Author's Note: Gosh, guys, I'm so sorry for the delay. First, I had a serious case of writer's block in which I had to brainstorm ideas for the next chapter(s), and then I got bored of that because I wasn't being very productive so I started reviewing and editing my current chapters. (Not a lot of changes, so if you don't go back and read them you're not really going to miss anything). And then, there was a stupid problem with the website and I was all like "arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh!" because it was really pissing me off.

Anyways, thank you to all of my wonderful, amazing reviewers. I love you all! xxxxxxxxx

Enjoy!

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XIII: An Ignotus Propositio

Upon their arrival at the fort, just before noon, they were greeted by Vanora and Bors' never ending sea of children, and promptly informed that a squad of Roman soldiers had arrived three days past from Londinium. Eracura grew nervous. Had they already come to fetch her? But Vanora assured her that she hadn't even been mentioned; the tribune with the squad was here to talk to Arthur, she said, but he would say no more to a lowly barmaid, for that was what Vanora was, in his eyes.

Vanora rolled her eyes at the memory, hitching up the sleeves of her dress and walking alongside Bors' prancing stallion to the barn. The children, after greeting their Father, had disappeared to go off and play, to Eracura's relief. She abhorred small children, and could only tolerate them for short periods of time.

Astolat was pleased to have returned to her own stall, and her sentiments were made very clear as soon as Eracura finished grooming her; she slumped to her side and rolled on her back in the hay.

Eracura laughed, watching her flailing legs, and Tristan came to stand at her shoulder, watching the mare with laughing eyes. "Typical," Eracura said, and he smiled into her face. She tipped her head back and Tristan kissed her softly, and Eracura smiled against his lips.

Pulling away, she told him, "I'm going to go outside; come find me when you have need of me."

He put one hand on her hip and said, "then I should just accompany you."

"Later," said Arthur, slapping his hand on Tristan's shoulder. "I have need of you, Tristan."

Tristan slumped, rolling his eyes, and Eracura sniggered when he mouthed the words, "yes, dear" for only her to see. Tristan bent to kiss her cheek, and then he turned to follow Arthur and the other knights out the barn.

Eracura smiled languorously as she watched his graceful, swaggering walk as he disappeared through the wide doors of the barn into the sunlight, and trailed their path, though not to the great hall. After briefly considering following Lindara to the bathhouse, she instead made her way out of the boundaries of the inner wall, to the expansive field that lay encompassed by the outer fortifications.

She let a squirming Syhier jump from her arms to the ground, and he ran a short space away, gave a short howl, and then continued running. Eracura was tired and sore from the journey and from recent events, but she humored her beloved wolf and chased him through the waist-height, pale wild grass, until she was a significant distance away from the fortress.

She fell to her knees and flopped over onto her back, gazing up at the clear blue sky. Syhier licked her face, and lay down, panting, near her head. Eracura closed her eyes as the warmth of the sunlight on her skin and through her clothes made her drowsy, and she dozed off, vowing that it would only be for ten minutes, at the most.

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The Roman officers were all rigidly disciplined and well groomed and typically arrogant, and Tristan had no patience for them. He never had, and having a much better alternative in Eracura than he found here did nothing to quell his restlessness as he sat in his usual place between Bors and Gawain.

He indulged in a cup of wine, barely half-filled. The recollection of the last time he had gotten drunk and dreamed that Eracura had died had been a sufficient enough experience to put him off consuming large amounts of alcohol any time in the foreseeable future, and he drank it slowly, just to be safe.

The tribune was the only Roman officer who sat, and his men were lined up in two rows behind him, staring blankly at the wall opposite them. The tribune was a man in his late twenties or early thirties, with dark, red-brown hair that had just one wide streak of silver from his left temple. He had a wide mouth that seemed to be naturally poised into a smug smirk that made Tristan want to hit him, and icy blue eyes. His name was Claudius Tertius, and he was unquestionably foul. Especially when he spoke. It was not his voice that offended, but the manner in which he spoke to them, as though they were lesser beings crawling in the dirt at his golden feet. Claudius Tertius was a man that did not sit well with Tristan's innards.

"Arthur Castus," he said degradingly, and that was the only way in which he would speak to them all night.

"Tribune," said Arthur, his voice equally as cool, but with a certain degree of respect that Tertius lacked.

"I understand you deal with Rome's problems here in Britain," said Tertius.

"As best we can," said Arthur, including the knights in their conversation. Tertius looked round at the knights dismissively and conceitedly, and Tristan exchanged resentful looks with Lancelot, who was seated across the table from him.

"Then, surely you'll be willing to assist the Empire with a small … shall we say, conflict of interest occurring here in Britain."

Arthur looked to Lancelot and then to Dagonet, and Tristan did not like the way this proposition was sounding from this disagreeable man.

"It depends," Arthur said charily.

"Good," said Tertius. "There is a man, a Visigoth ambassador to Britain from Rome - "

"What is a Visigoth doing as an ambassador for Rome?" demanded Bors.

Tertius did not even look at him when he snapped, "he is a Roman citizen, and he is doing exactly that; being an ambassador. The Empire cannot spare upstanding Romans to such a remote outpost."

Bors growled in his throat at the man, his fingers rubbing the hilt of his tempting dagger.

"As I was saying," said Tertius, "this ambassador has recently been found participating in treasonous acts against the Empire."

"In what way?" Arthur wanted to know.

"He is trying to smuggle military information to his brother," Tertius responded, studying his fingernails. "His brother is a Visigoth rebel still in their homeland, and he is planning an invasion of the weakest outpost of Rome; Britain, upon receiving this information."

"And what, pray tell," said Lancelot sarcastically, "do you want us to do about it?"

"Well," replied Tertius flippantly, as though he were speaking to a half-wit, "it is obvious that this cannot be allowed to happen. That is where you come in, Arthur."

"In what sense?" he asked.

"I am enlisting your services to kill this man."

Tristan nearly choked on the sip of wine he had taken, and he hastily set his cup down. Arthur looked confused, and the other men looked dumbfounded.

"We are not assassins, tribune," Arthur hissed.

Claudius Tertius ignored this statement, going on to say, "you will be well paid for this honor you do for Rome." Arthur repeated himself, louder this time, and Tertius looked up at him sharply. "I understand that, but you would do well to serve your duty. Perhaps one of your men here - "

"No, tribune!" Arthur said, rising.

Tertius rose as well, and shouted, "This order comes from the Procurator of South Britain!"

"Then let him ask!"

"He has!" Tertius shouted, "I am he!"

Arthur seemed slightly taken aback, but did not show it save for a shifting of his feet and a clearing of his throat. "Again, sir," he said, his tone softer, "we are not - " One could almost see the idea dawn on him, and Tristan found himself curious as to what this newest revelation might be. Arthur leaned forward onto the table. "As the Procurator," he said the Tertius, "do you have the authority to grant clemency?"

Tertius inclined his head just as Tristan realized what Arthur was about to propose. "I do."

"And will you award it for the person who fulfills this task?"

Tertius thought for a moment, and Tristan squirmed in his chair, willing him to say no and yes at the same time.

"I will."

Arthur straightened, looking exultant as he said, "Then it shall be done."

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Eracura was disoriented and groggy when she heard Tristan calling her name what seemed like moments later after she had dozed off, and as soon as she opened her eyes she knew why. The sun was gliding towards the west, gradually setting, and Eracura realized that she had been asleep for over two hours. She cursed herself and bolted upright, relocating Syhier about a foot away from her as he rolled off of his pillow of her hair.

Tristan saw her and made his way to her as she rubbed the sleep fervently from her eyes. "Did you have a good nap?" he teased as he helped her to her feet. She glared playfully at him, and he kissed her nose, and then said, "Arthur wishes to see you."

"What about?"

"He told me not to tell you."

She groaned, "I hate surprises."

They walked hand-in-hand into the great hall, and Tristan was relieved to see that the Procurator-tribune had decided to leave along with his soldiers. Arthur's scheme was sure to disturb Eracura enough without an audience of Romans.

Arthur grinned at her, and pulled a piece of grass out of her hair before beginning. "Eracura, I have an offer for you."

"Mmm, sounds interesting."

Tristan whispered in her ear, "oh, it is."

"I'm listening," she said to Arthur.

"There is an ambassador that has been helping to plan a Visigoth revolt against Rome by taking this island."

"Really?" Eracura was intrigued, "Why would they want Britain? That won't hurt Rome."

Arthur's brow furrowed, "in the future it could."

Eracura nodded thoughtfully, "I see." She looked up at Arthur expectantly, still not sure of what his suggestion was.

"The Roman soldiers who came here; their tribune also happens to be the Procurator of South Britain, Claudius Tertius."

Eracura had heard this name before; her Father had spoken of him when he had been appointed as Procurator three – or was it four? – years ago. He was a cruel man with a love of carnage on the battlefield. How and why he had ended up in Britain as a Procurator was beyond Eracura's knowledge of the matter, and she did not rightly care.

"Okay … and?"

"He wants one of us to kill this ambassador."

Eracura looked at Arthur's pleading look, and laughed, until Arthur's gaze upon her became more staid. "What … you're serious?" He looked around him at Tristan and at Lancelot, who was standing by his side, and nodded. "No!" she yelled.

"Now, Eracura, the Procurator is willing to reward you righteously, with both money and clemency," Arthur beseeched.

"What the fuck is clemency?" Arthur opened his mouth to reply, but was taken aback to speechlessness by her language, "No, you know what? I don't care. I won't do it Arthur! I am not an assassin; I do not kill in cold blood. Besides, what good will money do me?"

"We need you to do this Eracura," Arthur implored, "you're the only one with the talent and the stealth to do this."

"That's horseshit! Tristan could do it if it were a matter of stealth and talent."

Lancelot shrugged, "well, she does have a point."

"Thank you!" Eracura said to him, and he winked at her.

"Lancelot! You're not helping," Arthur ground out.

"Oh! Oh, right. Eracura, please? Please?" Lancelot said. Arthur glared at him and Lancelot obligingly made himself scarce.

Eracura rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "Eracura," Tristan said, and she turned around to look at him dubiously. "He's going to grant you a full pardon if you do this."

"A pardon? A pardon for what?" Eracura snapped ferociously.

Tristan shrugged meekly, and Arthur took over, "If Varo's men find out you're alive, you'll probably be tried as a witch. Tertius will clear your name and unless you commit some other serious crime against him personally, you cannot be arrested."

Eracura thought for a moment. "And … all I have to do is kill one man?"