by KM Shea
The knight sent her skidding back a foot, but she had used his own charge against him when he hit her—a smaller, braced target—with the force of a car ramming into a tree. He bounced backwards, thrown off balance.
Britt lunged forward with Excalibur extended. She hit the Sable Knight in the chest at the prime of her swing.
The Sable knight managed to raise his sword in an attempt to block a second swipe Britt aimed at his chest, but Britt was only feinting. Instead, she whirled in a circle and caught the Sable Knight in his unguarded side, throwing him to the ground.
As quick as a snake, Britt wedged the tip of Excalibur under the knight’s helm so it rested against the chain mail at his throat. Britt’s shoulders heaved as she stared the knight down and leaned into her sword, applying pressure at his throat.
“I surrender,” the Sable Knight said. “Surely I have not met a man more skilled at the sword than you,” he said when Britt backed off.
Britt slid Excalibur into its scabbard. “I thank you, but I’m sure there are men a great deal more skilled than I,” she ruefully said.
The Sable Knight shook his head. “If you are as skilled with the lance and spear as you are with the sword, you must be the greatest knight in all of England.”
“I’m not,” Britt said as she removed her helm from her head to wipe sweat off her forehead. “I can’t use a spear at all, and Kay almost falls off his horse laughing whenever we practice jousting,” Britt smiled.
The Sable Knight, who was in the process of boosting himself off the ground, froze.
“Is something wrong?” Britt asked, exchanging looks with Merlin.
“You are Arthur, King Arthur,” the Sable Knight said.
“Yes,” Britt said with great hesitation. (It seemed random knights in all parts of Britain were asking her that.)
The Sable Knight sunk to his knees and struggled to remove his helm. “I must beg your pardon, My Lord,” he said when he finally wrenched it from his head, revealing a man who was approximately Sir Ector’s age. His face looked noble but worn by the weather, and Britt vaguely recognized him.
When Merlin sharply inhaled, Britt retreated to her horse. “Yes?”
“My name is Pellinore. King Pellinore,” the Sable Knight said.
Britt rummaged through her memories. “King Pellinore, King Pellinore. Sorry I—oh,” she said, suddenly recalling King Pellinore as one of Lot’s closest allies.
The Sable Knight/King Pellinore bowed his head. “Please, do not take further revenge on me.”
“What?”
“I imagine you must plan to bring your army here and march against me. But I beg you, My Lord, please spare me,” King Pellinore said.
“Why would I attack you?” Britt asked looking to Merlin.
“Because I have hurt one of your knights, and I fought you,” King Pellinore said.
“Griflet got hurt because he’s a young idiot who wouldn’t listen to me. If you tried to talk him out of it as you say you did, I can hardly hold you responsible for attacking him—although perhaps you could have been a little less brutal.”
“Singing a different tune now that you’ve met him, eh?” Merlin asked.
Britt glared at her counselor. “I thought the Sable Knight was going to be a blood-thirsty brute of a man. As asinine as your shield-stealing-apple-tree-plan is, I’m not going to go to war over it. Why on Earth are you doing it in the first place?”
“Furthermore, why are you here? You rule Anglesey; that’s far west and north of here,” Merlin said.
King Pellinore rolled his eyes to the side. “After I left King Lot with my troops, I picked up the trail of the Questing Beast and followed him south. When I lost the trail and thought to return home, I received a message from my wife.”
“And?” Merlin prodded.
“She was not pleased. She told me I had been absent from my kingdom for so long I may as well stay lost.”
“Ah.”
“I made up my mind to return home anyway, but Camelot stands between myself and Anglesey…”
“Yes?” Britt said in the silence.
“You thought Arthur would attack you and your remaining guards when he heard of your crossing, didn’t you?” Merlin shrewdly said.
King Pellinore sighed. “I did. I wronged my men by involving them in a war against a man who was clearly God’s chosen King. I wouldn’t get them slaughtered by crossing Camelot.”
Britt looked around at the apple tree and the gloomy castle. “So you’ve holed yourself up here, challenging random knights who are smart enough to read and foolish enough to ignore petty warnings?”
King Pellinore was a stately man, but some of the majesty in his bearings left him when he hung his head.
Britt turned to Merlin, who considered King Pellinore. The wizard nodded after a moment, and Britt blankly stared at him before giving him a thumbs up and a thumbs down. Merlin rolled his eyes and ungraciously performed a thumbs up—a gesture Britt had forced him to learn for the sake of offering advice without using words.
“Stay here no longer then. Unless you pillage and plunder your way home, you’re far more likely to be an irritation if you remain here, picking fights, than you are if you travel through my lands,” Britt said, settling her helm back on her head.
King Pellinore stood, and the nobility returned to his being as he fixed his gaze on Britt. “You would offer mercy to one who was once your enemy?”
“Of course. Ywain is the son of my one-time enemy King Urien, and he’s one of my favorites in my courts,” Britt said. “As long as you keep peace with me, I have no quarrel with you. Unless you send your pretty female relatives to plague me,” she added dryly.
“Queen Morgause is staying at Camelot,” Merlin said at King Pellinore’s inquisitive look.
“Oh. My sympathies,” King Pellinore said, crossing himself.
“Indeed. We had best be off, Merlin. I would like to have some dinner and ask Griflet what he meant by leaving out the part of his story where King Pellinore advised him to leave,” Britt said, mounting Roen.
“I thank you for your mercy, King Arthur,” King Pellinore said.
Merlin gave her a meaningful look, spurring Britt to speak. “I hope we can be peaceful neighbors, if not friends, King Pellinore,” she said.
“It would be my honor,” King Pellinore said.
“Safe travels home. Goodbye,” Britt called over her shoulder as she and Merlin started the journey back to camp.
5
Defined Loyalties
“It is good to be home,” Britt said, stretching her hands above her head as Roen walked through the inner gates of Camelot, heading for the royal stable. Servants streamed out of the castle to take saddle-packs, camping gear, and leftover provisions. Knights and courtiers weren’t far behind them.
“Welcome home, King Arthur.”
“I am glad to see you have safely returned, My Lord.”
“God bless King Arthur!”
Britt flashed a quick smile at her greeters before she slid off Roen. “Wow, my butt hurts.”
“I am glad to see your short holiday has not drastically changed your personality, My Lord,” Sir Kay said, appearing at Britt’s elbow.
“Sir Kay, it’s good to see you. How did Camelot manage in Merlin’s absence?” Britt asked.
“Are you not concerned with how it managed in your absence, My Lord?”
Britt chuckled. “We both know who the real leader is, Kay. Let’s not bother to pretend otherwise.”
“I wanted to warn you, My Lord. Queen Morgause means to make a request of you.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. She wants to go—” Kay cut himself off when across the courtyard Morgause appeared.
“Arthur, you’ve finally returned home!” Morgause called, extending her arms as she walked towards Britt.
Britt hastily filled her arms with saddle-packs to avoid the embrace and coughed when Morgause’s perfume hit her like a wall. “Morgause, you look
lovely as usual.”
“My Lord, how you exaggerate,” Morgause said.
“Hah!” Merlin said as he passed behind Morgause with his horse.
Morgause shot him a glare before she smiled at Britt again. “I have been wasting away without you around to entertain me.”
Britt looked past Morgause at the crowd of knights who trailed her like bees. “Somehow, I very much doubt that you were without company in my absence.”
Sir Bedivere, who stood a few paces from Morgause, stared at the Orkney queen with calf eyes. He didn’t appear to register that Britt stood in front of him, much less that she had returned.
All of the knights with Morgause were much the same. The commoners of Camelot had gathered in the streets and cheered for Britt; the servants had warmly welcomed her home. But her knights? They were too enamored with Morgause to notice Britt.
Morgause smiled playfully. “Jealous?”
Britt thoughtfully stared at Morgause until the queen’s smile fell from her face and the stately lady looked away.
Britt turned to face the knights of her procession, still holding saddlebags.
“My Lord, allow me to lighten your burden,” Griflet said, approaching Britt with the intent to take some of the packs.
Britt shook her head. “I appreciate the thought, Griflet, but you haven’t recovered from your injuries yet.”
“My Lord,” Griflet protested.
“Ah, see? It turned out fine anyway,” Britt said when a servant lunged to take the packs from her.
Griflet sighed and grumbled under his breath. Britt grinned and affectionately ruffled his hair. “I thank you all the same,” she seriously told him.
“Young Griflet, you were hurt?” Morgause said, placing a hand over her heart, her face filling with horror.
Griflet sketched a bow. “T’was nothing, My Lady,” Griflet said before swiveling back to Britt. “I am better now,” he insisted.
“Your courage is impressive, Griflet, but I’m sure you must be sore from riding with your bruises and scrapes. Will you go see a healer—for my mind’s ease, if not for your sake?” The way she said it, it wasn’t really a question.
“As you wish, My Lord,” Griflet sighed.
“Griflet,” Morgause called, but the young knight was already gone, limping his way to the castle keep.
Britt wanted to shout and do a victory dance around Morgause. For once, she had won, and Morgause had lost the battle for favor. Britt couldn’t help the wide, smug smile that curled across her lips. “Shall we go inside? I must admit I could use some refreshments,” Britt said, planning to slip away with the excuse of needing to wash up when she got inside.
Morgause narrowed her eyes as she watched Griflet limp out of sight. “My Lord,” she said suddenly. “I have a request to make.”
Britt hesitated. “Yes?”
“In celebration of your return home, I ask that a hunting party would be thrown.”
Britt froze and rolled her eyes until she could see Sir Kay. Her foster brother grimly shook his head. She scanned the crowd for Merlin, but he was nowhere to be seen.
“As honored as I am by your request, I doubt this is the best time to host such a party. I have been gone from Camelot for some time, I’m sure quite a bit of work has piled up.”
“It has, My Lord,” Sir Kay helpfully added.
“I foresee that I will not have much spare time in the next week. I don’t believe I could leave Camelot for an afternoon, much less a day,” Britt said, making her excuse as believable as possible.
Britt wasn’t entirely certain what a hunting party entailed. She knew it meant men rode out on horses with hounds and hunted for game, using bows or spears depending on the quarry. Women occasionally went with to serve as spectators, or they had hunting parties of their own with trained hawks and other birds of prey.
King Bors and King Ban had tried to organize such an event before. Merlin, Kay, and Britt had all agreed it was not wise for Britt to join the festivities. She had never picked up a bow in her life, much less fired one while riding a horse. She would be a laughing stock if this deficiency was discovered, and Kay ominously predicted that the party would be a dangerous place for her.
Britt had to focus on training with the lance and spear—as inept with them as she was—so she could be mistaken as a passable knight. She didn’t have enough time to train with the bow as well.
“Then let us schedule a hunting party for a fortnight from now,” Morgause said, her beetle eyes glittering.
Britt tried to swallow, but her mouth felt as dry and chalky. “You will have to speak to Merlin, first,” she said. “I’m not sure how he would feel about hosting festivities.”
“Do you do anything without his permission?” Morgause challenged.
Sir Kay shifted until his hand rested on his sword, but Britt shook her head at him, her gaze momentarily flickering to the knights of Camelot who stared at Morgause with devotion. How could they stand there like that?
Britt took a step towards Morgause, ignoring her desire to sneeze when Morgause’s cloying lily perfume swamped her senses. She was taller than Morgause; the height difference was highlighted as Britt drew closer to her. “I don’t often do. What of it?”
Morgause took a step back under the intensity of Britt’s gaze, and Britt shifted her lips until she was tightly smiling. “Ask Merlin,” she advised before stalking towards the castle keep, barely aware of Morgause’s four sons who watched her leave.
“This is hopeless,” Britt said as she leaned on her bow and gloomily stared at the target at which she was supposed to be aiming.
Sir Kay smoothed the corners of his mustache as he thoughtfully stared at Britt’s arrows. All of them were ringed around the outside of the target, a feat that would normally be praised if it weren’t for the fact that they were less than a stone’s throw from it.
Britt itched her right eyebrow. “Why did Merlin want me to even try archery? I thought our goal was to make me into a passable knight so I could joust should there be a demand for it?”
“That is the goal, but Merlin was hoping you would prove to be as natural with a bow as you are with a sword,” Sir Kay said, retrieving the arrows.
“I’m not a natural with the sword. I worked hard to get to this level, and I started when I was appallingly young,” Britt said, crouching down to pet Cavall.
Sir Kay grunted in approval as he placed the arrows in a quiver. “Try again,” he advised.
“I’m getting worse the longer we practice. Why doesn’t Merlin just tell Morgause to stuff it and go home if she wants a hunting party?”
Sir Kay thoughtfully looked at the sky. “I think he’s hoping to use her.”
“For what purpose? A hostage?”
Sir Kay shook his head. “Character development.”
“Character development? What, are we in some time-period romance now? Forget character development; the woman is a cougar in all meanings of the word.”
“My Lord?” someone shouted.
Britt whipped around and watched Gawain and Agravain ride up on their horses. Gaheris and Gareth followed in their wake on ponies.
“Hello, men. Enjoying an afternoon ride?” Britt asked, smiling for the boys’ sake.
Gawain pulled his horse to a halt near Britt and Sir Kay. “Yes, My Lord,” he said.
“We were looking for you!” Gaheris excitedly said, bouncing in the saddle as his pony trotted towards Britt.
“Gaheris,” Agravain groaned.
“What?” Gaheris asked.
“Merlin told us where you went,” Gareth said, clambering off his pony’s back.
Both Gawain and Agravain blushed as Gareth and Gaheris threw themselves at Britt and then at Cavall.
“I apologize, My Lord. Their manners aren’t what they should be,” Gawain said, the tips of his ears turned red as he dismounted and bowed to Britt.
Britt laughed. “They’re children. It’s a joy to see their enthusiasm,” she said, wat
ching the boys cuddle her long-suffering mastiff.
“Merlin said you were practicing archery,” Agravain said.
“We were,” Britt confirmed, turning to Sir Kay.
Sir Kay gravely bowed. “We have since finished.”
Britt smiled in thanks to her seneschal and retrieved Roen from the patch of clover where he was grazing. “Would you like to ride together for a bit?”
“Yes!” Gaheris and Gareth shouted as they hurried back to their ponies.
“If it would please you, My Lord,” Gawain said.
“Sir Kay, will you join us?” Britt asked as she swung onto Roen’s back.
Sir Kay was frowning. “I have work to complete, and your guards should accompany you.”
“We’ll stay in sight of the castle. Besides, if you come, I have no need for guards. Please?” Britt asked.
Sir Kay sighed, his shoulders heaving. “Very well.”
Britt shot Sir Kay her brightest smile. “Thank you, Sir Kay,” she said before whistling. “Cavall come. Who would like to lead the way? Agravain?”
Britt leaned against the battlements in Camelot’s walls as she stared at the night sky. An owl hooted, and Britt could hear the crickets chirp in the fields outside the castle. All the lights were out in the commoners’ area of Camelot and in the farm houses built just outside the walls, but the moon was bright, and Britt could see quite clearly in the darkness.
“Milord.”
Britt turned to face the guard that spoke.
He stood with another guard, with Gawain wedged between them. They had their spears crossed in front of him as the guard spoke. “We found him on the stairwell, watching you.”
“It’s fine. You may release him,” Britt said. “Gawain, what has you up at this late hour?” she asked, beckoning to the young man.
“Someone said you hardly get any sleep at night since you stand on the walls of Camelot most of the time. I was wondering if it was true,” the young man said.
Britt kept an acidic smile off her face—she was willing to bet money it was his mother who said that after one of Britt’s knight’s squealed about it.