Winds of Change

 

Time passes, people move.

Like a river’s flow,

it never ends.

A childish mind will

turn into noble ambition.

Young love will

become deep affection.

The clear water’s surface

reflects growth.

~Zelda

 

Chronology: Tristan is 33. Lancelot is 31. Raja is 23.

 

How time goes by.  So few Romans left on the island, replaced by the Saxons – Angles, Jutes, Frisians and Franks. Picts and Scots did not fail to notice the lack of Roman occupancy either. Land was being claimed into separate territories with their own kings and leaders. The most popular king was Arturius “Arthur” Castus. Along with the legendary Sarmatian knights, the fortress at Hadrian’s Wall became a haven for the native Britons to shelter themselves from invasions.  Recruitment to build an army to fight against the invaders began. Men volunteered, there was no imposed fealty. Scouts, Riders, Foot Soldiers, Runners and Healers were trained. It was a slow, gradual process, and continued to be. But, now, for the time being things were fairly calm, but no less busy within the fortress.

 

It was the day before Beltane, and people were preparing for the next day’s festivities.  The individuals who practiced the religion would frolic in the woods this night, with whomever they chose. They would collect flowers and decorate their homes, and before daybreak women would bathe in a pond, lake or creek to bathe in beauty or drink for health. There was little modesty among the Woads, who were now allies of Arthur and his knights.

 

Raja thought about all this as she sat in her study, once her Uncle Ardeth’s. She had been writing in her journal, but the outside distracted her, and was unaware that she had been staring out of the window behind her desk for near an hour. That blank stare. An empty, sad film of unshed tears glittered in her eyes. It had not even been a year since she was captured and rescued from the Saxons. If rescued is what you could call it. It had taken months of bed-rest until she was able to tread off on her own, but never far, and never for very long. Raja’s energy was scarce, her legs still weak from being beaten and dragged through hell and back. But whenever she was out, and even in private, she kept her back straight. When complete darkness did not settle over her in the night, she would get up in the morning, bathe, wash and comb her hair, dress in clean clothing. No, she would not let herself waste away if she could help it. She would not feel sorry for herself. Was it not bad enough she’d been reduced to a state she had not experienced in many years?

 

Raped and sodomized at seven years old left her mute for almost a year. Utterly dependent on her uncle for years after that. Nightmares every night, screaming, seeing THEM in her dreams. Feeling THEM in her dreams. Hearing THEM in her dreams. Yet, as time went by, she began to heal, feeling a semblance of peace in her skin. But her time with the Saxons had ruined that peace. Her body was left scarred, more scarred than her first rape. If her body was not frail before, it was even more so now. It had been so cold out there. Late autumn, frost on the ground in the mornings that seeped into her lungs – the dew, the fog, the moisture. Horribly, at times, she wished that Tristan had not gotten to her in time when she had stood at the edge of that cliff, the waves crashing wildly against the dunes and jagged rocks. It had taken her so long to climb up the summit to reach the edge, only to be snatched back by the hands that loved her.

 

That moment seemed so long ago, yet it also felt like yesterday for nightmares drowned her while she slept. For so long she had been reprieved from such suffocation, and the fear of falling asleep. THEY were back now. THOSE three, and now, THOSE eleven Saxons. Crammed inside of her. Raja’s heart ached for her uncle. He had been a pillar of strength for her when she was a child, getting her through so much, holding her up so she could survive. Tristan did that for her now. Without her Trissy, surely she would succumb to the abyss and the shadows that hovered above her. He was what she lived for, because she really had no cares for herself. How he protected her, loved her, kissed away her tears, whispered that lullaby to her that had always managed to calm her. Only he could make the screaming go away.

 

Slowly, Raja’s vision came into focus. She blinked – once, twice. Her surroundings came back to her as she slowly pulled herself out of her trance. How long had she been sitting here like this? She turned her head towards the desk to see her vellum still open, a sentence unfinished. Raja closed the book, stood up, and arranged the chair neatly as it had been. She smoothed down her dark blue dress that was still a tad loose, as she had lost some weight.  What time was it?

 

She walked out of the study and down the halls – so quiet. In her room, she changed into black fitted breeches, blue tunic, and put on her thin black coat that winged out at the wrists. She tied her sash around her waist, making sure her dagger was secure to her hip.

 

Raja stepped out of the keep and into the slight hustle and bustle the community was in. Sometimes she hated going outside. People knew. Knew she had been with the Saxons and had returned – alive. She knew the whispers, the speculation. How did she survive capture by the Saxons? No one survived in their hands. Probably a spy. Probably fucked her dignity away in exchange for her life. The Saxon Whore from the Saxon Shore. Of course, no one ever said these things to her face. Call it favoritism, but even Arthur would not allow such a thing to be spoken. It might as well have been heresy. Her relations with Arthur and the knights was the only thing that kept those voices to a hush.

 

It was simple when she came here as a child, no one knew of her shame. Now people either looked at her with pity or suspicion, curiosity. The Egyptian. She was called that. The Woads referred to her as that. Some of the population at the fortress called her that. Say “The Egyptian” and one knew who she was. How many Egyptians were there on this island?

 

How many Egyptians were there on this island with an odd white streak in her hairs, unusual irises that could appear dull or sparkly? Some thought she knew magic – and how that notion came about she could not fathom. How did people know so many things about her, anyway? The languages she wrote, spoke and read. Her time with the legion. How she fought and could best most any man. Of course, not now. She was too weak. And Tristan didn’t like her overexerting herself. Raja hadn’t swung a sword in so long, even though at times she would partake in archery.

 

They knew she was married to the most vicious of the Sarmatian knights. The best fighter, the best archer. Cruel, cold, calculating, and was fiercely protective of his woman. Yes, they knew she was close to all of the knights, who had become gods after Badon. Now they ruled with Arthur. They trained the recruits.  Horseback riding had to be taught. Many of the men were Woads who were willing to take a gamble on being commanded by Sarmatians. They had to unlearn their way of guerilla fighting, and learn to be tactical. Lancelot and Tristan, who oversaw most of the training, did their best to be unbiased, but like the Woads who were untrusting of the Sarmatians, the Sarmatians were untrusting of the Woads.

 

With no more Romans to dictate their lives, they could do things their way.

 

So many changes, Raja thought as she walked to the stables. Odin greeted her with a nicker and walked over to her, nuzzling her affectionately before prodding around her person for apples.

 

“I don’t have one right now,” she said, petting his neck, “but I promise I’ll get you one after I groom you.”

 

Odin keened under Raja’s tender ministrations. Grooming his hair to a shine, combing his mane and tail.  “Do you want to take a walk with me?” she asked him. Odin bobbed his head up and down, making a sound of assent. “All right, but I promised you an apple first, didn’t I?” She went to get one, returning within ten minutes. She carried a satchel over one shoulder which no doubt held another one. Raja cut off the small stem on the apple, cut it in half and took out the seeds, then fed Odin the two halves, which he gobbled up with relish.

 

Soon after, Raja had him saddled, then she put her foot in the stirrups, and carefully swung her other leg over. Sometimes mounting could be a chore. They trotted out of the gates, the wind combing through Raja’s dark waves. She let Odin lead, and soon they were at the training grounds. Raja watched from the sidelines, some of the men that were either resting or waiting their turn looked at her with guarded wonder. She ignored the nudges they gave each other, but smirked at them trying to be as discreet as they could. They knew she was married to Tristan, and was Lancelot’s cousin. But mostly they feared Tristan, who put all of them ill at ease with his sharp, tattooed face and slashing golden eyes.

 

Raja dismounted slowly, making sure not to put too much pressure on her knees when her feet hit the ground. She loosened Odin’s bridle and let him canter away several paces so he could graze. Horus’s caw caught both of their ears. Odin reared up and whinnied, and Horus flew near the black steed as he always did, a hello to his four legged companion. She held out her arm as Horus swooped down to her. Raja greeted him with soft caresses under his beak, and a kiss on the head. She took out some dried meat from her satchel and fed him tiny morsels which he ate as greedily as Odin ate his apples.

 

She watched these warriors in training, seeing how young most of them were. Dagonet and Bors were there today. The field so large each man could have their separate squared area. She saw her cousin and husband standing next to each other, scrutinizing the men. Lancelot leaned in slightly to say something to Tristan, whose face was expressionless as he stood there with his arms crossed, body straight. A man of grace even when he was immobile.

 

Tristan muttered something in reply, and Lancelot grinned. Her cousin, so handsome and so light now that he had Sophia back with him. Lancelot – married for near three months. The bitterness in his voice had dissipated greatly, he wasn’t so cynical, but no less realistic when it came to Arthur’s idealism or truth of the danger of Saxons and the soldiers being ready to go against them. But these things did not weigh too heavily on him as it once would have. Because he had solace in the night in the arms of his love. Last month, when he told her that Sophia was pregnant, she realized that she was no longer the first woman in his life. Ever since she was a child, she took pride in the fact that she was the only kid he liked, and when she became older – the one woman he admired, respected, and loved. And she was no longer the main woman in any of their lives. All of them were married and having kids. Their wives could knit socks for them, patch up their clothes or make new ones. But Raja was happy for them, especially Lancelot.

 

So caught up in her ruminations that she did not hear the whistle blow, the formations break up as the young men traded places. She smiled when Tristan approached her. He pulled her into her arms, embracing her fully. She could wrap both of her arms around him as Horus had flown away. How stable he was. He pressed a deep, soft kiss on her lips.

 

“How long have you been here?” he asked.

 

“Not long,” she replied.

 

Behind them, men were staring, dumbstruck at the tenderness Tristan had just displayed. Turning his eyes towards them, his expression resumed that flat slate. But with his arm still around Raja, his demeanor was slightly different.

 

Tristan quirked a what-the-hell-are-you-staring-at eyebrow at them. So caught up in the anomaly of what they had just witnessed it took them a moment to register one of their leader’s placid look.

 

“You need something?” Tristan’s gruff monotonous voice sounded.

 

They straightened immediately, mumbling no sir’s, shaking their heads, trepidation in their eyes.

 

“Dismiss, then,” Tristan said.

 

With more yes sir’s they went off.

 

Raja smiled. “We have to work on your people skills if you’re going to train young men.”

 

Tristan grunted. “Boys.” He stared at the lot of them reprovingly.

 

“Are they as bad as all that?”

 

He was silent for a moment, then lifted one shoulder. “Some have potential. But many are cocky. They want to be soldiers for the glory and esteem they think it will give them. For that, they’re as good as dead.”

 

Raja handed him the extra apple she had in her satchel.

 

“We should be done here in about an hour,” he told her. They hugged and kissed goodbye, Tristan helped her back on Odin. He watched her ride away until he could see her no more.

 

----

 

“Get back to the fort, clean yourselves up, men,” Lancelot called out.

 

Finally, training for the day was over, and things could wind down, it was the eve of Beltane and Lancelot was looking forward to frolicking about in the woods with his Sophia.

 

Bors and Dagonet exchanged words with Lancelot before walking off with Lucan, Dagonet’s adopted son, and Gilly, Bors’ eldest son. Some of the men had horses, some walked, most were pouring water over their faces from flasks.

 

Tristan and Lancelot rode side by side together at a leisurely pace.

 

After a time, Lancelot spoke: “I saw Raja. How was she?” Worries filled him for his cousin since her capture by the Saxons. He hadn’t heard that chilling wailing of hers in years, or seen those dilated pupils that covered almost all of the silver of her irises – that blank stare.

 

“A little better than yesterday,” Tristan replied.

 

“Is she sleeping?” His brow furrowed just a pinch, but Tristan caught it.

 

“If she drinks that herbal medicine she sleeps better.”

 

Lancelot opened his mouth to say something more, but no words came forth. He wanted to say it enraged him that this had happened to her again, she didn’t deserve it, she had already been through so much, overcome so much only to have history repeat itself.

 

As if reading his thoughts, Tristan said quietly, “I know.” They shared a glance of understanding.

 

No, it should not have happened, Tristan thought. His sweet Raja. How close he had come to losing her. And he would always breathe a sigh of relief that he had not. Nothing was more important to him than she. Raja was quieter, prone to long trances. If he found her in such a state, he would sit with her, so when she came back she would know that he had been right there with her.  She would blink her eyes, her long eyelashes fluttering. Her pupils would contract and when she recognized him she would always give him a small smile.

 

The weather was warmer, so he and Raja ventured outdoors more often. As always, he was protective, and did not like for her to go far off by herself, or go out at all even if there was a mere drizzle. Raja would laugh fondly, but would indulge him in his slightly overprotective whims. While the rest of the knights and their women were going out this night, Raja and he would stay in, perhaps do their own lovemaking indoors rather than out. Tristan loved when she would reach out to him, no matter what time of day, or the wee hour of the night. He would respond and fill her, love her body, trailing kisses over every one of her scars and then stay inside of her until she let go.

 

It wasn’t fair. It had not been the first time. But time had gone on nonetheless, just as it would now.

 

----

 

“Sophie!” Lancelot called when he entered their home. They would have to get a bigger one once the baby came.

 

He broke out into a ridiculous grin just thinking of being a father. When Sophia had told him a month ago...

 

They were getting ready for bed, Sophia was pacing around in front of the fire taking circumspect glances at Lancelot as he walked around nude with such ease. He turned at smirked slyly at her, about facing with a full erection. He took a step forward when she stopped, but then his own paces halted at her next words: “I’m pregnant.”

 

A moment went by, then he let out a puff of laughter, thinking she had to be joking. Thoughts raced through his mind before he blurted: “I don’t see it!”

 

Sophia saw his pale face and rushed over to him, helping him sit on the bed before he collapsed on the ground. She sat down next to him and rubbed his back, waiting for him to process the information. She certainly wasn’t going to rush an answer from him, it had taken her a time to let it all sink in, too. He continued to take deep shuddering breaths.

 

He turned to her with wide eyes: “Are you sure?”

 

She nodded.

 

His eyes slid between her face and her stomach. Face. Stomach. Face. Stomach. Pregnant. Face. Stomach. Father. He put a hand on her tummy. “When did you find out?”

 

“A week ago.”

 

“And you waited that long to tell me!” Lancelot shot up from the bed.

 

“Lancelot, I know this is a shock to you, but you need to calm down and breathe.”

 

“Breathe! I am breathing!” He fell on his knees in front of her, continuing to stare at her stomach with eyes as wide as saucers. He stared so intently as if he expected for her stomach to grow right then and there and the baby would pop out any second. “A baby?”

 

Sophia allowed worry to wash over her. “Are you...do you not want the baby?”

 

“Baby...” he whispered under his breath. Wonderment masked his face, his eyes glittered. “I’m going to be a father.” Lancelot gazed at her, love shining on her.

 

“So...it’s all right?” She bit her lip.

 

“All right? I’m going to be a father!” He stood up, taking her with him, swinging her around in a circle. 

 

The first person he had told was Raja, who was so elated for him that she cried. “Oh, Lottie,” she had said, “a father. I know you and Sophia will make wonderful parents.”

 

He arranged a dinner, all of them around the round table. When he announced the news, there was a deadpanned silence. Then Bors roared with laughter: “And it won’t be a bastard!”

 

Sophia laughed, but Lancelot glared at him. “Yeah, mine won’t be, unlike your first born.”

 

“Lancelot,” Sophia hissed.

 

But Bors only continued to laugh, which broken the stupefied silence in the room until everyone was congratulating the expecting couple.

 

“Boy or girl?” Arthur asked.

 

“Gods, can you imagine how many bastards would be running around in the future if they had a boy?” Galahad joked.

 

Everyone at the table laughed. Lancelot smiled and rolled his eyes. They all continued to toast him, and despite the ribbing they were all genuinely glad for him. But later that night, Bors’ and Galahad’s words came back to him. He knew, simply by probability that he had to have “fathered” some kid around here. Some kid that he had not claimed. This child that which Sophia carried would truly be his though. Boy or girl, it did not quite matter.

 

“I think a girl would be nice,” he said to Sophia in bed that night.

 

“Really?” she smiled and quirked an eyebrow at him.

 

If it was a boy, Lancelot promised himself that he would not let his son run around as he had, treating women the way he had growing up. When you fell in love with a woman, you saw things differently. And if it was to be a girl – gods, he was bound to be overprotective. Beating the men off with a stick because he knew what would be going through their filthy minds.

 

“Lancelot?”

 

His mind came back to the present hearing his wife’s voice. He embraced and kissed her.

“Oh, look at you, all filthy,” she sighed dramatically.

 

He laughed and growled playfully in her neck, mumbling something that made her blush.

 

----

 

Guinevere tapped gently on the open door to Raja’s antechambers.

 

“Come in,” Raja said. She smiled when Guinevere appeared. The Egyptian had actually become rather fond of the woman, and enjoyed her company.

 

Guinevere took the seat across from Raja. Usually when she came in she was either knitting or sharpening a weapon – today, she was sharpening her sword. She enjoyed Raja’s company, often visiting her in her study or chambers. They would take rides or walks together during the day when their husbands were busy. Guinevere liked to hear about Egypt, and the different countries Raja had been to with her uncle. Since she had come to live at the fortress after her marriage, she did become homesick for the mountains and outdoors she so often had lived among.

 

“Would you like anything?” Raja asked, gesturing towards the table that had a bowl of various fruits and the pitcher of juice. Guinevere helped herself to a stem of grapes.

 

“I came to see you in your study earlier, but you were...” Guinevere trailed off, still not quite sure how to refer to Raja’s lapses of consciousness. Oh, the first time she had come upon Raja like that she made the mistake of trying to rouse her from that bleak, meditative state of hers. She had not known what was going on, and it frightened her. The Egyptian was simply staring out at nothing, eyes empty, a tear or two trailing down her cheek. When she had finally gotten Raja’s attention, she had lashed out, not recognizing her and screamed.

 

The knights, who had been in a meeting came running up to Raja’s bedroom. Tristan was next to her in an instant, calming her, and Guinevere didn’t fail to notice the harsh flare of accusation in his golden eyes. Or the tight look of impatience in Lancelot’s.

 

Arthur had gently taken her by the arm, escorting her from the room.

 

“I’m sorry, Arthur,” Guinevere had said.

 

“Quite all right, love,” he replied. “Perhaps I should have warned you.”

 

“Warned me from what?” she asked, greatly worried for the state she had left Raja in. “She was just staring...”

 

Arthur nodded his head in understanding. He took Guinevere to their chambers and sat her down. “She used to become catatonic when she was a child as well. It is important to let her come out of it herself, otherwise she panics.”

 

“When she was a child?”

 

He sighed. “When she first came here with her uncle, she was traumatized. If it doesn’t make you uncomfortable, it is all right to just sit with her, but she will not respond to you. And if you do, it would be best not to touch her until she gets to know you better. She only recognizes those she knows quite well.”

 

Guinevere looked at her husband, still a bit baffled. “Did this happen often when she was a child?”

 

“For the first few years, yes.” Those jade eyes of his looked into hers for understanding. “Raja is not crazy.”

 

“I never thought so!”

 

“Good, good.”

 

“Well, I am glad I know this now. I did not cause her too much harm I hope?” she asked, concerned.

 

“No, not at all,” Arthur assured her. “She will calm.”

 

She sighed, relieved. “Tristan gave me a look of pure hell.”

 

Arthur chuckled. “Ah, do not take that personally.”

 

A few hours later, Arthur accompanied her to Raja’s room where Tristan was sitting with her quietly. His eyes darted between Arthur and Guinevere. Raja turned her head and smiled at the both of them.

 

“Come in, come in,” she said. “I apologize if I frightened you, Guinevere.”

 

“I should be the one apologizing.”

 

“Nonsense!” Raja rebutted. “And do not mind my dear husband’s ruffled feathers,” – she playfully poked at Tristan – “he did the same thing once, many years ago.”

 

Tristan snorted.

 

Arthur cleared his throat.

 

“Oh, that’s Arthur’s way of saying that their interrupted meeting needs to be resumed,” Raja glanced at Arthur knowingly. She patted Tristan on the knee, and said something in Arabic. He kissed her softly on the lips and left with Arthur, but not without a cautious look at Guinevere. “Tristan,” Raja reprimanded.

 

“Would you like to sit with me, Guinevere?” she asked. “I promise I will not lash out this time.” She grinned.

 

Since then, Guinevere had sat with Raja often. They talked and got to know each other, and eventually, Tristan even stopped giving her glances of forewarning. Now, the queen and the Egyptian sat in a comfortable camaraderie, the former eating her grapes, the latter diligently sharpening her sword. Guinevere thought about the forth coming night, when she and Arthur would head out into nature, making love underneath the moonlit sky. Their private times together had been intense in the beginning, but lately, Arthur seemed to be busier with the changes around the fort. Sometimes he stayed late into the night in his office, writing and replying to missives.

 

And she missed the outdoors she had so often tarried aimlessly in. Or the hunting she used to do. Even battle. She was a warrior by birth and blood, but now that she was queen, rushing into battle alongside her people was out of the question. Arthur truly did not believe women should be involved in combat. It was all right to know how to fight, but not to put it to use. Guinevere wondered how Raja could stand it. Despite the fact that she was ill, when she regained her strength – would she return to her life as a warrior? Somehow, she doubted that Tristan would allow it. The man didn’t seem to like Raja going anywhere. He was domineering, and yet he was not. He doted on her, Guinevere knew, would protect her with his life. Always, that knight was the one Guinevere was restrained around; especially if Raja was not in the room. How his demeanor changed from aloof and cold to attentive and warm whenever his wife walked into the room.

 

Truly, never had she witnessed two people so utterly devoted to each other. Despite Raja’s tragedy, and no doubt the pain the two have suffered, Tristan and Raja were the happiest couple in the fortress. Every little bolt and nut clicked together perfectly. They said more with their eyes than with words. So much love was in a single touch or smile, and it was as if they could read one another’s minds. They were the sort of couple that a poet would write about, a couple that would live on, even after death.

 

“Are you looking forward to tonight?” Raja spoke, a sly grin on her face.

 

Guinevere laughed. “Very much so.”

 

“Watch out for pebbles, they can be a pain in the ass – literally.” Raja sheathed her sword and laid it across her lap.

 

“I’m hoping tonight I will be blessed enough to conceive.” Guinevere’s voice was hopeful. She and Arthur had been trying for months. But Beltane was a time of fertility, so she was hoping the goddess would be on her side.

 

“That would be wonderful,” Raja replied, smiling.

 

“Are you sure you and Tristan will not be going out?” Guinevere asked.

 

“I think not. Besides, over the years, Tristan and I have done so much frolicking that the trees have ceased to blush.”

 

She chuckled. “Will you not come with the rest of us to bathe before dawn then?” Vanora, Sophia, and the rest of the wives were going to douse themselves in a clean stream as custom.

 

Raja became quiet, she had never been very comfortable revealing her body to anyone other than Tristan, and she rather envied those who could. And especially now, with the added scars on her person. Maybe...before, she might have considered it. But it was as if she had gone back in time, insecure to even walk around unless she was wrapped in a sheet in front of Tristan.  Or even bathe with him; though she was trying desperately to force those thoughts from her mind.

 

Sensing her reluctance, Guinevere said, “Your scars are nothing to be ashamed of.”

 

Oh, if she only knew! Raja mused silently. “Thank you. But it is easy for you to say because they are not yours.”

 

“I have scars as well.”

 

So few though, Raja thought. Long ago, the Egyptian had wondered how Guinevere had so few being a warrior and all. “You have scars from battle, yes.”

 

“You, as well.”

 

She nodded. “And I also have mutilations. When I look at the battle scars, I see a duel between two fighters. When I look at my mutilations, I see myself being held down and violated. In my mind, they are very different.”

 

Guinevere saw Raja’s solemn face, a clear resolution of her belief.

 

“But do not think I feel sorry for myself. What I believe and know is also different. Yet, it is not something I can just push away. I overcame this once before. And I will again.”

 

----

 

The sun set, and the Beltane festivities began. Tristan and Raja stayed in, and then she took care of Tristan how she loved to do. To his chagrin, yet amusement, Raja put scented oils in the warm water, and other ointments which would soothe his aching muscles.

 

He dunked his head under the water. “Get in,” Tristan said, gently pulling her hand towards him.

 

“I took one this morning,” she said, shaking her head coyly.

 

“If I have to smell like flowers and such, so do you.”

 

Raja sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes. With some hesitance she began to undress. He watched her as she slipped her soft cotton chemise over her head, exposing firm, light brown breasts and an abdomen which curved into the most luscious hips that were revealed to his rapt eyes when she let the garment fall to the ground. Despite the bit of weight she had yet to put back on, every dip and curve of her body were still enticing. Before she stepped into the bath, she pulled her hair into a haphazard bun that left wavy tendrils loose which she tucked behind her ears.

 

Tristan moved forward so she could slip in behind him. Without words, she washed his back, her ministrations instantly loosening his body into relaxation. While she unbraided his hair and untangled his hair delicately, he washed his legs, feet and face. Raja poured ointment into his hair, letting it seep into his scalp. She massaged his head, running her nails softly on his skin, sending tingles down his spine.

 

He grumbled when the smell hit his senses. It was the scented kind. Raja chuckled, her breasts brushing against his back. She kissed him on the back of his neck.

 

“You can wash it out now.”

 

Tristan heard the smile on her face.

 

Finally, he could settle himself against her. He moved down into the water so he could rest his head on her shoulder. She embraced him from behind, rubbing the tips of her fingers through his mat of chest hair. Tristan looped his arms under her thighs, caressing the back of them.

 

Raja did not fail to notice the head of penis peeking out of the water. She flicked her tongue behind the lobe of his ear, one of his sensitive places, and he purred deep in his throat. She made him sit up a little, and he felt her breasts press against his back as she leaned forward and encircled his phallus with a firm hand. He grunted and moaned as she traced patterns on his neck with the tip of her tongue, simultaneously working her soft hand up and down his throbbing member. In minutes, a growl of release rumbled through him.

 

Tristan had them out of the tub in moments, and she squealed when he threw her over his shoulder, heading with purpose to their bedroom, a second erection at full attention. The two lovers hit the bed, still dripping with water. He tended to her body, his tongue flicking her taught nipples, his hands kneading her breasts as he locked her in a deep kiss. Her sex was wetter than her body. She moaned his name as he dipped his fingers inside of her, making her come repeatedly in furious succession.

 

“Please,” her voice quivered.

 

“Not yet,” he said huskily.

 

His mouth trailed down her body, never failing in paying tender attention to her scars as he moved further down until she cried out at his tongue hitting her most private of places. Raja bucked her hips and he pressed his forearm down on her waist as her pleasure peaked, and peaked. He drank her thirstily, over and over again he indulged himself with her sweet nectar that flowed from her channels.

 

“Tristan, I want you inside me,” she said as another orgasm hit her, taking the breath out of her words. “Now.”

 

And he did, thrusting into her with erotic purpose. Their bodies danced in perfect rhythm, like the first time they had made love and every rapturous, passionate time after that. They made it last, seeming like a salacious eternity before they both reached the zenith of their lovemaking, pulsating against one another. Tristan whispered kisses over her face, lips and neck, savoring her as her sex continued to cling to his.

 

“I love you,” he said, his eyes deeply locked on hers.

 

“I love you, too, Trissy,” she replied with as much conviction.

 

He slid out of her, rolling over on his back so she could lie atop him.

 

“Haven’t I gotten too big for you?” she joked.

 

Tristan smiled. “Never. You fit as perfectly as you did the very first time you cuddled next to me.”

 

The fond memory of her as an eight year old child came to her. It had been raining, and it was Tristan that sprang to her mind – it was he she went to. Her small body had snuggled on his, rising and falling with every breath he took, her small finger twirling a lock of his hair. Now, her hand reached out and did the same thing.

 

Raja shivered.

 

“Let me change the sheets. They’re damp.” Raja tried to protest but he was already up and getting dry sheets. “I won’t have you getting a chill.” She got off the bed so he could strip the bed and redress it. “Here,” he said. He pulled back the covers. She lay on her side, head nestled in the crook of his shoulder. She brushed her hand over his chest, seeing the grays that mingled with the fading brown. Then she looked up, propping her head on one hand so she could stroke his face. Over his forehead, down the bridge of his nose. He closed his eyes when she lightly feathered his eyelids. Even more gray hairs sprinkled like salt in his beard, and his hair was graying as well, but Raja thought it made him look all the more alluring.

 

“When did you very first realize you loved me, Trissy?” she asked quietly.

 

Tristan opened his eyes, gazing at her in wonder. The first time. He had always loved her, he just had not put it into words until many years later. “You were fourteen. Remember that dinner party we had because some Roman came and we all had to cater to him? You were wearing a fancy dark blue dress that showed off your femininity. I could tell you were self-conscious because you had always taken great pains to hide yourself. I saw you differently, I saw you as a woman when you walked through the doors that night.” Tristan sighed and remembered. “Someone asked you to dance. I could see you blushing from across the room, shy and unsure, but he took your hand and coaxed you along. I watched and tried to tell myself that what I felt was just the normal protectiveness that filled me whenever you were with another male. I tried to convince myself because deep down, it was jealousy.”

 

“We danced together.”

 

“And you might remember how tense I was after a minute or two. After having my arms around you and looking down at your face and into your eyes, the word ‘beautiful’ came to mind. My eyes trailed over your skin, the nape of your neck, your collar and finally, your curves. I was hard, and was damned glad I was wearing that long tunic you made for me.”

 

Raja laughed.

 

He kissed her. “That night was when I knew I loved you. I even said it aloud when I was alone. And you?” He raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

 

“That is easy. I loved you the first time you held me in your arms. It was the love of a friend. I would always think: Trissy, my protector. And when I grew older, I dreamed what it would be like to lay with you.”

 

A wave of surprise passed him. “You did?”

 

“Mmm-hmm.” Raja grazed his neck, down to his chest. “I saw you differently, too. Of course, I was embarrassed of the things that ran through my mind.”

 

“And what did you think of me?” He eased her on her back, his turn to caress her as she stared up at him.

 

“I wondered what it would be like to kiss you and make love with you. I thought about you showing me how to please you. And all that came true.”

 

“I’m glad it did,” he said.

 

“Me too, Tristan.”

 

----

 

Raja slept late and deep the next morning, exhausted from the several instances they had made love throughout the night. Tristan woke up earlier, but stayed in bed with her, just to be close.

 

The days passed with the similar routines the fortress had been in for some time. Arthur remained busy with paperwork, working himself into the night. Raja sensed Guinevere’s, once again, restlessness, and decided to take her to the archery range to exercise those warrior muscles of the Woads. The Egyptian continued instruction on Guinevere’s horseback riding, who was getting rather adept at it and forming a close relationship with her four legged riding companion, Epona.

 

One late afternoon, Raja entered Arthur’s study without knocking.

 

“Get up and get out, Artie. This instant,” she demanded.

 

He looked up at her from his desk in astonishment. “What?”

 

“You heard me.” She crossed her arms over her chest, a serious expression plastered on her face.

 

Arthur was flustered.

 

“You are working much too hard, Artie.”

 

“Raja, I have a million things to do here.” He spread his hands over the papers on his desk.

 

“Yes, I can see that. And you seem to have a problem asking for assistance. You know I can handle all that as well as you.”

 

He sighed. “I cannot ask you-”

 

Raja held up her hand sharply. “Sukoot! Up and out, Arthur. You’ve been neglecting something far more important. And I care not if I am intruding.”

 

“I do not know what you are talking about.”

 

Now it was Raja’s turn to sigh. She sat down in the chair in front of his desk. “Your wife.”

 

A worried look came over his face. “Is she all right?”

 

“In a manner of speaking. She needs to get out more, with you. And I am sorry to say this but...you are neglecting your husbandly duties.”

 

“Guinevere told you this?”

 

“No. She talks of how she does miss the mountains and the roaming she used to do. Battle, of course. She’s a warrior woman, a wild child! And now she is queen, isolated from all she has known since she was a baby.”

 

Arthur’s gait became deflated.

 

“It is difficult for the both of you. I know this. You are also king of many people, with new responsibilities. But I think you forget that you are not Guinevere’s king, you are her husband.”

 

He rubbed his eyes with his middle and forefinger, and then ran his hand down his face. He fell back in his chair in a slump.

 

Raja’s voice became gentle, that of a concerned sister. “I do not want either of you to be so discontented. Let me do some of this paperwork. Paperwork I can do. Far better than you, I might add.” She grinned to lighten the mood.

 

Arthur chuckled at her sisterly insult. He was not in the habit of asking for advice, but Raja had been married much longer than he. And though Tristan was not king, he had as many responsibilities as him, but always managed to spend a good amount of quality time with Raja. “What am I to do?”

 

“First of all, as I have said, you must cut down on this paperwork. It will let you get to bed earlier, give you more time to do more...” – she smirked – “frolicking with her.”

 

Arthur blushed a bit.

 

“I know, I know.” She laughed. “Difficult to hear that from your sister. Take her outside, Arthur. She loves the outdoors. And I know you; I bet you have not discussed with her anything that has been going on with the forming army.”

 

“I do not want her getting ideas about running into battle,” Arthur said adamantly. “It really is no place for women.” He was unapologetic about saying so to Raja.

 

“I understand. Nevertheless, you know she is extremely smart and competent, and opinionated. You’ve told me so on numerous occasions. It is a good thing she is those things otherwise she would never a get word in! She keeps you on your toes. I like that.”

 

Arthur chuckled. “Have I told you how glad I am that the two of you have become such good friends?”

 

“She’s sassy.”

 

He nodded. “That she is.”

 

Raja lamented affectionately. “Now, are you going to let me assist you with this paperwork?”

 

“I really do not want you overworked, Raja. Both Dagonet and Tristan have said that you are not-”

 

“Yes, yes, yes,” she waved that off impatiently. “But they never said anything about sitting my ass at a desk, did they?”

 

Arthur still looked hesitant.

 

“Perhaps I should rephrase that. You will let me help you with this paperwork. I should have mentioned that you are not my king either. You’re something much more important, my brother, and my friend – which means I still get to boss you around at times.” Raja smiled so it reached her eyes.

 

He exhaled deeply. “Well, I know you are right.”

 

“Of course! There was never any doubt.” She stood up. “Off you go then.”

 

Arthur stood. “Thank you for intruding, Raja.” He hugged her and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

 

“Anything for family, Artie.”

 

He thanked her again and made for the door.

 

“One thing,” she called.

 

He turned.

 

“Despite everything, you are a good husband, Arthur. And a good king.”

 

A lump rose in his throat. He nodded and exited the room so she wouldn’t see the tears in his eyes.

 

Raja soughed in mock despair as she looked at his desk. “So horribly disorganized.” She clicked her tongue and set about methodizing the flurry of missives.

 

----

 

Over the next couple of weeks Raja noticed the difference between Arthur and Guinevere. The two went on regular outdoor excursions, returning rumpled and flushed, with twigs and leaves in their hair. Arthur discussed business with his wife more often, among other things. Often having quarrels about religion and women participating in war.

 

Babies were being made. Dagonet and his wife Brenna were having their first child, and Lucan would have either a brother or sister. Lancelot became increasingly nervous, as most first time fathers are. Raja was often around Sophia when Vanora talked about giving birth. Bors would often make jokes about Lancelot becoming a father, and telling him anecdotes about fatherhood. Raja wished that it was Tristan Bors was making good fun of. Somehow, she had found herself in the middle of a subject that made her melancholy; yet, Raja never showed her sadness in front of the women, instead she found ways to excuse herself so they would not suspect.

 

Even after seven years, Raja still thought about the miscarriage she had, and often ruminated about what that child would have been like. A boy or girl? Would he or she have resembled her or Tristan more? She also had dreams. In her dreams the baby was a boy, who was named after her uncle Ardeth.

 

The Egyptian walked into her room and shut the door. The sunlight streamed in, rays of a clear day a stark contrast to her mood. Raja took a book from a shelf, opening it to a page she had recently been paying close attention to. It was a book full of recipes for food and herbs for healing. Her uncle had brought it along with him from Egypt, a compilation of a very skilled medicine woman had written down the effects the concoctions had on her patients. There were formulas to heal warts, fungus, dry skin, head and stomach aches and more. But what interested Raja was the formula to increase the fertility of a woman to ensure conception. She had read over it so many times that it was ingrained in her mind.

 

There were paragraphs about the women who had tried it. The successful and the unsuccessful ones.

 

Tristan entered the room as she stared at the page while sitting at her writing desk. He smiled and wondered what exactly was in that book which had her so fascinated. One day, when she wasn’t in the room, he flipped through the book but couldn’t read a word of it because it was in Arabic. After sixteen years with Raja he managed a passable fluency in Arabic to have a flowing conversation with her, but the squiggles and tiny dots of the written word continued to elude him.

 

He leaned over her, putting his hands on either side of the desk, Raja captured between his arms. He kissed her softly on the nape of her neck. “What is in that book that has you burning holes through it?”

 

“You can’t tell?” She turned her head to look at him, and he stole a full kiss on her lips.

 

“You know I can’t read those scribbles.” Tristan nuzzled her neck one more time before sitting on the bed to remove his boots and undressing for bed.

 

“It’s a book of recipes that my uncle brought along with him from Egypt. There was a medicine woman who was extremely skilled in that field. She also wrote down the results the people had to the medicines.”

 

Tristan heard the note in her voice that she was trying to tell him something. He stripped off his shirt, then stopped to look at her. Waiting.

 

Raja bit her lip. “This one is a fertility mixture,” – Tristan’s shoulders tensed – “it’s efficacy concluded in quite a few women conceiving.” Before he could speak, she rushed on, “There was one woman in-particular who had been trying for years. The first time she took the medicine, she became pregnant four months later and had a healthy baby. Her and her husband went on to have three more children.”

 

He hung his head for a brief moment, then ran his hand down his face. “You haven’t already been taking that stuff, have you?” His hard stare hit her with force.

 

“No! I would never do that without discussing it with you.”

 

“And are you trying to discuss it with me now?”

 

“We could try, Tristan,” she said quietly.

 

He scratched his beard in agitation, struggling to keep an even pitch. He knew she still thought about children, casually bringing it up over the years, telling him about dreams she had had that were filled with detail that they almost seemed more like a memory. Tristan would hear the longing in her voice, the sadness in her eyes. But what he remembered was finding her in bed soaked with blood, and the very tiny form of what was their child, fitting in the palm of his hand. He never told Raja about it.

 

“Tristan?” Raja said his name gently, bringing him out of his reverie.

 

“Raja, you didn’t even get past the first four months, and that miscarriage weakened you enough during a time when your health was the best it could be.”

 

“Yes, but-”

 

“We can’t Raja,” he snapped, causing her to wince. Then, more softly, “We can’t.”

 

It became dead silent in the room. A loud wind rushed through the world. A tear slid down her cheek, falling on the page in the book, blurring a sentence of ink.  He heard her tear splatter against the paper like a million raindrops. He went to her instantly, taking her into his arms. He felt the anger and sorrow coursing through her.

 

“I’m sorry I was short with you,” he whispered.

 

“No, I deserved it,” she shuddered. “It was just wishful thinking. I just...everyone is having a child...building a family. What have I given you?”

 

“Everything. You are more than enough for me. I need nothing else.”

 

“You are everything to me as well, Trissy. I just do not want you to rob you of holding a piece of you in your arms.”

 

“I already am holding a piece of me. The best piece.”

 

She laughed and smiled at him through her tears. “You could have been a poet, Tristan.”

 

He grinned, kissing her cheeks, taking away her tears on his lips. “Never tell anyone that.”

 

----

 

“Tristan!” Raja rushed into the stables, holding several bags.

 

He stopped mid-mount and grinned. “What’s this?”

 

“Horse treats, to use sparingly.” She handed him one bag then looked up at the three men standing next to their own mounts. Raja smiled at each of them and handed them their own bags which they examined with speculation.

 

Two of the young men were twins. One bald, one with hair down to his shoulders. The third had jagged cropped hair and baggy clothes. Raja squinted, then looked at Tristan with a raised eyebrow. He only shrugged.

 

“Is this your wife?” the twin with the hair blurted. He smiled kindly and held out his hand, which Raja shook. “I’m Gunnar. This is my brother Brennar. He don’t speak.”

 

Brennar gave Raja an almost imperceptible nod very reminiscent of Tristan’s. “You’re the Egyptian that everyone talks about, ain’t ya?”

 

Brennar punched his brother in the arm, flicking his eyes in Tristan’s direction who was giving Gunnar a stare bordering on lethal. Obviously, Gunnar was the one with no tact, but he seemed friendly enough. “Sorry,” he muttered, “I have a habit of putting my foot in my mouth.”

 

“And your head up your ass,” the third boy quipped.

 

“That’s all right,” Raja said, having taken no offense.

 

“Canaan,” the third introduced himself, his voice sounding effectuated. 

 

“Well, my husband is going to have his hands full.” Raja poked at Tristan playfully. He was going on an overnight trek with the scouts-in-training.

 

Tristan kissed her lovingly, speaking in Sarmatian. “Don’t go to any other village, hmm?”

 

“Worry-wart,” she replied. “I promise. And I’ll send Horus with a note if anything is amiss. You worry about them.”

 

He snorted. “Whelps.”

 

“Be nice,” she remonstrated.

 

Raja bid them farewell, and could not help but look pointedly at Canaan and Brennar as they rode out.

 

----

 

Tristan and his three trainees rode hard and far in the beginning. He familiarized them with locations. Open wood-areas and crowded ones. Walking silently on ground filtered with twigs and leaves. As the sun went down, they slowed their pace, heading for their camp. The entire time Tristan appraised them.

 

Despite Gunnar’s loud-mouthed demeanor, he paid attention when Tristan spoke, and followed orders accordingly. He had a distant protectiveness for his brother, who rarely smiled. The two of them communicated easily. Brennar was just as attentive as his twin, his hearing more astute, his eyes more keen. He also demonstrated a caring for his brother, usually shutting him up when his inquiries became too invasive.

 

Canaan was a bit tentative, smaller in mass than his two other trainees. He moved smoothly and quietly, asked questions, soaking up anything Tristan had to say. But Tristan suspected something of this young man, and was ninety-nine percent sure those suspicions were correct.

 

“How long have you been here?” Gunnar asked Tristan. The eighteen year old was extremely curious about this Sarmatian and the others, having grown up hearing so many tales of them.

 

Without looking at him, he answered, “Twenty years.”

 

“How old are you?” Gunnar spoke candidly, his foot aiming for his mouth again.

 

After a moment or two, as was Tristan’s way, he spoke, “Thirty-three.”

 

Gunnar pondered that, subtracting his age from how long the scout had been there, brow furrowed, using his fingers to count.

 

“Christ,” Canaan mumbled. “Thirteen, you idiot. Not that bloody hard, yeah?”

 

“Ah, shut up,” Gunnar spat back. He turned back to Tristan, “You look older than thirty-three.”

 

Brennar gave his twin a chastising look, but Tristan only smirked.

 

“How old’s your wife?” he continued, ignoring his brother.

 

This time Tristan put his eyes on Gunnar, but could only see ingenuous interest in the boy’s brown eyes. Just when Gunnar thought he would never speak, he said, “Twenty-three.”

 

Gunnar’s eyes popped. “Really? Wow.”

 

“And to save you and your fingers the time,” Canaan informed him sarcastically, “that is ten years younger.”

 

He sneered. “Anyway, she’s really pretty,” he went on. “I’ve never seen anyone with her skin color, ya know. Never seen anyone from Egypt, for that matter.”

 

Canaan groaned. “Never shuts up.”

 

“I hope I marry a woman as pretty as your wife,” Gunnar spieled aimlessly, more speaking to himself now. “And as smart. Don’t she speak like a million languages?”

 

“The first thing you should know about scouting,” Tristan said, “is to know when to stop talking.”

 

Gunnar opened his mouth to reply, but his brother slapped him upside the head.

 

A quarter of an hour later, they stopped for camp, first tending to their horses’ needs. The fire was fully ablaze with an iron pot simmering above. Tristan gave them each a lesson in hunting in the dark, sensing when an animal was near, how close to get, how to use their bows without making a sound. Forest animals were extremely perceptive to the sounds and smells of hunters. They returned with five plump hares.

 

Brennar and Tristan skinned them, Canaan cut them up and made the stew. Gunnar scoured around for some onions and mushrooms which he found in good plenty.

 

“You know,” Gunnar said, smacking on a morsel of food, “these are pretty good.”

 

Tristan looked up at him from the campfire to see him holding the bag of horse food Raja had given them. They were medium sized balls of crushed apple, hay, grass, grain, and molasses packed in a thin layer of dough before being baked.

 

“Those are for the horses, you nitwit,” Canaan scolded.

 

“I gave Flash one already,” he retorted. “Tastes like candy.”

 

“What, exactly, are in these things?” Gunnar asked Tristan.

 

The scout gave a small sigh and poured some soup into his bowl. “Crushed apple, hay, grass, grain, molasses.”

 

“Oh,” he said, popping another one in his mouth, “delicious.”

 

“Idiot,” Canaan muttered under her breath.

 

“You ought to try one, put some meat on your bones,” he said.

 

Canaan shot him a deathly glare, then hastily averted her eyes before quickly glancing at Tristan, whose own eyes revealed nothing as to his thoughts. A few hours later the four of them were rolling out their sleeping mats.

 

“I will stay awake and survey the area. Canaan,” Tristan said, “you are on first watch.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Canaan replied.

 

“You two get some sleep. Brennar, you will take second.”

 

Brennar nodded.

 

Canaan made sure all her weapons were in order – sword securely belted to her waist, sufficient number of arrows, daggers fitted into her boots. She slung her bow over her shoulder and crept into the darkness, her horse, Fiona, at her side. Her feet were silent on the ground, eyes and ears alert. Her watch went without problems. Just as she was heading back to her camp, she felt something damp trickle between her legs. Quickly, she ducked behind a tree and put her hand down the front of her breeches, even in the dark she could see the blood of her menses on her fingertips. “Shit,” she hissed under her breath. There was nothing she could do about it at the moment, she had to go wake Brennar first, but he was already awake and waiting for her return when she stepped into the firelight.

 

After he was out of sight, Canaan took her pack that held an extra pair of pants. Again, she left the warmth of the hearth and quietly headed towards the small stream not a mile away. The blood came heavy, soaking through her light brown pants. It would make a stain if she did not hurry and wash it out. She cursed her menses for being late, she cursed the plight of being born a female. When Canaan reached the creek, she hurriedly slipped her boots off, then her pants. Blood was smeared on her skin. She dug her clean pants from her pack, then realized she had no rags to staunch the flow. Worse and worse, she thought to herself. She would have to rip the pair that was already soiled to make a towel. Canaan tore the fabric, leaving them near her pack so she could step into the water and wash herself off. She took care of the problem in record time, a wad of cloth now uncomfortably bundled against her privates.

 

She sighed heavily and meandered back to camp. Halfway there, someone spoke.

 

“I don’t mind,” – Canaan jumped and spun around – “that you are a woman, but there are consequences for masquerading as a man in the legion.” Tristan stood casually against a tree, picking the dirt from under his nails with a knife.

 

After gaining her wits, she said, “How did you know?”

 

She did not see the slight raise of his brow beneath his bangs. “Men and women look entirely different in even the lightest armor. You are not the first female to do this. There are two more pretending to be men as we speak. I’m sure you are aware of that.”

 

Canaan shifted, but not from nervousness. “What are you going to do?”

 

It seemed an eternity before he replied. “There is no rule against women signing up. But what you are doing is frowned upon.”

 

“If I had not, I would never have even gotten through the Administration’s door.”

 

“True.”

 

This man is unflappable! she fumed. “Well?”

 

“It would have been better if you had earned your merit as a woman, than constructing this façade of yours. I hope you have good argumentative skills, you will need them.”

 

“You are going to turn me in.”

 

Silence.

 

“But you said you did not mind that I am a woman.”

 

“I do not. But the Commander does.”

 

Canaan gritted her teeth, desperate. “He let your wife in the legion!” She felt the air still around her.

 

“Do not bring her into this.” His tone changed from conciliatory to stern.

 

She swallowed. “I apologize. I just...want to be here.”

 

“Why is that?”

 

“I hate Saxons,” she said plainly, “they killed my family.”

 

“And not you.”

 

“No. Not me.”

 

Tristan looked her in the eyes, unwavering. Saw the anger radiating from her, the injustice that was dealt to her family, and the injustice that was personally inflicted on her. A wave of the same emotion he often felt coming from Raja.

 

“I would think you might understand,” she said, realizing that once again, he knew something of her without her having to tell him, “at least from a second-hand point of view.”

 

He deftly put the knife he had been using back in its sheath. He pushed himself from the tree, like a wolf lurking towards his prey, his muscles rippling unseen beneath his clothes. “That was a bold statement,” he said, the moonlight making his golden irises come alight. “Nevertheless, you are right. I understand all too well the effects of what was done to you. And I am not without a modicum of sympathy. But if it is revenge you want, and what you will be seeking in every battle, you will never make it passed your first.”

 

Canaan watched him walk away.

 

“Rest up,” she heard him say, “we leave at first light.”

 

----

 

Raja woke to the sound of drums. Every thrust and push beat in unison with the ominous cacophony of drums. Drums...She sat up in bed, pushing the covers back, which were suddenly too heavy on her body. Crushing her, suffocating her. She stumbled out of bed, falling to her knees in a heap, gasping for breath. The drumming continued, but now she was confused if the sound was truly drums or just the thumping of her heart and the blood pounding in her temples.

 

“Stop, stop, stop,” she whispered, eyes shut tight. Slowly, thankfully, the pounding subsided, so now all she could hear was the wind rushing in the outside world. Raja swallowed heavily, tasting only her saliva and not the vile seed of another man.

 

Shaking, she managed to stand, one hand supporting herself on the bed. She took trembling steps to the washbowl, splashing the cool water on her face. She dried her face, knowing she would be unable to fall back asleep. Opening the curtains, she looked out the window, seeing that it had to be at least a couple of hours past dawn, and Tristan had most likely returned or would be soon. Raja sighed heavily, resolving to simply take a bath and get ready for the day. Three quarters of an hour later she was what she considered clean, and dressed in a comfortable skirt and blouse. Raja left the room, heading for the stairs, passing by Arthur’s study on the way.

 

“With all do respect, this really does not concern you,” Raja heard Lancelot say. “You have no experience in this particular army.”

 

It did not concern Raja either, but she appeared in the doorway nonetheless. Inside, she saw Canaan – the “boy” she suspected to be a girl, in line with three other women with jaggedly cut hair down to their scalps. Tristan stood off to the side, Guinevere was standing next to the girls, in which Raja surmised was a defensive stance. Everyone turned when the Egyptian showed her face. Tristan smiled and walked over to her.

 

“Raja!” Guinevere said as if she were her savior. “Please, I am sure you will agree with me when I say that these women should be allowed to remain in the legion.”

 

Seeing her, the four women’s eyes opened a bit wider with reverence at the only woman they knew to have been in the legion, not to mention her surviving.

 

She raised her eyebrows, scanning everyone in the room. “I do not know what is going on.” But she could take a good guess. The girls had been found out, and were now facing dismissal.

 

Arthur sighed at the situation.  “Guinevere, love, Lancelot, Tristan and I need to handle this personally.”

 

She opened her mouth to argue, but he interrupted her, “Please,” he said a bit more sternly.

 

Her face flushed bright red, but she bit back her words, glaring hard at her husband. She turned back to the women, a contrite, sympathetic expression on her face before leaving the room.

 

“I suppose I better leave as well,” Raja said.

 

“Wait,” Arthur said. Behind Raja, he could see Tristan giving him a look of warning.

 

Lancelot cleared his throat.

 

“Never mind,” Arthur said gently.

 

“All right,” she replied hesitantly. “I’m glad you returned safely,” she said to Tristan, giving him a soft peck on the cheek.

 

Tristan closed the door behind him and leaned against it, crossing his arms.

 

“I am sorry for this,” Arthur spoke, assuming his authoritarian air of Commander. “But this sort of subterfuge cannot be ignored. Yet, I will give you a chance to defend your actions.”

 

“Arthur-“ Lancelot was ready to oppose him, but he was quieted by the man’s higher rank.

 

The women stood straight, arms at their sides. Shauna, who had been going by the name of Shayne, spoke first. “Sir, we have experienced discrimination for being female many times, and we felt our plan of action was the best way to alleviate the prejudice that comes with being a female warrior.”

 

Kendra, alias Kinley. “And this time, we were treated as equals with the rest of the beginners.”

 

Lynsay, alias Lehane addressed Lancelot. “You said we were doing well. But now that you have discovered us to be women, you forget the approval you gave us for our skills.”

 

Lancelot pursed his lips. “Your skills have nothing to do with this. This is about your fabrication.”

 

“With all do respect,” Canaan said with a snide pitch, “it is not our fabrication that you are dismissing us for, but it is for the fact that we are female. If anything, we should be getting nothing less than a flogging.”

 

But Lancelot was trying to avoid that. He knew what a flogging was like. Livable, but humiliating. And despite the fact that he had killed women in battle, the idea of bringing physical harm to one unless they were fighting back made him hesitate. He could tell that Arthur was as well. But probably for more...religious reasons.

 

“Tell me,” Arthur said, “why do you wish to be in the legion so badly? Put yourself in mortal danger?”

 

Canaan’s met Tristan’s for the briefest moment.

 

“Do you know what would happen to you if you were taken captive?” Lancelot asked. He was not trying to sound patronizing, but he continued, “Most likely, the enemy would find out you were a woman, and you would be on the receiving end of more brutality than the men. Instead of just killing you outright, they would rape you first, by a multitude of them before being slaughtered. And if, by some divine intervention, you should survive...”

 

Kendra took a deep breath, “That would for us to worry about.”

 

Canaan’s face remained placid.

 

“And no one’s fault but our own,” added Lynsay.

 

“It is nothing to take lightly,” Arthur said.

 

Lancelot scoffed, shaking his head in frustration. “Being a woman among so many men, even the ones who are supposed to be on your side, who have gone long without a female can be difficult. Despite the fact that rape is punishable by death.”

 

Canaan smirked. “You are not a woman. So, why should you care?”

 

Kendra hissed, and nudged her with her elbow.

 

“Tristan, have you any input?” Arthur asked.

 

“No.”

 

Although Arthur did not like it, he felt he must be fair. “I...will let you stay in the legion. But as women. You will no doubt face much scorn and mocking from the others, but as you said, that will be no one’s fault but your own.”

 

Lancelot looked at them with something akin to pity.

 

----

 

“You were still sleeping when I arrived,” Tristan said, embracing her from behind.

 

“I must have been completely knocked out, I usually awaken when you arrive,” Raja smiled and turned around. She put her arms around his neck, giving him the full, deep kiss she had been unable to give him earlier.

 

Odin nudged Tristan, sniffing for apples.

 

“I’ve got nothing,” Tristan chastised the horse.

 

Odin snorted in disgust and walked away.

 

“What was Arthur’s decision?” she asked as they left the stables, hand in hand.

 

“He has allowed them to remain in the legion.”

 

“Do you disagree with him?”

 

He did not get a chance to answer, for halfway to the tavern, the four women were confronting five men that were in the legion as well.

 

“Well, the trouble has already started,” Tristan said.

 

Raja recognized a couple of the males as the ones who had been staring at her when she’d gone to the training grounds. Now, they had sneers masking their faces, and a series of profane slurs directing at the women, who were holding their own.

 

“The only good place a woman has among men is on their knees or on their backs,” one of the boys spat, whose name was Nathan.

 

Canaan charged forward, punching the man directly in the nose. He screamed in rage, his hands covering his face that came away with a stream of blood.

 

“Bitch!” he yelled.

 

All of them went for each other, fists flying and connecting with flesh.

 

Raja rushed forward before Tristan had a chance to stop her, the Egyptian pulled one of the men that was pummeling Shauna. The man turned abruptly at being touched, putting his dagger against Raja’s neck.

 

Raja stared at him drolly.

 

But he was once again pulled back, this time more harshly. He struggled, but when he heard the voice in his ear, he stopped cold.

 

“Never touch my wife,” Tristan ordered icily, his tone a stark contrast to the heat of his breath.

 

Canaan helped Shauna up.

 

“You four go clean yourselves up,” Raja said. When the four women looked at her dubiously, she repeated herself, “Go. Now.”

 

By now, there was a crowd forming.

 

Tristan still held the boy by the scruff of his neck, addressing him and the other men. “Your five are pathetic,” he said with such placid menace that it even had the crowd backing up. Tristan shoved the boy forward to his comrades. “Get out of my sight.”

 

As they half stumbled, half ran to safety, the gatherers began to disperse as well.

 

“Well, that was just the beginning,” Raja said, straightening her blouse.

 

Tristan grunted half-heartedly. He rubbed the place where her neck had been against the dagger. Her skin wasn’t broken.

 

“Will you report this?” she asked as they walked to the tavern.

 

“I’m not in the middle of it,” he replied. “Not their babysitter.”

 

“But you have such a nice touch with children!” Raja said sarcastically.

 

The tavern was relatively quiet. Bors’ and Vanora’s kids occupied one table while they ate their breakfasts, Lucan among them. They greeted Tristan and Raja, and she noticed that Lucan had a black eye and a split lip.

 

“What happened to you?” Raja asked, taking him by the chin gently.

 

“Nothing,” he said.

 

“He got into a fight,” Laney, number three, stated.

 

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. Lucan was usually very even-tempered.

 

“Yes, well,” Vanora said, coming over to change the subject. “And there shall be no more of it.” Lucan had yet to tell anyone what the fight was about. He had pulverized the other boy who was remaining tight-lipped, as well.

 

Tristan and Raja ate their breakfasts and left the tavern. She told him that she was feeling a bit under the weather and needed to go lay down a bit. He lay beside her until she fell into a contented sleep.

 

He quietly got up from the bed and shut the door behind him. He headed towards the infirmary where he knew Dagonet was most likely to be. His son was in there with him as well. Dagonet was changing a bandage on his leg. Lucan looked at Tristan and then away. He had always been a bit ill-at-ease in the scout’s presence, but what child wouldn’t be. He made an effort to soften his face.

 

“You have any more of those sedative herbs?” he asked.

 

Dag finished wrapping the bandage. “Yeah.” He gave him a concerned look, a silent one that asked – She’s not sleeping well, again?

 

Tristan tilted his head.

 

Lucan stepped off of the stool and went to leave.

 

“Lucan,” Dagonet called after him. “No fighting, you hear?”

 

The boy’s jaw clenched, an indignant blush creeping up his neck. Then he blurted, “I was defending her!”

 

“Who?”

 

Lucan’s chest rose and fell heavily. “Raja.” He looked directly, and bravely at Tristan.

 

Tristan’s eyebrow arched.

 

“Samuel said...he said bad things about her.”

 

The older men exchanged a look.

 

He rushed on. “He heard his mother calling Raja a whore, and I heard him repeating it. And...and, I would do it again!”

 

Dagonet nodded in understanding. “All right, son.”

 

“Is Raja awake?” the boy asked Tristan while his courage was still present.

 

“No, she’s resting now.”

 

“Oh,” he said, disappointed.

 

“When she wakes up, you can go see her then,” Tristan added. He knew that Lucan and Raja had formed a special bond. The boy had been locked in that cell, his mother and father killed. Raja understood that brokenness in Lucan, and he in her apparently.

 

“I...won’t tell her what Samuel said. It would hurt her feelings,” Lucan said.

 

“Yeah,” Tristan replied. “But I’m sure she’d appreciate you standing up for her. I do.”

 

Lucan’s mouth opened a fraction. Tristan was thanking him. And...a small smile was aimed at him, too.

 

After he left, Tristan said, “Tough kid.”

 

“Kind of reminds me of Raja when she started to come out of her shell,” Dag said.

 

The scout chuckled.

 

----

 

Raja was correct. That was just the beginning. Canaan, Shauna, Lynsay, and Kendra faced extreme resentment from the other men. The only two that were on their side were Gunnar and Brennar, which made them outcasts as well. But it helped that the two of them were far superior in fighting abilities than a vast majority of the others.

 

The five young men who were the instigators of many of the clashes were Nathan, Paul, Rafe, Hamish, and Giles. Whenever Tristan and Lancelot were out of earshot, they never passed up a chance to spew hateful words. They deliberately went out of their way to dole out the hardest hits when sparring. Raja and Guinevere often stood at the sidelines observing the training.

 

“They’re holding their own,” Raja commented.

 

Guinevere nodded. “Do you believe that women have no place in this army?”

 

Raja was silent for several moments. “I think...that it is certainly more dangerous for women in this type of setting. Not where fighting is concerned, but what could happen before and after. When there is idle time. But those four are proving to be capable of handling it with honor.”

 

“You survived,” Guinevere pointed out.

 

Raja let out a puff of rueful laughter. “I suppose I did.”

 

To the queen, the Egyptian’s answer seemed dubious. Perhaps she was thinking of another type of survival? Was there something else in her that had died over the years in battle?

 

“Do you miss running into battle, Guinevere?” Raja asked her.

 

She smiled fondly. “I miss participating in the act of defending my people and land. It was what I did. Being a warrior.”

 

“You still are.”

 

“I am queen.”

 

“You may be queen, Guinny. But you will always be yourself.”

 

“Guinny?” she laughed.

 

“Guinny, yes. I apologize, when I come to like someone, nicknames are adapted. And there is nothing you can do about it. Lancelot and Tristan were very much resistant to theirs, but it did not stop me.”

 

“What are theirs?”

 

“Oh!” Raja shook her head smiling. “I promised that I would never tell and never say them in front of anyone else. It look years for Lancelot to stop cringing when I called him by his nickname.”

 

“Does it not bother you that Lancelot is against women in battle?”

 

“No. It is his opinion. I’ve always accepted his opinions and behavior as is and have never tried to change him. And he does not mean women in battle, specifically. But women in the legion.” She shrugged.

 

“I do not see the difference.”

 

“I am not sure how women among your people are treated when they wield a sword, but in this,” – she waved her hand to indicate the soldiers – “a woman can be the best, but make a mistake and it is not because she is a human, but because she is a woman. Everything is a grey area.”

 

Guinevere sighed.

 

“Why don’t we go inside,” Raja said, taking her by the elbow gently. “We can do women’s work!”

 

----

 

The next day, the men – and women – were called off to battle. Saxons massed in the east. There were a number of casualties.

 

Everyone collected the dead. Canaan stopped over one, and just stared...and stared.

“What’s the problem?” Tristan asked. He looked down at the body and recognized the bloodied body as Nathan. He titled his head and grunted, not feeling a thing. “You cannot get upset by every death.”

 

Her head snapped up at him. “I’m not upset.”

 

“Good. Then get moving.” He pivoted and left her alone.

 

On the way back to the fortress, the four women rode side by side, Gunnar and Brennar not far off.

 

Raja met Tristan in the courtyard, relieved to see him uninjured and alive. Not caring of the blood on his armor, she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. The other wives greeted their men with much relief as well. But Guinevere noticed how Tristan and Raja seemed in their own world, as if no one else were around them. They always greeted each other as if they had not seen each other in months instead of a several hours.

 

The funeral was held later that day for the fallen soldiers. Canaan stayed behind when it was over.

 

Tristan approached her. “Feel better?”

 

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You speak as if wanting to kill is deplorable.”

 

He was silent.

 

“Don’t you like to kill?” she asked.

 

“Yes. It is a part of me. But I do not seek it out like you.”

 

“I’m not.”

 

“You want revenge. That will blind you.”

 

She cleared her throat. “Have you never wanted...revenge?”

 

“Certainly. But that revenge must be focused. Yours is unfocused. If that is the only reason you are fighting, you will not last long.” He walked away before she could say anything.

 

----

 

“I don’t hear anything,” Lancelot said. His ear was against Sophia’s bare stomach which was now visibly rounded.

 

“Lancelot, I do not think you will be hearing anything for quite some time.”

 

He scoffed. “When will I?”

 

“You will when you least expect it.”

 

He caressed her stomach lovingly and kissed it. “I want to be in the room when you give birth.”

 

Her eyes opened wide. “Lancelot-”

 

“I wasn’t asking, Sophie. I will be in the room. And I will not have any incompetent people aiding you. Vanora, Thea and Raja. No strangers.”

 

“I think Thea will have something to say about your intrusion.”

 

“Let her! I was there when this child was conceived, I will be there when it is born.”

 

A whip of wind went by outside, whooshing against the windows.

 

----

 

It rained heavily for the next three days, soaking the blood into the earth. It was August now, and the moisture in the air made Raja’s bones ache and lungs tingle. A year now...a year since the Saxons. Her being could not help but quiet itself, yet she tried to hang on to the corporeal world around her. Hanging on to the colors of her surroundings, instead of falling into the black abyss that threatened to revive her demons. Chieftains of the Woads came to the fortress to speak with Arthur about villages being desecrated by the Saxons.

 

But the enemy was closer than they knew.

 

On a fair day, Raja and Guinevere went out for the day. They stopped at a stream with a clear waterfall cascading in torrents. Odin’s and Epona’s bridles were loosened so they could graze. The two women sat in silence on the lush copse of green, soaking the mild rays of the sun.

 

A scream filtered through the woods at a distance.

 

“Did you hear something?” Guinevere asked.

 

Raja nodded and stood up. Among the soft breeze, she heard rustling, pounding, yelling. More screams. Before Raja could stop her, Guinevere headed in the direction of the commotion.

 

“Stealth would be nice,” Raja hissed.

 

The screams became clearer. Bodies...Saxons. A Saxon on a woman.

 

“Oh...gods,” Guinevere whispered.

 

Raja went cold. “We can’t do anything.”

 

Guinevere stared at her incredulously.

 

“I only have my dagger, and we are outnumbered.”

 

A deep voice spoke behind them in a foreign language. They turned...five Saxons. The men gazed at them lasciviously. Raja’s body went stiff. The men unsheathed their swords, some had axes. Heavy footsteps sounded from behind them. In the distance, Raja heard Horus’ distinct caw.

 

----

 

In the stables, Tristan was grooming Dyne when Horus swooped in, cawing violently. Odin and Epona trampled through without their riders. Tristan knew this all too well.

 

“You,” he ordered a young stable hand. “Saddle these horses, now!”

 

He found Arthur and Lancelot, minutes later horns were sounding for the soldiers to ready for battle. Arthur did not know how many Saxons there were, but he had to be prepared.

 

----

 

Raja and Guinevere were tied with their hands behind their backs. The Saxons had not touched them other than to push them along. It was too familiar. Guinevere saw the wide pupils of her comrade, who was obviously struggling to remain in the present.

 

The wind became harsh as sunset arrived. There were thick clouds in the air, an ominous chill. Raja’s legs began to ache, but she willed them to hold herself up.

 

“Raja.” Guinevere said as quietly as she could.

 

Raja blinked and flicked her eyes over to Guinevere, not able to speak but trying to let her know that she was still there with her. Soon, they came upon a small Saxon camp. Hasty tents were set up, campfires around. They were brought before a man that obviously held some high rank. Raja understood the words they spoke in their guttural tongue.

 

Despite their fear, the two women held their heads high in defiance. Circumspectly, they noticed that there were a few women in the area who were not captives, but wives with children. Raja and Guinevere were stared at with curiosity. Their clothes were fine, though not fancy, despite the fact that they wore breeches and tunics. They were not the browns and grays of commoners.

 

Raja’s heart sank when the leader told two men to take she and Guinevere to separate tents.

 

“Raja!” Guinevere cried out, struggling when they were taken in different directions.

 

“Do not struggle too much,” Raja warned her before they were too far away. Raja’s tent was small and dark. She’d had no tent before. But the solidity of the ground was familiar. Tiny rocks and twigs. The Saxon shoved her to the ground so she fell heavily on her side, missing the lit brazier by inches.

 

The Saxon kneeled and cocked his head to once side. She did her best to stifle her cringe when he reached out and separated the white streak of her hair from her black locks. He made a grumble of speculation, then let her hair fall. A dirty, rough finger trailed itself down her cheek, over her jaw to her neck, stroking. He pointed at her, then he pointed to himself. He left.

 

She let out a deep breath, trying to hold her tears back, her trembling. Not...again. Then she thought of Guinevere, and hoped like hell that she would not suffer the touch of other men like she had. The wind whistled, flapping the drapes of the tent. Her wrists burned from the harsh bindings, the muscles of her legs ached.

 

Hours passed...how many she did not know. A shadow appeared, a tall, bulk of a shadow.  Her vision clouded, he stood above her menacingly. Now...now she sensed the lust emanating from the man. She saw his erection spring out as he dropped his pants.

 

She heard drums again. Thumping. Multiple poundings of...hooves? She was shoved on her back...What is the point? What is the point of fighting? She heard yelling that was not her own and the man’s attention was directed away from her. Raja turned her head when another person pushed his way through the tent. There was a pause, then she heard the yell of a man dying, a heavy body hitting the ground.

 

“Raja,” the man said. He knelt by her and cut off her bindings. Tristan saw that she had not been beaten or raped. “Raja.”

 

She turned her head. Tristan.

 

“I’m here,” he said soothingly. He helped her up and carried her from the tent into the twilight. Bodies were strewn around. Her head lolled on his shoulder as she breathed him in, all energy gone from her.

 

“Trissy,” she whispered.

 

“Right here, Raja.”

 

She held to him tightly, then dimly heard her cousin’s voice.

 

“Is she all right?” he asked urgently.

 

Tristan nodded. Raja lifted her head. Her cousin had flecks of blood on his face and armor.

 

“Guinevere,” Raja said. “Where is she?”

 

“She’s fine,” Lancelot assured her.

 

“Did they touch her?” Raja asked, a hysteric pitch breaking through.

 

“No,” he replied.

 

The soldiers were sifting through bodies. As it was a surprise attack, and the Saxons were outnumbered there were no casualties on their side, only injuries.

 

Tristan set Raja down on her legs next to Odin. Guinevere ran over and embraced her before she even had a chance to gain her bearings. Raja looked Guinevere over, making sure she was truly all right. Words eluded her, they were stuck deep inside.

 

“Raja?” Guinevere stared right into her semi-blank eyes.

 

Tristan helped Raja sit down against a tree.

 

“I’ll stay with her,” Guinevere told him.

 

Tristan went over to Arthur and Lancelot.

 

“What will we do with the women and children?” Lancelot asked.

 

“We will take them with us,” Arthur replied.

 

“What?” Lancelot spat. “We should leave them here. We can do nothing for them.”

 

“They have nowhere else to go. How will they survive?” Arthur spoke.

 

“Where will you put them?” Tristan asked, disagreeing with Arthur as well.

 

“There is empty housing,” Arthur said, his tone saying that this was his decision.

 

Lancelot snorted in disgust and walked away, as did Tristan.

 

Raja rode with Tristan back to the fortress. She didn’t care if she looked weak to anyone else. He held to her tightly, ensuring her safety with his firm hold. When they arrived, Tristan carried her to their bedroom. She remained silent, her eyes still wide. She shivered, her face pale.

 

“I need...” she stuttered, “I need a bath. I need to get clean.”

 

He nodded, holding her tighter as her body shook with force. He could feel her bones underneath her tunic, the heat coming off of her skin.

 

“I don’t want to go back out there,” she whispered. Now she cried, great heaving sobs wracked her body. “I’m sorry.”

 

Tristan knew what she was apologizing for, it was what she always did. Apologizing for being weak, crying on his shoulder once again, although it was never a burden to him. He told her he loved her, every tear of pain an acid drop on his heart.

 

----

 

The fortress occupants steered clear of the area in the southern part of the fort where the Saxon women and children were being housed. They were sheep among wolves, but the villagers were ordered to remain peaceful. The morning was overcast, the winds light.

 

The knights filed into the meeting hall, two Woad Chieftains already seated. Arthur began the preliminaries before letting the guests speak. The men sat around, bemused as their new allies stated that they had Saxon prisoners who knew of a camp that held prisoners of their own people. The Woads could not speak the language well enough to extract proper information from their enemy.

 

“Even if you could, what makes you think they would tell you anything?” Lancelot asked.

 

“It is necessary to try,” Albion said. He was a scruffy, aged man with yellowy-grey hair down to his shoulders. His skin held the tint of faded woad paint. “They have women and children, as well.”

 

“The Saxons here could be used for bargain,” Efnisien suggested, who resembled his counterpart, save that he was shorter and thinner.

 

“Using human beings as bargaining tools is unethical and immoral,” Arthur said with a shake of his head.

 

The two Woads glanced at each other. Ah yes, the Christian king of Britain.

 

“It is for the greater good,” Efnisien told him staunchly.

 

“In a manner of speaking. But the Saxons here are Christians who speak a bit of Latin. Their teacher goes by the name of Bishop Amandus.”

 

The Roman governor of Gaul had dispatched Bishops to bring the faith to an island that was in uproar. There were Celtic-Christians, but others remained in steadfast devotion to their own pagan gods.

 

The knights eyed each other with their usual skepticism when Arthur spoke of his faith. The king waited for the visitors to say something more.

 

“If we had,” – Albion flicked his eyes towards Efnisien for the briefest of moments – “someone who spoke the Germanic language fluently, it would be easier to communicate and bargaining could be executed in a more ethical manner.”

 

Arthur cleared his throat. “Could you elaborate?”

 

“The Egyptian,” Albion said bluntly. “She speaks this tongue, does she not?”

 

Tristan narrowed his eyes, listening in silence until this moment. “She will remain uninvolved.” His voice was clear, projected throughout the large room seemingly from every corner. The rest of the men sat up straighter, more alert.

 

The Woads ignored his menace, puffing up in indignance. Efnisien addressed Arthur, “She is a part of this,” – he waved his hand to indicate the table – “legion is she not?”

 

“No, she is not,” Tristan spoke again, his golden gaze hot with warning.

 

“With due respect,” Arthur said firmly, placating Tristan’s stirring rage, “it would be prudent to refrain from requesting anything of her.”

 

Albion said something to Efnisien in Celtic. But Tristan got the gist of it.

 

“No,” he said, “you will stay away from her.”

 

Their eyes opened in surprise at being understood.

 

“If anyone attempts to approach her with anything involving Saxons or war, they will have to go through me.”

 

“Then you will be the one to speak to her of this?” Albion asked, misunderstanding the Sarmatian.


“No one will speak to her of this. She will have nothing to do with the Saxons. They are to be nowhere near her.” It was obvious if the two elders said anything more, Tristan would retaliate and not with words. “If that is all there is, Arthur. I will return to my wife now.”

 

Arthur nodded. When Tristan left the room, it was quiet for several moments.

 

“I think you are letting your familial relations with the Egyptian get in the way of your duty,” Albion lectured. “You have an obligation to protect your people.”

 

“I know what my duties are,” Arthur retorted, his jade eyes hard. “Raja is not a part of this legion, and cannot be ordered to do anything.”

 

“And she is ill,” Lancelot spoke stiffly. “And not fit to travel the journey into the mountains to your people.”

 

“There is no more discussion on this,” Arthur said. “Have you any other business?”

 

The elders were severely agitated at being denied what they considered a simple request.

 

“Very well,” Albion conceded grimly. “We’ve nothing else to speak of.”

 

----

 

In their bedroom, Arthur conveyed to Guinevere what had transpired.

 

She was quiet when he finished. “Was she asked?”

 

His eyebrows shot up. “No, Tristan forbid it. And I agree with him.”

 

“Surely he cannot make these decisions for her! She has a mind of her own.”

 

Arthur hesitated. “Guinevere, even if she were to be asked, do you think that Raja being around Saxons is wise?”

 

“She is a strong woman,” Guinevere insisted.

 

“That she is,” he agreed. “But it does not mean that she is not bothered. Raja is ill, traveling is not good for her. She would be ailing come the first night.”

 

Guinevere sat up straighter in her chair, crossing her legs, hands in her lap. “If it were someone else with the same afflictions, would you bring the problem to them?” When he did not reply, she continued gently, “I know she is like a sister to you, and I care for her also, but there are women and children being held prisoner. All Raja has to do is speak to them, she will be in no danger. I think she would be willing.”

 

Arthur’s lips were set in a straight line. Once again, in no certain terms, he was being told that he was letting his personal feelings get in the way of protecting his people. But he could not help that. His wife had not been here from the beginning to see Raja grow up and overcome such harsh demons. Yes, Raja was very strong, but haunted. And Tristan would never stand for it. And if Arthur were to speak to Raja, his knights would think that he was putting his Briton half before a person he had known and loved for fifteen years.

 

“Really, it is out of my hands. I cannot order her to do anything.”

 

“She should at least be asked,” Guinevere reiterated.

 

“You are not to speak to her of this,” he dictated.  “There is no point, and Tristan would surely not appreciate it.”

 

“Why does he control her life so much?”

 

“My love, he is not controlling her life. He is protecting her.”

 

“He thinks because she is a woman she cannot do this? What will he do when her health returns to its fullest and she goes back into battle?”

 

“Guinevere...she will not be rejoining the legion.”

 

Her mouth opened and she grasped at her words. “Because it is no place for a woman?” she challenged. “Because Tristan will forbid it? Lancelot would refuse her place as well because she is female?”

 

Arthur was becoming impatient. “Lancelot does not see her as that. He loves Raja beyond measure, and like Tristan, has always been quite protective of her, he is just less overt about it.”

 

Guinevere drummed her fingers on the armrest, struggling for further argument. Her people were important to her, it was why she agreed with her father to seek Arthur in the first place. She traded her life as a free-roaming woman, a warrior, for queen, and though she did not regret it, it was still a sacrifice, one for her people.

 

Arthur bent down, kissing her on the forehead. “There are other ways, my love.”

 

----

 

“I’m knitting some booties for your child,” Raja said, pointing a sharp needle at her cousin. The yarn was blue, with yellow for the toes and heels. “I’m sure Sophia doesn’t need anyone sewing for her, though.”

 

Lancelot sat beside her on the bed, taking in her pale skin. She looked downright dainty under the thick comforter. Her long, shiny hair tucked behind her ears, but hanging over her shoulders, her long eyelashes fluttered like butterfly wings when she blinked. Sometimes when he would walk in the room, he imagined he was seeing her as that sickly eight year old child who had come to Britain and brought some cheer to his life.

 

“Ah!” she held up a finger. “Don’t you dare reach out and check for a fever, Lottie.” She had read his mind.

 

He chuckled.

 

“How is Sophia doing?”

 

“Good. Her morning sickness is gone,” he smiled ruefully. “Now she is just hungry all the time.”

 

Raja smiled and nodded. “You are going to make such a wonderful father.”

 

“You think so?” Sometimes he was doubtful. He had probably sired children over the years. They could have passed right by him and he would never have recognized them, that is, if he had bothered to look at all.

 

“Of course,” she insisted. “Good fathers run in the family.” Raja took his hand and squeezed. “You have a lot of love to give, I have complete faith in you. And Sophia does, as well.”

 

“That makes two of you then,” Tristan jested, walking into the room.

 

Lancelot snorted. He got up and gave a groaning sigh. “Time to train the whelps, then?”

 

“We need to be more firm with them,” Tristan said. “They’re soft.”

 

“I couldn’t agree more,” he replied seriously. “I’ll meet you down there.”

 

Tristan kissed Raja and sat by her. “How are you feeling?”

 

“The same as when you asked me that question three hours ago, Trissy.”

 

The corners of his mouth curved upwards.

 

“I didn’t get to ask you yesterday. What was the meeting about?”

 

Tristan had not mentioned anything to her, and he’d hoped she wouldn’t bring it up either. “Saxons holding Woads prisoner. Woads holding Saxons prisoner.”

 

“I see.”

 

Tristan rose to curtail further talk.

 

“The wind will blow the arrows off course,” she mentioned absently.

 

He titled his head to the side, wondering where that had come from. Then he heard the loud whistling of air rushing by. “It has been windy lately. We’ll most likely have to skip that today if it does not lessen.”

 

Raja smiled at him, as if she had never said anything. “Don’t crack any whips on them, Tristan.”

 

“Never,” he said, pressing his lips to hers again. She tasted sweet, her mouth soft and loving. “I love you.”

 

“I love you, too, Trissy.”

 

----

 

Rounding the corner to the stairs, Tristan nearly bumped into Guinevere. Her eyes shifted away from him just as his brow narrowed.

 

“I had a feeling you might try to speak with her,” he said. Tristan blocked her way, towering over the petite queen.

 

Guinevere took a breath, and stared defiantly at him. “Raja should be asked.”

 

“It is only out of respect for Arthur that I am curbing my temper. But my wife comes first, and if I have to bar you from her room, I will.”

 

“Why are you opposed to this?” she questioned. “You treat her as if she is glass!”

 

His jaw tightened, his golden irises blazed molten. He never thought of himself as treating her like glass. Delicate and fragile she was, even her uncle had thought so. “Do not tell me how I treat her. I know her better than anyone here, and I know what goes on inside of her.”

 

“You think her weak.” Tristan’s utter surprise at her accusation caught Guinevere off guard.

 

“She is one of the strongest people I know. She is also fragile.”

 

“She is a warrior.”

 

“No...” Tristan said after several moments, “she is not. And was never meant to be.”

 

“How can you say that?” she asked, astonished.

 

“You haven’t been here from the beginning. I don’t expect you to understand. I shouldn’t even have to explain, so I’m not. But I will tell you this. Raja’s health has always been poor. The years in the legion made it worse, the traveling, the battles, nights spent in the cold and rain. It has long seeped into her bones. She will never fully regain a state of proper health. Ever. Her body is weaker since being taken by the Saxons last year. If she were to take that journey to the mountains, she would be coughing blood the first night, and be near death from fever the next. You hear me on this,” he took a step towards her, “I would forfeit this entire island to keep her alive.”

 

Guinevere watched him walk away, his feet barely making a sound on the cement flooring. What he had said coursed through her mind, she was beginning to understand. She still went to Raja’s room, and the Egyptian welcomed her with a smile. She was now sitting in front of the fireplace, a book on her lap.

 

“You look troubled, Guinevere.”

 

Guinevere looked Raja over, searching for those signs of delicacy that Tristan said she had. And now that her mind was opened, her eyes could see it all clearly. Sitting in the large armchair, she did look fragile. Her regal bearing had the Egyptian sitting straight. Wisdom swam in her eyes, but also harsh experiences she had met throughout her life. Guinevere thought of the times she had seen Raja knitting, then sharpening her sword – how the woman went back and forth between the two disparate acts with such familiarity. Unafraid to stand up for herself or others, but Guinevere remembered the distant, tormented look in those silver eyes when they were being led away by Saxons.

 

“Is this about your people in the mountains?” Raja asked.

 

Her eyes flicked upwards, out of her reverie.

 

“I am sorry that I can’t be of help,” she said contritely.

 

“How did you know?” Guinevere spoke, wide eyed.

 

She shrugged blithely. “I hear things, of course. I am sure Tristan wanted to keep it from me.”

 

“Does that bother you?”

 

“Hmm...no. I understand why he does what he does. I know, to you, it appears as if he is being the dominant husband, but he is just afraid of losing me.”

 

It was said without rancor, Raja understanding Guinevere’s point of view.  “He told me the severity of your illness. I did not know.”

 

“He spoke to you then?” she looked at the queen as if she had known Tristan would say something eventually.

 

Guinevere chuckled softly. “It was the most I have ever heard him speak. He is quite verbal when it comes to defending you.”

 

Raja grinned, nodding.

 

“Do you miss it, Raja? Battle?”

 

A shadow swept across her face, her eyes were hooded. “No...I...I was never meant to be in the middle of it. My father never wanted that for me. My uncle knew that I could not bear the harsh life of constant, physical brutality.”

 

“What of Tristan?”

 

“Tristan feels the same way as my Uncle Ardeth felt. It is not because I am a woman that he would keep me from battle, but because of who I am to him. He loves me deeply, and I him, and he has seen me near death more times than I can remember. That is why I am compliant when he asks something of me that is so easy to give. And if I can ease his worry, I will. Although, there are times when he simply must be denied.”

 

Guinevere took a deep breath and exhaled.

 

“You are so headstrong, Guinny. Arthur will certainly be kept on his toes for many years to come.”

 

----

 

SIX MONTHS LATER...

 

April spring came around. The grounds were lush with flowers, the trees full of green. The springs were clear and flowing. The birth of Lancelot’s and Sophia’s twin girls was celebrated. Guinevere and Arthur announced that she was with child.

 

Life sprung everywhere. The lands were calm.

 

Tristan sat on the rock at his and Raja’s place in the forest. He was clad only in his breeches. He and Raja had spent the night in the small cottage that had been erected two years ago. He turned his head when the door opened, Raja stepped out and walked to him with a sheet wrapped around her.

 

His chest filled with love. He stood and went to her, embracing her fully.

 

“Gods, Raja,” he said, his forehead against her, “even after sixteen years, my heart still skips a beat when I see you.”

 

“Oh, Trissy, you truly could have been a poet.” Raja kissed him with a smile on her face. She smoothed the hair out of his face, the sun brought out the golden speckles in his eyes.

 

“I think I will stick to being a warrior,” he said.

 

“Of course. But I could imagine you strumming a harp while you regaled me with words of love.”

 

Tristan scoffed. “Harps are for women.”

 

“Not true! I’ve known men who’ve played the harp!”

 

He growled playfully in her neck and spun her around, creating a whirlwind of their love.

 

6/21/07