Chapter 12:
Isolde spent the remainder of her night drinking with all her former friends, and became surprised of the kind and warm words they all had to say to her. No one was particularly angry of her sudden re-appearance, and no one had asked her what had happened all those years ago.
Secretly, she thought they were making a conscious effort of avoiding the topic and its related parties.
And the mere fact that Tristan had refused to join the table, but instead chose the company of a bar wench made Isolde feel slightly uncomfortable and jealous. But the effects of the alcohol once again consumed her, and she quickly forgot about the man root to all her misery.
"You must tell us Isolde, what the bloody hell you've been doing in that wretched city. And you better not telling us pouring wine for old geezers!" yelled Bors.
"Yes, tell us of your adventures!" begged Galahad.
She chuckled at the younger knight, recalling from her own memories a young boy full of energy but barely strong enough to hold a sword. Isolde looked at him now, grown, handsome and full of passion.
Isolde took another big chug of her cup and for a good while proceeded to tell the knights of her campaigns in Iberia and Greece, her fellow knights back home, her commander, and her life in Rome.
"And what about you? Surely there must be some legendary tales of Arthur's great Sarmatian knights," inquired Isolde.
A huge laugh erupted from the table as each proceeded to story tell their own adventures during the years of service.
And yet throughout the laughter and happiness that was shared amongst the table, Isolde could almost feel a thorn pricking her heart every time a ghosted name was spoken. Her eyes unconsciously drifted towards the table where the scout was now seated in a comfortable position with the bar wench. She watched as the girl whispered things in his ears while his hands slowly caressed her back.
And unwillingly, the sight sent a thousand sharp pains into her heart.
At that moment, Tristan looked up and locked eyes with her again. Isolde's heart jumped a beat, yet her stubbornness willed her to remain eye contact. She slightly narrowed her eyes when she couldn't read his emotions.
In turn, he gave her a slight nod and then proceeded to kiss the woman on his lap.
It must have been obvious of the apparent emotion plastered on Isolde's face, for Dagonet was quick to take notice of the situation. He noticed her shoulders had dropped at the sight of Tristan and another woman.
He patted his hand over Isolde's back and whispered, "It's his odd way of grieving, I suppose."
Isolde scoffed, "If I had one denarii every time a man told his wife that after she caught him with another woman."
Suddenly feeling the weight on the night and the impending mission of the next day, her mood quickly soured. The weight on her shoulders kept getting heavier as she found out that the men hadn't even received their papers yet.
She gritted her teeth at Germanius' scheming mind. It was his dirty way of sending them to potential danger.
"Gentlemen, I believe it's time for me to retire this night. It's been a very long journey for me, and whatever energy I had left, you have now completely drained me of!" she joked.
As she drunkenly struggled to leave the tavern, she passed by Arthur whose grim face told her everything.
He knew of Germanius' mission, and now Isolde could only assume it was now time to break the happy mood. Isolde's smile left her face, and she wobbled down the streets in hopes of finding some solitude and peace.
And in the deep distance, a beautiful voice began singing at which the whole street remained silent.
..We will go home across the mountains
We will go home, we will go home…
Tonight, the effects of the alcohol were truly taking effect for Isolde. She found herself practically stumbling down the corridor to find her sleeping quarters. Twice she had almost fallen as she turned corners, which inevitably led her to literally walking against the stone cold wall.
Bloody ale, she bitterly thought.
She momentarily stopped to orient herself and blinked a few times to focus her eyes.
Ah! Second door to the right.
It was her old room, and ironically enough it was the same room that she would be staying in nearly 13 years later. Isolde laughed at the irony of her life.
"Life is just a circle of games," she whispered to herself.
"You think it's just a game?" a low voiced crept from behind her.
Before she had anytime to react, she found her back pinned against the masonry wall. It wasn't a deathly grip, but it was strong enough for her drunken demeanor to lack any reaction.
She went down to grab a dagger from her hip, but found her hands unable to move, for her assailant had gripped both her wrists against her body.
"You think it was all just a game to you?" he repeated himself, and Isolde could smell the alcohol in his breath.
She looked up at him and said nothing.
He gripped her wrists harder and she bit down her tongue to suppress any cry that threatened to escape her lips.
"You left."
Her eyes were unable to focus as tears began to form around the rim of her eyes, yet she willed herself to control her emotions. Not like this, she told herself.
He had every right to be angry. He had every right to hurt her. He had every right to even kill her.
Her gaze remained unfazed and she remained silent, allowing him to attack her. He tightened his grip once again and slammed his cup against the wall, letting the broken pieces fall to the ground.
"Why?" he dangerously asked.
She looked at him again, and looked in his eyes to see the raw emotion of desperation and anger. He was looking for answers - looking for closure.
"Tristan..," she desperately whispered, as if his name was some forbidden word she could not speak.
He brought his head close to her ear and Isolde could slowly hear his heavy breaths on her neck. Her hands were slowly beginning to lose feeling and she began to wriggle herself out of the pain. But he was stronger than her, and he would not loosen his grip. On the contrary, he only gripped tighter.
"Why did you come back…" he trailed off.
A tear trailed down her cheek and she closed her eyes. "Hate me, Tristan. I want you to hate me. I want you to hate me," she struggled to say.
She felt the weight of his body disappear and felt the sudden blood rush through her hands again. She opened her eyes and found herself staring into nothingness.
As quickly as he came, he disappeared, leaving Isolde leaning against the wall and staring at her newly bruised wrists.
She slid down onto the floor as the tears began to uncontrollably flow.
Hate me. Hate me. Hate me.
Aetius watched as Livius paced around the room in a frantic state. The emperor had spent the last hour deliriously talking to himself, muttering a language that Aetius could not understand. In his ears, it sounded like a mix of Latin, Germanic and some other unfamiliar eastern tongue. Aetius sighed, thinking of the last senate meeting which had sent Livius in his psychotic state. The move to Ravenna had not been a popular choice, and Gracchus and Aetius had already begun their campaign against the emperor, recruiting as many political supporters as they could. Naturally, these senators began speaking out against Livius during this meeting and some were even bold enough to suggest his competence to rule.
A cup suddenly flew across the room, startling the soldier.
"This is mutiny!" yelled Livius. "How dare they question my power! They should all be tried for treason and be hanged! Tell me Primus Pilus, what vile words do they say behind closed doors?"
Aetius cleared his throat, mentally choosing his words carefully. "I cannot say…you know politicians; they tend to be so secretive."
Livius let out a mad laugh. "How right you are! But Senator Gracchus does not make an effort to hide his disgust for me," he spat.
A servant walked in and placed a platter of fruit and wine on a table and quickly left, not to disturb the emperor. At the sight of food, Livius slightly relaxed and in an instance flew to his chair to indulge himself in such gluttony.
"Tell me, Primus Pilus," he began, "how do you plan on telling your Sarmatian wife-to-be of her good fortune of becoming the Lady Gaius?"
Marcus tensed up, not sure of the answer himself. Day and night, he had imagined the fateful moment where they would be married, yet had not devised a way to break the news.
"I believe the moment we are reunited, everything will come together. And I pray everyday to God to give us strength for the days ahead."
Livius let out another laugh. "Yes…I suppose strength is needed. But do not forget our agreement Primus Pilus."
Aetius gave a grim nod, remembering he had sealed the fate of himself and Isolde to serve Livius.
"And as your first assignment, you are to give me enough evidence of treason among these traitorous politicians. I want to know who my enemies are, so I can kill them."
"You want me to be a spy?" Marcus replied slowly.
"Yes, I suppose. Find out anything you can, Primus Pilus. And if you lie to me Marcus, let me remind you that I can easily send your beloved slave to her death and ruin your military career faster than you say 'Rome'. Do I make myself clear?"
Livius was now standing and his eyes pierced into Marcus' eyes, which sent chills down his spine. It was a rare moment to see Livius with such ferocity and greed, for his childish and selfish demeanor was notoriously infamous throughout the city.
"I am loyal only to you, Caesar."
"Do you think we're doomed to live our lives without choice?"
Isolde laid on the grass, and stared up towards the blanket of stars which glittered in the sky. She turned her head and looked up at Tristan who lazily played with her hair.
"Why do you ask?"
"I don't know. It's easy to accept the lives we have; especially us. Taken from our homes and forcing to live a life not of our own…don't you think there's more to life than just following someone else's orders?"
He looked at her and gently stroked her face as he lower his lips and kissed her softly on her lips. "And if you had the choice, would you have stayed in Sarmatia?"
She smiled at him and playfully replied, "Oh yes. I would have stayed with my tribe, married some would-be warrior, bore him four-five children, become a wife and live my life in content; never once thinking about the world outside of our home."
"And who would be that would-be husband of yours?"
Tristan gently pushed her back down on the grass, and now towered over her. She giggled at him as he placed small kisses on her neck towards her jaw line.
"Oh I don't know…perhaps some big burly Sarmatian, with a long beard...definitely not someone like you. My father wouldn't have approved," she joked.
Their lips met once more; their bodies entangled like a pair of vines. As they parted, Tristan breathlessly whispered, "I would live any life chosen for me if it means falling in love with you."
Isolde's heart skipped a beat, unsure of what she heard. She slowly looked in his eyes, searching for some double meaning, but found that he had meant every word of it.
"Tristan…" she began and found herself breaking into a warm smile.
Their bodies entangled once more as the moon shone brightly in the sky, basking their bodies in a gentle, white moonlight.
Her body violently shook as she woke up from a memory of her past. She had departed with Arthur and the other knights the night before and had rode nonstop until Arthur had decided to rest.
She looked around to see most the other knights fast asleep, but all with their hands on their swords in case of an ambush. The fire had died down, leaving only a burning ember beneath the wood. She also noticed that it had already begun to rain, with the moisture beginning to seep through the leather and her clothes.
As she looked around, she noticed that Tristan was not there and Isolde quickly assumed he had gone ahead scouting their route and their surroundings. Ever since their hostile encounter, no other words had been spoken between them, and the other knights were beginning to take notice. She'd noticed that Tristan would barely utter a word in her presence and when he did, it was either only to Dagonet or Arthur. She also noticed he'd quickly leave the party to ride ahead and never to return until the early morning – and even then, he would not look at her in the eye.
It was as if he regarded her as a ghost.
His attitude sent sadness to her heart, but she reasoned that it was her punishment for leaving all those years ago.
I deserve it, she said to herself.
Yet deep down, she didn't know how much more she could take.
A faint rustle in the trees jolted her back to reality and she grabbed her sword readying for an attack. They were travelling north of the wall and in the territory of the enemy, which made their mission a potential fatal one.
Tristan emerged from the trees bow and arrow at hand and his pet hawk perched on his shoulder, and Isolde calmly placed her sword back on the ground. Naturally, he had disregarded her and went straight to his horse.
Suddenly feeling tired, or whether she wanted to excuse herself from his sight, she laid back on the ground and turned her body away from him, begging her body and mind to fall back asleep.
But her eyes remained open, and her mind remained alert and she began listening to the small and indiscreet sounds happening around her.
She soon became restless and once again sat back up and found herself staring into Tristan's eyes. She bit her lips, wanting to say something – say anything – to break the tension between them. Isolde opened her mouth, in hopes of words coming out.
But her voice betrayed her and she remained silent.
Tristan gave her unreadable look, and Isolde became thoroughly surprised when he muttered to her, "You best get some rest while you can."
As quick as the words came, he disappeared into the shadows again, leaving Isolde bewildered and confused. However, she could not help the small smile that crept upon her lips, giving her a very small amount of hope that maybe – just maybe – things wouldn't be so terrible after all.
A/N: Happy Holidays!