Chapter 7:

The journey had been relatively quiet for the past month. Bishop Germanius believed God had blessed him with such good weather. Isolde scoffed at his remark. It was true they had not seen rain in a long time, but Isolde knew how nature worked. It was only a matter of time before their luck ended. In the meantime, they were ahead of schedule, reaching Lugdunum almost a week earlier than previously anticipated. Despite Isolde's persistent to keep traveling, the Bishop seemed to think otherwise.

"We need to keep traveling. The longer you stay, the more danger you put us in," she protested.

"I think we all deserve a least a day's rest. We are ahead of schedule anyways. We can use this time to replenish our supplies and let the horses rest."

"It is not safe here, Your Grace. I'd rather travel to a smaller village and rest there."

The Bishop waved her off, "My orders are final. We stay until dawn."

It was pointless to argue with such a narrow-minded fool, she thought. Saving her breathe, she strode out to find some tavern to drink away her frustration.

As she walked down the streets, Isolde recalled the stories Titus has told her about this city in its glorious days. After its conquest almost three hundred years ago, Lugdunum had become a central port between Rome and its northern provinces resulting in many prosperous years. Unfortunately, as Isolde learned, the struggle to keep the empire together had led to Lugdunum's demise. It was no longer the affluent city it once was – at least in Rome's standards. Isolde gazed upon a table of four men huddled together talking in secret. She pursed her lips. They were neither Roman nor native to Gaul. She'd recognize the hilts of those swords anywhere. They were Germanics; big, burly men who were ruthless in battle. Consciously, she placed her hand on her own sword which was securely strapped to her hip and slowly sat down to a table next to them. One of the men caught her eye and immediately beckoned the other men to stop talking.

This only made Isolde feel more unease. She turned towards their direction, her gaze focused behind their heads as if she were looking for someone. She noticed they began talking in hush sounds and could barely make out their conversation. Unfortunately, it was in their native tongue.

Feeling unsatisfied she took one last look at them and left the four men to their secrecy.

The room was filled with voices of Rome's most influential and noble men. Whether they were scheming to overthrow the Emperor, or discussing the night's festivities, Marcus couldn't be sure. He scanned the Senate slowly, instantly spotting Senator Gracchus; an old man who made no effort to show his displeasure with the Emperor's handling of Rome. He saw Senator Flavius: Young and wild at heart to the dismay of his wife. It was rumoured he had a habit of visiting the brothels at nighttime.

His eyes lit up when his gazed fell upon his old friend, General Aetius. An accomplished soldier, Aetius was once Marcus' commander in their early years. The years had battle had greatly aged the older man. Battle scars were visible on his arms, each one permanently reminding Aetius of his duty and love to Rome. Marcus grabbed the forearm of his old friend and mentor as a means of respect. "General."

"Ah, there are no formalities between us, Marcus," replied in a low and humble tone.

Marcus broke in a smile, "My dear Flavius Aetius. It has been too way since my eyes have gazed on your face." He noted the dark circles and small wrinkles underneath the General's eyes. "How long has it been, old friend? I must not have seen you since your campaign in Gaul begun nearly five years ago."

"It felt a lot longer than that," He let out a huge sigh. "My stay in Rome will be a longer one this time."

"I would hope so, Flavius. Your victory over Attila is all anybody talks about in the streets. You will be hailed as a hero, and I'm certain that Livius will greatly reward you."

Aetius snorted. "Between you and me Marcus, I don't give a damn whether I get gold or land from that bastard."

Marcus was hesitant to respond. Those who publicly spoke ill of the emperor usually put their lives at great risk. Livius may have been a stupid ruler, but he had a short temper and who often punished his political enemies. "Why the harsh words, Flavius? Surely you have harbour no ill feelings towards him?"

Flavius directed his younger counterpart behind a column so they could speak more privately. "You must not mistake my words for hatred Marcus. I am loyal to Rome and her people. I want nothing more to see Rome rise from her ashes and take back the lands we've lost to the barbarians."

"And I too," Marcus replied.

"You are a close friend of Livius. You know he is incapable of ruling without that Germanic scum by his side. Rome is falling under his hands. The Eastern emperor won't even recognize him as the leader of Rome." He paused, unsure of how to continue. "There have been whispers that the capital will be moved to Ravenna. It's an absolute ludicrous idea. It's why we've been summoned today; we are to vote on the fate of Rome."

"And what will you do?" Marcus was not a senator, so any influence to change Rome' fate was not in his hands.

"I will object of course! If the capital is moved, it will be seen as a sign of weakness and cowardice. I will not let Rome burn a second time."

"And if Rome goes to Ravenna? What will you do then?"

Aetius pursed his lips a line and gave Marcus a hard look. "I pray to God it does not come to that. If the vote is passed, Livius will have gained a new enemy to deal with."

Isolde found herself among the Roman soldiers who had been traveling with her, drinking and gambling. For most of the journey, she had kept to herself. She would either be scouting or arguing with the Bishop. Tonight was one of the first nights she had the chance to observe them. Taking a gulp from the ale, she noticed that most of her traveling companions had very lusty hands over the local barmaids.

Men, she thought. You give them ale and women and they'll be happy for an eternity.

As for herself, Isolde felt uneasy. Since their arrival in the city, a nagging voice in the back of her mind told her it was dangerous to spend the night here. They ought to have traveled a little further and camped outside a village or town. Even though they were surrounded by locals and soldiers, she felt exposed.

"You're the Sarmatian escorting the bishop to Briton?" a voice behind her asked.

Isolde turned around and saw a man of dark brown hair in full Roman armour. She recognized him as one of the men in her company to Briton. She noted his light brown eyes which were rimmed with golden specks which seemed to dance with the fire. She inclined her head.

"You're a legend among the troops," he continued.

"A legend?" she repeated. "I'm sorry to disappoint but my life is far too boring to call legendary."

"The men," he gestured to the soldiers over his shoulder, "they speak of tales during your campaigns in Iberia and Greece. Marcus Gaius is your commander?"

She nodded.

"They speak of the time you single handedly, with a broken wrist fought off 4 Visigoths twice your size. They recall the story of when you took down a man - no a giant, with just your sword and dagger. They tell the tale of how you charged into a scouting party, killed them all and came out with just a scratch on your cheek. You mean to tell me they're just bedtime stories for my children?"

She heartily laughed. "I'm afraid so Legionarii. Your men have greatly exaggerated those stories to create something I am not."

"Then tell me what the real Sarmation warrior is like."

She decided she liked this man. He was good company to talk to that didn't involve sex or gambling. She smiled, "Well, Isolde of Sarmatia did fight single handedly 4 Visigoths in Iberia. But, they were unarmed and drunk. One could hardly call it a fight. I did take down a man almost thrice my size. But my good friend Titus had severely wounded him before I delivered the final blows. As for the scouting party…I did come out with just a scratch on my cheek." She looked at him with intent and took another gulp of her ale before finally adding, "only because they had kidnapped me and bound me to a tree. I was rescued that night by the men."

The soldier laughed out loud, "and to think I was in the presence of the next Aetius! Forgive me, Isolde. Upon hearing your confession, your legendary status has dwindled to nothing but the smoke of a burnt candle. Nevertheless, I am honoured to meet such a foreign beauty. My name is Maximus Junius."

She tipped her cup in response, "It is a pleasure to converse with you. So was it your own choice to come to Briton? Or were you horribly dragged to this dreaded journey?"

"Isolde of Sarmatia, I would rather be in bed beside my wife's warm body and in the company of my children than to be in unstable lands."

"And I, Maximus Junius would rather face 4 armed and sober Visigoths than to escort the Bishop to Hadrian's Wall."

"Well, look on the bright side, we might meet Artorius Castus," he said eagerly.

Isolde arched an eyebrow but did not say anything. She only knew him when he barely fifteen; unfit to fight and unfit the rule. She wondered what kind of man he was now. She wouldn't listen to the legends that were whispered hear and there about him. Legends were just stories that were too farfetched from the truth. No, she would wait and see the man in flesh and blood.

"And his famous Sarmatian knights," she finally added, even though there was one in particular she was thinking about.

She turned her head to look for a barmaid to refill her cup when her eyes locked on with an all too familiar face. It was the same four Germanic men she had seen earlier in the day. Apparently the bearded man recognized her as well. He said something to his companions and gestured his head towards her direction, making Isolde feel slightly uncomfortable.

They know who I am and why I'm here, she thought.

She continued to observe them, noting that two of the men had abruptly left, leaving the remaining two in a hushed secrecy. "Maximus, how fast you can get the men and be saddled?"

"Not too long, I don't think. We're not a huge party and most of the men know not drink until they pass out while on duty."

"Then go and meet in the stables. Have the Bishop's carriage ready."

"Why? Is he in danger?"

Her eyes never left the table as she got up with her hand of her sword. "I believe so."

She ran in record time to the Bishop's quarters. Inspecting the door, she silently thanked that it wasn't broken down yet. Those four men were plotting something, which gave Isolde every reason to believe their lives would be in danger. Very loudly she banged on the door with the hilt of her sword.

Thud Thud Thud.

She waited, but no answer came. She tried again, this time more aggressively.

She waited, and still nothing.

She took a deep breathe to calm herself down. Insufferable selfish bastard, she thought.

One more time, she banged on the door until she heard scuffling on the other side. The door opened slightly, and the head of Horton, the Bishop's secretary popped out. "The bishop asked not to be disturbed tonight. He is exhausted from the journey. It will have to wait until the morning, Isolde."

That was it. Something inside her snapped. She was done with the pretentious bastard who called himself a Man of God. She grabbed a dagger that was hidden in her armour above her tailbone and dangerously pointed its blade to him. "I don't give a damn about his weariness of travel. If he wants to live to see the morning light, you'll wake him up and be at the stables. Or if you're too cowardly to wake him, I'll gladly do it myself," she threatened.

The poor man looked as if was ready to soil his pants. A helpless whimper came from his throat as he ran to wake the bishop.

As Isolde waited, she kept trying to think of the possibility of an attack. Was it just four men, or were there more? Would they have sabotaged the horses? Or did they poison the drinks? Did they want to kill for the sake of killing or did they want a ransom?

There were too many questions that were unanswered. All Isolde knew was that her instinct was telling her to leave the city – and her instinct, for the most part was always right.

After what seemed like an eternity, Germanius and Horton stepped out fully dressed with their belongings, with the Bishop looking particularly displeased with the disturbance.

"Why are we leaving?"

"Because I told you it was unsafe to spend the night here."

"I am perfectly safe," he protested.

"Tell that to the Germanic blade that plans to cut off your head," she retorted.

She grabbed both men by the forearm and quickly ran to the stables to see Maximus readying Germanius' carriage.. She smiled at him; she knew he was a reliable solider she could count on. "Do not leave his side, Maximus. Be alert. Be smart. I'll meet you outside the city gates."

He gave her a curt nod, instantly telling the other men to be on guard. Isolde went to her own horse, which was growing restless as he sensed the tension in the atmosphere. She did a quick check on herself to make sure her weapons were secure, her bow tight and arrows were plentiful. She then mounted her Sarmatian horse and gently stroked his mane to calm her nerves. Isolde bent down and whispered in her companion's ear, "Be on guard my friend. Danger lurks in the shadows."

She led her horse through the city, deliberately passing by the tavern. The four men were absent from their occupied table. She kicked her horse into a gallop and quickly maneuvered her way outside the city walls. She saw Germanius' carriage and the dozen or so men that accompanied him waiting off the roads. She gave a small smile, knowing it was probably Maximus who decided to hide off the main road.

She quickly galloped towards them and immediately Germanius stuck his head outside his window, "You still have no explained to me why we are leaving a perfectly safe city."

She tightened her grip on her reins in frustration. "There will be an attempt on your life tonight. I am sure of it. It's time for you, Your Grace, to start letting me do my job. And my job is to protect you from any danger. And that means you better start listening to me if you value any part of your life."

She turned to Maximus, "We won't stop until I say we do, is that understood?"

He nodded.

Isolde then led her horse to the front of the party, when she heard a snap in the forest. She wasn't the only one who heard it. Maximus turned towards the direction, sword at hand. He motioned the soldiers to surround the carriage. Isolde grabbed her bow and notched an arrow.

"It's pitch black. How can you shoot?" Maximus asked.

Isolde smirked at his question. She slowly scanned the forest, focusing on the shadows, listening to the wind. A branch snapped again, and she suddenly let loose her arrow.

A scream broke the silence and Isolde knew the arrow met its target.

All of a sudden a small group of men poured out from the shadows of the trees with swords and shields. She was quick to spot out the same four men at the tavern. She notched another arrow and let it loose.

Maximus was quick to react and charged towards the group. She mentally noted he fought with passion and ferocity. He blows were aggressive and powerful as well as deadly. She looked and saw that the carriage was relatively unharmed. There were a few arrows embedded on its side, but none of the assassins had made its way to the Bishop.

Withdrawing her own sword she charged at her enemy, bringing her sword down to kill off the danger. As her sword met the chest of one man, another had knocked her off her horse and onto the ground.

She whipped her head around to see an all too familiar face. She wickedly smiled. "And here I was beginning to think we could have been friends," she mocked at him.

He snarled at her comment as he lunged towards her. She easily blocked his sword and decided to aim low near his knees. The Germanic man continued to swing with brute strength, which Isolde maneuvered and blocked. He would tire out soon, she knew.

The man's lunges became slower and Isolde took the opportunity to parry his blows with short quick thrusts. She twirled her sword in her hand and lunged at him, then quickly encircled him before slicing his calves. Taking out a long dagger from her boot, she moved around him again, knocking the sword out of his hand. She jabbed the dagger underneath the armpit, where armour was most vulnerable and aimed her sword at his neck.

"Who hired you?" she asked menacingly as she drove the dagger deeper into his flesh.

He seethed in pain, "We mercenaries have no allegiance."

"Everybody has a loyalty. I'll let you answer one more time before I slit your throat."

Isolde then began to slowly cut through the man's skin. "Ri-Ri-Ricimer," he struggled to say, "We had orders only to sc-scare y-you. The bi-bishop wasn't me-meant to be ha-harmed."

Satisfied, she let the sword slice through his throat and let his body fall to the ground.

She looked around to see all the Germanic mercenaries dead. She scanned her own men and saw no fallen comrades, but only minor injuries. She wiped the blood off her blades and placed them back in their respective places.

She went straight to Maximus who was mounting his horse, "You alright?"

"Yea, I'm fine. The Bishop's fine. Startled and scared, but fine."

"Good. Have the men stay near the carriage for the night and have three men stationed behind it. We leave now."

Isolde mounted her own horse and started a gallop, setting the pace of the remainder of the journey. Maximus paced his horse beside her, "Who were the attackers?"

She glanced over at him, "Greedy mercenaries. Saw a carriage, saw an entourage and thought they could make some money."

As Maximus slowed his pace to stay closer to the group, Isolde sped up to collect her own thoughts. Ricimer? Why would Ricimer be behind the attack? It made absolute no sense to Isolde.

She grunted. She was in the middle of a huge political entanglement that she felt was getting more complicated by the second.

A/N: Suspense! Conspiracy! Ha. The Plot thickens!