To be frank, it was a forlorn hope. But instead of taking me back to the tavern or parading me about to the other knights, I was taken riding by Gawain. He seemed to have appointed himself my 'other older brother' and while Tristan was the grumpy and bossy type, Gawain was kinder and fairly easy-going. He still loved to tease me, but seemed keen to spend time with me, even making several valiant attempts to lift my mood.
I learned what the knights' duties were through my work in administration. Being Arthur's scribe was more akin to being a PA, secretary and accountant all at once, while buried under countless bits of paper. But despite the fact I was unbelievably busy from dawn till dusk (literally), the next month passed in much the same way without serious incident. I got used to less sleep and more work – finding that being a morning person was a state of mind.
For the amusement of the readers, and with one glaring exception, this is how a usual uninteresting day panned out for me:
I woke up a few minutes before dawn and sighed.
Thank… something… genetics? Fate…? for this flat chest, I thought fervently as I rolled out of bed, stood and stretched. Until now, I had cursed my 'teenage boy' figure – but now, it kept me alive. Behind me, still in bed, Tristan groaned and rolled over, he would be going back to sleep as soon as I left.
"I'll… be back with breakfast a little later," I mumbled around a yawn, reaching over to ruffle his hair and maliciously wake him up.
"Hrm… right…" he didn't seem too concerned by my going out and about anymore. Perhaps this was in the forlorn hope that I'd meet my destruction when he wasn't around to prevent it.
He was almost fully recovered now, and I was certain that he wouldn't be my problem for much longer. I was now taking long lunch breaks to help Tristan exercise his muscles and improve his stamina. He had never heard of press-ups before, but since his wounds were now no more than lividly pink and tender scars, I helped him get acquainted with them.
In the early days, I had only a single set of clothes, and since they needed washing, I found myself being forced to wear something of Tristan's. I hadn't realised just how small I truly am until I pulled on one of his tunics in the second week. It fell to my knees and the cuffs trailed so far over my hands I seriously considered just cutting the sleeves back by a foot.
The first time this happened, Tristan had taken one look at me flapping my arms like a demented bird and actually chuckled. I grinned sheepishly and rubbed the back of my head, embarrassed, only for the excess material to flop over the side of my face. Tristan's chuckles turned into strangled convulsions and I was forced to swear at him. My appearance in Tristan's clothes had also incited much amusement in onlookers. Particularly two certain knights who shall remain nameless, as I know the reader can guess their identities.
Those were the days when I stayed hidden in the records room.
Once he had calmed down, I suggested that if he had thought things through I wouldn't be in such an embarrassing predicament. And one that reflected poorly on Tristan's reputation as well. That had sobered him up nicely. It had also guaranteed me a trip into the village on market day for more clothes.
But I digress… As I splashed a little water on my face from the wash basin, I thought it wasn't very fair that Tristan got to sleep in for hours 'convalescing' while I was working before half the fort was even awake. Excluding the night watch, I hardly saw anyone as I pulled myself out and up onto the gently sloping roof from the window ledge to survey the fort and surrounding area. At this time of year it was still too warm for frost, but thick dew and light mist clung to the ground, giving it an almost eerie appearance. Having seen my climbing abilities, and feeling unduly paranoid about fort security in his absence, Tristan had asked me to use this 'unique perspective' to keep an eye on things. Especially in the morning.
I understood entirely. Not only about his paranoia, but also about dawn being a risky time. It was just when the night watch was relaxing and preparing to get some breakfast before a recuperative nap, and the morning's watch would not be fully alert either. It would be the perfect moment to try something.
So I made sure the 'hoards of enemies' didn't storm the gates when no one was prepared. I smiled at the idea of Gawain having another heart-attack at the sight of me leaping between rooftops like some sort of miniature (albeit unarmed and very uncool) version of Ezio Auditore before clambering down onto the records room's window ledge. I tested the shutters and found them latched from the inside. Great. So I dropped to the ground (all of three feet) and walked around the building the traditional way. Not waiting to be let in, I fished the spare key from its hiding place and entered quietly. Talk about dodgy security. I lit an oil lamp on the desk and crossed to the cabinet, pulling out a ledger of accounts from two years ago with a sigh. Time to work…
~oOo~
Arthur walked into the records' room, stretching and yawning, only to find Kation already at the desk studiously scribbling away, his fingers blackened from ink and the dark head bent close to the paper. But upon noticing Arthur's arrival, he hastily stood and bowed.
"Good morning, Kation." Arthur said, leaving the scribe to his work. Breakfast was at hand, after all.
And Kation certainly worked. He was almost halfway through last year's account book when Arthur came back and asked him to transcribe several dictated letters. The Roman commander was astonished by how fast the boy could write, almost as quickly as he spoke; but when questioned about this skill, the scribe merely offered 'lots of practice' as a reason.
~oOo~
Arthur usually inspected my work, reviewed some things (or at least he pretended to… one of the reports was being held upside down) and then thought of new tasks for me.
I took a few minutes off to fetch some breakfast from the kitchens for Tristan, who ate silently while also devising errands for me. New arrowheads, fixing his winter boots, exercising Tagiytei or Sarakos…
Ah. Sarakos. I haven't mentioned that Arthur claimed Sarakos for himself. This meant that the horse was to remain exactly where he was, and continue being a little tinker. Unfortunately this meant that there was another giant nuisance for the stablehands. Amandus and Mato were a pair of immensely funny and cheerful guys, who took all crises and problems relating to the horses and knights in their stride. They were as well-informed as Vanora, but lacked the instinctive need to boss everyone around. On occasion, this made them far better company than that red-haired woman.
The interminable chores and daily tasks continued until lunch time, then I returned to Tristan and hauled him outside for some exercise. He was much stronger, and his endurance had increased significantly, so we could walk into the village next to the fort.
To make matters a little better, a market was being held in the village. And I was in dire need of some winter accessories. Naturally, this made me very excited and I had to resist the urge to skip around Tristan as he limped along. The muscles in his leg were still weak, so whenever he left the room, I insisted he walk with a stick. I had taken great pains to find him one that was not only the correct length, but also did not hurt his hand.
See? I could be nice.
"Calm down." He growled.
"But it's great! I'm going to buy a scarf and gloves!" I exclaimed happily.
Tristan sighed. "As I have said before, I am not made of money!"
"Perhaps you could sell favours then," I said with a saucy wink. "I have seen the way the village women stare at you. Clearly you are a highly sought after prize." To be honest, I hadn't seen him so much as glance at a woman with even passing interest, so the suggestion was going to be—
"Insolent child." He growled, and slashed at me with the stick. I dodged away, grinning. Yup, shot down in flames.
"Honestly, when you glare like that it frightens the girls away." I huffed, and fell into step beside him. "And Arthur will be holding a Round Table meeting tonight. You'll have to go since you're nearly completely better."
"What is it about?"
I shrugged, clasping my hands behind my back to keep from fidgeting as I stared at the bright, cloudless sky. Such a day was rare at this time of year. "I think it is to discuss possible Woad activities this coming winter. And something to do with Eboracum… maybe. I don't know about the latter for certain."
Eboracum was a very large trading city on the east coast. Not only was it the most influential settlement in the north of the island, it was also cosmopolitan and dangerous. I had never been, but the Prefect of the northern half of Britannia resided there and seemed to resent Arthur's unanimous popularity all along the Wall. The half-Roman commander was clearly a threat, especially because of his influence and reputation with the legions garrisoned there. In fact, I had seen Arthur's name cropping up in documents discussing national matters with increasing frequency. That was worrying. As the military commander of a highly sensitive provincial border, Arthur had little interest or time for such things. And becoming embroiled in politics more than absolutely necessary would take his eye off the increasingly problematic Saxon and Woad infiltrations onto the Roman side of the Wall.
"Does the Prefect want to try crippling Arthur's influence again?" Tristan said with a sneer. His devious mind travelled down similarly dark and paranoid paths to mine. It was a huge comfort at such times.
I shook my head. "I know the man isn't happy about it… but apart from thinly veiled insults concerning Arthur's heritage, it is little more than brittle official correspondence."
"Well he can't openly move against Arthur, or he would destabilise his own position."
"I do not think Eboracum's high society will be a problem at this time." I agreed.
"All the same, if you find anything alarming or important, report it to Kahedin or me immediately. Understood?"
I rolled my eyes but acquiesced.
We entered the village in silence. Tristan nodded to a few people he recognised, but otherwise remained mute and scowling. I had the distinct impression he didn't enjoy shopping.
The market was wonderful; chaotic, disorientating and utterly alive with activity. We passed stalls for everything: food, meat, grain, fruit, vegetables, honey, livestock, jewellery, pots, pan, cosmetics, soap, tallow, oil, wine… the smells of a thousand things filled my head, and every sort of voice imaginable called out. We waded through the crowds and I pressed closer to Tristan's back, fearful of losing him in this maelstrom.
A long-fingered, callused hand grabbed mine and I looked up at him with some surprise. Tristan never touched me unnecessarily; even when we shared the bed at night, only his back touched mine as we slept turned away from each other.
"I don't want you getting snatched away." He said curtly, and proceeded to drag me to a particular stall. It sold delicate little things laid out over a table: small mirrors, combs, fine cups, cloak pins and a hundred other necessary little items.
Why were we here? I shot Tristan a quizzical look, but he merely picked up a bone comb and examined it. Did he need a new one? The comb he kept in a box in his room seemed fine to me. I didn't try to guess his motives, so I merely waited and watched.
"Which do you like?" he said, not turning his head.
"Master?" I queried. Had he been addressing me?
Tristan threw me an impatient look. "The combs. You need one, and I'm not going to let you destroy mine with all that hair of yours." He snapped.
The vendor, who had been watching us like a hawk, stepped forward to deliver us his sales pitch.
"Ah sir, your companion—" and you could just hear the inflection in that most diplomatic of words, "has very luxurious hair does he not? A fine comb for a fine boy, I say. Perhaps this one…" he turned, and opened a box behind him, fishing out another comb. It was made of bronze and was much finer than the ones on the table. It had longer teeth and was stamped with a simple swirling pattern that reminded me a little of Celtic knot work.
Tristan glanced at me to gauge my reaction.
I was unmoved by it. I would rather he spent the money on a decent pair of leather gloves. So I bowed my head and clasped my hands in front of me: the picture of demure embarrassment.
"Master, I am not worthy of such a princely thing. The one in your hand exceeds what I deserve," I murmured, peeping up at him through my lashes in shy reproach.
The vendor looked stunned. But Tristan's lips thinned slightly, the only evidence that my little performance had annoyed him. So he bought the bone comb in his hand and we moved on.
"You would rather have an extra pair of socks, I take it?" he growled quietly.
"Of course," I whispered back, my voice nearly lost in the clamour of the market. "If I must act sweetly for the villagers, then you will pay for my performance."