Tristan felt the morning sunlight dance across his eyelids. He rolled lazily over onto his side and reached his hand across the bed to find it deserted. He opened his eyes in confirmation of what the rest of his senses had already told him: he was alone. Jillian and Tristan had fallen asleep in each other's arms, but now he awoke to find her gone.
Tristan normally would not have been concerned except that it was not like Jillian to rise at the crack of dawn and he could not shake the sinking feeling in his stomach as though it were being weighted down with rocks. There was a kind of static in the air and a tingle that ran through his nerves that told him that something was not right. The silent stillness of the early morning was daunting and he wished for the company of any kind of noise or commotion.
Tristan rose from his bed and quickly dressed in his usual, simple attire. He then left his quarters and headed purposefully towards the library where Jillian was known to spend much of her spare time. He had never known anyone who could spend so much time reading. Someday he intended to learn and see what all the fuss was about. Perhaps Jillian would teach him. The library door creaked open, but Tristan found it deserted except for the musty smell of the leather-bound books.
He sighed and continued his search outside in the main square. Merchants pulled their carts along, the wheels grinding against the hard, stone ground. Tristan merged in and out of the lanes of venders preparing for the morning market. A little ways ahead, he noticed Bors conversing with an old man selling healing spices.
"No! I told you! The last time you sold me that green stuff it took away the headache, but I couldn't keep a bit of food down the rest of the day," Bors said adamantly to the vender.
"Perhaps," the vender answered pointing to Bors' mid-section, "That is not such a bad thing!"
"Why you little---" threatened Bors, grabbing the old man by the shirt collar.
"Only doing my job, sir," said the vender, raising his hands in a truce, "Spices for health! Spices for longevity!"
"Worry about your own longevity, old man. Why I oughtta---"
"Bors," interrupted Tristan, "Have you seen Jillian?"
"No!" cried Bors in exasperation, "Why would I have seen her?"
"Just wondering," Tristan shrugged, then added, "Do something about that hangover."
"I would if this little weasel would sell me something that works!" yelled Bors, turning his attention back to the vender.
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It was not until her eyes fluttered open at the morning sun that Tarra realized she had fallen asleep. Her head was laid back uncomfortably against the cold, stone wall where she had seated herself the night before. She yawned and sat up straight, arching her back and stretching her arms. Tarra's head pounded in reminder of the past night spent at the tavern. The memory of her still unresolved dilemma made her stomach lurch---alright, maybe it was not only the memory that was making her stomach lurch. She made a mental note to never drink ale ever again.
Tarra rose from her unconventional sleeping place and made her way down to the square that was now swarming with merchants. Everywhere she looked venders pushed their carts in opposing directions. She passed by an old man selling healing spices, and skillfully slipped a bottle of green herbs into her pocket without him noticing. 'That should help with the hangover,' she thought.
A burly man with arms like tree branches that dangled at his sides brushed past Tarra's shoulder causing her to recoil at his touch. Tarra shuddered and rubbed her hand over the top of her shoulder. He had not hurt her, but the contact had been like a loud clamor that continued to echo long after the fact. The market was growing too busy and crowded for her, so she made her way to a corner where she would be out of all the traffic.
She leaned sideways against the outer wall of a building and fumbled with the bottle of herbs in her hand. She pinched a bit of the green flakes between her thumb and finger and tossed it down her throat. She was used to not having the luxury of liquid refreshment.
Out of nowhere, a cloud of dark curls whizzed past Tarra and ducked behind her, causing her heart to stop mid-beat in her startled state. A very alarmed knight crouched between her and the wall, using her as a human shield. He squatted in his hiding space keeping perfectly still and peeking his head out from behind Tarra's legs.
"Lancelot, what on earth do you think you're doing?" she demanded.
"Shhh!" he whispered, "Shhh! Don't move!"
Tarra rested her hands on her hips, "And why is it exactly that I'm not moving?"
"Are you always so inquisitive? Please just stand still! She'll see me!"
"Who?"
"Her!"
"You'll have to be more descriptive. Your mother? Your sister? Your whore?" Tarra replied sarcastically. At that moment, however, she noticed a woman in a tightly strung corset that gave her bosom a most unnatural lift sauntering in their direction. "Nevermind," said Tarra, "I've ascertained that it is the third."
"Has she seen me?" Lancelot asked nervously.
"Not yet," answered Tarra, waving her hand and calling the woman over to her. "Excuse me, miss! This man here is looking for you!"
"You are so dead," Lancelot muttered grudgingly.
"Oh you'll thank me some day," Tarra laughed, deserting the knight to the company of his admirer, "I'm not one to stand in the way of true love."
As Tarra wandered off very pleased with herself, she turned to look over her shoulder. The provocatively dressed woman had her arms laced around Lancelot's neck with her long, slender fingers combing through his curly locks, "Why don't you ever come for me, love? I've missed you…" Lancelot grimaced, his dark eyes glaring in Tarra's direction. Tarra laughed. That stunt had worked better than any herbal medicine could.
Tarra still had not wiped the grin off her face when Gawain called her over to where he, Galahad, and Tristan stood.
"What are you so happy about?" asked Gawain curiously.
"What are you still doing here?" muttered Tristan.
Her smile faded. "Don't worry. I was just leaving," she said coldly.
"Oh, don't listen to him," said Galahad waving off Tristan with his hand. Tristan gritted his teeth.
"No, no," Tarra replied, "I think coming was probably a mistake. I should go."
"Good riddance," Tristan grumbled under his breath.
"Good morning everyone," greeted Arthur cheerily. Tristan jerked his head around at Arthur's approach.
"Arthur," he addressed his commander, "You haven't seen Jillian, have you?"
The lines on Arthur's forehead crinkled in concern. "No, I haven't. Everything is alright I hope?"
"None of us have seen her all morning," interjected Galahad, "We're starting to worry. It's not like her."
"We were planning to go out and search for her," added Gawain.
Tarra shifted her weight awkwardly to her other foot. "I, umm, I---saw her last night," she mumbled, staring at a spot on the ground. She knew she was going to regret getting involved in this.
"You did? Where?" asked Arthur, wide-eyed and hopeful.
"No you didn't," Tristan scoffed.
"Yes. I did," Tarra answered defiantly, "I saw her leave the wall and head into the forest."
"Why would she do that?"
"How should I know? Did you two have a fight?"
"We don't fight."
"Oh, right. That would require words."
"You've known me one day. That does not give you the right---"
"To tell the truth?"
"Stick to what you're good at."
"How about we stick to getting to the bottom of where Jillian disappeared to?" Arthur interrupted with his voice of reason.
"I already told you!" answered Tarra, "Are you daft?"
"I was about to ask you that same question," interrupted Lancelot as he joined the group, making his usual self-important entrance. "I cannot believe you left me alone with her," he added in an astonished tone.
"Aw, Lancelove, I thought that's what you wanted."
"Like hell you did!" he answered angrily, "And don't call me that!"
"Lancelove?"
"Stop!"
"What the hell am I interrupting?" asked Bors, the last to join the gathering.
"Tarra left me alone with you know who," said Lancelot.
"Damn," Bors responded.
"You can't stand within ten feet of that girl without catching fleas," said Gawain, knowing exactly of whom they spoke.
"At least you hope they're fleas," added Galahad, also acquainted with subject of the conversation.
Lancelot rubbed his neck and gave Tarra the most pathetic look he could muster. "Oh don't be so tragic about it," she teased.
"Alright, can we focus here for a minute?" interrupted Arthur's voice of reason once again, "Now, Tarra, do you think you can lead us in the direction that Jillian went?"
"What will I get out of it?" she asked cheekily.
"You'll get to avoid my knife slicing across your throat," Tristan threatened.
"Whose bedpan did you step in this morning?"
"Tarra!" boomed Arthur's voice, "Your help? Please?"
"Oh fine," she answered, "But only because I'm an obliging saint of a person and because you said please."
"Thank you," replied Arthur, "Now let's be off to the stables and find you a horse. There's no time to waste."
"So Arthur, have you caught the fleas too?" asked Tarra bluntly.
"Excuse me?" Arthur replied, shocked by her question.
"Oh nothing," said Tarra, "I heard they were going around is all."
"We do not have fleas!" stammered Galahad.
"I hope you at least got your money back," Tarra jested.
"With this face, my dear, I don't need to pay for women," said Lancelot vainly.
"Of course not," answered Tarra, "Any woman would pity your repulsiveness enough to grant you the charity of her bed."
"Including you?"
"I'm not any woman."
"I believe it."
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In the stable, Arthur, the knights, and Tarra sat on their horses chuckling as Bors tugged at his reigns trying to get his horse under control. His usual horse had just given birth to a colt, and the substitute they had found for him was significantly smaller in weight and muscle.
"Damn horse," muttered Bors trying to get control of the reigns.
"Ah, the woes of living the good life," laughed Gawain.
"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" demanded Bors.
"I think he's referring to the fact you've been getting a little soggy around the midsection there, old man," teased Lancelot.
"Oh, will you get off my back with that?" Bors grumbled.
"Strange, I believe the horse was thinking the same thing," commented Tarra.
"Why don't you let us carry some of your weapons?" suggested Galahad, relieving Bors of some of his weaponry.
Tarra laughed, "You know, this reminds me of the time I traveled with the Sultan Arif to the Holy City. About half way through the journey, I noticed the Sultan still on top of his camel un-strapping all his belongings from its back and piling it into his arms as he continued riding along the trail. I said, 'Sultan, what are you doing? Why are you holding all of that?' He answered, 'I thought I would give this poor animal a break from having to carry so many of my heavy things.'"
The knights all laughed heartily at her story except for Tristan who simply mumbled, "Leave the fiction to the poets. You have no gift for it."
Tarra answered slyly, "Ah, but what is poetry if not eloquently worded fiction, and what is fiction if not a poetic lie? I assure you I have a gift for that."
"You visited Jerusalem?" asked Arthur, hoping to change the subject.
"Yes," answered Tarra simply, "It was terribly dull."
Arthur laughed, somewhat appalled, "I would love to go to Jerusalem some day."
"You're not missing much," she replied apathetically.
Despite their teasing and bantering, the knights were genuinely concerned about Jillian. As they left the stables, they each darted concerned looks at Tristan who, despite his ever placid expression, they knew to be very distressed by Jillian's disappearance. Jillian never left the wall alone or without informing them of where she was going. The knights badgered and taunted each other as though everything were normal, but they all had the same feeling that something was terribly wrong.