by K. M. Shea
The younger girl had cast herself face down on the lip of the fountain. Her normally glossy, braided hair was a wild bush around her, and instead of her beautiful dress she wore a plain kirtle.
“Probably agonizing over a handsome face,” Britt muttered. Her heart softened, though, when she remembered Leodegrance’s trouble. In all likelihood, Leodegrance had told Guinevere she was going to marry Maleagant.
Britt sighed and pulled up the hood of her cloak, making sure it covered her golden hair. “What troubles you, My Lady?” Britt asked in the gruffest voice she could muster.
“What? Who is there?” Guinevere said, wiping tears from her red eyes.
“I mean you no harm,” Britt said, hoping the princess wouldn’t call for guards.
“Who are you?”
“I’m… the gardener,” Britt said.
Guinevere wiped her nose on her sleeve. “What would a gardener care about the troubles of a silly girl?” Guinevere harshly laughed.
“I care for the troubles of most people. Silly girls included. Now, what troubles you, My Lady?” Britt patiently asked.
“You must have heard, Father must give me to Duke Maleagant, or the duke will bring war upon us.”
“Does he have no allies he can turn to for help?”
A bark of laughter escaped from Guinevere’s throat. “He does, but that is hardly any better.”
“What do you mean?”
“His only ally that seems even remotely inclined to aid him is King Arthur, and if he does rescue us my father will see me married to him.”
Obviously Guinevere hadn’t heard the rumors of how handsome and loved ‘King Arthur’ was. Feeling slightly offended, Britt said, “And marrying King Arthur would be just as bad as marrying Duke Maleagant?”
“No,” Guinevere said, shifting until she sat on the brim of the fountain. “He’s a great deal younger, and I’m sure he’s not as rotten as Maleagant. He’s also richer, I would have more jewels and clothes if I were to wed him,” Guinevere said.
Just as Britt thought the girl was nothing but a mindless mercenary, Guinevere added, “But the only reason Father wants me to marry Arthur is because of my lands.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“How long have you served us? Don’t you know that when my mother dies, I shall inherit all the lands my Father gained when he married her?”
“I, um, of course know of this. I fail to see what your inheritance has to do with King Arthur,” Britt said.
“Arthur is richer than my father, and he doesn’t need more land holdings. He wants some stupid table, so Father would get to keep my lands,” Guinevere bitterly said. “Father doesn’t care who I marry, so long as he profits the most from the union.”
“And what do you want?”
“Pardon?”
“What would you like to do?”
It was a long time before Guinevere responded. “I just want everything to stay the same,” she whispered. “I want to go on picking flowers, and laugh and talk with my friends, and choose pretty dresses to wear. I don’t want to be a wife yet; least of all to a man I do not love.”
“You do not get to chose whom you marry?”
“Of course not. I am a bargaining chip for my father to use. I will marry whomever he chooses. The only variable is the beauty of the cage I will be locked in.” Guinevere laughed. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this. I suppose it’s because you’re the first person to ever ask.”
“And you have no one to fight on your behalf?” Britt asked. Guinevere was a pretty thing. Surely there was a knight somewhere who would fight for her.
“What do you mean?”
“No knight has pledged himself to serve you?”
“No. Why should one? Knights only serve in times of war,” Guinevere sniffled.
Britt frowned for a moment. Now that she thought of it, Guinevere was right. In Camelot all the young knights who were supposed to be off questing and having adventures hung around the courts. The knights who were older and married were at home, seeing to their families and lands.
Lancelot and his piggy cousins, in fact, were the first knights Britt had come across who had gone on quests—if one excluded King Pellinore and his romps after the Questing Beast.
Why was that?
From what Britt could recall, chivalry and questing and doing great deeds for King Arthur or a favored lady was the very foundation of the Round Table.
Guinevere stood, fumbling to push her wild hair over her shoulder. “I thank you for your kindness, gardener, but I must depart. I have much to prepare for,” she said, her lower lip trembling.
Britt studied the genuinely upset princess. This was not the falsified moroseness she had tried to trick Britt with earlier in the day. Guinevere was struggling. “Have hope, My Lady,” Britt said.
Guinevere laughed harshly. “Hope in what?”
“In mankind.”
“Mankind is no comfort. Every man only cares for himself. Those of us who are weak, those of us who are powerless will never be saved.”
“Then hope for a future where that is not so. Hope that somewhere in Britain there is a person who is willing to fight for the weak and the powerless,” Britt said.
Guinevere turned to face the keep, placing her back to Britt. “If such a person, no, if such a being existed, whether they be faerie, man, woman, or saint, life would not be like this,” she said. “Good night, gardener.”
Britt watched the princess leave. “This country needs King Arthur. The real King Arthur, not a fake. They need a hero.”
“There is something on your mind.”
Britt stirred at Merlin’s words. “It is nothing. I’m just tired.”
It was mid morning. King Leodegrance had a few scant hours to make his decision. Merlin had sent Gawain and Lancelot up the castle walls to see if they could spy any sign of an army—Britt’s or Maleagant’s. With their merchant host gone to see what kind of profit he could turn in the chaos, Merlin and Britt were alone in the small home.
“No,” Merlin said. “When you are tired you yawn more and shut your eyes. You are thinking.”
Britt stared at Merlin in surprise, eliciting a smile from the cunning man. “I know your habits, lass. You can’t hide much from me. Now, what is the problem?”
“This is wrong. Guinevere being forced by her father to marry Maleagant or me, Maleagant cornering Leodegrance, it’s all wrong.”
“The world is filled with evil men, lass. Not everyone is as good of a person as you are. Camelot is blessed that the Sword in the Stone chose you as King,” Merlin said.
“I know that. Not about me, about bad people. I know some people are just downright evil, that’s not what I’m protesting. Where are the champions? There should be a dozen knights doing good deeds in Guinevere’s name. My lands shouldn’t be the only ones free of trouble. Why aren’t knights doing anything?”
“You mentioned something similar to Ywain months ago. What do you mean?” Merlin thoughtfully asked.
“In my time most of the stories and legends about King Arthur are about his knights. They were always off doing a good deed or following some long-winded quest to bring honor to their name, their lord’s name, or their lady’s name. They served people.”
“Unfortunately, it’s not like that, lass,” Merlin said.
Britt twirled a lock of hair around her finger and thought. Ywain wasn’t the only person she had discussed the role of kings, knights, and courts with. She had a similar talk with his aunt, Queen Morgause. Before the Orkney queen left Camelot after an extended stay, Britt promised that she would try to improve the living conditions for mankind—women in particular.
Since making that promise she had done very little to make it a reality.
Yes, this was her chance to change history, to kick out Lancelot and avoid Guinevere altogether. But the sound of Guinevere’s heartbroken cries and her hopeless laugh echoed in Britt’s ears. Britt opened her eyes. “Then I will make it
be so.”
A slow smile spread across Merlin’s lips. He leaned in so close Britt could feel his breath on her face. “There’s my red dragon. What did you have in mind, oh King?”
“You’re not going to like it.”
“Try me.”
“I’m going to challenge Maleagant.”
“WHAT?”
“I have a white charger as well. He is well trained and has been used in tournaments by some of the greatest knights. I paid a pretty price for him,” the merchant—Merlin’s Minion—said as Gawain buckled pauldrons on Britt’s shoulders.
“I don’t intend to joust, it will be a trial by sword,” Britt said, adjusting her gauntlets. The armor she was borrowing from Merlin’s merchant friend was lovely—polished to shine and inlaid with gold—although it did not fit her as well as the suit of armor the blacksmiths of Camelot had forged for her over the winter months. What was important, though, was that the armor had no marks of any kind. Britt’s personal armor was etched with red dragons. Her borrowed armor was beautiful, but provided anonymity with its lack of decoration.
“You will still need a horse, My Lord,” Gawain quietly said, checking the snugness of the pauldrons.
“You will look a great deal more poetic riding a charger up to Duke Maleagant rather than walking, My Lord,” Lancelot said.
“All of you hush up. Arthur hardly needs more encouragement,” Merlin complained.
“I’m going to be fine, Merlin,” Britt said.
Britt had confidence in her sword skills. She was a greatly celebrated swordsman in the twenty first century, but it had taken some months of living in Camelot before Britt was convinced she was still considered devastatingly skilled.
Merlin approached Britt, twitching the faulds covering her thighs into place. “I know you have a right to be confident, Arthur, but one day you’re going to meet someone who is a better swordsman than you,” Merlin said.
“Unlikely,” Gawain said.
“I cannot wait to observe your skills, My Lord. I heard much of your prowess with the sword during my stay at Camelot,” said Sir Lancelot. “Although I am disappointed it will not be a jousting match. T’would be much more fitting.”
“My Lord’s skill with Excalibur is more beautiful than a joust,” Gawain said, fiddling with armor.
“I’ll be fine,” Britt said to Merlin. “I doubt Maleagant has had the time practice as I have,” Britt said, slipping on the gauntlets.
Merlin pressed his lips together but said nothing.
Lancelot filled the silence with no difficulty. “This is exciting. I think one day it shall be made into a song the troubadours will sing of for eons. How often does a king ride off to save his beloved and challenge a blackguard duke to battle for her hand?”
“Wait a moment, I never said Guinevere was my beloved,” Britt said.
Lancelot stared at Britt. “She’s not?”
“Of course she isn’t,” Britt said as Gawain checked the last of her armor. “To begin with she’s a silly little thing who is overly concerned with wealth. And I’ve only seen her three times, that is not enough time to get to know her and fall in love with her.”
“But what of love at first sight? Did she not enthrall you with her beauty?” Lancelot persisted.
Britt narrowed her eyes at the vivacious knight. “Why do I suspect you have already thought yourself to have fallen in love numerous times?”
Merlin eyed Britt in warning as the merchant guffawed. Gawain ignored the situation and bet over to check the plate mail covering Britt’s feet.
Lancelot blinked. “Women are meant to be admired.”
Britt was grateful Lancelot was standing far across the room. If he was any closer she would be too tempted to smack him.
“So you will need the charger?” the merchant asked.
Britt looked to Merlin who nodded. “Yes, please. You’ll have him prepared?”
The merchant sketched a bow. “I expected My Lord’s need of a mount, and sent word to the groom when I sought out the armor.”
Gawain stood, inspecting the armor one last time. “You are ready, My Lord.”
Merlin tilted his head, his eyes directed upwards. “And just in time. If I am not mistaken I hear horns and drums. King Leodegrance is leaving the keep.”
“In that case we must hurry. This way, please,” the merchant said, leading the way to the small lot behind his store.
Outside a young groom waited with a milk white horse. The charger’s equipment was white, unadorned, and startling in its simplicity.
“If this animal throws Arthur I will have your head,” Merlin warned the merchant.
Britt mounted the horse, who was a bit taller than she was used to, before she put her helm on. “No worries, Merlin. All he has to do is carry me up to Maleagant,” she said, gathering up the reins.
“Godspeed, my Lord,” Gawain said.
“I don’t understand the fuss over a horse,” Lancelot complained.
“We don’t expect you to,” Britt said.
“This way, My Lord. You need to hurry. The gates will soon open,” the merchant said, leading the way to the main road that ambled through the castle.
Britt nudged the warhorse forward, joining the rush of gawkers and guards who were traveling to the front gates of Camelgrance.
King Leodegrance, a squad of soldiers, his wife, and Guinevere exited Camelgrance a minute before Britt.
More soldiers and many of Camelgrance’s citizens flocked outside, anxious to see what was to become of their home.
Britt followed the crowd outside, but rather than standing with the masses she directed her horse behind a soldier bearing Leodegrance’s flag, intending to hide since she stuck out like a sore thumb as the only armored knight in the entire company.
Merlin, Gawain, and Lancelot joined her. Merlin held the bridle of Britt’s mount while Lancelot craned his neck to see.
Maleagant, wearing armor and riding his red roan horse, brandished a lance in the air. “King Leodegrance of Camelgrance. What is your decision, are you friend or foe?”
“I am your friend,” King Leodegrance said.
“Then you will give me your daughter Guinevere as my bride and prove to me your loyalty?” Maleagant demanded. His voice was hoarse and unfriendly.
“What a blackguard,” Lancelot said.
Gawain nodded, but Britt hissed, “Quiet.”
King Leodegrance’s expression grew pinched. “How would you have me prove myself?”
“Break off your alliance with Arthur and march with me to Camelot,” Maleagant said.
“Isn’t it enough to pledge loyalty to you?” King Leodegrance said. “Gladly I would give you my daughter.”
Guinevere, mounted on a small palfrey, stared at her hands. Her face was red, probably from all the crying, but she wore a beautiful dress and her hair was carefully arranged.
“If you remain allies with Arthur you are no friend of mine,” Maleagant said.
“Lad, now,” Merlin said.
Britt nudged her horse forward, leaving her companions behind. Gawain bowed and Lancelot beamed as he pumped an arm in encouragement.
“Could I have more time to consider your request?” King Leodegrance asked.
“No.”
King Leodegrance’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “Then…,” he trailed off and fell silent as Britt directed her horse into the gap between Maleagant and King Leodegrance’s family.
“Who is this?” Maleagant demanded.
“I know not. Sir Knight, why are you here?” King Leodegrance asked.
Britt slid Excalibur out of its scabbard and brandished it in the air. She waited for a moment, looking quite picturesque, and then swung Excalibur down in an arc and thrust it in Maleagant’s direction. While prepping for battle Merlin told her to keep her mouth shut and say nothing. “Let them draw their own conclusions. If Leodegrance discovers you’re King Arthur we’ll never be able to refuse his request to make Guinevere your bride,” Merl
in had warned.
Although Britt was moved by the girl’s plight, in no way was Britt going to welcome the faithless girl into Camelot. She would remain silent to the bitter end.
Maleagant flipped up the visor of his helm so he could peer at Britt. He had beady eyes, and his face looked like someone had taken a mace to it on several different occasions. “You mean to challenge me for the Lady Guinevere.”
Britt dismounted her borrowed horse and bowed.
“Very well, champion. I will face you with great eagerness,” Maleagant said, an evil grin crawling across his lips as he hefted his lance.
Britt quickly raised Excalibur, pointing it at Maleagant.
“I think he means for it to be a contest of swords,” King Leodegrance ventured in the silence.
“Fine,” Maleagant said, handing his lance off to one of his men before he too dismounted. “Be it by sword or lance, I shall beat you soundly.”
Britt eased into an offensive stance, studying Maleagant through the slits of her helm. She hated fighting in full armor thanks to its added weight. But in spite of what she learned in her history classes, her armor was easy to maneuver in and barely hindered her movements.
Maleagant stiffly strode towards Britt, walking bowlegged. He unsheathed his sword and roared like a bear.
Britt darted forward, striking first to gain the offensive advantage. Fighting and winning with the sword depended on going offensive and staying on the offense.
Britt drove Maleagant back, feinting an upper cut before reversing and striking from below. She rained blow after blow on Maleagant, who struggled to block and dodge the strikes.
The crowd from Camelgrance, which had first winced and watched with pain, started rustling with hope as Britt kicked Maleagant in the knee cap when he blocked her thrust to his right shoulder.
The kick hadn’t hurt—he was wearing armor after all—but it did make Maleagant take a tottering step backwards.
Exploiting his already tipsy balance, Britt dove forward and stabbed Excalibur at Maleagant’s foot, wedging it in between the armor covering his foot and his ankle.