A few minutes walk had Tristan at a dirty looking tent full of men who were drinking and dicing. As she entered, a cry went up, "The wench with the sword!!" Unsure of whether this was friendly hailing or mocking, she just gave a smile to the drunkards and made her way to a table where a worn old man with two large body guards counted coin. She sat down at the chair opposite of him and slipped out her paper where she had won betting against Mordred in favor of Kay.

"You know, some's say it'd be a treason to bet against one's king." said the old man in a voice that belied a life of drinking and smoking.

"Some's say it'd be a fool who argues with a knight who just championed the swords..." Tristan responded smoothly. 

"Some's a wise folk." The old man gave a crooked smile and looked over his little book. "Ah well here, I see you won some pretty odds indeed, Lady,"

"Sir." she corrected sharply.

"Aye?" he asked.

"Sir. Not Lady. There's none here that shan't call me by my proper title. It's Sir, and you'll remember it." she said darkly. There was no playing with these people. A little heckling at the tourney could slide, but that game was over.

"Of course, Sir, I was only being polite to a- never mind. Well. Your odds being what they are..." he counted out the coins according to the odds, and Tristan watched counting with him in her head until it was all there.

"Here you are m'- Sir. M'Sir," the man said, bumbling over titles.

"That's not how..." She stopped and shook her head, but reached out and took her coins. "The paupers of Cornwall thank you," she said and gave him a final nod before exiting the dirty gambler's tent. The sinful gains would be deposited into the poor box at the larger chapel where the monks would use it to supplement the poor and disabled, and in doing so she'd buy her pardon of her sin with fewer Hail Mary's.