Chapter Thirteen: Onward
After Tristan disappears from view, Iseult cleans and bandages her wounds, using the appropriate herbs to staunch the blood flow at her shoulder. Then, walking to Dagonet, she briefly does the same, stopping the blood flow as best she can under the circumstances, and then she makes temporary bandages for his wounds.
"You know… about healing… too," Dagonet says, fighting back the waves of pain and ever-looming unconsciousness that assail him.
"Not nearly so much as you, I can promise you that. But I know enough to survive," she replies giving him a small, tired smile.
As she bandages his torso, she notices so many of the scars on his skin. She wonders what the story of each is, for, woven together, they surely would tell the story of his service to Rome. And this will be yet another scar to mar his skin, telling a story of a courageous action that almost—and might still—cost him his life.
She tries to appear casual as she bandages him because she highly suspects the man is self-conscious about his many reminders of battles past. She has a feeling from the way he shifts a little nervously each time her fingers graze one of the scars that—had he not been in such dire straits and everyone else not been busy gathering what weapons they can—he likely would not have consented to her being the one to bandage him.
Almost immediately upon her securing the last bandage, Arthur and Bors help Dagonet to stand and limp toward where the two knights' horses stand side by side. Arthur had decided that Dagonet would ride his horse beside Bors to reduce the risk of him falling off his horse.
Something else has been decided by Arthur, but as Gawain watches Iseult struggle to stand with her injured knee, too proud and stubborn to ask for help, he loathes having been selected to inform her…
"Iseult," he says upon reaching the now standing woman.
"Yes?"
"We… I… Arthur wants you to ride behind me on my horse…" he answers at last. "He is worried about your wound making you dizzy or something…"
One already naturally arched eyebrow arches just slightly higher, and so he begins quickly again.
"Iseult, no one is judging you, and we know that you wish to ride alone, but please do this. It is merely a precaution…"
Gawain, for an instant, can almost see a spark of defiance—and indignation—in her dark eyes, but just as quickly, it vanishes.
"Very well," she concedes with a sigh.
Gawain smiles in relief. "Thank you, Iseult. That will make everyone much happier."
The golden-haired knight holds his arm out to Iseult who hesitantly takes it and allows him to lead her to his horse. He climbs on first and then helps her up to sit behind him.
Only moments later, they depart, riding to wherever Tristan had caught up with the caravan.
"You know, Gawain," Iseult sighs thoughtfully, "if this continues to happen, us riding together, I may have to demand marriage."
The knight in front of her only chuckles before glancing over his shoulder at her and dropping his voice. "Though I cannot say I would argue too much, I think we both know you would not."
Slightly startled by his sudden seriousness, she frowns. "What do you mean by that?"
"I mean," he begins, voice still low, "that your heart already belongs to someone, does it not?"
His observation is met by silence and he sighs. "Perhaps not everyone may notice, but I do. Since we met, you have looked at him in such a way, spoken of him in such a manner, that I had suspected almost immediately… After our last conversation, though, when you were so conflicted, I knew it. Will you deny it? Perhaps a better question, can you deny it?"
Again, there is silence until it is broken by a quiet, "No."
"I thought not. You should tell him."
"He is angry with me."
Gawain lightly shakes his head. "I highly doubt that, Iseult."
"He is," she insists stubbornly and he can feel her muscles tensing, particularly in her good arm wrapped around his torso to steady herself. "He is angry with me."
"Iseult," Bors interjects from beside them, having heard only her statement. "If y' mean who I fink, ya wrong."
"What is she wrong about?" questions a curious Lancelot. From slightly in front of Bors, he slows his horse to be beside him instead.
Gawain turns to Lancelot. "Iseult thinks Tristan is angry with her."
"Not even close," snorts the dark-haired knight. "Although, when you ran out onto the ice after Dagonet as you did, he briefly appeared as though he might kill you before any Saxon had a chance to do so."
"How is that not angry?" she exclaims in exasperation.
"Because that, my dear lady," smirks Lancelot, "is the closest to panic our scout has ever come."
"What?"
Gawain nods. "He was clearly concerned for you."
"Don't think I've ever seen 'im shoot arrows so fast before and, for Tris, that's saying somefing," Bors chuckles.
Iseult is silent again, rethinking the past several hours.
"You should speak to him, Iseult," Gawain gently urges. "I think you will discover that what we are telling you is correct."
When Iseult remains silent, nothing more is said of the matter. The three knights leave her to think uninterrupted, but they hope that what they think they have seen, what they have told her, is indeed true.
It is not much longer before wagon and scout are in sight and as soon as they reach them, Gawain and Bors get Dagonet inside the wagon.
Iseult, after dismounting from Gawain's horse, turns and inadvertently makes eye contact with Tristan. Searching his face, his eyes, she tries to see what the three knights seem to see but she cannot. She opens her mouth to speak and he watches her, waiting. Instead, she loses her nerve and closes her mouth again, quickly brushing past Gawain and Bors and stepping up into the wagon.
"I will take care of Dagonet," she informs them before walking a little further inside and sitting beside her patient.
Bors and Gawain briefly exchange looks, glancing from where Iseult sits in the wagon to Tristan and shaking their heads. The two knights remount their horses and signal to Arthur that everyone is ready. Arthur nods and they all begin forward once more.
Inside the now moving wagon, Iseult tends to Dagonet's wounds more diligently, thoroughly cleaning them, again applying the appropriate herbs, and re-bandaging them. In the midst of her work, she can feel that he is slightly feverish and is wavering between being conscious and not. Frowning, she admits that, though he survived the initial injuries, he is not yet assured life. Death still lingers, just as it lingered in the dungeon, and it is nearly palpable. Her only consolation is that she will do her best and that she knows Dagonet will fight.
"Iseult," Dagonet says, voice weak as he lies on the wool blanket stretched out over the rough timbers of the wagon floor.
"Yes?"
"I… I was prepared to meet Death… I was… Somehow… I knew—"
"Dagonet, don't—"
"I knew I would die… felt it would happen…" he continues locking eyes with her in a moment of clearness. "If you were not… with us… I know… I know I would have died… I do not know how I know… But I do."
"Dagonet I…." Her thoughts are whirling about in her mind. She too had known he would die, but how? How? " I could not let you die… I have not known you for as much time as the others have known you, not long at all in truth, but already, you are like family to me… I could not let you die."
"You knew too… Didn't you?" he questions, eyes looking so sure, as if he can see the answer though she dares not speak it.
"I… I don't know… I…" she trails off, unable to form thoughts into an answer. Giving up on the endeavor entirely, she instead pulls a weary but warm smile onto her face. "I… I think your fever is putting odd notions into your skull."
Still unconvinced but not wanting to push her, he nods. "That may be so. Regardless… All I can say is thank you."
The gratefulness, the warmth and sincerity in his eyes as well as in his voice is so clear that Iseult feels her eyes begin to sting and mist over with tears. She quickly blinks, trying to pull them back, and succeeds for all but a single tear.
"I…You… You should rest," she murmurs at last, in a voice with just the slightest tremor to it as she leans back against the wall of the wagon.
The knight only smiles kindly at her and nods. "I will… try, but I make no promises…"
Slowly, Iseult does something he does not expect. She begins to sing. Softly, gently, she sings, a lullaby he had often heard as a child, but she sings it in the dialect of her and Tristan's people. It is obvious that she has not sung in quite some time; her voice is rough and occasionally cracks or stops entirely, but she continues anyway, and Dagonet quietly listens. He does not want to do or say anything that might cause her to stop, and before much time has passed, he drifts into a peaceful slumber, the melody putting him at ease.
Yet, just outside the wall of the wagon on which Iseult leans, there is another who silently listens to her song and briefly closes his eyes to remember times past—nights up in a tree with someone leaning against him—before he moves onward again.
Tristan continues to lead the group and scout ahead until they at last reach the wall and within, the town.
Entering the town is a flurry of sound and motion. Iseult does not know exactly what is happening outside the walls of the wagon, but she does fear that the jarring might aggravate Dagonet's injuries. The knight had woken almost as soon as they had entered the gates of the wall. He now sits, carefully reclining on blankets and pillows. She can tell that he is listening to the cacophony outside just as she is.
He seems much more aware than he had been the past day or two, but he's still slightly feverish. There is the ever-present chance that all could turn for the worst. She had been diligently cleaning and re-bandaging his wounds when she felt it necessary and thus far there had been no true signs of infection, but anyone with any shred of medical knowledge knows that what is visible is not the only worry…
A few moments of bumping over the ill-paved roads and the wagon stops. Iseult listens closely and can hear metal gates close. As soon as the commotion dies down, Dagonet lifts himself into sitting up completely, without the pillows to support him, and the exertion leaves him winded. Pausing only long enough to recover his breath, he makes to rise, but Iseult's hands catch his shoulders and stop him.
"What do you think you are doing?" she questions, eyebrow raised.
"My papers… My papers of freedom," he replies, looking at her earnestly. "Germanus, the bishop, said he would give them to us upon our return. If I do not stand with the other—"
"His Holiness can bring the papers to you," Iseult sneers in disgust at the thought of the bisho. She had already heard quite a bit of him from Gawain and Dagonet during their journey to the Roman monster's estate. Seeing Dagonet's surprised face, she realizes that he must have thought her ire to be directed at him so she forces herself to relax and softens her voice as well as her facial expression. "Dagonet… Just… Stay in the wagon until Bors and I come to help you. Please?"
The knight sighs in defeat and nods lying back on the pillows once more.
Iseult gives him a grateful and reassuring smile before she steps out of the wagon. Nodding to Dagonet, she disappears from his view, around the wagon, and sees the knights already standing in line. As the bishop distributes papers, Iseult comes to stand slightly behind Gawain and Tristan, watching.
Upon the bishop giving out a paper to each of the knights present, he realizes he still holds one more paper.
"One of you is missing. Where is he?" he asks, smiling forcibly. To Iseult, the man just seems so superior in attitude, so haughty, as if he believes this all to be beneath his great position as bishop.
" 'e's in that wagons," Bors responds, pointing to the wagon where Iseult had left Dagonet only moments ago. The strong knight looks angry, but as he speaks next, Iseult almost swears she can hear his voice shake, whether in sadness or fear or fury she cannot guess. " 'e's in there fightin' for 'is life."
The bishop merely nods and uncomfortably smiles. "Ah. Well it can wait then."
Iseult's bloodstained hands clench into fists at her sides as she glowers darkly at the bishop. How dare he wave something so important off as though it is nothing. Glancing quickly around, she sees that all of the knights look as though they wish to speak, but she knows—as well as they likely do—that for now they cannot.
"No. It can be done now," she adamantly states, startling those around her. They clearly had not expected her to speak. Obviously, they do not know her all that well. "You've neglected the knights' freedom long enough. Do not think that you can delay Dagonet's now."
She sees Gawain give her a nervous look, sees Lancelot and Galahad look at her and shake their heads in warning, but she will not back down from this. It is much too important. The knights should not defy the bishop, certainly not while still holding their papers in their hands, but she has had no duty to Rome and has no papers.
The bishop's smile becomes even more forced. "And who is this… lovely young woman?" he questions, glancing between her and Arthur.
"She is a visitor from my knights' homeland," Arthur quickly answers, eyes fixed on Iseult, begging her to leave it alone for the present. What does it matter if Dagonet receives his papers slightly belated? He will still receive them.
"How… charming," the bishop responds, giving Iseult a thinly veiled look of disgust before smiling again. "But, I do not believe that I have the time right now to deliver the papers. Perhaps later—"
"No. Now. I spent my entire journey back to the Wall trying to save Dagonet and there is still no guarantee that he will survive. He was shot twice by crossbow, once in the leg, another in the stomach," she glares, stepping forward past Tristan and Gawain but not before catching Bors nod to her, approval in his eyes. Holding her red-splotched hands up to the bishop's eye level, she watches as he flinches back at the sight and she continues.
"This blood on my hands, this is not enemy blood; it is the blood of the brave knight who lies in that wagon. This is blood shed because of a broken promise of Rome. That knight may not survive until it is convenient for you to give him his papers. If he dies, he should die knowing he is a free man, so you can march your pompous arse over to that wagon that he is in and give him his papers."
The bishop, wide-eyed and openly disgusted exclaims, "You dare to speak to me in such a manner as this, heathen?"
"I speak to men in whatever tone I deem them worthy of."
"Enough of your disrespect, wench," shouts one of the bishop's guards, stepping forward and slapping her across the face.
Even as Iseult catches her balance from the unexpected action, several things simultaneously happen.
A dangerous, enraged snarl tears from someone's throat and a hand yanks Iseult back behind Tristan and Gawain by her left arm, causing searing pain to assault her, momentarily leaving her seeing nothing but spots.
Upon recovering, however, Iseult sees Tristan's hand on her arm and his other hand hovering above his knife in warning.
Glancing around his shoulder, she sees his face is only slightly from its usual blankness but his eyes… His eyes look quite near murderous. Then… does that mean it was Tristan who had snarled like that? No other standing around seems likely, but… Why? Could the other knights have been correct after all about how Tristan feels?
"Oi. Wouldn't do that again if I was you. Tris is rather protective of the friends 'e has and we protect our own," rumbles Bors, his own hands resting on his visible weapons. Glancing around, Iseult sees that Galahad already has one guard at sword point. From the look on the guard's face and where the guard's hand had been in the process of drawing his sword, she can only assume Galahad stopped him from doing something the guard would regret. Even Lancelot and Gawain look as though they are ready to fight if it is necessary.
The bishop and his guards anxiously glance at the knights and to Arthur who, making no move to stop them, instead looks just as angry and indignant as his knights.
After a moment of tense silence, the bishop nervously laughs.
"Ah-ha… Friends. There is no need for there to be a problem," he states, voice shaking ever-so-slightly as sweat shines on his bald scalp. "Perhaps I can deliver this to him, after all, yes?"
He and his guards immediately and with a great show of feigned dignity flee the knights and, after an indecipherable glance at Iseult, Arthur follows them, fury in his steps.
Iseult watches as they leave and briefly smiles. Dagonet will receive his freedom, now if only he can retain his life…
The hand that still remains on her arm tightens and suddenly she is being pulled away from where the knights stand and toward the side of the courtyard next to a wall. Again, her vision swims, pain erupting from her wounded shoulder. She wonders somewhere through the pain if her stitches have torn.
Suddenly, the motion stops and, once her vision clears, she realizes Tristan is now facing her.
"What did you think you were doing?" he hisses, scowling.
After regaining her composure and making sure she is not bleeding again, she focuses on him, ignoring the pain.
"He was going to wait until later. Tristan, Dagonet is still not assured of a later. He may have survived until this point, but you know as well as I that infection can still set in…" she answers, her voice at last wavering. The thought of the knight dying who had been so kind to her since her arrival… that thought saddens her in ways being orphaned never had.
She can almost see the effect of her words on him as his shoulders fall almost imperceptibly, as his eyes flick toward the wagon, but he recovers himself so quickly that she wonders if she had actually seen it at all.
"You should not have done that. He could have ordered you killed and then not I or Arthur or anyone else could save you."
"You think I do not know that?" retorts Iseult.
He squints, as if examining her, trying to understand, but he does not lose the edge to his voice. "Then why?"
"Because no one else could have said anything."
The other knights, now grouped together, watch the arguing pair.
"Do you think we should go help her…?" Galahad hesitantly suggests, glancing between the three remaining knights and then to Tristan and Iseult.
At this, Lancelot only smirks. "No. She can hold her own against our scout."
"She's every bit as much a fighter as my 'nora. She'll be fine," chuckles Bors before sobering. "I'm gonna go check on Dag, make sure the bloody Roman kept 'is word."
Nodding, Bors walks away from them and quickly disappears around the back of the wagon.
A moment of silence passes as the knights simply stand together and then Galahad speaks again.
"Are you sure she'll be alright?
"She'd be better if she would learn to ignore Tristan's words and listen to what he is saying," comments Lancelot, frowning as he sees the argument seem to escalate.
How can she not know that Tristan is only worried? That he has tried from the start to distance himself from her out of fear? Lancelot had understood almost immediately why the scout had acted as he had towards Iseult. As one who has long practiced and perfected the art of keeping people—particularly women—far from his heart, he knew exactly what Tristan had been doing.
And he knew exactly when it stopped being as effective.
He had seen Iseult and Tristan talk at Marius' estate. Though he does not know what had been discussed, he had watched as she walked away from Tristan and had seen that something within the scout had at last begun to crack. From that moment forward, Lancelot knew that the scout's calm but forced indifference was more difficult, and sometimes impossible, to maintain. He had witnessed this most clearly on the ice. He was standing beside Tristan when they had both seen Iseult run across the ice, and Lancelot had seen the panicked expression on Tristan's face, had heard the fear in his voice as he yelled for her.
Yes, he knows the scout's game perhaps even better than the scout.
"What do you mean 'ignore his words and listen to what he's saying'?" questions Galahad, brow furrowing in confusion. "Isn't that the same thing?"
Lancelot merely sighs and rolls his eyes in exasperation, leaving Gawain and Galahad in order to search for Arthur.
Unanswered, Galahad turns to Gawain. "Well, isn't it?"
Gawain, chuckling heartily, shakes his head. He is obviously amused, though by what Galahad cannot surmise.
"She'll been fine, Galahad. Now mind your business and stay out of theirs," Gawain chides before clapping him on the back. "Come along. I need a drink now as a free man."
Galahad turns to follow Gawain to the tavern where drink and food await, but not before casting a final look toward Tristan and Iseult.
Oblivious to the other knights' departures, the two have continued to bicker until at last, Iseult has had enough. Fatigued and sore, she has had enough.
"Tristan. I will not apologize for what I did, neither will I argue with you any longer about this!" she exclaims. "I do not regret what I did. Stare me down if you wish, be angry with me, I do not care. I did what I did for a reason. Now if you'll excuse me—for that matter even if you won't—I need to help Bors get Dagonet to the infirmary."
With that, Iseult breezes past Tristan, leaving the scout to stare after her.