upon us. Do you think we'll be whisked off to some fantastic new adventure, or will we stay here?"
He turned back to look at me for a long moment. Then he walked over and crouched down in front of me, taking my hands in his. Our fingers were both long, thin and straight, callused from battle and drudgery.
"I'm just going to think of tomorrow and possibly the day after that. Maybe, if I'm feeling especially brave, I'll look forward to next week." His eyes glimmered with humour as he stood and pulled me to my feet, our hands still knotted together. "Because if a thing could go wrong, it will. And you and I shall be asked to fix it. So why make plans that will inevitably be ruined?"
I smiled and went up on tip-toe to kiss him. "Always the cynic," I murmured against his lips.
"I could say the same to you," he chastised, nipping at my mouth as I drew away, grinning.
"Of course," I disentangled my fingers from his and reached up to bury my fingers in his hair. "But I meant it as a compliment."
"Natalya," his voice was softer now. Damn it, using my real name was cheating.
And he was speaking in that special voice that I wasn't entirely immune to, which annoyed me greatly.
"I know how much you detest my Roman name—to be honest, I'm not thrilled about being called 'Christmas' either, so I'm fine with forgetting it altogether," I said.
"Oh no, not another word. I like your name," he said with mock severity.
"Well, I don't. How about my middle name? Evelyn is much more—"
"No, my star, no—give up."
I relented (for the moment) at the endearment and sighed in annoyance. "Fine, fine. Let's get going."
We completed our patrol without incidence. The Prefect's conspiracy had been annihilated, so we were back to focusing on the original reason for the knights' posting: the Woads and the Saxons.