The work of a scribe is not a particularly interesting one, so I will not bore you with the intimidate details. Suffice to say I was uncertain if I would ever clean the ink stains from my fingers. About the only thing of note to happen was before I was even allowed into the Council Chambers I had to have the correct garb. The dresser who was in the Council Chamber's anteroom gave me a look of annoyance and demanded to know why I had not come to see him before the noble parties arrived.

"No-one told me to," I protested, as the dresser all but dragged me before a looking glass and shoved a rather bizarre looking shirt into my hand. “I was waiting in the Entrance Hall for instructions.”

The dresser grumbled and turned to a nearby table. “I don’t even know how you got this position, who are you anyway?”

“Geoffrey of Monmouth, Cedas’s apprentice.” I replied, resigned to the idea I was never going to be the sort of face that would be remembered.

“Cedas? You’re braver than you look.” The dresser grunted. “Hurry up and put that on would you?”

I hurried to do do so, unable to contain my wince as I caught sight of myself in the mirror – the shirt had an enormous ruffled collar, I looked like a complete idiot.

Looking down I saw that the sleeves gapped open, I couldn’t imagine how I would possibly be able to write. “How am I supposed to do my duties with this?” I held up my arms rather accusingly.

“With these,” the dresser shoves some cufflinks in my direction.

I took them and fumbled to get them on, so much so that the dresser eventually gave up and did it for me, shaking his head all the while.

“Now you’re fit to enter the Council Chambers,” he told me primly once that was done. I wasn’t all that sure, I felt ridiculous, it seemed though that was how Camelot’s servants were supposed to look.

I guessed they were used to it because I certainly wasn’t greeted by laughter, they didn’t even notice me in fact, which I decided to be relieved about.

The council lasted nearly half the day and as I wrote previously was not all that interesting. When the council finally broke up for evening dinner preparations - thankfully it wasn’t another feast - Lnydre turn to me and asked if I’d survived.

“I think..I managed most of it,” I said quite uncertainly.

“We need to compare our writings,” Lyndre continued, pushing his scroll towards me, I could clearly see the neat lines and impeccible handwriting.

I had the urge to cover my scroll, I really didn’t want him to see mine, but really, what could I do? Hesitantly, I pushed it over for him to view.

Lyndre raised his eyebrows, but had the decency not to mock me, but instead simply lay the two parchments next to each other and invited me to compare them for accuracy.

I was pleasantly surprised to discover that whilst my handwriting was utterly horrid and there were ink blotches littered all over the parchment what I had written and what Lyndre had written matched up quite well.

“Your presentation is most certainly lacking, but one can’t fault your accuracy.” Lyndre commented.

“This is a draft though, isn’t it?” I asked.

“It is, but you should probably work on your neatness, you never know when one of the nobles will look over your shoulder. It’s best to make it look like you know what you’re doing.” For the first time Lyndre actually smiled.

“It would be nice if I did,” I replied, wryly.

“You’ll get the hang of it,” Lyndre said with certainity. “Believe me, I wasn’t the best when I first began my scribing duties either.”

I found that somewhat hard to believe, but I appreciated his encouragement.

We went our seperate ways and when I returned to the library, I had a quick meal and headed for bed. Who would have thought that being a scribe would be more draining than being a tutor.

At least...that’s what I thought at that moment.