a/n: It's just barely Monday, but for the record, I tried hard to post on Sunday. So my apologies. But send me your feedback anyway! I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and I'll get working on the next. Thanks for reading!
From the Rooftops
Guinevere's son was still a bit weak, but Hilden declared the fever had broken. Jaelynn was relieved along with the infant's parents. She felt exhausted now, but she protested when Hilden tried to send her away. He was working harder than she, and so she stayed and cleaned the room and supplies they used over the long night.
She was back in the healing wing. Looking over their supplies, she noticed they were running low on a few herbs. She would go to the market. Glancing out the window, she saw it was mid-morning.
I should go now.
She sighed, and gathered some coins Hilden gave her for such purchases.
Her body was so weary, and she felt in such need of a bath, but it would only take an hour or so at the market. Maybe less, since she already found one herb she needed.
The sky was cloudy, and it was just a touch warmer than days before. It would snow tomorrow. The weather was always like this before a snow set in.
"Jaelynn?" The vendor waved at her, trying to get her to refocus. Jaelynn smiled sheepishly.
"Sorry." She pointed to an herb and readied her coins.
"Might I know your name?" she heard suddenly behind her. Jaelynn turned around to find a Roman man standing before her. He was older, and had eyes set close together. Jaelynn frowned.
"Jaelynn," she said quietly. He smiled and bowed to her.
"I am Tacitus," the Roman said. "I saw you last night, at the feast."
She wasn't quite sure what to say, so she just stood and waited. Tacitus, as he called himself, had a kind smile, but it did not reach his eyes. Something about him made her nervous.
"You left too quickly though," Tacitus continued. "What made you leave?" Without realizing it, she took a step back.
"I work with the healer," she said. "We tended the king's son." She wondered immediately if she should have said that. But Tacitus just smiled.
"A gifted healer you must be, to tend such a patient."
She smiled forcefully. His words were sickly sweet. Her expression turned to more of a grimace than a smile.
"Jaelynn!" someone shouted across the market. She turned and was relieved when she saw Gawain. He grinned to her, and motioned for her to come to him.
"Excuse me," Jaelynn said, and she quickly slipped by Tacitus.
"Until later, Jaelynn," she heard him say as she left. She didn't look forward to that.
Gawain seemed very happy to see her, which she thought was odd, but they were friends so it wasn't unusual.
"What are you doing about?" he said by way of greeting. "I heard you were up all night."
Jaelynn shrugged. "Yes, but there was more to be done, and I'd rather get it all finished now so I can rest without worry."
"Come on," he said, turning her from the market. "Lucinda just made some sweet rolls you have to try." She grinned, eager to try such treats and eager to see and speak with Gawain's gal.
-0-0-
Arthur was right. The Roman did try to get close to Jaelynn. Gawain was glad he found her when he did. He didn't think the Roman would be so foolish to do something in daylight, but Gawain saw the false advance he made on Jaelynn. Gawain was just relieved that Jaelynn didn't seem thrilled by the approach.
Arthur was in meetings all day, some with his councilors and some with the Roman party. That left Gawain with little to do but keep an eye on Jaelynn.
She and Lucinda got on splendidly, and he had to smile at how quick friends they'd become. With Jaelynn living in the Wall now, he expected they would spend even more time together. Gawain smiled. It was good for them both. Neither woman was silly, or loose like so many of the town's female folk.
Jaelynn yawned.
"Oh, I forgot," Lucinda said, smiling. "You worked through the night, didn't you?"
Jaelynn shook her head, not protesting the observation, but trying to clear her head.
"I'm all right," she said. "I wasn't the only one up. I'm sure Arthur, Guinevere and Hilden are worse off. And Tristan."
Gawain tensed at that. When Arthur told him what was going on, the knight felt a bit nervous about Tristan spying on the Romans. Not that he disagreed with it, but Tristan was barely recovered from his run-in with the marauders.
"Is he gone again?" Lucinda asked him. Gawain nodded.
"Arthur sent him to scout," he said vaguely. Lucinda laughed.
"That man needs a life," she said. Jaelynn smiled.
"Well, I should go," she said. "I'm ready for a bath, and a long nap." Gawain followed her out of the kitchen.
"I'll come with you," he said. Instantly, Lucinda started laughing, and Gawain realized what he said when Jaelynn started blushing. "I meant, I'll walk you back to your room, so you don't fall asleep on the way."
Jaelynn joined in on the laughter, and Gawain just shook his head, and led the way.
Women.
-0-0-
Daylight was tricky, Tristan decided. It was good for tracking, but for spying? It would have been easier to spy in Rome—where he was unknown and one of thousands of people. Here, where he considered it home, it was nearly impossible.
Nearly.
He stole a hooded cloak, and with the weather being cloudy and cold, it made him blend in.
Octavious, Cicero and Maro were in a meeting with Arthur and the council. Tristan followed Caenis. He knew Tacitus and Patriclo were in their quarters. He hoped they were, anyway. As much as he wanted to stick to Tacitus, each of the Romans was a threat—potentially.
And Caenis, for some reason, was wandering around the fort. It wasn't a pleasure stroll, shopping at the market or something ordinary. The Roman headed for the edges of town, walking at a steady pace and looking from here to there.
While Caenis headed to the west side of the Wall, Tristan moved to the center of the fort. He kept his head down but his eyes constantly moving. There was an area for woodcutting, and Tristan stood by it. Various people moved around the fort, some passing by Tristan, but no one paid attention to him.
More importantly, Caenis didn't notice him. The Roman was venturing close to the western wall, and he kept looking up at the wall itself.
He moved on, going to the south part of the wall, and Tristan stayed where he was. Again, Caenis hugged the wall, and paid particular attention to the southern gate.
He's checking the security. Tristan's eyes zeroed in on Caenis. He never spoke to any of the Britons or made conversation to anyone publicly. He was only watching. Scouting, even. But from within. And Tristan didn't like that at all.
Sure enough, the Roman resumed his inspection, over to the east wall, and then cutting through town. Tristan followed him back into the town. Caenis headed back to the quarters set aside for the visitors. Tristan debated whether to follow directly, or find a stealthier way to spy on the men.
He didn't need to decide for now. Caenis reemerged with Patriclo and Tacitus. The men were laughing, and as they passed each person, they sneered like the nobles in Rome. They went to the tavern.
Tristan ducked down a side alley and climbed up the side of a little home. He pulled himself up on the roof, and kept low. Looking over the tavern, he saw the Romans claim a table near the serving area but to the side, in a corner away from the general crowd. Perfect.
He moved over the rooftop, and when he came to the gap between buildings, he checked to make sure no one could see him before jumping to the other roof. He did this twice more, and slid close to the roof's corner over the Romans. He could only move so far without someone accidentally seeing him. The area was less populated and therefore easier to hide in, but Tristan stayed behind the arch of the rooftop just in case.
The Romans talked freely. Judging by their tone and laughter, they were leering at the women.
"No, that one's not near at pretty as the girl I saw last night," came Tacitus' voice. Tristan poked his head up a bit to hear better.
"Which one is she?" That was Patriclo, Tristan guessed.
"Don't see her. I'll get her, eventually."
"Don't do anything to jeopardize us," came a more sophisticated voice. Caenis. Probably.
Tacitus snorted. "She's just a healer," he said. "The only one who'd care is gone. The scout."
There was a slight hush among the men. Tristan shifted his body closer to the edge.
"You were foolish to threaten him, Tacitus," Caenis said. "If he told Arthur about it, Arthur's suspicions might be raised. Or worse, if he called your bluff—"
"He won't," came a quick and angered reply. "He left because of the girl and my threat."
Sure I did. Tristan smirked.
"That one's pretty," Patriclo suddenly interrupted. The conversation turned to the latest lady.
He knew nothing specific, but the men definitely were all involved in some plan. Caenis' concern over Tacitus' personal threat was evidence enough, as was his spying on the Wall's security.
Tiredness set into him as he lay on the roof, staring up at the cloudy sky. It was early afternoon now, but he felt like sleeping. Maybe it was the boredom setting in as the Romans ate and drank in the tavern.
Without meaning to, his thoughts turned to last night. He recalled every word and scalding look Nasica gave him. Her voice rang in his head.
Not now. He returned his focus on the Romans.
He was annoyed with these men. They weren't the thinkers or strategic leaders. He had to get to Octavius, but so far he was kept in meetings.
A thought came to him then. With the Romans below him, and the other half of the party tied up in council, their quarters were unoccupied. Tristan quietly moved from the rooftop.
The halls of the fort residencies were dark even during the day. There weren't many windows or areas that let in nature light. Tristan kept his hooded cloak on him though. No sense in tempting discovery.
The Romans' quarters were tucked on the opposite side of the fort from Arthur and the royal chambers. That was purposely done. Tristan took cautious steps into the area.
The Romans had no attendants or servants with them, something that Tristan thought was odd. The vain people usually had as many servants as possible so they wouldn't have to lift a finger. But these men did not.
It was good for Tristan. The rooms were empty.
There was armor, some weapons, clothing . . . not a whole lot, Tristan reflected. A scroll caught his eye.
It was tucked beneath a shield. Tristan opened it.
The written Latin wasn't easy to decipher, and it took Tristan awhile to understand each word. The scroll started with the date, marked as being written two months ago.
Gemino Octavius . . . in answer . . . to . . . actions . . . hereby . . .
The next word was something like 'declared,' but he wasn't sure. The word after it wasn't something Tristan recognized. He frowned at the scroll.
Footsteps came his way. Tristan rolled the scroll up and tucked it back beneath the armor. He turned around, seeking a place to hide.
He slid beneath the nearest bed and tugged on his cloak so it cleared anyone's view. Just then, he heard a long, tired sigh.
"The others are eating in the tavern," he heard.
"I've no desire to join them," came a stately but venomous voice. It was an unfamiliar tone, but the voice belonged to Octavius. Tristan frowned. The man had seemed more controlled and polite at the feast. Perhaps that had been an act. "I will sleep. Come for me in an hour."
Tristan saw feet approach the bed, and then weight settled on it. Tristan stretched his body and tried to avoid being crushed. It was going to be a long hour.
-0-0-
Arthur sunk heavily on his bed, grateful the night had come. He'd just spent a good deal of time arguing with his British councilors about whether or not he could force the Roman visitors out. He knew that wasn't wise, but just once he wanted to do as he wished, without worrying about politics and power.
He shut his eyes, and listened to his wife in the other room, who was checking on their son.
"Learn anything from the meetings?"
Arthur sat up abruptly. Tristan grinned at him.
"How do you do that?" the king asked. Tristan wouldn't answer that, he knew, but he might as well question it.
"I found a scroll," Tristan said, leaning back against the wall.
"And?"
Tristan shrugged. "Latin," he said, as if that was answer enough. "No time to read it, but it was written two months ago."
Arthur was hardly floored by this declaration. "Do you think it explains why they're here?"
"Maybe," he said without conviction. "Anything happen with the council?"
Arthur leaned back on his bed and sighed. "Not really." He saw the memory in his mind, the boring meeting but an important feeling he had during it. "Octavius tells me of Rome's news and has proposed various plans for progress here. But it's unnatural."
Tristan raised an eyebrow. He waited for Arthur to continue.
"Rome isn't helping us," Arthur declared. "And Octavius certainly isn't the man I would choose to send as my empire's representative. He stumbles and doesn't understand . . ."
Tristan's gaze had drifted to the floor, and for a brief second, Arthur thought he was asleep. But then the scout's head snapped up.
"What does 'exsilium' mean?"
Arthur blinked. "Exsilium?"
Tristan nodded. "It was in the scroll written to Octavius."
Arthur's jaw hardened and he sat back up straight. "You're sure?" Tristan sent him an annoyed glare. "It means 'exile.'"
Tristan accepted this information without any expression. "I'll get the scroll."
Arthur nodded incredulously. "Bring it to me as soon as you can." It went without saying, but Tristan nodded respectfully.
Just then, Guinevere came in, jumping a bit when she saw Tristan. Arthur's eyes widened as he saw the thin, teasing nightshift his wife wore. Clearly she didn't know the scout was here either.
Tristan's eyes stayed on Gwen's face, and he nodded once before leaving out the front chambers' door. As soon as he was gone, Gwen spun to Arthur and glared at him.
"Sorry," he said meekly.
-0-0-
He wanted to go back to the Romans' quarters now and get the scroll. But they were there now, sleeping, and Tristan wasn't keen on going into a lion's den. It would give everything away and warn the men. No, he would have to go in the morning.
Tristan headed to the empty room by Jaelynn's. The hall was quiet. Tristan stopped outside Jaelynn's door and listened carefully. He heard nothing. Logic told him she was sleeping, so what could he really hear? He went inside the empty room.
It was a dusty room, with old furniture and wooden crates set against the walls. Tristan set his eyes on the small window. He removed his sword, the new one the smithy had finished. It still wasn't as strong as he'd like, but he didn't have another option. He dropped his cloak too, and opened the window. The cold air showed his breath, but he ignored it.
He held onto a ledge in the roof and pressed his body against the wall. He slid alongside it until he reached Jaelynn's window. It was shut, with good reason in the winter. Tristan steadied himself enough to let go of the ledge and gently pulled on half of the wooden shutter.
He only opened it a few inches, until he saw her. He was relieved, despite what logic said. Jaelynn lay on her side, with her hair spread over her pillow. A faint smile appeared on her lips and she sighed peacefully in her sleep.
He watched her for a few moments more, until a gust of wind made him close the shutter. The cold would wake her. He slid back to the empty room.
Tristan wrapped himself in the cloak again, but not covering his head. He sat on the chilly floor and leaned against the wall the room shared with Jaelynn's. He was close to the door too, and in his right hand he kept hold on his sword's hilt.
He wondered how Jaelynn slept so peacefully. With all the horrors she was unfortunate enough to witness, it was a miracle she didn't scream out in her dreams. He thought back to the caves. How brave she was there. There was fear, of course, but the presence of fear didn't void bravery. Her actions despite her fear were what made her so brazen.
She hadn't given up, even when she heard what happened—what he had played a part in. Not just the village's slaughter, but Tristan being an assassin. He didn't focus on it then, but she had heard all of it. She probably knew before—with the rumors around the fort—but even that shock and with a guard trying to attack her, she was strong.
He smiled in the darkness. He was proud of her. Things had been different though since they were back. There was the thick awkwardness every time he spoke with her, and he wasn't sure why or how to fix it. If anything, he thought some of the awkwardness would have disappeared.
He thought of Nasica next, and how awkwardness was all that existed after she rescued him. Tristan was a bit embarrassed that she'd seen him so vulnerable, but in some ways he thought it made her see more than assassin.
Obviously, he was wrong. She could never respect him—wasn't that what she'd said? Among other things.
Tristan couldn't blame her. How could he, even if her knowledge of his history was bits and pieces? No, he blamed himself. Who else could he blame? Everyone he might blame was dead.
Because of you.
He was glad they were dead—the marauders (though he had been close to respecting the Easterner); Germanius; Decia, even though it wasn't by his hands. They had done wrong, but so had he. And he was still alive.
If he was killed, he wondered if Nasica might feel differently. Guilt, maybe. Tristan shook his head. He shouldn't wish that upon her. He felt enough guilt for probably the whole fort—no sense wishing it on anyone else.
His thoughts dissipated when he heard footsteps outside the door. Tristan tightened his grip on his hilt.
A light shown from the crack under the door. Someone was outside Jaelynn's door.
A knock. Tristan stood and drew his blade quietly.
"Jaelynn?"
Hilden. Tristan let himself relax.
Jaelynn's door opened, and Tristan listened carefully.
"Hilden."
"It's late, I know, but a woman is ill. I could use your help."
There was a pause.
"Of course. One moment." The door shut, and then reopened moments later. Tristan listened.
"Are you regretting this work?" That was Hilden. Jaelynn laughed lightly.
"Never."
The footsteps moved off down the hall. Tristan considered that Jaelynn was safe with Hilden, but he didn't really want to stay in this room. It held no purpose. He tied his sword scabbard back to his belt and tightened his cloak around him.
He went out the window again.
He climbed out and fell to the ground. He waited there, shrouded in darkness, until he saw Jaelynn and Hilden emerge from the residencies and move off to the town. He followed.
He stayed behind them and out of sight. When they turned a corner, he sometimes lost them, but he could guess where they went.
They went inside an old woman's home. Tristan positioned himself down the path and in between two small homes. He crouched by a pile of firewood and waited.
Healing. Jaelynn enjoyed it, he guessed. He quirked a smile when he thought of how confident she seemed two days ago when he'd come for the ointment. It was a different side of her—not that she wasn't caring before. He guessed that side of healing is what drew her to the profession. But she seemed so grown up, so mature . . .
She was still . . . sixteen years old, right? Tristan knew her birthday had been weeks ago, but with everything that occurred, he couldn't help but wonder if she was older now. She wasn't a little girl.
He almost groaned out loud. If Bors could hear the thoughts in his head, there would be a lot of teasing. He didn't want that, especially since it annoyed him. He hoped Jaelynn wasn't aware of how they teased him. Tristan closed his eyes. They wouldn't tease her, would they?
It was Bors. The dense block of lard would tease a man on his deathbed.
He heard voices. Tristan got to his feet but stayed crouched out of sight.
"I can finish up," he heard Hilden say. "You go on back to sleep. You did well."
"I can stay, if you wish," Jaelynn answered.
"No, no, it's quite all right."
Tristan frowned. Was the idiot healer going to send her back alone in the night? Ordinarily, it wouldn't be a big deal. Jaelynn could handle herself well enough and the townspeople were generally good, but with Arthur's instructions . . .
Did he forget?
He scowled in the night, and waited for Jaelynn to pass his position. She did, and he waited another few moments before moving.
She had already disappeared from view when he came out of his hiding place. Tristan barely turned the corner and saw her when she turned again down the next path.
And then he heard a voice.
A muffled shriek.
Tristan ran.
When he rounded the corner, he saw no one, but he could hear a struggle nearby. Jaelynn! Where was she?
"Shut up, girl," he heard. He knew the voice.
Tacitus.
The Roman had his hands on Jaelynn, pinning her against the ground and wandering over her. His mouth was on hers, but Jaelynn squirmed beneath him. She kneed the Roman in the groin.
Tristan was only steps away when the Roman slapped Jaelynn in retaliation. Blood came away with the man's hand, and when Tristan saw the blood—Jaelynn's blood—on her face, reason left him.
He should have considered that Tacitus held information. He should have considered that killing him might be a bad idea. But no such thoughts came to him.
He kicked the man in the side, forcing him off Jaelynn. Tacitus' eyes flashed with both surprise and lust-induced rage. He made for his sword, but Tristan lunged at him. He pressed his forearm into the man's throat and kneed the man in the stomach. Tacitus groaned but he fought back. He was easily bulkier than Tristan, but he didn't have Tristan's motivation.
Tristan hit him repeatedly, in the face and in the chest. It was just over and over again, until his knuckles ached. At that he briefly hesitated in his attack, and then Tacitus moved.
Tacitus hit Tristan in the chest, and Tristan fell back. His cloak worked against him, tangling him somewhat so he couldn't ready himself for the attack. Tacitus lunged for him and this time pinned Tristan to the ground. He felt the Roman's hands around his neck. Tristan smirked. Strangling was such a pathetic way to try to kill someone.
Tristan rolled his body quickly, dumping Tacitus to the ground. Tristan elbowed him in the chest, and got to his knees. He loomed over the Roman, and Tristan looked him in the eyes while his fingers found his dagger on his belt.
He plunged the dagger in the man's heart. A startled and ghastly cry came from the Roman's mouth. Tristan clapped his left hand over it.
Part of him wanted to remind Tacitus that he was an assassin. A beast—wasn't that what the Roman had called him at the dinner? Part of Tristan wanted to make the man suffer longer. To strike fear into the man as he no doubt had done to many, including Jaelynn.
But Jaelynn mattered more.
Tristan twisted the dagger in the man's heart, and all life left Tacitus. He ripped out the dagger and resheathed it.
He turned to Jaelynn, and his heart ached. She wasn't moving. Her clothes were in disarray, including her dress, which was lifted high on her thighs. Glancing back at the dead but properly clothed Roman, he knew the worst hadn't happened, but it didn't lessen what he felt.
Quickly, he tore his cloak from himself and covered Jaelynn. She groaned a little when Tristan scooped her up in his arms, but she didn't wake. The blood on her face was something Tristan wouldn't forget anytime soon.
He moved hastily back to the residencies. Hilden was in the opposite direction, but Tristan had to get Jaelynn somewhere safer. He kept looking down at her as he half-ran to the closest room where he could get help.
He kicked open the door, making the occupant jump up from his bed.
"Galahad," Tristan said, making the knight not over do it and accidentally run him through.
"What's wrong?" Galahad asked. Tristan went directly for the bed, forcing Galahad aside so he could lay Jaelynn on the bed. Galahad gasped when he saw who it was.
"Get Arthur," Tristan mumbled. He tried to be gentle as he straightened Jaelynn's body and laid a blanket over her.
"Who did this?" Galahad asked.
Tristan glared at him.
"Get Arthur, now!"
Galahad knew not to argue even in his groggy state, and disappeared down the hall. Tristan turned to a basin of water in the room, and grabbed the nearest cloth he saw. He dipped the cloth in the water and knelt by Jaelynn's side.
He started to dab the blood away. The bleeding looked like it stopped. The hit Tacitus dealt her had made her lip and nose bleed, but nothing appeared broken.
Tristan had been around blood for his entire life. His own wounds, the blood of others—he was no stranger to it. But seeing this blood, such innocent blood on his hands, made him angrier than ever.
He heard Galahad coming back now, with at least two others.
"Tristan! What happened?"
He didn't bother to turn to them. He knew it was Arthur.
"Tacitus."
It was all he had to say.
"Where is he now?" Arthur asked. Tristan went to the basin and wrung out the cloth with fresh water.
"Dead, in town," he answered. "Jaelynn was with Hilden at an ill woman's house. She came back, alone." He started to wipe away the rest of the blood from Jaelynn's face.
Arthur sighed heavily. He muttered something beneath his breath.
"Did Hilden know about Tacitus?" Tristan asked. He knew his voice was eerily calm, but it was a start contrast to what he felt.
"No," Arthur said. "Because it was a matter of some confidence and security, I chose not to tell him." Tristan stood slowly and turned to face Arthur. He stared into the king's eyes. He knew Arthur would blame himself. He already felt the guilt, probably more than Tristan did. But that didn't stop Tristan.
He hit Arthur in the face. Galahad gasped, and Gawain too, who Tristan just noticed.
"Tristan!" Galahad scolded. Gawain said nothing though. Tristan tossed the bloody cloth to Arthur. Arthur caught it. He looked stunned but not mad. He stood straight and tall. For anyone else to strike a king, even Arthur, there would be consequences. But this was a matter beyond status or position—a matter between friends, and Arthur understood that.
"Get Bors," Arthur ordered to Galahad. "We go for the Romans."
"Before they try something," Tristan added. "They'll know about Tacitus soon enough."
Arthur nodded, but his eyes were on Jaelynn.
"Stay with her," he said to Tristan. Tristan smirked. He had no intention of leaving Jaelynn right now.
The king and the knights left.
He remembered how her clothes were. Tristan rummaged through Galahad's things, finding a shirt and pants for Jaelynn to wear. He pulled back the blanket and his cloak. She would want to be decent, something the state of her dress could not be. He touched her dress, and then hesitated.
He wasn't sure he should do this. Jaelynn might not appreciate being undressed, even if his intentions were for her good. He settled on pulling the skirt of the dress down so it covered her legs.
Suddenly, Jaelynn yelled.
"No!" She thrashed in the bed, kicking and hitting out. Her foot caught Tristan's jaw, but he ignored it and quickly tried to calm Jaelynn down.
"Jaelynn!" He tried to hold her, but she just pushed away.
"Leave me alone!" Her eyes were shut tight.
"Jaelynn, look at me," he said, trying to keep his voice calm. He didn't want to agitate her further. "It's Tristan."
Suddenly her eyes opened and she stopped fighting against him.
"Tristan," she gasped breathlessly. She relaxed enough to cling to him tight. He felt her body tremble but as he held her close, she slowly settled down.
"You're safe now," he whispered. His heart felt tight and achy. You almost failed her.
But the guilt wasn't alone in his heart. He was so grateful he followed her. Grateful that even though he was late, Tacitus hadn't been able to hurt her further.
He was glad she was alive.
She buried her head in his chest, and he felt her draw a deep breath and sigh. It was a bit shaky, but she was all right.
"Thank you," he heard her whisper. Tristan tightened his hold on her.