When Dagonet and Tristan left Ivy and the stallion in the smithy to attend the council meeting:
"Tris, you comin'?" Dagonet called over his shoulder without stopping his walk. The knight in question hesitated a moment longer but then turned and followed his former brother in arms. With long fluid strides he caught up to Dagonet and slowed down to his pace.
"Don't like that." he muttered without further explanation. His friend knew what he meant anyhow.
"She can manage and she will not make a run for it." Dag said with conviction. "She just needs to know that she is trusted by others."
"Dag, you know nothing of her." Tristan stated matter of factly.
"Well she is selfless, friendly, honest ..." he started to list.
"Dag." Tristan interrupted. "You have to stop draggin in strays."
"She's not a dog, Tris. And besides, the last stray I dragged in made a beautiful wife." he reminded his friend of the origin of his wife and soon to be mother of his child. "Maybe this one 's for you." he added light-hearted and clapped Tristan's shoulder. His joke earned him a glare and silence on the remaining way to the council hall. Enough time to wonder why he, Dagonet, was invited to an official meeting where he no longer was a knight. From time to time Arthur seeked a private discussion or his opinion on something but not in the council hall. Always in private.
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As they entered the hall Dagonet had to check himself not to stroll over to his old seat at the round table. This chair now belonged to one of the younger men who were recruited as knights after the battle with the Saxons at Badon Hill. Arthur had proclaimed a united Britain and soon started to fill the ranks. Half of the Roman century, already with family and attachments to the country, had stayed and vowed their loyalty to Arthur, king of Britain. The empty places at the round table were filled one by one with promising young man from all over the country, a mixed bunch ranging from well educated Romans over ambitious British and even some Picts from the north. All eager to prove themselves worthy and to help building a kingdom for their people. They went through a rough training by all of Arthur's knights and although Dagonet was not longer a knight, released from service before most of the younglings had arrived, they looked upon him with the same admiration as they held for their officers. Once a knight always a knight.
The same look hit him now where his disobedient feet had carried him over to his familiar seat while he had been musing. The young man in tidy uniform with embroidered lions on his chest, who was about to sit down on this very chair at the same time, hesitated. Both of them had one hand on the back of the chair. He knew Dagonet and he felt insecure. Could he deny the legendary man who had fought on Arthur's side for over a decade his place on the round table? Casting a last look at the familiar markings on the wood at his place, Dagonet nodded a greeting to the young man and retreated to the chairs that had been placed at one of the walls. A seat in the back row. It took a little effort to quench the uneasy feeling and a reminder that being not a knight also meant not to fight.
Now that he took seat he noticed the other council guests. Next to him sat Olvin the fletcher, Keir the tanner, Alestair the saddler and Gwyr the carver, all craftsmen and curious as well why they have been summoned. The whispering among them ceased when Arthur entered the room and all occupants of the round table rose. Unfamiliar with the protocol they looked over to Dagonet, who was already on his feet and then rose quickly.
"Knights! Guests!" Arthur's authoritative voice filled the room. "Please, take seat."
Everyone sat down again. All attention focused on the king.
"We have come together to discuss manpower and equipment of Britain's army today. This is why I invited you here." He nodded towards the guests in the back row. "You are capable craftsmen widely known for the quality of their work. Although the court has its own skilful workmen, the task at hand exceeds their capacities. More weapons, more armour, more saddlery is needed. My commanders together with the royal armourer and the blacksmith made a list of what will be needed. I ask you if you are willing to accept an order that will keep your business running for the next year. But I warn you, once you agree I expect on time delivery of flawless goods." Arthur's voice made clear he would take no excuses but the promise of continuous work and income for the invited craftsmen outweighed possible consequences in case of failure. None of them had any experience beyond day to day work and the usual customers but none of them was ready to let such an opportunity pass.
The pause in Arthur's speech was getting longer and longer. Where they expected to answer now?
"If you need to think about it you may have your time, but let me be clear: this is confidential. You will talk with no one about my offer." Arthur added.
"My king, may I speak?" Gwyr the carver said meekly.
"You may."
All eyes turned to Gwyr, who stood and had to swallow the lump in his throat. "Your offer honours us and our craft and I am sure we all are happy to comply. But can you tell us in more detail what is expected of us? I for my share have an apprentice but if you tell me to make spears, bows and arrow shafts for every soldier in Britain it will take me until I am old and grey to finish. I would have to cut down half of Badon's forest to ..."
He went silent when Arthur lifted his hand. With a smile on his lips he said "Of course you need to know more. The weaponry stays with the court's blacksmith but you will make the simple things we need in big number. Arrows, spears, holstery. But be not mistaken. Simple does not mean I do not expect best quality. You will be paid partly before you start work so you can buy material and may employ another apprentice. Brecan, my treasurer will give you exact numbers. Discuss this matter with him and tell him if you agree until tomorrow evening."
Gwyr nodded, as did his companions.
"And now you may excuse us for the rest of this meeting. Brecan will find you afterwards."
Dagonet took the clue first, rose to his feet and made his way to the door, followed by the other craftsmen. As soon as the double doors closed behind them the council meeting proceeded in secrecy.
Their excited talking started immediately. "To equip an army! That will earn me another two acre of land in the west of my farm." Olvin declared.
"And I can finally get my leaky roof fixed and find my four girls good husbands with a dowry like this." Keir joined in. Gwyr was already doing the maths in his head how many arrow shafts he could do per week and what he would earn.
Dagonet in turn was thinking on how he could ever shoulder this amount of work. Sure he would not decline the offer. It brought wealth and more work to him and his growing family. But it meant that he needed to buy more metal, forge it, sharpen it. He would have to get Gwellyn, his apprentice, back from his parents farm in the west sooner than planned. He could not stay all summer until the harvest. Lucan would need to help more with the wood and the coal for the fire. The coal! Wood needed to be brought to the char burner soon to have enough char coal for the forge. It was so much work and all this now, when Lyria was about to give birth to their first-born. He definitely needed more help.
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The voices around Dagonet were dropping away one after another, when his companions turned to leave for their own work shops. Just as he arrived at his smithy everything was silent besides the far away murmur from the tavern and a silent enchanting whisper. A voice, low and soothing, was telling secret stories. It was Ivy that Dagonet had left alone to watch Tristan's stallion. The big horse's head hung low, eye lids half closed, ears relaxed to the side, and was enjoying the long strokes the woman was administering to his graceful neck. Dagonet strained his ears to understand what was said but the syllables made no sense to him.
"What are you telling him?" he asked.
Ivy startled. "Hu?"
"Never mind. You still seek work?"
Ivy nodded a little disoriented. "Yes. Why?"
"You meant your offer to me earlier this day?"
"Yes, of course." she confirmed.
"Now, this might be unconventional and it is only for some weeks but if you think you can manage, I will have work for you." Dagonet declared. "Here." He made a gesture to indicate his smithy.
After moments of silence Ivy found her voice again. "You mean it? I can work here?"
Dagonet nodded and outstretched his hand which she shook enthusiastically. "Come in! I'll show you around." He stepped ahead into the half open workshop, went around the massive anvil and stopped at the furnace on the opposite side. "So, Miss Ivy, have you ever been in a smithy?"
Ivy went a bit pale. "Um, no. But I have heard many stories."
Rather seen many documentaries.
"Stories? You have to tell them to me then."
Ivy nodded mutely and remained at the entrance.
"I just got a big order." Dagonet started to explain. "My apprentice, Gwellyn, is at his parents farm. I will send for him but he will be back no sooner than in a fortnight or two."
Surely he did not expect her to take over the work of an apprentice?
"My son, Lucan, is around in the afternoon and cares for the firewood, the coal, the water. You will help him with this. And for other tasks, we will see how skilled you are with your hands."
What?
"Fire has to be started at sunrise and when the coal has the right heat, we start to work." Dagonet continued.
"Okay."
"Oke?"
"Uhm, I mean yes, I understand." Ivy corrected her 21th century slang. Now there was only one more thing to ask, but how to voice this question? It isn't as it was an improper topic but she did not manage to look into Dag's face. "What about the, uhm, the wage? I … I will need to buy food and … when can I expect to ..."
"I will cover a daily dinner for you at Vanora's. I cannot have you staggering around the smithy with a rumbling stomach. The rest you get at the end of each week."
Dagonet stopped talking and looked at Ivy, Ivy looked back. It made no sense to her to haggle over the wage as she had absolutely no clue what an average wage might be. So it was a welcome interruption, when a boy of about 13 turned up on the door step.
"Ah, there he is. Lucan, come over here." Dagonet waved the boy in, who had his eyes on Ivy. "This is Miss Ivy. She will help us here at the smithy until Gwellyn is back." Dagonet introduced. Ivy extended her hand but was rewarded only with a sceptical look.
"Help at the smithy?"
Ivy's hand sank lower. Had she really expected acceptance? Even a boy of this age knew this was not a place for a woman. Finding his father here in his workshop with a foreign woman and telling him she will work here … it sounded like a lame excuse for being walked in upon something forbidden … Ivy's mind went into overdrive like it always did, when she was insecure. The boy didn't think something was going on here, did he? His look might suggest he did. Did Dagonet think … did he expect her to …?
A firm grip on here hand brought here back to reality. The boy's eyes were still searching her face but he seemed to accept what his father had told him. For now at least.
"I will go and fetch wood." he stated after releasing her hand.
Ivy took the chance to take initiative. "I will come with you. If I am to help out, I can as well start with fetching wood."
Dagonet nodded approvingly and the boy turned to leave. After grabbing a pannier he turned down the street to one of the side gates of the fort without looking back at Ivy. If he walked that fast on purpose, she could not tell but thanks to her long legs she had no trouble keeping up with his long strides.
"Lucan, if I got that right?"
"Hmm." he murmured. What to talk about to break the ice?
"Where are we going?" Smooth Ivy. You go and fetch wood. He told you 10 seconds ago.
"Up there." He pointed to a point beyond the southern walls of the fort. As soon as they passed the guard at the small southern gate, they followed a muddy, beaten path towards a few huts at the seam of a light copse.
Maybe it was because he felt impolite in his ignorance towards her, but after a few more steps Lucan added a comment without being asked, but also without turning towards Ivy. "It is not allowed to store much wood inside the fort. Risk of fire it would pose."
Ivy took it as invitation to keep the conversation running. "So you get wood every day from up there?"
Lucan nodded. "And water from down the stream. At least four buckets a day." He rolled his eyes. "Father says its better for the iron than the water from the well within the fort." The undertone might as well have been from a 20th century teenager, that resented mowing the lawn every two weeks.
The huts were not inhabited and seemed more like storage space. Lucan stepped up to an especially shaky looking one and reached into a crevice between two planks above the tiny door. With the thin metal rod he produced from there he angled between the door and the door frame and expertly unhooked the latch, which closed the door from the inside. "Father likes to keep things locked up. Lots of wood was stolen last winter and then he rented the hut and put stuff in here and locked it up."
"From the inside." Ivy acknowledged.
"Yeah." Lucan turned to her. "You must not tell anyone how to open it!" He added gravely after realising he had just given away the secret.
"I swear." Ivy assured.
Inside the hut it was dark. Sparse light fell through the crevices in the wooden plank wall. No window. To the left and to the right were roof high stacks of chopped and well dried wood. Lucan handed Ivy a small jute sack and pointed to the darkest corner. "Get some coal. I take the wood." Ivy squeezed in between Lucan and the wood, careful not to rip her dress on the rough edges, and grabbed black pieces of charcoal. The full sack weighted almost nothing in contrast to the pannier Lucan heaved onto his back. After re-locking the hut they made their way back in silence.
Dagonet was in conversation with another man as they approached and as it turned out it was Tristan. He had his hand rested on the stallions croup and sent her a strange look as if they were talking about her. Ivy tried to ignore it and just followed Lucan's instructions to put the charcoal into a basket next to the furnace and to help him pile the wood. It felt a bit strange to be ordered around by a half-grown boy under the eyes of the two men but as long as it bought her food, she did not mind. So she took the bucket Lucan handed her without hesitation and followed him to the stream she had rescued the children from. Was that only yesterday? Things could change so fast in this world.
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When they returned to the smithy the second time, Ivy with a dripping wet hem on her dress, the water was poured into the stone trough next to the anvil. Tristan and the horse were gone. Lucan excused himself to attend some lesson. Ivy did not understand him completely, still lacking some words in her Latin vocabulary, but decided against asking Dagonet. It might have come across too nosy. Instead she listened carefully to her new boss when he explained how to use the wet stone. He made her sit onto a block of wood and was expertly guiding a rough iron arrow-head over the wet stone in front of her. "You need to take off the burr and make them smooth. For sharpening you take another stone and for the finish a very fine one." Splashing some more water on the stone surface he continued to make long, scraping strokes.
"I see." Ivy signalled her understanding.
"They do not need to be as perfect as a knife, but as best as we can make them. And we will make a lot of them." With that he placed a wooden box full of blanks next to her.
Ivy took over the raw arrow-head from Dagonet's seemingly to large hands and began to imitate his long strokes over the stone surface, careful to hold the piece of metal at the same angle. Dag nodded approvingly and went over to the furnace to stir the fire and put some more charcoal on.
So this was it. Sharpening arrow-heads day in and day out. Her arms would be sore by the evening and this hard tree chunk she had to sit on was already bothering her after ten minutes. The cushion she had made from her folded cloak was a feeble attempt to improve the situation. But she could not sit on the dusty ground with her dress. This bloody piece of clothing. She had almost ripped it on the wood stack, dunked it in the river, made a dirt crust onto the hem by walking back from the river and she was not looking forward to climb the hay loft with it this evening. Yes, she had to get back to the stable for her night's rest. Where else should she go? Surely the wage would not be enough to pay for lodging. But maybe it would pay for some breeches? She should get back to Vanora for that this evening.
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The evening came sooner than expected. Ivy had managed to process three arrow-heads to Dagonet's satisfaction but was barely able to stand up from her cowering position. With stiff legs and heavy arms she followed Dagonet to the tavern, but to her surprise he handed her over to an already busy Vanora, bid his goodbye until the next morrow and left without taking dinner. Vanora however, was strangely mustering Ivy from head to toe and was changed in her demeanour from the morning. The open hearted woman was now somehow reserved.
"You work in the smithy now?"
Ivy nodded mutely.
"Mhmm." Vanora raised an eyebrow. "Dagonet covered for your meals for the week." She sounded somehow suspicious. "Stew will need some more time. You can sit here." She pointed to one of the benches in the still empty tavern and turned towards the kitchen.
"Maybe I can help you until then?" Ivy offered. "It's not that I have something else to do."
Vanora hesitated but finally nodded her approval and appointed her the task to chop cabbage.
The evening went by smoothly. Although Ivy felt watched from every corner and suspected gossip about her in every conversation, no one approached her. She could eat her stew in a silent corner with a good overview over the other guests and the loud table of the knights in the other corner of the tavern. A constant flow of ale was brought their way and a flock of barmaids and dubious women was swarming around their table like moths around the light. It should be no problem to leave the tavern unseen. Just as the voices over there turned into a roar and someone started to tie a bar stool to a post, all attention was diverted to two knights who claimed to be the best in something. Ivy slipped the two spare slices of bread and a good chunk of cheese into the bundle of breeches and tunic Vanora had agreed to sell to her. A last look around and she sneaked out onto the dark street. No encounters were made on the way towards the stable and the watchdog thankfully remembered her, took half a slice of her bread as new bribe and revelled in the attention he received once they were safely inside the stable. The climbing of the hay loft in a dress was indeed a challenge but the risk in being caught while undressing down here? No. Once up on the higher level, Ivy rebuild her nest in the hay with her cloak and changed into the breeches. They would allow for a faster flight should she been caught.
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Back at the tavern a sulking Galahad pulled his dagger and the one embedded in its hilt out of the bar stool.
"Will you never learn, Galahad?" Gawain teased him.
Galahad sent him an offended glare and handed one of the daggers back to Tristan, who stood at the back wall of the tavern. "One day I will get you!" he announced to him and then turned back to his seat and his waiting ale. Tristan slid the dagger back into its sheath and the won two silver coins into his pouch, knowing this day would never come and Galahad will never learn. But it was always a welcome distraction.
When he let his gaze roam the tavern again from his corner seat the lope-sided smirk slipped from his face. It had happened again. That stranger had disappeared without him noticing it and the track got colder every moment he hesitated to follow. Downing the last of his ale Tristan got up and stepped onto the street. No trace of the woman to the left nor the right and foot prints would tell him nothing in front of a bustling tavern. Sure he could ask one of the bar maids if they had seen anything but ask for a person if you were the scout? No way. So his pride let him pick one of two options: left or right. He decided for right but it did not really matter. Ivy was already sound asleep in her little nest up in the hay loft with a guard on four paws in the stable below.
