We had been riding in silence for hours, only stopping to answer that most private of nature's calls. Tristan set a blistering pace, which would have left me shattered if I hadn't been schooling the horses every day. Now I was silently grateful for that particular chore, as it had strengthened my muscles enormously.
And speaking of muscles… I glared ahead to the strong, straight back swaying rhythmically in time with Tagiytei's loping gait. I knew why he'd done it. The kiss. Rationally, I understood that if he hadn't planted one on me then those pissheads behind the tavern could have ruined our chances of catching the baron's henchmen.
But what should I say? At the time, I had complimented him on his decisiveness and commitment to do an uncomfortable thing under duress. But now? How did I feel? Part of me was rational, knowing that whatever else it might have been, Tristan did not fancy me. The other part of me longed to kiss him again – just to feel some human intimacy. Honestly, I was pretty lonely in this world and hadn't been kissed in a long, long time…
But although I was closest to Tristan, he wasn't exactly Mr Warm-and-Inclusive. I don't think he let anyone get near to him. To know him so well, but still feel that yawning distance was sometimes painful. I may be sarcastic, caustic and flippant, but underneath that, I was actually very fond of him. He was reliable and considerate in that grouchy, fun-vacuum, self-contained sort of way of his and I adored him for it. Perhaps if I was a little more playful, I could draw out another side of Tristan? One that smiled, perhaps… Would such efforts make him a more emotionally healthy individual? Or would I have to flee for my life? Teasing him was an automatic reflex, but inciting play? Jokes? He had made that joke about me being unlike Arthur…
Perhaps he was ticklish.
All these random thoughts swirled in my brain as I rode along, my breath fogging before me in the crisp night air.
"Fucking freezing isn't it?" I exclaimed, resorting to casual loquaciousness to release some of this blatant tension between us. And if I wanted to confront him about the kiss, now would be the perfect time.
He stiffened and turned an incredulous glance at me. Granted, I wasn't in the habit of stating the blindingly obvious. I shrugged and burrowed into my cloak. "Well it is, and I had no idea what else to say; apart from my lingering suspicion that you've never laughed properly, or ever played a game that didn't involve someone dying. Oh, and if you have a sister, she's a whore."
Tristan's eyes widened in outrage and incredulity, especially since I was now grinning broadly and clearly enjoying myself. I kicked my toes from the stirrups and swung them idly back and forth, the reins falling onto Sarakos' neck as I raised my arms above my head to stretch.
"… I have laughed." He said stuffily, wisely ignoring my final outrageous proclamation.
"Really? When?"
When he paused to consider the question, I jabbed a finger at him. "Aha! See? You had to think about it. That's not healthy. Find more joy in life – even if it's in this shitty little backwater."
"I laughed," Tristan repeated doggedly, "when I saw you had plaited Tagiytei's mane and tail after his bath. I was about to go on patrol when I saw it and I had to unravel your handiwork before leaving the stall. And then he looked like some vain noblewoman who had just curled her hair."
I grinned triumphantly. Tristan had worn a distinctly lethal expression that afternoon, ready to cut down the first person who might mention how pretty his horse looked. I was pleased to hear he had been secretly amused at my antics. If I remember correctly, it had been a gesture of petty revenge for being forced to mend one of his tunics which was more patches and stitching than the original material.
"And I also laughed when I saw you chasing, and being chased, by Jols' yearling colts in the paddock. Especially when the chestnut actually knocked you to the floor with his nose and then bounced around you as you lay there, gasping like a fish."
"Since you remember it so clearly," I said, arching my tone into one of injured dignity. "Perhaps you'd like to join me next time I feel like playing with the horses."
There was a very weighty silence for a moment as Tristan seemed to seriously consider this offer. Had I pushed him too far? After all, he was the one who had actually offered me (unverified) accounts of his mirth. "Perhaps," he said solemnly, turning his attention back to the road.
But I refused to let that be the end of the conversation – we had made such progress! "And in return I'll teach you a really fun game I learned from a friend."
"Oh really?"
I smiled. "No penalties really, just a simple test of balance. The winner steps on the other's feet."
"Sounds ridiculous."
"That is the nature of most games, you twit." I said affectionately, gathering my reins up again and slipping my toes back into the stirrups to urge Sarakos into a faster walk. Drawing level with Tristan, I leaned over and poked him in the ribs to emphasise my next point. "Cheer up."
He glared at me again. "This is serious. And as far as tonight's matters are concerned, you must be a perfect example of a slave when we reach the villa. Do not question my orders, do not make any of those sarcastic expressions when I give you said orders, do not touch me unless it is with the deepest respect, such as a gentle touch to the elbow to alert me of something. Do not slouch or fidget, or stare vacantly in all directions except the one you're supposed to be facing. Do not try to make friends with all animals you see. Especially cats."
That old list again? I rolled my eyes and tried to steer the conversation away from my conduct. "Only if you promise to not terrify everyone you encounter. Professionalism is one thing, but terrorism? Not so ingratiating. Especially with someone who considers us the enemy, whom we can at least view as a traitor to the state, and who might try to kill us in the night. Charm could save us some serious hassle."
"He wouldn't do that. Not with Arthur arriving tomorrow."
"Are you really so sure about that?" I said, giving him a sideways glance. "It would be really easy for them to make it look like bandits attacked us on the road."
"Not if they couldn't produce any evidence of bandits' corpses – it is unlikely we wouldn't kill a few in the struggle."
"Hang on, why am I being included in this fight? I'd run away."
"You wouldn't run." Tristan said. His voice was filled with a quiet confidence that left me feeling rather disgustingly humbled.
"Your faith is misplaced," I muttered, turning to look at the beautiful moonlit meadows around us. Frost hung off every stem of grass and everything seemed to be made of silver. An owl hooted shrilly in the trees as a silence settled over us once more.
"It is not a question of faith, but of trust." He said softly. How much of his pride had those words cost him? I glanced at him, but his face was inscrutable as he stared right back at me. I quelled my panic at this development and pressed my lips together, looking away again. I was stoic as could be in the face of emergencies – it was when it was quiet and personal that I found myself fumbling for something to say.
I'd brought this upon myself. I had wanted to see another side of Tristan – little did I know how utterly terrifying it was going to be. I'd rather watch him slaughter some Woads than face this thoughtful, brooding side a second longer. Especially when there was nothing to distract us from it.
To put it simply, I was at a loss. How to continue?
"And I wanted to ask," Tristan said, ignoring my awkward silence. "What did you mean by 'nicely done'?"
What? Seriously?
"Stop stealing my words." I said sullenly. "I was going to ask you about that." I hadn't intended to, until he'd said my line.
"Answer the question first," Tristan demanded.
Silently praying for an attack of some kind (Woads, bandits, coronaries…), I steeled myself and quickly thought of a response. "Well, it was… um…" I fought to keep the blush from my face. "Er, quick thinking. And convincing enough for them to not demand a repeat performance."
"'Convincing enough'? Then I take it you didn't enjoy it." He said.
Good grief, was he trying to make me die of shame? How thick could he be?!
"Well it wasn't real, was it?" I said defensively. "We don't love each other, so it was hardly the sort of thing I could…" I trailed off again, choked by a mixture of annoyance, embarrassment and frustration. "You can't say you liked it very much either."
His silence was all the answer I needed.
"You did?!" I shrieked, nearly falling off the horse in shock. "I don't believe this! Are you saying that you find me—?"
"No, I am saying that the kiss was enjoyable."
"Then feel free to enshrine that memory in your heart, because it will never happen again." I said haughtily.
"Stop overreacting," there was a trace of irritation in his voice. "Gods, I never said I wanted to bed you."
Considering our sleeping arrangements and his procrastination about sorting out a separate bed for me, I found this highly suspicious. And I was still shell-shocked from the idea that he'd enjoyed kissing me. So with that irritating thought in mind, I shot back with a fervent: "Well thank goodness for that."
He glanced at me slyly. "Are you saying that you find me unattractive?"
"No…" I said slowly – terribly afraid of where this conversation was going now. Could it possibly get any worse? "Not at all," I continued, carefully avoiding all eye-contact. "But I think it is funny that we are discussing looks and kisses while riding to a villa where we may well be killed."
"What else is there to talk about?" Tristan asked, puzzled.
"How about what we're going to do when we get there?" I said uneasily. The current topic was making me uncomfortable.
"Good idea," Tristan said, somehow getting his sex-starved brain back on task. "I suggest that we act like there is nothing wrong. As if we are utterly unaware of what he is doing. We can discuss that previous matter at a later time."
"What, we aren't finished with it?" I squawked, alarmed at the idea of yet more embarrassing chit-chat. I needed to find this man a whore and fast. Perhaps the baron could lend me one of his?
"No." He said mercilessly and with that, urged Tagiytei into a brisk canter that Sarakos leapt forward to match.
There was no opportunity for conversation after that. When we reached the gates of the villa we were greeted by a very grumpy gatekeeper who was highly doubtful about our right to be there, despite knowing exactly who Tristan was.
And our earlier argument notwithstanding, I did indeed follow Tristan's lead – climbing wearily off Sarakos and accompanying the hastily woken groom to put the horses into spare stalls. I led Tagiytei because any normal person would have been savaged, and by the time I found my way back to the villa's main vestibule, Tristan was already talking to the head of the household – the aged steward type – who was listening to my scout with a grave scepticism. I appeared, carrying our overnight bags and weapons. The old man grimaced at the belongings and then sneered at me. I just stared back owlishly and refused to let my fingers tighten around the bows I carried in one hand.
"… the baron is not to be disturbed at this time – he is a busy man and requires his rest," the man was saying, his arms crossed and his gaze disdainful, despite the fact that Tristan out-ranked him several times over and was armed to the teeth. "We will show you to our guest quarters and you may meet with him first thing in the morning, sir knight."
I, in my role as good slave, could say nothing. But Tristan, for all his paranoid cunning and keen intellect, seemed willing to let this stand. Maybe he was just tired. I knew I was, but this was no time to muck around with sleeping. Unfortunately, Tristan wasn't going to insist upon the baron being dragged from his bed and terrified witless.
"Very well." He said, jerking his head at me to indicate I should follow. As we walked along the corridors, I whispered very, very softly "Release me to fetch us some food – I can retrieve the evidence we need."
He nodded, but didn't say anything until the slave had left us outside the door to our room.
"Take one of the bigger knives. I'm not risking you again." He said gruffly, pulling the very long, broad-bladed Sarmatian knife from his pack and pushing it into my hands.
"Thanks." I stuffed it into the back of my sash and wriggled out of my cloak. It would only get in the way. I then went to the window and poked my head out, memorising where our room was in relation to the outer wall, the roof, the ground and the other windows.
"Be careful." He ordered, watching me prepare. I turned back and nodded tersely, feeling tenser by the minute. This was particularly dangerous and if I was caught… well, life wouldn't be worth returning to, even if I didn't have a choice. Tristan was looking rather worried too. There was a moment of silence as we stood there, neither saying anything. Then it broke and I turned away, opening the door a fraction to make sure the coast was clear. Tristan walked up to stand behind me – I knew he would close and lock the door as soon as I left. I slid through the gap and listened intently, not moving away until I was absolutely sure. Tristan's hand landed on my shoulder and I turned to look back, puzzled. But his face was unreadable as he gently pushed me forward and shut the door.
As I walked silently through the house, I heard the steward talking to an older woman who was probably the baroness' major-domo.
"… I've heard the rumours. Who could not? Honestly, just because that knight asserts his chastity does not mean he deserves respect. Did you see the way his slave walks? The boy swings his hips just like those tarts that are brought back from Eboracum." The steward sneered.
"Perhaps it is his natural gait. Or maybe he is sore from riding a horse through the night." The woman said primly. "And unless you have witnessed such immoral behaviour yourself, you would do wise to keep silent. Of all the knights to antagonise, Tristan is not one to attract attention from."
Smart woman, I thought as I tip-toed past, leaving the horrible talk with a mental shrug – after all, people love slander so long as it doesn't touch them.
I eventually found the baron's office and was astonished to find it was unlocked. I checked to make sure I had an alternative exit to the door before entering. My choices were the chimney or the window. Both good options. The lamps had been extinguished for the night, so I fetch a handheld lamp from the table and lit it from a bracket lamp in the hall beyond. Then I settled down to silently pore over every scrap of writing I could lay my hands on.
Mostly, it was boring agricultural reports and the like – but then I found a stack of correspondence. Several people were writing to the baron concerning…
Oh holy fuck.
Just when things couldn't get any worse.
I scowled and pondered where to hide all this invaluable intelligence. I couldn't carry it all with me – and the rustling of paper stashed in my clothes would ruin the element of stealth which was currently keeping me alive.
Which mean I had to hide them in this room so that no one could destroy them before Arthur's arrival. I looked around the room for options and saw a few. There was a large trunk which, once opened, revealed a cache of writing equipment thrown in atop some old tunics and cloaks. Perfect. Pulling all these things out, I moved all incriminating documents to the bottom of the trunk and then piled everything back in. Now, part two of my ingeniously evil plan…
I went to the window and looked about. I was on the second first floor, same as the guest room, but by my calculation, I was now on the other side of the house. After finishing here, I'd have to climb up onto the roof and cross the slick tiles back to our room and then hope to hell Tristan hadn't already closed the shutters. Then I went back to the door and barricaded it shut, using every piece of furniture I could move – including the cabinet, the table and even the trunk I had hidden the papers in.
That should buy us enough time, provided Arthur didn't dawdle. My mission concluded, I blew out the lamp, and climbed onto the window sill. Then I jumped for the lip of the roof and hung on by my fingers. I then carefully nudged the shutters closed with my feet and then hauled myself up, shoulders screaming with pain. After taking a moment to recover, I slithered away from the edge and then crawled on hands and knees over the sloping roof back to where Tristan waited for me… hopefully with a blanket. I was freezing!