Theophanna watched Torm go and realised she was smiling. Once she realised it she quickly wiped the expression from her face. Siegfried was already hurrying off to his meeting and hadn’t noticed but it was still sloppy. It was unlikely the count would return quickly from his meeting, as he tended to draw out such things with drink and gambling. The sun was sinking towards the horizon and the priests of Il would shortly be sounding their pipes to call the lay folk to prayer. Ordinarily this would mean the end of the day’s sport but Yattar, uniquely among tournaments, lit torches and conducted jousts by their flickering illumination. The priesthood decried this of course, cursing it with the usual charges of waste, vainglory, and sinfulness, but these nocturnal bouts always drew a crowd. They were the realm of hedgeknights and bastard sons and had a reputation for trickery and flamboyance that would have been frowned upon under the light of day. Theophanna spent a few moments considering attending and had just decided  against it when the tent flap opened and a squire in Orbai livery entered. He was a narrow faced man with dark hair and a mustache that was carefully trimmed and oiled. Gilroy of Kandric considered himself to be a handsome man though Theophanna had always found his pinched face somewhat offputting.

“I am relieved to hear that you are safe my lady,” he said with an extravagant bow. Theophanna nodded and performed a smile.


“Perhaps you might allow me to provide you with escort if you leave the tents? If these knaves have struck once, they may do so again,” he continued. There was a slight waggle in his eyebrows that he no doubt thought was subtly suggestive. Among the many things the convent taught its pupils was an appreciation for body language and while there were some differences between Easterners and Westerners, men, in general, were pretty easy to read.


“I shall keep that in mind,” she replied then allowed the slightest hint of a seductive smile to tug at her lips.

“There is something you can do for me Gilroy,” she cooed. Light kindled in the squires eye and he took a step towards her.

“Anything my Lady,” he declared grandly.

“There is something I need very badly…” He was almost improperly close now and she could see the flush in his cheeks.

“What is that,” he asked breathlessly.

“A bath,” Theophanna declared, “if you would be so good as to fetch my maid?” The deflation was almost priceless and the following darkening of anger almost more so. It wasn’t wise but she was still emotionally wrung out from her speaking. Angry or not Gilroy had no options when presented with a direction from his liege’s wife.

“At once my lady.”


The copper bathtub was a luxury. It took the servants twenty minutes to fill it with steaming water but it was well worth it when Theophanna was able to lower herself into the warm water and sooth away the aches and pains of the day. She ran through her meditations, something she always found easier in the presence of water, and restored her understanding of the words she had Spoken. Later she would offer prayers to Il whose voice had shaken the heavens and perhaps direct her maids to distribute arms to the poor. Her thoughts drifted to Torm and she was pondering the newly minuted squire when the canvas partition was drawn back. Theophanna looked up in shock, amazed that anyone had the effrontery to disturb her while she bathed. Mildreth, her maid, bowed her head and then another woman entered. Like Theophanna she was Basalian, with the same smooth complexion and brown hair, though she was somewhat thinner and a few years older.

“You haven’t lost the taste for luxury I see?” Aristophanna asked, speaking in Old Attic which was the code language of the Convent.

“Aristie, what a pleasure to see you,” Theophanna replied with genuine enthusiasm. The pair of them had been friends at the Convent though Theophanna hadn’t seen the other woman since she had been married off to one of the Merchant Lords in northern Tarlia. Arisophanna crossed and took a seat on the stool by the bath, smoothing her skirts of midnight dark silk that contrasted so fetchingly with the almost shimmering white head coverings she wore. There were sapphire studded bracelets at her wrists and fine gold chain woven through her hair. Clearly her husband had prospered, possibly due to her advice and support.

“And you sister,” Aristophanna responded, “though I hear you had some trouble earlier?” Theophanna filled her in on her adventures. It was good to speak Old Attic again, it was never used by any save the Convent and felt like slipping into an old and comfortable pair of shoes.


“Any idea who was behind it?” Aristophanna asked when Theophanna concluded her tale. She shook her head.

“It might have been almost anyone one, Vencel nobles looking for land concessions, Reformers looking to eliminate foreigners, Imperials trying to start trouble with Tiriche while their boy Emperor is too weak to reign them in. It could even just be simple banditry,” she admitted.

“But you don’t think so?” Aristophanna asked. Theophanna shook her head.

“That many armed men don’t need to way lay travellers, if they wanted plunder, there are plenty of wealthy villages, for that matter their are Abbeys filled with gold plate and devotional icons, why risk a fight at all?”

“A well made point,” Aristophanna conceded.

“The Reverend Mother may have foreseen this, she mentioned in her last letter that she was concerned about Vence,” Aristophanna said. Theophanna frowned.

“I have not received a letter in some time, she hasn’t mentioned it to me,” she objected. Aristophanna shrugged uncomfortably.
“It may be that our correspondence is being interfered with, there is much support for the Reformers in Tarlia, all wish to see the Arch-Prelate return to Carce.”

“King Quent would never allow it,” Theophanna scoffed. Everyone knew that so long as the Arch-Prelate remained at Gevione he was a creature of Tiriche.

“Maybe, but not even clerics can defy the people forever. If that fool in Gevione would show SOME restraint…”

“This is what you get for following Bishops,” Theophanna responded, getting a chuckle from her friend.

“Careful Sister, that is heresy to these Westerners,” she cautioned.

“If a Westerner is hiding under my bath tub AND can speak Old Attic, then I am indeed at great risk,” Theophanna admitted, earning another chuckle from her friend. Aristophanna withdrew several letters from her gown and set them down beside the tub.

“Latest news from home, from the Reverend Mother, and the Themearch,” Aristophanna told her and then rose.

“I must away, Garibaldi wants me to attend the night jousts with him but perhaps we may see each other again?”

“Il-shalah Sister,” Theophanna responded in the ritualistic style of the Convent. 

“Il-shalah,” Aristophanna replied, then leaned over to kiss Theophanna’s cheek. Theophanna returned the gesture then playfully flicked her fingers as though to splash the other woman.

“You witch, if you spot my silk…” Aristophanna scolded.

“Then your husband will have to buy you some more?” Theophanna asked.

“Goodnight Countess,” Aristophanna replied, switching back to Vencal.

“Bonna notte Marquessa,” Theophanna responded in Tarlian, then settled back in her bath and began to read.