"Peace of mind comes when your life is in harmony, with true principles and values and in no other way."
Peace of Mind
ISOLDE…
Early 443 A.D.
When I awoke, Tristan was gone. Judging by the faint, purplish quality of the light that shone through the cracks of the tent flap, the day was nearing its end. With my good arm, I pushed myself up into a sitting position, groaning as the motion stretched the scabs across my back. Looking down, I saw my skin was painted a mottled black and blue. I adjusted the bandage on my chest, where the brand had been, and the sling that supported my dislocated shoulder. Testing the joint carefully, I flinched but decided that it felt much better than it had.
A hand pushed the flap open, and a young man I didn't know stuck his head in. When he saw me sitting up, the blanket wrapped around me still, he flashed me a quick, friendly smile and withdrew. I heard him call to someone, and a moment later Tristan appeared. His usually impassive expression had been replaced with a mixture of relief and, for some reason I could not fathom, anger.
He didn't say a word, but came in and sat down in front of me. He seemed content to stare at me in silence.
I quickly grew tired of this and leaned forward to press my thumb against the stern crease between his brows, smoothing it away before I set my hand against his jaw. After my long absence, his face was wonderfully familiar to me – except for the beard, which had grown out during his travels. It rasped my skin pleasantly, but suddenly he took my wrist and pulled my hand away, setting it back in my lap.
"Tristan," I started, confused.
"Now that you're feeling better," he interrupted, "you can explain to me just what you were thinking."
"What do you mean?" I said defensively, beginning to get angry as well. I hadn't the slightest clue as to what he was referring to, but I wasn't so beaten that I had lost my hot temper.
"Perhaps you remember abandoning me at Badon Hill to worry while you set out to kill yourself over your damn blood feud? Did you think I wouldn't figure it out? Did you know that Arthur locked me up for nearly a week before I could convince him that you would get yourself killed? Only then did he let me go after you, and in doing so I encountered every piece of bad luck I could possibly have come across, up to and including being attacked and captured by Cerethreus, before he realized I wasn't a Roman."
"Tristan, please," I tried again, but he would have none of it.
"And then you go and try something as foolhardy as this! First warning Marcus with those thrice-damned messages at the other scenes, then charging into his estate and provoking him with no thought for your own wellbeing, and for your efforts you get beaten and marked and… and dishonored by the man I hate more than any other on this earth. How could you do something so stupid?"
I could feel the blood rising to my face. "Stupid??" I shouted, bringing all the force of my gaze to bear on this man I loved, the man I would have challenged to a duel at that very moment if I'd the strength. I was furious at him and all I could think was that I'd hurt him, and I wanted to make it better. But my mouth wouldn't comply.
"You think you know it all, do you? You think you know how I feel and think and why I behave as I do, is that it? Let me tell you, you know nothing about it! I died inside that day when Marcus took my home from me. I thought I had healed since then, living with our Sarmatian brothers and loving you, but then Gatalas came, and he tore those wounds wide open. None of you trusted me as much as you thought, not after that day. You thought you had forgiven me for lying to you, but you still questioned every word I said; I could see it in your eyes! I couldn't bear watching you all look away when I said something about Romans or our servitude, or if I mentioned my clan.
"I went to Arthur the day before I left, I begged him to give me a purpose, because I was so restless there. The messenger from Rome had just demanded that a knight be sent to report, and both Arthur and I agreed and knew in our hearts that I was damn well the best one for the job, and if I could bring justice to the ones who killed those I held most dear while I carried out the mission that Arthur entrusted me with, then so be it. Yes, I warned Marcus to be on his guard, when first I saw him and through the notes and feathers I left the others who orchestrated the slaughter of my people.
"I never wanted to leave you behind," I growled vehemently. "But Arthur shouldn't have had to do without two of his key scouts, even if the woads were settling down for the winter. This was something that I had to do on my own. No matter how much my heart wanted to be with you, I had to put that aside and concentrate on my mission, because Arthur needed me to do this for him, as he needed you, yet still you came. Do you think I am such a fool? Do you not realize that I love you, and that I want to live with you and for you more than anything?
"I made a mistake when I was in Marcus' estate, that's why I was caught. When I was cornered and fighting for my life, it was your face that flashed before my eyes and your name I shouted when I charged into what I thought would be certain death, because I would rather have died loving you than be captured and reduced to less than what I am. But there were too many of them, they held me fast and I realized they didn't mean to kill me." I took a shuddering breath, steadying myself.
My voice rose again. "So don't you dare feel sorry for yourself when I was the one who was tortured and shattered and nearly r-raped." His head snapped up and my mouth twisted with wry bitterness. "I thought you were better than that, that you loved me enough to forgive me for having been forced to his will, but he never had me. You are the only one who ever has. I was under his control and scarcely aware of my surroundings, but I heard your voice and all I could think was that he had you, too, and that thought nearly broke me. I wonder that you even came to get me, if you thought he had – had raped me." My voice broke on the word, and I swallowed, trying to push back the lump in my throat and the tears that teetered on the brink of falling. I studied my hands intensely.
Then my mood changed abruptly, squeezing my heart with more emotion than I could stand. Without thinking of what I was saying, the words tore themselves from my throat, ringing with agony and broken trust. "Why weren't you there? Why didn't you save me?" I bit down on my tongue, hard, wishing the words back with every fibre of my being. How could I have said that? Oh, how could I have even thought it? It hadn't even occurred to me to blame him, and yet I had, without even realizing it.
Looking stricken, Tristan reached out to me, and I couldn't help myself. I flinched. Ihated myself for it. I didn't know who was more shocked by my unintentional withdrawal. The hurt in his eyes pushed me over the edge and I turned my face away before I could lose control of myself altogether. "Go." I said, the word nearly strangling me. "Please."
He stood, stooping to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling of the tent, and backed away from me. Tearing his eyes away from me, he turned and rushed out, nearly running into the sentry who stood outside my tent. It was all I could manage not to cry out in despair.
Tristan strode straight to his tent, but at the last moment he changed his mind. He snatched up his bow and quiver and headed for the woods. Only just within sight of Cerethreus' camp, he strung his bow, looping one foot around the bow and bracing it against his knee, and slipping the string over the sharp bone piece that topped his weapon. All of this was performed within one stride. Tristan didn't even stop; he put an arrow to the string, did not even bother to draw the bow fully, and loosed, striking his target perfectly. He drew another arrow, fired, and grabbed yet another, continuing to advance. He did not stop until he had exhausted his quiver, and then he passed the forest he had made with his arrows, abandoning them as he made his way to the river beyond. There he sat until the last glow of the sun had gone.
It wasn't until the stars had made a good start on their journey through the night sky that Tristan sensed someone behind him, though he continued to stare into the dark. The other person sat down beside him, stretching his legs out on the cold ground.
"She has been through much," Cerethreus spoke beside him. Tristan looked down, but kept silent. "But she is a strong woman. I see now why you love her so."
Tristan ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "She pulled away from me," he said, his tortured voice barely rising above a whisper. "She fears me now. She has gladly faced down hordes of angry woads, but she is afraid of me. Does she not know how I love her? I would never harm her! I traveled all the way to Rome simply to protect her! She blames me."
His hands were clenched tightly in his lap. Tristan had to consciously force his fingers to open, and he realized they were trembling. Never had he been so affected by words, but now they seemed central to his being. He brought his voice under control.
"She only just survived something terrible, and it was a close shave at that, and then I yell at her for it. I hurt her more so that I might feel better about my failure to protect her. Khors, what have I done?"
Cerethreus set a reassuring hand on the younger man's shoulder. "We are each of us only responsible for our own actions. You followed your heart. How can that be called a failure? In fact, I must apologize for my own part in the ill luck that delayed you. I would I hadn't set eyes upon you that day, so that your journey might have been more successful. But as it is, I cannot say I am not glad to have met you regardless, for you are a good man, and true. There are few men I would trust with my life and the lives of my people, particularly on such short acquaintance, but you have proved yourself to be one of them. I did not know when I agreed to help you that you would prove to be such a formidable fighter, nor such an admirable ally."
Tristan looked up at the dim glow of the other man's face in the dark, tearing his thoughts away from Isolde, and said, "I have mentioned this before, but now I should like to extend a formal invitation. You would be welcome at Badon Hill. Your fighters would be a valuable addition to our forces, and the shelter and safety of a town is a useful thing to have, especially with so many women and children in your company. I am certain that Arthur would be obliged to offer you a place there. He would dearly love to pick your brain, to see how you run things within your clan. He has an ideal view of the world, in which all men, all people, are free and equal. You do not have to answer now," he added, "I know you must speak with all of your people before you make your decision. But know that we would like to repay our debt to you."
Cerethreus stood, offering a hand to Tristan, who grasped his forearm and stood. The leader slapped his back. "I shall think on it. The pickings are growing slim here, and some of my people would like to settle down, to have a place of safety to protect those who cannot fight when our work leans to the side of the unfriendly. My thanks, friend."
Tristan nodded, though the motion was hardly detectable in the dark. "And mine."
He returned to his tent, but sleep would not claim him. Finally he left, stepping silently across the grass to Isolde's tent. The young guard startled when he appeared out of nowhere, but Tristan clapped a hand over his mouth before he could raise the alarm, tilting his face toward the firelight so the man could see who it was. He nodded and stepped aside to allow him entry.
Inside, Tristan could hear Isolde's slow breathing and made his way to her, lying down beside her still form and closing his suddenly heavy eyes. He never noticed when her hand crept into his.
The next morning Cerethreus' men struck camp as efficiently as they had made it, and we rode out, heading northwest. We would meet up with the rest of the band once we entered Gaul, and Cerethreus assured Tristan that he would speak to them about settling at Badon Hill.
I was just strong enough to sit a horse, and I rode in front of Tristan on his big destrier, resting against his chest. We hadn't spoken of what had happened in the tent the night before, but I knew it would have to come up soon, before it festered and drove us apart any further than it already had.
I was embarrassed to find that I had lost my edge during my month in the city, even discounting the weakness from my ordeal at Marcus' estate. Where once I could spend all day in the saddle without complaint – and if necessary, all night as well – several hours into the ride my thighs began to grow sore from the constant chafing. To take my mind off the minor discomfort, I decided to initiate conversation with Tristan, though I would try my best to avoid an argument so soon after our somewhat shaky reconciliation that morning. I would hate to have to walk all day.
"So how did you end up falling in with this group?" I asked him in Sarmatian.
"They attacked me, knocked me senseless, robbed me, tied me up, and came within about half an inch of killing me." I snorted, running a finger aimlessly over his forearm, which was wrapped gently about my waist. In the light of day, I found it was much easier not to be afraid, and the knowledge gave me hope for myself. For our future.
"Yes, and so naturally you decided to throw in your lot with them and go kill some Romans together. Very neighbourly behavior."
He chuckled. "It doesn't make much sense, does it?" I leaned my head back to rest it on his shoulder. I could feel the vibrations as he spoke, and coupled with the sway of his horse's gait it was lulling me into a stupor. "Cerethreus stopped his men from killing me. They thought I was a Roman, see, and they aren't very fond of that breed. They aren't exactly model citizens – there are quite a few deserters among them, even a Sarmatian from the Iazyges, who was taken some years before us. One of them told him that my armor wasn't Roman. The Sarmatian thought it was from the east, but since his clan occupied the lands far from mine, he didn't recognize it for what it was."
He shifted the reins to one hand, shaking out the other. I looked up at the cloudy sky, but our luck seemed to be holding. "So Cerethreus untied me and I told him where I was headed and why. I'm not sure why, but he decided to escort me partway there, since they were going that way in any case. Then your little friend showed up. Her waifish look pulled some heartstrings and some of the women gave her something to eat. We discovered that she knew you and she told me where you had gone. Cerethreus and his men couldn't pass up a chance to kill some Romans, especially when I offered them payment for their efforts. Arthur provided me with bribe money, and I figured this was as good a cause as any. So we sent – Farah, was it? – back with the rest of the clan, and came after you. You can guess the rest."
I hugged my arms around myself as I thought about the fear he must have felt. "I'm sorry," I whispered. I felt him shift.
"What was that, love?" he asked.
"I'm sorry." I spoke a little louder. "I'm so sorry I hurt you." The lump in my throat had returned, but he simply tightened his arms around me and buried his face in my hair, and it retreated again.
"You have nothing to be sorry about," he whispered fiercely. "I should never have shouted at you. I didn't mean what I said, I wasn't… repulsed. I just feared for you, and what you went through… I know you only did what you had to. I should have–" he stopped.
"Should have what? Tristan?"
He sighed into my hair, and his breath tickled my ear. "I should have protected you. I should have come to you faster, kept you safe, but I failed."
I swung around in the saddle and grasped him by the back of the neck. "Never say that," I growled. "Never ever. You didn't fail me. I-I thought about what I said… about it being your fault. I didn't mean it. I realized that, once I thought it through, and I should never have even entertained the idea to begin with. You saved me. You saved me in every way, and I do love you. Tristan," I pressed my cheek to his and held on to him as tightly as I could, despite the awkward angle.
We had fallen behind the others. After a moment, I turned back around and Tristan pushed his horse into a trot to catch up. We didn't speak any further, but I remained ensconced in his arms for the rest of the day's ride.
The distant sound of a horse's whinny alerted us to the presence of people ahead. Though we'd passed many people on the road, most had been on foot, so we scattered cautiously to the edge of the trees, watching the road to ascertain who might be in front of us. Tristan and I dismounted.
A group rounded the bend, a mixture of riders, wagons, and those on foot, led by one of the biggest men I had ever seen, with shaggy brown hair that nearly obscured his eyes.
"Halt!" I heard Cerethreus shout from the cover of the trees. "We have you surrounded." The men in the caravan reached for weapons. I picked up Tristan's bow, but he set a staying hand on my arm.
"Wait," he said. Sure enough, Cerethreus stepped out into the road, just in front of the big man. The man narrowed his eyes for a long moment, and then laughed loudly.
"Cerus, you old dog," he guffawed. "Very funny. You nearly had me fooled."
"Ferrand!" Cerethreus embraced the man, who topped his height by at least six inches. They slapped each other on the back, and then Cerethreus turned to the woman beside him and kissed her soundly as the others clapped and whistled.
Tristan hissed quietly to get my attention, and the two of us made our way out of the trees and up to the band as the warriors were reunited with their families.
The big man noticed us first and whistled low. "I see you had good hunting," he laughed to his leader. "And what a prize you caught!" He looked me over with admiration. Cerethreus leaned in to whisper in his ear and I saw him glance at Tristan, who was studiously looking in the other direction, although his hand lovingly caressed the hilt of his sword. Then he looked at me again, this time noting the careful, blade-sharp way I stood, the knives in my belt and my left boot, the sling on my right arm, and the large purple bruise that still colored my cheek, and he raised an eyebrow at me – professional admiration, this time, with nothing lascivious about it.
I spotted a slim figure shoving through the crowd, helped along by the snapping warhorse looming behind her. "Isolde!" Farah shrieked. She broke free of the crowd and flung herself at me. I barely managed to catch her, hissing as the movement jarred my healing shoulder. Tristan steadied me, looking down at the grinning girl with a stern frown.
"Careful," was all he said. That wouldn't do, I thought. These two would just have to get along. Farah looked happier and more radiant than I'd ever seen her. Freedom agreed with her, it seemed.
I wrapped my arms around Simargl's neck. Injured shoulder or not, this was my horse. My wonderful, beautiful brute of a warhorse. With delight I ran my fingers over the bow hung over the saddlebow. Finally I thought of my sword.
"Tristan," I said slowly in Sarmatian. "My sword… is it…"
He shook his head, and I clenched a fist. "Damn that man," I snarled in our language. I'd had my sword for over ten years – it had been a gift from my father, and now it was gone. Most likely a gift to one of Marcus' subcommanders. Of course, I still had Kiji, but somehow it wasn't quite the same.
Tristan, who knew what that sword had meant to me, wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me close, kissing the top of my head. "I'm sorry, love," he said in Sarmatian. "But we took our revenge. Your blood feud is satisfied."
Cerethreus raised an eyebrow when we began speaking in our native tongue. I turned to explain, my accent more noticeable than usual. "Marcus – the man who captured me – took my sword, my last remaining memento of my father…" I growled deep in my throat. "I wish I'd taken more time killing him."
Tristan chuckled. "You already tore him to pieces, love," he said, dark amusement coloring his words. "I don't think there's much more you can do to him." Cerethreus and the other man looked at me sharply.
True, I thought, shrugging off my gloomy mood. My lips curled slightly in a small smile like the cat that has gotten into the cream, and I patted Simargl's neck fondly. "Still, I'll miss that sword," I said, turning back to the others.
"It is unfortunate," Cerethreus said with sympathy. "I know the value of a good weapon, and yours are some of the best I have ever come across."
I directed a faintly ironic bow toward him. "Perhaps if you return with us to Britain, my brothers can teach yours how to make weapons like those our people bear."
"Perhaps," he said noncommittally. He cleared his throat. "We should get moving," he decided, "I want to travel a few more hours before we make camp for the night."
With my good left arm, I swung Farah down from behind me. I'd ridden my own horse for the past two hours, but an entire day spent riding in my condition had left me weaving in the saddle.
"Isolde?" With a conscious effort, I focused on Tristan, who was reaching up to help me out of the saddle. His first attempt made me gasp in pain as he stretched the scabs on my side. Finally he lifted me like a child, with one arm behind my back and the other under my knees. My legs were stiff and sore when I stood up, and he kept an arm around me as if he was afraid I would fall over without it.
"I'm all right," I told him, shaking off the vestiges of my stiffness. I knew, of course, that the next morning I would be sore as all hell, but for the moment I was at least mobile. Suddenly I yawned so widely that my jaw cracked, and at the same time I shivered in the cold air.
"Sure you are," Tristan flashed me a wry half-smile and led me over to a log, where he wrapped a blanket around me and told me to stay where I was. I watched him move about the camp, taking care of the horses and setting up both my tent and Farah's. When he began to put up a third, I was confused, until I realized that he meant to sleep in a separate tent. The considerate act made me feel both touched and somewhat apprehensive. I hadn't slept without his comforting presence since I was rescued, and I wasn't sure that I wanted to start now, with so many strange people around.
Tristan saw me looking his way and nodded, his silent gaze more eloquent than a dozen flowery words. He stopped Farah on her way past and spoke tersely to her, then strode into the forest with his bow. Farah came to sit with me – as instructed, I assumed. She chattered away about the people she had met within the band, and how glad she was to see that I'd gotten back safely.
I listened with only one ear and half my senses – the rest were trained on the forest. It was something I'd noticed during the long ride: I had a very keen, heightened awareness of Tristan. If he wasn't immediately at hand, I always had an acute idea of where he was and even what he was doing.
Another person might call it psychic, but I had trained my senses to the point where I was aware of everything at once, and I knew that what might seem like premonition to others was actually a conscious or unconscious perception of one's entire environment. It was as though Tristan had a big archery target affixed to his back, and my entire being was a bow trained on the bull's eye.
He reappeared within twenty minutes, two rabbits and a squirrel in one hand. Though the animals might be lean at the end of the cold season, Tristan had never gone into the forest and come back empty-handed, not once in all the time I'd known him.
He came straight to me, gave me a hand up, and walked me over to our fire. I marveled at how quickly such a large group of people had settled down for the night. Our knights would still be setting up the tents, and these people had already begun cooking the evening meal as the sun set.
I mentioned this to Tristan, and he explained that the difference was in the design of the tents – they had many fewer stakes than ours, I noticed as I studied them. Also, the frame was made of fresh willow branches, supple but strong, although the material was made for warmer climates than we could afford to use in Britain.
"If Cerethreus agrees to come to Britain," Tristan said, tossing another log on the fire, "then I intend to see that Arthur replaces our tents with something like these; light, secure, and warm, not to mention extremely portable. With these, we could almost do away with packhorses or wagons altogether, with each man carrying his own shelter." From what I could see, there were many things that Tristan intended to take from this band of outlaws to improve our lives back in Britain.
Tristan sprinkled a little of the precious salt we carried with us on the meat and handed me a spitted rabbit. Although here it was not so precious – with the ocean and the ancient salt fields built by the Etruscans so near at hand, salt was an everyday commodity, rather than a luxury. In Sarmatia we were too far from the sea, and in Britain we did not have the landscape necessary to mine it. I wished I had thought to take some more back with me.
When we had finished eating, I yawned again. There was much to talk about, but I was still not recovered and I found my eyelids gluing themselves shut. Finally I pushed myself upright and stood. Pulling the blanket tighter about my shoulders, I hugged Farah and kissed Tristan on the cheek, then slipped my arms around his waist and hugged him tight, briefly.
In my tent, I saw that Tristan had set my saddlebags and my weapons on the floor, next to my bedroll. Searching through the bags for a change of clothes, my hand knocked into something hard, and I pulled it out. The waterproof container was only too familiar to me. I drew the lantern closer and opened the case.
The single document it contained was more precious to me than any treasure. I fingered the thick parchment that bore the seal of the emperor. For a brief moment, I considered telling Tristan, but I crushed the thought immediately. I knew that as soon as he and my brothers knew that I was free, everything would change. They might insist that I go back to Sarmatia… and Arthur would never let me go out on missions – none of them would. I would cease being their equal the moment they found out, and they would do everything they could to protect me, rather than protecting themselves. Furthermore, there was a good chance that some of them would even come to resent me for having been granted my freedom when their shackles were still fastened tightly about them. No, I decided. To reveal this to them was impossible.
I replaced my papers and blew out the lantern. For the time being, I would put the matter out of my mind. With that, I lay myself down to sleep, and dreamed of Britain.
Spring 443 A.D. – 1 ½ months later
I left the ship gratefully, reveling in the solidity of the ground beneath my feet. I had been one of few to be ill during the voyage, and as before I was the worst affected. Rather than the longer, cross-country route, we had boarded a ship on the western coast of Gaul, and I had spent a miserable week and a half curled up on a bunk rather than riding in the fresh air. At least I didn't have to sleep in a hammock – the very sight of the swinging canvas had me rushing back to the rail to heave up the little I'd been able to stomach. I'd decided then and there that if staying in Britain was what would spare me another wretched moment on a stinking, tossing ship, then I would settle down as a farmer in this bloody land and never look homeward.
Tristan, looking as fresh and alert as ever, stepped up next to me, leading our two horses, saddled and carrying our packs already. I swung up into the saddle and sent a prayer to Khors, thanking him for delivering me to these shores intact – at least for the most part.
"I can't believe you made me travel on that infernal hulk," I grumbled to Tristan as I slipped Kiji over one shoulder. "I'd just as soon have ridden to Portus Itius and met up with you after the regular crossing." I shrugged to settle the weight of the weapon, and then slung my quiver over the other arm so that the leather straps crisscrossed my back. We were back in Britain, which meant there could be woads at any turn, though it wouldn't become a real threat until we progressed further north.
Speaking of which… I thought as the others got ready to move out. "Tristan," I said, "Perhaps we ought to speak to them. They can't be running around doing whatever they please if we run into any woads."
He nodded and mounted his horse, and we rode up to the front of the line that was forming, where Cerethreus waited.
The day after we'd met up with the others, the band had called a meeting of every member. Even the women and young people had a say in what the group did – the only ones who didn't were the small children, who were too young to really care in any case. Once Tristan had presented his invitation, we sat down and listened as they deliberated, but except for some minor protests and questions, every member of their community agreed that the move would be beneficial. They had been having trouble finding employment in their line of work for some time, and the guarantee of a home and protection appealed to all.
So the band made a beeline for the west coast of Gaul. We'd had no problems whatsoever – unusual, for with any group such as this there are bound to be holdups, such as broken wagon axels or mired wheels, but nothing of the sort occurred. From what I could tell, we were due for some good fortune, since Tristan had had the worst of luck on the way down. At the port, we arranged transportation for all fifty-seven travelers, and here we were.
The leader saw us coming and smiled, waving us closer.
"Cerethreus," I greeted him.
Tristan, who had become friends with the man, called him by the more familiar nickname given him by his people. "Cerus," he said, "Before we leave, Isolde and I must speak with everyone."
Cerethreus nodded. Apparently he'd expected such a request. "All right," he said, and called his people over.
As they formed up, glancing occasionally at the two hardened warriors on their battle steeds who would lead them to their new home, I took stock of my weapons. The throwing knives from Bren were strapped to my inner forearms, and my war hammer was secured to my saddle, with the spiked side facing out. I doubted I'd need it – the woads rarely wore armor the like of which the spiked weapon was meant to tear off, but it could be used to inflict heavy damage, and so I carried it where I could reach it. Similarly, my strung bow hung over the saddlebow in front of me – I picked it up and tested it, warming the wood. I'd had that bow for over eight years, and the bend was just as supple and smooth as the day I'd acquired it. Finally, I had my sword strapped to my back and my akinakes tucked in my belt, the latter resting coldly at the small of my back.
I saw that while we waited for stragglers to line up, Tristan had done the same. His quiver was hooked on his saddle, along with his sword. I was envious of that weapon – since losing my own I'd considered replacing it with a blade similar to his, with the dramatic curve and deep fuller, similar to the Persian scimitars. As I watched, he slipped a finger through a loop over his chest, pulling up and revealing one of the tiny knives concealed in his armor. Both of us wore our full regalia, in case of attack. It was ironic, how quickly our practices returned to us, even after so long away.
"Listen," commanded Tristan, his voice not loud but powerful, demanding their attention. We'd agreed that I would speak; Tristan had never been one for speeches.
"You all know of the native people of Britain," I began, somewhat haltingly. "They are called woads, and as we have told you, they are extremely dangerous. Now, they should have no quarrel with you, but you all must do exactly what we say during this journey to Badon Hill. We do not know what has happened in our absence, but we know much about this place. If we should come under attack, the women and children should take shelter where they can, by the wagons if possible. Anyone capable of wielding a weapon can take up arms and aid us, but it is your choice. Tristan and I are the ones who are likely to draw attention, for we are enemies of the woads. Do not fear. We shall not let harm come to you if we have the power to prevent it."
We turned and took our places at the head of the line, then signaled our horses forward. The others followed.
Several hours after setting out, Tristan took his horse into the forest to scout along the road while I guided Cerethreus' people. We had been lucky to have landed in the morning, which afforded us plenty of time to travel that day. I looked up at the canopy above me and experienced a passing feeling of homecoming. Khors, I thought with a smile. I've actually missed this place.
Despite my misgivings, despite the hardships that no doubt lay ahead of me, it was good to be back.
I awoke gasping, tears wetting my face. It was a few moments before I became aware of myself again. In my terror I had shot upright, clenching my fists in reflex.
Tristan, only half-awake, murmured comfortingly to me. He had nearly gotten used to these episodes by now. Dreams were all that remained of my experiences at Marcus' hands, although I continued to be somewhat removed from people – having lost my formerly social exterior – and I still followed Tristan with my awareness no matter where we were. I'd had time to heal, but I was not yet entirely whole again.
I'd given up keeping a weapon under my pillow, as was my custom before Rome. I would not risk hurting Tristan in my sleep. Now he sat up and wrapped his arms around me as I wiped the tears from my cheeks. He crooned to me, and I settled against his chest gratefully, taking the comfort he offered. He leaned back against his pallet, closing his eyes, still cradling me to him.
His breathing began to slow as he fell back asleep, but such peace eluded me. Come daylight, we would begin traveling again and we would arrive at Badon Hill before the day was out. I confess, I was nervous about seeing my brothers-in-arms again after everything that had happened. It seemed like a lifetime since the day I left for Rome.
Finally I gave up on sleep, and carefully freed myself from Tristan's grasp. He stirred and opened his eyes, but I told him to rest.
"I am going for a walk," I told him. "I won't be gone long."
"Take your blade, and be careful. There may be woads around." Though I knew this better than my own name, I allowed him his protectiveness. He had earned the right to be so, these past months.
I followed his advice and took my weapon with me, slinging it over my shoulder. One could never be too careful so near to one's enemies.
I left the tent, nodding to the sentry at the edge of the camp. The first light of dawn had not yet begun to glow on the eastern horizon and the dark remained impenetrable, but for the light shed by the moon. Regardless, I could feel the change in the air as the world shifted toward morning. Soon the camp would begin to stir.
I walked through the trees toward the creek where we'd gotten our water the night before. The woods had begun to look familiar to us as we progressed northward, so Tristan and I had picked a site that we'd used several times before.
I knelt by the water to drink and paused, then raised my hand to my lips, scouring the dawn surreptitiously. I thought I'd heard a noise, and as a scout I'd learned to pay attention to every instinct, every spine-tingle.
Slowly I rose, reaching up as if to scratch the back of my head. Spinning suddenly, I drew my sword from its sheath on my back and held it steady, pointing it at the neck of the person behind me.
In the early light I could see that she was slight and delicate, with dark curls that tumbled down her back. Her fey appearance was deceptive, however, concealing a sinewy strength that would only be apparent to someone trained in the art of war. The scant clothes she wore did nothing to cover her intricate tattoos, and the marks screamed out to me.
Woad. Her hand rested lightly on the hilt of her weapon, in a casual stance – not threatening, but a distinct challenge nevertheless. I took a step forward, pressing closer with my blade, nearly touching her.
The next moment I froze as more than a dozen bows targeted me.
"You would do well to lower your weapon," she said in a musical voice, laden with amusement. Her Latin was strongly accented but fluent. Reluctantly I dropped the point of my sword and set it on the ground, stepping back. I lifted my hands in a sign of surrender.
She circled me speculatively. "So," she said. "The woman warrior has returned. I confess we did not know what to think when you left."
I started. "You know of me?"
"My people keep a close watch on you and your 'Knights of the Round Table'," she laughed. It was a bright, tinkling sound that no doubt turned heads wherever she went.
"What do you want with me?" I was careful to keep my voice neutral. There was no point in provoking them when I was one wrong move away from becoming a very unhappy pincushion.
She stroked her chin thoughtfully. "Well, I had thought of killing you," she purred. "But that would just be impolite. In any case, as my honored brother claims, our quarrel is not with you Sarmatians so much as it is with Rome and its dictatorial demands. He has issued orders to our people not to initiate violent confrontation with the Sarmatians unless we are attacked first, although naturally many of our warriors are less than inclined to follow that order."
Her brother? "Merlin? You are the sister of the magician Merlin?"
"Magician?" she chuckled. "Hardly. Yes, I am his sister."
I thought about what she had told me, and realized that she had thrown me a bone, in a manner of speaking. "Why would you tell me this?" I asked, somewhat suspicious. Such a revelation could be used against her people.
She sighed. "I am a wife, and a mother," she said. "I do not like warfare. If the act of telling you that such conflict can be avoided will save the lives of not only my people, but yours as well, then I relinquish this knowledge gladly."
"Let me ask you something. How do you know that I won't use this information as a strategic advantage? Why should you tell me? And how did you learn to speak Latin so well?"
"So many questions!" she exclaimed. "Very well. We captured a Roman scholar when I was a child. My father decided that with Rome imposing so many senseless laws and customs, it would be intelligent for my brother and I to learn their language."
Out of nowhere, the woman produced an apple and shined it briefly, then took a bite. She didn't speak again until she had swallowed the mouthful daintily.
"As for your other questions… we've met before. Oh, not officially, of course," she hastened to add. "I was there when our peoples clashed, one day a few years ago. In the midst of battle, when the best of men lose their heads and kill indiscriminately, a man fell, defenseless, and you showed him mercy. You let him live. That is how I know you can be trusted to help curb this bloodshed if you have the opportunity, without letting your own friends die. Because you have shown compassion before, a capacity for mercy, and I know you shall again."
I saw a flicker of real emotion cross her eyes before she turned to go, and felt compelled to ask one last question. "Who was he? What was that man to you?"
She smiled kindly. "You are perceptive. The man you spared – he was my husband."
The woman backed away into the forest. With the barest of rustles, I sensed the archers surrounding me disappear like mist, until all that was left was the silence of the wood and the glint of my sword in the moonlit night.
I hadn't even asked her name.
Tristan and I halted our gallop at the top of the rise. Below us stretched the fort and town of Badon Hill, with the massive Wall reaching into the distance in either direction. His hand found mine and squeezed it. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. How familiar this seemed! Almost too familiar, considering how profoundly I had changed in the past months.
I had tied both my standard and Tristan's to the business end of my kontos, and now I raised the lance to catch the wind. They fluttered and lifted as we signaled our horses to trot. With my blue pennant and his black one, the sentries on the Wall would not take alarm when we rode up to the gate. We had ridden ahead of Cerethreus and his people so that we could warn Arthur before they arrived, and because I couldn't stand the suspense any longer.
We weren't challenged as we crossed the threshold into the town, although one of the guards hailed me cheerfully from his station.
"It's good to see you back, Lady Isolde, Sir Tristan," he said. I nodded in acknowledgment, the man's name escaping me at the moment.
As we rode past the Roman barracks, I noticed a large number of soldiers whom I'd never seen before.
"Julius," I called, "Where did all these new men come from?"
The veteran looked surprised. "You don't know? They came with a message from the emperor himself. Said they were the reinforcements that you asked for."
I smiled to myself and silently thanked Aёtius for his generosity. My freedom, my reinforcements… what more could he gift me with?
Julius walked alongside our horses for a few paces. "Where is Arthur?" I asked him.
"In council with the commanders of the new troops," he said, grimacing. I sympathized; those sessions could go on for hours at a time, with no reprieve. Well, I decided, I had better go and give them the respite they undoubtedly needed.
"Very well. There will be a large group of people, civilians and warriors both, coming behind us. Can I trust you to see to it that they are provided with food and temporary housing, until something more permanent can be found? On my order," I specified, knowing that otherwise the guards at the gate might not pay him heed. The authority of a knight would open doors that would be closed to a simple grizzled foot soldier.
"As you wish, my lady."
"When they are settled, after the evening meal, send a boy to fetch me and to guide their leader to the Hall. I shall meet him there, along with Lord Arthur."
He bowed. "Very good, lady."
I nodded to him. "My thanks." He recognized the dismissal and fell back to attend to his duties.
Tristan exchanged an amused glance with me. "Not back five minutes and you're already giving orders." I smacked his arm lightly and offered a fleeting smile.
I knew that to reach the inner courtyard, we would have to pass the training grounds, where the knights would be at this time of day, if they were not on patrol. Oh well, I thought. It cannot be avoided. It was like breaking the shaft of an arrow – best done swiftly and in one fell swoop. My fingers were clenched around the reins, wrapped tightly enough that the tension made Simargl fidget and prance sideways. Tristan urged his horse up beside me and set a hand on my shoulder. The contact gave me strength.
As we rode, we were hailed from all directions by villagers welcoming us back. I heard the clang of swordplay and mocking laughter. We rounded the corner and took in the grounds that were spread out before us. I felt as though years had passed since I last trained here.
Ru had just disarmed Galahad. Galahad, bereft of weapons, charged at him. Before he could make contact, Ru bent down, slamming his shoulder into Galahad's solar plexus and lifting him up over his shoulder. The younger man pounded on Ru's back, shouting at the grinning fool to let him down, to no avail. Ru paraded him around like a sack of potatoes.
Tristan snorted. Ru turned around and promptly dropped Galahad, staring openmouthed.
"Tristan! Isolde! Wake up, you ninnies," he shouted to the others. "They're back!"
And the charge began. Within moments we were surrounded by sweaty men in smelly leather armor. Ru reached me first and snatched me out of the saddle, manhandling me around the circle. Alarmed and still a little skittish, I froze like a frightened rabbit. Tristan saw this and elbowed his way through the crowd to my side, taking my hand. Suddenly I could breathe again, and I squeezed his hand gratefully.
"Khors," he appealed. "Give her some room, would you? We've only just arrived." They backed off, although I saw Lancelot giving me a hard, assessing look. He wasn't the only one, I noted with dismay.
I finally found my voice. "Gods, it's good to see you all." I looked around at their beloved faces. "But we've been traveling for months. We have to report to Arthur. We'll have plenty of time to talk later." I was happy to hear that my voice didn't tremble once, though my nails were digging into my palms nearly hard enough to draw blood.
They let us go, touching my arm or shoulder in welcome. My eyes stung with shame as I tried to keep from flinching. These are your brothers, I thought scornfully. And yet their touch affects you as if they were the foulest of creatures, though they would rather have their skin flayed from their bones than cause you pain. I knew this, yet I could not help myself, and I hated myself for it.
We made our way to the Hall of the Round Table, nodding to those who greeted us but not stopping to talk. The people of Badon Hill had long ago become used to our habits, and knew that directly following a mission, come hell or high water, we would report before taking even a moment for ourselves.
We stopped in front of the large wooden doors that barred the entrance of the Hall. I smoothed my wayward hair, twisting the blonde locks away from my face, and briefly brushed off the dust from the road. Thus composed, I set my hands against the great doors and heaved them open.
I took several strides into the room and stopped as I became the focus of everyone within, resting my hand on my hilt in an unconscious, battle-ready stance that had become habit during the long months I had spent surrounded by the perils of Rome. Tristan stood to my right and half a step behind me like one of Arthur's avenging angels, his face both guarded and forbidding, even here in the presence of his beloved leader.
Arthur had risen when I walked in, eyes wide and red-rimmed from hours of reading reports with only the smoky oil-lamps for light. His face split in two when he recognized me and he whooped, leaping nimbly over the table and sweeping me up with unrestrained joy. Startled, I let him swing me around, stumbling back a few paces when he set me down to pound Tristan merrily on the back.
"By God, it's good to see you two!" he cried. "Tristan, my thanks. I knew you'd get her back safe and sound."
Tristan looked to me briefly before answering, and I nodded minutely, communicating my assent. He turned back to Arthur, speaking softly so his words would not carry to the others in the room. "Safe," he said, "but not entirely sound. Tread lightly, Arthur."
Arthur's gaze swung 'round to me and a sudden frown creased his brow. "Wha-" he began, then recalled himself. Despite his obvious concern, I could tell that he recognized that this was neither the time nor the place – nor the company – for explanations, and thankfully kept his counsel.
"Not here," he agreed with my unspoken plea. "Later." There was no question. He would have the story, there was no other option. I had known he would insist, and so it was no surprise, but still I dreaded the coming conversation.
Arthur recovered his composure and led us over to the three men at the table, all of whom stared at us quizzically. I thought I recognized the man in the middle and stepped forward, surveying him.
"Commanders Aulus Hirtius Galeo, Tiberius Cloelius Pictor, Decimus Iulius Ralla." He indicated each in turn. "Our new reinforcements, thanks to your efforts in Rome." Arthur bowed his head sardonically to me. "When I sent you to present our reports to the emperor, I hardly expected this, although they are of course most welcome."
I arched one brow with a good deal of my usual attitude. "All right," he amended, "I suppose I did hope for something of the kind. You know me far too well, Isolde." He smiled boyishly and I grasped his shoulder affectionately, chuckling mentally. Both of us knew quite well that the reason he had sent me was because I would get the things we needed from the Roman dogs without stepping on too many tails.
"Khors, I missed you, Arthur," I said warmly in Sarmatian. He returned the sentiment in our language.
The commander with the familiar face rose and politely cleared his throat. Arthur clapped his hands. "Of course! How churlish of me. Commanders, may I present Lady Isolde Belera, Knight of the Round Table and Commander of the local militia, and Sir Tristan Halani?
Belatedly, the other two stood and reluctantly saluted, their predispositions towards women impeding their military training as their sense of propriety warred with their instinctive reaction to my superior rank. I smirked inwardly. They might be perfectly amenable fellows, but I couldn't help but feel a bit smug about the opportunity to show them what a real woman could do. Perhaps it was bad form, but I had always enjoyed showing up my opponents in retaliation for underestimating me.
I saluted them in the Roman fashion, pressing my fist to my chest. I reserved the Sarmatian salute for those I truly respected. So far that had only ever included my fellow Sarmatians, Arthur, and the subcommanders of my village recruits – whom, it seemed, had been elevated to the much more distinguished status of 'militia' during my absence. In return, my villagers had adopted that salute for their own and proudly honored my brothers and I when they used it.
I shook myself out of my reverie and pulled up a seat, Tristan settling at my right.
"Commander Galeo," I addressed the familiar one, "You were made known to me in Rome, were you not?"
He bowed his head respectfully. "Before that, yes, milady. I was among Lord Brennus' officers."
"Of course!" I clapped my hands. "I do know you. How came you here? Has Bren got away from his uncle's command?" I frowned in concern, pretending ignorance.
"You did not know? But of course, you left before the tragedy occurred." He eyed me speculatively, and it struck me suddenly that he knew, he knew. I crushed the seed of panic that sprang up in my heart, forcing my concentration back to this man who could finish me in a moment.
"-brought his case before the emperor… and yours. But not four days after you started north, his uncle was found brutally murdered, with all his household guards, by that same culprit that killed Manius Acilius Celer and threatened his second-in-command, Spurius Velleius Barba."
Finding my voice, I asked, "Have they caught the murderer? How do you know it was the same?"
"Aye. You'll recall the scoundrel left messages at the other scenes? This one was written in Merula's own blood, reading "Revenge". 'Twas a gruesome sight. He'd been torn to shreds."
My fingers shook and I folded them in my lap to conceal it. Tristan covered my hands with one of his big ones, the gesture remaining unseen beneath the table to avoid suspicion. I did not have to feign my distress but concealed my fear and the feeling of nausea I always felt at the thought of Marcus as an expression of shocked distaste. I lowered my eyes briefly and saw his eyelid flicker, making me sag imperceptibly with relief. He nodded minutely to assure me that he'd keep his peace, and shifted his position noisily, to attract attention from me, I supposed.
"Artorius, I fear I have been sitting for too long. Perhaps I could take you up on your offer of a tour later, now that Lady Isolde has arrived. As for now, I request your permission to retire, if you do not mind."
Arthur gave us the once-over and pursed his lips.
"I was going to have Isolde show you the ropes when she returned, anyway," he mentioned to the assembly as a whole. "But I think it will have to wait. You look worn out," he observed, turning to us.
I started to protest that I was fine, but Tristan leaned minutely closer and I received the silent message. As much as I wanted to jump back into my duties here, it had been a long and stressful journey, and although I hated to admit it I needed the rest.
Tristan and I stood at the same time, saying our goodbyes. Arthur carefully wrapped his arms around me and for a fleeting instant I clutched at him like I was drowning, letting out a sigh that was almost, but not quite, a sob. I hadn't realized how much I had needed my friend and commander until now.
Arthur released me and stepped back, his eyes fraught with concern. I took a deep breath to compose myself and saluted him as Tristan followed my example. Arthur returned the salute in the Sarmatian fashion, and we did an about-face and left the hall, our matched steps echoing in the stone chamber.
Though I urged Tristan to go meet with the others, as I knew he wanted to, he would not hear of leaving me to make my own way to my quarters. Instead, he escorted me through the barracks to my room, which was situated just across from his.
No words were needed – I squeezed his hand, a silent thank you, and he lifted it to kiss my palm where the crooked T was gouged into my flesh, a lasting reminder of his love and protection.
When he had gone, I closed my door and looked around at the possessions I barely recognized as my own. I slid down to sit on the floor, rested my head back against the paneled wood of the door, and did not move for a long while.
Home.
Hello, hello! I fervently beg your forgiveness for leaving it so long… I know, I'm awful, but enjoy this regardless. Unfortunately nothing much happens in it, not even a suitably angsty scene, but bear with me. I'm sorry I'm such a horrible updater, but what with college, having a shipboard summer job (during which I had extremely limited computer use – between 12 and 4am every six days – and extremely unreliable internet… and it was against company policy to write/read/be busy with anything at the gangway. Anyway, suffice it to say that it's been hard to find the time, place, and motivation to write. Hopefully now that I'm settled in at my new college I'll be able to update more regularly. Good reading and good day.
Ribhinn
Review.