You get both this chapter and the next together, in the hopes that you will forgive me :

As I will be writing my BA for the next three weeks or so, do not expect any updates during that time. Some might come, but then again, they might not. Not to worry, I have 13 other chapters already written (I just do not write chronologically) and I WON'T do the lose-interest-and-discontinue thing...but chapter 12 just isn't written yet, and might not be until the BA is turned in.

A generic and humble thank you, by the way, to those faithful who stick with me in the strange work of birth this story has turned out to be.

-Y.

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Ch. 10 - Londinium

Dagonet relates :

We arrived at the hall in what seemed to be the middle of some sort of hearing. In front of the seat of Ambrosius stood the clergy, represented by a man Arthur mumbled was bishop Germanus, friend of his foster-father Pelagius.

I had heard of Germanus. He was reputed to be a shrewd politician. My impression, upon seeing him, was a man of sharp wits, cleverly disguised behind an inoffensive fatherly air.

We huddled together at the back of the crowd, Arthur deciding to reserve our formal entry for a more fit occasion, and in stead eagerly scanning the surroundings for sign of the foster-father, whom upon our arrival he had heard was here

"Bloody hell," the low outburst of Gaheris made me follow his gaze.

There, on the opposite side from the bishop, I recognized Lady Ysolde, strikingly without Marcus at her side. It was apparent that her word had been asked for, upon matters concerning the Irish. Her husband was therefore not beside her, but stood near to the right side of Ambrosius' seat. This did not surprise me, for I knew from when I had been in Cornwall, that the Governor held him in high honour.

His disinvolvement, however, also accentuated Ysolde's status. Though the exchange seemed to be kept at an unofficial level, she was presently not the wife of Cunomorus, but the voice of Eire.

She looked small and lonely, standing before the line of black-clad clergymen.

"Who is she?" the appreciative tone of Gaheris betrayed him. I elbowed him to silence.

"Forget about it. She is married to a high-ranking Roman. Now shut up."

We had not heard what the question or request had been about, but I found myself hanging by her lips as she answered.

She seemed a knife, outlined sharply against the darkness in the archway behind her seat. Her deep, strange alt easily reached the ears of all present.

"It is unfortunate, however, that your Patricius seems to be stirring up trouble wherever he arrives. Lately I heard tell of the Ulstermen complaining that he is so absorbed in the communion with his God, that he is scarcely possible to make conversation with at all..."

Dispersed laughter.

She did not hesitate to use the momentum :

"Surely, you do just as well to put your trust in the already present monks of Iona and Skellig, if indeed you wish the Tuatha de Danaan to hear of the word of Christ. "

It started to become clear what this was about. The long fingers of the steadily growing Mother Church had ad mind for the gold of the Irishmen. She was starting to become a power factor in Rome, getting stronger each decade, and she wanted them in the flock. But this would ipso facto make them part of the Empire, a scenario which Ysolde's whole life and marriage had been brought about to hinder.

I found myself grinning cruelly at her evasion.

The Irish monks, to whom she referred, have no hierarchy. As I have learned, this, to Roman sensibilities, is cause enough for deep mistrust. More importantly, they do notanswer to the Church of Rome per se.

But it could not be denied that they were Christians.

She smiled, sweetly, looking from one to the other. She returned to what was apparently her seat in the hall, settling, and then leaning ever so slightly forward, expectant.

The cut of her red gown was indeed of expert tailorship. The priests scuffled uneasily. Some of them seemed distracted.

The bishop, however, was untouched. No, the mind of Germanus was cool, as only the mind of a man that does not believe in any Gods can be.

"You make light of the significance of the Mother Church, mylady" he argued in what was without a doubt his most reasonable tone, his hand describing a half apologetic, half accusing gesture in her direction.

She straightened slightly again, in an almost playful manner, like it was all a good-natured banter. The edge of steel was barely traceable in her wistful tone : "The truth being my Lords, that your Mother Church is nothing in Ireland without the consent of our people. Who are our only care."

Shock. Outrage. Raised voices. The bishop and the woman locked stares through it all. The ghost of a curl at the edge of her mouth, and reluctant respect in his eyes.

She was forcing him to play in the open. And he could not back down now. The court of the Governor was waiting rapt for his answer.

He went forward then, and placed his hands on the table. She remained sitting where she was.

"You play the shrew with us, that is plain enough. But you and I, Lady Ysolde, must be honest with each other. Eire is an island. A small island just beside the vast bulk of the Great Empire. A confrontation would be disastrous. You would not force such a conflict upon us all?"

She laughed then, a silver laugh.

"How could I 'force' you, your grace? I am a woman." and she cocked her head almost flirtatiously.

Governor Ambrosius himself burst into hearty laughter at that.

She leaned back in her chair, lazily, never taking her eyes off her opponent.

The demeanor of Germanus turned from cool to icy. But the respect in his eyes grew.

Whatever the argument was about, she had clearly won it. Ambrosius was still shaking with mirth. "Your wife certainly speaks her mind, Cunomorus. We must give her the credit." And he slapped Marcus on the back, the latter smiling uneasily, while I found myself thinking 'You have no idea, Ambrosius.'

Beside me, I heard Arthur muttering something under his breath.

"Hmm?"

"I said, she is doing well. Must've forced her old badger to take her here." He sighed. "Germanus is a well-meaning man, but I can imagine it doesn't suit him well to have to deal with Eire in stead of above their heads."

I looked at him questioningly and he smiled pensively. "It is one of the areas where he and my Father disagrees. Pelagius thinks it is vanity to try to force the word of Christ on others. As do I. But Germanus wants to save the world, with or without its will." He shook his head in amusement. "Good man though, according to my father. Clever. Old military man."

I looked back at the weatherbeaten bishop, with his just a little too dark and thick eyebrows, and could see it then, by his bearing underneath his robes. 'Wolf in sheeps clothing', I thought, involuntarily.

But I didn't say it aloud. He was a friend of Arthur's father after all.

I would not, however, later lament that we did not meet him in person until years later, on the night when we were to be discharged...

But I am getting ahead of myself.

The crowd in the hall started disassembling. Apparently there were some kind of wargames outside. I heard someone mention the word 'gladiators'.

I had heard of these barbarous games and had no real desire to witness them. I had been here for five minutes, and already I felt that I understood completely why Arthur loathed the occasions when he could not avoid showing his face here. I was grateful, when at that moment my commander spotted someone he knew, and drew us with him in another direction. The hall emptied.

We had not yet managed to spot Tristran. I wondered where he was.

Outside, the air was an inferno of scents, perfume, food, shit, yelling, dogs barking, sellers offering wares, people moving about with barrows, children fighting in the dirt. It was mind-numbing.

It was also amazingly hot for the season. Every now and again someone would announce the coming through of a lady of the citizenship, or someone else of high rank, and the waves of people would part, only to immediately close behind the litter or the wagon or whatever it was.

Finally, we bounced into him heading in the opposite direction from us. He looked like...a hawk among sparrows.

It was obvious that he did not like the hustle and bustle and crowds of people all that much. No, that is the diplomatic way of putting it. He hated this, fervently. Even his usual stoic demeanor couldn't mask it.

How he had found us was anyone's guess.

He nodded curtly to salute us, and then handed Arthur a message.

"From Pelagius." he clarified. Arthurs face fell slightly. It seemed we were just too late to catch up with his mentor before he went to Rome.

Tristran, as is his way, showed his sympathy by giving Arthur privacy, pretending he did not notice. After asserting that our commander did not seem to have more duties for us at the moment, he looked at Gaheris and me, seeming determined to make the most of it all.

"They are fighting in the arena." he said evenly. "Properly, to the death, I have heard."

Gaheris snorted derisively. "Slaves ordered to murder slaves. Where is the honour in that?"

And I nodded, showing my agreement. Won't do to let the Spook smell blood, not in here.

Tristran seemed to be mulling this over for a moment. Then, finding the argument reasonable, he changed course and headed the same way we were going. But somehow, his thoughts were clear : Are we any less slaves than they? I could have sworn that he was ruffling his feathers, the same way I had seen his bird do. She, also, was not around, plainly preferring to hunt and wait outside the city walls.

He looked like he envied her.

No, big cities were not Tristran's mug of mead.

I quickly realized though, that he had not been idle while waiting for us, the three days he had been here prior to our arrival.

I could not readily discern what exactly had transpired, but the baby-faced nobles turned as white as their own tunics when they spotted him. He did not do anything, just stood beside the rest of us looking almost docile. But then I guess they wouldn't know the difference.

He revelled in it, I could tell.

The hall of Ambrosius filled again, some hours later, and we made our entrance, very publicly stomping up the aisle in the middle of the hall, looking our worst. Arthur got his muscle-flexing done, and we stood behind him looking sufficiently nasty. It was, in fact, rather fun, and I could sense that he thought so too. Mostly because it made his chores easier.

Marcus Cunomorus approached us afterwards. He was grinning.

"Splendid display there, young Castus. That should give them something to talk about the next couple of weeks, sure enough." And he greeted Arthur, pausing momentarily to throw a short nod in the direction of me and Tristran, acknowledging our aquaintance.

Who's the clown? Gaheris mouthed at me, behind Arthur's back.

Arthur's assessment of Gaheris' ability to shut up at the right times had clearly left something to be desired. The man really was very much like Gawain, as brothers tend to be, but he lacked the latters sense of timing. However, there was no getting Gawain away from the anvil these days, especially what with Bedwyr being somewhat more dependant on him since the transpirings this winter. So Gaheris it was, since he was still reasonably rational, if a bit over-curious.

Presently he winced, as Tristran gently and discreetly kicked him over the shin, maintaining his straightforward gaze all the while.

"I trust the reinforcements helped?" Marcus slyly inquired.

I could see where this was going.

"They did," Arthur said, fidgeting slightly where he stood. Rightly so! You're facing a Warlord older at his game than you, Arthur. Bedwyr came to mind, when he was collecting one of his innumerable boons.

We kept our faces straight, supporting our commander as best we could.

"Might I ask you a favour then?" Marcus continued. "It is nothing big really, just a short-term loan the other way. If you can spare one of your lads here," and he nodded at us.

Arthur allowed himself a slight look of relief. However he remained on his guard. The nature of the assignment Marcus wanted one of us for had, after all, not yet been revealed.

He did that right away though :

"I am sending my wife home, before things go too awry between her and dear old Ironbrow. " Apparently he meant Germanus.

"I can't go myself, but she is a clever girl and knows her way home.So I just need someone to guard her safety. Now I know your guys are able people, and that one over there is the type who does not make a fuss," and he nodded at Tristran. "And he has, I believe, a debt to repay her anyway. Also," and he leaned in a bit, though I, being closest, heard him. "He seems trustworthy enough, if you catch my drift." And he winked at our commander, who seemed to feel slightly odd about standing around talking of his men like they were not present.

Arthur still looked relieved however, maybe mixed with the worried look of one who knows that this means he will have to pay off his boons in small doses. Really, this was a small favour. Marcus knew that very well, and he seemed to enjoy letting Arthur roast a bit, even if it was clear that his general disposition was friendly enough. There were worse people one could owe favours.

Arthur looked to Tristran questioningly. The other just gave the slightest of nods in confirmation.

"I do owe the Lady a favour, Arthur."

And then : "I shall undertake the assignment if you wish."

There was something odd about that. Gaheris threw me a confused look, but I shrugged, at a loss.

It did not strike me until later what the odd thing was ; that the matter of whether you want to do an assignment or not, is not something you bring up. It is usually not an issue at all. You just do it. Certainly Tristran does!

But this time, it seemed like it was him who gave Arthur the word go, in stead of the other way around.

I do not think that Arthur himself realized it. But I did.

Marcus looked directly at my Sarmatian brother at that. "Very well. If your commander will give his consent then, you may find my wife behind the door in the rightmost corner of Ambrosius' hall, in the end nearest to his seat. I believe she will shortly be having a final, more informal meeting with our dear bishop and his friends. You will report to her and henceforth follow her every order." He smiled. "I will leave it to her to decide any reward she might see fit to give you, when she is home."

Tristran just stared impassively back, like he does, awaiting Arthurs consent or decline.

Then Arthur gave the short nod that signals an order, and the man inclined his head slightly in response, then went off to get his things.

How come he always get the good jobs?

Gaheris was miming again. I rolled my eyes at him. Everyone with half a brain knows that one should stay clear of Roman ladies, for the only thing meaner than a cruel master is his maltreated dog. Tell me then, what does a person relegated to the status of child do, when her husband has beaten her up, ignored her, or just been away for months on end while she is boring herself to tears?

She seeks adventure with her husbands unshaven slaves. And if they refuse her, or when they start boring her as well, she screams rape, or tell her husband, and gains a sense of momentary attention when he have the unfortunate male emasculated and boiled alive.

Romans have strange pastimes. Never get involved with their women.

As much as I had recognizedYsolde to be out of the norm, when I had met her, still I knew that. As for Tristran, he most certainly knew it. He had become quite the expert in avoiding the clutches of bored officers-wives; the same feral aura that inspired dread in women of the lower class (ours), seemed to make the spoiled rich girls breath hard.While some might find it hard to decide which of the two evils were the worst, personally I'd vote for the latter.

No, as crazy as the Spook might seem, one thing we all knew of him : he did not have any particular desire to die.

But it might indeed be wise to instill some fear in Gaheris, when the occasion represented itself. He seemed to sorely lack the perspective.

Marcus, however, looked satisfied. "You have my gratitude, Castus," he said. Then he gave Arthur a slap on the shoulder, as if encouraging him to relax a bit. "You know, your father and I had a standing tradition helping each other out in a tight spot." He smiled, remembering. "He was a good man, your father."

They continued their conversation for some time after that, while I kept myself busy with stopping Gaheris from fondling someone married, and silently thanking Arthur for letting Tristran go.

Really, it is my solid conviction that cities are no places for sensible human beings.

But to creatures of the wild, they must be hell.