Chapter 2:

The tavern was always full of interesting people. Traders and merchants from foreign lands often came after days of traveling. There were the whores and the wenches that almost always were looking for good business. Then there were the Roman soldiers; stationed in the city to keep peace and order. For Isolde, the tavern was a place to be equal. Equal among her comrades and brothers. Equal among Roman citizens, for social status was disregarded.

Isolde took a seat next to a burly man with no hair. Titus had become one of her closest friends in Rome. He was a strong warrior, and had a reputation with the ladies. To Isolde, Titus was no handsome god, but he was charming, which always won over the ladies. Titus also had a gambling problem, much to her dismay. She knew, it would one day get him into trouble. As she ordered her drink, Titus was conversing with the other men, laughing out loud.

She smiled, "What am I missing?"

Titus gave her a playful shove, "Ah! If it isn't my Sarmatian princess. Where have you been all morning?"

The barwench came over and placed the drink on the table, to which Isolde noticed Titus flirtatiously smiling at her. She rolled her eyes, and lightly punched him in the arm. "While you were aimlessly wooing the women, I was forced to attend to the Senators."

Another soldier, Bedivere gave a shout, "Those old geezers again? Really Isolde, you've been at those meetings ever since we came back to Greece! You're not…earning a little extra on the side are you?"

If Isolde did not know Bedivere from childhood, she would have castrated him right then and there. Instead, she playfully replied back, "I'd hardly think they could keep up with me."

That earned her another roar of laughter. She took a big gulp of her drink, and solemnly said, "The emperor's a fool."

Titus gave her a knowing look. It was a common fact that the emperor, Livius Severus could not make his own decision without running back to Ricimer. The empire was falling, and Ricimer was letting it rot. Because of her frequent appearances at the Senate, Titus had noticed Isolde becoming slightly more opinionated about the recent situation of Rome. He had begun to worry for her. She was no politician – if she became outspoken, Titus was afraid she'd meet an untimely death. He gave her a pat on the shoulder, "Come let's walk."

The two friends left the bar to have a more private conversation, much to Isolde's relief. She didn't like sharing her deepest thoughts with so many people. Though her comrades were all very kind to her over the years, it was Titus she could always fall back for support. As they entered into the market, Titus said, "What troubles you, Isolde?"

She sighed. "To be honest, I don't know." She paused, and looked around the market, as if she wished to distract herself. Titus waited patiently. He knew he couldn't force anything of out her, from experience. Isolde was too damn stubborn for her own good sometimes.

"I keep having this dream, Titus."

"A dream?"

"Yes, a dream."

"And that's what's bothering you? A dream?" he asked hestitantly. Titus felt a wave a relief wash over him. He thought it was something more quite serious.

"And what is this dream about?"

Isolde turned around to her friend, that seemed to tower over her at the moment. She never quite noticed how tall Titus was until this very moment. It intimidated her – it made her feel small and insignificant. I am insignificant, she thought. Though Titus knew almost everything about her, she kept her past a secret. They knew she hailed from Briton before arriving at Rome, but that was it. Did she want to open up a wound that she painfully tried to bandage up for 13 years?

"It was…just a silly dream really." She cringed. Isolde didn't like lying to Titus, but she wasn't ready – yet. "About…Sarmatia, and my family. It's foolish. And I know it shouldn't get to me, but I've been away from home for a long time. I guess…I'm beginning to miss it, you know?"

Titus gave her a knowing smile, "That's nothing to be ashamed about. Are you sure that's all?"

She nodded, "Yes. I'm sure."

She did not expect it be a huge dinner. Isolde thought it would have been the Senator, his wife, Marcus and herself. As she stepped into the banquet hall, she found herself staring at numerous Senators and their wives and daughters, and various military commanders. She nudged Marcus to the side, "You are in huge trouble."

Marcus chuckled, "Relax, perhaps it will be fun."

Fun? Was he joking? she thought. This was definitely not the idea of fun. Sparring was fun. Riding a horse was fun. Drinking and gambling was fun. Spending dinner with old men who do nothing but talk – that was not fun. Isolde had wear a Roman gown for tonight, much to her dismay. Marcus had picked it out for her, for he knew she despised anything that constrained her ability to fight. She looked down at herself, draped in layers of fabric. At least Marcus had taste. She was wearing a white stola, accompanied by a golden broach at the shoulder.

"When this night is over Marcus, I am going to castrate you twice over, " she hissed.

Marcus eyed her carefully, secretly wondering if she'd actually go through with her threat. He had no time to reply, as Senator Gracchus was approaching them.

"Ah, Senator Gracchus! How nice of you to invite us both."

They held each other's forearms, as a way of acknowledging one another. Senator Gracchus turned to Isolde, and his jaw opened slightly. He eyed her up and down and said disbelievingly, "I would not have thought a Sarmatian knight would look so beautiful. I guess that is what makes you so dangerous. Come, let me introduce you to my other guests."

He held his elbow, gesturing Isolde to take it. She looked at Marcus, silently begging him to pull her away. But he showed no indication of helping her. She needs to learn, Marcus thought. Reluctantly, she took the Senator's arm and walked away.

When they were out of earshot from Marcus, Senator Gracchus quietly said, "You spoke very bravely in the Senate today."

"I wouldn't have spoken at all if the emperor didn't ask."

He nodded in agreement. "Is what you say true?"

She hesitated to answer. Isolde hardly knew this man. He was man of politics; born to manipulate and twist the words around him. Could she trust him? Could she voice her own opinion and not have it come haunting back? Isolde knew she had to choose her words carefully.

"The present situation in the provinces is a well-known fact, Senator. What I said in the Senate, were mere facts. Undisputable facts."

She looked at him carefully, and cursed herself for not being able to read his face. He was, indeed a man of politics. The senator's face remained expressionless, as if Isolde's response was nothing new to him.

"Yet you seemed to suggest a treaty. Did you not say it is too late for any more fighting and campaigns?"

Damn him, she thought. He, definitely was a man of politics. She was about to answer, when Senator Gracchus greeted another man. Isolde did not recognize him, and judging by his attire, she decided that he was a man of religion. The two men continued talking in hush voices, leaving Isolde's eyes to wander around. She saw Marcus talking to fellow military commanders, laughing and joking. She narrowed her eyes at him. At least someone is having a good time, she bitterly thought.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Senator Gracchus called her name. Instinctively, she turned around to face the man Gracchus was talking to. "Isolde, I would like you to meet Bishop Germanius."

Isolde nodded her head politely. Bishop Germanius. Where have I heard that name before?

"You are from the east?" She noted that the bishop's accent was thick, and rough.

"Yes, your grace. From the Black Sea."

He eyed her up and down, to which gave Isolde shivers down her spine. "A Sarmatian beauty indeed."

Isolde half-smiled, pretending to be slightly flattered by his comments. Inside, her stomach twisted in knots. She did not want to continue this façade everyone was playing. However, she forced herself too – for Marcus' sake.

"Senator Gracchus tells me you were posted in Briton before coming to Rome. Tell me, what is Briton like?"

She hesitated to respond. It seemed like everything she did lately always came back to Briton. Bloody island. Can you just leave me alone?

"Well…it's a fairly large island. I was posted at Hadrian's wall, so we constantly were faced with the rebels from the north. I wasn't there for very long, so I couldn't tell you much about it."

"Is the weather as beautiful there as it is in Rome, " asked the Senator.

Isolde smirked, "If it's not snowing, it's raining. If it's not raining, it's foggy."

She observed both men. Both did not show any indication of emotion or expression, which made it hard for Isolde to decipher what they were up to. It felt like she was being interrogated for some dirty crime she did not commit.

"Gentlemen, if I may ask…Why all the sudden interest in Briton? Surely conversations about weather in Roman provinces are not a common topic."

They laughed, as if they were trying to brush Isolde off, to which she saw through immediately. They were deliberately avoiding answering her, Isolde thought. Something was going on. And she had a feeling she was going to be dragged in it.

Senator Gracchus took her arm, "Come. Enough about politics. Let us enjoy our dinner."

Marcus saw her wander off as the night's festivities in the Senator's house were over. He meant to follow, but was stopped by the Bishop. He politely smiled, "Bishop Germanius."

"What a fine beauty."

"Excuse me?"

"No doubt a fine warrior too." He gestured in Isolde's direction.

Marcus smiled in gratitude, "She's one of the best."

The bishop, lost in his own thoughts quietly echoed, "…the best."

"Is there anything I can do for you, your Grace?"

Bishop Germanius looked at Marcus for a moment, as if he was searching for the right words. Politics, Marcus thought.

Finally, the bishop slowly, but quietly spoke, "I'm sure you are aware of the barbarians at Rome's doorsteps."

"Yes, I'm very well aware of that. It's a common topic of conversation nowadays."

"The pope has personally requested me to bring his godson back to Rome."

Marcus stood up straight, "Would you like me to escort him back?"

"No, no. That won't be necessary. Your efforts are needed here. But I was wondering…if your Sarmatian would accompany my travels."

He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. This was an unusual order. It was not everyday men of high offices requested the services of a particular soldier. But, who was he to refuse an order of a Bishop? "Where does the pope's godson reside?"

"Briton."

It all came together in Marcus' mind. Isolde was posted in Briton before coming to Rome. Of course, he could never forget that. It was in Briton where he first met Isolde – then a young and untamed girl. It was in Briton where Isolde asked – no begged – to travel to Rome and complete her service there. In the end, it all came back to Briton.

"I would have to ask her, your Grace. She would…not be very happy with the idea."

"And why is that?" he asked in an authoritative tone.

"She never told me. All I know, she came begging on her knees to take her away; to bring her to Rome. I never questioned why though. But something happened there, that made her run away."

The Bishop pursed his lips. He didn't expect this obstacle to occur. He expected an easy compliance. He would think of someway to persuade them. An incentive, maybe, he thought. Authoritative orders was the last thing he wanted to do. Again, he smiled at the roman soldier and patted his back for reassurance. "We will continue this conversation in the morning. But remember, Primus Pilus, in the end, you and your Sarmatian have no choice. But I don't want to resort to that. I'm sure we can reach a … happy agreement among us all."

Marcus gulped out of nervousness, as the Bishop went to his carriage. Now he was beginning to understand why Isolde hated men like Bishop Germanius and Senator Gracchus. They were men of deception and half-truths. With nothing left to do, he set out in Isolde's direction, trying to figure out a way to tell her of the new mission.

He wandered around the streets of Rome, pondering on the Bishop's words. What a fine beauty. Those words still stung in his ears. Marcus, had noticed Isolde's beauty for quite some time now. In fact, he noticed he started observing Isolde more closely than usual lately. He would notice the way she laughed, the way her eyes sparkled, the way she smiled. He found himself always looking for her when she was not by his side. He found himself wanting to spend time with Isolde. When Isolde first walked out in the Roman gown tonight, he was left completely speechless. She looked like an angel; and apparently he was not the only one to notice tonight.

Could it be? Could Marcus be in love? He shook his head. Of course not! I'm just starting to see what a beautiful woman she's grown into! She's still a warrior – a deadly one. He kept repeating this inside his head, trying to convince himself that he was not in love – especially with Isolde.

He turned a corner, and found her sitting on the stairs of the house his century was occupying. He stopped walking, hesitating to break her from her thoughts. Instead, he quietly observed her. She looks so peaceful, he thought. He watched her hands as they touched her hair, and how they slowly traced down her neck. He watched as her breath escaped her lips, leaving them slightly parted open. Upon closer observation, he thought she had been crying. But it was hard to tell, because of the lack of light. A sigh escaped his lips.

He was in love with her.

Marcus should have felt happy, but instead it filled him with dread. He couldn't love her! It seemed…impossible. She wasn't even Roman. She had no family, no lineage, no money. But, on the other hand, she was strong-willed, beautiful, deadly…she was a warrior. She was his warrior. At least, that's what he wished for; and he didn't want anybody to change that – not even Germanius.

Not wanting to disturb her, Marcus silently walked away.

A/N: Thanks for the reviews and feedback!