Chapter 6:
She took the needle and thread, and angrily jabbed it into his skin, which made him slightly grunt. It wasn't a deep cut, but it was enough for Arthur to send him to the healer's quarters. She deliberately stitched his wound up rather aggressively. But if he felt any sort of pain, he certainly didn't show it. "That's what you get for being so stupid."
"If it means spending at least an hour with you undisturbed, then you may call me anything you want," he mused.
Though he rarely spoke, the times he did made Isolde blush. Rather than embarrassing herself, she continued to work diligently on his wound. Delicately she made sure each stitch was perfectly in place. Healing, Isolde had learned was a fragile art form that only the most patient and diligent individuals could pursue. She aspired to be like her mentor and teacher, Brangaine who was revered throughout the island. Perhaps, one day when her service was completed, she would go back to Sarmatia and become a revered healer among her people.
As she cut the thread, Isolde took a jar of salve which smelled of mint yet looked like a disgusting paste of brown and green. She took a small amount and began to gently smooth it over Tristan's wound. All of a sudden, Tristan grabbed her wrist which caused her to suddenly look up. "Am I hurting you?" she asked in a worried tone.
He lightly chucked and pulled her closely to him so he could smell the faint scent of lavender on her neck. He grazed his lips on her neck, to which she lightly gasped at. "Tristan…" she whispered.
She gently pulled away and looked into his eyes. She couldn't help but faintly smile. They had not known each other for very long; six months at most. Most of their encounters were very brief, as if they were forbidden lovers, sharing stolen moments among their friends. Though she was just a girl, she was sure she was in love.
"Do you care for me Tristan?" she asked softly.
He touched her hair, then slowly to her jawline and neck until her took her hands and kissed it. "Foolish girl. Don't you know I would go to hell and back for you? Don't you that I'd face a thousand woads for you?" He stood up and placed gentle kisses on her neck until he finally stopped at her ear. "My Isolde…I would love no other but you."
She bolted upright covered with a cold sweat. She had a knife in hand, expecting some sort of intruder in her quarters. But there was nothing. Nothing but the occasional creaking from the floors of the ship. Satisfied there was no threat, Isolde let down her guard and let out a huge sigh. The dreams were getting worse. No, they weren't dreams, but memories. Each time she closed her eyes memories of her past would resurface; each more vivid than the last.
"Maybe it's the sea sickness," she said to herself.
She had left Rome almost four days earlier and now embarked on a ship sailing to Massillia in Gaul. It had been absolute hell for her to travel with such a pretentious man like the bishop. Their conversations were often arguments about which were the best routes to take. Isolde wanted to get to Briton as fast as possible so she could get rid of him. The bishop, like the royal arse he was wanted to take frequent breaks, often claiming exhaustion.
She placed her dagger by her hip, and wrapped a cloak around her. If she couldn't go back to sleep, she might as well use the fresh air. Grabbing her sword on her way out, she went out onto the deck and gazed at the stars.
Isolde let out a huge sigh and whispered, "Why are you haunting me so? Why can't you just go away and let me be?"
She paused, hoping some divine force would give her some answer.
But nothing came. Only the swirls and howls of the wind came and went. Unsatisfied she kept talking to no one in particular, "I had my reason. I had my reason. It was one of the most difficult decisions in my life. One that I often wondered whether it was the right one. You cannot hold that against me. Hasn't the pain I've suffered for enough for you? Why must you haunt me?"
"I certainly hope you're not going crazy already."
Isolde whipped around, hand immediately on her dagger. When she saw it was the bishop, she let her guard down. But not completely.
"Your Grace," she said startled, "you should be resting. We dock tomorrow and I don't anticipate stopping until it is dark again."
He lightly chuckled, as if he was mocking her. "Foolish child, you really do underestimate my endurance. I am not a weak old man you think I am."
"I would never think of anything which insults your character, Your Grace."
"I used to be in military once upon a time ago. I know of the hardships of travel."
She narrowed her eyes. "Then you should know that we should not waste time in unsafe lands."
"Unsafe? You are mistaken. Gaul is a Roman province, and Germania as well. We will be well protected by our auxiliary troops."
It was now her turn to laugh. "Either you've spent too much time on her knees praying to a wooden cross or you're just getting old. Gaul is full of rebels who want their country back. The men stationed in the provinces don't have loyalty to Rome. They are loyal to themselves. Half of them don't care about a bloody bishop parading through the province. Though they'll care about the gold you carry. Yes, Germania may have been conquered but I assure you, no bloody Germanic would ever offer their life for a Roman. The longer we delay our travel, the more danger you put us in."
The bishop frowned in disapproval. Whether he was offended by Isolde's comments he did not deliberately show it. "You are cleverer than most soldiers I've encountered in the past. It will be a great to loss to Rome when you will be discharged."
"Rome's not done with me for another 2 years."
"Maybe not," he said.
Maybe not? What bloody hell is that suppose to mean, she thought.
"What are your plans after your discharge?" Germanius asked.
Isolde hesitated to answer. Truthfully, she did not know herself. There were thoughts of staying with the military, but there were also thoughts of going home, if home was still alive.
"I don't know. Travel. Live in the wild. Work in a brothel. Who knows," she said jokingly.
Germanius pursed his lips, noting his disapproval at Isolde's answer. "I don't believe it is God has such a plan for you."
She arched an eyebrow and asked mockingly, "And pray tell, Your Grace, what does he have planned for me?"
"We are all but players in an ever changing world. There are forces at work that will be beyond your understanding. I think God will pave you a road that will help and further his work and teachings," he replied in a knowing smile.
Today was a particularly bad day for Dagonet. It was raining, and the cold winds sent shivers right to his bone. The knights has just come back from their mission – a weekly patrol along the wall and to nearby villages. It was just another routine trip. Unfortunately, the youngest knight, Galahad had fallen ill from the days of cold weather. The foolish boy had failed to mention anything to Dagonet, thinking it was just a cough. However, he soon broke out in a fever and was now in bed, miserable as ever. Dagonet had spent most of the night trying to break his fever, making sure his brother in arms was comfortable.
He sighed and looked out the window. It was nearing high noon, indicating he had overslept. He eyes then drifted in the streets, where he saw some of Bors' children carrying apples and flowers for their mother. He smiled at the sight, secretly hoping one day he'd have a beautiful wife with beautiful children.
As he stepped into the tavern for his usual meal, he saw Bors in a rather somber state. The knights were usually like this when the life of a knight was in danger. Dagonet clasped his hand on his shoulder in mutual understanding. "He'll make it Bors. Galahad's a strong one."
Bors grunted, preferring not to talk, in fear of cursing the poor boy's life.
It was quiet in the tavern. Dagonet assumed they were all worried over Galahad. Even the few Roman soldiers who knew the knights were particularly quiet today – so quiet is was almost unbearable. As Dagonet observed them, he noted that they almost froze in time when Tristan walked in. They did not greet him, nor stare at him. It was almost as they if recoiled in fear.
Tristan quietly sat across from Dagonet and began peeling an apple so methodically it almost put Dagonet to sleep. As usual, Tristan did not say anything, but he noted something different about him. Alas, his suspicion was confirmed when Tristan threw his knife on the table rather aggressively.
Bors stopped eating and looked at him, "What's the matter Tris?"
"Bloody Romans don't know nothing about respect for the dead." He menacingly glanced over at the Roman soldiers.
"What happened? Were they pissing on their graves again? I"ll cut out their throats," threatened Bors.
Tristan grunted, "I took care of it." He looked up at Dagonet and muttered, "It's today."
Dagonet gave a knowing look. Indeed, today was a particularly bad day.
Tristan walked to their cemetery where his fallen brothers were resting. Blood was boiling through his veins. He wanted to kill those damn drunken Romans when he saw them mockingly sparring with Caradoc's sword. It was a huge dishonour in his eyes. He had made sure he taught them a lesson before letting them go. No, he would not spill their blood – for Arthur's sake. But if he had it his way, they'd be dead before they knew it.
He walked over to Caradoc's grave and made sure his sword was properly in place. Satisfied, he kneeled before his dead brother and silently sent a prayer to his gods.
Today was the day.
Today was the day that everything changed. He could still remember the very moment the arrow ripped through Caradoc's rib. He could remember himself carrying Caradoc to the healer's quarters where Isolde was. The look on her face would haunt him forever.
Tristan shook his head trying to rid of the memories, but he couldn't let them go.
Brangaine hugged Isolde tightly, whispering everything would be alright. She had done everything she could to save him, but the fever would not break.
Tristan was there the whole time. He had refused to leave Caradoc. He had refused to leave Isolde. He tried to console her, but she shut him out, saying nothing to him.
It was only when he left the room because Arthur requested him did he really feel the pain and guilt of it all. It was only then did he hear Isolde scream and cry out in agony.
And it tore him apart.
No, he told himself. He wouldn't allow himself to live in the past. But the memories wouldn't leave him.
She stayed curled up by his body for nearly a day. She refused to eat, speak or move. Nobody – not even Tristan could get through to her. They all knew she was mourning, for they all could hear the muffled sobs at night.
Tristan couldn't bear it anymore. He knelt down before her. "Isolde, please look at me," he pleaded.
Nothing.
"My love," he tried again, "You are unwell. Let me help you."
Her eyes focused on him. He took this as a good sign, so he took her hand and continued. "My love, we're all worried about you. Come and eat. Then go to sleep."
In a quiet whisper she said, "It's my entire fault."
"It isn't anyone's fault. The arrow was too deep."
"I could have done something. Something else could have been done."
"Nothing you could have done would have saved him. You cannot blame yourself."
"What good a healer am I if I cannot save my own brother? I murdered him!" she cried out.
Tristan picked her up and held her tightly. "You mustn't blame yourself Isolde. Caradoc would not want it."
She nestled in his chest and began sobbing, which made him hold he tighter. "My love, how can I take the pain away from you?"
She brought looked up to his face and kissed his nose, "You can't. It will be my pain to bear for as long as I live. Promise me that you won't lie on my table dying. Promise me I won't kill anyone I love. Promise me I won't murder you."
He stroked her hair, "Hush now Isolde. Do not think those things."
As Isolde fell asleep crying, Tristan carefully brought her back to his room, where they lied together in bed like a pair of young lovers.
A/N: A somewhat mushy chapter, but I guess it's best if I let you in on their past - just a little. Thanks for reading! Tell me what you think!