"Who are you?"
Ivy looked up from her place at the wet-stone towards the young man who had just entered the smithy. His clothes seemed well kept if a bit dusty. He just arrived at the fort if the satchel over his shoulder was any indication. The expression on his face was less than friendly.
"Ivy." she answered a bit puzzled by his rough attitude.
"And what do you do here, woman?" He had walked over and towered slightly over her from the other side of the stone block she was kneeling at.
Hadn't she just given her name to him? And wasn't it polite to use it when addressing her? Who was he anyway?
"Sharpening arrows." she answered coolly.
"I can see that." he answered exasperated.
"Then why do you ask?" There was just the slightest mocking undertone in her voice.
The man stepped even closer and puffed up. It was time for Ivy to get onto her feet. Why did this need to happen the moment Dagonet was not here? The silent knight at the entrance surely would not step in. He was too engrossed with his beloved piece of metal. When Ivy straightened up to her full height she was eyelevel with the man in front of her. He wouldn't intimidate her as easily now.
"This is my place." he made clear.
His place? Since when? Ivy raised a provocative eyebrow. "Oh? And I thought it was Dagonet's place."
The man shrunk a bit at the mention of Dag's name but caught himself fast.
"I am Gwellyn, his apprentice, and this is my place." he pointed towards the stone block. "And you may leave for I am back. Now." with special emphasis on the last word.
"I do not remember you employing me. The last time I checked it was Dagonet and it shall be him to tell me to leave. Until then I will do as he told me this morning." And with that she sat back down and swept a bit of water over the wet-stone to proceed with her work.
Gwellyn was perplexed by her stubborn attitude towards him. He looked at the scout sitting at the entrance with his new sword. He couldn't show weakness, not in front of another man. Especially not him. So he stepped closer to that insolent woman and kicked at her leather clad thigh lightly with the tip of his foot. "Out with you, wench."
Ivy looked up at him, eyes narrowing. It hadn't really hurt but how dare he?! Kicking her like a dog. Prick. "You shouldn't do that again if you value your toes." she warned in a dangerously calm tone. And to emphasise the threat she pointed at him with a freshly sharpened spearhead.
Tristan had to smirk when Gwellyn took a fast step away back to the other side of the wet-stone. That lad didn't know how to handle things. Tristan knew him to be a bit of a show-off and that he revelled in the little power he had whenever he could exert it over others. And he certainly thought he could overpower that woman. Well, she was surprisingly resistant to his orders and her threat to cut off his toes had sounded quite serious. Could have been him to say this. The lad should have just grabbed the woman and drag her out. That would have been quite a show. Tristan wondered what the woman with the sharp tongue would have done then. What was it that got her so riled up? She was polite and obedient around Dag and friendly around Vanora and her brood. With himself, well, he didn't know. There seemed something on him that set her off as well, if that audacious talking back at the stable the night he caught her was any indication. Since then, however, it was more a friendly ignoring.
"You better be gone when I return." Gwellyn directed at her with the most authoritative voice he could muster. Then he turned and left with big strides, shoulders squared and arms swinging with manly pride.
Round one goes to her but in the end she will lose, Tristan mused. The apprentice was back. It was time for her to quit the field and end this silly play.

Dagonet returned soon after this encounter and ended the workday for Ivy. Not long after she had left Gwellyn returned. Dag was happy to see him back and to know his manpower would ease the latest stress at the smithy. The talk came fast onto the woman Gwellyn had found in the workshop upon his return. When Dagonet explained the situation with praising words about Ivy's skill and diligence Gwellyn chose his words carefully to not antagonize his master. But he made clear he would not be working in a smithy where a dubious woman milled about. He claimed his reputation would suffer now that he was on the lookout for a wife. Besides, it was bad luck. He didn't mention how he had tried to order her around and how he had failed in doing so. Gwellyn left and Dagonet turned to his old comrade, the inner conflict evident on his face.
"What would you do?"
Tristan looked up from his work. "Your apprentice is back. What is there to ponder?"
Dagonet knew Tristan was right. He did need Gwellyn's help more than Ivy's. It was good to have her while Lucan was still recovering from his shoulder injury and she was quite good and fast with the simple tasks but she could never replace an apprentice. Further on, what Tristan had said to him had worked in the recesses of his mind. Deep down he knew her employment in his workshop set her in a bad light for other possible employers and other acquaintances. The relationship with Lyria had smoothed out once the two of them had spoken to each other. He was glad for that but his wife had also mentioned her concerns about the arrangement with hindsight to Ivy's reputation.
That evening Dagonet went to the tavern. But not for ale. He had to tell Ivy she needed to look for another job. He would offer her the two days where Gwellyn was not at the smithy but it would not be enough to solely live on the pay. It would cover for regular meals and little things but hardly for lodging let alone proper clothes and the like. He would do his best to give out recommendations about her diligence and her aptness to learn a new craft.
Tristan watched from afar as her shoulders fell and she nodded mutely with a disappointed look in her eyes. The mousy-haired wench with the daughter sat next to her again this evening. She seemed to console the foreign woman, maybe even suggest alternatives. Well, that was something Tristan could not see Ivy doing. Whoring around. Her sharp tongue wouldn't go well together with most men around the keep. At least not when she used it for speaking.

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The next morning Ivy was absent from the smithy when Tristan arrived. He planned to finish the shaping of his new blade and start to sharpen it with finer stones. It was still a long way to the wood and leather work for the hilt. In Ivy's place Gwellyn was carrying in the water buckets, all the while complaining why that boy (meaning Lucan) would have to get himself injured and leave this lowly task to him. As soon as Dag and Gwellyn started working on metal bars to make more arrow heads Gwellyn started telling about his parents, his home, possible wife candidates, even about the neighbour's cranky plough-horse. And he did it loud enough for everyone to hear. Including Tristan. It seemed the days of companionable silence at the smithy were over. His patience was wearing thin and it didn't take long until he picked up his sword, the wet-stone and left to seek solitude.
He found it on the northern pasture where the knights' horses grazed during the day. This is where Ivy saw him when she returned from her bath. Two had told her of a lake within the northern woods, half an hours march from the fort, which was far more accommodating for bathing than the icy river which was way too close to the fort to ensure privacy. Ivy had found the scenic lake with the detailed description Two had given and had taken her time to bath, even swim around, to wash her hair again and also to wash her clothes. She had sat on the soft sand at the shore afterwards and started sewing her new chemise. Aisling had kept her promise and bought linen cloth, thread and needle in her stead at a more acceptable price than the merchant had offered at first. She would finish the piece of undergarment within one more day. For now it was time to return to the fort before the evening guard changed at the gates. She would help in the tavern this evening. Two had pleaded Ivy's case to Vanora and she had offered a job on demand. One of her maids left last week to meet her future husband at her uncle's farm to the south. She would need to be replaced until further notice. Further on, the maids that had a second income from the patrons for their special service got busy with their own business in the late hours and no one wanted to do the dirty work. Serving yes, cleaning no. It was fine with Ivy as long as she earned enough coins to eat properly and to buy the most necessary things. She had paid back a part for the leather trousers to Vanora, then there was the soap, the comb, the linen and bread and fruit for her lunch. Not much was left from her first week's salary.
When she passed on the path close to where the scout was lounging in the grass with his discarded tools and sword next to him, she was close to ask him if that insolent apprentice had him banned from the smithy as well. But she didn't. This knight was not exactly fond of conversation, less likely sarcastic remarks. The one word interrogation in the stable was proof of that. She was still surprised no consequences had come her way because of her trespassing. Had he given her away to anyone else? When he looked up at her from under his shaggy bangs she nodded in greeting while walking past. He might have answered, if only with the slightest incline of his head.

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In the evening Ivy noticed the boy hovering in the background immediately. He didn't dare to come closer and sit with the others to wait until she finished her dinner and started telling tonight's tale. He had run off when she looked directly at him the first time but was now lingering close to them again. It was one of Vanora's older boys. It was Five, who Ivy had dragged out of the river. At least she thought so. He had been absent from breakfast for days, stealing his share and eating elsewhere. He was also the one that together with another boy had taunted little Gwenolyn a few days back. It took Ivy a few encouraging smiles and a wave of her hand to beckon him over. Gwenolyn noticed him as well from her seat on the bench and shrunk smaller to hide behind Ivy. The other children started teasing him for being a coward but Ivy shut them up with the threat of not telling a story.
At last, he squared his little shoulders and walked over to sit at the edge of a bench, just out of reach and with a free emergency exit at his back.
"So?" Ivy inquired.
His eyes flet to the girl behind her and then back to her. He looked questioning at her.
"You want to say anything? Maybe apologize?"
His eyes grew wide and his boyish pride flared up. But he also felt chastised by the only grown-up at the table without being shouted at. He contemplated shortly until uttering "Sorry." to Ivy.
"Not to me." Ivy inclined her head towards little Gwenolyn.
The boy gnawed at his lip, struggling with himself.
"Sorry." he addressed the girl this time.
"For what?" Ivy prompted him.
He shuffled on his seat and looked at the cracks in the table before him. "For being mean?" it came out more as a question.
"And now shake hands." Ivy prompted further.
Both kids looked at her with shock on their faces.
"Where I come from we do that to show apology and forgiveness." she explained although she doubted it would be any different around here.
The boy reached his grubby hand across the table and after hesitating Gwenolyn shook it with her even smaller hand. Both retracted their limbs as fast as they could.
"Very well. And as you have shown you are wise enough to see your mistakes and brave enough to overcome them, you, Sir, might choose the story for tonight."
Five puffed up upon Ivy calling him brave and a 'Sir' and his eyes began to shine when she told him he should choose.
"Something with horses." he said eagerly.
"Horses. Hmmm." Ivy contemplated and came up with the most prominent horse tale in her mind. It would need minor adjustments to the time they lived in but she had no doubt the kids would love it. She herself had seen the movie a dozen times. "As you wish. Something with horses."
"There once was a boy, no older then you now." she nodded at Five "Maybe even a bit younger. His father was a merchant and the boy, his name was Alec, accompanied him on a big journey to the south. They crossed the Mare Nostrum to Nubia, the kingdom on the Nile. In one stormy night on the ship back across the sea to the North, his father sat with travellers from Nubia and from the East and gambled. Alec explored the ship on his own, armed with the small dagger his father had gifted him. That was the first time he saw him. El Shaitan." Ivy's voice took on a mysterious tone. "The Devil. Of course Alec didn't know his name at that time. For him, he was The Black. He was the most beautiful and the most powerful stallion he had ever seen. And he was in quite a mood." Ivy's voice turned entertaining. "Horses don't like being on a ship in a stormy night very much. His keepers had tied him down with many ropes but he was trashing and screeching as if possessed. His stone-hard hooves kicked out in all directions and he threw his magnificent head around as far as the ropes would led him. He was used to roam the Arab desserts and not being held in captivity. Have you ever seen an Arab horse?" Ivy inquired into the round. The children shook their heads. "They are majestic. Their forehead is a little curved inwards, their tail is held high proudly, their mane is silky and their coat is sleek. They are not as big as the knight's horses but they can carry a grown man for days on end. They have the greatest endurance and although they can be quite testy, once you earn their trust they follow you around like a dog." Ivy had always admired these beautiful creatures. They would have been far too much for her to handle in her teenage-girl-horse-obsession-phase but one could dream. And so she continued to tell the medieval version of The Black Stallion. How Alec had stranded on the lonely island together with the stallion, how they became friends, how they were rescued and so on.

The ale was running low again. Galahad grumbled into his empty mug. Where was Cida? He looked around and spotted the maid on the children's table. She was neglecting her serving duties again. No one else seemed to notice but maybe he was just ahead of them all with his drinking. The festivities for midsummer were nearing and his courage to ask Aurelia's father for his daughter's hand was dwindling.
The prospect of sitting at home with a wife after his court duties were done for the day, chopping wood, building furniture, digging up the garden, repairing the house instead of spending his time in the tavern with his brothers, the merry entertainment of dagger throwing, playing dice and drinking ale wasn't an inviting one. Lancelot had drawn him a dark picture of marriage. Look at Dagonet he had said. Whenever is he among us nowadays? Rarely. See? Galahad's look fell onto Gawain who was busy with whispering sweet nothings to the wench in his lap. Wasn't he the one always mooning over the perfect Sarmatian wife? And here he sat with yet another woman and not making any move to leave and get himself a wife. He needed ale. Now. Galahad needed to drown his doubts immediately before they began to fester in his consciousness. And as his brothers and the whelps (Oh how he revelled in the feeling of not being the youngest knight anymore) made no move to amend the situation he would have to do it himself.
Reluctantly he got up and with empty mug in hand he trotted over to where Cida was hovering close to the children's table. He was just near enough and had drawn in air to start chiding her when Ivy's story teller voice reached his ears. "But they wouldn't let just any horse compete in that race. It was the match between the fastest horse in the east and the fastest horse of the west of the Roman empire after all. The Tribune would watch it and the Master of Games would not risk his neck by letting some stranger and his old nag in to race these two great stallions. But old Henry had a favour to call in and he did. At night they went through the silent streets of the town and sneaked into the Circus Maximus. The Master of Games arrived just when Alec warmed up The Black and then it started to rain. It was unusual for the season and it turned the dusty ground into mud immediately but it was the only chance they had. They would have to show their speed so the Master would let them compete. And boy did they show him."
Galahad hadn't even noticed how he sat down on the bench and rested his empty pitcher on the table. The woman telling the tale, Dag's much talked of new helper, however had and smirked as he sat down without ever interrupting her compelling story. He had never heard anything like it. There were no great war heroes, no demons from the other-world, no long gone forefathers and their heroics. It was a tale of a horse and a boy, which could very likely have happened. It could have been him, once.
"Pup, you feeling reminiscent of your younger days? Sitting with the whelps again?" Lancelot's teasing voice brought Galahad back to the present. The dark knight stood behind him, nipping at his goblet of wine. "Come over for a round of dice." Apparently Lancelot ran out of soldiers to mug.
"Leave me alone." Galahad muttered and turned his head back towards Ivy to not miss any more of the story than Lancelot's interruption had already caused.
And once again Lancelot was taken aback and robbed of his company by the compelling story telling of Ivy.

"And this is how Alec and The Black had proven they were the fastest pair this side of the Mare Nostrum." Ivy concluded some time later.
The kids all had a wide smile on their face, pleased by the ending.
"And how is it we have never heard of them?" Galahad inquired.
Ivy smiled towards him. The grumpy man had been compelled by the story surprisingly fast and held onto his empty mug all the time without ever asking the serving maid for ale, although she sat just a few feet away from him. She knew him to be one of the knights. One of the three even, that had brought her back into the fortress at first.
"This, Sir Galahad, is another adventure for another evening." she answered politely.
Galahad measured the woman at the other side of the table up. He had heard a lot of talk of the going-ons in the smithy. He had seen her sneaking around in the tavern in men's clothing. He had heard the kitchen maid whisper to one of the laundry girls about her being a spy for the slave traders, that plagued the northern territories lately. He had heard herself speak about the Circus Maximus and the games Arthur's Romans so loved as if she had seen them with her own eyes. He didn't yet know what to make of it but it was all quite suspicious. Maybe he should speak to Tristan about it. The man was Arthur's head of intelligence and should have an eye on that.
When he went back to the knight's table he told the scout of his observations. His brother in arms had only snorted at him, telling him that even the kitchen maids were one week ahead of him, not mentioning he already was keeping his eyes and ears open on that front. Galahad had sulked for the rest of the evening. Tristan in turn had glanced over to the kitchen once and again. The woman had gotten up not long after Galahad and was now working behind that curtain. She had grabbed the dirty tableware soaking in the buckets behind the bar and was now probably cleaning them. Vanora always ran low on staff late in the evening. Once the wenches among the serving girls found patrons for the night they would settle on their table to not let them out of their grasp again.

"Is there some of the broth left?" Ivy turned from her place in the tavern kitchen to see Aisling's head peek in between the folds of the curtain.
"Yeah. I will get you some." she replied.
"Do not worry. I can get it myself."
This late in the evening no one really cared who got in and out of the kitchen. After filling herself a bowl of meagre soup and taking a thick slice of bread, Aisling fished out a copper coin from her purse and put it on the table for Vanora to collect later. She might be a woman with a dubious lifestyle but she was no thief. Then she settled herself next to Ivy, who was currently sharpening the kitchen knifes on the coarse back of an earthenware bowl. Her work in the smithy seemed to rub off on her other activities.
"No business tonight?" she inquired.
Aisling had been surprised at first when Ivy had spoken and asked so openly about her way of earning her money. She had explained to Aisling that she thought it was better to bring joy to others than to hunt them with a sword as soldiers did. Aisling had never seen it that way but it had loosened her up a bit. She talked quite often with her new found friend about her life yet she knew so little about Ivy. She had heard about the fiasco with her fiancé. Men were all pigs. She in turn had told Ivy about her trouble with a certain knight. She felt drawn to him so strong but he saw not past of what she was and what she did for money. He was kind and fair to her whenever they spend a night together but afterwards she always got trouble. Gwenolyn being one of them. She tried to prevent it but what seemed to work on others was a lost cause when it came to him. His seed just seemed so lodge itself deep within her. After Ivy's inquiry Aisling had explained the herbs to prevent conception many of the whores used. And then there was always the chance to undo the accident afterwards. Aisling herself hadn't brought herself to do it and so she had received a second one and a third from him. He, of course, couldn't know. It was not his problem to deal with. Nature had robbed her of both of them, leaving her with Gwenolyn alone. She would not survive going through this pain again. Ivy didn't need to ask for the knight's name for Gwenolyn looked exactly like her father if one took the time to look closely at her. It had explained the longing looks Ivy had seen Aisling throwing towards the knight when he was not paying attention and the wide berths she gave him nonetheless.
"First one is already done. I just need a break. Tavern is still full though." Aisling answered Ivy's question between spoons of broth.
"An Litha is upcoming."
"Who is Litha?" Ivy asked puzzled.
"Not who, what. Its the summer solstice. The fortress will be overflowing with merry people and from what I heard we expect travelling salesmen. Easy coin ahead and plenty of it." Aisling explained. She further described how the town folks would clean out the fortress to make room for the harvest and then celebrate. One of the acts of cleaning let Ivy swallow hard. They would smoke out all the stables and barns for two days to drive out the rats and mice with smouldering fires. That would rob Ivy of her sleeping place. It was barely a week ahead and she needed to look for alternatives. Her reliance on the royal stables as sleeping place was coming to bite her in the bottom. The encounter with the knight Tristan should have been warning enough and encouragement to look elsewhere. Now it was a pressing matter to find another place to stay. As the town would be full of travellers the lodging places would be horrendously expensive. But it was June. Maybe she could sleep outside?

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Two days later Ivy was back in the smithy. It was Gwellyn's day off and she could resume her work at the wet-stone. Dagonet was hammering glowing pieces of metal into shape with Seven and Gwenolyn sitting on the bench the scout usually occupied and counted out loud in unison the beats Dagonet needed per piece. They seemed to be fascinated by numbers and of how far they could count them. Seven's father had been shocked but for a whole other reason as Dagonet had told Ivy with a smirk. When Seven was sitting at her father's lap last night and started to count Bors was the proud father. When she had counted past eleven to twelve and thirteen he had gone pale. Putting the perplexed girl out of his lap he had called for Vanora and asked her in a frightened voice if she needed to tell him something. Vanora had been clueless of what had gotten into him but the knights had sputtered their ale all over their table. The relief was evident on Bors face when she told him that Ivy had lectured Seven how to count and she was not preparing for another sibling. However, his face changed into mischief quickly, grabbing for the redhead and telling her now that Seven could count that far they could make use of it and work on Twelve and Thirteen. Dagonet had stopped his recounting of last evenings events suddenly, aware that he was telling lewd stories to a woman not his wife. Ivy had chuckled, at the story and at the big smith and his red ear tips.
Today Ivy was showing the girls how to write Roman numerals. How these Romans could ever do Math without a zero was beyond her. Before her inner eye numbers where Arabic numbers. These Roman letter-like things she knew only from old buildings and their construction date. But seeing as no one around here knew of Arabic numbering, was it even invented yet?, she stuck to the Roman system. The girls drew the Roman numbers into the dusty floor of the smithy with blunt pieces of metal. It didn't take long until they had covered the entire smithy from one wall to the other in their scribbling. Thank god it had not been street crayons.
Dagonet had praised her for teaching the girls but Ivy had thought it was nothing. That little bit of counting was surely no replacement for proper school education. But no such thing was around. Kids were taught by their parents except for the noble or at least rich families. Dagonet had told her there was a scholar around for the children of well paying merchants. It wouldn't make any sense to discuss the educational system of the fort in detail, Ivy mused. There was none and no one bothered. Well, she would help the kids out where she could whenever she had the time and opportunity.

In the evening Ivy asked Aisling if she could stay at her place for the night of Litha. Aisling had to decline seeing she would bring a patron to her bed and charge them for her service as well as the resting place. She couldn't let this opportunity pass and was lucky to place Gwenolyn at a friend's house. She confirmed Ivy's worry that the rented rooms were too expensive and at the same time warned her not to stay out in the open at night. There would be many strangers within the fort, many of the patrolling guards would be drunk due to the festivities. It was not a safe place.
On the next day the much spoken about merchant caravan arrived. Foreign people, covered wagons pulled by horses and heavily loaded mules clogged the streets and the fort seemed suddenly small and its allays narrow. The aroma of oriental spices lay heavy in the air.
In the evening the tavern was more crowded than ever. Every last chair, even the rickety stools were occupied. Ivy had eaten her supper while standing behind the counter. She was just chewing on the last piece of cold roast with horse radish dipping when an exhausted Vanora came up to her with a full pitcher of ale. "Eat up girl. I run short of hands. You go into serving tonight."
Ivy choked on her piece of meat.
"Don't make a fuss. It will get you extra coin. Now shoo!"
Ivy had just enough time to wipe her greasy hands (next item on the to-buy list: a knife) hastily on her skirt before the clay pitcher was pressed into her hands.
"Over there." Vanora waved her hand towards a fully occupied table before crouching down and filling another pitcher with ale from the barrel.
Ivy staggered over to the indicated patrons, the pitcher savely clutched to her chest. She managed to serve all of the men who thankfully seemed to be in business conversation and not in the mood for female company. After collecting the coins from all of them she was on her way back to the bar. Two more mugs were filled with the remaining drink and then her pitcher ran dry. She hastily refilled it as Vanora had done earlier and set out again. A quick look showed her the table with the loudest roaring for drink and the most in the air lifted mugs. In no time she had handed out three pitchers worth of ale and four plates of mutton roast.
"You are fast." Vanora praised during a short breath taking at the bar. Ivy handed over the coins she had collected and knelt down once more to refill the pitcher. When she came up again and let her gaze wander in search for the neediest table she spotted Tristan entering the tavern. He hesitated shortly, probably contemplating if he really wanted to sit in this noise while eating his supper. But he made his way over to the knights' usual table nonetheless. As fate would have it, it was also the table with the most insistent shouting of "Ale!" currently. Seeing that one of the other maids was trapped in one of the knights laps and another one prepared plates with food in the kitchen Ivy took it upon herself to quench their thirst. On her way along the counter she grabbed a clean mug while balancing the pitcher awkwardly on her hip with one hand on the handle.

Travelling salesmen. Tristan hated travelling salesmen. All they brought was uproar and more often than not beggars and pickpockets tagged along with them. To keep security and order in the fort was anything but easy and the arrival of the caravan so close to Litha was a nightmare. He had spent all day to instruct the guards to keep their eyes and ears open and to keep their distance from the wine when on duty. He had posted more men on lookout posts around the market and close to the tavern, the places where trouble was most likely. He was exhausted by sun set and all he wanted was to eat his supper in silence, make a last round on the battlements and then rest on his freshly stuffed mattress. The noise that met his ears upon taking the last turn towards the tavern was all but welcome. The thought of eating some of his dried venison rations at a place far away from that noise crossed his mind briefly. But the smell of roasted meat was too enticing to his senses so he took it upon himself to weave through the tavern patrons towards his usual spot. When he sat down he looked out for the next serving maid but it proved unnecessary. Before his eyes had found any a mug was placed in front of him and filled with ale immediately. He looked up to see Ivy turning to Gawain and filling his mug as well. The ale did well in soothing his parchment dry throat. While he drank it all at one draught his eyes followed Ivy around the knights' table. She filled all the empty mugs without spilling anything. When she had finished her round she stood next to him on the other side, waiting. He sat down his now empty mug and it was refilled immediately. When he opened his mouth to speak Ivy beat him to it.
"Mutton roast with horse radish dipping or carrot soup with semolina dumplings."
He closed his mouth again, unused. How did she know what he intended to say? Oh well, it was a tavern. Asking for food was a good guess.
Her eyebrow rose to reinforce her question. "Mutton roast?" she guessed impatiently.
Tristan nodded slightly and gone she was.
His food arrived moments later and while he relished in the thick meat slices with the stinging spicy horse radish his eyes followed Ivy around the tavern. She didn't carry as many tankards or plates as others did but she made up for it with speed. Her keen eyes spotted thirsty patrons earlier than others and she avoided groping hands with agility. His own mug received its second refill the moment he set it down onto the table as if she had spotted its emptiness from across the tavern. She seemed just as efficient with serving food as with sharpening metal.

His walk on top of the battlements after supper calmed his noise-grated nerves. Light clouds were shading the half-moon and the air smelled of summer freshness and green grass. He longed to be on a mission again, alone or with only few of his brothers. They would sit around the camp fire, roast a hare or pheasant, listen to the night noises of nature and enjoy their freedom. All this planning and organizing and training of the young knights had him confined for too long in the dusty and smelly walls that were Fort Badon. What good was all the training anyway when he had to listen to the bickering of Arthur and his Second in Command in his sticky office from dusk till dawn? He needed a proper mission to stretch his limbs and sharpen his senses. Maybe he should go on a patrol that led further away from court and investigate the latest reports of strangers roaming the northern territories.
His last look across the yard below fell onto a figure at the well. It was eerily still and empty except for a woman who was hauling up water to fill the buckets at her feet. The splashing sounded across the otherwise silent place. Setting down the bucket attached to the well she rested shortly on the brick-build rim, clearly exhausted from the exertion. After splashing some water into her face she dried it on her apron and stretched her arms above her head but then quickly covered a yawn escaping from her mouth. Tristan recognized Ivy when she half turned her head towards the enclosed allay to the south, intently listening. His keen ears picked up the talking of men nearing the yard. In a moment she was on her feet again, lifting the heavy buckets and hastily stumbled back towards the tavern at the north side of the yard. She shouldn't be out alone at night when so many strangers roamed the streets. Tristan's next thought fell onto the royal stables. At least no one would follow her in there.

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Three days later was the day before Litha. Ivy had watched from afar as the stable boys haul out the remains of last year's hay that had been her bed and then carry dried leaves and pine branches into the stables. Not much later white clouds drifted down the allay and spread the smell of burning pine trees. Thick smoke emerged from under the roof of the big building. According to the heap of pine branches they would keep the fire going all day and the smoke would need until the next day to clear.
Ivy hadn't been able to find accommodation yet. To be honest, there hadn't been much time to look. Although banned from the smithy for the last days she was on her feet from morning until late at night. Vanora's cook had welcomed her help and after sharpening the knifes properly all the vegetable cutting for supper wasn't that hard. In the evening her arms were jelly from all the dough kneading and soup stirring she had done that day. Lifting a pitcher was a real challenge. Her only idea for a place to sleep was the little hut where Dagonet stored wood and the char coal. But it was outside the confines of the wall and she wouldn't be able to leave the tavern before the gates were closed for the night. Besides it was pitch black in there and sleeping in char coal dust would turn her and her clothes just as black. She had thought of going to the stable despite the smoke but there was still a fire guard the last time she passed by the iron gate. Not an option then. Asking Aisling again for advice had brought no new ideas. So Ivy would stay at the tavern as long as possible and then wander the streets until morning. She had pulled over-nighters before, although sitting in front of a computer screen in her university office with a half litre cup of coffee was far more comfortable than this. And to her dismay a slight drizzle had set in. The air cooled significantly, which was fine as long as she was running to and fro to serve ale and wine. Wandering dark streets in the rain for hours was not so nice.

"You done staring? I think your man for the night is getting anxious." Ivy spoke to Aisling while passing by. The woman had stared at her half of the evening, clearly thinking about something. While Ivy carried a heavily loaded tray with fresh cottage cheese, fat with roasted onions, salt and sliced bread to another table, Aisling sent a glance to her patron and soothed him from the distance with a smile and a wave of her hand. She needed to get back to him before he looked at other bosoms.
"Ivy?" Aisling stopped her friend on her way back to the kitchen.
"A word. I might have a solution for your problem. Two of your problems actually."
Ivy raised her eyebrow and waited for further explanation. Had she come up with a place to sleep? Aisling dragged her to a quiet corner and began to phrase her proposition carefully.
"It will do you no good to wander the streets all night and in this rain you will catch death for sure. And with these many strangers in the fortress, many of them drunk ..."
Ivy knew that was her problem. But what Aisling asked next took her by surprise.
"Have you ever lain with a men?"
Ivy's mind went into overdrive. She wasn't going to suggest what Ivy thought she would, would she? Her physical reaction to the question was a mere nod.
"See, there are many men here who seek company tonight. And they pay well these days. You can sleep in one of their beds and even get paid for it."
She did suggest it.
"I am not sleeping with a stranger." Ivy stated outraged. She wasn't suicidal. God knew what kind of men these travelling salesmen were.
Aisling hesitated before revealing "A man I know has asked for company tonight, but I am already busy. Not a stranger. He is a good man. Mostly."
Mostly?
"No, Aisling. No!" Ivy refused and made to return to the kitchen. There was no need to carry on this conversation.
Aisling grabbed Ivy's arm to hold her back. "Look, girl. If done right it might give you enough money to get lodging for days like these. Winter is here faster than you think. You need to save some coin where you can." she tried to reason.
"Aisling, I have never done this for money and I am not starting with it now."
"But you have done it. It is not much different when you get coin. And the man is not a particularly cuddly type. He will let you alone once he is done but he has a proper room and we can bargain that you might sleep there till morning."
Once he is done? Ivy shuddered.
"Who is it?" Was that question coming out of her mouth? It was curiosity. Just curiosity. Not interest.
Aisling smirked and then sighed.
"It is a knight."

Author's note

The longest chapter so far (I have heard some love long chapters) and I dare say I was quite fast with it. The spaces between the important scenes seem to fill out by themselves with details and in the end the chapter is longer than planned. I don't mind and I guess you neither.

Thanks for all the wonderful and elaborate (mysterious guest, I am looking at you) reviews and a warm welcome to the new readers. Some asked for more screen time of and interaction with the original cast. You got a bit in here and as the ending suggests, you will get a lot more in the next chapter. It will be up before Christmas.