Chapter Nine: Heroes
Upon seeing her face in the darkened doorway, he immediately notices how pale she appears. He watches her as she steps out from the building, trips, and falls, barely throwing her hands out in front of her in time to prevent her face from making contact with the ground.
His first reaction is one that slightly surprises him, one that had been long dormant since he had left Sarmatia.
Tristan had almost sheathed his sword, dismounted, and rushed to help her up, just as he had so many times when they were younger. She had been forever falling or tripping, and he would always stop what he was doing to make sure that she was okay.
Amazingly, as strong as his first reaction is, he subdues it and remains impassive except for the slight hint of something in his eyes saying otherwise. He knows very well that were he to sheath his sword and dismount, the Romans standing around might become bold and try something. The safety or her, his brothers, and Arthur depend upon him remaining calm and imposing. That is his job.
On the other hand, he has no problem when Galahad carries through with the reaction that he had suppressed. With he and Bors still mounted, it is not as if Galahad dismounting takes away from the threat to the Romans. The pup could not look intimidating if he tried, after all. So with him and Bors still a threat, the Romans will try nothing against anyone.
Galahad kneels beside the woman and asks quietly, "Are you alright?"
She looks up at him wearily, her eyes still haunted, and the young knight has to fight the urge to ask her what she had seen that could possibly shake her so.
"I am fine. I tripped is all," she breathes getting herself in a sitting position. "What is important is that Dagonet said to get water."
"Water?" the knight asks, his eyebrows furrowing in puzzlement.
Iseult nods tiredly.
"Yes, water. There are two people, a young boy and a girl who looks to be barely over twenty summers. They were down there in that… that dungeon."
At her statement, his eyes widen in shock and disbelief. He quickly rises to his feet and turns around to where Jols and Horton stand.
"Jols, get two water skins, quickly!"
Not knowing the situation but hearing the urgency in Galahad's voice, Jols nods. Without question, he runs to the supply horses, dragging Horton along behind him.
Seeing that Dagonet's orders are being carried out, Galahad turns back to Iseult whose face has regained some color
As she stands, she notices Galahad's concerned countenance and nods to assure him that she is fine. He seems to relax a little and slowly returns to his horse.
Iseult looks up just in time to catch Tristan's gaze and, for a moment, she is almost convinced that they two are the only people existing in this place. The images of the underground torture room temporarily leave her and she simply stares at him.
His face is as unreadable now as it has been since she joined them but his eyes betray him. She almost instantly recognizes the expression in them. So many times she had seen that same look in his eyes when they were younger, and now, he has finally revealed it to her once again. Concern. He is concerned for her.
Straightening, she nods to him almost imperceptibly and he returns the gesture before looking elsewhere.
Despite the dark circumstances, she almost smiles. True, he had not spoken to her, but he had—intentionally or no—proven that he is not completely cold toward her. On some level, he still feels concerned about her well-being. She counts this as progress.
Hearing the sound of footsteps, she moves from being in front of the door and stands to the side, waiting.
Not long after she moves, Lancelot, carrying Excalibur, steps out of the stone building and throws down into the snow the torch he had been holding. It takes no one outside any great amount of time to see how disgusted he is at this moment, and, once more, Galahad must stop himself from asking.
Even if he had been unable to keep from asking the question, his answer would have cut him off quickly for almost as soon as Lancelot steps aside, Arthur emerges from the gloom and in his arms is a pale young woman with dark hair. Following Arthur is Dagonet, carrying the too thin young boy cradled in his arms, his axe held in front of him with both hands, using it as a support.
As soon as Dagonet sets the boy down, he kneels beside him, and Iseult quickly walks over to them, her eyes unable to move from the boy.
He can be no older than nine or ten, at most, eleven summers. A boy his age should be hearty and running around playing and adventuring, not so thin that his skin is pulled taut over his bones.
She only tears her stare from the boy as she catches movement at the door. Turning, she sees Gawain shove the two monks outside. She cannot refrain from noticing that the two men look even crazier outside than they had in the dungeon. At least there they had not seemed so out of place.
Unable to stare at the deranged men any longer, she returns her eyes to the boy just as Horton appears with a water skin and hands it to Dagonet.
The giant knight looks at her imploringly and she understands. Kneeling down on the opposite side of the boy from where Dag sits, she ever so gently puts one hand behind the child's back and lifts him into a sitting position, a dark and disgusted shiver running down her spine at the feel of the child's bones under her hand.
Dagonet does not notice her shiver and simply nods to her gratefully. He then cups the boy's face in his left hand. With his right hand, he meticulously pours water into his left, using his hand as a funnel to assist the boy in drinking.
After allowing the boy to drink what he can, he pulls back the water skin, releases the boy's chin, and hands the skin to Horton. He then takes the boy from Iseult, holding him in a sitting position with one arm.
Iseult remains kneeling, staring at the boy, her anger surging with every rise and fall of her chest.
"His arm… is broken," the Bishop's aide breathes, clearly horrified.
Both Dagonet and Iseult eyes are instantaneously drawn to the child's arm and they exchange tired glances. Iseult closes her eyes and sighs while Dagonet puts a gentle hand on the boy's face.
"And his family?" Horton asks, breaking them both from their thoughts.
Dag answers him with a shake of his head, a dark expression upon his face, before looking to where Arthur holds the girl.
"She's a Woad."
Tristan's voice is low as he sheaths his sword, glancing around at this fellow knights. Iseult turns to look at him, a bit of a frown on her face at his words. It is as though he condemns her for being what she is.
"I'm a Roman officer. You're safe," Arthur assures the girl. "You're safe."
"Stop what you are doing!" Marius yells, angrily storming over to where Arthur kneels beside the girl.
Arthur lays the girl down, the Roman's wife taking his place, and he stands.
"What is this madness?"
"They are all pagans here!" exclaims Marius.
It is here that Galahad decides to chime in, "So are we."
At this, Marius becomes even more upset.
"They refuse to do the task God has set for them. They must die, as an example!"
"You mean they refused to be your serfs!" Arthur yells, enraged.
Marius stares at him with contempt and disgust, as if the man's anger is not deserved.
"You are Roman. You understand. And you are a Christian!" he rebukes Arthur before turning on his wife who begins to stand, protectively stepping in front of the girl. "You! You kept her alive!"
As he hits his wife to the ground, Dagonet quickly uses his free hand to grab Iseult's arm as he had earlier. Seeing that she will be unable to reach him and beat him as he deserves, Iseult instead begins to reach for one of her knives to end this tyrant's reign. Before she can even touch one finger to the handle of the knife, however, Arthur punches the Roman in the face, sending him sprawling.
In one smooth motion, the Roman commander pulls his sword from the ground where Lancelot had thrown it and moves the blade to rest at Marius' neck.
"My lord!" one of the guards exclaims, starting to draw his sword.
"No! No, stop!" the swine exclaims nervously before looking up at Arthur, pure hatred burning in his eyes. "When we get to the wall, you will pay for this heresy."
Arthur grabs the man by the collar, pulling him up to a sitting position.
"Perhaps I should kill you now and seal my fate," he says dangerously, clearly considering it.
Iseult and Dagonet—who is still holding her arm out of shock—exchange surprised glances, as do most of the other knights, Lancelot and Tristan excluded. Arthur does not threaten people, but certainly not Romans. He is Roman. Why would he?
Their ponderings, however, are broken by a voice.
"I was willing to die with them. Yes, to lead them to their rightful place. It is God's wish that these sinners be sacrificed. Only then can their souls be saved."
Arthur, the knights, and Iseult all turn their attention to the man. Truthfully, they are all shocked. How is it possible for a human being to be so deluded, so far twisted as to believe that this is acceptable? To believe that harming others to 'save' them is acceptable.
"Then I shall grant His wish," Arthur says. His voice is flat and unemotional, but a fool could easily notice the burning rage within him. "Wall them up."
"Arthur," Tristan's quiet voice warns.
Iseult pivots on her feet to turn her gaze to him. She can see the worry in his eyes. He is tired and worried. Worried that the Saxon will catch up with them.
"I said wall them up!" Arthur yells, completely incensed.
She continues to look at Tristan even as he bows his head in defeat and turns his horse away, riding a little away from the group.
She cannot take her eyes from him even when the villagers begin happily rushing forward to carry out Arthur's orders. The demented monks began yelling about defilers and sinners, and still she does not turn.
A hand comes to rest on her shoulder and it is only this that finally turns her attention from him.
Turning, she sees that it is Dagonet. As she looks at him, he glances at Tristan and then back at her.
"You should go to him," the knight says gently, his eyes soft.
She looks back to Tristan.
For a moment, she debates with herself on whether she will do as Dagonet suggests. Tristan has not attempted to talk to her since they left the wall. Yet… she cannot keep from remembering earlier when she had seen the concern in his eyes.
She continues her internal argument for long enough that doubts that she will even answer. Her mind is made up, however, when she sees Tristan bring a hand to his face and tiredly rub his eyes.
Staring a mere breath longer, she turns again to Dagonet who looks at her questioningly, silently inquiring of her intentions. When she nods, a corner of his mouth upturns into a slight smile.
"When you volunteered to let Flanna ride your horse, I had decided that I was going to let you ride with me on my horse, but it seems that I will be needed elsewhere tending to the girl and the boy. You should ask Tristan if he would allow you to ride with him."
She nods and then stands, stretching once to help loosen the tension in her back before glancing once more at Dagonet.
"Wish me luck."
"You have a knife," the knight jokes. "Besides, you seemed to hold your own against him earlier."
She simply smirks in response, then turns, and begins her walk over to where Tristan is sitting on his horse, watching the horizon line.
About a third of the way over, she sees an almost unnoticeable movement signaling her that he has finally realized her presence. She pretends not to notice that he has noticed her and keeps walking toward him.
Once she is close enough that it is confirmed that she is indeed coming to see him, Tristan turns in his saddle to watch her approach. She stops a foot or two from the side of his horse's flank. He glances at her from the corner of his eye. At first, she merely stands, as if she too is scanning the horizon line for the Saxons that are fast approaching, but then she begins to shift nervously from her left foot to her right.
'So she has something on her mind then,' he thinks, yet still she does not speak.
For a several more moments, they remain in an awkward silence until Tristan turns his horse a little to look at where Arthur is lifting the girl into a wagon. He had advised against more wagons than were absolutely necessary, but apparently, one more was necessary for the boy and the young woman.
He knows better than any of them that they will never be able to outrun the Saxons while transporting all of these people. It simply cannot be done. The Saxons will come upon them and slaughter everyone: elderly, man, woman, child, Roman, Briton, Sarmatian. They are not particular about who their prey are at any given moment. They simply enjoy killing. As Lancelot and Gawain had stated upon the knights learning of Saxon invasion, 'The Saxons only claim what they kill, and they only kill everything.'
Unconsciously, his mouth moves into a frown as he watches the Woad girl, and his frown does not in the slightest go unnoticed by Iseult.
"Why do you look at the poor girl that way? She has suffered much at the hands of the Roman pig," she states.
"She is a Woad."
"She's a person. It doesn't make a difference what kind of person."
She sees a rare flash of anger in Tristan's eyes as he turns to stare at her.
"You do not know of what you speak. The Woads are violent, blood-thirsty demons of this land."
"Similar to what Rome would say of our people."
"There is a difference. Do you know how many knights have died because of them?"
Iseult catches the subtle rise to his voice. Not many others would have heard it, but she does. She shakes her head and sighs.
"She's still a person."
"And the knights were not?"
Once more, she shakes her head. This is not the first conversation she would have preferred the two of them having. She has a feeling that much of this is because he is exhausted and irritable.
Exhaling tiredly she looks to him, "You do not understand what I am saying, Tristan."
"You do not and cannot know what we have gone through at their hands."
"And I'm not pretending to. I know that I cannot know. I am sure that all of you have seen horrible things, watched people that you knew and were good friends with die right in front of you, and I'm sorry that it happened. But you must think about it from their point of view. They are natives to this land. Rome is trying to take over what is rightfully theirs. They will fight whoever comes at them. There is no malice against our people personally. They simply fight whom Rome sends to try to suppress them. How many other nations' people forced into Rome's servitude did our ancestors kill while trying to protect our own land? Is it so different?"
He is silent, clearly agitated but trying to calm himself.
They remain in silence until Iseult sees him looking over the group of people gathering around the wagons. She perceives the slight downturn of his mouth and, despite the previous conversation, she tries to speak to him again.
"What are you thinking?"
He gazes out over the people for so long that she isn't sure that he will answer, but finally he sighs and glances at her.
"All these people. We won't make it. The Saxons will overtake us."
"What else can we do? Leave them? They need our help."
At this, he seems to realize something for the first time.
"Where is your horse?"
The question puzzles her momentarily, her eyebrows scrunching in surprise at the odd query.
"One of the women was pregnant. She's riding because she can't walk and there is no more room in the wagons.
At her answer, Tristan sighs and looks away. This time it is her turn to be irritated.
"What would you have had me do, Tristan? Make her walk in her condition?"
"In this world, it is survival of the fittest. If you are not fit, you cannot survive. Those who try to help them are pulled down with them. We are being pulled down. We will all be killed at Saxon hands."
"How can you say that?" she asks incredulously.
He shrugs. "It is true."
"Arthur is saving, protecting these people from those who would kill them."
"Arthur is a brave leader. He is a good leader. All of us, we would follow him anywhere, but this," he says, his eyes panning over the motley group of people assembled around the wagons, "this is a mistake."
His words are a knife to her heart, twisted and then viciously pulled out. They hit her with such force that she almost staggers back, but she holds her ground.
When his eyes return to her next, he almost visibly flinches. Her face is cold, emotionless, but her eyes are filled with pain.
"Arthur only does for them what you did for me so many years ago. When you saved me, protected me from those who would have harmed me, who would have killed me, that was a mistake, too?"
Tristan realizes to what she has made the connection and for the first time he realizes what he has said. Before he can gather his wits enough to respond, she spins around on her heel and walks away from him.
He watches her leave and his face falls. He had known this would happen. Had been waiting for it. Expecting it. Trying to prevent it by distancing himself. He had known it would happen eventually though. Only a matter of time. He had known. The only difference? He had hurt her in the process of her realizing what he is now.
When they were younger, she had looked up to him like some hero, but eventually, all heroes must fall, and today, he imagines, he has fallen.
And so he watches as she leaves and then tears his eyes away from her retreating form, looking out over the hills from which the enemy would soon arrive.