Protecting A Templar Legacy

Chapter One: A New Barmaid

The distinct sound of clanging mugs and boisterous laughter echoed in unison along the walls of Hadrian’s fort pub alarming the working staff to the hordes of people now vacating the nightly establishment.

Vanora sighed heavily, her brow furrowing, as she noticed with extreme frustration that yet despite the crowd, more patrons were flocking in toward the tavern’s tables. She was exhausted, weary to the bloody bone, and the night was fairing no better for a woman that was fat, sore, and pregnant, like her. She waddled persistently around the tables, pouring drinks by the minute, while deliberately grinding her teeth against the searing pain from her feet and swollen ankles.

‘With the night goin’ like this,’ she thought to herself sullenly, ‘I’m never goin’ ta get a break…!’

She had been on her feet almost all afternoon to sunset having been busy with preparing the tables, bar, and kitchen for guest arrival. And with very little help! They were, indeed, severely understaffed and with a little one on the way, it made work ever the more difficult for Vanora. It didn’t help much that she was the mother of eight children either…

“Vanora,” a voice called softly to her, “Do you have any full pitchers? Or do you need me to fill up some more for ya?”

Vanora turned, a fleeting smile of relief passing across her lips as she was reminded, yet again, of her first miracle of the night; a new employee. “Aye,” she answered, “three more should do it!”

The new barmaid, Lillis, nodded, her supple body twisting with ease as she maneuvered gracefully through the crowd, an empty pitcher nestled firmly within the crook of her slender fingers. Vanora could only watch enviously, desiring to be outside of her own skin and away from the large bulge burdening her curved hips and slender back.

Seeming to sense her thoughts and extreme discomfort, the girl turned briefly, asking with one raised eyebrow, “Shouldn’t a woman in your condition be off her feet?”

Vanora scoffed incredulously"Ha! I wish! Unfortunately, this bar would be useless without the likes of me taking care of it" She turned back briefly to fill up a customer's cup. "These men would be absolutely beside themselves if they had nowhere to drink and whore about"

Lillis scrunched up her nose at the comment, knowing the truth of it, and silently continued on with her duties.

Her new barmaid, Vanora decided suddenly, was a strange girl. She was an odd sort of mystery and possessed a unique dialect of English that she had never heard before in this region of Britain. She appeared to be in her mid-twenties, tall and slender, with long ebony hair and light, sun-kissed skin. Her eyes, deep green pools under thick lashes, stood out beautifully, making her appear soft and soulful. But behind the timid act that she seemed to play so well among customers, a special fire could be detected within her. Vanora could sense such things from people, women especially.

Despite her appearance, she was indeed a worker, not a lay about; one aspect about the girl she could most certainly boast about to anyone was her work ethic. She had been working at the bar for three hours and already she was behaving like she’d been here for three years! Her energy appeared to be unstoppable, out weighing Vanora’s own, even when she wasn’t pregnant!

After she had finished with her last pitcher, Vanora quickly made her way back to the bar, asking suddenly, “Lillis?”

The young woman glanced up curiously. “Yes?”

Biting her lip, as not wanting to sound too nosy, Vanora asked hesitantly. “If ya don’t mind me askin’ too much, where are ya from? Your accent… I have never heard its like before. It doesn’t sound Roman, Sarmatian, or Briton.”

The girl smiled fleetingly, not quite meeting her eyes. She seemed almost distant, like she was recalling it up silently within the depths of her mind; as if she were hesitantly summoning up the past. Her face was almost stoic, her eyes staring into an empty void; all were physical signs that she was, indeed, evoking the place she had once called “home”.

“I imagine it doesn’t,” She answered, “I lived far from this country, so far, in fact, that I was apart of an isolated population, completely unknown by settlers of this land.”

Intrigued, Vanora pressed quietly, “Really?”

“Yes. No Romans, no Britons… it is our population as a whole controlled by no one but ourselves.” Appearing almost thoughtful, not annoyed as Vanora might have expected, the young woman continued nonchalantly, “I’m from a place called America, a very distant land, the East Coast, to be exact.”

“The East Coast of a land called America?” she repeated, more to herself than Lillis. “It sounds intrestin’. You’ll have to tell me more about it sometime.”

“Maybe,” Lillis added, a ghost of a smile curving upon her lips, “for now, however, we’re a bit busy.”

Vanora groaned at the reminder, her whole body in sudden protest. “Aye, we are.”

She sounded like she wanted to kill herself.

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The night wore on; customers drank up their fill and promptly left, leaving their resigned corners to the services of the tavern barmaids. Much to her lament, that task was given to Lillis, seeing that Vanora had very little ability in bending down to clean up certain areas.

She sighed as she spotted three empty pitchers and two broken cups upon the ground, some shattered into pieces. ‘Men!’ she thought silently to herself, bending down to gather the mess efficiently into the confines of her gown. ‘It doesn’t matter what time or place they are in, all are the equivalent to messy barnyard pigs!’

After collecting the dismembered portions, she moved her way through the crowd, inwardly fuming at the large bodies that passed and bumped into her, seeming to act as if she were invisible.

She really felt like punching someone. Instead, she’d have to settle with glares. She had a part to play. Right now, she was Lillis, the meek barmaid. Or, at least she was trying to act that part.

Doubling her efforts, Lillis made her way toward the kitchen, only to get shoved out of the way by a huge, burly man with a bald head. He barely even registered her presence at all and instead of turning back to apologize or help; he headed straight for the bar. All of the bits and pieces collected within her hands went flying, some breaking even more as they flew through the air to land on the floor.

Lillis sighed irritably, trying not loose her temper. Instead, she just bent down to the floor, her hair covering her face as she muttered quietly, “Oh please, just ignore me! I’m only holding a hundred broken pieces of pottery in my hands…”

“Vanora!” She heard the man yell. His voice was so thunderous and loud that you could practically hear it over the entire commotion of the tavern. “Come ‘ere love!”

“I’m working!” A feminine voice protested

“You shouldn’t be on your feet so much, woman! Tell her Dag!”

She didn’t hear the man’s companion reply. Instead, she heard a voice ask her kindly, “Do you need some help, milady?”

Lillis winced. The distraction caused her to cut herself. She looked up briefly to the man that suddenly bent down to her level, a very imposing figure. He had a scar that ran along his eye and a battle-worn face. Despite his size and intimidating features, his eyes held kindness. She nodded.

“Thank you, Sir,” she responded meekly, allowing him to help her pick up the pieces as she downcast her eyes from his.

“It is no trouble,” he replied dismissively, “you’ll have to forgive Bors, he’s a bit…”

“Large and ill-mannered?” Lillis abruptly supplied, all too happy to give away her opinion.

“Yes,” he answered hesitantly. “He isn’t a bad man at all.”

Lillis suddenly chided herself for her bluntness. Her mother always said that her mouth would get her into trouble some day… in this time; it’d probably be the cause of her own execution. After gaining all the pieces shattered upon the bar floor, both stood up, Lillis quickly saying. “I’m sorry; I don’t know much about him to say that… a bad first impression, I suppose.”

“Some people tend to gain that from him.”

Lillis smiled awkwardly. “Nice to know I’m not the only one Sir-“

“Dagonet,” the man supplied simply.

“Oh. I’m Lillis.” Nodding in thanks to him, as she knew not what else to say, Lillis made her way to the kitchen. ‘What a first day this has been,’ she thought to herself, exasperated.

Not far away, four pairs of eyes watched her curiously.

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Lancelot, Gawain, Galahad, and Tristan stood not far away, watching the exchange in fascination. Lancelot practically leered in her direction, Galahad and Gawain merely stared, while Tristan stood off to the side, his face stoic as it usually was.

“I saw her first,” Gawain spoke quickly.

Galahad sputtered on his drink. “You did not.”

“I did too!”

Lancelot rolled his eyes at the exchange. Every time a new barmaid would, albeit fleetingly (as most got scared off the job anyway), work, there was always a quiet tussle on who would have her first. In this instance, as they were at a stalemate, it all depended on who could “woo” her first.

The woman massaged the back of her neck from across the room, exhaustion clearly written on her face. Unlike most new barmaids, she didn’t seem jittery or eager for male attention; she neither sat on anyone’s lap nor smiled. Her face seemed almost as blank and stoic as Tristan’s was.

She looked briefly down at her hand but quickly dropped it to her side. She obviously wasn’t worried about the light injury upon it.

While Lancelot and the others dismissed it, the action itself gained Tristan’s attention. She seemed to consciously pull her sleeves down tighter around herself, making sure her skin from the wrist up was adequately concealed.

‘Interesting…’

Noticing eyes on her, the woman silently sauntered up toward the table. “Can I get you boys anything?”

They were taken aback both by the casualness and the accent in her voice. She certainly wasn’t from around here… her voice held no accent of the Britons. She raised an eyebrow, waiting patiently.

Her mouth quirked in a smile. “Cat got your tongue or do you not speak English?”

No answer.

“La gente habla inglés?”

Shocking as it was, the poor, shy Galahad was the first to break the silence. “I’d like a drink, my lady.”

The woman smiled to herself, muttering as she walked away, “Finally, a response from the unintelligible table…”

Lancelot caught himself, as did Gawain, but it was far too late. She was gone.

Tristan, although surprised by the lack of voice in his comrades, shook his head. The woman was certainly a foreigner and a suspicious character. He was impressed, however, with her response to the silenced table next to him. Unable, for once, to keep his mouth shut, he uttered quietly, “Nice performance. I think she’ll practically be jumping just to get into your beds.”

With that, the quiet scout walked away.

Lancelot snorted indignantly.


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