A man said to the universe:
"Sir I exist!"
"However," replied the universe,
"The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation."
-Stephen Crane
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The sky had nestled under night's dark blanket and the only indicator of their having reached the island's edge was the rhythmic percussion of the waves crashing against the boulders that lined the shore. The familiar figure of a lanky man with limbs that flailed about as he bounded towards them greeted Arthur at their arrival.
"Commander! Sir! Your majesty!" he exclaimed, uncertain of which formal address he should employ, "What an honor that we should meet again!"
"Hello…" returned Arthur hesitantly, "Do I…know you?"
"Don't you remember me?" the man replied in his boisterous, overexcited manner, "I'm Ganis! I served you proudly at the battle of Badon Hill!"
"Ah, right," said Arthur, his memory having been jogged, "Of course I remember. And how has life been treating you since we last parted, Ganis? No more snuffing at the grass, I trust?"
Ganis threw his closely shaved head back and laughed at the recollection of his grievances against the conditions at Marius's estate where Arthur and his knights had rescued him and the other villagers from the Saxon invasion. "No, no, I am doing quite well," Ganis assured him, "I'm running my own shipping business now. In fact, it is one of my ships that you will carry you across to the French shore."
"Excellent," Arthur praised, "And will you be accompanying us?"
"No, no, not me," Ganis answered, shaking his head, "I have other business to attend to."
"Of course," said Arthur, careful to hide his relief that he wouldn't have to bear this rather peculiar character's presence throughout the long journey ahead.
Ganis furrowed his less than striking brow at the sight of Tarra. "Say, do I know you from somewhere?" he said, scratching his head pensively.
Tarra cracked a bemused smile at his inability to recognize her out of her captain's disguise. "I'm sure that's quite impossible," she insisted, "for this is my first visit to Briton."
"Hmm…" said Ganis, still puzzled, "I swear you remind me of someone."
"Oh, I get that quite often," explained Tarra, "In fact, I was once mistaken for General Octavius of the Roman army. Of course, that might have had something to do with the fact that I was adorned in his full war gear and helmet. You see, I had to find a way to gain access to the interior section of the main palace in Sicily. Now that took some maneuvering, let me tell you, first I had to---"
"Perhaps we should begin boarding the vessel?" suggested Arthur, concerned with the urgency with which was necessary for them to disembark and not in the mood for another one of Tarra's stories.
"Certainly!" replied Ganis, picking up his feet and marching towards one of the docked ships, waving his hand eagerly for Arthur and the knights to follow, "Right this way!"
To look upon the beautiful vessel that heaved upon the water with the motion of the waves, one found a sudden comprehension as to why ships are traditionally referred to in feminine terms such as "she" or "her." The curved frame and sails that fluttered in the breeze like a woman's long locks of hair made the ship worthy of her name Aphrodite. The knights clamored aboard, hauling their loads of weaponry and supplies with them.
"So long, Janice!" Tarra shouted over her shoulder as she boarded the ship.
"It's Ganis, actually!" he called back to her.
"Whatever!"
Arthur had hired a small crew to accompany them and manage the ship, for neither he nor his knights knew the first thing about sailing. Once they had cast off, the knights began to relax and meander about the deck. Tarra strolled over to where Tristan stood leaning against the rail of the ship.
"I'm hungry," she announced to him in agitation like that of a petulant child.
He looked at her derisively. "And?" What was he supposed to do about it?
"Let me have one of your apples."
"I don't have any."
"Yeah, right. You're a terrible liar."
"Well, I haven't had as much practice as you," he argued pointedly.
"Ah ha!" she exclaimed, "So you did bring apples. You're so predictable. Now, come on! Let me have one."
"No."
"Please!"
"You should have brought your own."
"But I knew you were going to bring some." A pause passed between them before Tarra looked up at him with the most pitiful, pleading expression she could muster. "Please…?"
He sighed and reached into his satchel. "Fine," he consented in exasperation, handing her a bright green apple. Maybe if he gave it to her, she would go away.
"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" she squealed, biting into it hungrily. Tristan raised his eyebrow half in amusement and half in disgust at her as he watched her skip happily away over to where Galahad stood by the ship's mast.
"Where did you get that?" Galahad asked, noting Tarra's apple with envy.
"Tristan," Tarra replied light-heartedly, as though there were nothing unusual about this response.
"Really?" said Galahad, raising a skeptical eyebrow, "How did you manage that, I wonder?"
Tarra gave a self-assured shrug. "Oh, I dare say I have him quite wrapped around my little finger," she quipped.
"Somehow, I rather doubt that is the case."
"You don't believe me? Here, I'll prove it."
She called over to the knight who at her departure had taken up meticulously sharpening his dagger, "Tristan! Say 'what.'"
"What?" Tristan asked, looking up in disorientation at having been disrupted from his work.
"See!" exclaimed Tarra in gleeful triumph to Galahad.
Galahad laughed and rolled his eyes. "How could I ever have doubted you?" he asked sarcastically.
Tarra laughed jovially in return, a broad grin spreading across her face and a sparkle illuminating her dark eyes. "You know, Galahad," she said earnestly, "I had really expected you to hold more of a grudge against me---for the whole Barak-Arthur-assassination incident."
Galahad looked at her in his usual, warm manner, enchanted by the mix of her smile and the cool sea breeze. "And why would you think that?" he asked in amusement.
Tarra shrugged noncommittally. "Oh, I don't know," she said thoughtfully, "I suppose I just took you for the firm, unwavering type that does not forgive offenses easily or without severe penitence."
"I'm passionate, quick-tempered, opinionated," he admitted, then added with a smile of protestation, "But I'm not entirely cold-hearted or merciless."
Tarra laughed apologetically, "I didn't mean to imply---"
"I know," he quickly assured her, "How did you end up in that business, anyway? What brought you to such familiar terms with a sinister character like that---that---"
"Barak Mahal?"
"Yes, how did you find yourself working for him?"
"When you're poor, starving, and female in a large city such as Rome filled with villainy and indiscretion, you can either sell your body or sell your soul," she said in a casual, matter-of-fact tone that caused an even greater unease in her listener than the words themselves, "Since I don't put much stock in religion or the value of something as intangible as the soul, I saw the act of selling it to be of no certain consequence nor of any real detriment to myself, while the price I would receive for it in return was well worth its loss.
"But I am getting ahead of myself. You see, I came to Rome when I was not but ten or eleven years of age. I was all alone in that bustling, expansive city without relative, friend, or acquaintance. I probably would have starved to death within a week had an old merchant not taken pity on me and fed me scraps like he would a mangy dog. At the end of each day, he would save the excess vegetables for me from his supply that he had been unable to sell at the market that day.
"His charity would not last forever, though, and one night he told me that, being young and of an agreeable figure, I should try to find work and a means of supporting myself. 'What kind of work?' I asked, remarkably naïve to the type of employment that might require youth and an agreeable figure.
"'Do you see that man crossing the alleyway over there?' he asked, pointing to the man with his long, crooked finger. I nodded in affirmation. 'Go right on over to him then, and ask him if he's looking for some pleasure this evening,' the old man advised, 'If he says yes, you be good and obliging, and he will give you money.' He said nothing else about what this 'pleasure' would entail and, as I'm sure you can relate, young minds tend to be naturally blinded to all darkness and evil in the world. I therefore did as the old merchant said, not giving a single thought to what trouble I might be getting myself into.
"The man in the alleyway was tall with broad shoulders and translucent green eyes that glowed like a cat's in the dark. He was dressed all in black and appeared distracted as he advanced stealthily through the alleyway, glancing warily from side to side. I shuffled up behind him and cleared my throat to catch his attention. 'What do you want?' he asked in a gruff voice, looking down at me crossly.
"'Are you looking for some pleasure this evening?' I recited dumbly as the old merchant had instructed. It wasn't until that moment that I wondered how exactly I could help this man find 'pleasure.'
"But the man seemed to recognize my words and smiled down at me with teeth as white as a politician's robe. His eyes trailed up and down my body, assessing every line and curve; and he leaned toward me like a lion about to devour its prey. I immediately recoiled out of instinct because, as you know, I have an aversion to contact. To my relief, he suddenly stopped short as if he'd had a second thought. 'No,' he said in a ragged voice that came out muffled and choked, 'Now you run along and get off the streets. There are dangerous men about.'
"'Please,' I protested as he turned away, 'I need money.'
"'Don't we all,' he replied, then surveying me once again added, 'Do you even know what you're offering?' When I shook my head that I did not know, an amused, devious smile crawled across his face. He leaned towards me once again and this time whispered obscene descriptions in my ear, which I feel no necessity to repeat to you now, but needless to say, made my eyes bulge from their sockets and kicked the wind from my lungs.
"At that moment, however, a corpulent, bumbling Roman officer appeared out of nowhere and grabbed the man's shoulder, spinning him around so that they were face to face. 'I have you now!' he boomed triumphantly, his nostrils flaring from exertion, 'Don't even think about trying to escape again.'
"'I'm afraid there must be some kind of misunderstanding,' the man protested.
"'No misunderstanding,' the Roman officer growled, 'Now hand over those papers. We don't want any trouble.'
"'Uhh, I'm sorry, what papers?' the man in black replied in a voice that was trying too hard to sound innocent.
"'Nice try,' the officer snarled, placing his hand to the hilt of his sword menacingly, 'Now hand them over.'
"'I assure you I have no papers,' the man insisted, his voice unbelievably calm under the circumstances.
"'Don't play games with me, swine,' the Roman warned, 'I saw you skulking away from the estate with that parchment. Now you hand it over to me or I will relieve it from your cold, stiff corpse.'
"The man stood completely still for a moment and I wondered if he was even breathing. Evaluating the situation at hand and realizing that he was cornered, the man reached into his sleeve and pulled out a parcel of parchment which he handed over reluctantly to the Roman. The Roman officer studied the papers, scratching his bald head pensively. My eyes, however, were on this mysterious man's other hand as it reached into the waist of his trousers, revealing the metallic shine of a dagger's blade. The air seemed too still, too quiet around us and filled with an eerie, electric static.
"To this day, I cannot tell you what prompted me into action, but I immediately turned my attention back to the Roman officer who was still studying the parchment and let loose my tongue that cracked through the silence like the lash of a whip. 'You can't read, can you?' I asked condescendingly. He looked up, noticing me for the first time, and glared at me with narrowed, resentful eyes. 'Because if you could read,' I continued mercilessly, 'You would know that those papers contain the last will and testament of a politician of such importance that I could not disclose the name to such a lowly officer as yourself. You might have guessed at this unfortunate death, but I can see, however, that you did not have the perceptiveness to ascertain from the color of this man's garments that he is in mourning. Clearly, the Roman army is no longer training its officers with the same rigor and stringency, for if it were, you would know that exiting an estate with a piece of correspondence is neither rare nor a crime. Now, give this man back the parcel or I will be forced to report this incident to your commander.'
"The Roman officer looked at me skeptically, causing my heart to pound frantically in my chest. I held his stare, though, with the confidence of one who speaks only the truth, something I would know little about. 'You are only a child,' he protested finally, 'What possible authority could you claim?'
"'I really don't think you want to risk finding out,' I warned, keeping my eyes locked on his. He glanced back down at the papers once more with uncertainty and then cautiously handed them back to the man who gracefully slid them back into his sleeve. 'You two stay out of trouble,' the Roman ordered in a voice that seemed more wary than stern. The mysterious man in black nodded to the officer, his bright green eyes ripping through the space that separated their gazes.
"When the Roman officer was out of sight, he turned back to me. 'What is your name?' he demanded.
"'Tarra,' I answered with a defiant, self-assured smile.
"'And you need money,' he said more as a statement than a question.
"'I need money,' I repeated in affirmation.
"'I might have some work for you,' he said, once again examining me with his scrutinizing eyes.
"'Who are you?' I asked.
"He grinned with his immaculate white teeth. 'Barak Mahal.'
"And the rest I will leave to your imagination," Tarra concluded to her attentive listener, Galahad who stood enraptured in the sound of her voice, the energy with which she spoke her words, and the animated expressions that crossed her face as she recalled certain events.
"What did the parchment really contain?" he asked curiously, finally waking from the spell she had cast over him, "I'm afraid my imagination is devoid of conjectures on that point."
"Probably some piece of blackmail or other secret information that wasn't supposed to get out. We did a lot of that sort of thing," Tarra answered as though she were speaking of an everyday occurrence familiar to most people.
Galahad stroked the growing stubble on his chin with a thoughtful expression on his face. "Well?" said Tarra impatiently, "Aren't you going to say anything?"
Galahad looked at her and laughed in his friendly, good natured way. "I'm just taking it in is all," he replied warmly, slowly edging towards her, "You've certainly led an interesting life."
"I've had my moments," Tarra remarked with a shrug, noting his subtle advance.
"And you have a great gift for story-telling," he added, moving a little closer.
"I love words," Tarra said simply, "I've always considered my tongue to be my weapon of choice."
Galahad gulped, his face reddening, as he took her meaning differently than she had intended. They stood silently studying each other for a moment until Tarra observed suddenly that Galahad had removed his eyes from her and had fixed them on some unknown object behind her. Tarra turned to where his gaze was directed only to lock eyes with Lancelot who stood not but a few feet away observing them. Before she could read his expression, however, he quickly averted his eyes and turned his back to them in order to lean over the rail and admire the sea.
"Looks like someone is jealous," Galahad snickered. Tarra scoffed at the statement, letting out a laugh of protestation. Of what had Lancelot to be jealous? Galahad certainly could be absurd sometimes.