Chapter 16:
A flock of birds flew above the courtyard breaking Aetius' thoughts. Looking up, he narrowed his eyes at the blood red sun that was now descending into the horizon.
Blood will be spilt tonight, he thought solemnly.
But who's blood?
A soldier came rushing down the corridor, breaking his thoughts. Heavy panting and the look of fear masked his face, causing the blood to quicken in Aetius' veins.
Blood will be spilt tonight, he told himself.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
"My L-Lo-rd," the dark-skinned man stuttered as he struggled to catch his breathe. "We've been betrayed!"
"Betrayed? How? What have you learned?"
"I have received word that Marcus has issued an arrest warrant for you, my Lord," he quickly replied, and was careful to cast his eyes down.
Aetius remained silent, but the look on the general's face had scared the young soldier that he had dared not to continue to speak, but continued carefully, "You have been charged with treason, my lord. The army will be here by nightfall, and have been commanded to bring you in dead, or alive."
"Is that all?"
"My Lord?"
"Remember what I told you that these were dangerous times, Quintus. If I run, it will solidify my guilt. No, that will not do. Everything will be continued as planned. Go and ready your horse Quintus, and you must tell Senator Gracchus, unless he's already been informed."
"We should have never trusted that Primus Pilus," Quintus spat.
"He has never betrayed me, Quintus. Marcus must have reason to do such a thing."
Aetius closed his eyes and took a deep breathe Marcus was like a son to him; he would never have betrayed Aetius without good reason.
So this is how the great General of Rome will meet his demise, he told himself
"No…it won't end like this" he said.
The red sun was almost halfway down, which didn't give much time to Aetius. He was no politician; he knew he would not survive the Senate. He was not a young soldier either; he knew he would not survive the dungeons. But Aetius was a general, and a solder of Rome since he was a boy. Aetius fought with a sword and shield, not with words and lies.
"Quintus, gather our men and spread the word of my arrest. Tell them that the great general who gave Rome the head of the Barbarian King, Attila the Hun has been rewarded with imprisonment. Tell them to gather their swords and horses and march the streets of Rome and shout these words. We have waited far too long in this political game and now we are trapped. It's time to start thinking like a damn soldier in a battlefield."
"What will that do, my Lord? It will only create chaos in the streets."
"Where there is chaos, there is distraction Quintus. It will give Senator Gracchus to make his move, if he plans on making one."
"And what of you? You will let them take you?"
Aetius sighed, "I still have enough fire in me, boy. Marcus greatly overestimates himself if he thinks he's mastered this game of his. He is not the only ally I have in the Senate, and I have enough proof to implicate him. I will go and see what Marcus intends to achieve."
"This is injustice, my Lord. I will not see you called a traitor."
"That makes two of us, Quintus."
The walls were full of whispers and rumours. Anywhere Isolde walked every child, woman and man had heard some story about the Saxon army that was coming to tear down the wall. One woman told her that the gods were punishing them for living in sin, while another told her that the army had secret magicians that carried wildfire in their cloaks.
Each moment exhausted Isolde. Her fingers were still trembling from tedious needlework from Dagonet's wounds. Her legs were sore from riding through the Northern forests. She couldn't remember the last time she had slept, eaten or bathe herself.
And she was cold.
Feeling the headache that was about to explode in her head, she quickly removed herself from the chaos of the confused villagers and climbed the stairs to the wall where the lingering remaining Roman soldiers were patrolling. The wind was considerably stronger, whipping the strands of loose hair into her face, and sending shivers down her spine.
"Will he live?"
She turned to see Lancelot, plagued with worry, fear and anger. Isolde patted his shoulder and gave him a small smile, "He'll live, Lancelot. He broke his fever, so it's now only a matter of time before he wakes up now."
Before she could react, Lancelot pulled her into a tight hug. 'Thank you," he whispered. "I knew it was difficult for you…to do that again."
Isolde tensed up, and gently pushed him back. The fear once plagued Isolde, now somewhat seemingly didn't feel so daunting anymore. She had saved Dagonet's life. She had honoured her promise.
"Carodoc would have been proud of me," she whispered.
Lancelot smiled, "You know he knew about you and Tris, back then."
"What do you mean?"
"You two tried so hard to keep it a secret, that it wasn't really a secret." Lancelot turned to look at the Northern forests and ran his hand through his hair. "He wasn't mad. He was happy that you were happy…but he didn't think Tristan was the one who made your days brighter at the Wall. Actually, he was hoping it was actually me who would woo you. Anyways one week before the accident, he gave Tristan his blessing."
"W-What?"
But Lancelot pretended not to hear her. He needed her to listen, for Tristan's sake. "He's never stopped loving you. Never. But he keeps everything locked up inside him, and sometimes I think he purposely goes to do the most suicidal missions just so he can get himself killed so he can forget about you."
"Why are you telling me this?" Isolde asked suspiciously.
"The Saxons will be here by nightfall tomorrow, Isolde and you're going to leave again. I'm finally leaving this island, and so will my brothers. You will never see Tristan again. Please, do not let it end like this."
"And what do you expect me to do? Unlike you, I don't have the luxury of freedom. I will go back to Rome whether I choose to or not."
"Do you still love him?"
"What kind of question is that? That has nothing to do with – "
"Just answer the damned question Isolde."
She was scared to say it, to admit what's been haunting her dreams and her thoughts every day and night. Barely a whisper, she spoke, hoping that the wind would carry her voice away and Lancelot wouldn't have heard.
"I've never stopped."
"He would go to the ends of the world for you, Isolde"
"You make him sound like a love-sick fool Lancelot!"
"That's because he is…he just doesn't show it"
Isolde sighed and stayed silent. Lancelot's words were now becoming a heavy burden on her shoulders. The Saxons were coming. She worried for the people, she worried for Arthur and she worried for the knights. The Saxons were coming, and she was leaving for Rome. The gods were unfair to her.
Of all places to be at, he found himself sitting on the bedside of the giant knight, whose eyes had still yet to open, though it gave Arthur great relief that his heart was beating strong thanks to Isolde.
He should have been outside, helping with the evacuation of the villagers, packing his own things for Rome, and spending his last moments with his knights and friends, yet he could not force himself to move. His heart mulled over the dead brothers, his mother, his father who had sacrificed their lives.
What good were their lives for now? The Saxons were coming.
"What would you do, old friend," he asked Dagonet.
The giant remained silent, but Arthur knew what his answer would be. And he knew it was the right answer, yet his heart was still torn between two ideals; his dreams of Rome, and his memories of Briton.
"Rest now, you've earned it." He quietly said, and squeezed the sleeping knight's arm before leaving the room.
His brooding mind had not noticed the slight disorder that was happening around him. His shoulders had bumped a few people, but he did not care to notice, causing a few concerned and worried looks his way. Arthur didn't care though, and he kept walking to wherever his feet took him.
He found himself being stopped by some unknown force, causing him to look up only to find it was Isolde who had both of her hands firmly on both of his shoulders.
"You look like a dead ghost Arthur," she commented.
He remained silent and gave her a grim smile. He then felt himself being pushed down the corridor, the silence of the stone masking the voices of fear and disorder from the outside. He closed his eyes for a moment and welcomed this change, but even then the silence also gave him an uneasy feeling. She led him to the round table, where she quietly shut the large oak doors, leaving the world outside behind them. Turning around, Arthur noted the dark circles underneath Isolde's eyes, and the slight hollows in her cheeks and secretly began to wonder when the last time she had slept or ate.
Then he tried to remember the last time when he did the same.
Isolde reached in her cloak and pulled out a letter whose seal was still not broken, yet the slight tears and wrinkles in the corners told Arthur this letter was at least a few months old.
"What's this?" he asked.
"Don't you recognize the seal?"
He took a closer look at the engraved red wax and his expression somewhat soften. It was no mistake – that was the seal of his old friend, Pelagius. He then tightened his jaw, remembering what Alecto had told him only days earlier that Germanius had excommunicated him and sent Pelagius to his death.
"Why do you have his letter?"
"I saved his life once…had I known his life was still in danger,I would have arranged some protection for him…" Isolde began, afraid Arthur would bear some hatred towards her.
Sensing her fears, he gently replied, "I do not blame you Isolde, if that's what you're thinking."
"He asked me to give you this letter when he learnt I was to travel to Briton."
He took the letter from Isolde's hands and carefully broke the seal and unfolded it, his eyes scanning each word as it slowly sunk in. His eyes stopped at his signature at the bottom, where his friend's name bid his last farewell. Closing his eyes, he sent a silent prayer for the one man who had taught him everything he had come to known.
He looked up to Isolde, who had leaned against the edge of the table looking at him with such intensity that for a moment he felt like a child who had just anger his mother.
"He tells me not to go to Rome," he said.
She gave him a slight nod, as if she had already expected his answer. "They were not kind to him, those Romans. They called him a heretic, they sent assassins, and they murdered his followers."
"Was the Rome in my dreams just merely a dream?" he wondered.
"Perhaps, once upon a time, Rome was exactly how you dreamt of it. But her beauty is now aging, and she's become a bitter, old and resentful hag."
"He tells me Germanius has made plans for me to enter the Senate."
"Germanius loves only himself – you cannot trust him. If he intends to befriend you, he intends to use you, and then throw you to the dogs when he's done with you. Arthur, you are a free man now. You have the freedom to chose your own life. If you go to Rome, your freedom will only be an illusion. They will pull you like a master pulls the strings on a puppet."
"And if I stay in Briton?"
"You can lead this people, Arthur. You have friends here."
"You mean Merlin and Guinevere?"
She shook her head. "They will follow you, yes. But the knights, you'll have them; their love, their laughs, their anger."
"They will go back to Sarmatia and forget about this island."
She pursed her lips. "Sarmatia isn't what we remember anymore. The Huns are crossing the lands, raiding all the tribes; it's become a dangerous place. You and this island are all they have left, I'm afraid."
Silence engulfed them once again, leaving each to their own thoughts, wondering what was to come. Isolde, dreading her life back in Rome, and Arthur, realizing that the Rome he dreamt of all his life would almost likely always remain a dream.
"Then I know what I must do then."