The creepy little Kation had shown that sharp-edged spirit again. Lancelot had always thought it was interesting to see the way that the boy and Tristan constantly circled each other like a pair of feral beasts preparing to either go their separate ways or launch at each other with claws and fangs.
But it wasn't a sexual tension. For all his joking, he could see that the two were locked in a battle of wills rather than physical needs. They had an unspoken comradeship that defied all outside interference, although Gawain and Kahedin were making marked efforts to do so.
Tristan caught up with them as they entered the prison, he looked pensive and tense. "We mustn't let any others know. It would warn our enemies of our plans to investigate."
The others nodded in agreement. "Doubtless, this man was not their only spy," Lancelot said grimly. He really hated the idea that they had been so compromised for so long. And to what purpose?
Arthur frowned slightly in thought. "How wide does this spread? What do they seek?"
"Such answers will not come from the prisoner," Tristan muttered angrily. "Why tell a dog the plans of the master?"
"Exactly," and Lancelot silently wondered what would be the point of asking the prisoner anything more pertinent than who had sent him into the fort.
Without another word, they entered the cells and stared down at the man sitting at the back of his new living quarters. At the sight of them, the prisoner leapt to his feet and bowed hastily.
Lancelot exchanged a dubious glance with Tristan, but Arthur didn't show his surprise.
"I suggest you co-operate, for your own good. Otherwise we will have to persuade you to answer our questions." The half-Roman said coolly, crossing his arms over his chest as he gazed down at the cowering man who nodded eagerly.
"Certainly, sir! Yes sir!"
This was becoming ever stranger. Where was the resistance? The defiance? What had caused this man such obedience?
"That's awfully good of you," Lancelot drawled. "What convinced you to be so obliging?"
"It was… your… you have…" the man gulped and licked his lips. "It was your demon servant, sir." He said, looking straight at Tristan. Arthur and Lancelot both turned their full attention to Tristan, who looked scornful.
"Really." He said heavily. "Arthur, if he is going to be talking about invented demonic servants and the like then we are wasting our time."
"But it's true! You visited me this morning with it in tow! It said I wouldn't be tortured!" the man shouted, desperately struggling against the shackles holding him to the wall. "I will tell you everything!"
Tristan lifted a hand to rub his forehead and answered Arthur's questioning gaze. "It's true, I did visit him this morning. Kahedin can vouch for me. I simply wanted to see that he was in a fit state to talk; that is all."
They were getting off track. "Who sent you?" Arthur said, stepping closer to the bars. The man nodded, clearly glad to unburden himself.
"B-Baron Donatus…" the man said, with a tinge of relief in his voice.
Whether he was delusional, or really had been terrorised by someone without their knowledge, Lancelot could safely say that this was the strangest interrogation he had ever witnessed. But the name they had been given didn't allow him time to reflect upon the matter further.
"Baron Paulus Donatus?" Arthur said sharply. The prisoner nodded.
"His chief servant Iustus was the one who spoke to me. I was paid to report the details of your meetings."
"How long have you been spying on us?"
"N-nearly a year…"
This was a terrible revelation. Arthur's eyes closed momentarily, Tristan growled in the back of his throat and Lancelot threw his arms into the air with an angry grunt, turning away to pace up and down the length of the hall.
"And how many meetings did you report?"
"I do not know sir… every time one was held?"
Lancelot's steps grew faster. Tristan, ever internalising his emotions, took a deep breath and shot a glare at Arthur. He hadn't been the only one who had asked for greater secrecy, but had been the most persistent in his demands.
Arthur shook his head slightly. Now really wasn't the time to start this old argument again.
"And why did you attack the slave waiting outside? Why not just send him away?"
The man shuddered violently, clearly remembering something unpleasant. "My orders were to kill anyone who saw me outside the hall of the Round Table – if they would not be missed."
Tristan's eye twitch was all the warning they had.
And of course they missed it completely. So it took both Lancelot and Arthur to restrain him and drag him from the building.
"Easy!"
"Hey, you nearly took my eye out there!"
"Get off me!"
They hurled him through the door and then stood shoulder-to-shoulder, denying him re-entry.
Tristan flicked his braids out of his eyes and straightened, tall and proud. "By your leave, sir." He spoke with icy formality, quite unlike his usual speech pattern which bordered on casual insolence. "I have other duties to attend to."
Arthur nodded and without another word, Tristan threw a curt nod in Lancelot's direction and marched away, heading for the Sarmatian barracks.
"It is unusual to see him lose his temper quite so violently," Lancelot remarked breathlessly, straightening his tunic as they watched him go.
"Indeed. I still have my doubts about his relationship with his slave." Arthur said darkly.
"If it is as you think, then it doesn't matter," Lancelot said. "Really, Arthur, what he does in his spare time need not concern you. He is a good man."
Although it was said to reassure his friend, Lancelot had his own doubts about that last sentence. But good or not, Tristan was not one to inflict needless suffering – even on the battlefield.
Returning to the prisoner, they found that the man had indeed been only a small part of what was a much larger group. Originally a labourer from the south west, he had moved steadily north in search of work with his brother. But instead he had found employment on one of Donatus' farms as a shepherd and while the flocks were safely grazing in a paddock, the man was free to sneak into the fort. He had not been told of any plans, only that he had to keep collecting information.
"Well, now what?" Lancelot asked.
"We go and learn everything there is to know about the baron." Arthur said grimly, and they started for the records' rooms.
As they walked, Lancelot pondered… when Tristan visited the prisoner this morning, who was the 'demon' that he had brought with him?
Oh. The answer was absent from where it ought to be. Tristan was standing at the window, staring up towards the gutters, glaring in a most frightful manner. He was breathless and pale with anger. Perhaps he'd been speaking with his slave again… they were always bickering.
"What is this?" Arthur said sternly.
Tristan's jaw clenched, but he managed to turn away from the window. "Nothing," he said curtly, his eyes were blazing.
"A lover's quarrel?" Lancelot teased, sauntering closer to the window to look for the slave boy – there was no sign of him.
"Lancelot, unless you have further reason to be here, I suggest you go about your duties." Arthur warned.
"Wasn't I supposed to be researching the baron?" Lancelot asked innocently.
Arthur, caught in his own trap, scowled and sat down at his desk, upsetting a teetering stack of papers onto the floor.