Chapter Nine:

Aetius threw his cup against the wall in anger. Rome was doomed, he thought. Ever since Livius was declared Caesar, Rome would be doom to the ashes. He buried his hands in his face and sighed into them. It was unfair.

Unfair to Rome. Unfair to the people. Unfair to him.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. "Come in," he quietly said.

The door opened revealing a concerned Marcus. "You left the Senate quite abruptly," he remarked as he closed the door behind him.

"I couldn't bear any of it, Marcus. Watching those damn politicians turn their backs on their beloved country. It's outrageous."

"I don't know if I have any words for you that will provide any comfort, my old friend."

Aetius grimly smiled. "Do not worry over me. But I refuse to just sit and watch this empire crumble."

"What will you do then?" Marcus asked.

Aetius stood up from his seat and poured some wine in another cup conveniently replaced by a servant. He offered some to Marcus, to which he graciously accepted. It was at this moment where Aetius studied his counterpart. The battlefield had greatly aged and tired Marcus, leaving him with various scars and lines, though he was at least fifteen years younger. Aetius slightly frowned when he thought of the close friendship between Marcus and the emperor. He was afraid that foolish scoundrel would put thoughts into Marcus' head which would endanger the man's honour and belief in Rome.

But he knew he could trust Marcus.

"I am prepared to make sure Rome will not fall."

"I'm not quite sure I follow."

He grabbed Marcus' forearm and pulled him closer. "Some of the senators and I have begun to question the ability of our Caesar to rule the Western Empire effectively anymore."

Marcus took a small step back, "What are you saying? That you plan to remove him?"

Aetius took a large gulp of wine. "More or less. Or at least get that Germanic scum off his back. Ricimer! He's a piece of work, that bastard. He knows he's not well liked in Rome. Did you know Marcus, that he hired bloody mercenaries to kill Bishop Germanius? The man knows it's only a matter of time before he'll be overthrown. His fear is leading him to target the Church, for God's sake! He needs to be stopped!"

"You can't kill Ricimer! You wouldn't be able to get close to him."

"That's why I need your help Marcus. Rome needs your help. And when we succeed, history will remember you as Rome's saviour."

Marcus looked away from Aetius, weighing his options. It almost felt like an eternity for Aetius. He needed the friendship of the younger man with the Emperor in order for his plan to work. He needed supporters and manpower if he was to save Rome.

Aetius hugged his friend when he was given a slight nod.

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Seven figures emerged from the horizon, along with the morning light. Arthur spotted the bishop's carriage and he took a deep breathe. After 15 long years, his men would finally get their freedom after tonight. They would finally be able to go home and decide their own fate. As for himself, he would finally be able to go to Rome and find his old mentor Pelagius. He looked to his men, who had also spotted the carriage and possessed the same look of reverie.

"Our freedom, Bors," muttered Gawain.

"Mm…I can almost taste it, " he replied as he licked his lips.

The others chuckled, knowing that their ticket off Briton was in that carriage. Tristan grunted in indifference while the others dreamed about their freedom. For him, he could care less. He watched the carriage in the distance, and then slowly looked up in the sky where he noticed some birds flying away from the forest.

Something was wrong. He could sense it with his body.

However, before he has almost time to react, he saw an arrow fly out from the trees and knock a Roman soldier off his horse.

"Woads," he quickly said. Like the others, he kicked his horse into a quick gallop, more furiously than the others knowing it would be his last battle with Arthur and his brothers..

Isolde flew from her horse and landed on the ground, when a rather large mace met her stomach. She growled in anger, ignoring the growing pain in her abdomen. Instead, she charged into a group of woads. Blow after blow, she satisfied the thirst of he sword as it met its enemy. The woads, in her opinion were a formidable opponent. They fought with passion and aggression – something Isolde rarely saw on the battlefield. This only made her smile more.

She always loved a good fight.

She glanced around, looking for Maximus as she slit the throat of her opponent. She let out a sigh when she caught his eye, but was quickly distracted when another woad began to attack her. This one fought with more ferocity than the last. She quickly blocked his attack, and was quick to counterattack. However he quickly dodged her attack, ducking under her sword and rolling away.

As he got up and charged again, he collided his elbow with her nose, causing her to stumbled back and trip over a dead body. Isolde landed on the ground with a large thud. As she shook her head to rid the pain, she looked up to see the woad bring down his sword.

She instinctively reached for her sword, but found it was out of arm's reach. The woad snarled in anger as he brought down his sword, but found it had only met the ground.

Isolde had fortunately rolled to her side in time before she met her untimely death. She grabbed her sword and sliced the woad's calves causing him to fall to the ground. As she pulled herself up, she pointed her sword at the base of his neck, and quickly ended the woad's life.

She ran over to Maximus, who was now grabbing his right arm rather tightly. "You're not quitting on me already?" she jokingly asked.

He ignored her and gestured towards the seven horses who were now engaged in the heat of the battle. "Your knights in shining armour, my lady," he playfully said.

Isolde rolled her eyes. "Go and stay by the bishop's side."

She held her breathe as she observed the seven warriors fight off the woads with the same natural agility and ferocity that ran through her veins. She noted their great cavalry skills and their archery skills, which slightly left her in awe. It was almost hypnotic to watch them.

The woads were quickly defeated with the knight's arrival. She began walking around the dead, mentally counting the number of friends and foe. She counted at least 50 dead woads, with another handful of her own comrades. She then walked by the carriage and looked inside to see the old man she had picked up along their travels dead – with an arrow sticking out of his chest.

She pursed her lips and cast her eyes to the floor - she had caused the death of an innocent man.

"What a bloody mess," said a voice behind her.

She tensed up, recognizing it as one of the Sarmatian knights. But which one, she did not know. She wanted to turn around, but suddenly felt paralyzed and could not move. So she remained still.

"That's not the bishop," said another.

The two men left to find a very much alive Bishop Germanius in full military uniform. She watched the man converse with the bishop, as she went to go find Maximus mounting his horse.

"So, when's the big reunion?" he joked.

"Any word out of you and I'll cut out your tongue," she muttered under her breathe. She glanced down at his arm, which was caked with a mixture of dirt, dry and fresh blood.

"That needs to be looked at," she added.

He quickly covered his arm with his cloak and replied, "Don't try changing the subject. It's only a matter of time before they see you."

Isolde, however wasn't listening anymore. She was staring at the knights, mesmerized by their appearance. She could barely recognize any of them, causing her to study their faces.

Her eyes landed on the biggest warrior. He was strong, burly and looked dangerous. Isolde noted of his eyes which seemed to take in everything.

Then she gazed upon a young knight, with dark curly hair and a rather scruff beard. He was beside another knight, with long untamed blonde hair. Both looked gentle, yet years of battle had hardened their faces.

Another knight with two distinctive blades caught her sight. He looked mischievous, yet she noted the sadness behind his eyes.

She moved onto the loudest knight, who was mocking Horton, the Bishop's secretary. She thought he was the most outspoken of all the knights – and probably the most drunk.

The last knight made Isolde's stomach churn. He had long wild hair, with markings on his cheek. He was the quietist of them all, she could tell. Her gaze went to his sword – an elegant curved blade, which Isolde could only assume had its origins near Asia Minor. All of sudden, the man looked up, as if he knew he was being stared at. Even masked behind the wild hair, Isolde could see the penetrating gaze which bore into her eyes.

She took a gulp of fresh air. She quickly looked away and mounted herself on her horse.

She did not want to admit it, but in her heart she knew.

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Isolde remained near the back of the party, and traveled rather slow. In truth, she wasn't concentrating on anything but merely staring into space. The next time she looked up, she found herself in a courtyard, and a man offering to take her horse. She smiled at him and quickly dismounted, hoping to find Maximus and stitch up his arm. The man, whose hands were on the horse's rein, broke her concentration, "We didn't expect a woman on this journey. Would you like me to prepare a separate room you?"

The words barely register to Isolde. In fact, she wasn't listening at all. She watched as the six Sarmatian warriors briskly walked past her.

"Miss?" repeated the man.

She turned to him and blinked away her confusion. She warmly smiled at him, "Yes, that would be nice. Thank you."

Isolde then spotted Maximus leaning against a column, patiently waiting for her. "So? Did you talk to him yet?"

She punched his arm, "You're coming with me."

"Where are we going?"

"To the healer's quarters."

"You seem to know your way around here quite well."

Isolde laughed, "You forget, dear friend. I used to live and breathe these walls."

They stopped at a door, in the middle of the corridor. She took a deep breathe and slowly opened it, expecting to see Brangaine mixing pastes and cleaning bandages.

She timidly knocked on the door, waiting for her mentor to open the door. The Roman soldier had told her she would be learned the arts of healing, while her brother would be trained to fight. Brangaine, he told her was the name of the healer who resided at the wall.

The door abruptly opened, and Isolde found herself staring at a woman of at least fifty, hands caked with a green paste. Her hair was wild, but loosely tied in a bun. Her piercing and calculating eyes bore straight into Isolde. "You must be the new girl they sent me."

"Yes Ma'am," Isolde timidly replied.

Brangaine pursed her lips. "Older than I expected. Well, don't just stand there. Come in and wash your hands."

Isolde followed the older woman and was engulfed in foreign scents and smells. She smells mints, and bark, and touches of lavender. As she looked around, she saw herbs hanging by the window, and jars of seeds and paste. She noted the fireplace at the corner of the room, and two beds placed in the middle of the room. Isolde then looked back at the woman who was now busily crushing some leaves in a bowl.

"The art of healing is a complex and elegant practice. It takes years of practice to know what I know. And it takes hard work. So you better not slack off while you're here," Brangaine stated.

Isolde could only stand and watch in awe. "Well what are you waiting for, girl? Come and help me!"

The room had changed since Isolde last saw it. Instead of being greeted by smells of earth, and a warm fireplace, she had opened the door to a rather dreary room. The herbs were no longer present, but were instead replaced by sheets of linen and white cloth. There was a large basin for water, and a small knife. Essentially, she found the room quite empty.

Maximus sat himself on the bed, and took off his armour. "Nice place," he said.

Isolde smiled to herself at her memory, "You should have seen it before. It was beautiful. It smelled beautiful."

She set about washing Maximus' cut. "This one's deep," she muttered to no one in particular. She inserted the needle into his skin, causing him to wince and recoil slightly. "Scared of a little needle?" she joked.

Maximus coughed, "I was surprised. That's all."

The door suddenly opened, and both Isolde and Maximus look up see one of the knights. Isolde was so startled that she accidentally stabbed Maximus rather aggressively, causing him to flinch.

"I'm sorry. I hadn't realized anybody was in here," the knight said. He was the giant knight that Isolde saw earlier in the day. She saw a humorous glint in his eyes, which slightly confused her.

"Are yo-you the healer?" Isolde sputtered out.

He warmly smiled. "No, The wall has not had a healer for quite some time."

Her eyebrows went up in question. What had happened to Brangaine?

"You have no healer? What happens if there are injuries and illnesses?" Maximus inquired. Isolde glared at him. She knew what he was up to.

The knight again smiled, and looked at Isolde. She gulped under his gaze.

She knew he knew.

"There…were two healers during my years here. One had suddenly left, with no notice or warning. No one knew what came of her. The other…stayed at the wall for a few more years, before moving away to a nearby village. She died a few years back. Now if we need a healer, we call for one in the village. Otherwise, I do my best to play doctor. But I do not possess the skill or talent of the previous inhabitants of this room."

Isolde said nothing, but quickly finished up Maximus' wound as the knight told his story. She grabbed the bottle of salve and threw it at him. "Rub this on for the next two days," she muttered.

She proceeded to leave the room, but the knight lightly touched her forearm. She looked up at him, expecting to see hatred. Instead, her eyes were met with a gentle pair of brown eyes.

"Isolde…" he whispered.

She cast her eyes down. "If you have harsh words for me, then say it now."

"There is nothing ill to say, old friend. I am happy you are back. He will be happy."

Saying nothing in response, she quickly walked out to collect her thoughts, only to bump into the Bishop's secretary. "The bishop would like to talk to you in private," he said.

Any distraction is good right now, she thought. She let out a huge sigh and followed Horton to the Bishop's room.

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