Chapter Nineteen: Irri

Hani looked up and scowled as Lancelot slipped through the door to the kitchen. Lancelot grinned at the look on her face and leant back against the wall.

'I have better things to do than listen to your flirting, Lancelot,' she snapped, her arms elbow-deep in the water.

'Like what?' he asked mockingly. 'Washing up cups? Yes, I must admit, it does look awfully exciting.'

Hani ignored him, focussing her attention on the soapy water before her. She had been washing up pitchers and goblets for almost an hour already and her fingers were wrinkly from the water. She had to admit, it was dreadfully dull.

She turned to Lancelot and dried her hands on his tunic. He looked affronted but grinned all the same, enjoying the feel of her skin so close to his.

'You don't happen to have any of Vanora's stew left over from last night, do you?'

Hani rolled her eyes. 'Men. Slaves to their bellies,' she said scornfully, turning around. But she picked up a bowl from the table in the centre of the kitchen and spooned a large helping of meat stew into it for Lancelot. Handing it back to him, she said, 'Go sit in the courtyard. I'll bring you some honeyed wine.'

Lancelot left the kitchen, smirking, and took a seat at a table just outside of the taproom. He tasted the stew – it was good. Gazing round the silent square, Lancelot was surprised to see a woman seated a few tables away. The tavern was normally silent at this time in a morning – it wasn't even noon.

The woman looked to be about twenty, with long hair, so blonde it was almost white, and skin a soft sugary brown – quite a contrast to her hair. She had her back to Lancelot, so it was hard for him to distinguish any other features, but there was something about her that struck him as odd. Maybe it was that he had never seen her before, or maybe it was the fact that there was a knife stuck in her belt at her hip. But it was not unusual for women to arm themselves as defence from men. Whatever it was, it set Lancelot on edge, and he couldn't seem to shake the feeling that she was dangerous.

You're being silly, he told himself. You're only worried because of what happened with Cavan.

As he watched, Hani went to the woman's table with a pitcher of wine and poured her some. They spoke a few words and then Hani turned round and approached Lancelot. She set the pitcher of wine down in the centre of the table and went to get some cups. Returning with two cups and another bowl of stew, she took a seat opposite the curly-haired knight and tucked in to her breakfast.

'You know,' Lancelot mused, letting his eyes drift over Hani's chest. 'The stomach isn't the only thing a man is slave to.' He quirked an eyebrow suggestively. Hani ignored him, pouring wine into both cups and taking a sip.

'How's that girl doing?' she asked suddenly.

'You mean Cavan?' he replied, frowning a little.

'Aye, the girl who was here just two nights ago. She got very drunk, poor lass. Friend of Arthur's, I figured – the way he talked to her made 'em seem close.' Her spoon hovered half-way to her mouth.

'Yea, I guess you could say they were friends.' A thought suddenly hit him. 'I heard him say something about family.'

It would be good to have the people around the fort think that Cavan was staying with them because she and Arthur were related, rather than making up their own wild ideas and spreading rumours.

Lancelot finished up his stew and took a long swig of wine.

'This is good,' he said, tilting the cup. 'You made it?'

'Aye. There's a good few barrels in the tap room. Come tonight and you can compare mine and Viviane's,' she smiled.

'I'll stake my life that you're better,' Lancelot predicted, his voice implying that was no longer talking about the wine. Hani rolled her eyes again in response.

'I suppose I was a fool to think we could have a proper conversation without you trying to get me into bed,' she sighed.

'Yes,' Lancelot grinned. 'I suppose you were.'

Hani slapped him lightly on the cheek, picked up their empty bowls and walked towards the kitchen.

'It'll take a good deal more than that,' she shouted over her shoulder, smiling.

Lancelot downed his wine and gazed at her retreating form. 'I certainly hope so,' he said. 'I love a challenge.'

Dagonet washed his hands and face in the water trough outside the kitchens before entering the warm room. The boys inside – all in deep red togas – were rushing around, their arms laden with trays and bowls, and all manner of foodstuffs, their faces red from the heat.

'Cillén!' he called, seeing the green-eyed boy sitting at the table, shelling peas into a clay bowl. The boy stood up and bowed.

'Breakfast, Sir?' he asked of the tall knight.

'Yea, if it's not too much trouble' Dagonet replied kindly. 'Porridge – and bread, if you have some.'

Cillén ran off into the depths of the kitchen to find the food. A cat meowed loudly at Dagonet's feet and he bent down to stroke it. The cat was black and white, with dusty paws. It purred as he rubbed its ears.
Cillén returned, with a tray in his hands, on which was balanced a bowl of steaming oat porridge and a hunk of bread. There was also a pitcher of water and two cups on the tray. Expressing his gratitude, Dagonet took the tray and left the kitchens.

As he walked past the training squares, he saw Arthur and Galahad sparring with their fists. It was the one area of fighting that Arthur lacked ability in – bare fist fighting. But he had not been ashamed to admit that it was a weakness – and none of the knights held it against him; in fact they all helped him on his way to mastering the skill.

Bors was no-where to be seen, undoubtedly with Vanora, and Lancelot too was absent. Dagonet wondered, with an ironic smile, which woman in the fort he was pestering this time. Tristan was still gone – he hadn't returned from Yoren. Dagonet was beginning to get worried about his silent friend. Something had happened in the past few days and it seemed to have changed the scout – and not for the better. Perhaps he was just dealing with something, and would soon be back, his normal, aloof self again.

Passing through the gates to the building that housed the knights quarters, Dagonet thought more on what could have caused his friend's uneasiness. In fact, he thought, Tristan had been acting strangely for several days – first the anger at Cavan when she revealed her history, then the day afterwards, when they had smiled at each other across the room. And then they had gone out riding together. Dagonet couldn't understand what the scout was playing at. Was he, in fact, falling for Cavan? No, that couldn't be!

Dagonet was startled out of his reverie when he walked straight into the statue at the bottom of the stairs. Rubbing his shoulder and wincing in pain, he shook his head to wake himself up. Think about the damned Hyrci later, he told himself. You've got a patient to care for!

He climbed the stairs two at a time and knocked softly on the door to Ector's old room. He waited for a moment, then opened the door.

'I brought some breakfast,' he murmured, as the woman in the bed sat up and yawned. She nodded to him as he set the tray down on the bed, her eyes empty. 'Do you want some help?' Dagonet asked, as she sat unmoving, staring at the food. She shook her head angrily, picking up the bread from the tray and taking a large bite.

Dagonet poured water into both cups and drank from his own. He sat down on the chair beside the bed and watched as the woman ate the porridge.

Her hair was dark blonde and thick; it fell over her shoulders and forehead in a messy bundle, obscuring her eyes, which were a pretty shade of brown. Her lips were full and curved, well-defined with a distinct turning-up of the corners. Dagonet thought she was beautiful.

As she finished the food, washing it down with a large gulp of water, she looked up at Dagonet and her face softened. He took the tray from her lap and put it on the table.

'I need to check your burns,' he said. 'Can I do that?'

She nodded hesitantly, rolling up the sleeves of the shirt she was wearing. Dagonet took her arms in his hands and touched the skin around her wrists – where the worst of the burning had occurred. She flinched as he did so – understandably. The skin was still hot and would cause her pain for a long while.

'In time, the scars will turn white. They will become less noticeable,' he comforted her. She was gazing at her hands with disgust and fear, but as he said this she looked into his eyes, a flicker of hope in her own.

'Will they go?' she croaked. Dagonet raised his eyebrows; he had thought the girl was mute, as she had not spoken before then.

'They will never disappear completely, but they will fade somewhat. For now, this will help.' Out of his pocket, he pulled a small tin of rose balm. 'Rub it into the skin every morning and night. It will soothe the heat,' he explained.

'Thank you.'

'I will get you something to wear,' Dagonet said. He stood up and left the room, returning a few moments later with his arms laden with clothes. 'There are dresses and breeches too – you can choose what to wear.'

He went to leave again, but then turned round, adding as an afterthought, 'I will wait outside, then, if you like, I can show you around the fort.' He paused and the woman nodded. 'What is your name?' he asked.

'Irri,' she replied, smiling. 'My name is Irri.'

Tristan didn't like being a coward, but he couldn't bring himself to face Cavan. He knew he should apologise for what he said to her – especially for bringing Evin's name into the conversation – but he was so angry at her blind faith. Her and Arthur both – they were so naïve to believe in the Romans' God.

A new religion? Tristan scoffed. How can there be a new religion? You cannot just make up Gods on the spot and expect everyone to bow under them.

'Horseshit!' Tristan yelled. 'Bastard Romans. Bastard sister. Bastard life!'

Maura jumped at his angry tone. She was stood a little way off, her reins tied to a tree. Tristan was in his favourite place in Britain – the hidden lake in the woods. He was sat on a rock beside the lake, his feet in the water, his breeches rolled up to his knees. A shiver ran over his bare chest – it was a cold, misty day, but he didn't care. At least it showed him that he could feel something.

It was late morning, but still Tristan couldn't make himself get up and go back to the fort. Cavan would be so angry with him, not just for the argument they had, but also for running away.

Next time, Tristan, he thought, think before you act.

'Why do you think she forgave me, eh, Maura?' he asked his horse. 'I nearly killed her. Wanted to, as well. Hurt her.'

Maura snorted in reply. She was tired and hungry. Noticing this, Tristan pulled his feet out of the water and dried them on the grass.

'I promise to not be a coward,' he told her, stroking her muzzle with his dirty fingers. 'Let us go home.'

Maura perked up at this last word, and shuffled her feet in anticipation. Tristan picked up his tunic and slipped it over his head, then pulled on his boots and tied them tight. He mounted Maura and cast one last look over the clearing.

He liked it here. It was peaceful, and quiet, and empty of idiot human beings. It was also pretty – green ferns by the water, yellow and white flowers scattered in the grass, tall trees surrounding the lake, the shafts of sunlight that fell through on warm days. Better than some tavern filled to the brim with inebriated Romans and painted whores that could do nothing but display their flesh.

Tristan yearned for the simplicity of his old life with his tribe in Sarmatia. Waking at dawn, working until sunset, then sleeping. It was all he wanted. No distractions, no Romans, no God. Just men and women, working and living together as friends, not like the women at the fort – in a different bed every night.

Mounting Maura, Tristan let loose a gruff sound of disgust. He couldn't wait to be discharged. Only two years left, he told himself. Two years.

The journey back to the fort was longer than it had to be. Tristan and Maura walked there, so it took over an hour. He was in no hurry to get back. In fact, he could have stayed away forever. But he urged himself to get back, so he could argue with Cavan again and get this pathetic fear out of his system. What he needed was a good fight with some blue-painted Britons. That would release his tension.

Smiling as he envisioned said fight, Tristan found himself passing under the gates into the fort. Maura knew her own way to the stables, so he loosened his grip on her reins and let her lead the way. They entered the stables and Tristan dismounted, removing Maura's tack and brushing her down. When he had finished, she turned her back on him and thrust her face into the feedbag.

As he splashed his face with water from the trough in front of the stalls, a girl entered the stables, her eyes cast upwards at the ceiling. Her hair was very pale, and her skin tanned. She had cold green eyes and a large mouth. She was wearing a plain dress with a tunic over the top, brought in with cord at the waist. Tristan looked up at her, and she gasped when she saw him watching her.

'Sorry, Sir, I was looking for the Lord Artorius,' she said hurriedly, a very sharp accent contorting her words.

Tristan scowled at her, and pointed at the door. The girl turned round and near ran from the stable. Smirking at the amount of fear he could invoke from just one glare, Tristan followed her out and crossed the road to Vanora's.

Gawain and Lancelot were sat at a table with one of Vanora's tap girls. They all three were drinking wine. Tristan nodded to them as he sat down.

'Care to join us in our… frivolities?' Lancelot grinned at him.

'Where's Cavan?' Tristan asked shortly.

'She's gone to get a cloak. Not that it is any of your business,' Gawain replied, his voice clipped. Tristan turned to him, angry.

'Actually, it is my business, Gawain,' he snapped, pushing himself up and striding away. Damn that stupid bastard and his infatuation with my sister! Tristan thought angrily. He went back into the stables and leant against the door, waiting until the red haze had disappeared from before his eyes.

'You need to control yourself!' he hissed to himself. It was happening more and more frequently – him losing his temper. Especially when Cavan was involved.

Maybe that is the reason, he mused. I'm just protective of her. Tristan opened his eyes, breathing deeply. He looked across the road at Vanora's courtyard, watching as Cavan came into view, a thick red cloak draped over her shoulders. Underneath, she was wearing a pale blue dress.

His eyes switched to the other side of the courtyard. The blonde-haired girl who had been in the stables was staring at Cavan, eyes wide. As Cavan sat down and turned to Gawain, the blonde girl grinned, a look of satisfaction and triumph on her face. Then she spun on her heel and ran from the courtyard.

Suddenly realising that something was very wrong, Tristan suck his dagger through his belt and sprinted after the girl. He followed her through the fort, and into the town. She seemed to know where she was going – she took a right and then a sudden left, before emerging into a square that was empty save for a man of about twenty, seated on a white horse. Tristan held back out of instinct, keeping to the shadows of an alleyway.

The girl ran to the horse's side, breathless.

'His whore is here!' she said. The man on the horse smiled grimly.

'He'll be pleased,' he replied. He motioned for the girl to get on the horse, but Tristan pulled out his dagger and threw it at her. It hit her in the leg, just below the knee. She collapsed with a scream. The man on the horse looked around wildly, then jerked on the reins. The horse neighed loudly and cantered from the square. Tristan ran to the girl, who was unconscious. He picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, then turned round and marched back out of the town towards the fort.

Thinking about the events that he had just witnessed, Tristan had a sudden suspicion that the result of this girl being here would jeopardise all their lives. The last time a girl had shown up unexpectedly, a knight had died. Let's hope the same does not happen again, Tristan wished silently, adding as an afterthought: Unless it's Lancelot.

So you guys are still reading this bullshit? Gah, two updates in one day, and I've got ideas overflowing in my mind. Someone won't be sleeping tonight. Please review everyone! Thanks!