Chapter 20:
He sat motionlessly in his dark cold cellar with the chains clamped around his wrists, waiting for his trial. The scraps of food that were practically thrown into between the metal bars were virtually ignored by the prisoner, welcoming the rats that came between the walls to share his meal. He would not move, would not talk and would not eat. It unnerved the guards that were posted to keep watch. He seemed like a silent killer, waiting to strike his enemies at any moment's notice.
His plan had brought a considerable amount chaos among the Senate. Not hours after he was arrested for treason, the people on the streets began shouting for injustice and corruption. He could hear yells of his release between the barred windows of his cell. He knew the people wouldn't let their war hero spend the rest of his days in a prison cell. There would be upheaval and shouts, and if probed, the riots and looting would increase to what he hoped would be the people's revolution.
Aetius was willing to sacrifice his life for his love of Rome – but he had to make sure he died at the right time to catapult such events.
He was disappointed that he was unable to put his trust into Marcus, who was like a son to him. They must have gotten to him first, he thought. The only regret Aetius had in recent events was that it was his carelessness in trusting the wrong people that had him arrested by the very man whom Aetius would have gladly given his life for.
He was thankful that he had not heard any rumours or confirmation that Senator Gracchus was to share the same fate. It gave him some relief that their cause was not yet lost.
A commotion outside the hall caused Aetius to straighten his posture as he waited for his incoming visitors.
"Are you ready to confess your crimes against the Empire?" the younger man asked.
"I have done nothing but to ensure that the glory of Rome lives on," Aetius said defiantly.
Marcus motioned to his guards to leave them in privacy and waited until he was completely sure that the two soliders were alone. "I did not intend for this to happen Aetius," he said.
"If this is some offer of apology, then you're wasting your time. I knew the consequences and risks, as did you," he rebuffed.
"There is more at stake than you would ever understand. I had to arrest you; there was no other choice."
'What's done is done Marcus."
"I will need your confession though and the names of your accomplices and perhaps the Emperor will be merciful."
"And that is something I will not do, Marcus."
A silence followed, leaving each man to their own thoughts and to their potential fates. Aetius knew revealing all who were involved would risk the lives of many others, but their hopes of restoring Rome as a republic would die.
"You will bear all responsibility on your shoulders?"
"I will do what's necessary to ensure what needs to be done, including giving my own life. Rome is my life and my love; I will do anything to ensure she is restored her former glory."
"You will die a traitor."
"No, I will die a martyr."
She awoke under a full moon and dark skies. The air was silent and cold, though she was adequately warm underneath the mountains of blankets that covered her. Her throat felt dry when she opened her mouth to speak, but only a quiet sound broke the air. Every breathe she took in sent a sharp pain to her chest, causing her body to shake. She tried to move her arms and legs, but each limb felt tired and heavy.
As her eyes adjusted to the dim moonlight, she found herself in a very small room that looked unfamiliar. She closed her eyes once more trying to recall the moments before she had lost consciousness in the battlefield, trying to remember the moment the Saxon has pierced her armour with his blade, and the pain she felt she the blood began flowing from her body.
She was ready for her death, but fate had decided it was not her time to die just yet. The lingering words between herself and Merlin in her mind confused her. She thought it was just her mind playing tricks on her, as a way to escape the pain, yet it felt so real.
It sent shivers down her spine, knowing she was in a place that felt so unnatural. Was it all just a dream? Where is Arthur? Where is Tristan?
The door slowly opened, with a woman who was carrying a tray of herbs and a jug of water. Isolde did not recognize the older woman, but she bore a strong resemblance to her old mentor, Brangaine. Her eyes lit up and quickly went to Isolde's side to check her temperature.
"Oh, I'm so glad you're awake!"
"W-who are you?" she struggled to say in a rough whisper.
"My name is Viviane. I've been tending to your wounds since Badon Hill. I thought the journey would be too much for you, but I'm so happy you're awake. Your friend, Maximus, he'll be so happy to hear the news."
"Journey? Are we not at the wall?" she asked suspiciously.
"We've not been at the wall for nearly four days. We've stopped at Londinium to refresh our supplies," she remarked.
Isolde croaked and lifted her head to reexamine her surroundings, but found herself inviting another headache. Viviane gently pushed her back into pillow, and placed a warm cloth over her head. "Try not to move," she instructed.
"How bad is it?"
Viviane gave her a grim smile. "We didn't think you would break the fever. The wounds were so deep that I didn't think the bleeding would stop. Your wrist is wounded and you've three broken ribs."
"Sounds better than it actually feels," Isolde remarked.
"You'll be confined to a bed for at least another three days. After that, mobility will be difficult without ripping the stitches out of your side."
"Thank you," she said gratefully to her.
Viviane gave her a curt nod, before grabbing the wash basin and leaving the room. Isolde immediately tried to lift herself up, but was met with an excruciating pain at her right side. She looked down and found her chest wrapped in fresh bandages. She looked at her wrist, in a makeshift splint almost bearing the same amount of pain. She tried moving her legs, but they felt heavy and slow. In frustration, she laid her head back down and stared at the ceiling, trying to recall the last thing before she blacked out.
Blurs of images ran through her mind, as she remembered fighting the large Saxon. She mentally beat herself up for succumbing to her own defeat. She replayed every move she made in her head, trying to figure out how she managed to fall.
You enemy always has two hands, a voice echoed through her head. It was a mistake she had overlooked that nearly cost her life.
She was ready for death. She had embraced it with open arms right then and there. And then someone saved her. But who?
She'll never know, she thought to herself. She was four days from the wall, and wasn't going back anytime soon. Her thoughts drifted to her knights, and her heart sank wondering if they had met death. She stifled out a cry at the thought of Tristan's own demise.
I'll never see him again, she thought.
Isolde suddenly remembered her dream and it brought chills down her spine. It had felt so real and yet surreal at the same time. Was it merely a dream? Or was it an omen of what was to come?
"Nonsense!" she said to herself. "Marcus marrying me…what a ridiculous idea!"
"Ah! She rises from her slumber," a voice broke out.
Isolde lifted her head to the door and saw Maximus casually leaning against the frame. He looked worn and tired, but still held a glint in his eyes that always brought warmness to her heart.
"Maximus!" she yelled, smiling at him. She felt relieved, knowing he did not suffer from serious wounds or a more serious fate than her.
"Isolde, I'm so relieved you are awake. We've been so worried about you."
"We?"
"Alecto and his mother of course. They've barely left your side…well, none of us had really. There's an animosity going on within the group right now."
"Tell me what I've missed," she said seriously.
"Germanius has finally lost his patience with you, I think. The ploy you and Alecto schemed so that you could stay at the wall? He found out and was furious. He literally had ordered his men to pick your body from the battlefield and drag you back to him. I, myself have gotten a few death threats from some of the other men for defending, oh what did they call you…Roman trash. Some aren't too happy with your actions, while others are calling you a hero. Alecto feared someone would want to end your life, so we agreed to keep watch for you."
"You make me sound like a hero."
"You are! In my eyes at least. And Alecto's too. I swear that boy has become inspired by you and Arthur."
She grabbed his hand and squeezed it tight, as a sign of affection and a sign of trusted friendship. She gave a huge gulp and sigh. "Did..any of them…"
Maximus remained silent, unsure of what to tell her. "Tell me," she pressed on, mentally preparing herself for the worst.
"He was lying not three feet away from you. His fate…I do not know," he said quietly. "I'm sorry Isolde."
"There are no apologies between us Maximus. This is…just how life is," she said sadly.
"What happens now?"
"We go back to Rome, deliver the boy to the Pope and move on with life," she said bitterly.
"Somehow I don't believe that is your fate. I think you'll see your Tristan again. You'll have your happy ending."
Her mind went back to her dream, with Merlin standing above her. This is one but many possible outcomes of what will come, his voice echoed through her head. She shivered at the sound of his voice. Could it be real? Was that life ahead of her in Rome?
"I don't think it'll be that easy Maximus. When we go back to Rome, I think we will be facing a new battle that we may not be ready for."
The knights spent their days cleaning up the aftermath of the Battle of Badon Hill, burying the dead, tending the sick and clearing the lands. They had barely seen Arthur, for he now occupied his time with the Woads and Guinevere, worried that there would be a second Saxon invasion. The battle had taken a heavy toll on all the knights. The fort's armory was nearly empty, food was in short supply, their line of defense was thin and they were short on beds.
And each night, the knights would rotate and watch over Tristan and Lancelot, who still had not woken up from their injuries. Dagonet had woke up from his own injuries and now walked about the fort with a large cane, helping in any way he could. But his recovery would be long and slow.
It was his turn to watch over his sleeping comrades, as he sat in his chair after making sure putting more wood in the fire. He sighed, exhausted after his morning routine. He brought his hand to his side and felt his own bandages. He sent a prayer to the gods to Isolde, hoping she was safe and alive...wherever she was.
He looked at Lancelot who had taken two arrows to the chest, one of which that was narrowly close to his heart. Most healers had refused to help him, saying he was already at death's door. He heard that Arthur begged Merlin to save his friend, using his rumoured wizardry to bring him back. Whether if it was true magic or not, Merlin had managed to bring Lancelot back to the living world. Now it was only a matter of time before Lancelot and Tristan would wake up.
The wild knight jolted in his bed and a sound escaped from his lips. Dagonet went to feel his forehead which had begun burning up. "Hang in there Tris, you can make it," he said quietly.
Another whispered escaped his lips, this time loud enough for Dagonet to hear. He was calling for her, calling for her to come back and Dagonet could only look on helplessly, wishing he could have helped. "Be patient my old friend. She'll come back for you. I know she will."