"Peace of mind comes when your life is in harmony, with true principles and values and in no other way."
Peace of Mind
"Gatalas," I gasped.
"That's right, my dear. I'm so very glad you remember me. It's been quite awhile since last I saw you. How long? About four and a half years now, isn't it?"
"Please, Gatalas… Not here. Not now." I knew I was begging, but at the moment I didn't give a damn.
His eyes hardened. "Here. Now. Or half a world away fifty years from now. Or whenever I damn well please."
"Gatalas, I never meant to-"
"Do you even know what you've done!" He thundered wildly. I saw then the raw pain and anger that had lain dormant in his soul for so long, gathering force with the years, and it frightened me.
"It is time for you to leave," Lancelot ground out. None of them knew the reason for his visit or his accusations save Arthur and Tristan. I desperately wanted it to stay that way, but now that Gatalas had come I knew he would not rest until they all learned the truth and turned their backs on me.
In a matter of moments all of my old fears had awakened and I found myself withdrawing from their company, taking with me the trust I had bestowed on all of them. I thought I'd gotten past this distancing that was my natural defense against pain.
Gatalas sneered, reining in his temper with fierce control, something he'd never had when we were children.
"Not till the treasonous bitch answers me something." He never took his eyes off of my face.
"Tell me, Isolde. Why did you let the Romans past our borders to slaughter our tribe? Why did you leave the bodies where they fell like so much garbage, and then take up with the murderers?" His voice grew soft, and it tore into me like the hurt I had inflicted on him. "Why?"
I closed my eyes as surprised murmuring broke out among the knights. So, I thought. So. After so much worry and guilt, after so much time, my secret was finally out.
I heard the angry hum starting up among them as they realized what he'd said. Romans? They must have been thinking, but Isolde said her tribe was killed by Huns. She lied to us! Tristan's hand tightened around mine, but that was the only outward sign of anger he showed.
I shoved thoughts of the knights' reaction to the far reaches of my mind and concentrated on Gatalas.
My former betrothed looked little like the proud, happy young Sarmatian boy I remembered. He was tall, taller than Lancelot, so that he positively towered over me. His face was newly shaven, revealing a strong, smooth jaw and high cheekbones, marred by a long, puckered scar by his left eye. His eyes were the same, a startlingly clear gray, but the fine laugh lines that had creased his young face had been overrun by four years-worth of single-minded hatred, hatred that was aimed solely at me.
I thought of the Romans I'd raged against for four long years, who slaughtered innocents to initiate a war between two opposing threats to the Empire that would decimate one, if not both of the peoples. Who without a thought of the consequences broke a peace treaty made by our forefathers two hundred years ago, an agreement that sold an entire population into slavery and which even now we carried out.
I thought on this and realized how far I'd come from the young girl who was prepared to die, who wanted to die to gain absolution for her crimes. In my four years here I'd gone from that to the young woman who desperately wanted to live. In the face of the solid blame he laid on my shoulders, and mine alone, I struck upon a notion that shocked me out of my lethargy.
It wasn't my fault.
I stepped out of Tristan's grasp, feeling otherworldly and suddenly self-righteous such as I hadn't felt… well, ever.
I lifted my chin and firmed my jaw and said, "This is not a thing for all ears to hear."
The words seemed to come from far off.
"I told you, whenever or wherever I-"
"No." The surety in my voice stopped him. Indeed, they all focused their full attention on me. "This is not a thing for all ears to hear."
I stepped up to the door and was about to push it open when behind me I heard a sword sliding out of its scabbard and spun around. Lancelot had his weapon out and pointing directly at the heart of the man I once loved.
Gatalas laughed mirthlessly. "You've even got your own army of conquests, now, haven't you? Only you would choose friends who would attack a cripple without provocation." And he pulled the cane he'd been reaching for from the leather holster strapped to his back and limped slowly toward me.
Lancelot looked embarrassed. "I thought he had a weapon," he explained defensively when all stared at him. Gatalas ignored him and looked only at me.
"Do you see what your treachery has reduced me to? But now, lead on, my dear," he mocked.
I saw Tristan come forward with intent to accompany us. There was anger in his eyes and I couldn't let his protectiveness get in the way of the meeting that seemed to hold the key to reconciling my past. I shook my head curtly, and he stopped. I saw the pain I'd caused him in his eyes and for some reason it made me want to weep.
But Arthur soon made it clear that he didn't want me to go alone.
"Isolde," Arthur glanced around at the angry unease on the men's faces and sighed. Clearly none of them would do, and Tristan, who at least knew part of the story, looked more liable to stab Gatalas as to listen to him.
His decision made, Arthur turned to me. "I'll come." I didn't think Gatalas would harm me, but I acquiesced. If it would help soothe their ruffled feathers, I didn't suppose it would hurt.
And so the three of us departed from that wondrous hall together, and behind us we left our brothers-in-arms, strangely silent, in our wake.
When we reached Arthur's chambers, the lord himself shut the doors and barred them with a heavy sigh. He turned around and I was happy I had refused Tristan's company. An optimal scout though he might be, people often died when he became truly angry.
As it was, I momentarily feared for Gatalas' life when my commander faced us. His fury was so tangible that it drew white lines around a mouth pressed tightly together in an effort to hold back his anger.
"You," he pointed at Gatalas, "don't talk." There were times I loved Arthur's ability to command. This wasn't one of them. I, myself, wanted to know a few things from my countryman.
His voice softened, though the white lines did not go away. "Isolde, you know I never understood why you kept your secrets from the others," he said.
"Probably too ashamed to admit what she did," Gatalas shot bitterly. He shut up when Arthur turned a baleful eye on him. So his air of command wasn't that bad a thing.
"You know I never understood it, but in this case I think it's done more harm than good. I don't think they'll give a damn about the fact that you shirked your duty, but not telling them – especially that they were Roman – has definitely weakened their trust in you."
"It was a good deal more than shirking her duty, as you say. She handed us over to the Roman dogs who came to destroy our tribe. Because of her, they succeeded."
Arthur considered us. "Isolde, do you want to tell it?"
I didn't have to ask what he meant.
"I don't know if I can do it again, Arthur. Not now."
"Then I'll tell him." But before he could begin, the Sarmatian man sneered. "Just like a coward," he said.
I straightened my spine in an unspoken protest to the accusation.
"Fine," I snapped. He wanted to hear the truth from my own lips, and so hear it he would. The whole damn thing.
He wanted to hear it, wanted to know, and so I told him.
The whole damn thing.
When I finished, just as dry-eyed and toneless as I began, there were tears I couldn't explain coursing down his face, like the skies that rain for no other reason but that Don-Bettyr weeps. I barely registered the sound of the door closing quietly behind Arthur.
His cheeks still shone wetly, but he soon regained his composure and cast aside the weakness that had come over his anger and at last gave me the answers I quietly longed for.
"I escaped purely through the grace of Azamas. I'd taken a bad sword cut to my leg, and could only drag myself to my horse. I passed out once in the saddle, and Khankhusy took me to my mother's village. They took care of me in the months it took before I was able enough to ride out. I spent two years wandering, until I found out that you were alive, and so I knew what you must've done. It took me another year and a half to track you to Britain, and then another four months to find you here. I came with only one goal in mind, and that was to kill you."
"The things you say may be the truth," he said, "but no amount of truth can excuse what you did. They are still only the words of a traitor." He turned his back on me, and so did not see the pain that must have been writ on my face as it was on my heart.
"I told you why-"
"I loved you." He said it so quietly, but he may as well have shouted it, for it cut me to my very soul. I made to step toward him, but stopped and instead gave him more words, but words more true I'd never spoken.
"I always loved you. Doubt everything I say, if you like, but don't doubt that."
He recoiled as if I'd struck him, and then turned and limped quickly from the room.
In that moment, I honestly believed I would never see him again.
That night I retired to my room alone, avoiding my comrades at all costs. In the shape I was in, I would have said something I'd surely regret.
I stripped off my shirt once I was safely in the confines of my room and unwrapped the binding about my chest with a sigh of relief. I reached for the ties on my trousers.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
I shrieked and twisted around, clutching my tunic to my chest in an attempt at maintaining my modesty.
"Tristan!" I hollered at the man lounging in the shadows. He watched me with a measured gaze, his eyes veiled behind a shield I could not penetrate.
"Why didn't you tell me?" He repeated.
"Tell you what?" I deadpanned, stalling for time. I really didn't want to have this conversation right now.
"You know what!" he spat vehemently. "Your 'Huns' were Roman. Don't try to tell me you didn't know that. I saw your face when he said it, and there was no surprise there."
I bowed my head in shame. Perhaps I should have told him, at least. I said as much.
"Damn right you should have told me, of all people."
"Tristan, when I said they were Huns that day you found me, I meant it. I thought they were. The tracks led off in the direction of Hunnish territories, the weapons were of Hunnish make, and their mark was on the kibitka… but then, before we left Gaul, that bastard Marcus Tullius told me the truth. And later, after the first battle, Arthur filled in the blanks, about how Rome hoped to start a war between our peoples to eliminate us. It just… didn't occur to me that I could tell you. Any of you."
"Arthur knew…"
"He knew because it was confirmed in a meeting of commanders in Gaul before we arrived. I told him no more than what I told you, I swear it."
He was silent. I fervently wished that I could see his face.
"But why didn't you…" He choked on raw emotion, and the sound made me want to clutch him to me.
"What? What could I have said that wouldn't have made you, not to mention the rest of them, declare war on Rome and get not only yourselves killed, but your families as well? Anything I might have told you would have ended with someone dead, and I couldn't bear that. I couldn't have said anything, Tristan, can't you see? I couldn't." Now I, too, was getting upset.
After a moment he spoke, and this time his voice was quiet, defeated.
"I was going to say – why didn't you tell me you were promised to another?"
I felt the weight of his words suddenly, and slumped down onto the edge of my bed, burdened with a new guilt.
He was right, I was promised. Not just betrothed; I'd given my word freely to Gatalas. That was almost as binding as marriage itself. And now, I felt as though I'd betrayed Gatalas thrice. First, by leaving my post and unwittingly letting the murderers through; second, by not believing in him and searching for him, instead leaving him alone, wounded, and grieving. And I'd betrayed him a third time, by falling in – it couldn't be love, could it? – at least lust, with another man.
I stared miserably up at him, this man who had stolen my heart when I was certain it was lost, and somehow turned me into a slave to his happiness.
But with that one sentence he'd made me feel broken inside. I loved one – with a lightening heart, I knew it for love – but was still tied to the other, and he was one who would never release me from my promise.
"I-" I found I could not speak and tried again.
"I thought he was dead." Those five words were torn from my very soul.
"I believed he died because of me. I thought I'd killed him with my stupidity. Perhaps I did kill the real Gatalas, and he is only dead inside now, but I couldn't even begin to describe the hell I went through."
Tristan released my wrist where he'd grasped it and stepped back, his eyes shuttered.
"You love him." I could tell it pained him to make the statement.
I chose my words carefully, aware that what I said in the next moments might define our relationship forever.
"I loved him, yes. He and I seemed destined to be together. We grew up together, best friends, and then he found his way into my heart of hearts and asked me to be his wife. I accepted gladly. He was the soul mate of my younger self. I did love him, then. But now…"
"Now?" In the darkness it was hard to be sure, but I thought I could detect a note of desperation, and certainly hope, in the word.
"Now… I love only you."
The hand caught my wrist again, drawing me up off the bed and to him. Fires burned brightly in his eyes and I shuddered under his gaze, still holding the shirt in front of me.
"That is all I need to hear."
And then he kissed me.
I nearly fainted with the sweetness of him. Just like the first time so long ago, he pulled away, and then plundered my mouth with the second. I dug my nails into his back, while the tunic fell to lie forgotten on the floor.
His tongue flickered behind my ear, and I clung tohim, afraid to try to stand on legs turned to jelly.
Then the bed was under me, and his weight made my already short breath even shorter, and we were no longer undressing but rather tearing the clothes off of one other in our haste.
And then we became one, with the stars shining brightly and the moon high in the sky, and all the troubles in the world far from us, for the night was ours alone.
I woke up slowly, reluctantly pulling away from a wonderful dream in which Tristan and I had – oh…
His dark eyes watched me wake, his head on a level with mine. I noticed with smug satisfaction that we were pressed together very closely, with my legs thrown over his and his arm wrapped tightly around me, and his hand on – oh, my.
He closed the short distance between us and I shut my eyes and awaited his kiss. What I got was a peck on my nose and my eyes snapped open when he started to slide out of my bed.
"What are you doing?"
"Getting out of bed. What are you doing?"
"Oh, no." I wrapped my limbs even tighter around him and threw my weight to the side, rolling us over so that I was on top of him, straddling his waist.
I leaned over him and let my hair fall across his chest in waves the color of newly-minted gold, or ripened wheat before the harvest. I whispered against his lips in between kisses.
"You're-" Kiss.
"-Not-" Another.
"-Going-" A much longer one this time. I came up for air, panting, and finished my sentence.
"-Anywhere."
He reached out and gestured with his free hand. The other was… occupied.
"It's morning. Late morning. We have to get up."
I closed my eyes again and brought my lips to his.
"No, it's not. It's still night and we have plenty of time to do whatever we please." I allowed a wicked glint to come into my eyes. "I have a few ideas on that subject, myself."
"It is morning. Look out the window."
I groaned as his hand slid lower.
"Is not," I said.
"Is too."
"Is not."
"Is too."
"Not."
"Too."
"Not."
"Too."
"Not."
He flipped me onto my back effortlessly. I loved how he could do that. Then he leaned down and kissed me fiercely. I loved that even more. When he finally pulled away, I couldn't see for the stars in my eyes.
"Too," he whispered, and rolled off of me before I could say anything more.
I pouted but laughed good-naturedly and dragged myself away from the warmth of my bed.
I watched him as he dressed, as I knew he watched me. It was a shame, really, that he had to hide that beautiful body with clothing.
He must have been having similar thoughts, because he said, "I hate to watch you put those on, when all I want to do is take them off of you."
"Funny," I laughed, "I was just thinking the same thing."
"You'd like to take them off of you, too?" He teased me.
"Well, I was thinking more along the lines of stripping them from your body, but now that I think about it, I wouldn't mind it either way."
He took me in his arms once again and pressed me up against the wall.
"We're not going to get very far at all if we keep this up." I pushed him away and was reaching for the doorknob when a terrible thought occurred to me, and stopped me in my tracks.
I turned slowly around and asked the question with a good measure of dread.
"Tristan," I said, "What are we going to tell the others?" I could just imagine the mortification.
His only response was a rich chuckle as he took my hand in his, but somehow I was not reassured.
I passed the day as if floating on a cloud, and I knew Tristan was the same. I only smiled with the peace of relief when Arthur told me that Gatalas had left the fort. I couldn't have cared about anything at all, for my soul was lighter than air.
LANCELOT…
There was something strange going on with Isolde, Lance was sure of it. He'd pestered her for the better part of an hour, and yet the only response he'd gotten from her was a mumble of agreement when he'd asked if he could use Simargl for archery practice.
And then there was Tristan. The man had actually asked him if women liked roses or daisies better. In Lancelot's experience, roses had always been met with a good response, as he'd told Tristan.
So the scout had a woman? The idea was ludicrous. Oh, sure, he took the wenches to his bed, but never had he had more than a practical use for them, that Lance had heard. Never had he heard of a sentimental attachment between Tristan and a woman.
Furthermore, Tristan had thanked him – thanked him…thanked him – for his advice, and then practically skipped off. It was highly unusual. It was confusing as hell. It was revolting.
Lancelot didn't like it one bit.
He liked it even less later that night.
He'd been minding his own business, with a drink in one hand and a whore in the other – his usual situation in the evenings – when he spotted Isolde coming in with a daisy in hand and an enormous smile spread across her face.
He saw her cast a glance and a raised eyebrow in Tristan's direction, which the scout returned with a raised cup.
Lancelot snapped his attention back to his own mug and downed it, then pounded it on the tabletop and hoarsely called for more.
It couldn't be. A whore no longer seemed like such a ridiculous prospect when placed next to Tristan and Isolde, of all people. Isolde was… was…
A girl, he realized as he watched her duck her head to hide a blush. No, more than that, a woman. How had he missed it? He'd known her for four years, how could he not have seen it?
It wasn't so much that she looked older as it was the way she carried herself, more confident, more at peace.
That man better not hurt her, he thought, gripping his mug tighter. I know how he is. He'll use her for his purposes and it won't even occur to him that she wants something more than one night, and then he'll break her heart without even realizing what he's doing.
He didn't even entertain the thought that she might want one night and leave it at that – Isolde wasn't a whore. He'd be damned if he'd let her be treated like one.
He decided right then and there that he'd have to be the one to keep Isolde from being hurt by the scout's coldness. The trick, he thought as he watched them, is to keep her away from Tristan.
Lancelot stood slowly as Isolde made her way toward Tristan, finishing off his drink and setting it and the whore aside as he did so.
Before she could reach Tristan's side, Lancelot called, "Isolde! Come and sit with us!" He intercepted her and whisked her off to his table without even giving her opportunity to decline, while she cast an apologetic glance at her lover.
He caught sight of the daisy twirling in her hands and scowled as a sudden realization occurred to him. Hadn't he told the scout to give her a rose? What the bloody hell had he asked for if he hadn't intended to follow his advice anyway?
Ah, well, the knight thought to himself. It's just as well. After all, it's not like I want him to succeed now. He'll just have to fend for himself.
As Isolde sat beside him, Lancelot mentally patted himself on the back for a job well done. If things continued to go as planned, the other knight would never get a chance to harm her susceptible female heart.
(A/N: I'm sorry, I despise mid-chapter Author's Notes, but... The following section is optional. I thought we needed a little humor after the whole Gatalas issue. If you feel it ruins the mood of this story, then pretend you didn't read it, and it was never there. I was writing in class and a bit of inspiration struck me, and I wrote this, but I'm not sure if it fits. So please, in your reviews, please give me your honest opinion whether or not this belongs here. I love it, but I'd give it up without a second thought for the good of the plot, because everything I do is for the good of the plot. I'm on the fence with this, and if you can push me off to either side, I'd appreciate it. Also, if I take it out I might post it as a one shot to accompany PoM, so folks can read it if they feel like laughing. Now, read!)
ISOLDE…
Day 1:
The next week was hell.
I couldn't even speak to Tristan now, for every time we so much as looked at each other Lancelot was there, herding one of us away from the other.
At first I thought he was just being attentive after the episode with Gatalas – although I still hadn't resolved the issue with the rest of them – but no, that wasn't it. Something was going on with him.
Day 3:
I realized what he was up to when I tried to sneak over to Tristan's room and Lance was suddenly busy unlocking his door at two in the morning, with not a prostitute in sight.
"Hello, Isolde. Fancy seeing you here. Where are you off to?" He looked hard at me.
"Nowhere, nowhere at all," I lied, and went back into my room to sulk.
Finally I left a note in the stall of Tristan's horse, short and to the point:
Lancelot knows. – I
His response, nailed to the inside of Simargl's stall door, was just as succinct, and even shorter.
I know. – T
You didn't say anything, did you? – I
I might have asked him for advice on flowers. – T
Tell me you didn't. – I
I didn't ask him for advice on flowers. – T
He may be an idiot and a bit dim, but he's not stupid. – I
I have absolutely no opinion on the matter. None at all. – T
Day 4:
I'm not going to live a celibate life. – I
I certainly wouldn't ask you to do that. – T
Good. – I
Good. – T
Day 5:
I'm going to murder him in his sleep if he keeps this up. – I
Can I help? – T
No. – I
Please? – T
Go play with your toys and leave the murdering and terrorizing to me. – I
We certainly know who wears the pants in this relationship. – R
Ru! What the hell do you think you're doing? – I
Trying to sleep, but someone keeps hammering nails into the stable door. – R
Day 6:
Didn't your mother teach you not to read other people's bloody mail? – T
Should he be talking to you like that, Isolde? – R
I was talking to you, Rumo son of Zinafer. I repeat my question. - T
No, she didn't. Did yours? – R
No… – T
Alright, then. – R
Day 7:
Bloody cheerful son of a bitch. Here's another one I'd like to kill. – I
I'm definitely helping with this one, love. – T
Be my guest. – I
Before you kill me, you might want to know that the rest of us are going to threaten Lancelot with a horrible death if he doesn't leave you two alone, because we're tired of you dancing around each other all week, and frankly, the constant hammering is getting a bit irritating. – R
It's not constant. – T
You know? – I
I hate to spoil the surprise, Vix, but everyone knows. – R
Everyone? – I
Everyone. – R
Oh. – I
Do you think we should stop with the "secret" notes now? – T
Definitely. – I
Goodnight, lover. – T
I'm sorry, Tristan, but I don't think of you that way. – R
Shut up, Ru. I wish I were, Tristan. Goodnight. – I
Goodnight, Isolde. Sweet dreams. – R
The knights filed out of the Hall of the Round Table after dinner the following evening. Lancelot was first to the door, but found himself shunted off to the side as each man slipped past him. Even Arthur, who usually stayed behind with his seconds to talk – often that included me, if I wished, or if Arthur had something on his mind – left, closing the door behind him and shutting Lance in with us. I heard his muffled voice telling the guards on the other side not to open them to any voice but mine, and smirked.
The swordsman turned with quite a bit of trepidation – it looked like the others had done their job well and struck the fear of the gods into him. Or fear of us. Whichever worked best, I supposed.
"Now," I began, stepping forward. Tristan advanced from the other side, forcing the younger man to stand down. "You have been enough of a pain. Tristan and I are going to be together no matter what ill-conceived notions run through your head and out the other side. You will not disrupt our time together. You will not stand guard over my door at night. You will not attempt to sabotage our relationship."
"Isolde, you don't understand. I just don't want to see you get hurt. Tristan doesn't realize that you want more than one night. He'll move on and won't even know he's hurt you. I'm just looking out for you. Believe me, Tristan's not the one for you."
I stayed my lover with a hand on his arm.
"That's what this was all about?" I asked with cutting disbelief. "You thought he was going to harm my precious heart? That I wouldn't be able to handle a little pain? How insulting. I've been hurt a damn sight worse than that, and what makes you think I wouldn't understand just what each of us wants? Furthermore, if I want a one-night stand, I'll damn well have it. How the hell do you know if I do want more than that? Maybe I don't want to be tied to one man."
I snorted. "That's what was bothering you, wasn't it? You're being rather hypocritical, don't you think? Why, it's just what you do to the girls, spend a night with them and toss them aside like so much baggage the very next day. Lance, I love you, but you're an idiot."
When he spoke, his voice was quiet. "I suppose I am, aren't I? To have been taken in by your sad story and believed what you told me." His mask slipped and I saw through his ruse.
"O, Lancelot. I know you never meant any harm. I'm sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I just didn't want you all to hate me. I know I was selfish. I-" I knew now that his nagging all week was only covering up the reality that he'd been hurting inside. Just as Gatalas had intended, my secrets were driving us apart.
I hugged my arms around my stomach, drawing a cloak of protection about my shoulders to fend off the whirlpool of pain this subject brought up. "I think it's time to talk with all of you at once."
My voice shook when I called to the guards to open the doors. They did so, and I sent one of them to fetch my brothers.
When they came, I hugged myself tighter, as though against a cold wind. There was bad blood between us all now, and it was time to disperse it. Such was my task.
They ringed the table, although they did not sit. They all knew what this was about, somehow. Arthur was absent, but I didn't call for him. This was a thing to be discussed among us Sarmatians. His presence might complicate the matter more than it already was.
Tristan's arms slid around my waist, and I leaned gratefully into his chest, thankful of the reminder that I was not alone. I would never be alone, and this I knew.
"I know… I know that you've all been wondering. I know it's hurt you that I never told you the real story. I'm – so sorry. I was afraid that – maybe I am a coward, but I was afraid you'd reject me if you knew the truth."
"I was young for my years at fifteen. I'd never been popular with the few young men in our tribe, though Gatalas was my best friend. The other girls shunned me for my weaponry despite my efforts at sparking friendship between us – there hadn't been a woman warrior in our tribe for generations, and their mothers didn't want my habits to rub off on their daughters, who might be inspired to go off and get killed, I suppose. Yet I was good, and so I learned. My father had only one son, and he was a child yet."
"I became betrothed to Gatalas. I loved him, and he me, and we would have been happy together if life had continued as planned. I would have had children, and they would have gone on to be knights and the wives and companions of knights."
"That night, I dreamt a strange dream, and I still do not know the meaning of it. But I awoke calling out one word, a name: Batraz; the warrior who rode with the Nart brothers in our legends."
"Two weeks after I woke from that dream, I was on patrol to the northeast, but I left my post to daydream about my future husband. I know it is a terrible betrayal, I knew it then, but I was convinced nothing could happen. After all, it was only a few minutes. I wanted to gather a bouquet for my mother. Such is the blithe confidence of youth."
They were silent, and I went on.
"When I heard the shouts and saw the smoke, I wasted no time in running back to the encampment. But I was too late. I couldn't save anyone, not a single soul, and the murderers were long gone. You saw what remained, and how I might have thought the attackers were Hunnish skirmishers. The signs were plain. That alone should have alerted me that things were not as they seemed."
"We stopped at that village before we left Sarmatia for good; do you remember? There was a girl on the hill, who followed the tribe in order to survive. I met her; spoke to her, though she was called bad luck by the people she depended on, for her own tribe had died of a plague, every one but her. She called herself Batraz."
"Perhaps the name meant something, like I was on the right path – I cannot know. Then we went to Portus Itius and before we departed…" I thought of the cruel words of the Roman officer, and how I'd reined in my temper with sudden ferocity. Anger shuddered through me. I would kill that man one day.
"Before we left, he told me something… I remember it exactly, as though every word, every moment was imprinted in my mind." I gave them his words, and at the same time relived the memory as I told it.
"It's a pity," he sneered at me, and I heard the menace in his voice and shrank back, "that the Romans didn't have a chance to have some fun with your bitch mother before they killed her. I hear your sister was good, up until they put a knife in the whore's heart. Your father took down only two as they planted the arrows of the Huns in the ground before he was also cut down. But you know, a dog is only a dog, after all, and must be disciplined."
I very nearly sank my sword into his evil heart right there, but I dredged up reserves of control that I never knew I had when Lancelot banged into my shoulder, reminding me to be careful. I mentally visualized tearing out his throat and feeding his balls to the hogs, or stringing him up and peppering him with arrows, and I really wanted to claw his face with my nails and shriek and hurt him as badly as he and his have hurt me.
But I did none of these things. Instead, I stood shaking with barely suppressed murder boiling in my soul.
As he left, I turned glassy eyes on his retreating profile and managed to force out, "Watch your back, Marcus Tullius. One day I will return and destroy all you hold dear. There is one thing you cannot take from me, for I have not sold my soul as you have. Watch your back, Marcus Tullius, or you will find yourself in hell before your time."
His steps faltered only a moment before he turned a corner and was lost to sight.
I looked around at their dear faces, and couldn't see for the tears in my eyes.
"Arthur found out from the Roman messenger who came to Portus Itius before us, and after the first battle with the woads, when Huddan died, he told me why. He said that Rome hoped to begin a war between the Huns and Sarmatians, and finish off whoever prevailed before they could regain their strength, eliminating the threat of both peoples."
"Please, don't blame him. Arthur kept my secret because it wasn't his to tell, though he urged me often to tell you. He was right, as he always is. I'm – so very sorry I didn't listen to him. Hate me, if you like, and I won't blame you, but do not turn from him."
"And turn from me, if you like, but do not leave Isolde's side when she needs your love and support the most." I hadn't been aware that Arthur was in the room, but now he came to me and put his arms around me.
"It's over, Isolde," he whispered in my ear. "You are free of your secrets now. Let go your grief."
And then, with my lover's presence solid at my back and my friend offering comfort freely to me, after so much time in which my grief seemed too great for tears, finally, finally, I wept.
They forgave me. My head was still reeling from that as they filed out of the Hall. Lancelot stopped in front of me and hung his head.
"I'm sorry, Isolde. I shouldn't have judged you. I didn't know."
I clasped his arm with mine and laid my other hand on his shoulder. "I never gave you any reason not to judge me. It's over now."
Then he left, and Arthur with him, and it was only Tristan and I. He fidgeted – a highly un-Tristan-like behavior – until I smiled at him in an attempt to prompt him into voicing whatever was on his mind.
He took my hands in his. "You didn't mean what you said – about only wanting one night – did you?"
My answer was in my kiss.
Though they'd forgiven me for the most part – with some snide remarks from Zanticus, who had taken the opportunity to snub me at every chance he got – the trust between us was, as Arthur had foreseen, weakened by this new revelation.
I felt restless over the next few days, pacing around my room or up on the wall when I wasn't on patrol, or working with my group – which now numbered nearly one hundred of the Britons and poor Romans who had come from surrounding villages in the past three years to join our force – and overexerting myself in my own training to rid myself of the feeling of agitation that had come over me. It didn't work.
After the fourth day of this, I couldn't take it anymore. My village scouts sent a signal from the hill-post saying an imperial messenger was riding in on the East road. When he arrived with his caravan, I took myself down to the Hall immediately to wait outside until he finished with Arthur.
I waited for half an hour, placing my feet shoulder-width apart and my hands linked loosely behind my back – a stance I often took, and a comfortable position for waiting, as I was doing now.
The soldiers on duty finally hauled the doors open, and the man's eyes went straight away to my form standing directly in front of him, and I could just imagine what he saw. Young woman in black men's clothing, polished boots placed evenly, blonde hair twisted back into knot, strong face hidden by shadows, with eyes gleaming impatiently. He scoffed.
"Castus, you can't tell me that this is one of your knights. A woman? And a pagan? It's bad enough that you decorate your hall with the symbols of their demon-gods."
I saw Arthur's hand curl around a paper already clenched tightly. "She is, and our best sword, though she's much better with knives in the dark." The man flinched, and I inwardly beamed with the praise. "A damn good scout, too, and second in archery only to one, and that one would gladly kill you for the way you're looking at her now."
I took my cue and advanced on the taller man, ignoring the height difference as I took out my smallest dirk and began trimming my nails, flicking the parings over my shoulder.
The messenger, a soldier, recognized the way I moved as the way all seasoned swordsmen did – with the cat's balance and tough strength that came from years of training – and recovered himself, brushing past me as though he'd never stopped.
"Arthur," I caught my commander's attention, "I must speak with you."
He raised an eyebrow, and I lifted one in return. Then he turned back and waved me into the Hall.
When the doors were shut, I began my pacing again.
"I can't stand this!" I finally burst out vehemently.
Arthur furrowed his brow. "What's wrong? I thought everything was going alright with the others. Has someone said something?"
I brushed my hand across the table, my hand stopping of its own accord on the sun of Khors at Sagremour's place.
"They don't have to. I feel out of place, Arthur, like I should be doing something else. The woads are beginning to slow with their attacks, turning their attention instead to harvesting food for the winter months. There's little for us to do – we might get one or two more missions this year, and those will be minor ones. My fighters don't need me anymore, and Brangaine has practically taken over training sessions. She and Evan work well together, and can manage both the fighters and the village scouts. I feel useless here. And then there's the matter with Gatalas, which they've made their peace with, but it's still there. I have to get away, Arthur."
He turned his back to me and fingered the edge of the chair back beside him. I could tell something was bothering him – the tense set of his shoulders and the way his feet were planted unevenly told me that he was battling himself, as though he fought against a decision he knew must be made.
"What did the messenger want? He must have told you something important, to have you this worked up about it."
He looked up at me, a wry smile creasing his face. I didn't like the little lines forming at his eyes and between his eyebrows. He was growing old before his time, and he with only about twenty-four years.
"You're getting too good at reading me, Isolde. I didn't want to do this – I'm still against it – but… I just can't think of a reason not to send you."
"Spit it out, Arthur. You know I hate itwhen you dance around a subject."
"Rome wants me to send one of my knights south with the caravan when it goes. They want a report on the progress of my knights and on the status of Britain's security, as I am now the ranking officer in the province of Britannia. Whoever I choose will leave within the week…"
I finished for him. "And won't return until spring. There's not nearly enough time to get there and back before the snows close the mountain passes, and no way to get around them. I'll have to stay in Rome for six months at least. And of course the reports of their own spies just won't do; they have to pull an able fighter from a Wall fort. Yes, that makes perfect sense."
He chuckled, which gladdened me for all my skepticism. "They're not spies if they aren't hidden, but otherwise I think you've got it just about right." His face turned grim.
"I know you probably don't want to go so far away, or for so long. If you don't want this mission, I can give it to someone else. I don't want to send you, but my reasons are selfish ones. You're the most sensible person here, and you can soothe my every worry and keep the men in line."
Arthur sighed. "But logically, you're the best choice. The others can't hide their hatred of Rome like you can, and frankly, most of them have no sense of diplomacy whatsoever. You were one of the best Latin students, and you are more aware of Britain than the others, through your troops and their families. Like I told the messenger, you're a better general warrior than many at the garrison, because you're a smart fighter. You're less likely to get yourself killed if you get into a sticky situation, and as you've already proven, you're damned lucky." I didn't bother to try to hide the flush of pleasure his compliments caused.
"There's just no reason that you don't go, if you wish to, except that I know you and Tristan only just found each other. He might present a problem if I try to separate him from you. I suppose he could go with you…"
I thought on this and shook my head slowly. "No," my mouth said, though my heart screamed Yes! It wasn't that I didn't want him to come, but… "You can't spare him. When the spring fighting starts up and you're already down one knight, you're going to need him. You can do without one scout, but take away two and you're blind on both flanks. And Tristan will have to deal with it. I'll go, Arthur. You need me to, because no other will do the job as well as I can, and because I'm willing to go."
His shoulders slumped. "I think I was hoping you'd refuse. It would be much easier to send one of the others. You know they're going to be against your going."
"I know, Arthur. That's why I'm not going to give them enough time to give you a hard time."
"You're not going to tell them?" he frowned in disapproval.
"I'm not that stupid, Arthur. I know we're only beginning to come back together after Gatalas tried to drive us all apart. I'll tell them, just not yet. The night before I go I'll announce it. I'll tell them it was only decided that day. I'll make sure they know I requested to go, even if they don't understand it. I'll explain to Tristan. I don't want you to have to worry about him – any of them – fighting you over it. You've got enough on your plate."
Arthur held out his arm and clasped mine with it.
"You must be the best person I've ever met. About to leave everything you hold dear for many months, in a place where they could be killed by any arrow, and you tell me you'll convince the man you love to stay behind just so I don't have extra cares."
My eyes widened in a mixture of surprise and alarm, but I brushed off his comment uneasily. I felt like someone might have been rewarding me for something I hadn't earned.
"Don't be ridiculous, Arthur. You're a much better person than I could ever hope to be. There are many people within this very fort who are better than me. Don't give a mule a stallion's reputation."
But he gave me that solemn, stern look that told me he meant every word and said, "You might deny it, but just about every person in and around this fort would vouch for what I say – sans a few Roman regulars and Zanticus, who you know likes to stir up trouble, and who wouldn't vouch for anyone. You're a good person, no matter what crimes you've committed. Actually, your crimes make you that much better, if only because you've seen and done bad things, yet still gotten through it uncorrupted."
I mumbled some excuse and tried to will away the burning in my cheeks and in the tips of my ears. This blind faith they apparently had in me struck a strange sort of fear into my heart. It was trepidation, of a kind, worry that they thought so highly of me and were sure to be disappointed when they found I wasn't the saint they seemed to think I was. Then, too, I didn't want the responsibility of an idol. I just wanted to keep myself alive and get out of Britain and away from Rome as soon as I could.
Conversation dwindled between us. Finally I excused myself.
"I'll inform the messenger that I've chosen a knight to accompany him," he said before I left, eyes twinkling. "I'll tell him this knight is highly competent, and is to be treated with the utmost deference, or I'll have him busted down to Discens. I'll not have my warriors disrespected." He winked at me and I grinned, happily anticipating the man's sweating when he found out who his escort was to be.
That night I joined my brothers at the tavern, as I'd been accustomed to doing before we left on that rebel mission weeks before. Since then, I'd only come every once in a while, and since Gatalas visited, I hadn't come at all.
"Isolde!" Why is it, I wondered as I always did, that Ru is always the first to notice my presence here?
But then I felt my lover's dark eyes on me and smiled inwardly. Well, the first to acknowledge it, anyway. I made my way toward Tristan, stepping over Safrak's outstretched legs.
Suddenly I felt myself yanked backward, and my arse landed in someone's lap. I slapped a very drunk Gawain across the face – not hard, but with enough force to sting. Before I could say anything, I was hauled away by Carradas, who spoke to Gawain with harsh disbelief.
"What, do have a death wish!" He snapped, jerking his head at Tristan. I looked, too, and not just for my own benefit. Though he was looking deliciously rugged tonight… right, Carradas, Gawain, death wish. I put aside unusually dreamy thoughts of my man and concentrated on the conversation between the other knights – one that was rapidly becoming one-sided as Gawain grew more and more soused.
Tristan had stood down when Carradas pulled me out of Gawain's grasp, though he still glared at the bigger man with so little love in his eyes. Since I wanted to spend as much time with him as I could – I gulped back the lump in my throat – as much time as I could before I left for Rome, I smoothed his hackles by gladly leaving Carradas to his own devices and joining my lover in the dark corner, where we could sit together undisturbed. Well, that was the intent, anyway.
"My lady." The intruder got no response.
"Lady Isolde."
I groaned and pulled my lips away from Tristan's, which were about to do something extremely detrimental to my attention span.
"Jols, if this isn't important, you are a dead man."
"Arthur wants to speak with you. He says it won't take but a moment, and then you two can go back to cuddling, or whatever obscene things you're doing over here, and no, he doesn't want to know."
I growled, and he held up his hands to show he meant nothing by it. "His words, not mine, so don't murder the messenger."
I looked into Tristan's eyes with regret and kissed him swiftly. "I'm sorry, love, but I have to know what he needs to tell me." His brows drew together, though he let me go after another searing kiss.
I approached Arthur where he stood at the entrance of the tavern, out of the way of those moving about.
He took me aside where no one could overhear.
"I spoke with the emperor's man. He told me he was leaving tomorrow morning, and you'd better be ready or they'll leave without you. I think my threat offended him." His attempt at humor fell flat against the anxiety in his eyes.
He took my hands and looked at me earnestly. "Isolde, are you sure? I can still find someone else."
I looked at Tristan, who was now sitting up straight and watching us intently. He knew that something was off. Tears filled my eyes as I watched him – a part of me still rejoiced that I could once again cry – but I blinked them back and firmed my jaw.
"I'll do it, Arthur. For you." He gave my hands a squeeze and stood back. I took a deep breath and reentered the bustle of the tavern's center. I kept my eyes fixed on Tristan's, though I did not go to him. I asked his forgiveness silently, my apology written on my face. He started and made to stand up, but I shook my head to clear it. I had to get this over with before they were too drunk to process it.
I rapped on a table and got little response – a grunt from Saros and a "Wot the hell?" from Kuluk, whose ale I'd disturbed.
I looked around at the oblivious, drunken knights and stamped my foot in impatience, then tried pounding fiercely on the stout surface, this time away from anyone's drink and much harder.
Clambering onto a bench, I bellowed, "SILENCE!" There, I thought as every man in the room turned to look at me. That did the trick.
"Brothers," I almost didn't want to tell them, just wanted to turn and jump down from the bench, run to Arthur and tell him I couldn't do it, couldn't leave them for so long. But I didn't. Instead, I started over, took it slow and steady while inside I trembled with the fear of the unknown.
"Brothers," I said, "I have news of great importance to tell you, but you won't like what I have to say."
End Chapter.
I didn't think I had it in me to be quite this evil. Nighty-night. Aw, shoot, it's only 4:30 for you folks back home, isn't it? Well, nighty-night to everyone in Europe, anyway.
I'm sorry I didn't make it to my usual 10,000 words, but there's more dialogue (including the notes) so the chapter should at least appear to be the same length.
Ribhinn
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