Chapter Two: The Wall
We're not gonna be
just another part of their game
we're not gonna be
just the victims
they're takin' our dreams
and they tear them apart
'til everyone's the same
I've got no place to go
I've got no where to run
they'd love to watch me fall
they think they know it all
I'm a nightmare, a disaster
that's why they always say
I'm a lost cause, not a hero
but I'll make it on my own
I've gotta prove them wrong
it's me against the world
We won't let them change
how we feel in our hearts
we're not gonna let them control us
We won't let them shove
all their thoughts in our heads
and we'll never be like them
I've got no place to go
I've got no where to run
they'd love to watch me fall
they think they know it all
I'm a nightmare, a disaster
that's why they always say
I'm a lost cause, not a hero
but I'll make it on my own
I'm gonna prove them wrong
it's me against the world
me against the world
Now I'm sick of this waiting
so come on and take your shot
You can spit all your insults
but nothing you say's gonna change us
you can sit there and judge me
say what you want to
we'll never let you win
I'm a nightmare, a disaster
that's why they always say
I'm a lost cause, not a hero
but I'll make it on my own
me against the world
I'm a nightmare, a disaster
that's why they always said
I'm a lost cause, not a hero
but I'll make it on my own
I've got to prove them wrong
they'll never bring us down
We'll never fall in line
I'll make it on my own
me against the world
"Me against the World" Simple Plan
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470 A.D.
Journey to Britain…It was raining… Again.
The closer they traveled to the British Isle, the more rain they seemed to encounter.
"The perfect companion on an already dreadful journey," Marsile thought to herself, pulling her black cloak tighter about her frame in an attempt to keep the water out.
Four weeks they had been traveling, and yet, the northern coast of Gaul, where they would cross the channel into the Britain, was at least a week and a half away at the pace the caravan was moving.
"And we all know why we're moving so slo-" she muttered only to be interrupted by the one responsible for their delay.
"This weather is despicable! We are turning around and going to the inn we passed a few hours ago," Germanus yelled over the pounding of the rain.
Several of the soldiers accompanying them nodded their heads in agreement, while their lieutenant groaned softly with impatience.
With a scoff, Marsile turned Artay to face the now stopped coach where the Bishop sat comfortably out of the downpour. Leaning toward the window, she said in a voice strained with anger,
"Bishop, the weather was despicable yesterday, and the day before…and the day before that. My guess is that it will be the same tomorrow. If we turn back again, like you've had us do several times already, we will never reach Britain! We might as well head back to Rome, for at this pace we shall be traveling the same forty or so miles every day! ALSO, I do not see you enduring the cold wet outside with the rest of us, so if you would PLEASE stop complaining about the weather, it would be much appreciated by all! Unless, of course, you wish to ride one of the horses, so that your whining may be valid?"
Horton gasped in disgust at the suggestion, then quivered in fear of his Eminence's response as he stared across the carriage at the fuming Bishop.
"You try my patience woman," Germanus growled through clenched teeth.
"And you've done nothing but try mine. Considering the fact that I haven't yet killed you in your sleep, I believe I've shown admirable restraint!
"My orders were to escort you safely to Britain. If you keep complaining, I can't guarantee the 'safely' part of the assignment. Now if you would, please, just SHUTUP, and sit quietly in your dry little wagon, this process would be a little less horrible and we would get to our destination a lot faster!"
With one last shared glare, Marsile rode to the head of the group,
"Keep moving. If we pick up the pace, mayhap we can reach Hadrian's Wall before another month is past!"
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
Northern Coast of Gaul…
Marsile tiredly sank to the floor of the ship with a sigh. Finally, the group had made it to the small port city, where a recently arrived merchant vessel agreed, without much of a choice, to carry the Bishop and his entourage back across the channel.
And for just a little while, Marsile had a chance to get away from the insufferable Germanus.
With a harsh cough, Marsile briefly wondered if she had become ill from the rainy weather, but immediately dismissed the notion as she reached in her pack, pulling out the bag she had purchased from the man at the compound gate. If only it could be as simple as a slight cold.
"I must ration it," she thought, "I had not expected the journey to go on for so long."
With a glance around the cabin to assure that she was alone, Marsile opened the bag and enjoyed the much-needed respite from the bitterness life brought her.
It was all too soon that a knock sounded on the cabin door along with the low Latin of one of the soldiers.
"We've landed. The lieutenant says we will make camp later tonight," the man said through the door.
"Fine," Marsile replied with a sigh, reluctantly rising from the floor, gathering her things and leaving for the hold where the horses had been placed.
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
Hadrian's Wall, Britain…
Arthur glanced round him at the six men seated in various places at the large table. Though he wished he didn't think of it now, Arthur couldn't help but gaze at every empty chair where his fallen knights had once sat. Every single one of them had been loyal to Arthur, and it had been his responsibility to see that they, in return, saw the freedom they had long been denied. "And I have failed all but six," he thought to himself, as his remaining men celebrated their next-to-last day of service.
"Arthur! Come, stop your moping and let's get to the tavern. Van is waiting with our drinks!" Bors shouted as he stood and clapped his commander on the back.
"Yes, come on Arthur, it's not everyday that we knights get to go to the bar and have a round of drinks," Lancelot joked with a grin.
Laughing, Arthur rose to join his men, replacing the harsh reminders of those lost with the celebrations of their pending freedom.
The next day…
Arthur and his Sarmatian knights galloped across the plains of Britain surrounded by an air of excitement and came to a stop on a low hill, overlooking a small valley. Traveling through said valley was a small caravan of Roman soldiers and two carriages.
"Ah, as promised, the bishop's carriage," said Gawain.
"Our freedom, Bors," said Galahad.
"Hmm…I can almost taste it," came the reply from Bors, making the other knights laugh.
"And your passage to Rome Arthur," added Gawain as the group looked down upon the oncoming travelers.
Arthur acknowledged this with a nod, but his gaze was fixed on a rider that seemed out of place.
At the end of the caravan rode a man all in black, seated on a black stallion, wrapped in a black cloak, the hood obscuring Arthur's view of his face. The commander watched as the rider stopped and slowly turned his steed toward the tree line, as if searching for something, and obviously finding it in the arrow that flashed past his head.
Arthur was pulled away from his perusal of the mysterious rider when a band of Woads following the arrow came leaping out of the forest, attacking the soldiers.
The knights jumped to attention and raced down the hill to defend the bringer of their freedom, or, more so, make sure nothing happened to the discharge papers. Arthur pulled Excalibur out of its scabbard and twirled it dangerously; Lancelot took out his twin swords; Tristan and Galahad aimed their bows; Gawain grasped his spear; Bors with his axe; and Dagonet rode swiftly, sword in hand. They set about killing the blue Britons.
Marsile watched as many of the soldiers fell under blows from swords and axes or with arrows sticking out of various places on their bodies. Grabbing her bow from the saddle, she sighted the tree the archer was perched in and, notching an arrow, took her shot, satisfied with the plop the man made as he hit the ground.
Looking back at the carriages, Marsile noted that seven armored men had joined the fray and were quickly dispatching the blue nuisances. Slinging the bow on her back and taking hold of her sword, Marsile jumped down off her horse and slew the first Woad to cross her path, but was soon surrounded.
Once the bodies hit the ground, she saw a mounted Roman soldier losing to the three Britons attacking him. Almost all of their comrades had fallen but these last few were persistent. Marsile started toward the soldier, reaching behind her shoulder and pulling two arrows from the quiver strapped to her back. Firing, the arrows took down two of the three while the soldier finished off the last one tiredly.
Bors was triumphantly yelling "Rus" as he walked around the battle zone. Arthur had just let one of the Woads go free and was staring intently into the woods. He came back to his senses and walked to the carriage where Bors had stopped, looking inside.
As Arthur approached, Bors turned and said, "What a bloody mess" indicating the body inside with an arrow through its temple.
"That's not the bishop," Arthur said suspiciously after taking a closer look at the dead man. He walked around the carriage to stand in front of the remaining Romans.
"Glad to see your military skills are still of use…Bishop," he said to the soldier still mounted, the Black Rider standing near him.
"Artorius, you are the image of your father! I haven't seen you since childhood," replied Germanus.
"Welcome to Britain. I see your…device worked," Arthur said grimly as he pointed out the dead decoy now being removed from the carriage.
Marsile looked disgustedly at the poor soldier who had been chosen to sit in the Bishop's place in this enemy infested country.
"Ancient tricks…for an ancient dog," Germanus responded with a smile on his face. He glanced around at the knights, who despite their best efforts, looked angered with the bishop's nonchalance toward the wasted life. "So these are the great Sarmatian knights we have heard so much of in Rome. Hmm. Well, let me introduce to you our great Sarmatian knight in Rome."
He dismounted and walked toward Arthur. "Knight, come forward."
Nothing.
Germanus turned his head in the direction of the Black Rider and pointed his finger at the ground next to him, indicating that he should move there. The rider remained where he was, just shifted his weight to the other leg and crossed his arms, bow still in hand. The knights hid their grins as they recognized and secretly applauded the obvious show of disrespect toward the Bishop from this new knight.
"Knight, would you please come forward," the bishop asked through clenched teeth. Only then did the rider move to stand in front of Arthur and the others.
"Arthur, may I present to you the knight Marsile. I'm sure you have heard of this one," added Germanus under his breath.
"Marsile? Of course I have heard of him. He has come to be a very respected figure to all Romans," Arthur replied, not a little shocked to have the knight he had heard so much of in front of him. Soldiers new to the wall from Rome would share their encounters with the knight, so tales of the man's skills had preceded him.
Marsile couldn't help but smirk as she stepped even closer and pulled down the hood of her cloak. She didn't think the moment could get any better when every single one of the knight's jaws dropped open.
"What's wrong gentlemen? They must not have women on this bloody island, because right now, you certainly look like you've never seen one before!" Marsile laughed shortly.
"Well, the soldiers never mentioned anything about this," Arthur thought, but was the first to recover after several drawn-out seconds of silence. "Apologies milady. I just never expected you to be…a-"
"Woman? I can see that," she said with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes as she scanned through the men in front of her. Her gaze rested on a knight with long blonde hair, but was soon elsewhere. The smile quickly disappeared.
"I think we had better stop standing around and get a move on. I, for one, am eager to reach the fortress and receive what is long over-due me. Bishop, you should ride in the carriage for the remainder of the trip."
The other knights seemed to agree wholeheartedly and mounted their horses. Seeing their non-hesitant response, Marsile nodded slightly and whistled for Artay as the wagons started to roll forward again once the bishop was settled inside. The knights, curious to see more of this woman's skill, watched in fascination as she leapt astride the stallion without the horse breaking the pace of his canter from the tree line, fifty yards away. Once seated, Marsile continued on to the front of the caravan, inspecting the damage to the supplies and loss of life among the soldiers as she went.
Once everyone was moving, Marsile rode next to Arthur as she was introduced one by one to the Sarmatian Knights of Britain on the slow march toward the wall. She learned that the dark one with tattoos on his cheekbones was Tristan, the scout; Dagonet was the giant of a man who nodded his greeting gently; the one with the charming and arrogant grin was Lancelot; Galahad with the boyish face; Bors, the loudest of the group; and Gawain, the tall, blonde knight she had surveyed earlier.
"It is a pleasure to finally meet the great Sarmatian knights of legend one hears so much about," Marsile said. "And to be around some of my own people once again."
This quieted the group, the knights taking a moment to remember what they could of their homeland.
"Tristan, ride ahead and make sure the road is clear," Arthur ordered the scout to shake off the silence that had settled about them like dust. Tristan then launched his hawk to the skies and rode off ahead of them.
"There are so few of you," Marsile mentioned quietly enough for Arthur's ears only.
The Roman commander was about to give back some kind of retort, but the bitterness died on his tongue upon seeing the saddened look upon her face.
"It is hard…" she began, "to lose such faithful men. Men you have lived and fought with for so long." Arthur only nodded, the memory of his fallen knights flashing again through his mind.
Almost as if snapping out of a daze, Marsile straightened in the saddle and a neutral mask covered her face.
"When we arrive at Hadrian's Wall, I wish to speak with you about something of importance when you have the time, Commander," she said hastily and slowed Artay to fall just behind the other knights, sorting through her thoughts.
When the group came in sight of the wall sometime later, Gawain, Bors and Galahad began talking of what they would do upon their return home after receiving their discharge. As the youngest of the knights rode forward, Marsile crept ahead just slightly behind them, listening to the two men.
"…Going to do is find myself a beautiful Sarmatian woman to wed," Gawain was saying.
"Beautiful Sarmatian woman? Why do you think we left in the first place? Moo!" Bors replied, then asked Lancelot his plans. He made a comment that caused the other men to laugh before riding ahead to speak with Arthur.
Marsile furrowed her brows and decided now was the time to make her presence known. She came up along side Bors and cleared her throat with a raised eyebrow thrown in for effect. Bors and the others turned to face her and grinned. She looked straight at Bors and couldn't stop herself.
"Moo…"
Bors' grin turned to a grimace of guilt.
"Sorry, I forgot-" he started but was quickly interrupted by Marsile.
"Don't worry about it Bors. After all, it's common knowledge that Sarmatian men are asses, so the women are entitled to be cows," came the teasing response over her shoulder as she rode further up the line. The knights laughed while Bors muttered to himself, just a little disturbed that this new lady knight fit right in with their lot.
The eight riders led the caravan through the large gates of Hadrian's Wall and into a small courtyard near the stables. While dismounting, the bishop climbed down from the carriage to be met by saluting soldiers.
"Bishop, my quarters have been made available to you," Arthur stated.
"Yes…I must rest. Such travel is tiring," came Germanus's response as he entered the fortress behind the servant leading him to the rooms, causing Marsile to roll her eyes in annoyance.
"My lady, Jols here will show you to a room so that you may also rest. It is a long journey from Rome to Britain," said Arthur to Marsile.
"You have no idea," she muttered after nodding her thanks to Arthur, following Jols to the doorway.
"Oh and Arthur? I am no noble, my name will suffice, no 'Lady' need be placed before it," she added before stepping into the building.
Next Chapter: Revelations