I am afraid there is a good deal of talk in this chapter, but it is in contrast with the previous one so I hope you do not mind overmuch. Errors have now been amended and it has been edited in several places. It was a bit rushed and short, but I hope that this will suffice while I start writing a longer, more interesting twelfth chapter. Many thanks to my loyal reviewers for your encouragement! Please review and feel free to make comments or give any constructive criticism on this chapter.
Disclaimer: I do not own King Arthur or its characters. This is for entertainment purposes only.
Eleven
A Day's Duties
The morning sky was an endless canvas of mottled pastel shades which was not dissimilar to the bruise upon my cheek gained from the previous night's horrors. Restful sleep had been particularly elusive to me as the fear left over from the assassin's attack still lingered in my heart despite my timely rescue. Therefore, I had risen soon after dawn and bathed to cleanse myself, both physically and mentally before I was supposed to commence my duties as a lowly maid in this strange residence. I was certainly in no fine mood and the prospect of even light labour was enough to make my head throb quite painfully in protest.
Hobbling a little from the soreness in my limbs, I softly knocked on Hedera's door – the formidable manager of the Sarmatians' quarters- and awaited her permission to enter. I had not had a lot of time to dwell on this novel occupation by my standards, but I convinced myself that I was lucky enough to have be offered any job due to my lack of practical skills, such as sewing and cooking in a world where a partially literate woman, such as myself would usually get nowhere.
"Come in," commanded a brisk voice from within that I immediately identified as Hedera's. "Isolde, is it not? Today you shall undertake the unproblematic task of collecting all the knights' dirty laundry and then wash it with the water you shall find outside the kitchens. I trust you know how to clean and dry clothes properly?"
"Yes," I slowly replied without conviction, having never washed any garments in the past and the idea of attempting this menial task upon the knights'undoubtedly filthy attire was not appealing to me in the slightest. I would have to learn fast, but how hard could it really be?
"Use that basket over there to collect the items of clothing," she instructed with a wave of her hand. I eyed the enormous basket with a little resentment, but I nevertheless rose to pick up the unwieldy mass of woven reeds. "Also, get that hideous bruise sorted out or covered up at the very least. It looks horrible." With those parting orders, I was hustled out into the hallway to begin my first duties for the morning.
I ascended the stairs ever so slowly, my cumbersome burden greatly irritating me in my already tenuous mood and made my way down the narrow corridor towards the knights' personal rooms. After Hedera's comment about the ugly mark on my cheek, I was mindful not to arouse any concern in the Sarmatians lest I was forced to relive last night's events countless times over, and so I shook my long, dark hair over the offending bruise on my left cheek. It occurred to me that it may look strange, perhaps even as if I was imitating Tristan himself, but I deemed it obligatory in the circumstance at the cost of giving a rather odd impression.
Stopping in front of the first door of the hallway, I clasped the basket against one hip and awkwardly knocked heavily on the door so that it resounded loudly in the confined empty space. I waited from some time and then tapped on the door again in case the occupant was still sleeping the morning away. Instead of the response I desired, the door adjacent to the one I was apprehensively standing before swung open and Lamorak emerged, straightening his tunic.
"No one sleeps in there," he told me shortly and then winced a little at the sound of his own voice. He was obviously suffering from a severe headache in retribution for their previous night's surfeit of the potent ale. "Not anymore, at least." It was the chambers of one of the slain knights and I stepped away from it involuntarily as I had always found the possessions of those long dead eerily macabre.
"Do you have any clothes that require washing?" I asked quietly after a taut moment of silence in which he seemed to be solemnly reminiscing over his fallen friend.
"Your first task as a maid in this place?" he guessed with a not entirely sympathetic grin and I confirmed this, not concealing my aversion to the fact. "I shall just fetch them for you now. Lancelot is in the next room by the way. You shall have to knock especially noisily to gain any kind of response from him." He retreated after a conspiratorial wink, still grinning and I abandoned the basket to continue onto Lancelot's room, doing precisely as Lamorak had suggested. Almost instantly, I heard a stream of vehement curses permeate the door and worried that I had perhaps been over-vigorous in my knocking.
"Who the devil is it?" snapped Lancelot as he whipped open the door, in a voice that was quite outside the disposition I had witnessed beforehand. Catching sight of me cowering in front of him, he softened and sighed resignedly. "Was it really necessary to break down the door to wake me? You did not seem so keen to enter my company yesterday."
"Sorry," I whispered and realised that Lamorak had been conducting some form of punishment upon his comrade through I, his unsuspecting and dutiful vassal. "I just needed your laundry if you want it cleaned." He nodded and turned back into his darkened to do as I had requested. I heard footsteps coming from both directions and saw that Lamorak was placing a neat bundle of his laundry into the basket helpfully and I made sure to thank him for doing so, and Dagonet approached me from his own room. We greeted each other warmly as I was fond of the placid, quiet knight and he seemed to care for my safety. I then repeated my request to him and I was surprised and very grateful when he began to awaken the remaining knights, instructing the weary Galahad and Gawain to gather their clothes for me.
A few minutes later, I had a vast mound of assorted garments in the basket, some of which stank foully and I reluctantly heaved the heavy container up again, eager to be on my way to ridding the clothes of their vile odour.
"Isolde," Gawain called to much protest from his hung-over friends. "Tristan always rises early and today is no exception. I am sure he would much appreciate having his things washed too though." His reminder was well-intended as I had completely forgotten the absence of the scout throughout the morning's farce.
"Need I collect his attire myself? I do not know what needs cleaning," I trailed off anxiously. Galahad chuckled despite his tender condition.
"Nor do any of us. We do not enter his room," he remarked and I was not surprised by the scout's secrecy, even amongst his oldest and closest companions. Galahad continued ominously, "He might kill us if we tried." My heart sunk and my extreme disinclination to enter the mysterious Sarmatian's lair did not go unnoticed by the others and was the cause of much amusement. It took me a while to figure out that he was only jesting, but I still did not think that an intruder's fate would be much better if they were happened upon by the rightful occupant himself. Defiantly shaking my hair from my face, I headed over to the room that Gawain indicated, only to be halted by Dagonet's gentle, but insistent hand on my arm. I saw him and Lancelot staring almost suspiciously at my face and I was alarmed at first as I did not understand their looks.
"What is that mark on your face, Isolde?" Dagonet asked softly, but with a definite edge to his voice which drew the gazes of all present directly towards me. I shifted uncomfortably as I knew the bruise itself was not in question, but the source was far more relevant.
"Last night, a man attacked me on my way home," I informed them haltingly. They frowned in outraged concern and I was filled with gratitude to have such caring friends and protectors in them. "He was a friend of my uncle's, the assassin, but Tristan stopped him and saved me." I said the last part a little darkly as if my powerful relative had always been known to frequently associate with all of the worst miscreants in the Empire, which was rather untrue or at least to my somewhat limited knowledge. I shivered to think that such terrible men may have entered the very house I lived in to plot equally awful deeds with Gwrtheyrn.
"That is fortunate, but I doubt Tristan ever allows anything to happen by sheer chance," Lamorak quipped with a wry smile to lighten the mood. I quickly shrugged my tresses back over the left side of my face to cover the unfortunately noticeable blemish and avoid yet more concern and aggravating comments from any passer-by I might come across.I bade them have a good day and left to try and uncover Tristan's laundry. The knights left in a subdued manner which was most likely due to their various ailments that had arisen due to their foolish indulgence in alcohol.
Slipping into the room, I found that it was neat and sparse with the main features being a bed, a closed trunk and the most eye-catching feature of all: a set of full Sarmatian battle dress. It was outlandish in appearance and so very different to the Romans bright, regimented uniform that I had to take a closer, admiring look. Although I had no experience of warfare or even minor skirmishes, I could envisage Tristan garbed in the armour, disposing of all foes in his path with efficient strokes of his curved blade. It was truly an awesome image in my mind and I spent some considerable moments simply standing there.
"What are you doing here?" The voice startled me so immensely as I had again not heard the scout's approach and I knew that Tristan would hardly be pleased to discover me invading his privacy by snooping around his room. I turned to face him guiltily, repentantly fixing my gaze to the floor because I could not gather the courage to face those dark, inscrutable eyes of his. I glanced briefly at him after a tense silence and was upset to see him still looming over me expectantly with his unnerving gaze as effective as it ever was at causing me unease.
"I am very sorry to intrude, but you were away and I needed to collect your clothes to wash because Hedera said to..." I spoke quickly, rushing through my explanation so that it must have been very difficult to discern any sense from it. Difficulty, however, was no obstacle for Tristan and although he gave no direct indication that he had understood me, he opened the trunk and removed some clothes which he then placed inside the basket I held. "Thank you," I said relievedly, glad that he not displayed any anger towards me. I dreaded a day when he would do so, but I thought it a very unlikely scenario, considering the subject. "Your armour is very impressive and an unusual design, I think," I commented in an effort to make amends. He cast a glance in its direction and I knew he would struggle or not bother to reply to such a bland statement.
"It is effective and necessary," he rejoined shortly and these were obviously more important aspects of the armour to a warrior, I realised. I looked down at the laundry basket, suddenly feeling very foolish and immature in his company.
"Is Zhiva well?" I asked politely, recalling another of his favourite things in life. He went to the window and let out a curious whistling sound which made me jump visibly. I took a few steps closer to see better what he was doing and I heard the hawk first before she swooped majestically into view. Her broad wings curved as she slowed to perch upon Tristan's extended wrist and he rewarded her with gently stroking the handsome feathers on her chest. He brought her fully inside the small room, something that neither she nor I liked very much and we once again stood face-to-face, her beady gaze focused on me sharply.
"She is well." I nodded with a stiff smile as I remembered the sneaky peck she had bestowed on me on my journey here. I did not think that the fierce creature was particularly fond of me and I did not desire a repeat of the last time we encountered each other.
"I can see that," I replied cautiously and tried to seem less cowardly by taking a slight step towards them. I did not want to be defeated by this bird or her master, I thought obstinately and so, on a slightly reckless impulse, I raised my hand, pausing to request permission from her master with a meaningful look. Tristan only shrugged once he caught my meaning and so I tentatively reached out to touch Zhiva's chest lightly with my finger and mirroring the scout's actions, I stroked her. I marvelled at both the softness of her feathers and her admirable tolerance as she did not lash out immediately, but I did not want to push my luck and appear silly, so I soon withdrew my hand protectively. Smiling genuinely at my successful action, I thanked Tristan who then allowed his faithful hawk to fly off into the wild expanses beyond the fortress. The weight of the basket digging into my body reminded me of Hedera's instructions and I imagined her wrath at finding me wasting the morning away in frivolous conversations with the knights I was meant to serve. "I have got to go and wash these garments now. Thank you and good day." I turned to leave, struggling under the huge quantity of filthy clothes I had been given by six of the knights.
"Arthur needs to discuss the letter in the hall after you have finished," Tristan informed me passingly as I was leaving. I turned in amazement that he had not informed me sooner of this momentous news.
"But how did he get the letter? I forgot! It was still on the assassin, on his corpse," I gasped. How could I have neglected to remember such an important thing? It was maybe the only thing that would clear my name and prevent my death at the hands of my uncle and the law.
"I removed it and gave it to him," Tristan told me patiently. I let out the breath I was holding in relief and set off once again with the laundry to begin my unpleasant duty. I suppose I was lucky not to have to wash Bors' clothes as well. That would be a difficult task.