Tristan’s Story

Chapter 27

Look Within

“Things which you do not hope happen more frequently than things which you do hope.” Titus Maccius Plautus

It took a moment for Tristan’s mind to register the horrible truth. One second he was reaching for Oxus and the next he was snared. He now hung suspended above the forest floor, his arms pinned to his side by the vine rope around his chest. How was this possible? The scout had seen no sign of the Woads, and as frustrated as he was at this turn of events, he was even madder at himself for being careless.

It was only minutes before the Woads appeared seemingly from nowhere. The wild men quickly made to lower him while one made the mistake of going for Oxus. The Arabian knew his master, and immediately put his hooves to the head of the clumsy Woad. Tristan snorted his approval only to receive a blow to his midsection in answer. Apparently the Woads did not find his horse’s defense as humorous as he did.

Warily the wild men quickly tied Tristan’s feet while one held him from behind. Once this was done they took his knives and then roughly pulled his hands behind him to tie as well. Only once his hands and feet were secured did they remove the vine from his chest.

Tristan’s mind was racing. He head-butted the man holding him from behind and was gratified to hear his screech as Tristan’s head broke the man’s nose. The Woad immediately let go of Tristan and grabbed his bloody nose. With his feet tied tightly together, Tristan pitched over onto his side where he was the recipient of several kicks from the Woads.

The scout was roughly grabbed and hauled to his feet. He found himself tossed over the shoulder of the most massive Woad he had ever seen. The man would have dwarfed Dagonet! The breath was punched from his lungs as he impacted with the Woad’s burly shoulder, and he found his face bouncing against the man’s hairy back. If he could have breathed, Tristan would have been disgusted.

Oxus was kicking and holding his own against the Woads attempting to surround the beauty. Tristan got enough wind to whistle sharply and Oxus broke and ran. The Arabian would make his way back to the other knights, and that would alert them to the danger. At least Tristan had the consolation that the knights would be forewarned even if he was in a precious position himself.

Within a few short minutes, the Woads disappeared carrying their human cargo and the forest once again returned to the state it had been in before their arrival. So careful had they been that no signs of their being there would be found.

Upon the arrival back at their camp, or so Tristan assumed it was their camp, the knight was thrown down on his back. Rough hands seized him, pulling him up and cutting the bonds securing his hands and feet. His shirt was roughly cut from his body, leaving several lacerations. Tristan managed to pull loose one of his hands and smashed the face of the nearest Woad. Of course, it cost him dearly…he knew it would, but it was worth it for the satisfaction of feeling his fist connect with at least one of his tormentors.

The Woad who carried him there connected Tristan’s chin with his massive, meaty fist. Blackness immediately seized the knight.

O-o-O-o-O

Jols tried to concentrate on unloading supplies from the pack horses. The squire was nervous. This was his first real mission with the knights and he young man was anxious to please Arthur and prove his worth before the knights. Jols had lived in Britain his entire life, but always within the confines of his village near the wall. This being in the wild was new to the squire and he was nervous, though he hoped to keep it masked from the knights.

“Relax,” teased Alynore softly. His grin widened as Jols surprised eyes met his. “We were all nervous on our first mission,” he shrugged. “Why should you be any different?”

Jols felt a flush of relief wash over him. “You were afraid?”

Alynore snorted, “I almost soiled myself I was so scared, but if you repeat that I will deny it.” The Knight reached over to help with the unloading of the pack horses. He enjoyed being around Jols, and the pair had struck up a friendship of sorts.

“It is just so…dark and foreboding in this place,” Jols confided to Alynore. The squire shivered. “I do not like it here.”

Alynore glanced around to be sure he would not be overheard and confessed own apprehension at being in this place. “Of course, I would not want the others to know that.”

Jols smiled. “From looks on their faces, they feel about as happy to be here are we are.”

Alynore looked around and had to stifle his burst of laughter. Jols was right. Every one of the Knights looked as uneasy as they felt, and Lancelot looked downright dour.

The uneasiness of the knights was not lost on Arthur. He watched as Lancelot crossed the camp towards him and purposely led him slightly away from where the others were setting up camp. As the Sarmatian neared him, Arthur stopped and turned toward him. “I already know that you do not like this mission, Lance.”

Lancelot ignored the sarcasm. “Have you noticed that Tristan has not returned?”

Arthur involuntarily glanced around camp, frowning. “He should be back by now.”

“My point exactly.”

“You know, Lance, you are really irritating sometimes,” growled Arthur.

“I know, I really am,” agreed Lancelot. “Now, shall we go find Tristan?”

“Look around, Lance,” Arthur replied hotly. “I want to find him too, but where would you suggest we start?”

Lance just smiled. “I was thinking that we would start there…”

Arthur followed his gaze up to the trees. After a moment he found what it was that Lance was focused on. There on a limb sat an agitated Batraz.

O-o-O-o-O

Quentas led the hand-picked troop from the fort at full speed. Once Patrobas awakened and reported what he had seen of the Woad strength, the Tribune gave the Centurion permission to lead a troop out to find his Knights.

With Rufus by his side, the pair slipped back into the military mind set without wavering, for they had never truly left it. Though retired they still lived at the fort and would do so until their last set of trained knights left this island to return to their homes in far away Sarmatia. The two had already lost one of their flock when young Degore was slain and now most of the rest of them were in grave danger facing odds that they had no idea they faced.

The only question in their minds now was would they reach them in time?

O-o-O-o-O

Tristan?

The knight tried to clear his thoughts but everything seemed fuzzy and unreal. The fog around him was thick and unusually bright. Bright? Why was the fog bright? Nothing made sense to him.

Tristan, look at me son.

Tristan turned his head towards the disembodied voice. “Father?”

Aye, son, I am here. Open your eyes, Tristan; look at me.

“My eyes are open.”

The soft chuckle soothed him like balm on a wound. How he loved to hear his father’s laugh. He thought he would never again be blessed to hear it.

No, Tristan, your eyes are not open, but if you look for me, you will find me.

“Father…please do not leave me! I need you so very much!”

I will never leave you, Tristan, you know this.

Why can I not see you then?

You are looking in the wrong places for me. Look inside yourself, Tristan. That is where you will find me.

A thought came to Tristan. “Am I dead, Father?”

His father’s laugh washed gently over Tristan, comforting him. No Tristan, you are not dead.

“Please father, I want to come home. Take me home.”

Soon, Tristan, soon…

TBC