"Half brother," Tristan corrected, placing special emphasize on the word "half."
Tarra rolled her eyes, "Some things never change."
"What are you doing here?" Tristan asked directly.
"I've come to kill you," Tarra answered sardonically, "Tremble with fear and beg me to be quick."
"Hardly," said Tristan with a sarcastic, but deadly half-smile, "Now get out of here before you do something stupid."
Tarra's eyes flashed with anger as she opened her mouth to make a reply, but Arthur quickly stepped in between the two of them. "Everybody just calm down," he ordered with outstretched arms that he bobbed up and down as though he were trying to smooth the tumultuous surface of the sea.
"Now then," he said once he had everyone's attention, "Can someone please explain to me what is going on?"
"If I may," said Tarra with new found composure, "Tristan is still upset, angry, and, shall we say, bothered, about certain events of the past which have nothing to do with the current situation at hand so I will simply omit them in my effort to say that it is a great pleasure to meet you Arthur, but if you'll excuse me, I must be on my way." Concluding her speech, Tarra made her way for the door, but Arthur held up a suspicious hand to halt her.
"Wait a minute," Arthur said authoritatively, "You forget too easily that it is we who came upon you here in this hall, an encounter of which the circumstances have still yet to be explained and are confounded by the question that seeing as you have---kin---here, why did you not make your presence known at the earliest opportunity after your arrival?"
Tarra cursed herself inwardly. She had some explaining to do. "To the first, I must kindly remind you, sir, that the circumstances in which you found me in your hall were with my knife in your assassin's throat and to the second, I can only expound that I have none that I call kin, but only one who by blood relation the world would call my half brother."
"And why are you in Briton?" asked Tristan, unconvinced by Tarra's heroic act of saving his commander's life.
Tarra looked at him placidly, "Why are you in Briton?"
"Is it just me or is this conversation going in circles?" interrupted Gawain.
"Arthur, I need to speak with you," said Tristan, dragging Arthur by the arm to a corner where they would not be heard by the others and, in particular, Tarra.
"You can not believe anything she says," Tristan warned.
"Tristan, I do not know what kind of past you hold with this girl, but she did save my life---"
"Arthur," Tristan said with eyes that were steady and calm, "You must trust me."
"Of course I trust you, old friend," replied Arthur, "but if my estimations are correct, much time has passed since you last saw her and unless you start talking to me and giving me solid reasons for your accusations, then there is nothing I can do."
"Arthur, I'm afraid you are making a terrible mistake," said Tristan solemnly.
"I have known you for a long time now," replied Arthur, "and I have never known you to give me false advice. I will keep a weather eye out for any trouble." Tristan nodded and let out a sigh of relief.
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In the mean time, while Arthur and Tristan secluded themselves in private conference, Lancelot took the opportunity introduce himself according to the laws of gentleman chivalry to the new lady of the clan. Lancelot strode over to Tarra and reached for her hand to bestow a kiss upon it, but the hand quickly retreated behind said maiden's back as she snapped away from the approaching knight.
"What do you want?" she asked with startled eyes.
Lancelot paused a moment as if suddenly unsure how to approach her. Then he gave a ceremonious bow, smiled, and said, "Allow me to introduce myself to the most welcome sister of an old friend and brother in arms. You may call me, Lancelot."
"Oh, I've heard of you," Tarra said with a faint smirk.
"Is that so?" replied Lancelot, "Only good things I hope."
Now, at this point, Tarra probably should have had the prudence to respond in the proper polite and complimentary manner, but once again her tongue ran away with her and she instead found herself blurting out the reply, "I heard you are as much a whore as you are a knight, bedding anything with two legs and a bosom."
"Madam, I assure you one needs more than two legs and a bosom to be bedded."
"Oh, I'm sure you'd find some way."
Lancelot laughed, "Come now, surely you've heard one thing about me that speaks for my honor."
Tarra thought hard for a moment, never letting her eyes leave his. "I did here one thing, but I admit I was rather reluctant to believe it."
"Do tell!" said Lancelot.
"I heard that at the glorious battle at Badon Hill you were struck in the chest by a cross-bow arrow and did not die. By your presence here in front of me, I can see at least half of the story is true."
"I assure you that the story bears no falsehood at all. The arrow pierced right here, a perfect aim to the heart," said Lancelot, putting his hand to his breast, "You might say I could very well be invincible to survive such a blow."
"I think it's because you have no heart," responded Tarra dryly.
"Well how could I, milady, when I have so clearly given it to you?" Lancelot parried.
Tarra let out a sarcastic laugh, "How unfortunate that I don't accept used goods."
Lancelot and Tarra's repartee was soon interrupted by Arthur and Tristan's return to the rest of the company. "Tarra, I believe I owe you my thanks," said Arthur extending his hand in friendship to her. She looked wearily at the strong hand waiting to meet with hers. "I'm sorry," she said, fidgeting and shifting her weight to her other foot, "If it's alright, I don't---like to be touched."
"Of course," Arthur replied warmly, dropping his hand to his side, "If you don't mind my asking, I'd like to inquire after where you have come from and what has brought you to Briton."
"Well," began Tarra, "It's no simple story, but I shall try to commit myself to brevity. You see, my most recent place of residence was with the Sultan Arif of Bostra, now Sultan of Petra. Petra is a city located in Arabia, which, as I'm sure you know, is yet another part of the far-reaching Roman Empire. I come to Briton for the simple reason that it is not a part of that wretched imperialism."
"I see," said Arthur, accepting this explanation, "Well, on behalf of myself and my knights, welcome."
Tristan rolled his eyes, and Tarra watched as he stormed out of the room with the native woman she had noticed earlier following closely at his heels.
"That is Jillian," Arthur said, noticing Tarra's observation of the two who had exited, "She and Tristan are expecting a child."
Tarra shrugged, disinterested, and turned her attention to the rest of the knights who remained in the hall. "Allow me to make some introductions," offered Arthur, "I believe you've already met Lancelot." Tarra turned to Lancelot who leered relentlessly at her, and she raised her eyebrow skeptically in reply. Arthur continued down the line-up, "The man you see standing against the wall is Bors, next to him is Gawain, and the man sleeping with his head down on the table next to a mug of whiskey appears to be the very inebriated Galahad." When Arthur turned his head back to Tarra, he was astonished to find that both she and his trusted knight Lancelot had vanished from the hall.
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"Tristan!" Jillian called to the melancholy knight who was escaping down the hall, "Tristan! Stop!" He did not stop. He did not even turn around, but kept walking at a determined pace until he reached their quarters at which point he entered and closed the door behind him. Jillian stood outside the door and sighed. "You're acting like a child," she called to him from the other side. She then heard footsteps and the door opened to her. Tristan stood at the threshold, looked at her, then turned around and walked back into the room leaving the door open for her to enter. She did so, and sat down next to him on the bed. They sat in silence for a long time. Finally Jillian spoke.
"You can't always lock things inside yourself because pretty soon you'll run out of room and it will all explode out of you," she said softly.
"You don't really believe that," he replied, fixing his eyes on a spot on the floor.
"I believe that you have a choice," she said, "You either tell me or you don't tell me. But I do want you to. Because I love you. And because I believe it's the only way you'll ever move on." Jillian had always been very wise, and in an unprecedented length of speech from the silent knight, Tristan told her his story.
"It all started a very long time ago when I was only a small child back in Sarmatia," he began, "My father was long dead, but I lived with my mother waiting for the day that the Romans would come to claim my life in their service. At the time, I still had seven years to wait for that dreaded day. A Roman cavalry passed through our village, and one day I came home to find my mother pinned beneath a Roman scumbag. She was screaming in terror at the top of her lungs, so the soldier did not hear me when I entered nor did he hear me when I grabbed my father's sword from its place on the wall. But he felt that sword's tip as it penetrated through his naked back and into his heart.
"My mother and I hurriedly dragged his body into the forest and buried him where no one would ever find him. Nine months later she gave birth to a baby girl. She refused to even look at it. She begged me to take it into the forest and abandon it on its father's grave. What could I do? I wrapped the baby in a blanket and headed into the forest. I had almost reached the grave when I saw a caravan of traveling gypsies sitting around a fire. I crept as close to them as I could, and laid the baby down beneath a tree. Then I retreated back into the trees where I wouldn't be seen and I waited. As I suspected, the baby's cries caught the attention of one of the women who followed the sounds of its wails to find it beneath the tree. She scooped it up in her arms and carried it over to the fire. And I returned home to my mother.
"Six years later I was carrying firewood home from the forest when I noticed that same gypsy caravan. I swear I never thought they would return. Gypsies rarely travel by the same village twice, but there they were. I noticed a girl about six years of age sitting by the fire with a shawl wrapped tightly about her shoulders. She had tears running down her cheeks. A chill ran up my spine. I should have guessed what had happened.
"When I arrived home, I saw my mother's feet and they were not touching the floor. She had hung herself from a wooden beam that ran across the ceiling. I fled from the house back to the caravan, shaking with rage. I grabbed that girl by the throat and I shook her. And I kept screaming at her and calling her a murderer. I felt the arms of the gypsy men dragging me away from her into the woods and to this day, I can still see her small, unconscious body lying on the ground. The gypsy men dropped me on the ground and told me the girl's name was Tarra, that she had come to find her mother, and that she had had a terrible shock. They told me to stay away from her. I had not seen Tarra since then---until tonight, but I swear she is the spitting image of my mother."
Jillian sat quietly for a moment taking in what Tristan had said. Then she took his hand in hers and laid her head against his shoulder.
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"Tarra!" Lancelot called after the mysterious woman who was fleeing down the hall. He had followed her from the round table, which she had left rather abruptly in the middle of Arthur's introductions. "Tarra! Wait!"
Tarra turned around and faced him, "What?"
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"None of your business," she answered curtly.
"You can't just leave."
"Why not?"
"I have known Tristan for over fifteen years now and never once did I know that he had a sister. Yet here you are."
"So?"
"So! Haven't you any sort of explanation? There wasn't exactly a warm welcome between the two of you."
"I have no explanation to give," answered Tarra, "We met once a long time ago, but I was too young to really remember it. Now please leave me alone."
This answer, however, was an outright lie, for Tarra had very distinct memories of the day she met Tristan because that was the same day she both found and lost her mother. From the time she had first been able to talk, Tarra asked about her mother. She knew she was not born to the gypsy woman who took care of her and her curiosity about where she came from was insuppressible. Another one of the gypsy women, however, knew whose family Tarra had come from because she had seen the village boy who left her in the forest.
When Tarra was about five years old, they returned to the woods that surrounded the village where Tarra was born and the gypsy woman showed Tarra to the house of her mother. Tarra ran excitedly to the cottage and opened the door, "Mother! Mother! I'm home! I have returned!" A woman sat in a chair with needlework, which she dropped at the sight of Tarra. All color retreated from her face. Then she grabbed a broom from the corner and charged at little Tarra, swinging it at her head and chasing her from the house. "Get out! Get out you demon! You devil! Get out!"
Tarra ran around to the side of the house and peeked her head up high enough so that she could see in through the window. She watched as the woman, her mother, paced about the room in a state of hysterics, pulling frantically at the hem of her dress and at her hair and talking gibberish to herself. Tarra watched as her mother dug into a chest and pulled out a long rope. She watched as her mother tied the rope around her neck. She watched as her mother stood up on the table. And she watched as her mother jumped off and her feet did not hit the ground.