Chapter Five: A Different Way

Iseult flopped onto the pile of straw kept in the corner of the stable and lay there for some time, until the dead of night had enveloped the wall. Fully awake and bitterly cold, her mind buzzing with questions and thoughts, she got up and walked back into the courtyard. Her mind not tuned to her surroundings, she jumped when Tristan walked out of the shadows to her left. She held a hand to her chest, steadying her breathing and glared at him for a moment before moving off again.

"I wish you'd stop stalking me," she said as she moved off.

"I wouldn't worry about him," he drawled. She paused in her step.

"Oh?" she replied. He smiled and shook his head.

"Too passionate." He paused and walked round to the front of her. "I don't know why you went for him. Iseult widened her eyes.

"Pardon?"

"Sleeping with Lancelot-I don't see why you did it." Iseult stared, then half- raised her arms and turned from Tristan, making an 'Urgh!' sound. She walked a few paces and then shivered suddenly, rubbing her arms. Tristan watched her, thought, then spoke.

"You're cold." Iseult rolled her eyes.

"Really?" she asked, exasperated, and then rubbed her arms again involuntarily.

"See?" he said, smiling. "Come inside, there's a fire in my room." Iseult turned towards him and he beckoned towards a passageway. Iseult considered throwing an obvious remark at him, but she was getting too cold, she decided, and followed him into the passageway and his room.

She settled by the fire, hands taking in the heat. Tristan sat on the bed behind her and watched her in silence for half and hour until she was warm.

"Why though," he asked. Iseult looked at him, then turned away.

"I don't have to answer that," she said. There was a moment's pause. "I don't know, there's something about him…I can't place my finger on it."

"Perhaps your fingernails, or did his skin not hold the answer either?"

"You were watching? That is sick!"

"I couldn't believe it was you-that was all. Just making sure." Iseult stood up suddenly. Tristan looked at her from under his dark locks with an expressionless face. She blushed suddenly and turned her face away, angry tears streaming down her face. She hastily brushed them away and took in a sharp breath and turned back to face him.

"Goodbye," she said. She moved towards the door. Tristan got up suddenly and blocked her path.

"What?" she asked, trying to get past but failing.

"You," he said. "You're attracted to me."

"Excuse me?"

"Lancelot's not the only one you're attracted to, is he? He's just a bit on the side. What are you going to do-work your way through the lot of us?" Iseult stared back at Tristan in shock, unsure of what to say, completely confused. Tristan moved forwards and Iseult slapped him hard across the jaw. Tristan put a hand to his mouth and a smear of blood came away. Iseult looked shocked. Tristan smiled and moved forwards again.

"Told you; you were worried then." Iseult pushed him away.

"No I was not," she said loudly and indignantly, but thoroughly unconvincingly. Tristan grabbed both her arms and pushed her against the wall next to the door and kissed her as he held her arms on either side, pinning her. She resisted at first, but then relented and kissed him back. When he was sure that she wasn't going to run, he let go of her arms. One of his hands strayed to the neckline of her dress, then he hooked his finger at the 'V' and ripped the front of the dress down. Hooks unlocked all the way down the front of her dress and Iseult looked at him, shocked. He smiled and kissed her on the neck, slipping her dress off. It fell to the floor in one movement. Iseult pulled his woollen shirt over his head and threw it into the corner. Tristan pulled her away from the wall and closer to him, pulling at her lips and kissing her face, then he quickly took off his trousers and turning her round, pushed her onto the bed.

Iseult was unsure of the rest of the details, it was all such a blur; hands everywhere, lips touching and tasting, pain and pleasure all rolled into one. Tristan memorised everything, however, as was his way. The feel of her cool skin, her warm breath on his neck as he entered her, the tensing of her muscles in her stomach against his own, her gasps and the times she cried out; so much emotion. All these things worked their way inside Tristan's mind and lodged themselves there, unmoveable. He caught the scent of her hair, a strange mix of hay and honey. As his tongue flicked over her skin, he tasted the same subtle mix. Iseult buried her hand in his dark hair as he kissed her face again.

She did remember this; a light in his eyes she hadn't seen before-or hadn't wanted to when she had been denying her feelings for him. She savoured it, captured it, and stored it in her mind. It could just be the way he was with women, she told herself, but she didn't think so.

Tristan adjusted so that he could be deeper inside her. As his thrusts deepened, Iseult moved her hands to the bars of the bed. He came first, pausing for a moment, (The light in his eyes, stronger, Iseult observed) then he moved again until she came with a cry that Tristan silenced with a finger on her lips, then a lingering kiss. He rolled off her and onto his back and let out a contented sigh. Iseult smiled a relaxed smile, then looked at him. He stretched out his arm towards her and she wriggled up to lay her head on his chest. His arms wrapped tight round her, holding her there, and a few minutes later, his breathing became heavier and Iseult knew that he had fallen asleep. Soon after, she did too, thought she pondered for a while on how strangely satisfying it was when men fell asleep after something like that. Completely knackered, she thought, and smiled again to herself as she shut her eyes and let sleep take hold for a few minutes.

Eventually, she wriggled free of his grasp and slipped on her dress, fastened it properly, opened the door and walked out into the corridor. She closed the door quietly behind her, adjusted her skirts and walked along the corridor in the direction of the stables. When she was a few feet away from the door, a figure darkened her path suddenly. Iseult looked up with a gasp, afraid of who would catch her-praying to the Gods that it wasn't Lancelot. To her relief, it wasn't. The figure standing before her was much taller and broader, wearing a light linen shirt. Still Iseult stood, frozen like a cornered rabbit, still uncertain.

"What are you doing up so late? Walking around the corridors like a ghost. You should be careful; people will start calling you a devil next." Relief swelled and filled Iseult and regained her composure-passive look, chin raised slightly.

"I could ask what you are doing wandering about the fort yourself, Arthur," she replied, a mischievous look flashing in her eyes. Arthur moved further into the corridor and into the torchlight. Shadows flickered across his hard-worn face, abruptly halted by his razor cheekbones so that only half of his face was illuminated by the orange glow of the torches. Iseult again felt fear and awe as Arthur stared into her, but hurriedly pushed those feelings deep into the darkest part of her. Such emotions she would not reveal to any man of Arthur's rank-they were very observant creatures, these Romans, and to be half-Briton as well; favoured indeed by the Gods when it came to reading people's emotions and playing on them.

"I heard a strange noise," Arthur said, watching her face intently behind the mask of indifference.

"Oh?" said Iseult, reading and mirroring his look. "I thought so too, that's why I was 'wandering about.'" A slight smile crossed Arthur's face. Whether he had looked right through her guise or not she couldn't be certain. He may have been standing outside the whole time she was in there with Tristan…Iseult didn't want to think about that. A minutes silence passed, then there was a weary sigh from Arthur.

"Walk with me," he commanded, walking out into the moonlight. Iseult followed, unquestioning. She walked just behind him for a few minutes, giving Arthur space, not really wanting to engage in a conversation with him- she was too tired- but it was clear that all Arthur was really interested in was talking. She pitied him, but empathised with him on a certain level, too. Memories of her mother flooded back and filled her mind, so that it took a moment before she realised that Arthur had addressed her. She dragged herself out of the mire of memories and placed herself firmly in the present.

"Sorry?" Arthur lowered his head and looked back at her.

"How do you feel about what's happening?" Iseult cocked her head and frowned slightly.

"The Saxons?" Arthur gave a curt nod of his head. Iseult thought for a moment. "Difficult," she replied, "but not impossible," she finished with conviction. Arthur smiled involuntarily. The tenacity and resolve of this girl was remarkable for one so young. Iseult continued, in her element. "You have support of one of the strongest tribes in these lands. They are willing to follow you into a potentially suicidal battle, receive your commands and obey them. They have knowledge of the land and its resources. The Saxons…" she paused. "The Saxons have brute strength of numbers and force with them. Their leader only cares for the prize at the end of the battle, and he doesn't mind sacrificing his men to get there." She looked away for a moment. "If only other tribes would be so willing to join together in battle." Arthur looked at her and frowned. "You know of other tribes?" Iseult nodded.

"Many. But further south than where we are-the Iceni for one." Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Those tribes are in conflict with each other constantly, never mind Rome," he told her. Iseult nodded, a pained expression in her eyes. Arthur persisted. "You want unity?"

"Of a sort," she replied shortly. Arthur needed to know.

"You are of the Iceni bloodline?" he asked. Iseult looked at him, questioning his motives. She answered after a time, hesitant.

"My mother is-was…I am not like you, Arthur. I am not half Roman." She emphasised the 'Roman' part involuntarily, as though it were a thing to be ashamed of. Arthur flinched on the inside, but he was used to such insults now. "No," Iseult carried on. "I am worse than that." She sighed and fixed Arthur with a stare before asking, "You notice I have neither the skin nor features of a Roman?" Arthur nodded.

"No…If I am…you have the look of a-"

"Of a what?" Iseult quizzed, knowing his thoughts. Arthur fixed her with a stern look and told her.

"You have the look of a Saxon about you." Iseult smiled and nodded.

"A Saxon, yes. Well, I would. My father was one." Arthur stopped and faced her square on.

"A Saxon?" he repeated. Iseult knew she did not need to answer that and walked on. She couldn't quite believe she had just said that-and to Arthur of all people. Mind you, to tell Lancelot or Tristan, or any of the other knights would be worse-suicide. At least Arthur had a more understanding persona. She hoped.

A hand caught her on the shoulder and swung her round.

"You are Saxon?" Arthur asked again, dumbfounded.

"Half," she corrected. "I am not a true Saxon and I never wish to be. Don't ever label me as such," she commanded a fire in her eyes. Arthur immediately stopped looking shocked and returned to his composed look. Iseult felt she should explain all to him. She sat on a nearby water trough and started.

"Years ago, my mother-the daughter of the then ill Iceni tribe leader and next in line to lead the tribe- had to prevent a Saxon incursion into their territory. She arranged a meeting with their leader on neutral territory; on a hill overlooking the lands of Britain. They spent many days talking about the war between them. After they had worked out their differences, they found they had much in common and…My father and the army left a few days afterwards and my mother returned to the tribe. 9 months later, I was born. It didn't take too much to work out what I was the result of." She looked at Arthur, who was listening intently. "My mother was sent word that a few months after my father had left Britain, he was killed for failing to fulfil his mission and for fraternising with the natives. His own brother killed him and took over the army. The leader of the Saxon army outside is my father's brother-my uncle."

"How do you know this?" Arthur asked; keen to know if she might be lying. Iseult looked at the floor.

"I had my suspicions, so I slipped over the wall earlier and sat in the tree above the army. I saw him, and I know his face. Same as my father's-how my mother described him to me-but with evil mixed in to the very core." Arthur nodded, weighing up her words.

"In that case you will have your own battle tomorrow, then?" he enquired. Iseult shrugged and raised an eyebrow in nonchalance.

"Perhaps, if the Gods will it. I fight tomorrow for this land, and the people that I love. You fight for the same, though I hardly know why," she said, not comprehending his feelings. "How the battle will fare, no-one knows. I just wish that the knights weren't leaving. We do need them"

"We have already lost one knight on a foolish errand on Rome's command so that they could gain their freedom. A true knight. They don't want or need to fight a battle not their own just for my sake. Or, for a couple: yours," he finished, eyeing Iseult. She sighed, realising that Arthur knew.

"I must rest now." She stood and walked away from Arthur. "Goodnight."