"Peace of mind comes when your life is in harmony, with true principles and values and in no other way."
Peace of Mind
ISOLDE…
We had several days to recover from the battle. Arthur took one of these days to closet himself with Quintus. When they finally emerged, Arthur looked determined, while our training master wore a resigned look on his face.
An old comrade of Quintus', Servius Macer, was visiting from a nearby legion – Aquila's Fourth, by the eagle on his armor – not too friendly with our own Lupus' Twenty-fifth, the Wolf Legion, so the legion itself had stayed behind.
It was by eavesdropping on a conversation between the two friends that we learned the reason for the Ethiopian's strange meeting with our commander.
"The boy wants to do what?" Servius exclaimed.
"Aye," said Quintus wryly. "That's just what I said. He thinks that by starting their missions early, they'll have more of a chance once woad season starts up. Be more acclimated to their strategies, like."
"You don't think they're ready, do you? By God, they've only been here… what, a few months!"
"Of course they aren't ready," the black man scoffed, "who is ever ready for the blue demons? But Serv… this is the most promising group of fighters I've ever trained. They really care about each other – and you know how important that is in an active unit. That girl is bringing them together like nothing I've ever seen." I felt my cheeks warm from the blatant praise, regardless of whether or not it was said to my face.
"And that Lancelot is a natural leader, and a born swordsman," I saw the aforementioned male puff up his chest with pride. Men – they were all the same, no matter what their age, "if only he could just get over himself enough to use both skills properly. Right now his parts are where his brains are, and little enough sense he had to begin with."
I clapped a hand over his mouth before he could protest – loudly – and when I did so I half-expected a repeat of my show of immaturity from a few nights before.
"And you agreed to this?" Servius sounded incredulous.
Quintus chuckled. "I hardly had a choice. The boy is as impossible to argue with as his father was."
There was the sound of a clap on the back. "In that case, you're fighting a losing battle, my friend – that man was absolutely incorrigible!" The two friends shared a laugh and we drew back.
"What were you doing?" Palomydes asked warily. He had been walking by when we emerged from the bushes under Quintus' window, Lancelot a little red from our ribbing, and Ru and I poking fun at him and laughing at his discomfort.
"You'll find out soon enough," I cackled with glee.
I looped my arms through that of each of my friends and skipped merrily toward the stable and the hayloft we Sarmatians had made into our own to tell them all the news, dragging Ru and Lance with me.
Finally, I thought, no more training, no more useless whacking with wooden swords – we're going to be knights!
There was a feeling of suppressed excitement in the hall that night. When Arthur came in and sat down at his usual place at the head of the table – something that was still a sore point with Zanticus – he looked around at our eager faces suspiciously.
"All right," he said a trifle wearily, "who squealed?"
Feeling a little juvenile, I blushed and sheepishly raised my hand. Arthur arched an eyebrow, his lips twitching as he tried to hold a severe expression.
I looked at Ru, and he shrugged and put up his hand as well, less bashfully than I. We both looked at Lancelot, and the others followed our gaze. A smile was playing around Arthur's mouth as Lance shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
Finally he cracked under the pressure. "Oh alright," he said, "me too." He glared at the two of us (who were both beaming like idiots) in annoyance.
Arthur sat back in his chair, now wearing a full-blown grin. "Then I shall put any doubts you might have to rest. Beginning today, we are all full knights, and we'll be leaving tomorrow on our first mission."
The hall rang with happy cheers, mine among them. Perhaps Arthur would see what a difference this responsibility would make in their confidence, and more importantly, in their fighting ability. Pride could do wonders for a person.
Our commander waited until the men had quieted and said, "This does not mean that we are finished training. Every morning that we are here you will report to Quintus, until the full year is up." Moans of dread filled the room. "In the afternoons we will ride out on patrols in shifts. The evenings are yours to do with as you wish, and there will be no more ambushes."
"However, in addition… after the noon meal every day, you will learn reading and writing in Latin, and mathematics, and the very basics of the woad language. As for me… I will be learning Sarmatian, if one of you would be willing to oblige."
Shouts of approval could be heard. I looked on, impressed. With that one sentence, he had managed to differentiate himself from the image of Romans that we all held, and belittle his image in the eyes of other Romans by asking to be taught by one of us rather than the men of his own kind who could do almost as well, thus raising himself in our estimation. At the same time, he'd bound them to him with ties much stronger than any rope or contract ever could.
One day, I realized, we would all happily lay down our lives for him. One day, we would love him.
Arthur had forbidden us from getting drunk that night, so there was none of the hard stuff for us, only mead and ale, and that only in moderation, Arthur had instructed us, or he'd leave us in the stocks while the rest of them went off to have grand adventures, and we'd be busted down to squire for the rest of our service.
Since none of us wanted that, none of us drank ourselves into oblivion. Few were even likely to have a head from the drink in the morning. Bors might, but that wouldn't be from the alcohol he'd consumed; rather, it would be from the blow Vanora had dealt him with her tray when he became a little too friendly, laying him out on the floor for the night.
And so it was that we were all present and sober when we rode out the gates the next morning. We halted mid-step, all forty-one of us, when Arthur raised his hand. We'd all had ample time to learn the signals since our arrival at the Wall.
Arthur's second-in-command – he who held down the fortress in his superior's absence – cried the salute, slapping his chest with a closed fist. In return, Arthur pressed his own fist against the breastplate of his armor.
The signal to continue was unneeded, as we read him easily and complied with the unspoken command before ever it was uttered. We trotted, then cantered, and when we'd cleared the walls of the fort, progressed into a full gallop.
I reveled in the feel of the cold wind on my face, stinging my eyes but making me feel alert to my very fingertips. I saw the same blissfully aware look on Carradas' face and knew we were ready for this. The way I felt, I was ready for anything.
We pounded away from the Wall, taking the road south until we reached the eastern road. The day was clear and bright as we thundered eastward toward the snowcapped mountains and into the rising sun.
Our first mission was almost anticlimactic after the excitement of battle. There were no run-ins with woads, we met with no Romans except for the one we were to escort, and even then he stayed in his carriage and did not speak to us, and likewise we ignored him. He only spoke with Arthur, and that was done with an air of a superior talking to his underling. At one point he asked Arthur,
"Why do you allow the whore to travel with your knights? Surely you find her a… distraction." It took great restraint from all of us not to gut him. Arthur had tightened his lips and looked straight ahead. I suspected he'd felt the same urge.
Because of this comment, and because his holier-than-thou manner irked us, we conspired to make his journey as uncomfortable as possible. Wagon wheels rattled loose, the carriage door came unhinged to let the cold in, his rich food spoiled… These mishaps continued until a quiet word from Arthur stopped us, but it was great fun while it lasted, nonetheless.
We saw neither town nor fortress in these places; the likes of us weren't welcome with respectable folk – meaning Romans – and while it wasn't verbalized, we took the unspoken hint. Arthur didn't seem to notice their coldness toward us, but he was naïve in many ways, the dear boy.
Eight days after we'd set out, we clattered into the courtyard at Badon Hill, making loud and crude jokes at Lancelot's expense – always Lancelot; he was so easy to rile. We would pick on Galahad for the same quality, but the young boy's confidence was easily damaged, whereas Lancelot could take it in stride… after he had some time to cool off.
Arthur had quickly realized that bringing forty-some warriors on a mission was something like overkill; it was simply more than was necessary, and as we'd amply displayed on the journey, forty-some bored men and one bored girl can cook up a world of trouble.
So when we were settled in again, he called us to the hall and told us that we wouldn't be going out all at once for future missions – at least for missions that are a simple matter of escorting personages and such. He'd rotate us all according to our usual roles. Two of us regular scouts would accompany every group that left the Wall.
Then he went through the entire group and made up a list that he showed to me when I came to summon him to dinner. I scanned it quickly and handed it back to him.
"You think they're actually going to keep out of trouble if you only take half of them each mission?" I asked.
He shrugged and smirked as he set aside the tablet. "Of course not; that would be too much to ask for, wouldn't it? But they'll only be able to wreak half as much havoc in one place."
"Don't count on it," I said, regarding him with a certain degree of amusement. "They're damned sneaky delinquents. They'd probably redouble their efforts just to show that they could."
He grimaced. "I suppose it was an idle hope. But empty or not, it's worth a try."
"Sure, anything's worth a try. I'll just try to keep them from burning down the fort while you're gone. Khors only knows what they'll do when we're both out. Probably play Tutyr to Falvara's charge."
Arthur frowned. "Who are these people? I've heard of Khors, your sun god, and I know your horse is named for your god of war, but Tutyr? Falvara? I don't have an inkling of what you're talking about when you use their names. Frankly, it baffles me."
I leaned back in my chair, tipping the front legs off the floor. "Well… the tale goes that 'Tutyr has beaten out one Falvara's eye that last did not see the wolves creeping to herds'. Falvara is the patron of cattle. To play Tutyr to Falvara's charge is, in essence, a reference to a wolf stalking the herd, or a hunter pursuing his prey. Basically, they'll make trouble."
My commander rested his chin in his hand, obviously absorbing this information to be immortalized in his memory. No knowledge was ever wasted with this man.
"And the others?"
"Come now, Arthur, if I listed them all we'd be here all night!" I chuckled, but he looked at me with that earnest, serious look on his face and I knew it was important to him, so I let the chair settle with a dull thunk! "Alright."
"Khors is the main figure in our religion. He is god of the sun, and is known to the Iazyges, like Beucan and Zanticus, as Jizzu. Horses were offered to him in sacrifice, but that custom has all but died out now, finished when the Romans conquered our people going on two hundred years past. Jázon is his counterpart, the moon god."
"Zhihar is the mother goddess, who we usually refer to as the Living Zhihar. You've probably heard that term used before. Then there is Sad, the god of the underworld. Sad's domain is what the Greeks and ancient Romans called Hades. You Christians call it hell."
"Don-Bettyr is the god and lord of water; Wacilla, the thunder god. Papay isgod of wind and clear skies,borne by Tabiti, who isthesun goddess and one of the two Great Goddesses."
"Simargl is the god of war, and a favorite of most warriors, but it is Wasgergi who is patron of soldiers and contracts. Zanticus," I spat on the floor, earning a disapproving glance from Arthur, "was one of our kings, and he signed our people over into slavery, swearing by Wasgergi that his cavalry and every son of the Sarmatian people henceforth would serve Rome for 15 years."
"Our own Zanticus was named after him, thoughwho knows why any self-respecting Sarmatian would want their child to carry the name of that filthy traitor. It's likely why he's so bitter and sullen all the time, the fickle bastard."
I trail off. That was really all he needed to know, and I wasn't sure how he'd take that comment about Zanticus. Was I being too familiar? Overstepping the bounds of the truce we'd so recently made? I couldn't tell from his measured expression, but he said nothing against it and I took that to be a good sign.
His thoughtful silence began to bore me. I stood. "It's time for dinner. Be sure to join us before you wear out your brain. We need your genius for better and more important things, like provoking Lancelot and taunting Bors."
He nodded and said, "Go on, I'll be there in a moment."
I left him to his own devices.
That night I joined the boys at the tavern again.
"Isolde!" Came the enthusiastic welcome. Probably looking forward to another good show at my expense, the sods. But there would be no more of those. I had learned.
"Vanora!" I heard Bors shout. "Bring somethin' for 'Solde to drink, now, and then come over here and sit your pretty self on my lap, woman!" It seemed he was attempting to take a leaf from Lancelot's book, and it was equally apparent that it wasn't working. The look Vanora shot him was nothing less than glacial. Obviously his advances were taking him nowhere but backwards.
But the redhead came over with a tankard nevertheless. When she set it in front of me, I remembered my thoughts of two weeks before and caught her sleeve as she drew her arm back.
She looked down at me in confusion. "Wha-"
"Can I talk to you sometime?" I asked, somewhat shyly. This was, after all, the first female I'd spoken to since Gaia and Lucia in Portus Itius seven months earlier, and the first woman since we'd left the plains of my homeland.
She considered me and I realized that she was really only two or three years older than me. "Tomorrow, 'ere, an hour 'fore midday," she said, without implication or inflection to her words.
I nodded and let go the rough cotton of her dress.
"Drink, Isolde!" roared Gawain. "Drink and be merry, for we are alive and whole and in good conpamy. Er… compary. Shomtin' like tha'." I joined in the uproarious laughter his drunken blunder inspired, lifting my mug to my lips.
I woke up looking into the night-pot in the corner of my room as my stomach protested against the copious amount of ale and wine I'd consumed.
StupidstupidstupidstupidstupidSTUPID! I berated myself.
When I finished heaving, I rocked back on my heels and wiped my mouth miserably.
"Ohh…" I swore in a burst of embarrassment and anger at myself. I've learned…right. Damned ignorant, is what I am.
"I will never drink again." I moaned.
"Rather unlikely, as you seem to enjoy it so."
I knew who it was before I even turned to look.
"Go 'way, Tristan…" I could almost sense the laughter in his voice.
"Many have made that vow, and very few ever succeed."
Go away go away go away go away…
"I was just going down to the tavern when I heard the noise. You need a new hobby, Isolde. Drinking until you're either unconscious or evicted doesn't seem to be doing you much good."
Sudden anger flared. "Get out." I said coldly. "Out!"
I heard nothing. Had he even moved?
I spun around and flung my knife at the door. The door that was already closed, shutting me in with only my murderous thoughts for company.
Vanora was bent over a tub of steaming wash water, scrubbing at the greasy dishes and tankards left over from the rowdy night before when I came through the door, still sticky with sweat from the morning's exertions. Quin had gone hard on us today, cheerfully shouting vulgar insults and goading us into exhaustion. The man was insane!
Without looking up, she said, "Yeh take those dishes out to the front room an' put 'em behind the bar an' I'll be right out." Her British accent was prominent in the way she pronounced her os and rs, neglecting the customary roll of a native or fluent Latin speaker.
I did as she said and just as I set the last upside down on the shelf she came out, drying her hands with a cloth.
"What d'yeh want?" She asked. I had the feeling she had about as much use for me as I had for her.
"Just to learn how to keep the boys from getting a hold on me nights. I watched you avoid them easily last night. I figure it's a useful skill to learn." She frowned.
"I work here. I've only meself to count on or to run this place, as the other girls are little 'elp, carousing with the patrons all night long. I cain't be bothered to waste me time teachin' a green hand."
"But of course I wouldn't ask you to neglect your work while you taught me," I said, somewhat surprised by the thought. It had seemed a given to me, but I supposed she was accustomed to less chivalrous types.
Vanora considered this. "All right. I'll give yeh some basics now, as I've a little free time. Come over 'ere."
I went. She took a tray loaded with four empty tankards and went to a table. "Now, yeh lean way intae th' group like this…"
Half an hour later I left the tavern, whistling cheerfully. Vanora had not only given me what I'd asked for, but a few defensive tricks besides, which she'd picked up over the past few years and which I'd never thought of; no doubt they were used to fend off the more persistent, violent Romans. Painful tricks. I grinned. While I might scorn that woman and the way she lived, she did have a wickedly sadistic sense of humor, I had to give her that.
She was a shrewd businesswoman, too, I reflected. In return for the knowledge of men and their ways that she'd gained in her short years, she'd managed to extract a promise of my help with the night custom for the next week. Of course, she also said that any girl serving in her tavern would wear a proper dress, not one wearing trousers like a jumped-up hussy.
I'd bristled when she said this, but I had been the one who came to her, so I gritted my teeth and bore it. After all, it wasn't like I hadn't heard worse insults. I was, however, rather proud of how I'd managed my affront at being compared to a whore.
But the dress issue also meant I'd have to actually look like a woman, something that Vanora had charged one of her girls with accomplishing, so in addition to the serving, I was getting lady lessons as well. What good that would do me on the battlefield, I couldn't imagine, but when I mentioned this to Vanora, the young woman huffed impatiently and said, "Oh, I'm sure you'll find some use for it."
So it was that I could be found in the room of Regan, a fluttering, giggling girl a year older than me, with strict instructions from Vanora to obey her or suffer the consequences.
I didn't have any particular affection for the woman, but she was frightening sometimes. Especially the times when she was threatening me with a terrible fate while holding a meat cleaver in hand.
As it was our first day back, Arthur had postponed our first lessons until the following day, so I had plenty of time on my hands to go and turn into a woman. But if this cursed girl didn't stop her bouncing and chattering, I was going to run her through and damn the consequences.
"Coo, miss, what did you do to your hair?" She wrinkled her nose in distaste at the offending stuff, cut short to different lengths and plaited into many tiny braids that mixed with the free hair. I frowned. There was nothing wrong with my hair.
Since my arrival at the Wall, I'd kept my hair shorter, only to my shoulder blades. Having it long seemed like too much work, but after watching Vanora manage hers with brisk efficiency despite her working lifestyle, I thought maybe long hair wasn't so bad.
She tutted. "We'll have to do something about that."
"Mmph!" I gurgled as my head was forced into the basin of water for the last time. Suds floated free and clung to the porcelain sides. I tried to keep from snorting them up my nose as Regan let me lift my wet hair out of the soapy water. She may have been flighty and small, but she was strong.
Deftly she wrapped the dripping strands in a drying cloth, tucking the end in and making me look foolish beyond belief, I thought, with it wrapped 'round my head like a turban.
Whilst we waited for the cloth to draw out the excess water, she stood me up and fitted me out with a gown of baby blue. The color wasn't my favorite, nor did it go particularly well with any of my assets, except perhaps my hair, but it was soft and comfortable, and it was the only one that was both suitably decent and the right size.
Regan sat me in the chair again and unwrapped my hair. By then the little wisps had dried and they curled slightly, catching the light from the dying sun and lending my face a healthy, golden glow.
I wasn't pretty. I knew that, although living with forty-odd men had rather restricted my ability to pass judgment on such things. My face was too broad, my cheekbones too prominent, my eyebrows too thick, and my nose a little crooked where I'd broken it four months earlier in a training session. My skin was rough and my face tanned and speckled with sun spots. My hands were calloused and strong, my arms and legs thick with muscle. I was too tall and my shoulders were too broad, and I was all angles and no curves.
My only saving grace was my hair, golden blonde, and my eyes, grey like a coming storm. Staring into thelooking glassnow, with Regan fussing around me, I decided they were my favorite feature.
I swore when she began to comb my hair and the brush caught in the knots that still abounded in the thick stuff. Then she started working through the tangles, and for the first time I relaxed and let her work. It felt nice to have someone else take the reins, and the feel of the brush running through my rapidly drying hair was heavenly. I hadn't had my hair brushed since… no, don't think of that, I cautioned myself.
"This is kohl," she explained as she closed in on me with a stick of something dark, which I eyed with suspicion, "to enhance your eyes." Oh, I thought, well that's not so bad. And it wasn't.
I could tell she was really warming to her task from the disapproving, scandalized girl she'd been when she first saw the poor material she had to work with. I could see it by the way her face lit up as she explained what she was doing. I tuned out her voice in my state of relaxation.
"Ouch!" This time I let out a string of curses that brought a flush to her cheeks, although at the moment I was too busy holding my eye and trying to hold back the stinging tears that rose to the surface to take real notice.
"What are you doing!" I exclaimed, still covering my eye protectively. I looked at her in alarm as she pulled my hand away and brought the metal thing in her hand towards my face again.
"Oh, no, you don't." I tried to jump out of my chair but she held me down with a hand on my shoulder.
"Calm yerself. Ye can't go out to play the part o' a lady wi' those bushy eyebrows. I 'ave orders to make yeh beautiful, an' ye're not goin' tae ruin the effect wi' yer whinin'." Why couldn't she have been the yielding, compliant young woman I first believed her to be?
I glared murderously at her but let her continue.
"It helps if you frown when I pull," she said, which really wasn't a hard thing for me to do as I wasglowering thunderously evenbefore she told me that. And I wasn't about to tell her, but she was right.
Newly primped, prodded, and powdered, I fingered the bracelets Regan had lent me as I was ushered down the stairs. The appearance she'd given me wasn't precisely refined, but it somehow managed to be pretty and fairly practical at the same time.
I managed to make it down the stairs without tripping on the hem of the unfamiliar garment, although it was close a few times. My slippered feet padded lightly on the wooden floor. The coordination this required made me think of my sword dances, and the mindless ease with which I moved when I danced them.
Thinking of this helped, and I found it was easier than the tentative half-steps I'd been taking before. In fact, I moved so mindlessly that I almost bumped into Attaces, who was leaning on the doorsill, facing the open tavern. I squeaked.
I tried to flee like a frightened deer when he started to turn around, but Regan caught me and steadied me and put her hands on my shoulders. She looked up at me with laughter in her eyes, and yes, some pride too. After all, she had been the one who made me look like this. She eyed me sternly and reassuringly.
"Ye're beautiful, an' confident, an' a free woman in yer own right, wi' no man t'tell ye otherwise."
For a moment I was startled out of my panic. "That was downright profound, Regan. Thank you."
She shrugged. "Don't thank me. It's what Vanora says to all'uv us on our first night entertainin'. Go." Before I could protest, she spun me around and propelled me out into the open.
Ru noticed me first, the randy lad. "What ho, Van, you've got a new wench and you didn't – oh…" His eyes grew very round. The rest of the knights did a prime impression of a school of landed fish, and I straightened, a trifle miffed. Was it so hard to believe that I might want to dress up every once in awhile?
"What's the matter, boys, haven't you ever seen a girl before?" Apparently not. Or perhaps it was just my extraordinary looks and blatant charm that had them gaping soundlessly. That must've been it.
"Isolde?"Saros croaked. It was amazing he could still talk with his mouth hanging open like that. "You're – you're a girl!" Honestly, men are so oblivious sometimes.
I gave him a withering glance and snapped, "Of course I am. What did you expect, a female monkey?"
Brehus chuckled. "Aye, that's our Isolde, all right."
Saros flushed. "Well, of course you're a girl, I just meant… you're actually dressed like one. Why are you wearing a dress?"
He seemed to have regained proper use of his tongue.
"As you so astutely pointed out, I am a girl, and so I'm entitled to a little girlishness every once in awhile. Now," I adopted the expression I'd practiced, a mask of bored indifference. "Do you want a drink or shall I go serve the next table?"
The mention of alcohol reminded them of their initial intentions when they first came in that night; to drink until their eyes crossed.
I fetched tankards enough for the one table and doled them out among my already weaving friends and comrades. As they quaffed them like water, I thought it was unfortunate that when the gods decided to create men, they didn't gift them with common sense. Although that term was entirely unsuitable; as far as I could tell, sense was only common amongst the females of the species.
The rest of the night went smoothly for the most part. When my services were no longer needed, Vanora allowed me to go and have some fun with my "handsome bucks" as she called them. I didn't think of them as either mine or as male deer, and I told her so (entirely ignoring her knowing look when I didn't deny their good looks), but I took her point and rejoined the slightly calmer boys.
The night itself was marked by little more than a few leering glances sent my way and some snide comments about how 'a savage bitch like me' really shouldn't be allowed to dress like decent folk.
When it looked like things might come to blows among the hotheads in both companies, I put some of that feminine charm to use, and my bullyboys backed down.
Overall, though, it had been a success. When I lay in my bed at last, slightly tipsy but conscious (a definite improvement on my past experiences with alcohol), I reflected on the fact that while boys had a lot of things easier than the opposite sex, I rather liked being a girl. It meant I could keep my male counterparts off-balance more, and at the same time keep them under control.
I smiled into the dark, remembering the way Bors had come up to me, fidgeting nervously (no doubt in awe of my luminous presence) and looking almost shy. Of all the emotions I would not expect that boy to feel, shyness was the most prominent.
"Isolde, can I have a word?" He asked quietly. I nodded and set the tray on the bar before following him out the back door.
He stood uncomfortably, dying a thousand deaths under my sharp gaze until he finally spoke.
"Well, it's like this. I – I like Vanora. A lot. I think I might even love her, if she ever decided to notice me."
Obviously he'd expected some sort of surprise from me. I mustered something more similar to a shocked grimace, putting a slightly pained twist between my brows. Apparently I passed inspection, though how I'll never know, because he continued unhindered.
"But she won't even look twice at me!" he forgot his unease and paced like a caged animal, which I suppose he was. Caged by love. I nearly snorted, but caught myself in time, luckily for the fragile pride of Bors. Love? Since when was I such a poet?
"I've tried everything – flirting, bragging, ignoring her, following her around… I even followed Ru's advice and cried into my ale in a futile attempt at fishing for sympathy, until I realized he was having me on."
"I've tried being everyone – Lancelot, charming and verbose; Ru, bold and straightforward; even serious and caring like Arthur-"
"Did you ever try being yourself?" I asked wryly, watching him wear a furrow in the earth beneath his feet. He looked at me strangely.
"Of course not," he said, "What I am is a killer, who slaughters men and women who just want this bloody island to themselves. What good would it do to show her that?" He looked almost as though he believed this slop.
I put a stern and chiding note in my voice. "Bors, you aren't a killer. You are forced to kill, to protect your honor and your family, forced to become a slave to the most pompous, presumptuous people I've ever had the misfortune of meeting, but you do not kill voluntarily. A killer of the kind that you speak of wants to end lives. You want to create them. You want to save them."
I felt like an impassioned preacher, inciting someone to grasp their freedom in both hands, just as Arthur was wont to do at any hint of the underdog.
I could see he didn't entirely believe me, so I changed tack. I wasn't cut out for this comforting business.
"Look. If I were looking for a man," which I wasn't, "I wouldn't want someone who hides and lets others run roughshod over him on their way to take what he has his eye on. I wouldn't want a man who doesn't even know what he wants. I'd be looking for a man who knew what he wanted, who would tell the object of his attention (and hopefully that would be me) that he wanted them, and then went for it and damn the consequences."
In a burst of sudden inspiration, I took him by the shoulders and said, "You are handsome, and confident, and a good man in your own right. In my opinion, a thing is only worth doing if you do it all with all your heart. Are you willing to do this, to pursue her? Is she worth it? And if she is, then what are you still doing here?"
His answering smile was enough, and he left a happier man – and he was a man – than he was when he came. Maybe I wasn't so bad at this sort of thing after all.
Without conscious thought or decision, I drifted off to sleep, and I dreamed of happiness, and of love, and of little children with Bors' chubby cheeks and Vanora's fiery hair.
And I dreamed of war.
I was peacefully eating my breakfast the next morning, quite minding my own business as the throb in my head settled into a faint aching, when Bors stormed into the hall and stopped, scanning the faces seated at the long table. When his eyes met mine, he strode rapidly toward me, and I pushed back my chair and stood to greet him.
He had barely reached me when my feet left the floor and I was being crushed as the world spun around me, I can't breathe…
The grinning fool set me down, and as I gasped for air, he crowed, "Isolde, you wonderful, wonderful girl, what would I do without you?" I looked at him in stupefied amazement. You don't want me to answer that, Bors.
"Er… I know that I'm wonderful – modest, too – but… remind me why?" He just grinned all the wider and I could read it all right there in his expression. The male arrogance, his huge smile, the way his eyes glittered with smug satisfaction… the man had found himself a wench last night, and from the look on his face it had been a very good night, too.
"It worked, you brilliant, marvelous, incredible girl, and I've you to thank for it." He turned to the rest of the knights who stared at us with a certain amount of confusion and amusement in their gaze.
I realized what he was going to say a moment before he said it. I tugged at his sleeve in a fruitless attempt to shut him up.
"Isolde here is a gods-loved genius on matters of the heart, my good fellows. She's achieved the impossible and gotten Vanora to fall head-over-heels for me, despite my bumbling efforts and Lancelot's help." The aforementioned knight glared at him. "A toast! A toast to Isolde!" I glowered ferociously at him. Something large and slimy would find its way into his bed very soon.
"Sit down, you great lump," I said, pulling him down to sit on the bench and hoping no one would notice the fires burning merrily in my cheeks. "We've neither drinks nor reason to have them so early in the morning, thank the gods." My shoulders hunched almost of their own accord against the abuse I knew Bors' speech would bring down on me.
The only noise I heard was that of the door closing.
"You sadistic little rotters!" I cried. "You can't just leave me here with him! He's… he's insane! You know what he's like when he's happy, damn you!" The distant sound of laughter was their sole response.
I threw up my hands in helpless frustration and raced out of the room.
Bors' humming followed me when I stopped outside the hall. He broke into song, bellowing out the lyrics to the dirtiest ballad he knew, not seeming to care that his voice cracked and went sour on the easiest of notes. I fled.
I found them outside the stables, convulsed in wild guffaws. With my very best scowl darkening my expression, Imarched right up to the one nearest to me, which unfortunately for him happened to be Lancelot, and slapped him across the face. Hard.
He cursed. "What's wrong with you, woman!" He cried aghast, and clasped a hand over his rapidly reddening cheek.
The others had calmed down somewhat, but Ru couldn't hold it in when he saw the shocked expression on Lancelot's face. He snorted. I punched his arm, growling dangerously.
Balai, Bersules, and Carradas had the bad fortune to come upon us just then, and between chuckles Wynn managed to relate what had happened in the hall to the newcomers.
Carradas smirked. "A love doctor? Isolde?" I cast my eyes heavenward as he threw himself to his knees and put his hands together like a Christian would, looking up at me with doleful eyes. I braced myself for the inevitable.
"O wise goddess of love, please, pass on thy wisdom to this unworthy man, that I might become the king of all ravishers, the father of many children, and the receiver of many more willing wenches. Hail Isolde, the all-knowing woman of romantic ventures. Hail!" And with that he threw himself at my legs, wrapping his arms around my knees and nearly bringing me down with him.
I swatted at his reaching hands and kicked him away, caught between laughter and hot embarrassment. Laughter won out, although I dealt him a few more halfhearted blows before I let him get up again.
"If I'd known you had such a mouth on you, 'Das, I would've cut out your tongue when first I met you!" I joked.
He dusted himself off and I realized I had to crane my neck to look up at him when he was this close.
Glancing around the circle of boys, I saw that they'd all grown, each of them standing at least a few inches above me. Even the younger ones were nearing my height and gaining some substance.
I smiled up at Carradas – always one of my favorites, and a good man to have in a crunch – and brushed the dirt off his shoulders. Quite unexpectedly, he leant down and kissed my cheek. I let him, and he flashed a cocky grin at me before he stepped back.
"Well, brothers, let's not stay here and dawdle. We have dummies to spear, horses to tire, and we have a madman to run us into the ground! Why do we linger?"
I rolled my eyes and the others grumbled. "Why, indeed?" I muttered to his retreating back. The comment startled a bark of amusement from Ru as we trooped off to the training grounds.
I sensed a presence watching us and looked over my shoulder. Tristan's face was nearly swallowed by the shadow of the doorway, but his eyes shone eerily, filled with something feral, even hostile. I followed his gaze to Carradas, who saw me looking his way and blew me a kiss. Strange, that. What could Carradas have done to Tristan, of all people, to make him brood so?
"Come, Isolde, don't wait for the grass to grow!" Bersules shouted, and I ran to catch up, putting Tristan and his odd moods out of my mind.
End Chapter.
Ha! Take that for a speedy update. Alright, so not speedy, per se…
A little more Quin here, and a little jealousy from Tristan for all of us!