Chapter 2

Tristan and Arthur entered the tent. A young woman not known to Arthur sat in the room. Her hair matted, her skin ghostly pale, she was more than likely one of the slaves captured from one of the many Roman raids made along their way to this land. Her clothes were dirty and wet but her eyes looked as if they might hold the secrets of the world locked beneath the ocean of blue. He was unsure she was even old enough to be of any help in saving his knight.

"Girl, you are the healer they sent?"

She looked up to give a quick glance around the room, and then replied,

"I see no other." She was next to the bed grinding herbs into a bowl.

"You are not Roman," he stated, not total unsurprised that they would not waste their own healers to save a trainee when so many of their own were wounded in the melee.

"Aye, and neither is he, I would wager," she said, looking down at the boy that lay before her. "Neither of us was given a choice to be here, but we must make the most of it until the time comes," she prophesied, adding, "and the time will come."

She gave a few minutes for her words to sink in and then she changed the subject. "Come, we must force his shoulders back into the place of nature or if he lives, he will be crippled. One misshapen arm is bad, but two would no doubt destroy his spirit if he lives long enough to notice."

"What would you have us do?" Arthur inquired.

The girl looked about her at the available resources. "First, pull the bed towards the center of the room."

After they'd done so, she pointed to Tristan. "You, straddle him as if he were a horse and pull him up to you."

She pointed at Arthur, and instructed, "You, slide in behind him, you must pin him strongly between the two of you." She then looked over at Dagonet and Bors. "Both of you will then yank on either arm at my count. If the Gods be with us, his arms will snap back into place at the same time and will split his pain. And I assure you, there will be pain. Then I can tend these other wounds." All four men looked as if they were contemplating her words.

"If you continue to tarry, the joints will swell more and the bones will no longer fit." The words hit each of them as if they had been struck with a whip and they quickly fell into position. Tristan raised him up to a seated position by curling his arms under Lancelot's arms and up his back. Arthur then quickly slid behind the injured man and kneeled down on the bed pressing his body against his back as support. Bors and Dag took up position on either side of the bed.

"Now, you in front, take hold of his head," she ordered, "lest you both get your own skulls cracked in his trashing. You others will pull his arms out to his side, and on the count of three, pull for all you are worth until the arms pop themselves into the shoulder or I am able to guide them into place. Either way, neither of you can release the arm until I say so, and then you will lay it gently to his side. I will then tie his arms down and make him as immobile as possible."

Tristan braced Lancelot's head within his hands, looking at boy's face with great intensity. The girl slipped a dagger's sheath between the teeth of their unconscious comrade and began to count.

"Three!" Tristan heard the voice snap, totally unaware of any other words that had been said prior. He winced at the sound of two resounding pops and suddenly Lancelot's eyes flew open and his mouth clinched down on the leather sheath as a growl was heard from him, then nothing more. Tristan managed to hold Lancelot's gaze; never had he seen so much pain and anguish. And although it seemed like hours had passed, it was in fact only moments and the injured lad's eyes rolled back into his head as he lost his momentary grasp on consciousness.

Arthur and the healer worked together to tie the young man's arms to his body so he would not be able to further injure them. After that was completed she began to bandage the other wounds, including the one that currently held his black locks of hair into sticky mess at the back of his head.

"I do not feel any broken bone here," she whispered, gently fingering the skull beneath. "He may yet live to see another day... if all the other injuries or the fever, that will no doubt come, does not claim him."

She turned to the men as she packed up her herbs. "Do not leave him alone for the next rising and falling of the sun, and see that you coax water and maybe some broth down his throat. He cannot be moved in that time either, except to raise or lower him for nourishment. If he awakens, call me. If he doesn't, then I pray his god has greater plans for him in the next life." With that said, she turned to leave.

Arthur turned and quickly asked, "By what name do we call you when we send for you?"

The girl gave a small smile. This centurion was different then any of the others she had met. His faith alone might be enough to pull the young boy from the darkness. "I am called Gwennan."

After she left, Arthur sent Bors to fetch water and have broth made.

Words passed between Tristan and Dag. Their language was unknown to the Roman but he watched them closely and continued to listen. Moments later Dagonet sneered at Arthur and then left the room.

"I do not understand your language. What did you tell him to make him leave?"

"I told him to go see to his own injuries and eat. I will stay the night with the boy. He did not want to leave. So I reminded him that the Lady of the Lake would not have returned our friend to his father had he been destined to die a needless death."

"Who is the Lady of the Lake?" Arthur inquired.

"There is a tale of our people that the lake is guarded by a beautiful sorceress who lives beneath its waters. At one time before we were brought to the Wall, seven years this summer, we, Dag Bors, Lancelot and I, lived in the same village. One day while we were swimming, just children unaware of the world outside our meadows, Lancelot was taken below the water and never resurfaced. We all thought he had died. But his father, who would not give up hope, returned every day to the lake and prayed to the Lady of the Lake to return his son. His mother grieved openly for his loss, but on the sixth day when the father returned to the lake, he found Lancelot curled up in the same spot that his father had been praying, naked as the day he was born. It is said he was reborn to his father from the womb of the Sorceress, and true enough, there was something different about him. At first he seemed frightened and quiet; he would not do the things he did before. Then, after a while, I realized he spoke when he had reason, but listened always. His return is a blessing from the Lady of the Lake to our people. We will not let his life be wasted on some Roman foolery.

Arthur said nothing, but the darkness of his eyes and the arch of his brow spoke well of his confusion.

"Our beliefs are not for you to understand, Roman. We don't await your approval or disapproval. Just know that he is special amongst our tribe. He is considered blessed amongst us. Oddly enough, it seems that it is our need to protect him that hurts him most of all."

"I suppose it is difficult to be a man among people when the rest of the world wishes you to be a god. I do understand, in a way. There was a man but four hundred years ago who walked this earth. He was considered wise and blessed amongst our people. Those of great power were so afraid of his wisdom that they crucified him," he told the young falconer.

"So your people are proven cowards long before we were damned to live amongst them. Do not assume we would stand fast and watch this ever happen again."

"I suggest if you plan to live among the Romans, you be more watchful of your words."

"If I thought it would see us freed, then I would speak on the winds of Roman foolishness. But alas, it is their own folly that speaks volumes, and I am still here."

Arthur held back the smirk of understanding that threatened to spill across his face. "What is your name, knight?"

"I am called Tristan."

"Then know this, Tristan. I will do my best to see you, him and all my men back to your homelands. In the name of our merciful Father, this I do swear."

"You have your god, we have ours. You believe in a human dressed in

gold and linen. We believe in earth and all that she gives us. We are different in many ways. We will follow your rules as requested by Rome, but do not expect us to bow to your god."

"I will not ask you to change your beliefs to mine, as I have no intent to bow to yours. But I do request that in my presence, your words be spoken in my language, so that I might understand what to expect."

Tristan nodded, than took his place next to his comrade. Arthur stepped from the tent and made his way through the encampment. He stopped as he came up to the training grounds that had been cleared of bodies and debris all that remained were the post and broken chains that had been the center of the insanity. Arthur fell to his knees and began to pray.

"Heavenly Father, Please give me the strength to do what is asked of me, by you as well as Rome. Tell me what I must do to know that I might one day see these boys, nay, men might one day be free. In your name I pray."

As he rose from his knees he noticed that the bird that had once lighted on the arm of the Sarmatian had come to rest on the post in the middle of the fields. In his heart he believed that it was a sign from God that he was right to want to see these men free.