26 Retrieving dagger

"You have five days."

Balan looked at Tristan incredulously.

"Vanora will kill me!" he protested.

"Therefore you have to make sure to stay unnoticed," Tristan replied.

Balan wanted to argue, but Tristan's warning eyes silenced him.

"Five days," Tristan repeated. "And I want to see you try! If I think you haven't given it enough effort, you'll be in trouble."

As soon as Tristan had closed the door behind him, Balan tried to calm his nerves. It was true that he wanted to become a scout, but he abhorred the means of training that Tristan had picked out for him this time:

Tristan had hidden one of his daggers in Vanora's storage room in the tavern. It would be his, Balan's, job to find and retrieve the dagger within the next five days, without Vanora or any of the kitchen maids noticing.

Having spent plenty of time in the kitchen, Balan was well aware how Vanora and her kitchen maids felt about boys sneaking into the storage room. Regretfully, he also knew how such boys were dealt with! The kitchen maids had told him vivid tales about it.

He knew that the maids might have been trying to scare him, but he didn't feel very confident that the stories had been made up. After all: With plenty of boys in the fort, most of them willing to give anything for an extra treat, the women had to have found a convincing way to keep them out.

Balan inwardly cursed Tristan for setting him this task. The scout believed it to be a good – and safe – way to continue his training. But Balan didn't think it was safe at all. Not only did he risk a severe beating from the kitchen maids, he also risked losing Vanora's trust in him – and with that her friendship!

Balan did not want to let Vanora down. He had considered explaining to Vanora about the dagger and bargaining passage into the storage room. But Tristan had instantly smashed his hope, making clear that neither Vanora nor the kitchen maids were to notice anything.

Balan bit his lip. He wondered if he should disregard Tristan's orders.

If he did, he might lose Tristan's trust in him. Tristan might no longer believe that he really wanted to be a scout. Besides, it was not as if a refusal would do him much good. Tristan would probably give him a beating and then order him to complete his task anyway.

Balan paced around the room, muttering expletives under his breath. Finally he realized that there was nothing for it: He would have to find a way around Vanora and her maids, and retrieve the ruddy dagger.

He swallowed to get rid of the lump in his throat. "Breathe!" he told himself, exhaling deeply as he remembered his father's words:

"Never focus on what can go wrong, for this will paralyze you. Focus on how to make it work, for this will give you skill."

In the early hours of the afternoon Tristan looked up from the dagger he was whetting to see Balan enter the nearly deserted tavern. The boy looked determined and his eyes were alert. Tristan watched with amusement as Balan took a deep breath, forced a casual expression on his face and then disappeared behind the bar.

An outbreak of friendly banter and cheerful chattering told him that Balan had put his boyish charms to good use. Before long, loud squeals from kitchen maids urging the boy to be careful revealed that Balan had been put to work in the kitchen.

Tristan chuckled. Vanora had yelled loudly when he had disclosed his plan to her. "Ye want to teach the lad to steal from me storage room?! Ye want to turn 'im into a thief?!" Vanora's eyes had blazed with anger. He knew that it was not merely her storage room that she cared about. She cared for the lad as much as he did.

He had explained that the boy would not be stealing anything, but that the boy had to learn stealth. Balan had to learn to keep his wits about him in 'dangerous' territory, even if the situation made him nervous. Or would she rather have him hide the dagger in the quarters of a Roman infantrist?

Vanora had gasped at the suggestion. She knew that Tristan would not hesitate to do just that if she would not consent to the use of her storage room. Eventually she had agreed.

He had made her promise not to tell anyone, for Balan was not supposed to know that she knew. The boy had to be afraid of her anger for this training to be effective. The maids would only giggle and never let the boy out of their sight if they knew – thus ruining every fair opportunity for the boy to succeed. So they were not to know about it, either.

Tristan returned his focus to his dagger, carefully running his thumb along the edge of the blade to test its sharpness.

He waited for almost two hours, curious if the boy was getting any closer to fulfilling his task.

Suddenly a loud cacophony of screams erupted from the kitchen. He heard the scraping of a table on the floor, followed by the sound of breaking pottery. A door slammed shut, a woman shouted, "Get him!" and a few noisy minutes later Balan came haring out of the kitchen, running for dear life as several girls and women aimed for his head and back with brooms, ladles, a rolling-pin and a birch rod.

Balan sprinted out of the tavern and disappeared into the bustle on the main street.

When Tristan entered their room a few minutes later, Balan glared up at him with barely suppressed fury. The boy had a black eye and a lump on his forehead, and a cluster of angry red welts - courtesy of the birch rod - ran from his left cheek across his ear and down his neck. He was supporting his forearm where one of the maids had hit him with a rolling-pin.

"You made me do this!" Balan accused angrily.

Tristan did not reply. He pointed Balan to a chair and examined the boy's arm. When he found that it had not been broken, he left the room and returned with Dagonet. Together they checked Balan from head to toe and applied a healing salve to his bruises.

Dagonet examined the welts on Balan's face.

"Looks like someone in the kitchen has a very bad aim," he muttered. "Or very bad judgement about how to the use a birch rod."

Tristan left the room and returned with a bowl filled with cold water and some cloths. He put the cloths in the bowl, wrung them out and wrapped two of them around Balan's arm. Then he folded up the remaining ones and gently pressed them against the boy's eye.

"Next time you will have to be more careful," Tristan said, lowering his head to look directly into Balan's non-covered eye.

Balan's anger flared up instantly. He jumped to his feet and tried to head-butt the scout, but Dagonet restrained him and gently pushed him back onto his chair.

"Boy, do you want to become a man?" Tristan asked, unperturbed by Balan's outburst.

Balan angrily bit his lip, but nodded.

"Look at me, boy," Tristan urged.

Balan reluctantly looked up.

"If you want to become a man, then you still have many things to learn. You may not always like it. And you may even get hurt sometimes. But I promise I will never make you do something if I don't believe you can do it," Tristan said.

He took the compress from Balan's eye and dipped it in the water. Balan took it from his outstretched hand and pressed it back on his eye.

"I believe you can become a scout, Balan, but you are not a scout yet," Tristan stated. "Scouting is dangerous and stealth will be your most important ally. If you ever get caught during a mission, there won't be a few angry women beating you with brooms. There will be a sword at your throat, and you can count yourself lucky if that sword kills you instantly."

Dagonet exchanged a glance with Tristan. He knew what had to come next. He did not like to see the boy's innocence shattered. But the boy was to become a scout. He had to know.

"Balan, a scout who gets caught by his enemies is often tortured for information," Dagonet explained in his deep, calm voice. "The lives of his commander, his comrades and his people will be at risk as well as his own. For with cruel and malevolent means of persuasion, a scout can provide his enemy with many useful details about his unit's location, his commander's plans and the fort's defences. It is highly likely that your enemy will find ways to give you maximum pain, without allowing you to die."

Balan remained silent for a long time. He realized that Dagonet and Tristan were not trying to scare him. He looked into their serious eyes and knew deep inside his heart that they were telling him the truth as it was. This was a real danger. One that he would have to face and learn to live with. He bit his lip.

"If you want to become a man, this is one of the dangers you must learn to stay far away from," Tristan stated.

As soon as she was certain that Balan had left the knights' quarters, Vanora entered the building and angrily burst into Tristan's room.

"I wasn't there!" she spat with a furious look on her face. "Couldn't you make sure I was in the kitchen before sending him in?! How is he?"

"Bruised and a welt across his face," Tristan replied curtly.

"What?!" Vanora gasped. "I would never allow for any boy to be given a welt across his face! Who did that?"

Tristan stared at her pointedly.

Vanora dropped her arms to her sides. "You weren't there. You don't know either," she muttered with a sigh. "Don't worry, I'll find out."

Tristan chuckled when he saw a murderous gleam appear in Vanora's eyes. He wouldn't want to be in the maiden's shoes right now.

"You dare laugh about this?" Vanora raged. "You should have protected him! He's only eleven! He's a boy, Tristan! Not a grown man!"

"Say that to your women," Tristan bit back sharply. "I told him to retrieve a dagger and remain unnoticed. They are the ones who hit him."

Tristan and Vanora glared each other down.

Eventually Tristan smirked and Vanora put her hands on her hips, lowering her eyes.

"I hate to see him get hurt," she sighed.

"He'll be okay," Tristan reassured her.

Tristan and Vanora had gotten along well since before she'd started dating Bors. Tristan appreciated her fiery and straight-forward nature and he held her in high esteem. She wasn't afraid of him, and he was one of the very few men who wasn't afraid of her. She was the only woman he ever argued with. They were good friends.

"Will you release him from his task now?" Vanora asked. "Just let him off! He's suffered enough."

Tristan determinedly shook his head.

"I gave him five days. He'll have to try again."

Vanora's eyes narrowed angrily.

"And just how do you suggest he'll do that? None of the maids is going to let him back into the kitchen! I can't let him in either; it'll look suspicious!"

"He'll have to find a way," Tristan said brusquely.

"Right! And what do you think will happen if they catch him again?!" Vanora snarled loudly. "I can't be in the tavern at all times, Tristan! I have five bairns! I have my Bors!"

Tristan rolled his eyes.

"The boy has to look out for himself!" he spat. This was the whole idea of his training! Couldn't she see that?

"You seem to forget that we are talking about a little boy! A child, Tristan!" Vanora yelled.

Tristan knew that she would hit him any moment now. He grabbed her shoulders and silenced her with his glare.

"He has to learn, woman! I don't like seeing him bruised like this, either. But he learned much more today than if he had only been scolded."

Vanora glared at him.

"He'll be more careful now," Tristan emphasized. "Now, and later, when he is sent into danger. I want him to live. Not die of carelessness."

He let go of her shoulders and walked away from her.

She stared at his back, all anger leaving her.

"Can't it wait?" she asked softly. "Until he's a bit older?"

"How well do you know Ruccius?" Tristan replied bitterly.

Vanora's eyes widened.

"Do you think he will…?" She slapped her hand in front of her mouth and did not finish her question. Worry appeared in her eyes.

"You'll have to speak with Arthur, Tristan. Ruccius will be leaving soon. I'm sure that Arthur can say a few words for Balan."

Tristan stared into the fire.

Vanora recognized his stony expression. Tristan wouldn't speak to her now.

"I have to return to the tavern," she said softly. "I'll see you around supper."

Balan carefully approached the bar. The previous day he had given it every bit of effort to make up for his earlier transgression in the storage room, which was now two days ago. But the maids could not be persuaded: They had not let him back into the kitchen.

This morning, however, he had returned to the tavern as soon as the kitchen maids had cleaned up after breakfast. He knew that most of them would be returning to their rooms now.

Old Anna, a grey-haired kitchen maid, one of the oldest women still working in the fort, was on morning duty. She had been carrying water from the well to the kitchen, puffing and muttering to herself about the job being too much at her age. He had wordlessly picked up two more buckets and followed her to the well. He had filled the buckets and carried them to the kitchen for her, placing them just outside the backdoor so that Anna could carry them inside. She had returned the empty buckets and he had jogged back to the well.

After all cauldrons had been scrubbed, cleaned and filled with fresh water, Anna had been mollified. She had carressed his head.

"You are a good boy, Balan. Why did you have to be so foolish the other day? You knew what was going to happen!"

"Shall I sweep the tavern for you?" Balan had asked quickly.

And now he was standing in the deserted tavern, a broom in his hand. He had scrubbed the tables and benches and he had almost finished sweeping the floor.

He listened carefully. Before, he had heard Anna rummaging with cutlery, singing her songs. But now it was quiet.

He glanced around and entered the kitchen. The water in the cauldrons was beginning to heat up and several loaves of dough were rising in the warmth of the fire. The backdoor was open. But Anna was nowhere to be seen.

He quickly opened the door to the storage room and slipped inside. His eyes rapidly scanned the dark shelves for Tristan's dagger. Last time he had been stupid enough to bring a candle. The light had instantly betrayed him as soon as one of the maids had entered the kitchen. Now he just hoped that some light from the door would reflect on the dagger. Where was it?!

He nervously looked behind pots, jars and flasks. He looked behind barrels, between baskets, behind wheat bags – but no matter where he looked, there was no sign of the dagger.

Suddenly the sound of Anna's voice reached his ears. He rapidly left the storage room and held his breath. Outside, Anna was talking to one of Ruccius' chambermaids. She was heading straight for the backdoor! He quickly grabbed a rag from a bucket and started scrubbing a bowl.

"What did I tell you about coming back into the kitchen?!" old Anna exclaimed. "Get out of here, boy! You are not coming back in!"

She made to grab him by the neck of his tunic.

"This bowl lay underneath one of the tables," Balan lied nervously. "The maids must have forgotten it. I was only cleaning it for you."

"Get out!" Anna urged, making shooing movements with her arms.

Balan nodded to the surprised chambermaid and quickly slipped out the backdoor.

The next day he sat hidden behind an old barrel, staring at the backdoor of the kitchen, which was closed. He rubbed his nose on his sleeve and tried to think clearly.

Vanora, of all people, was on morning duty today. He had not spoken to her yet since the maids had caught him in the kitchen. He dared not imagine what she would think of him. Would she still be willing to teach him how to cook? He assumed that she had not told Bors, though. He would have known if she had!

"Focus!" he told himself and he returned his attention to the task at hand. Provided that he would get another chance to sneak into the storage room, where could Tristan have hidden the ruddy dagger? He was certain that he had looked well. Could it be that one of the maids had found and taken it?

Suddenly it hit him: Tristan would have thought of this as well! The scout would certainly not have been so stupid to hide his dagger in a place where a silly kitchen maid would be able to find it! What a humiliation it would be if she would loudly announce in the tavern that she had found a Sarmatian weapon in the storage room! And would the owner of the dagger please come and collect it?

He grinned. No, Tristan was smarter than that. If the dagger was hidden in the storage room, he would have to look for it in a place where no maid could accidentally stumble across it. Which meant that it would not be hidden between the frequently used supplies. His eyes lit up.

The backdoor to the kitchen opened. Vanora's infectuous laugh reached his ears and he quickly ducked behind the barrel when she walked out the door, a basket dangling from her arm.

This was his chance!

As soon as Vanora had disappeared around the corner, he glanced around to make sure nobody saw him and slipped into the kitchen. He walked straight into the storage room and looked up at the smoked, salted meat that hung from the ceiling.

"Have a nice day ma'am," the merchant greeted when Vanora walked away. She had filled her basket with eggs and then walked over to the next merchant's stall to purchase almonds, pepper and cinnamon.

She ignored the whistles from several soldiers – which could only mean that her Bors was not near – and returned to the kitchen. She immediately walked to the storage room to deposit her purchases, and jumped!

"Balan!"

The boy stared back at her with a frightened expression on his face. She had known of his task, of course. But she had not expected him to stand right in front of her when she opened the door. She put on her sternest glare.

"Get out!" she spat, as angrily as she could.

Balan cowered under her blazing gaze. He quickly slipped past her – clearly wondering why she did not hit him – and ran outside through the backdoor.

Vanora slammed the door behind him and rested her back against it, smiling to herself. She had not failed to notice the dagger Balan had held in his hands. The lad had succeeded!

In a narrow alleyway not far from the tavern Balan happily clutched Tristan's old dagger to his chest. He studied it briefly. The dagger was of Sarmatian origin. It was simple, yet of very good quality. The balance of the blade was perfect. Balan quickly put it away in his belt. He ran to the knights' quarters and burst into the room he shared with Tristan.

"I've got it!" he panted, holding up the dagger for Tristan to see.

Tristan turned from the window and instantly recognized the dagger as his own. He smiled and grasped Balan's shoulders.

"I knew you could do it, boy," he said proudly.

Balan held the dagger out for Tristan to take, but Tristan refused.

"It is yours now," he smiled.

Balan's eyes widened.

"Really?!"

Tristan nodded.

Balan felt himself begin to glow with pride. His own dagger! Now he had a bow, his father's bootknife and a dagger!

"Does Ruccius allow it?"

"Yes, he does, boy. You have Arthur's permission."

Balan beamed up at the scout.

"Will you teach me how to use it better? It's been a long time since I trained with my dad."

Tristan chuckled.

"Come, then," he said, motioning for Balan to follow him. "Let's go to the practice yard."