Chapter Seven: New life, New Grudges

The sunlight hurt her eyes. Iseult turned her head out of the sunbeam greeting her and blinked open her eyes. Through her blurred and painful vision, she vaguely saw a figure at the end of her bed busy doing something, humming to itself. Behind the figure, a fire burned brightly, causing Iseult to rub at her eyes. She sat up in bed, her vision clearing. The figure turned out to be a young girl- a few years younger than herself-sewing. The girl looked up and gasped, dropping her sewing onto the floor. She got up hurriedly and opened the rooms' door to Iseult's left.

"Please, lie still milady and I'll fetch King Arthur." She ran out of the room. Iseult listened, eyes closed, as the girl ran down a corridor (she presumed) yelling at the top of her lungs,

"My Lord, my Lord, she is awake, the sickness has left her1" Iseult's head swam. She shouldn't have sat up so quickly. King Arthur? Since when had Arthur been King of anything? She felt herself beginning to slip out of consciousness, but she forced her eyes open. She slipped the covers of her bed down to her waist and pulled up the loose shirt she was wearing-it looked one of the ones the knights would wear-and stared at the bandages that were wrapped round her stomach. She touched them with a shaking hand and winced as a sharp pain shot through her abdomen. I shouldn't be alive, she thought. The arrow should have killed her, she knew that. But did she? She didn't seem to know anything any more; what had happened to her; where she was; who that girl was; and King Arthur?

Voices and footsteps rolled down the corridor. Iseult hurriedly rolled down her top and pulled up the covers and waited. Seconds later, Arthur burst into the room, followed by Galahad and the serving-girl. He rushed to Iseult's side as Galahad stood behind, a wary look on his face. Arthur ran his hand over Iseult's clammy face, feeling for any signs of fever.

"My Lord?" the serving-girl enquired. Arthur spoke without looking at her.

"Fetch him," he answered simply. The girl ran out of the room.

Iseult looked from Arthur to Galahad and back again.

"King?" she whispered. Arthur didn't answer as he felt Iseult's pulse.

"Long story," Galahad said, a bitter edge to his voice. Iseult looked at him, confused. He had never spoken that way to her before. She looked back at Arthur, who was now sitting back from her, his face sullen and guilty. It was then that she realised what he had done.

"You told them, didn't you?" she asked, incredulous. Arthur looked at her, clearly upset, which didn't affect Iseult at all.

"Tristan suspected after your fight with your Uncle. I had to tell them eventually, Iseult." Iseult felt hot tears spring to her eyes, and looked back at Galahad, who was still staring at her bitterly. She pushed back the tears and told him,

"Oh, like I had a choice in my parentage, Galahad." Galahad snorted and walked out of the room, arms folded.

"That is exactly why I didn't want any of you knowing. I knew you they would react like that." Arthur didn't respond, and Iseult knew it was pointless carrying on- Arthur was right and it had been her fault that Tristan found out. In the heat of battle she had forgotten about Tristan being right behind her and within earshot of her and her Uncle. A wave of relief swelled inside her as she realised that he was dead, her cousin was dead, and the Saxons had failed for the second time to occupy this land. Then her mind swiftly moved on to thinking about Tristan lying there on the battlefield, hurt, and the look on Lancelot's face as she saved him from death.

"Then Lancelot and Tristan know and…they…" Arthur sighed.

"I wouldn't know about Lancelot-he seemed hurt- but he is on bed-rest; strict orders from me. Tristan…I wouldn't know either because…Tristan has disappeared." Iseult raised her eyebrows in amusement mixed with confusion.

"Disappeared?"

"A few hours after I told the knights about you, he saddled up his horse and left."

Iseult looked away from Arthur and out through the window where the courtyard was coming alive with people going about their daily business. Tears began to well up in her eyes. She had potentially lost the two men in her life that might possibly care for her. Whereas before she could have been confident in their feelings towards her, now she was questioning whether there had been anything there at all. She had known the reputation of the Sarmatian knights long before she had arrived in this part of Britain, and yet she had let herself be taken in by them. She didn't know what to think anymore; everything was too strange now.

"I feel sick," he said eventually, emotions she usually kept hidden now taking over her mind and body.

"Does your wound hurt?" Arthur asked, worried.

"I-I don't know…I feel numb," she answered bluntly. A knock came at the door. Arthur got up and answered it, talking with whoever was outside in hushed whispers. Arthur occasionally shot a worried look over at Iseult, who was desperately trying to work out who was there. Eventually she could stand it no longer.

"Who is it?" Arthur paused, shot a glance outside, then swung the door wide and let them in. He stood aside to let in a tall, wiry man with black hair and eyes, of about 45 years dressed in furs and dark-blue dyed cloth wrapped up to his torso and fastened with a thick leather belt, black swirls painted across his chest and face. Behind him, a boy of about 15 years scurried in, a nervous look painted on his face hidden by a lock of curly dark blonde hair, a look of shock in his blue eyes as he beheld Iseult. Iseult gasped and sat up in bed as the older shaman bowed and the boy ran forwards and embraced her.

"My sister," he said. "You cannot imagine how good it is to see you." Iseult clutched at his hair in amazement and disbelief and then looked into his eyes, wiping away a tear that was there.

"Gwillam, my little brother, I thought I would never see you again." She held him for a moment longer, but her back had not held her up for so long and could not take the strain so that she fell back and cried out briefly as spasms of pain swept over her. She bit her lip, not allowing herself to show how much it hurt her in front of her brother and the shaman of the Iceni. Her brother stood aghast as he looked upon his beloved sister in so much pain. The shaman moved forwards, pushing her brother to the side. He grabbed Iseult and deftly rolled her over, then began to loosen her bandages.

"We have done all we can for her," Arthur told the shaman. "The arrow head came out when she pulled the shaft out of her and when we brought her back here, we bandaged the wound and applied a poultice to the site, but that was as much as we could do for her." The shaman nodded to show he had been listening. He was now coming to the last layer of bandage which was sticking to Iseult's infected and bruised skin. Iseult tensed up and the shaman stopped for a moment.

"Now is not the time to be brave, my child. After all you have done for the honourable Arthur these past few weeks, revealing your pain now is not a disgrace at all." Iseult whimpered as he lifted the final layer of cloth off her skin. Flesh and dried and still flowing blood stuck to the fibres as he pulled it away, and the wound smelt of rotting meat. The shaman laid the removed bandages on the bed sheets and began to weave his magic to heal the girl.

Outside, Galahad and Gawain were talking, listening to the movements inside Iseult's room. Galahad still had on his face a filthy look that would have easily soured the milk collected that morning.

"Why is Arthur bothering to save her?" Galahad spat at his friend. Gawain, a little more patient, sighed and frowned at him. "What can he gain by saving that Saxon in there?" he questioned again.

"He feels responsible for what happened to her. If it wasn't for her taking that arrow, Lancelot would be dead now. Which would you rather have?" Galahad grunted and scowled in that immature way that he had that negated his beard which made him look years older than he was.

"Still," he replied. "I still don't see why he doesn't just let her die in peace instead of messing around with a lost cause. She'll die before the week's out, I tell you," and he swung round and stormed off down the corridor. Galahad took a last look at the chamber door and mumbled,

"I have a feeling she's stronger than you think, Galahad," before turning and following the younger knight.

Inside, the shaman had finished binding Iseult with a new cloth. As he rolled her onto her side, his hand suddenly held above her stomach. After several moments, he nodded and mumbled something to himself before pulling the covers high round her shoulders.

"We will stay until you are better and you have a scar that you can be proud of. He smiled and then waved a hand over her eyes. "Now…sleep." he said, and Iseult's eyes closed and opened once, then twice, then tiredness overcame her and she fell into a deep sleep. The shaman turned to Arthur.

"I would advise that you keep a guard on her at all times. She should not be let out of your sight lest you want to lose her as we did. She knows how to slip the fastest of nets under your noses, and she is likely to do it again. The three men left her in peace and continued their conversation as they walked down the corridor.

"Why did she disappear the first time?" Arthur asked. The shaman frowned.

"She felt that she was not the one who should lead the tribe when her mother died, though she is the first born. A few of the tribe thought that as she was only half our blood that she had no right, and her brother should take her place." He looked back at Gwillam who was keeping a few paces behind the two men for whom he felt much awe. "Those few knew not that it is not the blood of a person but their mind and heart which make a leader. However, Iseult felt that she should be a burden no longer to her people and left in the middle of the night 3 days after her mother's death. I thought that she might try to leave, so installed the best guards on her hut, but she escaped them somehow. Since then, we have spent over 2 years searching for her. We never thought that she would travel so far north." Arthur nodded and smiled.

"She is an asset to you, I can see that now. I have only seen part of her spirit and devotion on the battlefield and here at the fort and I hope that I can prevent you from losing her again. I will make sure that there is someone in her room at all times of the day and night."

"Thank-you, King Arthur," Gwillam ventured. Arthur smiled and told him.

"Arthur, please. And you are both welcome to stay here as long as you want. I am sure that you will be interested in Guinevere's and my plans for a united country…" he continued as they exited the corridor and entered the great room which held the round table.