Chapter 10:
If some sort of god did exist, then Isolde was convinced she was being severely punished. She felt everything and everybody was working against her, as if a thousand daggers were being pierced through her body.
She had planned to drink herself to a happy place the minute they arrived at the fort, keep to herself and silently wish that no one would recognize her. She has also thought they'd be out of Briton by the next full moon.
But the gods decided not to play fair.
Not only must Isolde must endure the inevitable encounters of her brother's former comrades, she just learned from the Bishop that she was to accompany them on a final mission.
She clenched her fist in an attempt to calm herself down and sunk against the stone wall onto the cold damp floor. It wasn't fair, she thought. It was never suppose to be this way. As a young girl, she dreamt many dreams of her future. Isolde closed her eyes and tried to remember those childish dreams from her youth.
She remembered dreaming of falling in love, and raising a family in her homeland. She dreamed of riding through fields of grass with her horse. She dreamed of being happy.
She opened her eyes and looked to her left. It was a long corridor leading to what she assumed was sleeping quarters. The stone walls had blocked out the daylight, giving the corridor an empty and cold presence which sent shivers down her spine. She looked to her right and saw several people bustling about the fort.
She sighed and ran her hands through her hair. Those dreams were long gone, for she was living in a reality that stole away her happiness.
Isolde stood up and headed towards the stable in hopes that her great mare might give her some slight comfort.
As she walked around town, she felt strange and surreal. Through her journey, she must have imagined a hundred times the exact moments and reactions of her return. She expected anger, hatred, tears and betrayal.
Yet…nothing happened. People past by her as if she were just another Roman soldier. No one gave her death glares nor foul words. She had expected Dagonet to look upon her with disgust and hatred, yet he did the opposite.
Nothing was what it seemed, she thought.
She entered the stables and was surprised to find her horse being groomed by a man she felt she did not recognize from her past.
She smiled at his gentle technique as he stroked her horses' side in long melodic moves.
"You groom a horse as if you make love to a woman," she remarked.
The man looked up startled, but not scared. Recomposing himself, he gave a small smile, "I find horses more difficult than women. You anger them if you groom them too harshly, and they whine if you don't do it enough."
She walked up to her mare and gently stroked his ear to which he responded with a friendly nudge. "You deserve a rest old friend," she whispered. "We have another journey ahead of us."
"Is he of Sarmatian breed?" the man inquired.
She turned to him and nodded her head. The man gestured to the other horses and said, "Your horse is like theirs. Proud and powerful and loyal animals. These are the knights' horses and they've been under my care since I was but a boy. My name is Kevin."
"Then I trust him in your care," she said and patted his shoulder.
She proceeded to walk out when the man spoke again, "You're from Rome, right?"
Isolde turned around and face the man once again. "Why do you ask?"
He shrugged, "Is it true then? Is Rome abandoning us? Are we to be left defenseless? There are whispers among the people here that Rome will leave us to the woads."
Her shoulders unconsciously tensed up and said nothing. It had never occurred to her how the common folk felt about the political decisions made by the Emperor. As a soldier, she was there to obey orders no matter how cruel or gruesome. She witnessed first hand how Senators debated for hours concerning the fate of Roman Provinces. Now this man – this British man, stood before her, wanting to know how this political game would affect him.
It seemed like a game to her. She looked at the man and saw in his eyes a sense of desperation and hope. She wished she could give him some relief, but she knew her words would not comfort him.
She gave a small smile, "He likes apples. Give him a treat for me."
Dagonet filled his brothers' cup full of ale before filling his. Together they raised glass and downed its content in one huge gulp. He watched each of his fellow knights carefully while they laughed and joked with one another. Galahad and Gawain were reminiscing about their drunken nights with barwenches,
Fifteen years they fought together, and now it seemed like it was ending. They were talks of going home, but home was a very distant memory for Dagonet. Now that freedom was in his grasp, he honestly could not decide what to do next.
Taking another gulp, his eyes wandered to Tristan's direction and watched the silent knight as he listened to his comrades' stories. He gave a small smile at his old friend, knowing that the woman he loved and still loves has come back.
Tristan looked up and met Dagonet's eyes. As always, it was always difficult to read his thoughts and emotions. Dagonet raised his cup to the scout, but was only met with a sense of discontent and anger fuelling inside the scout's mind.
A gesture of the head was given, and the two knights silently walked out of the tavern and into the darkness to converse.
"What troubles you Tristan?"
"It's her isn't it?" he asked.
He looked at his friendly with a small smile. "What does your heart tell you?"
The scout chuckled and spit of the ground with a distaste upon a word which only brought pain for him. "It tells me nothing anymore. And if it does, I refuse to listen."
Dagonet remained silent but made an effort to observe the silent scout, yet couldn't decipher whether his friend was angry, sad or overjoyed.
He sighed. Sometimes he wished Tristan could be like the others and just pour their emotions out when intoxicated.
"What will you do then?" he simply asked.
The scout looked up and his stare penetrated Dagonet's eyes with an amount ferocity that for a spilt second almost frightened the larger man. But for once, Dagonet was able to see the raw emotions that lay behind the scout's dark eyes, but quickly disappeared when he stormed off into the distance.
And it was that moment that Dagonet truly understood the pain that Tristan felt for all these years: he was hurting, in every possible way. He hated her, yet still loved her. Loathed her, yet desire her. Wanted to hurt her, yet protect her.
The question still lingered at the back of his mind, and the constant curiosity nagging at the back of his mind left him to wonder whether Isolde's sudden return would help or kill his old friend.
Perhaps, Dagonet thought, Isolde was the final battle he was seeking.
The streets of Rome were relatively abandoned by the time the moon shone brightly, high in the sky. It was the perfect time for secret lovers to meet or crimes to happen. The dark side of Roman city streets were unsafe, for it was the perfect time for the ghosts and demons to emerge out of the shadows.
He kept himself hidden in the shadows, waiting for the other party to arrive. Tonight was the night, he'd deliver the news to his master of the events that unfolded in Gaul. He'd tell him of the attempted assassination. He'd tell him of the Sarmatian knight that cost him a handful of good loyal men.
And in return, he'd hoped that a monetary reward would follow, and a new mission to spill blood.
A scuffle of rapid footsteps could be heard in the distance, and the hooded warrior stayed still as a statue, waiting for the sound to disappear.
The footsteps became slower and methodic until they suddenly stopped. The hooded warrior smiled. His master had come.
He crept out of the demon's shadows and looked up at the greatest Germanic warrior ever to set foot in Rome.
"Did you do as I asked?" Ricimer asked.
"We followed the carriage upon their arrival in Gaul until they reached Lugdunum. It was there we made our move to scare the Bishop."
"Well? Did you succeed? Did you deliver your message to him?" the general asked in eagerness.
The hooded warrior shifted his weight in hesitation. "Well…we ran into some trouble. We knew that the Sarmatian knight you told us was there, but we greatly underestimated her skill. She had eyes like a hawk. Ears like a fox, and wielded a sword as powerful as any man. I lost most of the men that night."
Ricimer said nothing. Yet even in the absence of light, he knew his master was not pleased.
"So the message was not delivered."
The hooded warrior cast his eyes on the ground, ashamed to disappoint such a great general. "What are your next orders, sir? Shall I travel to Briton? Shall I wait for them upon their return to Rome?"
Ricimer reached behind his cloak and presented the warrior with a leather pouch, where the gold coins clashed with one another. "I shouldn't even be paying you because of your incompetence to perform one simple task. But your mission is critical in my plans, so this will be to replenish your supplies and recruit more abled men."
"Thank you sir," the warrior said hastily.
"As for your next orders, you are to wait until the Bishop retrieves the young Alecto Honorious from the Northern Province. When the party arrives in the footsteps of Gaul, you are to attack and ambush the Bishop and take the boy. It is imperative that the boy must not be harmed. Am I understood?"
The warrior nodded. "And the Bishop?"
"Once I have the Pope's own god-son, Bishop Germanius would be of no use to me."
The sword erected proudly on the mound of grass where the body of his fallen brother laid. The sword told a lot about a warrior. It embodied the user's personality and showed their opponents their strengths and to the sharp eye, it showed their opponents their weaknesses.
Tristan gently rested his hand on the sword of Caradoc and closed his eyes to pay respects to his fallen brother. In an instant, he fell to his knees against his will and let out a huge sigh.
"Give me strength," he whispered.
He saw her on the battlefield and knew in an instant it was her, for he could never forget those eyes. It made his heart stop and his stomach turn, and the anger and desire he felt towards her almost clouded his judgment.
He watched her every swing, her every footstep, her every attack. Isolde wasn't the Isolde that left all those years ago. He saw a warrior, not a healer. He saw a woman, not a girl. He saw coldness, not warmth.
He watched her as she stared amongst the knights, and he watched her as her eyes fell upon his own. They were the same eyes that he came to love all those years ago and the same eyes he learn to hate many years later.
A branch snapped in the distance, and Tristan immediately stood up, with his dagger. He remained still and listened to the earth and the wind. Someone was watching him. Someone was listening.
Perhaps it was those bloody Romans who wanted to come back for a real fight, or perhaps it was perhaps Lancelot or Arthur. Tristan would take no chance, for he knew a moment of hesitation could cost him his life.
He heard a rustle of leaves in the shadows of the trees and he silently slipped into his own blanket of darkness, watching and waiting for his prey.
He watched as she emerged from the shadows and placed herself onto the very spot he had been. His shoulder tensed and his breathe momentarily stopped. Had she seen him?
He watched as she grazed her hands on the sword, gently caressing it until her hands touched the earth again. He looked at her and noted that this woman that knelt before him was the girl he once loved.
Or was it that he still loved?
Her hands grazed the hilt of the sword that in moments early he had touched himself, and as she knelt down on the grass where he was.
And through soft rustles of wind and leaves, Tristan could hear a faint sob and he strained his eyes to see Isolde's body slightly shaking. Even in the saddest moments, Tristan couldn't take his eyes off her - for she was still mesmerizing in every single way.
His back shrunk against the trunk and he slid down to the ground, listening to her faint sobs and the whispered name of her brother, and feeling his heart break into a thousand pieces once more.
A/N: It's been awhile....enjoy!