a/n: As usual, please review! I love your comments! The next chapter should be along in a few days . . . .
Welcome to Rome
"Arthur, remind me never to travel by sea again," Gawain said, burping queasily. It was a better alternative to what he'd done a few times already over the side of the ship. Bors just laughed, ever the strong one with an iron stomach.
Arthur grinned at his knights. Galahad drew deep breaths of the salty air. The young man was excited, despite all his protests about Rome. The city was within view now, and the men shifted about excitedly.
The King of Britain looked ahead, his eyes scanning the unfamiliar horizon. His heart raced within him. It was massive. And as such an intimidating force, would Rome still be friendly?
The sight of several elite people standing on the docks answered his question. They waved, and judging by their garb, they were appointed leaders of the people. He saw bishops as well, who gathered to see him arrive. It was awkward to be on display, but Arthur was used to a certain amount of fame. It'd only gotten worse as a king.
Beside him, his knights flanked him. They were always protective, even though he didn't think the Romans would be dangerous. This was more of a diplomatic visit anyway. Seeing Rome was the only excitement he expected.
He disembarked and greeted the leaders waiting for him.
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Germanius quickly heard that Arthur was in Rome. The bishop did his best to remain calm—if the scout knew . . .
But he didn't.
What did Germanius have to worry about? Rome was massive, the greatest city in the world. The odds were not in favor of him running into Arthur. Besides, Tristan could be controlled.
The bishop rode in his carriage towards a well-lit home. Servants lined the entry way. Golden torch light and colorful banners abounded as the guests moved inside the estate. Hundreds of prominent Romans came for a gala of sorts.
It was hosted by Decia Quintas, something Germanius did not like. The woman was always scheming, and he wondered what trick she had in mind now. As his carriage stopped, Germanius halted Tristan from exiting.
"Stop," he said simply. The knight obeyed, looking to Germanius with slight curiosity. The bishop smiled easily. "I hear Arthur and the knights live happily. Britain thrives now, you know."
Tristan just stared at him.
"It is good, no? Your service is not in vain." Germanius thought to say more but feared he'd give something away. He stepped out of the carriage and led the way into the estate.
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He sipped at some wine, too fruity to be enjoyable, but Tristan drank anyway. He felt uneasy, and he didn't know why. Part of him thought that his instincts were telling him some danger was nearby. But his 'duty' was to protect Germanius, so really he didn't care what his instincts said.
The Romans laughed. The flirtatious giggles of the women filled his ears, and Tristan suppressed a shudder. They were so insincere. Every noblewoman he'd met had some hidden purpose. That much was obvious as they hung on unattractive, rich old men, or flirted with him even as their husbands stood nearby.
Tristan turned away with a silent sigh. He moved up the stairs and positioned himself above the crowd. He watched with half-interest and awareness.
Until his eyes fell on four men.
Their figures were easy to discover as unusual. They weren't dressed in togas, but reduced armor. Only one was dressed slightly as a Roman . . .
Arthur! Tristan's heart jolted within him. Anxiously he leaned forward against a column on the second tier. That curly head of hair on him, and messier curls on Galahad could not be mistaken. Bors was there, his head shorn except for the recent stubble. And Gawain . . All appeared well—they just mingled with the Romans.
Suddenly Gawain laughed heartily, just ahead of the others. The four joked with each other in front of some Roman ladies. From where Tristan stood, he saw Galahad turn red.
His heart settled down, hardening up again. How happy they were, just as Germanius had said. Good for them, Tristan thought without a trace of joy. Why had fate smiled kindly on them, while he lived like this . . .
Tristan turned sharply, and almost ran into Germanius. The bishop looked smug. His eyes narrowed at the knight.
"See someone you know?" he asked. His eyes were dark, with a speck of torch light glaring off them. Tristan raised his chin silently. "If they see you, or you speak to them, I'll give the order."
There was no need to remind him what the order was. Tristan's defiance rose at once. Yet two seconds later, he knew it was pointless. There was only one solution, and it didn't involve defiance at all.
Slowly, somberly, Tristan nodded.
"We leave at once," Germanius said. "Stay out of sight, and meet me at the carriage."
The man scurried away, his robes billowing after him. Tristan watched, unmoving for several moments. His muscles tensed and it took all he had to not yell out. He was never a loud man, nor irrational. But inside, he was torn apart.
He wanted to call to Arthur, to Gawain, Bors, even Galahad.
He wanted to forget it all, and just run from this cursed place and anywhere and anyone he'd ever known.
He wanted to kill Germanius and Orteguis and Asellio and Decia Quintas . . .
He wanted this to end.
All of it.
Another breath, and Tristan just held it all in. Slowly he released the air and walked stiffly towards the front of the estate. He would leave, as ordered. What other choice did he have, one he would actually risk?
Tristan drew a steadying breath. He shut his eyes and wished to nothing in particular that he could do this.
He opened his eyes and headed for the stairs. A drunken Roman couple laughed as they clumsily fell in his path. Tristan side-stepped them and moved on. He hurried down the stairs and then evened out his pace as he hit the main level. Several people were in his way, oblivious in their merriment. Tristan weaved among them, using his hands to separate a path where necessary.
The open air was ahead of him, away from the buildings. He had only to clear the lavish entryway—
"Tristan!"
The scout glanced over his shoulder before he could stop himself. He recognized the voice. Decia stood there, her face light and happy. She motioned for him to come to her, but just past her—in fact right behind her—were Arthur and the knights.
Their eyes met immediately. All four Britons let their jaws drop.
"Tristan?" Arthur repeated. He took a step forward. "What . . ."
His heart sped up again, so fast that Tristan was gasping for breath. His instincts warned him. Quickly, he surveyed the area.
His eyes found Ortegius. What? He doesn't normally come with Germanius.
Tristan straightened his stance. Germanius knew Arthur was here. Tristan shot a blank look to his friends, and turned away.
"Wait! Tristan!"
"Tristan!"
"Tristan!"
One of the voices was Decia's, but it was the desperation in the knights' that made him cut through the crowd faster. This couldn't happen, not now or in so vulnerable a position.
He started to run. The bishop's carriage was not where it had been before, and Tristan could see it nowhere. From Decia's estate, he heard shouts following him. Tristan ran down the street and quickly cut down a small path, a short cut and hiding place he'd used on his assignments. His legs did not falter, and soon nothing but quiet followed him.
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"It was him," Gawain said confidently.
"How could it be him!" Bors roared. He paced around Gawain, who was amazingly languid given the situation. The knights stood in the middle of the dark streets of Rome, none of them certain about . . . anything.
"Of course it was him," Galahad piped up. "No one else could disappear like that."
"And without saying anything," Gawain added. It almost drew a smile from each of the men. Arthur held his head in his hands for a moment. He sighed.
"The lady called him Tristan, and it certainly seems like it was him," he said. "What I wonder is what has he been doing since we saw him last?"
The thought silenced the three knights, and spurred Arthur on. He began to pace as well.
"Has he been here the entire time? And why!"
"Perhaps we can discover that together," came a new voice. The knights whirled around to see the lady from the night's festivities. She was tall and held her chin high.
"And you are?" Arthur asked, stepping toward her. He couldn't help but feel a bit uneasy with this woman.
"Decia Quintas," she said. "You are the famous knights from Britain, are you not?"
Arthur gave her a short nod. "How do you know Tristan?" he asked hastily. The woman raised an eyebrow at his manner. She glanced to each of the knights briefly before choosing to answer.
"He is the guard of Bishop Germanius," she said, "among other things." Arthur frowned and looked over his shoulder at the knights. Equally confused expressions were on their faces as well.
"Be more specific, Lady Quintas," Arthur pressed. "Tell us all you know."
She cocked her head to the side, and for a moment she looked amused.
"No," she said. "I need my answers first." Bors moved towards her, no doubt to strangle the woman for her stubbornness but Arthur cut him off.
"You said Germanius employs Tristan?" Arthur clarified. Again, the mysterious woman just stared at him, a trace of a grin on her lips.
"Hmm. I think it's more complicated than that." She turned from the men. "Come back to my estate. We can speak there."
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Tristan was out of breath by the time he made it back to Germanius's estate. The place was eerily dark, and Tristan slowed to a cautious pace. There were normally torches at least . . .
And where was Germanius? Tristan expected him to be anxiously pacing the balcony, watching and waiting. The scout entered the main house, and made his way to his chambers. For now, what else could he do?
He tried not to think about the evening's events. He didn't know how he felt. Hopeful? Not really—if anything, seeing the knights made him nervous. Germanius might panic or worse, order their deaths . . . Tristan couldn't let that happen.
As soon as he stepped foot in his chambers, he knew something was wrong. It was only a second later that he found out what. A strong hand gripped him by the neck. Tristan's hands flew to his neck, trying to pry the pressure away. A new set of hands gripped his arms. There must have been at least three of them, he discovered—the third man hit him in the stomach.
His legs gave out beneath him. Tristan stumbled and coughed through the choke hold on him. Suddenly light filled the room. Germanius stood by a freshly-lit torch. He sat on a lounging sofa, watching as the men handled Tristan. One of them was Ortegius, ever happy for this . . .
Tristan glared at the bishop and Ortegius.
"I did nothing wrong," he said choppily. The first response he received was immediate—Ortegius backhanded him across the cheek. Tristan's head whipped to the side.
"You shouldn't have been seen," Germanius said. "Arthur knows you're alive now, and that is unacceptable." Tristan saw the man wave his hand. The man with his hand around Tristan's throat tightened his grip. Tristan squirmed, trying to get air. Ortegius pulled the scout away and forced him to the ground on his stomach. He planted a heavy foot on Tristan's back. The two other soldiers stood by, ready to pitch in.
Ortegius slammed his foot on Tristan's back. Tristan yelled out for a moment before biting down on his lips. One of the soldiers kicked him in his side, once, twice. Ortegius seized him, rolled him on his back and kneeled as he punched him solidly in the chest. Tristan tried to ward off a second hit.
It just made them all angry. This was not a time to resist. As the hits came continuously, Tristan learned this was about submission, again. Submission to punishment. To what he'd done wrong. To the fact he could do nothing. To Germanius and whatever he wanted.
The bishop sat and watched the beating. He leaned forward, relishing the groans that escaped Tristan's mouth. Tristan was hit in the face again. The force cut into his skin, sending a fickle spray of blood onto the floor.
He tried to wipe away the blood, but his arms weren't working. Ortegius grabbed Tristan by the back of his shirt and dragged him across the floor. Tristan tried to use his legs a bit, but they were also sluggish. His weary eyes opened enough to see the bathroom of his chambers. And then suddenly it was as if Ortegius didn't know what to do. He glanced around, looking for something. Tristan watched, unable to do anything more. The Roman grabbed a vase and brought it down on Tristan.
The impact drew a black curtain in Tristan's mind. Vaguely he could hear the vase shatter.
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"He's been with Germanius then?" the youngest knight repeated. Decia nodded. She measured each of the knight's reactions.
"He hated Germanius," Bors said aloud.
"He still does," Decia added. The knights looked at her. "He hates it here. He hates serving Germanius. I asked him once why he stayed."
Arthur leaned forward in his seat. "What did he say?"
Decia smiled.
"Nothing." She poured a new glass of wine, even though it was late in the night. "My guess is that Germanius has threatened something Tristan cares about."
The men frowned, looking to each other to discern the reason. It was almost adorable how much they relied on each other. If Tristan was a fellow knight for so long, he certainly didn't fit this mold, not when he was so quiet and independent.
"Where does Germanius live?" Arthur asked.
Decia raised an eyebrow. "You intend to confront him?" The knights all stood, as if they would barge down any door in their way. "Tell me this, then. I take it Tristan was a brother in arms." They nodded to her. "Then why did you abandon him?"
She could almost feel the horror within them. She knew they probably didn't abandon Tristan, but the looks on their faces were priceless. She couldn't resist.
Gawain looked like he might just strangle her, but Arthur laid a hand on his shoulder.
"We thought he was dead," he said. He looked off, up into the sky as if remembering something. Decia wondered what it might be. Suddenly the tall king shook his head. "Thank you for your help, lady."
He left, his men falling in step behind him. Decia watched them skeptically. They were confident, but whatever they did, Decia knew they might be in over their heads. Germanius wasn't a man to challenge—especially not in Rome.