Chapter 14:
The ride into the Woad infested forest was completely silent, with only the sound of snow being crushed underneath the horses' great weight. The faint drums of the nearing Saxon army could be heard in the distance like some methodic rhythm being hummed by some witch.
Isolde made sure to leave a great amount of distance between herself and Tristan, who rode in front her. For now, she was being his shadow; scouting from behind, listening to the shadows and feeling the wind. She deeply sighed. The silence between them was becoming so unbearable that it felt like a lingering open wound in the chest.
Tristan suddenly stopped, startling Isolde's horse and herself. "Shhh," she cooed to her horse as she stroked his mane to calm the great beast. Even he knew of the tension that was in the air.
She glanced up at him, and narrowed her eyes at the scout for making such a sudden stop.
He shrugged, while checking his bow and bluntly muttered, "Pay more attention."
A screech pierced the cold air, and Isolde looked up to see the scout's hawk gliding through the air as it encircled an area above the forest. She looked back at Tristan, which seemed that he knew exactly what the bird was telling him. Sensing that they were approaching the Saxon army, she griped the hilt of her sword, ready for an impending ambush.
Tristan looked back at her, with a hardened look which only confirmed her fears. "The army has split up, with the main army marching towards the wall."
Isolde quietly gasped, as images of the poorly armed stronghold would be overrun by the barbaric Saxons caked in mud and blood. 'Will Arthur make it back to the wall in time?" she asked.
He remained silent, which only worsened the situation. "An army of about 200 plans to cut off our retreat."
It suddenly became extremely difficult to breathe, as she felt her breastplate constrict her chest each time she inhaled the crisp air in the forest. She sadly looked at the scout who threatened to break her heart knowing the hatred he held for her.
"You must go back to Arthur and make sure they survive," she stated. "If Arthur is defeated, the people at the wall won't have the slightest chance of survival. He must make it back alive."
"And yourself?"
"I'll follow the main army. I'm a fast rider; I can make it back without being seen. The Romans will be already leaving by now, but I can persuade some of the men to stay long enough to wait for Arthur, and protect the Wall until then."
She turned her horse around, committing herself to her almost suicide mission.
"So you'll just run back to your Romans like you did last time?" he bitterly muttered.
She stopped her horse and looked back over her shoulders and sadly smiled at him. "Whether you choose to believe me or not, I didn't mean to hurt you."
He scoffed and proceeded to turn away into the forest in the opposite direction.
"How wrong you were," he whispered.
The screams of the accused prisoners echoed against the stone walls, as the stench of rotting flesh filled the stagnant air. The guards held up the bloodied prisoner, dressed in shredded rags as his skeleton hung like a dead body.
"Do you now admit that you've been conspiring against Rome and planning to assassinate Caesar through the acts of poison?" stated Marcus.
He gripped his sword. He did not want to be here. On the contrary, he'd rather be on the training grounds, sparring with Isolde or one of the other men. Instead, Livius had sent him on a pitiful quest to arrest and interrogate any possible traitors lurking with the Senate.
"I…I.h-ha-ve d-done n-nothing wrong," the prisoner spoke.
He nodded at the prisoner guard to burn him once more, and again the screams filled the room. Marcus took his sword and used it to lift the prisoner's head.
"Just one name, and I can make the pain go all away," he said slowly.
The prisoner began whimpering in fear, partially on the fear of death, and partially because Marcus knew he was about to betray his loyalty to his cause.
"The Gen-neral….Ae-t—Aetius. He is m-my master," he sobbed.
Marcus held his breathe, as his old mentor's name was whispered so quietly, he looked at the guards wondering if they caught the name. He gulped, and in one great swift move, he ended the prisoner's life, as promised.
He looked at the guards, and in his most confident voice he ordered them to dispose of the dead body and continue on with their duties. Marcus swiftly left the prison cells, quickly grasping the severity of his situation. If word spread that General Aetius was implicated in the attempted assassination of Livius and Ricimer, it would not only implicate himself, it would put down any hope that he could be with Isolde.
Aetius would die; he would die and Isolde would surely die at the hands of Livius.
No, he wouldn't let that happen. His involvement needed to remain a secret; at any cost.
It was decided. Aetius and anybody else who knew of his allegiance needed to be eliminated. He closed his eyes, feeling the guilt immediately rushing over him as he was about to betray the man who taught him how to ride a horse and how to hold a sword.
But it had to be done: for the sake of his happiness with his future wife.
He gathered his men, and shouted out the fateful order, "You are to arrest General Aetius on the suspicion of treason."
Isolde rode through the forest with lightening speed, careful to ride near the shadows of the trees. She could hear the drums of the Saxons, and knew that though they were marching hard to reach the wall, she would reach it first giving her some time to gather what army was left to defend the wall.
A twig snapped in front of her and she immediately halted and was quick to aim her bow towards the shadows of the forest. Her breathe was quick, and she closed her eyes to calm herself down.
"Shh.." she whispered to herself.
A twig snapped once more, but she could not detect in which direction it came from. She gripped the limb of her bow so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
"Sarmatian," a voice called out.
Isolde whipped her head towards the voice, and realized it had come from high above the tree. She narrowed her eyes to focus on the blue figure whose own bow was aimed at her head. Isolde looked around, knowing that the Woads like to fight in groups, and was likely that there were more of them hiding in the shadows with arrows aimed at her.
"Killing me now would be no use to you," she started slowly.
He chuckled. "I have no intention to do so. I have no war with you, Sarmatian."
"But I serve your greatest enemy."
"Not by choice," he corrected.
"What do you want?"
"The Romans are of no use to you anymore. Save your breath, for they leave this island and its people defenseless. Merlin has offered his people to protect this land and we will fight to our deaths for our land and people. Any ally of Briton…is an ally to us."
The Woad lowered his bow, and nodded his head, gesturing a truce and alliance between Sarmatian and Woad.
Isolde slightly hesitated to do the same, but saw reason in his arguments. This was their home, and the Saxons were threatening to conquer them, just as the Romans did centuries ago. She loosened her grip and lowered her own weapon.
"Gather what men you have and prepare yourself for battle. We must do what we can until Arthur arrives."
"And if he doesn't?"
She smirked, "Arthur will come. He has to."
She kicked her horse and continued riding through the forest in more desperation, praying to any God that would hear her to protect Arthur and the rest of the knights.
Bring them back alive. Bring them all back. Briton needs them.
And I need him.
Each passing second felt like a year, as Isolde desperately waited for Arthur and the knight's safe return. The minute she reached the wall, she practically flew herself off her horse and called for Maximus and some of the Roman Legionariis who had accompanied her on their journey. Though these simple soldiers had no love or desire of this island, they knew better than to disobey her, partially out of fear and partially out of admiration. But Isolde also knew deep down that they resented Bishop Germanius just as much as she did.
She stopped Jols from tending the horses, and immediately sent him to gather what men who had some skill in holding a sword, as well as to check what spare weapons they had in the Roman armoury – if the Romans had left anything for them.
In order to calm herself down, and to step away from all the chaos that was happening, Isolde found solitude at the top of the wall, and was now staring at the forest in the distance, waiting for the knight's return.
But what if she was wrong? What if they couldn't defeat the Saxons and Arthur and all the knights were dead? What then? There were only seven of them against practically two hundred men. Had she put too much faith in the legend of Arthur Castus?
No, she thought to herself.
Figures began to emerge from the forest, and Isolde could only squint her eyes to see a line of people slowly making their way towards the wall. She recognized the carriage that the boy Alecto and his mother were riding in, and felt slightly relieved that they had arrived safely. However, she furrowed her brow when she failed to see Arthur or any of his knights.
She quickly ran down the stairs and into the courtyard to meet the exhausted faces of the men, women and children who looked like they were ready for bed or a good meal. Calling over Jols once more, she instructed him to go find some spare food and water for the newcomers that were still coming in.
"Where is Arthur?" she asked Alecto as his tired body exited the carriage.
"He and the knights stayed behind. To fight the Saxons," he sadly replied.
She looked at him and sadly smiled, sensing that as a young man, he had wanted to help and fight but knew his life was far too precious and valuable to take such a daring risk.
"You're braver than you think, Alecto,' she said reassuringly. "Your time will come."
"My father's dead," he simply said, though Isolde noted that he spoke without grief or sadness.
At the corner of her eye, she could see Bishop Germanius storming at them, ready to inspect if the boy had any injuries or wounds. Isolde narrowed her eyes at him and unintentionally gripped Alecto's arm so tight that he winced suddenly. If Germanius felt that Alecto was well enough to leave, Isolde was sure Germanius would order to her ready the carriage immediately.
"Alecto, if you wish to do good in Arthur Castus' name, be the brave man I know you are and do everything in your power to stay at the Wall as long as possible. The Saxon army will come, and we cannot leave this place undefended," she said sternly.
He nodded his head and looked over Isolde's shoulders to see the Bishop approaching them, ready to preach in his prayers for his safe return. However, with a blink of an eye, Alecto quickly took his mother by the arm and led her in the opposite direction, most likely to help the others out.
"Where is the boy going?" questioned Germanius.
Isolde bit the inside of her cheek to avoid making a face at the man she had come to hate more than any Visigoth she had encountered. "It's been a long and dangerous journey for him. He's tired, and wishes to rest. As does his mother. I'm afraid our journey back will have to wait a little longer."
"I would discourage our party from staying any longer than necessary," he retorted. "In case you have failed to notice, the Saxons will be here any moment."
"Now, Your Grace," Isolde taunted. "Running away from the enemy never did any good. They'll always catch up to you. And at the pace we've travelled, it's almost inevitable that we'll be outrun."
Before the Bishop could respond, Isolde turned around and exited the courtyard and walked towards a crowd of men who were sharpening the swords Jols had managed to find in the armory room. She held one up, and inspected its quality and decided it was a decent sword – mostly Roman made. It couldn't compare to the blade that she carried around her waist, but it would out maneuver any Saxon blade.
A commotion near the gates caused Isolde's head to look up, and the sight of the tired knights caused her to drop the heavy blade onto the ground. Arthur, whose face was now cake in sweat and blood held a solemn and grave look as he led the other knights in. One by one, they led their horses to the courtyard, each holding such a look of despair and anger that it sent a shiver down Isolde's spine.
"Lancelot, what's happened?" she cautiously asked.
He gave her one long hard stare, saying nothing and walked away. Confused, she turned to Bors and mentally asked the same question. He looked like he was ready to kill the next Roman in his path, but merely gave Isolde a huge grunt before walking away and muttering he needed a drink. Frustrated at the lack of response, Isolde yelled in no one in particular, "What the bloody hell is going on?"
"It's Dagonet," Gawain quietly responded. "He fell into the ice. He…he may not live."
Shocked and confused, Isolde's eyes focused behind Gawain and landed on a large body which was hunched over a horse being guided by Tristan.
"He needs your help," cried Galahad. "I was too young to remember, but Lancelot said you were a healer before. Help him Isolde!"
Memories began flooding into Isolde's head as images of a dying Caradoc threatened the tears which were now forming in her eyes. Unable to speak, Isolde could only stutter as she slowly walked up to Dagonet's limp body and held his cold hand.
She looked up at Tristan, mouth open, wanting to speak but no words could come out. She looked over to Arthur, whose grave face was almost begging her too save his old friend.
She closed her eyes, letting her memories consume her.
The door crashed open and Isolde looked in horror as she saw Uther, the knights' trainer and mentor carry a lifeless body that she immediately recognized as her brother in his arms. A great arrow protruded from his chest, as his blood dripped to the ground.
"Brangaine, Isolde. He's been hit by an arrow."
Isolde stood frozen, refusing to believe that her one and only family was dying on her table.
"Dear sister," Caradoc croaked out.
Isolde immediately ran towards him and grabbed his hand.
"Shhh, brother. You'll be alright," she said unconvincingly. Her own voice was shaking, and she had failed to notice the tears that began to form.
Caradoc managed a stiff smile, trying to mask his pain. "I wish I could have been a better brother."
"Don't speak like that Caradoc. You'll be alright. I promise I won't let you die," Isolde whispered.
He weakly gripped her hand, but Isolde could tell her was beginning to lose strength from the loss of blood. His complexion began to whiten and his eyes which were once so full of life were now becoming unfocused and dull.
"It's not fair," Isolde cried out.
"Nothing's fair in this world, sister," he managed weakly.
"You can't leave me..Caradoc, please!"
"I won't leave you. I promise; you'll never be alone.""
She felt his hand go limp, and his eyes slowly close. She stood there, frozen in time, hoping it was just some cruel joke he was playing. Any minute, she thought, he'll jump up and laugh.
But he remained still – dead.
Isolde brought her shaking hand to Dagonet's heart, feeling his heartbeat growing weaker by the minute. He was still alive, but for how much longer, Isolde did not know. Her eyes followed his wounds that were caused by the arrows and felt slightly relieved that none seemed completely fatal. She looked back at the knights, all now staring intently on her, secretly wondering if their old friend would abandon them in a time of need, or live up to a Sarmatian's honour.
"Isolde…"
It was the first time she heard him say her name in almost thirteen years, and it caused her legs to slightly sway at the sound of his voice. He slowly approached her, his gaze only on her and stopped just inches away from her face.
"Caradoc was not your fault," he said in a low whisper.
She closed her eyes, but was unable to keep the tears that now landed on her cheeks. "I made a promise to myself long ago that those I loved would never die on my table."
"Then honour your promise."
She gave a nod, and Tristan wasted no time to move Dagonet's body off the horse and making his way towards the healer's quarters. The other knights followed suit, with Bors and Lancelot offering their shoulders to help with the weight of the great, but gentle knight.
"Isolde," called out Arthur.
"I'll try Arthur. I swear on my brother's grave, I'll do everything I can to save him. But the healing arts…it's something that I haven't done in so long."
He gave her a reassuring smile. "I trust you Isolde. And I promise I won't bear judgment against you should the worst happen. And I can't thank you enough for all that you've done here."
"Will you lead these people into battle?"
He gave her a wary smile. "This Britons…a people I've called my enemy for so many years now wish for an alliance. The very people who took my mother away from me. I long for peace and solitude in Rome, but now I'm thrust into another battle that I'm sure will lead me to death. I do not know what to think."
She scoffed. "If you seek peace, do not seek it Rome. You will never find peace among the Romans. There is always war, if not by swords then by words. And if you leave with the Romans Arthur, who will defend the people?"
"I want the freedom to choose my destiny," he tiredly whispered.
She gave him a knowing smile. "Nothing's ever fair in this world," she replied.