Chapter 11:
She slammed her cup down as the alcohol burned down her throat. Tonight, Isolde decided would be a night to drink and to get drunk. As she called for another jug, she noticed Maximus had taken a seat beside and began looking at her oddly.
"What?" she asked.
"You're not your usual self," he observed.
Isolde laughed as she brought her cup to her lips. "That's because I'm drunk."
"Why?"
She sighed in frustration. Why can't she just be left alone?
"Because I can."
"Not because you're trying to avoid him?"
Isolde remained silent and chose to resume her drinking. Maximus continued to stare at her, partly out of admiration, out of bewilderment and out of shock. After the tragic love story he had discovered about Isolde, he was waiting for the lover's reunion – the long awaited ending to such a great love. It reminded him of his own love, and his wife who was waiting for him back home.
His shoulders shrunk in disappointment though; as it was obvious it was not going to happen anytime soon.
"You know, you Samartians are awfully stubborn."
"It's not stubbornness Maximus."
"Oh? Then tell me, what would you call it?"
"Oh I don't know! What do you expect me to do? Prance and skip in the room and yell at the top of my lungs, 'I'm back!'? Open my arms wide open and expect to be swept off my feet? I'm sorry to disappoint you, but that will never happen."
Maximus pursed his lips tightly. "You could start with a 'hello'."
"I came here to drink, not talk about my pathetic life. Good night, Maximus," Isolde said angrily. She rose up from her seat and proceeded to storm off from the tavern.
However, the gods decided not to play fair tonight. Her shoulders bumped rather harshly into another shoulder, causing not only her drink to spill all over herself, but the other party as well.
"Sorry," she proceeded to say and carelessly looked up.
"You're drunk … Isolde," the dark-haired knight said.
She noted the hesitance as her named slipped from his tongue, to which she laughed bitterly inside. She slightly squinted her eyes and noted it was the curly-haired knight that held the two swords earlier in the battle field. His eyes felt familiar, but she could not recall a name.
"Thank you for stating the obvious, sir," she sarcastically replied. Isolde then again proceeded to leave the tavern, wanting nothing more to be alone at this particular moment. However, the knight gently grabbed her elbow and begged her to stay.
"The other knights…they will want to see you again. It's been too long since we've set our eyes of the sister of Caradoc. How you've changed Isolde…your brother would not recognize you."
Her brother's name sent a sharp pain in her heart and she unconsciously casted her eyes towards her feet. "Please do not talk of my brother. Though the pain may have subdued for you, it is still very well fresh in my heart,' she whispered softly.
She looked up again and for a moment exposed the raw vulnerability to a knight whose name she did not even know. He let go her elbow, and though he was expecting her to run off to solitude, he found her still there, staring off into the distance.
"I was there, you know," he whispered. "And we all wished and still wish we can go back in time and save the ones we loved."
He gazed upon her intently and observed the woman that now stood before him. She was no longer the young, meek healer that once roamed the walls. Her brown hair that was once so carelessly tousled was now braided back, hidden in her cape. Whatever dress she once wore in her youth was replaced with an intricately designed breastplate which perfectly curved to her body while a great sword hugged her body. Isolde now stood tall and sharp, like a hardened warrior.
"We wish for a lot of things. But, we can never get what we want," she replied.
He held out his hand once more. "Please…stay and drink with us. I assure you, there will be no harsh words towards you. We've all missed you terribly."
Isolde shook her head. "I'm not so sure you all wish to see me. What I did...running away…it was a dishonor in my brother's name."
Once again, she began to leave the tavern, leaving the nameless knight to celebrate his night of freedom.
"It's Lancelot, in case you forgot!" he yelled after her.
She looked over her shoulder, and saw nothing but playful jest in his eyes and suddenly the memories of younger boys sparring in the courtyard with wooden swords came to her mind. She could see Caradoc, Tristan and Lancelot, all young, innocent and carefree as they trained together.
How we all wish we could relive and change the past, she sadly thought.
As she walked through the halls, the sudden pain grew in her head, causing Isolde to blinked rather rapidly as the torches flickered with the wind. She laughed bitterly to herself.
Who knew the ale in Briton was so damn bloody strong.
As she turned the corner, she heard the faint murmur and laughter of men that continued to grow louder and louder. She inwardly groaned.
Please let it not be them, she silently begged.
A roar of laughter broke the silence in the air and sent a huge wave of pain between her eyes causing her to wince in pain.
Please, please, please.
She opened her eyes and immediately recognized Dagonet and to her dismay he too, had seen her.
"Isolde!" he yelled as he strode towards her with his eyes lit up.
She gave a loud sigh, suddenly forgetting how to walk and not knowing what to do. Her eyes scanned past the large knight and saw the other knights went quiet at the sound of her name. Some were reluctant to follow Dagonet, while another knight was quick to match Dagonet's pace.
Worst of all, she could see in the very distance Tristan who had stopped walking. Their eyes locked for one quick moment and like in the flash of lightning, he turned around and walked away. And the strangest of all, Isolde felt her shoulders dropped in disappointment as his figure disappeared from her sight.
You were just a child. Forget him. He's forgotten you. He hates you. Don't let him ruin you..but he already has…just ignore him…, she thought as she tried to reason with herself.
"Isolde!" The voice broke her thoughts as the knights swarmed her in a massive circle.
"Hold on Dagonet! Don't hog 'er for 'erself!" said another knight. He grabbed Isolde from her shoulders and twirled her around as if she was a doll.
"Well, look at you," he mused. "You've grown up into a fine lady warrior. What would Caradoc say? You're a beauty! Too bad Tristan…"
"Shh!" yelled a younger knight, who jabbed his elbow in the other's ribs.
She shook her head to focus her sight and ignored his comment. "I don't know," she quietly said.
"Bors, let's not harass the girl," the long-hair knight replied. "She's drunk as it is. No need to twirl and dance with her. It'll give her a splitting headache…believe me. I speak from experience."
Her eyes fell on his gentle face as she tried to remember his name.
"Gawain?" she quietly asked, suddenly remembering a smaller version of the man in front of her.
He gave a silent smile and enveloped her in a hug. "I'm glad you still remember Isolde. I was afraid you'd forgotten all our faces."
She gave a small smile as Dagonet placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and whispered in her ear, "What did I tell you? No harsh words."
She looked up at him, thinking of how he spoke like a loving father. Isolde gave him a warm smile, though she knew her eyes remained distant and cold. "None yet, I suppose. But perhaps no words are better than any."
He knowingly smiled back. "He will come around. Give him time."
Bors, in his most drunken manner wrapped his arm around Isolde's neck. "Come, let's drink to the past…the present…and our freedom!"
He let out a loud roar and began pounding his chest, to which Isolde could not help but laugh.
Perhaps tonight, she will humour them and for once drink for a happy memory.
Marcus stood patiently as he waited for Aetius in the courtyard of his mentor's home. Throughout his military career, every victory followed a reward – usually a very large reward. Back in the day when Aetius remained loyal and faithful to Livius, the emperor had lavished the general with lands and villas following any campaign, no matter how small or big it was.
This home was just one of the many Aetius now owned throughout the province. A twinge of jealously shot through his heart as Marcus found himself comparing himself to Aetius. Though they were at least a generation apart, he could not help but think that their skills in battle were almost equal and even thought of himself as more capable than the older soldier.
Of all the victories he won for Rome, Livius was never quite as generous to him. There were horses, monetary rewards and titles, but never land.
Because land meant power.
The courtyard was busy with servants and slaves as they ran around with vases, chairs and trunks, as Aetius emerged from the drawing room with Senator Gracchus.
"Ah, Marcus! So sorry to keep you waiting," Aetius replied.
The younger solider smiled at the aging man. "There are no apologies between us Aetius. But I come here to tell you of what I have learned since we're last met."
Gracchus looked at the two soldiers and patted Aetius' back. "I have no idea what soldiers conspire, nor do I want to. So gentlemen of the future republic, I take your leave. But a word of caution Primus Pilus: Ricimer is a very dangerous man. He has spies everywhere and can track you from the ends of the world. Please be extremely careful."
Marcus pursed his lips. He did not need to be reminded of the dangerous game he was playing right now. He knew what they were doing was right, but there were some days where Marcus felt like the villain and not the hero.
Aetius led Marcus into the drawing room and shut the door quietly behind him. "What news Marcus?"
"Livius grows bored each day as politics and treaties are being replaced by warfare and I suspect this is Ricimer's doing. He deprives Livius of what he loves most until he cannot contain his thirst no more. I suspect that, if Livius declares sudden war for whatever foolish reason, it will politically give Ricimer enough leverage to question Livius' rule in front of the Senate. Livius will be labeled as a tyrant and be force to abdicate."
"…and Ricimer will replace Livius with another Emperor puppet," Aetius mused.
"Yes, I believe so. However there's something else he's plotting but I do not know what."
"And pray tell, what do you suspect?"
"Ricimer wishes to have complete power, but he knows he cannot for many reasons. The Roman people will never accept a Germanic emperor. Constantinople will never accept his leadership, which will be a political ruin for Rome. And above all, the Church will never accept him."
"Do you think he wishes to control all of Rome?"
Marcus gave a grim nod. "Yes. One day, he won't need anymore puppets nor will have any need to hide behind in the shadows."
"We must tread carefully with this news my friend, for we ride forward in bloody waters. Yes, blood will be shed, and I believe has already been shed."
Marcus looked at Aetius inquisitively. "...been shed?"
"Gracchus came to discuss the assassination attempt on Bishop Germanius' life en route to Briton. I've already told you about mercenaries that were hired, do you recall?"
Germanius? Assassination? When did he… Marcus thought. Isolde was with him...no…she couldn't be..
"Was…was anybody.." Marcus began to question, but could not find the right words to mask his emotions. But what was he thinking? Isolde's skills were legendary within the legion. Surely she was able to escape an assassination attempt.
"No, nobody was injured. A few scares and cuts, but nothing serious. Still, it was serious enough for us to suspect his motives."
"Attack Germanius? He doesn't even have power over the pope. Why him? Wouldn't he want to target someone more powerful?"
"Germanius is one of the few religious men who have both feet in politics and religion, which makes him a threat. He has influence over many senators and many bishops. He's usually a calm individual…doesn't like to meddle in policy-making. But I've seen him fight with passion for a cause, which makes him a dangerous threat to Ricimer."
"And now that he failed? What happens now?"
"I don't know. We can only speculate, yet it remains crucial that we remain one step ahead of Ricimer. You must remain by Livius' side and monitor him. We must be ready for the moment Ricimer throws Livius away, and we must be ready to eliminate him."
"I'll do whatever it takes Aetius. For the new Res Publica."
The soldiers locked forearms in a mutual agreement signaling respect and admiration for one another, as well as it was the sign of their new committed cause.
"For the new Res Publica"
A/N: Enjoy!
