Ysobel dismounted at the bridge, thumping heavily to the moist grass as Sir Arian was grudgingly admitted inside.  The sun crested the Cathedral above the walls, near-blinding her, and she smiled in spite of the day's grim tidings, her lips moving as she gave silent thanks to God.

"This is as far as I go," rumbled the giant mounted beside her.  "Ill memory.  Bad blood.  Too soon to bear.  I'll glean what news I may and make camp afore I hie me back to the village."

The little knight stood tiptoe and offered up her arms.  The scarred old man leaned in the saddle, letting her embrace him.  It was a comical scene, and yet, none who watched found it in themselves to laugh.

"Go with God, friend of my friend." she murmured gently by his rough cheek.  "I shall see thee when the Lord wills it, and all is again well."

Black Piotr breathed a short, bitter laugh.

"I'll not hold my breath," he said, turning about. "Dear little fool."

He said it fondly.  Forlornly.  

[hr]

Ysobel watched him go, disappearing into the greenery and haze.  And then she took the reins in one black-mailed hand and crossed on foot, leading her white pony across the length of the bridge to the towering gate where the two would-be watchmen slouched in their rough mail.  They straightened as the girl approached, the clip-clop clip-clop of loyal hooves sounding a wooden song behind her.  Her face was stern, purposeful.

The watchman who had spoken to Arian cleared his throat whilst his companion stared rigidly ahead like a young boy who knows full well his sibling has been caught in some callous wrong, and has no wish to share in his punishment.

"Hr-[i]hrmm[/i], hail and be welcome to..."

The man fell silent.  The virgin looked up at him without fear or kindness, staring him down, her gaze scornful, relentless and unbearably pure.

"...I, ah..."

By degrees the veteran crumbled, slowly averting his eyes from those of the little woman, unable to hold her eyes despite their difference in age and stature.  Ysobel regarded him in silence as he withered beneath the weight of his own guilt.

"I hath heard it once said that men hath entertained angels unawares," she spoke, her bright little voice hard as crystal.

"...Yes, m'lady."

"Have a mind of thy tongue, knave," she went on. "Lest it one day wag at the wrong hound."

"I... [i]Hrm![/i]" the man swallowed, shamefaced, mumbling into his boots.  "...I do most 'umbly beg yer pardon, m'lady." 

"Tis not my pardon thou shouldst beg." she said, tersely, drawing on the reins.  The pony snorted dismissively, the clip-clop of hooves passing away with the heavy chime of iron.

The grizzled watchmen let out their collective breaths.  They exchanged one brief, wordless glance, and there saw enough of one another's shame to turn away in remorse, and not take their eyes from the bridge again.

[hr]

At last beyond the wall and into the bustle of Camelot, Ysobel lifted her arm high as she caught sight of the sign of the leaping fish before the Keep, waving and lifting up her voice. 

"Sir Delwin!" she called, piercing the air like a joyful clarion.  Perhaps he would not remember her, the distant, little black figure with her banner and horn.  But the fisher-knight's humility and noble bearing had remained ever in her memory.