Thank you for your kind reviews, I can not thank you all enough. Here is chapter 10 and heck of a lot quicker than I anticipated!lol! I don't know what came over me! I only hope, that in my haste, I have not rushed this one too much. I hope you all enjoy it.
Chapter 10 - The Loss
Juna stared down vacantly at the meal that sat untouched before her. Had it really been ten days since the man she loved had ridden away from her? Ten long, agonizing days, which were only eclipsed in their misery by the sleepless nights which Juna awaited each day with dread? She found she could manage to make it through the days, burying herself with hard work and menial tasks, anything with which to keep her thoughts from straying to the unspeakable fear that her knight may lay dead or dying somewhere and the shame that it was she who had not even had the courage to admit how deeply and truly she loved him. But the nights were merciless in the wicked games they played. The silence and the darkness both intent on starving her of her sleep and haunting her with her guilt.
Juna silently pushed away the plate and eased back in her chair. She could no more eat than she could sleep and she looked pale and drawn, the dark shadows beneath her eyes, heavy and sickly looking. As she stared into nothingness, a silent tear trickled down her face. Just one more of many that fell mechanically and unnoticed now.
The last thing she had expected from her mother was kindness but it was kindness she had received. She seemed to tend to her daughter's broken heart just as she would have if she had suffered a blistering wound or a raging fever. She had held her while she wept, soothing her breathless sobs. She had given her silence when she could not bear to talk; she had listened whilst she poured out her heartache and fears, begging her to fret not for the scout. He would return safely, she would see and there would be no more need for this tireless guilt and remorse. She did not however, attach any reassurance for reconciliation, preferring instead to cling to the ever diminishing hope that this passion would run it's course and her daughter's heart would find its time to heal.
The mother looked across the table at her daughter, a worried frown furrowing her brow.
'When would this all end?' She lamented, 'when would this melancholy let go its hold of her?' It was consuming her daughter entirely and she feared she was loosing her. If no change came soon, all that would be left of the sweet-hearted girl she once was would be a bitter and hollow shell. But what was a mother to do? The only spark of life she showed these past days was on hearing the rumble of a cart passing by on its journey back from Baden Hill. Juna would sprint hastily over, begging for news of Arthur's knights. Each time they would shake their heads and continue on and sorrow would engulf her once more.
Damn that knight and his conceited and lecherous appetite. It seemed inconceivable to her that a man such as Tristan could truly love her daughter, how could he, why would he? Men like him had not the capacity to love, only the capacity to take for their own selfish pleasure. No, she was convinced, he had robbed her daughter's spirit, just like the parasite he was. Just like the parasites they all were, just like Marrok. The mother felt a whispering tremble in her breast and closed her eyes. If she allowed it, she could still see his face as if it were but yesterday and not some eighteen summers ago.
He was young and strong with a handsome, whisker-less face and long dark hair, which fell enticingly about his shoulders in dishevelled, loose curls and striking grey eyes, which at first glance seemed to sparkle like clear crystal pools. But if one had looked deeper, grew dark and cold, like the depths of the Black Sea from whence he came.
The Mother felt the old familiar wound fester within, remembering the seduction of his low and lazy accented voice. She, a young girl, barely fourteen and still raw in the games of love. It hadn't taken the Sarmatian long to entice her away from the safety of her kin. Who could blame a girl so naïve and still so innocent, for mistaking those lingering looks of want and whispered words of hunger as the love they were so cunningly camouflaged to be. The moment he had her alone, the girl quickly awakened to the true meaning of the knight's attention. She had not been ready for such zealous and hurried passion and soon the caressing hands upon her became rough and insistent, the seductive eastern voice, course and demanding. Her shy and awkward refusal soon became pleading cries for mercy. But he had showed her none, until at last he had his release and he fell from her, his breath heavy and his cold, cruel heart still pounding. He had sneered at her tears as he tied up his breeches and he cursed her for a whore, as he strode away.
Devastated and in pain, she had curled herself up into a ball and wept uncontrollably – vowing that for as long as she had breath in her lungs, she would never let a man touch her again and she never did. But the journey of her misery had still a way to travel yet.
When the swell of her belly caught the attention of her severe and dour father, he had beaten her with his fist until she had finally given up the name of 'the bastard whose spawn it was she carried'. The revelation was just one more, her enraged father could not bear to acknowledge. Without another thought, he had dragged her weeping from his home and cast her out onto the road. 'Let that Sarmatian dog take care of his own bitch!', he had screamed at her, for she was no longer a daughter of his.
Terrified and broken, she had fled from her home and her people, never to return.
How she had come to be at this tiny settlement, five miles from Baden Hill, she could never recall. Old man Dafydd and his wife always told her they had found her lying by the roadside as they travelled the long road home from the west. So cold and still was she, they had at first believed her dead.
They both welcomed her into their lives and home with an unconditional love, which she had never been able to fathom. They never questioned her condition, never pressed her for her story. "Do we need an excuse for kindness?" had always been their answer when asked. "Besides, it was God's will we should find you that day child and who are we to question Him?"
On the evening Juna came into the world, the old wife had wept with joy, thanking God for the gift of a child they had never been blessed with.
Three summers later, Dafydd was dead, caught by a fever that his aging body was powerless to fight, only to be followed a few short days later by his heart-broken wife. So distraught from their loss, the girl had thought she would have died with them, had it not been for Juna.
The woman opened her eyes and looked wearily across at her daughter. There was nothing in Juna's looks or countenance that would have betrayed Marrok as her father. Nothing, but for an occasional carefree glint of the eye and curl of the mouth when she laughed a certain way. When she heard that chuckle, the woman would look up at her daughter and there he was. After all these years, those rare and brief moments could still turn her cold and she would look away quickly, only to turn back and thankfully, find he was gone.
It was the thunder of hooves that snapped both women to their senses. Looking up sharply, Juna's eyes grew wide as she heard a loud hollering voice spreading its news about the village.
"Arthur Castus has returned! Arthur Castus has returned! Everyone! Grab all you have and rally at Baden Hill!"
Wasting not a moment's breath, Juna fled from her seat and raced outside to see a young messenger sat upon a black mare.
"Hear me people! The Saxons march on Baden Hill" he yelled "You must rally at the fort or flee south!"
Panic quickly ensued within the tiny settlement. People rushed from their homes confused and terrified.
Juna dodged her way through the scattering people and grabbed the horseman's reins.
"Are they all returned Sir? The knights, have they all returned?" She cried as the nervous mare began to stamp and beat at the floor "For the love of God, man! Are they all safe?"
"One has fallen!" he spat irritably as he struggled to gain control of his animal.
Juna felt the bottom fall from her heart "Who! Who has fallen!" She gasped, almost unable to wrench the words from her throat "Is it the scout, is it Tristan?"
In the rapidly rising chaos the horseman's mount began to rear and buck, throwing Juna aside as she lost her grip on the bridle. Swiftly swinging around her hind quarters, the mare knocked Juna clean off her feet. She hit the floor heavily, narrowly missing being trampled under foot as the envoy battled to bring her to calm. Ignoring Juna's plea, he urged the animal on, riding off to spread the terrifying news.
Juna got to her feet, oblivious to the painful bruising of her hip. She cared for nothing but the stomach wrenching fear that she may have lost her Tristan. She must get to the fort, she must get there now. She looked to the road that led to Baden Hill and without a single delay, she began to run.
"Juna, Juna wait!" Her mother yelled as she took flight after her.
"I must get to Baden Hill!" Juna gasped breathlessly, "I must find Tristan! You will not stop me this time, I swear it…as long as I have breath left in my body, you sharn't stop me, this time!"
Her mother's eyes filled with tears as she clasped her daughter to her breast. How could she persist in this denial of her daughter's love? This must put an end to it surely, one way or another? Frantically, she prayed she had been wrong all this time and their love would prove to be a true love, a love she had for so long believed could not exist. Frantically, she prayed it was not too late.
"Then let me harness the cart," she whispered hoarsely "I will get you there, my child."
0000000000000
Darkness had fallen quickly at Baden Hill, a sinister darkness, disturbing in it gloom and void of any radiance from either star or moon. All the knights had gathered upon the wall, watching and waiting, restless in their anticipation for the arrival of the enemy so close on their heels. Each one felt all too keenly the absence of one man and each fought hard the consuming sorrow that tore at their hearts.
Tristan stood leaning against the cold stone battlements, staring out into the darkness beyond the fortress gates, motionless against the chill night breeze that whipped about him, stinging his face and his hands. Making no effort to shelter from its painful bite, he instead welcomed it, grateful for its fight with the emptiness within. He seemed oblivious to anyone or anything at that moment, lost somewhere in his own silent world of grief. Like the others, his thoughts were of Dagonet, now lying cold and still beneath the earth up on Baden Hill.
He remembered their last moments together as they stood upon a great lake of ice, fleeing the Saxons that would claim his life. As the ice began to crack, Arthur had looked to his men, lost almost as to what to do.
'Here! Now!" Dagonet had roared, determined they should run no more, but turn and face their foe. Relieved, Tristan had glanced over his shoulder at his friend, catching his eye instantly and nodded his agreement with a single tip of his chin. Dagonet returned his look with a peaceful, knowing smile, the smile of a man who had glimpsed his destiny and welcomed it. No one else had seen it, he was sure, but Tristan had and he had understood, just as Dagonet knew he would.
Tristan breathed in deeply and closed his eyes for a moment. He looked tired and drawn. He hadn't slept a night since he had ridden from Juna's door, instead, finding himself haunted by the loss of her love. Every time he lay down, he ached from want of having her next to him. Every time the breeze whispered past him, he caught her scent. Being without her was torture, believing her lost forever was like death itself.
He felt envy for Dagonet, he envied his peace. He longed desperately to find his own once more, but he knew that without her love, he never would again.
"Sweet Christ, Tristan, look at that...!"Lancelot breathed in disbelief. He stepped up behind the scout, staring out at a sea of flaming torches just moving in from the distance. Tristan leaned up from the stone wall and cast a weary, glance over his shoulder.
"I suppose someone should call, Arthur" he murmured with a nonchalant shrug.
Tristan turned around and looked down upon the crowds of men, women and children all gathered together in the courtyard. All of them feeling lost and afraid, none of them truly knowing the horror that was awaiting them beyond the gates. He cared for not one of them, why should he? They were not his people, this was not his fight. But still, tomorrow he would ride out with the others and shepherd them to safety, leaving Arthur and his new found barbarian alliance to face the Saxon horde alone.
He would rather stay here and die by Arthur's side, albeit the side of the Woads he had just spent his last fifteen years fighting. Tristan gave a low, saddened chuckle at the ignominy of it all. What good was freedom to him without her, anyhow? The slightest notion of her sent flames searing through his heart once more and he looked away as the emotion rose hot and agonizing inside him. He clenched his fists, cursing himself for his weakness and battled to push all thoughts of Juna aside. But it was a fruitless conflict and one he never could win. He had to get away; he needed to be alone a while. The hushed, nervous whisperings of the people looking up to them in hope of their salvation, began to echo painfully in his head, leaving him suffocated by their unspoken desperation and need. Without a word, he pushed his way past Lancelot and began making his way along the stone ramparts towards the west tower doorway.
A sudden voice calling out his name stopped him dead in his tracks. The voice cried out once more, distinct above the murmuring mass and Tristan turned slowly and looked back. There, desperately fighting her way through the crowd and then stumbling up the wooden stairway to the top of the wall… was Juna.