"More wine!" Dinadan roared merrily over the heads of the crowd, holding aloft his cup to signal to any server that might have failed to recognise his voice. He was certainly committing to the 'making merry' part of the mission. I had never seen him so wholeheartedly cheerful before. It was hardly his natural state. The knights had set up their 'base' in the very centre of the tavern, attracting all the attention and generating most of the noise.
Lancelot, naturally, had snagged a woman early on. She was curled up on his lap like some over-sized kitten, pawing at his chest and giggling into his ear.
But considering his prowess in every aspect of his life here, it was hardly a surprising scene. Lancelot was, quite simply, brilliant and inspiring. All the knights were very happy for him to take the role of intermediary between them and Arthur. The role suited the man, who was naturally given to charming those around him – if he hadn't been such a formidable warrior, then I would have dismissed him as someone who preferred the easy life.
I hefted another huge jug of wine and started to fight my way through the crowd, but my stature didn't help much; being so short, it meant I was jostled quite severely. Tristan was in his usual spot at the back, nursing a single cup of wine that was doubtless there simply for decoration. He was supposed to be watching the women running around the tavern – but I had noticed his eyes following me more often than not.
Honestly, did he really think I'd run into trouble now? When everyone had seen us enter together and then exchange quiet words before going our separate ways?
On my way back to the bar with an empty amphora, I felt a large hand grab my shoulder and spin me around. Alarmed, I ducked away, only to collide with someone else. Looking up, I saw a richly-dressed man grinning down at me. He was probably in his late twenties, and I could tell he was accustomed to authority, since he made no move to introduce himself.
"Hello there," he drawled, stepping closer. His friend (read: wing-man) had already retreated to a respectful distance, taking my empty amphora with him. This was supremely awkward. My eyes darted to a particular spot, but realised that I was out of Tristan's line of sight.
… Damn.
The one time I needed him to actually make good on his promise to look after me, and he isn't there.
"Um…" I mumbled, lost for words and shrinking slightly as the man took another step, closing the distance between us.
"Don't be so shy, I only want to talk to you," the man said sweetly. "Would you like some wine?"
"No thank you," I said, but my hand was grabbed and I was led back to his table. His two friends (including the amphora thief) looked at me in an overly appreciative manner, but respectfully didn't further their own agendas. Clearly I had been picked up by the leader of this little group. I stood before them, wishing that Tristan would come rescue me. But you can't rely on men. Even sober ones. So I just rallied my strength (currently in short supply) and tried to affect a haughty air.
"What's your name?" the man asked, still holding my hand. He gently ran his thumb over the back of my knuckles.
"Kation."
"A beautiful name," he purred, drawing me closer. I dug my heels in and looked around desperately.
"Look, I'm flattered, but you wouldn't be talking to me if you knew…" I started to warn, trying to pull away. But I was silenced by a much harder tug on my hand. Stumbling slightly, I fell (or more likely, was pulled) into his lap, practically straddling him. Stammering my apologies, I made to rise when I felt one of his hands – hot even through the material of my trousers – glide along the back of my thigh, trailing to the inside and heading up to—!
"Get off!" I yelped, trying to wriggle free. But the man ignored my protestations and wrapped his other arm around my waist, pulling me closer to his chest. I squirmed, trying to reach my knife, but my free arm was trapped between our bodies and he still held onto my other hand.
Several streams of swear-words tore through my brain as I struggled in that hellish embrace. The man nuzzled my throat and I shuddered in revulsion. Then I felt my 'admirer' plant a very painful love-bite onto my (now exposed!) collarbone. It hurt, I wasn't expecting it, and it made me bloody furious. With a grunt I jerked back, my glare at full capacity. I sucked in a deep breath; there was only one option left… but it was going to hurt me just as much as my assailant.
I slammed my forehead into his nose.
With a cry of pain, the man jerked away from me, his hands going to his face. Blood spurted down his front. I saw mostly great dots of colour in front of my eyes, but I managed to slide off his lap and stagger away. The crowd enveloped me and I kept low, creeping back to Tristan. My vision had cleared quickly, but my forehead ached and I was really annoyed that I'd now have to spend the whole evening avoiding that man and his friends.
When Tristan caught sight of me he didn't move from his spot, but I saw his hand tighten around the cup in his hand. I collapsed onto the small bench next to him with an annoyed sigh.
"What happened now?" he asked, grabbing my chin and turning my face so he could stare at my forehead.
"What? Oh, um… nothing really. Just some random bastard thought I'd be an easy target for sex," I said, trying to pull out of his grip. "Is there something on my face?" I asked politely.
Tristan's fingers tightened painfully and he raised his other hand to brush his fingertips across my forehead. They came back bloody.
"Ah," I said, and allowed myself to grin. Tristan let go, now certain I was not hurt. "It is not mine. I think I broke his nose." He smiled faintly and turned back to surveying the tavern at large. I knew he was still keeping half an ear turned to me in case I felt like continuing the narrative.
I didn't. Instead, knowing full-well that a normal slave would never drink from his master's cup,I took a sip of the wine and got to my feet.
"Where are you going now?"
"To the records' rooms," I said, trying to scrub the rest of the blood from my forehead with the edge of my sleeve. "You seem to have everything under control, and Vanora's also on the look-out for suspicious behaviour."
"Very well." He didn't turn to look at me as he spoke, eyes still scanning the scene before him. I left without further ado.
But while sauntering through the dark streets, I heard a pair of urgent voices whispering to each other.
"… must be soon! There is a sudden suspicion… Arthur was in the archives all day yesterday…"
"— and that was after they went to see Marcus in the cells. He's talked hasn't he? Got to shut him up… he was always too nervous. No courage…"
This was more than enough to send me doubling back on silent feet to hide as close to the speakers as possible. What a victory! I silently thanked the perverted man for ruining my initial plans.
But I know you'd like to hear what else these men had to say, so I will continue:
"But we aren't ready! There is not enough support yet and the baron has to play for time…"
"Bah! We are in the perfect position to strike! But will anyone listen to me?" a derisive snort from the shorter man. He had a barrel chest and the broad hands of a workman, but his clothing was too fine and urbane for such a vocation.
"Iustus, please do not get ahead of yourself…" the other man sighed. "We take our orders from the baron and must wait. Besides, the Prefect is not due to arrive for another two weeks."
Ah, so that was the impetuous man's name. And could I suppress the grin that blossomed across my face? No, because Iustus was clearly the baron's spymaster and right hand man. What he was doing in the fort that night, I had no idea, but I sincerely wanted to capture him. He would be the perfect person to turn into my desired double-agent: a well-trusted, senior servant in the enemy household… I felt a little giddy at how useful he would be.
"Now," said the, as yet unnamed, man said. He was tall and thin, with clever expressive hands that darted through the air to illustrate the smallest point. "Let's go back to the tavern. Tonight we can relax in the knowledge that Arthur and the others don't suspect yet of our plans. They are racing to catch up and will be too late. Always too late."
On second thought, the other man seemed less emotional and more sensible. Maybe he would be a better target – being a more rational man, I could reason with him about the futility of this subterfuge. And what on earth did the Prefect have to do with this? All that I had heard and read about that man suggested he hated Arthur wholeheartedly and envied the commander's influence. But I am repeating earlier statements.
There were several beats of silence before Iustus grunted and I watched the men leave, heading for the tavern. I followed silently and stuck to the shadows, watching where they went. The audacity of their actions – calmly drinking and eating in the tavern not two tables away from the knights.
I wanted to have them both arrested that instant. But would they say anything? Information gained through torture was useless and there was no way I could persuade them to co-operate. Not when they were so sure of their success. I was wracked by indecision. To take them or not… Would we even be able to capture them both in one go? Would any of their other spies (as yet unknown to us) run back to the baron and tell him of the arrests? And if they did, then whatever they planned would certainly happen before we could prepare against it, no matter what Iustus and his friend told us.
But what if this was our only chance? What if the baron was somehow in league with the Prefect? I mentally extrapolated all the things I'd have to enact in order to mitigate the inevitable fallout.
Think about what the knights would do, and then do the exact opposite. I told myself.
Yes, it was worth the fallout.
I sprinted around the tavern and entered via the kitchens, unseen by all the revellers, and grabbed Brenna by the hand, dragging her to the store-room. My face must have been so serious that she did not even bother to greet me, but followed silently.
"I need you to send Tristan round to the back of the kitchens where he can meet me in private." I said in a very soft whisper.
"Why? Is something wrong?" Brenna asked. "It's not just so that you two can…"
I cut her off before she could finish that repulsive sentence. "Brenna, if it was for that then would I have asked you to fetch him?" She hesitated again and I actually shook her, my fingers tightening with tense worry around her shoulders. "This is serious and we have very little time, please just do what I ask – a lot of lives depend on it." I said desperately.
She read my face for a long (too long) moment and then nodded. I went back to the door again, resisting the urge to pace or fidget while I waited. Tristan appeared, silent and at a dignified (read: bloody slow) pace. I dashed over to him and gave him my most brilliant smile. Oh, he would be so pleased!
"What is it?" He asked, clearly my serious mood had rubbed off on Brenna and he realised its urgency. It hadn't made him move any quicker, though. Insouciant bastard.
"I know exactly who two of the baron's senior cronies are," I declared in a soft-as-feather whisper.
"We know; Iustus and the spy we already caught – Marcus."
"Marcus was hardly senior," I said, brushing aside the matter. "Shut up and listen, there's more: I also know exactly where Iustus and his colleague are."
Although I could only see half of Tristan's face – illuminated as it was by the lamplight in the kitchens – I knew he was very sceptical about all this. He was probably wondering where I had suddenly acquired this vital information.
"How?"
"I was walking back to the archives when—" but I didn't get the chance to finish that sentence because suddenly Tristan had caught me by the shoulders and propelled me back against the wall without so much as a wink of warning. He pressed his face close to mine – so close that our lips were almost touching.
Great. Was this my night to suffer harassment? I tried to kick him, but he stepped very close, bearing down over me and putting one leg between my own, effectively trapping me.
"Put your hands around me," he whispered, his green eyes boring into mine in a distinctly blank sort of way… which was odd. "We have an audience." He added, dropping one hand to my hip, while the other gently cupped the back of my neck.
Phwoar… talk about a steamy diversion. I didn't fancy Tristan (despite being able to empirically and aesthetically say that he was an extremely fine example of manly manhood), but this did push a few not-so objective buttons in my body and subconscious. I really needed a boyfriend back in the 21st Century to fixate on at a time like this… but no such luck. Therefore all that I could think was: Oh-dear-gods-please-don't-let-him-kiss-me-please-oh-please-oh-please…
"Right," I muttered, feeling like this was some sort of line that we were crossing. But at least we were doing so together, fully prepared for the consequences. I raised my arms and knotted my fingers into his hair.
Tristan's eyes fluttered for an instant before he refocused. "You were saying?" his face was still very close to mine.
"Um. Yeah. Uh…" I licked my lips and refocused my mind. "I was walking back to the archives when I heard two men whispering to each other about our prisoner, who they knew by name. Listening further, I realised that they were in the pay of Baron Donatus – one of them is the Iustus that our prisoner mentioned. Then, they announced their intention to go back to the tavern. I followed them and saw where they were seated, then had Brenna fetch you back here." I said all this very quickly and felt Tristan stiffen with sudden predatory tension. He began to pull away, ready to charge off and take them down single-handedly, so I gripped his hair more tightly. "No, wait!" I hissed.
"But they could leave at any second!" Tristan growled, glaring at me in a very horrible manner. I wasn't particularly fazed – not when there was so much more to lose than his immediate favour.
"No they won't – I told you, they decided to stay and make a night of it, so we have a little time. Enough to grab some of your fellow knights, those who are still sober anyway, and catch them once they leave. Again, we don't want any other spies to see us. I need to get to Donatus before they do so we can make a deal with him—oof!" This last part was due to Tristan slamming me against the wall, I only just managed to tuck my head in enough to prevent my scalp wound from being torn open again. If possible, I would have said he looked even angrier now.