Perhaps, he at least listens

The two seasoned hoplites that stood outside the Lord Marshall's tent give Relia an appreciative once over as you approach, they seem less impressed with you as they check for hidden blades.

Inside the tent was a field camp that was more richly appointed than any apartment you've ever lived in. The floors and walls were covered with thick rugs, and a full-sized table that must have weighed as much as a small drake was covered with maps, diagrams and fine golden flat ware.

"OK, Free-Rider Korban," A tall balding man roughly twice your age greets you as soon as the introductions have been made. "Just what is it you know that convinced my men to grant you a few minutes of my time in the middle of a somewhat tense moment of my siege?"

Without a word you pass the message that Lady Relia had been carrying to one of his aide-de-camps who after a summary inspection passes it along to the Lord Marshall. The general reads the message twice, pausing to take a closer look at Lady Relia as he gets to the end of the first pass and without a word, he passes it to the two other officers who were standing by the table.

"How did you get that inflammatory bit of parchment?" The Lord Marshal asks as his aides read the message with obvious skepticism.

"I found it as I made a thorough search of the Lady Relia, my Lord." You explain and then, when you see the skepticism in his face, you explain how the message had been hidden in the wrapping paper of the original banal greeting. A brief demonstration with a candle goes a long way towards corroborating your story and after questioning both you and Relia for a few more minutes the Lord Marshal is at least convinced enough to investigate further.

"I want to speak with Lord Rider Palle, Lord Vadik, Captain Bahador..." there is a pause as his glances at the others "who else can we trust without question in the Apollonian camp?" After some discussion, in which four other names are thrown out and two agreed upon, the Lord Marshal finishes. "I want to see them today before Prince Anochises arrives." He cautions the aides before they leave, "Make these summons look routine and mix in some other officers from other cities, so it doesn't look like we are focusing on the Apollo contingent. Better yet, make some of them chance meetings between me and a few of my officers."

"You two," his attention shifts suddenly to you and Relia, "My aides will assign you a tent nearby. I might need to double check with you, and I want to know just where to find you if it turns out that his is a clever hoax." He turns to an aide who slaps his breastplate in salute and then adds with a shake of his head. "And for the sake of all that is holy, get Lady Relia some clothes before she gets mistaken for a freshly captured prize, and we find her passed around by a troop of our boys."

Relia's cheeks turn as red as the tunic covering the Lord Marshal's chest, and you hear chuckles from the other officers in the tent. On the walk through the line that encircled the center of the camp you saw more than a few women of Athenapolis entertaining the victorious army that overran the walls and plundered most of the lower city just a day before. Hopefully, your story will be corroborated, because if Prince Anochises is proven trustworthy there is little hope for escape. You have no desire to be subjected to the **** and **** that might have been your fate or seeing Lady Relia serving the troops of Helios like those other captives.

The tent you are escorted to a few minutes from the center of the camp lacks the ostentatious wealth of the Lord Marshal's but there is a table with food and wine set up near the center post and a comfortable looking bed set up in the back. A few minutes later a set of robes fit for a lady are delivered by a boy, the red and gold gown is lovely but a neatly mended tear near the bodice suggests that the richly embroidered garments might have only recently been ripped from the body of a captured prize who as of now no longer needs the clothing.

You wonder just how close you came to being killed outright, and your lovely companion turned over to a troupe of soldiers to use as a camp toy just like the fate of the recent owner of this gown is most likely facing. Biting into a slice of flat bread smeared with a soft goat-cheese and honey you smile contentedly. It seems that you have passed the test.

The pair of hoplites who stand at the entrance of the tent, however, is an indication that you are not yet entirely trusted by the leadership of the United Armies.