Chapter 41

Arthur watched his knights disperse to their tasks and sighed. He was sorry that Kation had gone with Tristan to rest, but the boy had looked so exhausted that he was willing to give them a break. But he wanted another person to help him with the papers, and Kation was utterly reliable when it came to such tasks. So as he sat down at his desk alone and considered what he had to do, he was conscious of what had brought him to this moment:

The Prefect's machinations.

Arthur didn't really understand why the man was so insecure, but there it was; and now he had to deal with the consequences of that rage.

The Prefect was second only to the regional governor of the northernmost of the four provinces of the island. These were Britannia Prima in the south; Britannia Secunda to the west; Flavia Caesariensis in the middle and Maxima Caesariensis in the north. It was the Prefect's responsibility to oversee all military forces in the province on behalf of the governor in Eboracum, the capital; and where necessary, he would dispense justice and maintain order. In effect, he was supposed to be the governor's loyal dog. But the Prefect resented Arthur's growing popularity with the garrisons along the Wall and amongst the common people, who held him up as a military hero and warrior of God.

Not only was this supremely embarrassing for Arthur, but also dangerous. The Prefect's influence was being discredited and Arthur was not in a position to contradict the people's adulation, since he was a military man and not a politician. So he kept his head down and his attention focused exclusively on the Wall's defences—away from Eboracum and the Prefect's seething hatred. And on top of that unwelcome attention, Arthur had received a summons from the governor. He was worried that this was linked to the slow withdrawal of forces from the island—being called back to Gaul and Germania. Only the forces at the Wall and major cities remained at full strength.

He remembered Kation reading him the letter for the first time:

"Oh here's something important," the boy said, holding aloft a sheet of papyrus. He cleared his throat before beginning. "'To L. Artorius Castus, hail. It is with great urgency that I write to summon you to Eboracum at your earliest possible convenience. This is a matter of supreme importance and I can guarantee that the Prefect will be out of town. Salve, J. Synesius."

The half-Roman heard the sarcasm in the boy's voice and when he had finished, he handed Arthur the letter to read. Arthur scanned it and found it to be exactly as read-out.

"Do not tell your master of this—it may not be what you think it is," he warned.

The boy shot Arthur a look which involved a single quirked eyebrow and a slight pout. Clearly Arthur had said something silly again, but the entertainingly impudent boy was careful not to verbally rebuke him. Readily used to this sort of playful behaviour and knowing he wouldn't upbraid the youth, Arthur considered it a small price to pay for being kept on his toes.

"Very well, I will travel south as soon as I have conducted the winter meeting." He turned away to consider the rest of the papers, he heard the slightest of sounds behind him. Kation was clearly waiting for something else. So he relented. "You will accompany me, of course. I will request that Tristan gives you dispensation."

And in the wake of that decision, he had suddenly been faced with a spy ring and a huge conspiracy involving the Prefect and the local nobility. But after dispatching a trusted officer with a cohort to keep an eye on the baron, he snatched up a piece of parchment, and started to write:

To J. Synesius, Governor of Maxima Caesariensis,

I will be arriving discreetly in four days' time with a small escort.

Salve, L. Artorius Castus.

~oOo~

As I slept in Gawain's room, I dreamed of my own universe, revisiting memories of my real life in my own world.

I was remembering the time I was sitting in a coffee shop with my friends have a heated discussion about the merits of Shakespearean adaptations. It was the summer holidays and we were stealing the free wifi and drinking ludicrous amounts of caffeine… only to wake up with a start, gasping as I clutched the blanket to my chest. Gawain was standing over me, wearing an expression that bordered on concern. "What are you doing here?"

"Tristan and I argued, but I couldn't be bothered to stay and hit him until he bled from every orifice."

Gawain laughed and waved a hand dismissively. "I was just grabbing some clothes—need a bath. Stay as long as you like." He paused. "In fact, you must stay here. You're with me tonight."

To say I was alarmed by this pronouncement would be the understatement of the century. "What?!" I yelped, already considering how to beat the living daylights out of him and effect my escape.

"No! Not like that!" he yelled, putting a hand on my shoulder and pressing me down onto the mattress. "Calm down, I've got a plan."

"It will only work if it involves a lot of rope!" I snarled, struggling violently.

Gawain laughed and tightened his hold on my arms, shaking his head. "Unless Tristan is into that sort of thing, I doubt it will be necessary."

"Wait… Tristan's involved too?!" I was thoroughly appalled.

"It concerns Tristan specifically, you daft chit," he said. "Since he's so crazed with loneliness at the moment, we're sending him a whore. But that means—"

"I have to be here, or ruin the mood." I finished, now relaxing and starting to smile. "Gawain, have I ever told you that despite your abject stupidity, you can be as devious as a fox?"

The knight grinned and nodded smugly. Then he then critically looked me over, "Are you alright? Truly?"

I paused and did a full review of my condition: aching from physical exhaustion, the cranial laceration still tender but healing quickly, still missing several hours sleep… otherwise, I was okay.

"Fine, just tired." I murmured. "Now can I go back to sleep?"

"Sure," he patted my shoulder and soon left. I sank back onto the pillow with a sigh. Despite my extreme fatigue I was afraid to revisit the dreams and see my sorely missed friends again; so instead I pondered upon the relationships I had forged during my time here.

Tristan was a rather necessary ally—we weren't exactly friends, but we needed each other too much for that to signify. I wanted us to be friends, but knew he wouldn't allow it. Emotional vulnerability was even more unacceptable than physical endangerment. Whereas Gawain hadn't given me a choice in the matter, he had simply latched on and refused to take 'no' for an answer. He was a wannabe brother, a self-appointed chaperone. Kahedin had similarly cute ideas and would doubtlessly stick by me whether I liked it or not. And since Vanora wasn't nearly so preoccupied with the vast amount of lunacy that the knights frequently indulged in, she was a very welcome ally. Cador and Dinadan were friendly acquaintances, Dagonet and Bors were almost uncle-like in their aloofly benevolent attention. Lancelot was afraid of me, Arthur was a sort of boss and Gaheris was an unmitigated—

Fortunately, I was spared further introspection on that topic by Galahad bursting into the room.

"Gawain, I—!" the words died on his lips and he reeled back, face morphing from eager excitement to utter revulsion. "Oh." He said in a choked voice. "Oh."

"Hi," I said, unconcerned by his discomfort. This boy was not, as you may have guessed, one of my friends. Apart from Gaheris, I couldn't think of another knight who I had less time for. It was bad enough that we existed on the same plane of reality, let alone share the fort. And worse still, I knew that Tristan meant to take us both out hunting tomorrow. But I was the slave and Galahad the conscripted knight, so I had to bite my tongue and bait him within my limits. "Gawain is in the baths, but I'm sure he'll be back soon." I made no attempt to get to my feet and instead lounged back against the pillows, smiling up at the ceiling. It really was too easy…

"Now Kation, don't tease him," Lancelot said as he appeared behind Galahad and grinned down at me. I didn't reply verbally, but instead stretched under the woollen blanket and made a purring noise in my throat, letting my back arch and then, when I relaxed, peering at the two in a sultry manner from under half-closed lids. My short hair probably resembled a bed-rumpled cactus.

The knights responded beautifully. Lancelot laughed a little too forcefully and turned away, shaking his head; Galahad's jaw took on that square appearance that denoted him gritting his teeth together and his eyes blazed. I just smiled nastily and turned away as he stormed off, knowing I was safe because Tristan's potential for wrath where I was concerned bordered on psychotic. Then the thought struck me that unless I wanted to mess my body clock up further, I had to get up and do something so I would sleep tonight. As soon as I was sure no one would interrupt me, I flung off the covers and considered the windowsill for a moment. My muscles were still a little creaky from last night's acrobatics, but I figured they'd loosen up with a quick stretch. As I was touching my toes, Gawain strode in and immediately asked me what I was doing.

"Exercise," I replied. "I'm a bit sore after last night." That explanation was definitely in need of clarification and I hastily added. "Not… no! Just no. I mean I was shoving furniture around the baron's office and scrambling over rooftops many times in the dead of night." He seemed to relax marginally and I straightened to smile at him. "Is Tristan still asleep?"

"I don't know," he replied, throwing his clothes and wash kit onto the floor by his bed and staring at the mess glumly.

"Well never mind, let's get this room tidy—I'm not staying here all night with it looking like this."

"Hey—what?" Gawain said, startled. "No, that's not necessary… it's… the room's fine. I know where everything is."

"That just means you must help or lose track of things." I retorted, picking up the wash kit and carefully putting it on top of a closed box.

But Gawain was having none of it. With a surprise lunge, he grabbed me and flung me over his shoulder. "No, no kitten. Leave my room alone."

Not hesitating, I hit him in the kidneys and his grip weakened enough for me to slither inelegantly down his back. Planting my palms on the floor, I performed a hasty handstand as Gawain stepped away, rubbing his hip.

"You're an acrobat?" he asked incredulously as I righted myself.

"No."

Were all men this stupid?