Echoes of Avalon (Tales of Avalon Book 1) by Adam Copeland

asked.
    “Yon village,” von Fiescher replied, gesturing towards the front of the stronghold.
    “I did not know that there was anything here other than the Keep at Greensprings.”
    “Why yes, there is a small village that takes care of our foods and supplies. The villagers have been here almost as long as the keep. They were originally pilgrims who came with Father Chanceroy so long ago. Most of the servants at Greensprings are from there, although some come from across the sea like the Guests and the Avangarde.”
    Von Fiescher gave Patrick a moment to take in the sight.
    He then was led back down the stairs and through the various rooms. By now, Patrick was lost and did not bother keeping track of all the places he went, how to find them, and all the people he met briefly as von Fiescher introduced him as “Sir Gawain, our new Reservist.” Patrick was discovering that he was very tired and that he had a lot to learn about Avalon.
    At last they exited the keep and gardens, and they headed for the Guest Hall for men.
    “Why are we going here?” Patrick asked.
    “The Reservists are housed here as well,” Von Fiescher was curt. This did not please Patrick at all.
    They entered into a stone hall with many wood tables and chairs and a large fireplace. They went up a stairwell to the second floor, where there was a long hallway with many doors on both sides. Many of the doors were slightly ajar, and it was fairly evident that the place was empty.
    Von Fiescher led Patrick to the end of the hallway to the last door on the left. A scrubbing sound reached them as they drew near. Von Fiescher knocked on the door and gently pushed it open.
    Inside, and right before them on the floor, was what Patrick at first thought was a pile of white linen rags. Then it moved and proved to be a woman. She had her back to the door and had been on all fours scrubbing with a brush, but, as von Fiescher and Patrick entered, she stood up with a gasp.
    “Oh, m’lords! Forgive me, I did not know you would be here so soon!”
    The woman before them, or girl, came up to Patrick’s chest in height. She had the strong build of a peasant, broad shoulders, muscular limbs, and a thick midsection.
    “Mademoiselle, Sir Gawain's room was to be prepared quite a while ago,” Wolfgang, said.
    The maidservant moved forward with a rustle of clothing. Her hair was blond and full, and was not encased in a bonnet. Strands of hair fell across her cheeks. She was dressed in typical servant fashion, a floor-length white linen skirt and a wool under-tunic with short sleeves for free movement. She was buxom, and to ease the weight, she wore a laced bodice over her tunic. The thick yarny laces were undone at the top for comfort's sake, but the next set of laces still strained, and she was almost bursting out of her clothing.
    “I am sorry, Herr von Fiescher,” she said. She had a strong French accent, though it was different than that of the Mont St. Michel’s monks. “But we were not quite sure as to what room the monsieur would be staying in,” she continued. “I have just finished scrubbing the floor.”
    Von Fiescher still did not seem pleased. “You still should have been gone once you saw that Sir Patrick's belongings had arrived.” Patrick saw that his belongings were indeed in the room, piled at the foot of a large bed that took up most of the room.
    “Yes, m’lord,” the maidservant said. Yet despite her admission, von Fiescher continued to berate her with the protocol of the keep.
    Patrick did not like having people chastised in front of him, especially because of him. “It is all right, I do not mind at all,” he said. Von Fiescher turned to look at Patrick. “As I see it, it is a fortuitous opportunity to meet another personage of Greensprings. Do you not agree, Sir von Fiescher?”
    Wolfgang raised an eyebrow. “Yes, of course, how thoughtless of me. Sir Gawain, this is one of our many servants here at the keep: Aimeé. Mademoiselle,