NOTE: I’ve managed to dedicate some of my free time during the 2 week holiday to writing a new chapter. The most amazing thing was that while at home, where I had no computer, no internet access and no dvds with the KA movie, I had the fortune to find that they were showing the movie on TV. An amazing coincidence indeed and it couldn’t have come at a better time. So, with the movie and also a small picture of Lancelot from the TV guide serving as stimuli I had enough encouragement to put my creativity to work.

This is the chapter when Lancelot and Amarice finally meet, however brief.

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CHAPTER 3: To Woo a Woad

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For almost two years past the pre-established date of their discharge, the Sarmatian knights stationed at Fort Vercovicium had been waiting for their release papers. Whenever news came it usually involved the delay of the said documents or the assurance that they would be arriving shortly; but they never did and the knights would have abandoned all hopes of returning to their homeland if not for Arthur’s encouragement. Almost all the other forts -annexed to the wall- west of Vercovicium had been vacated. Whoever remained behind abandoned the strict Roman schedule and duties, fabricating instead a government of their own.

Fort Vercovicium and its surrounding settlements had become more crowded than ever due to the constant arrival of many refugees from the west. This burdened Vanora’s duties at the tavern and when the available help proved insufficient she had no other choice but to call in her two oldest daughters, 17 year old Amarice and her 13 year old sister, known as Number Two but named Iris by her older sister, after the flowers the younger girl liked so much. Since she was the only one closest to Amarice’s age of all the eleven siblings, a tighter bond had formed between the two girls. Although she did not want to reveal her secret life to anyone, not even to her sister and confident, Iris had become suspicious and to stop the younger girl from following her to one of her secret meetings with Cinnia, Amarice confessed everything, making the girl swear there and then not to share her secret with anyone.

While Amarice had physically matured past her current age, the younger Iris had been endowed with a more mature mind despite her tender age, which made her the ideal partner-in-crime to cover her sister’s absence whenever necessary and to keep any secret she was entrusted with. Amarice’s infatuation with Lancelot was one of those secrets. This was something that Amarice revealed on purpose to Iris under the burning impulse of the girly gossips that came with the age, because for Amarice this was also the only way to get close to Lancelot. If she could not yet approach him in real life she could at least be with him in her fantasies.

“Amarice, are you done? … Amarice?” When the girl did not answer Vanora turned to find her daughter standing still in front of the kitchen table with frozen hands stuck in the dough she was kneading. Her expression was vacant and she did not seem to acknowledge her position.

“She’s in love,” Iris chuckled from the other end of the table, which made Amarice’s head snap up and her brows furrowed at the girl who so easily revealed her long kept secret.

“I’m not in love,” she replied through gritted teeth.

“There’s nothing wrong with that, sweetheart,” Vanora explained with unusual kindness that almost made Amamrice think she had consumed more alcohol than she should have, and so early in the day too. The truth was that she was a different person when Bors was at home, by her side, and her family was safe and together. Now she was happier, more giving and more understanding than ever, whereas whenever Bors was away she would become awfully suspicious, overly concerned and cranky.

“So who’s this boy you like?” Vanora went on questioning her daughter.

“There is no boy,” the girl rolled her eyes in exasperation, tired of everyone constantly assuming that she should be involved with someone her age or close to it. “I don’t want a boy, I want a man.”

“… in shining armor,” Iris could not stop herself from adding.

Amarice once again shot her a threatening glare and Vanora’s exalting joyfulness suddenly tempered down.

“Don’t tell me you’re smitten now with one of those womanizers of your father’s bunch. Gods forbid!”

“And what would be so wrong with that?”

“I might not regret my life choices but I don’t want you pregnant at seventeen. You need a young man to love and respect you not some horny bastard lusting for a young …” Vanora stopped abruptly her frantic gesticulations and raised one hand as if to impose silence. “I was going to say something nasty but I won’t.”

“How do you know they’re all like that, from experience?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Suddenly the playful conversation had come dangerously close to a quarrel.

“You know very well what. All that muffled gossiping going on at the tavern about my father not being the father of all your children, is that true mother? I think at least Iris and I are old enough to know.”

“You’re slandering your mother because of the ramblings of some drunkards?”

The impatient, quick tempered Amarice spoke quickly before her mother could add anything more.

“We promise we won’t tell father but don’t you think we should know which men to stay away from?” the girl replied with deliberate irony and a smug air in her demeanor.

“All of them! Stay away from all of them. And I have told you the truth, all of you are your father’s children.” Vanora’s new calm and serious posture concealed a certain sorrow that Amarice did not know how to interpret. Despite her mother’s reassurance she still had doubts. Seeing her mother move away from the table and finding work in the opposite side of the kitchen brought a hint of regret over Amarice. She thought about apologizing but was held back by her pride, the annoyance she still felt for what her mother told her and the fact that she did not fully believe the last answer she had been given.

“Galahad might be fancying Amarice,” Iris broke the silence, smirking at her older sister who in return starred at her bemused, not knowing where that unexpected affirmation came from.

“I thought Amarice wanted a man,” Vanora grinned from the other end of the room, all sorrows apparently forgotten. Only she knew the true nature of her soul for she could hide her emotions quite well. “If you hardly have the patience to look after the young ones when I ask you to I can’t imagine what you’d do with Galahad.”

A shrill female giggle filled the kitchen and a few more frisky gossips later the noise died down and the surrounding sounds of a busy late morning prevailed once more. Amarice was pleased that the previous uncomfortable moment had been overcome and forgotten and not for the first time she was grateful for her sister’s saving intervention. Later on they were both enjoying a moment of well deserved rest in between the daily chores. They sat on the wooden floor of the porch outside the kitchen, located in the building east of the tavern. Only a narrow alley and a ditch filled with water separated the two large buildings. If the girls’ location was not easy to spot because of the wooden planks connecting the floor with the porch’s banister, they in turn had a perfect overview of the tavern by peeking through the empty spaces between the planks.

“I was not thinking about … him, earlier,” Amarice felt the need to clarify that matter. Luckily she was more attentive this time and corrected herself before saying out loud Lancelot’s name. She had made a habit of simply saying “him” whenever she wanted to talk about Lancelot since there was always the danger of being overheard by the wrong person in the wrong circumstance.

“Impossible to imagine,” Iris teased before Amarice went on explaining herself.

“I’m worried about Cinnia. I haven’t seen her for a month. Where is she?”

“She probably has more important problems to deal with. Her people fight to survive while you’re so-called training was just a whim. You were probably holding her back.”

“You don’t know anything about our training. She was so good to me, she really wanted to help me.”

“Why? You’ve got no one attacking you here, you’re not going into battle. What was the point of all that exhausting workout?”

“I could go to battle … if it wasn’t for him!” This time “him” was a substitute for her father, whom Amarice spotted through the hollows separating the planks. He looked careless and happy, engaged in a loud conversation with two other men in front of the tavern. “We should fight these Romans not serve them.”

“We’ll be done with the Romans when we leave.”

Suddenly, without being aware of it, Iris had brought forth one of Amarice’s greatest fears. She must have been the only one who rejoiced whenever the arrival of the discharge papers of the Sarmatian knights was postponed. What would happen when they arrived? Will they go to Sarmatia, a land so far away that it seemed only a fabulation of legends? Her father had often expressed the desire of remaining in Britannia and taking control of whatever the Romans left behind, which was a more than perfect outcome for Amarice, but then what would Lancelot do? Leave with the others? Even the thought of losing him forever frightened Amarice.

“I don’t want to leave,” Amarice whispered on a low, hoarse voice, her gaze fixed on a certain spot before her. “All this can’t have been for nothing. My destiny is to be a warrior and fight for this country, for our people, I know it, I just do.”

“Maybe father will want to stay like he said but that doesn’t mean …”

“I know,” Amarice interrupted her sister, knowing what she wanted to say, the same thing she had been thinking, the outcome she dreaded the most. She wanted to remain in Britannia but she wanted Lancelot to be there as well. “I have to make him stay, I have to speak to him, convince him somehow.”

“He doesn’t even know you,” Iris emphasized the sad truth.

Amarice lowered her eyes to the hands she had cupped in her lap and sighed. But just like that a wave of confidence swept over her and she lifted her head proudly.

“Then I’ll have to make him know me, even if it kills me.” She jumped to her feet and smiled down at Iris. “I’m going to look for Cinnia. Tell mother I’ve gone to visit Tegan and if I don’t come back before nightfall tell her I’m spending the night.”

Tegan was a girl whom Amarice had befriended on purpose because the girl’s parents lived in a house at the edge of the forest so visiting this new friend or the simple pretext of it gave Amarice the perfect alibi for covering her secret meetings. Because Vanora had dedicated her entire daily schedule to keeping the fort’s tavern and lend a hand in the kitchen, she had earned her own private chamber in the same building that housed the tavern. Later when her children had become too numerous to fit in one single room, two other rooms were assigned for the ever-growing number of offsprings. Before setting off to look for Cinnia, Amarice made a short stop in the crowded chamber she shared with her sisters to change as she always did on such occasions in the Woad-like outfit she had made for herself and thus named for its resemblance to the clothing worn by the rebel Britons she had indirectly associated with.

To hide it from view when she walked outside Amarice slipped her usual dress over the outfit and being quite large it fit perfectly. The only thing out of place was the sheathed sword hanging from a waist belt against her left thigh. A few loose wooden planks beneath Amarice’s bed exposed a hollow in the earth that proved to be an ideal hiding place for her sword and the rest of her unusual outfit. When she walked outside, the sword which had to be concealed above anything else lay in hiding beneath the folds of a long cape which she also tied in the front. This simple trick had proven to be useful on every single occasion, especially since the ragged scarf she wore over her hair and forehead made her altogether one of the least desirable targets for the inquiring eyes of bored soldiers.

It was only in the security of the forest that she shed all those burdening layers aside, concealing her package in the hollow of a tree in the vicinity of the cottage of her supposed best friend. That spot there was her self-made customs to the life she truly wanted, for it was through that place that she always passed on the way to meet Cinnia or when returning to the fort. Beyond the imagined frontier she now walked free with nothing concealed, not her embellishing hair that swung in the breeze, not her body, more exposed than covered by the leather straps and metal ornaments, and not her light sword which she had conveniently strapped to her back. The world she had stepped into was one void of prejudice, malice or scheming. There, only in the company of Mother Nature, source of all creation, one could be oneself, just like they had been created and free of all manmade constraints that smothered one’s aspirations if they strained from the rigid social path.

Still, at the end of the day the overwhelming sensation of freedom was once more crushed by the disillusion of ending yet another escapade with the same tragic finale. Cinnia did not come. Amarice had walked further than usual, even reaching a secluded clearing where some of the rebels used to seek shelter. She found the place deserted and remains of old fires or plucked vegetation showed that the place had been long vacated. Though the last words that Cinnia had offered her had been ringing in her ears for days Amarice refused to acknowledge them and fought a fierce inner battle with her reason, which manifested on the outside in sudden outbursts of nervousness or even anger. She refused to accept as a possibility that Cinnia could in fact be dead. ‘Why now’? she stubbornly questioned the very belief that had taught her everything happened for a reason. Cinnia was to her more than a simple friend, she was a sister, a surrogate mother and the closest friend she had ever had, perhaps more than her true sister, Iris.

Hours later, disappointed but reluctant to abandon her hopes for Cinnia’s well being, Amarice embarked on the inevitable journey back, back to the tree, back to her make-belief existence and back to all her sorrows. Some could have compared Amarice’s discontent with indifference, claiming that she should be grateful for having such a good life when others had so much less, but Amarice chose to ignore this and it was such responses that determined her to keep her life goals secret. She comforted herself with the thought that her actions were not harming anyone less fortunate than her; instead, she strived to reach a position from where she could help the less fortunate ones. Granted, those were ideas that Cinnia had planted in the rebellious and somewhat spoiled girl’s mind, hoping to give her cause a true purpose.

The path she took on her return was one different from the one along which she had come. Here the land was more uneven and a rippling brook wound between tall trees and rocky floors. The sun had not yet set and Amarice hopped to reach the forest’s outskirts before darkness settled. She walked along the brook’s bank focusing only on where her next step would be and the noise of the running water blocked any other surrounding sounds from her mind, a grave mistake for one who wished to become a skilled warrior. One of the main conditions to obtaining that position was not to be able to be easily surprised by a possible enemy, which she soon was.

At the first glance of a black stallion grazing on the other side of the brook Amarice jumped behind a tree in a most hasty and disorganized manner, producing much noise in the relative silence of the area. Not remembering to have seen anyone on or around the horse Amarice carefully peeked from behind the tree for a better look. Something about that horse looked familiar, perhaps it was the harness it wore for there were many black stallions at the fort and Amarice had never been too good at observing details and distinguishing between animals unless the difference was blunt.

Her mind went on thinking about the horse’s master and just when she began wondering who else might have ventured into the forest, for it looked like the horse belonged to someone at the fort, the master made his appearance when the animal lowered its long neck to drink from the refreshing water. Much faster than the first time Amarice pulled back her head behind the protective cover of the tree, praying she had not been spotted. There had been no eye contact, she had barely caught a glimpse of the one standing on the other side of the brook, yet it was enough to know who it was. The dark outfit was unmistakable for there was only one cut out in that particular fashion: Lancelot’s.

As much as Amarice had dreamt of meeting Lancelot like this, away from everyone and everything in a place where they could be alone, free to know each other, she despised the situation she found herself in. She wanted to be in control, not hide behind a tree, actually wishing that Lancelot left. Did he see her? Would he recognize her if he saw her? Would he tell her father? The questions popped one after the other in Amarice’s mind before she could think of a possible answer and this second moment of inattention made her realize only too late that Lancelot had crossed the brook and was standing on the other side of the tree she was hiding behind.

“You are new at this,” he broke the silence speaking on a calm and slightly amused tone. Before registering his words Amarice was yet again mesmerized by the deep and elegant voice that spoke Latin as clearly as if it were his native tongue.

Amarice froze on the spot. She did not know what to do. Did he really know she was hiding there or did he just make it up to draw her out? When no response came on her behalf he spoke again.

“Come out, this is childish. I know you are there,” his voice sounded like that of a parent tired of scolding his child.

Being called childish was something that Amarice disliked greatly and upon hearing him utter those words she forgot about her fears and stepped out from behind the tree to greet him with a mixed look of frustration and indifference, wanting to show him he had been the one to disturb her and she was not impressed by the superior attitude he displayed. Despite the self-confidence she was trying to gather, coming face to face with Lancelot for the first time was more intimidating than she had expected. When she became aware of the fact that she was staring at him while he gazed back with a look that made it difficult to understand whether he was smiling kindly or smirking ironically, Amarice unclenched her tongue and let loose the first words that came to mind.

“What am I new at?”

“Spying,” he replied calmly. “Was it not that what you were doing? You seem to be rather clumsy at it.”

How strange and how disappointing, how very disappointing! Amarice’s observation of human interactions involving members of opposite genders had led her to believe that a man when faced with a beautiful woman would become mesmerized and since she thought of herself as a beautiful young woman, Amarice was stunned to see this man, rumored to be a notorious lady’s man, showing no particular interest in her. Instead he spoke to her as if she were just another insignificant peasant and his voice and gestures carried all the pride, arrogance and selfishness she had noticed about him while watching him in secret at the fort, over the years, but which she chose to ignore, imagining he would be different when he met her.

The only good thing that came of this initial interaction was that Amarice understood he really did not know her. He did not recognize her and it seemed he thought her to be a Woad, which made Amarice proud of having succeeded in that transformation.

“I did not expect you to be here,” Amarice spoke in her defense, striving to show more arrogance than she had perceived in his demeanor. In her new found smugness she also imitated Lancelot’s literary speech, thinking that he did that on purpose just to show off more of his arrogant self. Lancelot however did not seem to have noticed this or perhaps he did not care.

“If it weren’t for you I wouldn’t be spying or hiding.”

“Me?” Lancelot raised his brows, bemused.

“You Romans,” Amarice quickly added to let him know she had used the plural form earlier, although in truth she had been thinking only of him when she had hastily uttered the phrase. “You’ve made us outcasts in our own country.”

“That was your own choice,” Lancelot opted for a simple reply that held half of the truth. While he did not care much about either Romans or Britons and was more keen on returning to his homeland, he found it useless and tiresome at the time to engage in a more elevated conversation (which would have most certainly become contradictory) with this peculiar girl he had encountered in the woods at dusk.

“And what other choice was there? Turn slave willingly?” she burst out with anger.

Unfazed by her reaction Lancelot crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head to one side, allowing his eyes to roam up and down all over her body and doing it in a most obvious manner so she would notice what he was doing.

“If you were my slave I would make you enjoy it,” he retorted with a cocky smile.

The sudden change in Lancelot’s demeanor puzzled Amarice and though pleased to hear him make such innuendoes she strove to not let him know it.

“Is that so? And how would you do that?” she sneered, placing her hands on her hips.

Lancelot took his time in answering. First the smirk on his lips grew larger and then he took one step closer to her.

“Are you that naïve?” he asked softly. Only he knew the true meaning of his words but Amarice perceived it as a subtle mocking. His bold words and sudden gestures disarmed the unexpecting girl, making her a vulnerable prey before the agile predator. Her hands slid down from her hips, hanging weakly against her body, and with them her arrogant attitude dropped as well. Neither of them spoke for a long while, starring into each other’s eyes until Lancelot’s narrowed all of a sudden and his brow furrowed, as if he remembered something or became aware of an evident reality. Whether it was Amarice’s appearance which he observed better when he stepped closer, whether it was her voice or her earlier display of a fiery temper, something made Lancelot say:

“You look so familiar … and yet I cannot quite place it.”

Even more shocked by this affirmation and the possibility of being discovered, Amarice searched her mind for something witty to say.

“Your pride must be holding you back,” the girl uttered with some new found pride of her own.

Lancelot managed to hide his confusion behind calm smugness.

“What does that mean?”

“It is possible we’ve met before, on the battlefield. I’ve probably bested you in battle but you’re too proud to admit it.”

Nothing else Amarice might have said could have made Lancelot laugh more thoroughly.

“Believe me, if such a thing happened I would have remembered it.”

“Then next time we meet I will make sure you remember me … it,” Amarice’s heart was beating faster than ever; she hid her nervousness behind a forced grin and hoped that she had been fast enough in correcting her final error so that Lancelot did not notice it.

Still, the smirk on his lips and the look in his eyes made her believe he had perceived much more. Having sensed that moment to be the ideal one for ending their awkward meeting, Amarice had already begun to move to her right, gradually distancing herself from him while their eyes remained locked on each other.

“Until next time then,” Lancelot replied calmly, making no effort to detain her or inquire about her actions.

Walking backwards at first, Amarice turned her back to Lancelot when she far enough and ran back into the woods without ever looking back, straying from her path but continuing even so since she could not afford to be seen heading towards the fort. She almost got lost that night trying to get back through the dark but fortune was on her side and almost two hours before midnight she passed the gates of the fort. Lancelot was nowhere to be seen and Amarice kept wondering if he had followed her, back in the woods, or if he had spotted her by accident from a distance while she was trying to find her way back.

Though far from being the perfect first encounter she had always dreamt of, Amarice found somewhat interesting this unexpected event and was eager to play along in this game they had unknowingly started. If she could convince Lancelot that she was a Woad then maybe he could actually support her decision of being a warrior after she would have revealed her true identity. So, while up until then she wanted to find ways to make him notice her, with this new plan in motion she had to do everything in her power to never cross paths with him while at the fort. A simple task she would say, remembering her past misfortune of never coming face to face with Lancelot in a circumstance where he would at least notice her, if engaging in a conversation was already too high an expectation, yet, faith works in mysterious ways and oh how it delights in making one’s misery come true.

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I was wondering, just for the sake of argument … (and this applies to all fanfic characters out there who might fit in Amarice’s position) … if Amarice and Lancelot were to have a serious relationship and he would indeed be the father of some of Vanora’s children, then that would make Amarice … the step-mother of her half-brothers/sisters??? Just a little (amusing) food for thought

And you know who else I’m thinking of bringing into the story? Jols! I have started to have sympathetic thoughts towards this secondary but interesting character. I often notice great potential in minor characters and feel the need to bring them foreword in the spotlight. So I was thinking to make him the first person my other original character, Maniya, meets when she arrives at the fort and she will interact with him long before she meets any of the knights. Nothing romantic, just polite interactions, because I see him as a friendly and trustworthy guy.

“All’s well that ends well!”

Please review my dear readers!