A/N- Okay, I'm back after… forever…or at least a long period of time. Hope you like this one, thanks for sticking with me. In my estimation, only one or two chapters left before the big huge finale chptr! (Gosh I don't know what I'll do when it's over!)
It was a sad, solemn little party that rode away from the lake that day. Grimly they pushed on, splitting off into teams of two to heckle the remaining Saxon army hitting them from all sides with guerilla attacks like a phantom army. When they stopped at midday to water the horses, two letters fell from Camille's pack. She frowned and bent down to pick them up. She recognized them as the documents Fulcinia had given to her. Brow furrowed she opened the first and immediately waves of memory washed over her.
She wore dark but subtly rich clothing, another way of emphasizing that her role was in the dark. She was standing behind his left shoulder, dwarfed behind the enormous shadow provided by the red, gold and purple of his robes. She remembered the intrigues he created, preaching forgiveness and humility in the light while dispatching her to take out his rivals in the dark of night. The long practice of stealing along palace corridors and the quick thrusts and silencing holds she had developed as a paid assassin ironically aided her up until this day, the killer instincts had kept her alive in a world of treachery, manipulation, and danger…
She shivered, but forced herself to read it through. It read :
To the bishop Clemenius Germanus:
This letter is carried by a certain lady of my employment, who also carries proof of her identity. She is to deliver a letter to Marcus Honorious and she is to be accompanied by Artorius Castus and his company of Sarmatian knights, who are to return with the family, in particular my godson Alecto. In recompensation for his lands lost, Marius is to be given command of this last outpost, and inevitably a comfortable estate in Rome. Upon her return this lady is free from any employment under my name and is under your jurisdiction.
Signed Justinian Gloriamus
Prophet, Priest, and King of Christ
Pope of God's Christian church on earth
Dated the year of our lord 408 anno domini
"Ahh pope justinian" she thought, "It is just like you to promise me freedom but still keep a hold upon my cloak." She shook her head, half in frustration and half in grudging admiration for the great statesman and politician while she reached for the second letter. It was stamped with the less prestigious but still formidable coat of arms belonging to bishop Germanus. She hesitated momentarily but slid open the flap of the envelope and pulled out the letter. She squinted at the spidery handwriting and her eyes widened at the contents.
To Marcus Honorious:
As you have read in the correspondence of my esteemed colleague you are to be temporarily installed as commander of this last outpost of Rome. In the inevitable event of its loss, you are to be gifted with a generous estate and fixed income in Rome, to be awarded at the pope's pleasure. As to the bearer of this news, I must warn you. This female who bears my communication is feral, beguiling, deceitful, and highly dangerous. I have sent her on this mission in the hope that it will be the cause of her demise. If per chance, she survives to deliver this letter, it is my fondest hope that she will meet her match on returning. However, should she survive as your escort, you are requested to accuse and condemn her of murder and treason. She is then to be executed or locked into the deepest dugeon that you can provide. Please rest assured that you will be doing the world a great service by ridding it of the menace to civilization.
Signed. Bishop Clemenius Germanus.
She stared, mouth open at the letter. Her mouth shut, then opened again. She screamed. It was a high, long, terrible shriek of wrath. She let loose a torrent of cursing in several languages, none of which were remotely latin or English. Confused, the rest of the group looked on as she threw the letter to the ground and ran to her mount. Just steps away, her vision focused only on the horse and saddle, Lancelot came out of nowhere and grabbed her by the arms, stopping her. She struggled wildly still yelling unintelligibly. He held her still forcefully and cupped her face between his hands forcing her to look at him.
"What is it? What is it?" he yelled. She blinked, but retained only enough sanity to begin yelling in English.
"I'll kill him, I'll kill him" she screamed hoarsely. The tears running down her face were tears of rage.
"Who?" he asked urgently
"Germanus, Marcus Honorious!" she shrieked. With those words she lost lucidity once again and threw herself against the barrier of his arms. Alarmed he looked up quickly and grabbed Galahad as he passed by.
"Hold her!" he yelled urgently, shoving Camille towards him "I'm getting Arthur!" Galahad, looking bewildered, didn't have time to complain, as she turned the full force of her anger against him. Breathing heavily Lancelot reached Arthur who whirled and knew immediately that something was wrong. He raised his eyebrows and Lancelot gasped out. "It is Camille, she's gone berserk, swearing to kill Germanus and Honorious…who's already dead" he finished uncertainly. Arthur frowned and headed with his friend to see the to the trouble. Back by her horse, Camille went suddenly motionless. Galahad flinched expecting another string of curses but she bowed her head and her shoulders slumped. He stepped back and put his hands on her shoulders
"Are you alright now?" he asked. She nodded and looked up. He had less than a second to raise back his guard when her fist smashed into his face. He swayed for a moment then fell, but she was not there to watch. She mounted her still-saddled horse and galloped off before anyone could raise a finger. Lancelot and Arthur burst into the clearing and were confronted by a dizzy and battered Galahad, who could only point.
"Follow her, Lancelot, don't let her do anything reckless!" Lancelot cursed loudly and ran to his horse, which had had its saddle and bridle removed. As quickly as he could he re-tacked the horse and galloped from the camp in hot pusuit. On her horse, several minutes ahead of him, Camille let the rain dry her tears. Her face a mask of cold fury. Rage was good. It led to revenge. She smiled coldly into the elements; revenge was something she was good at.