Honor By Knight – Tristan: Into the Fire
Tristan's new apprentice expelled an offensive smell again as they climbed the stairs toward the treasury, a little cough escaping as he rolled his eye. Eric, the son of the cheesemaker and oblivious to his potent aroma, continued his long and highly detailed facts on cheesemaking in his quiet, monotone voice.
"And the Romans had a wide variety of cheeses like Caseus, and Forma, and Oxyagla."
"You don't say."
"But these recipes have been lost over time; some of them even fell out of favor. My father's cheeses are fresh and unaged; takes only a few days or weeks to make. Here we are." He retrieved a torch from the nearest sconce. "Your key, please sir."
Tristan untied the only key from his belt and handed it to Eric. After demoting Sir Edmund to Deputy Exchequer and assuming his new duties, this was his first look at the vault. He wet his lips and handed the key to Eric.
With the door opened, he stepped in behind the apprentice, his gaze wandering around the large treasury vault. Bags of gold and sacks of silver were piled half a meter high in one corner, while some lay stacked in perfect columns on tables.
Jewelry and precious metal objects sparkled on shelving in the other corner, lit by the two sconces. Gemstone chests, some ornate, some plain, neatly lined the walls organized by type.
"It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." Tristan strolled closer to the precious objects, inspecting them closer with his eyes, but not handling them.
"The cost of the last two wars, and rebuilding and extending loans have greatly depleted the coffer actually." The apprentice passed gas. Shifting, Tristan pinched his nose for a second, but remained focused.
"Really?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and scanning the room. "It looks replete to me. I've never seen such riches before."
"We're operating at fifty percent of our normal capacity, Sir Tristan. With the death toll from both battles, there are fewer taxable citizens. We've had to increase the levies for nobles and vassals."
"I'm sure they weren't happy about that." A small door with a lancet arch was in the far back and he pointed at it. "What's in there?
"The crown jewels. Only the royal treasurer has access to them. I've never seen the inside of it."
You've been here how long?"
"Ten years, sir."
"That's a long time for an apprenticeship."
"Indeed, it is, sir. I'm not even a journeyman yet." A fart penetrated between the silence, Eric's face as expressionless as his voice. "I've been passed over for promotion several times and I don't know why."
Tristan cleared his throat, headed for the exit and Eric extinguished the torches inside the room. Locking the door and giving the key back to Tristan, he returned the torch to the sconce on the wall.
Wondering if Eric's odd habits genuinely made others reluctant to elevate him to an influential role, he descended the steps to ensure he was upwind of the man.
"Sir, there is a serious matter I'd like to bring to your attention."
"Oh?"
On the floor below the treasury, they passed the other financial offices belonging to the Royal Steward, the Master of Wardrobe, and the Chancellor, arriving at the Exchequer's office near the front.
Finding the office empty, they passed the counting table to reach their desks in the back. Eric pulled folded parchment from his vest, clenching them tightly, his eyes darting around nervously. He stood before Tristan's desk as the knight sat behind it. His gaze was steady, unreadable.
"Well?" Tristan asked, leaning back in the chair, arms relaxed on the armrests.
Eric went and shut the office door. Returning to the desks, his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat.
"Well, sir. Since King Arthur entrusted this position to you, I believe I can also trust you."
"I appreciate that, Eric. Trust doesn't come easy for me either."
Eric glanced around anxiously, ratcheting up Tristan's tension. He lowered his voice.
"I've observed Sir Edmund burning documents on several occasions."
"Nothing wrong with that, is it?"
"It was how he was burning them, sir—mysteriously, secretly—as if he didn't want anyone to know what he was doing."
"And that was enough to—what?"
"Sometimes, I walked in on hushed meetings he was having with two tax collections. They would immediately stop talking and Sir Edmund would order me out of the office. On several occasions…"
Eric swallowed again, wet his lips. "Sometimes, I overheard their conversations when they didn't know I was close by."
Tristan looked up at him, brows raised, creasing his forehead.
"I know," Eric replied, his cheeks actually turning red, the first real emotion Tristan had seen in his two days. "Eavesdropping isn't very honorable. But neither is treason. I found several discrepancies in the ledgers."
"What kind of discrepancies?"
Eric came to stand beside him and unfolded the parchment, at least ten pages thick. Another foul odor wafted into Tristan's nostrils. He groaned.
"Eric," he said, placing a hand on the papers and looking into the young man's eyes. "Has it ever occurred to you that the reason for your stagnation in this position is because of your chronic flatulence?"
"But sir. Doesn't everybody do it?"
"Well, yes; but—" He shook his head, Eric's brown eyes as dull as his facts about cheese. "Never mind. Show me what you have here."
They looked at the papers, Eric's finger pointing out lines.
"Sir Edmund's tax collectors under-report collections or fabricate records of tax defeasances or exemptions for missing revenue. Sometimes they blamed the shortfalls on bandits to defect the blame from them. The thefts were obscured by Sir Edmund and any wrong-doings were never investigated."
Tristan's eyes widened in shock. "How long has this been going on?"
"Five years, at least, sir."
Tristan noticed that the young man clutched another smaller parchment in his hand. Sweat now beaded his forehead.
"What do you have there?"
His lips twitched, sweat slipping down his temple. "I found this. Sir Edmund thought he'd sufficiently burned it, but he didn't."
"Indeed. Let me see it."
Handing the small scrap over, Tristan didn't understand the letterings and symbols on it. He pursed his lips, furrowing his brow again. "What is it?"
"It's the cryptographic code that they use to communicate messages secretly. At first glance the code appears to be nonsense letters and symbols. But after studying numerous messages, I noticed patterns. The same symbols would repeat in certain positions, while others varied randomly. The repetition had to signify common words or phrases."
Tristan hummed instead of voicing his confusion as Eric explained the cryptograph.
"Once I decoded a few symbols, I could decipher new messages. For instance, this symbol here stands for 'tax collections' based on how often it appears. And this one seems to mean 'north region'."
"That's Sir Richard's area."
"Yes, sir. The numbers interspersed refer to amounts - likely gold and silver coins. See how they change while the words remain constant?"
"Yes, I do. And these?"
"Rare symbols that I think might represent names. I can't fully decode those yet, but you can grasp the gist by the context. If we can match more symbols to meanings, we'll break the code entirely."
A crease formed between Tristan's eyebrows as it became obvious that Sirs Edmund, Kendall and Richard had established a well-oiled scheme that had kept everyone in the dark and them in business.
"How much do you estimate has been embezzled?"
"Well, sir. According to their secret code, Edmund lined his pockets with about one percent of gold, silver and gems a year, and his two accomplices share was half of a percent."
Tristan scrubbed his clean-shaven chin as Eric continued.
"Our annual revenue during times of peace is between eighty- to one hundred-sixty-thousand-coin equivalents; during war, it's half that, between forty- and eighty-thousand revenue. Over the five years, the three of them have embezzled about fifty-thousand in revenue."
"What?" Tristan's heart pounded in his chest as the web of deceit became clear. "Why haven't you reported this before?"
"I suspect bribery of other officials helped to prevent close inspections and audits, sir."
Eric's shoulders hunched slightly, his confident facade fading. "I know an apprentice accusing knights of treason is bold...perhaps foolish. I may have misunderstood what I saw."
He wrung his hands, eyes downcast. "Who am I to make such claims against men of status? I've no proper training in these matters."
Tristan clasped Eric's shoulder firmly. "You've shown discernment and dedication few in Camelot have. I believe you're onto something."
Eric met the knight's assured gaze. After a pause, he stood taller, resolve overcoming his doubts.
Tristan scanned the pages again, long and hard, not that much of it made sense to him. "Eric, I'll need your help. Can I rely on you to teach me more about this business?"
Eric's dull eyes sparked with purpose. A grin stretched across his face. "Why, yes, sir. Of course!"
"Bring me the ledgers immediately and any other records that can support what you have here." Tristan rolled up his sleeves. "Let's expose these thieves. And I promise you, Eric. You won't be an apprentice for too much longer."
