6. Jobs and Shirts

The next day Zoe found herself persuaded to search for a job in the bustling town around the Roman fort. She'd asked the men who owned the stalls where she bought meat and bread where she could find a job. They both directed her to the tavern. Zoe disregarded their advice and asked around a little more. There had to be better work than in a tavern. From what the other girls at the market said, tavern work was just one step up from whore. And on top of that, there would be brawls there, Zoe was sure. She'd certainly heard enough about bar brawls, even back at home. And here, with the availability of sharp and pointy objects, they'd be a lot worse.

Despite her searching, nobody wanted to hire her. They were mistrustful of 'strangers' as they called her. Apparently her accent marked her as a potential risk, and everyone she talked to pointed her to the tavern.

Eventually, after some persuading from Braewyn, she finally made her way to the tavern. It was a dingy place, within easy walking distance of the Roman fort. Because of this, the tavern had become a popular place for off-duty soldiers and the infamous Sarmatian knights. The tavern was small inside, with only a few torches casting a dim light and it smelled like stale beer, vomit and men.

Excuse me,' Zoe said to a short red-haired woman. She'd said this in the Celtic tongue, because when she'd asked Braewyn she'd learned that most of the locals preferred not to speak Latin. Given the fact that most people were already wary of her, she wanted to make as good an impression on any possible employers that she could.

'Yeah, what is it?' the woman replied without turning around.

'I…wanted to ask if you knew who I would ask about finding work here,' Zoe mumbled. The woman really didn't sound too happy and she would prefer not to anger anyone, if possible.

'Go talk to the owner-in back, past the red curtain, knock before entering. He does all the hiring.' The woman pointed deeper into the tavern, a wet rag dangling from her hand.

'Thank you,' Zoe said to the redhead, taking a few nervous, deep breaths to steady herself before meeting the owner of the tavern. The deep breath was probably a mistake-it reeked of stale beer, sweaty men and scraps of food left to be picked up by rats and dogs. It was the middle of the day, so the only people in the tavern now were a couple of legionaries, more interested in their dice than their surroundings and another girl behind the counter. She had bad acne, Zoe noticed, but a friendly smile.

'Hey there, can I get you anything?'

'I'm looking for the owner, could you point me to him?' Zoe asked.

The friendly smile faded from the girl's face, and a frown sprouted in its place. Zoe had much preferred the smile to the hostile glare she was now receiving. 'Here,' the girl pointed to a gap in the counter. 'Go through. Red curtain, knock before entering.'

'Thank you,' Zoe smiled at the girl, but got a sour grunt in response. She shook her head and walked through.

'Excuse me.' Zoe knocked on the doorframe and pushed aside the dingy, smoke-smelling red curtain that separated the room beyond from the tavern. Inside a man, with a thick, dark beard, streaked with gray sat behind a table. His tunic was stained with food and ale spots and he was busy counting coins.

'What do you want?' The man asked, stopping his work and looking at Zoe. His eyes glittered unpleasantly.

'I am looking for work. I wondered if you were hiring.'

The man looked her up and down. 'I'm the owner, Farren's the name. You'll not work for me, girl. You're foreign, you are, and I don't trust foreigners. Romans,' here the man spat on the floor, 'and the like.'

'But you don't even know me!' Zoe protested. She immediately regretted opening her mouth before she could think her words through when she was grabbed by the arm and shoved out of the room.

'Don't need to know you, I know your kind. No job, no pay, damned foreign girl. Bad enough the Romans, but the Sarmatians as well, and now, whatever the hell you are will come and destroy my tavern. I want no trouble here, and you're likely to cause it.' Farren roughly threw her away, into the redheaded woman from before, before disappearing into the room behind the red curtain.

'Sorry, sorry,' Zoe mumbled, collapsing onto a convenient bench. 'I'm sorry.'

'Not your fault. Stay there till you want to move, I'm taking a break.' The serving girls said kindly. She glanced over at Zoe, who was still rather disturbed. 'Don't feel bad, Farren's got a nasty temper on him at the best of times.' The woman sat down next to her, rubbing her protruding stomach. From the look of it the woman was fairly advanced in her pregnancy, Zoe realised.

'No, no, I am sorry. I should not have talked back like that.'

'You damn well should have,' the woman snapped. 'I would've hit him over the head for what he said back there. Stand up for yourself a little more, girl!'

'I would prefer if I didn't have to fight other people.'

'Bah! When he's saying things like that, he's remembering what the Romans did to his sister and being completely unreasonable. You're not Roman, anyway. Too pale. Where're you from?'

'Some place you've never heard of, further away than you can imagine,' Zoe replied. She'd decided not to tell anyone that she believed she was from the future. If even she wasn't sure if she was mad or not, how could she expect other people to believe her?

'Farther than Sarmatia?' the woman asked, and remained silent for a little while when Zoe nodded. 'I'm Vanora.'

'Zoe.'

'Strange name,' Vanora remarked, scrubbing absently at the edge of the table with her rag.

'Not where I come from,' Zoe said, feeling suddenly very homesick for her crappy job at the local MacDonalds. Despite the creeps, grease and bad pay, it was safe and stable.

'Why did you want to work here, anyway?'

'I heard that the owner was decent, and that there were jobs open here,' Zoe explained.

Vanora snorted. 'Not happening. Go home, Zoe.'

'I need the work, so I had to try,' Zoe explained, 'for Braewyn, I had to try.'

'Do you really need the work? I thought Braewyn was doing pretty well off of what she earned,' Vanora said, scepticism and concern both evident in her tone.

'Winter is coming.'

'Ah.' Vanora didn't say anything for a few seconds and Zoe fidgeted nervously. 'I can see why Farren didn't hire you, and I agree,' she said eventually, flatly.

'Oh.' Zoe nodded and turned to go.

'Hey, hey, don't go yet. Do I sound like I've finished?' Vanora continued as Zoe turned back to face her. 'You're not a tavern girl, but you still need a job. I'll see what I can do for you, yeah?'

'Why are you doing this?' Zoe asked, biting her lip. The woman's offer gave her a rush of hope, but there had to be a catch didn't there? 'I don't understand.'

'I can probably get you a job in the fort, if you want it.' Vanora offered, speaking over Zoe's silent doubts.

'What kind of work?'

'Cooking, cleaning, laundry. Odd jobs. Do you want it, or are you just going to stand there gaping like a fish?'

'Thank you, I will do that.'

'Good. Come back here tomorrow evening, and I'll get him talk to you. He owes my lover a few favours, anyway.' Vanora's smile turned a little smug as she once again rested a hand on her stomach.

'Won't you be busy then?' Zoe asked hesitantly. 'I don't want to be a bother.'

'Farren can spare me for half an hour.' When Vanora saw the bewildered look on Zoe's face, she smiled. 'I've been working here for years, he's not going to fire me because I help you.'

'Why are you doing this for me? I don't know you.' Zoe asked slowly.

'I owe Braewyn. She's saved my babies before, and is to be midwife when this one comes,' Vanora said. 'Now get out, and come back tomorrow, I have work to do.' Vanora shooed Zoe out of the tavern courtyard before the younger girl could voice any protest.

Zoe walked back to Braewyn's house, thinking about the intimidating little woman who had been so nice to her. Her lover must be a powerful man if the commander would listen to him, and she was obviously in love with him. She hoped that whoever Vanora's lover was deserved her. There weren't many people who would be so kind to a complete stranger who was probably mangling their language while asking for help.

'Braewyn,' Zoe called when she got back, opening the door. 'Oh, sorry. I didn't know you had someone here. I'll just-' Her voice faltered when she saw Braewyn prodding at a large, muscular, half-naked man sitting lazily on the table Zoe had prepared food on. Well that was going to be washed very thoroughly before it was used again. But what was he doing here? And why wasn't he wearing a shirt?

'He isn't company, he's a customer and I'd appreciate some help,' Braewyn said in Latin. The old lady didn't look up from the naked male chest she was examining.

Zoe warily approached the half-naked man, very much uneasy in the presence of a man with a blade. He had large dagger at his hip and a small pile of knives was resting on top of his bloodstained shirt. But damn he was built. He looked like he'd be able to use the weapons lying on the ground.

'Zoe, stop staring at him and hand me some thyme, a mortar and pestle and make some willow-bark tea. Go on.' That was said in Braewyn's native language, and Zoe hoped that the stranger didn't understand it.

Zoe moved automatically to get the items requested by the old woman, keeping an eye on the weapons while she worked. Yeah, they were common around here. Didn't mean Zoe was comfortable with them. Particularly not when they came with a large, muscular stranger who was currently semi naked in the place that was almost home to her.

Zoe set the mortar, pestle and thyme on the table next to a pile of bandages. She shot a glance at the man, whose light brown eyes reminded her of a hawk's. His dark hair fell in his face in messy, uneven rattails, and parts of it were braided. He didn't seem to be paying attention to her, his posture hadn't even changed from when she walked in, but she had the uneasy feeling that this man saw everything going on. And could have a knife in her heart in a second if he needed to.

She moved as quickly as she could away from the man and concentrated solely on making the tea. She put more wood on the fire, coughing a little from the smoke, before going to the leather bag that was used as a bucket. She poured a little water into Braewyn's smallest iron pot and put the pot on the hook above the fire. It took a little while to boil, and so Zoe pulled the willow-bark down from where Braewyn stored it. She took a pinch and put it in one of Braewyn's rough cups. She wrapped a rag around her hand and poured the water in carefully.

'It'll take a while to be useful,' Zoe said in Latin, setting it down close to the stranger, close enough to smell the blood covering him, before backing away quickly. She didn't want to get close to him, not even to give him the pain-killing tea.

'Effective, Zoe.' Braewyn murmured, wiping blood-covered hands on a rag.

'Effective,' Zoe repeated in Latin, 'effective.' She always had trouble remembering that. She looked at what Braewyn was working on and gagged. A long gash on the stranger's chest was stitched up and Braewyn was smearing salve on his chest. It did not look pretty. And judging from other scars scattered across the man's chest, it wasn't the first he'd had. He didn't even seem disturbed by the cut. Zoe shuddered and put her hand to her mouth.

'If you're going to be sick, Zoe, please do it outside, away from the garden,' Braewyn said, putting the paste down and wiping her hands again.

Zoe shook her head and went to get some water for Braewyn to wash her hands in and to wash the table with once the stranger had gone. She hated blood. Back at home she'd nearly thrown up when Andy had gotten his leg cut on a wire fence and there had been blood dribbling down his calf. This was not a just cut on a wire, and the coppery stench made Zoe reel.

On top of that, there was the fact that the man was making her very uncomfortable. It wasn't just the pile of weapons on his discarded (and probably bloodstained, Zoe realized) shirt, it was his eyes that were frightening her. No matter where she was she could feel them on her. Watching her. Studying her. It was creepy. Zoe needed to get out.

The well was not far away at all, but Zoe lingered for as long as she could. She didn't want to run into the man when she returned. Any man that calm with that much blood pouring out of him was either a soldier or a murderer, and Zoe wanted nothing to do with either.

Tying the leather bucket to the rope, she lowered it into the well. She hauled it back up, arms protesting a little. She was much stronger now than she had been when she arrived, and it showed. She'd changed a lot because of living centuries in the past. She was a little tanned now, because she'd spent time in the sun, and she was much thinner. Not eating very much and working hard did wonders for the figure. Zoe laughed softly at that thought.

Her hair was longer too, it was well past her shoulders now and she tied it back with a bit of string. Said bit of string wasn't very good at doing its job, and chose now to come loose. Zoe let out an exasperated groan and finished hauling the water up. As much as she wanted to stay away from the house, she didn't want to haul the bucket up for nothing. Holding the water in one hand, she bent down and picked up the string and walked slowly back.

'I'd kill for a decent hair tie,' Zoe muttered in English. It felt strange on her tongue after this much time speaking only Latin and the native British tongue.

Despite Zoe's slow progress, the stranger was still there when she got back. Braewyn was working on his hands, though. They were bloody, too. The room reeked of it.

'Why not go to the doctor?' Braewyn was asking the knight.

'Got it from Romans. The doctor's Roman. I don't want to be-' the stranger finished the sentence with a word Zoe didn't understand.

Braewyn saw Zoe, and repeated the word for her. 'Whipped.' She made miming motions with her hand and Zoe nodded to show her understanding.

'Whipped,' Zoe said in Latin as she poured the water from the leather bucket into another of Braewyn's pots.

She occupied herself with some lavender while Braewyn finished treating the man. Lavender smelled a lot better than blood, and Braewyn always used it to clean with.

'There. What will you do for a shirt? If you don't want to be whipped you can't go back in that.' Braewyn pointed out when the man reached for it.

He didn't answer right away; instead he was hiding knives in various places. He stuck two in his boots, one went on his belt, but there were three he couldn't hide. He looked at them with a frown for a second before pointing a sheathed one at Zoe in a movement so swift she flinched away.

'You, girl.' Zoe was rather distracted by the knife that was pointing at her all of a sudden. Or, she would have been if distracted was code for 'fucking terrified'

Zoe looked at him, and then the knife, and then him again. 'Yes?' she asked softly. It came out as more of a squeak.

'You know the fort?'

'Yes,' Zoe stammered out.

'Put the knife down, please, you're frightening her.' Braewyn cut in, washing her hands again.

The man put his knife down, but this only emphasized the bandages wound around his chest. 'Do you know Gawain?'

'I know who he is.' Zoe remembered the long-haired knight quite vividly. She'd seen him around in the village since their first encounter, and heard some girls gossiping about him in the market. If this stranger was close enough to him to ask a favour, then he was most likely another Sarmatian knight, Zoe thought. She was beginning to see where their reputation for savagery came from.

'Go tell him I need a shirt,' the man commanded. He frowned when Zoe started stammering a protest. 'It's not that hard.'

'It would be easier if Zoe knew your name.' Braewyn remarked from where she was collecting the stained rags.

'Tristan. Tell Gawain and no-one else that Tristan needs a shirt.'

Zoe nodded, too frightened of him to speak, before running out of the cottage. She'd heard girls gossiping about this one in the market, gathering together to discuss the scout in hushed tones. She hadn't known what he looked like further than apparently having the'eyes of a beast', but she had heard that he killed for pleasure and that he obeyed only Arthur. He had apparently been whipped a year ago for disrespecting and assaulting a Roman officer. And he, the one reputed to be one of the most dangerous and frightening knight of them all, was sitting in Braewyn's house, waiting for her to return. Relying on her to get him out of another whipping. Shit.

She was at the gates of the fort when she realized that she had no idea where Gawain, the man with long blond hair she remembered from that terrible night about five months ago, actually was. Unfortunately going back wasn't an option in case the knight grew angry and actually used one of those knives on her. Zoe squared her shoulders, did her best to ignore the knowledge that all the men inside were armed to the teeth, and walked towards the fort.

xxx

A/N: Hey there, sorry it took so long for me to get this out. Again, RL issues. Being in the last year of school sucks, but it'll be over soon. My beta, however, is lovely and I'd like to say thanks to homeric for doing such a good job with this!

So Zoe's met Vanora, but she's not getting a tavern job. She's not cut out to work there. She'd get eaten alive. And there's Tristan for your reading pleasure. And more knights to come next chapter, I promise!

As always, reviews are appreciated. Any advice on Mary-Sueness (or how to avoid it in this story), or on characterization is appreciated.

Disclaimer: Not mine, don't own. And, believe me, I'm sad about that.