by KM Shea
“From whose courts do you hail?” Britt asked, glancing at the incoming soldiers. They set their pace at a canter and would be on Britt soon. She raised an arm and signaled that all was well. The soldiers slowed their mounts to a walk but kept coming.
“My father’s, I suppose, but I have pledged my allegiance to none yet. Do you desire to run me off your lands?” the knight said.
“You aren’t stirring up trouble are you? Badgering my subjects, stealing food and such?” Britt asked, confident he would answer no. Her people would have let her know if recreant knights were terrorizing them. During the past fall, the first, and only, knight who ever plagued her people refused to let anyone pass over a bridge. Britt arrived with an escort of knights two days after he set up camp. Sir Bedivere trounced the man in a joust before Britt beat the snot out of him in a swordfight. The knight repented and now worked as a guard under Sir Kay’s watchful eye, but all heard of the tale, and Britt’s lands stayed curiously clear of rebel-rousers.
“No, My Lord. I travel with my cousins, performing deeds for the wellness of mankind,” the strange knight said.
“In that case, I don’t care,” Britt said, nodding to her guards as they spread around her in a fan formation, not intruding on the conversation but drawing close enough to spring into action should the need arise.
“I thank you for your generosity, My Lord,” the knight said, pulling off his helm.
Britt was amused to see that he was handsome and young, falling somewhere between Gawain’s age of eighteen and Kay’s age of twenty-one. His black, curly hair was just a little shorter than Britt’s, falling almost to his shoulders. He had dreamy green eyes and thick lashes most women would kill for. His jaw line was curved and his facial features angular. Had he been American and from the twenty-first century, Britt could have mistaken him for a celebrity.
She was delighted to see his face—and not because he was handsome, as he was too young for her taste—but because of one very important fact.
He was beardless.
The young knight shaved, unlike the majority of Britt’s court. Even Griflet and Ywain were trying to grow scrawny beards with ill success. Britt and Merlin were the only clean-shaven officials in the whole castle.
Britt chuckled and sheathed Excalibur before she gathered Llamrei’s reins.
“Is something the matter, My Lord?” the knight asked, puzzled.
Britt boosted herself onto her mare’s back. “No. Nothing at all. I have suddenly been struck by a capital idea. It was good to talk to you, sir. As long as you remain on the path of the chivalrous, should you find yourself in need of anything, please come to Camelot.”
“I thank you for your kindness and generosity. May all be well with you, King Arthur,” the handsome knight said.
Llamrei chomped on the bit as Britt swung her in Camelot’s direction. “Thank you, and you as well,” Britt said, cuing Llamrei into a swift trot.
Britt’s guards surrounded her in an instant. “Where to, Milord?” the guard captain asked.
“Back to Camelot. I must speak with Merlin and our associates immediately. I have the most brilliant plan!”
When Britt entered Merlin’s study, the attractive wizard was sitting in a comfortable armchair, yawning. Sir Ulfius was with him, looking at the ceiling with a great amount of dread. Sir Ector nursed a glass of wine and avoided Britt’s eyes as she slammed her open hand on one of Merlin’s wooden tables, making a loud crack.
“I have it.”
“You have what?” Merlin asked, gesturing for Sir Kay to close the door behind him when he slipped in after Britt.
“A way to make my knights accept the notion that I shave,” Britt said.
Merlin frowned. “You are King. You do not need a reason.”
Britt shook her head. “As long as you and I are the only supposed males in this castle with beardless faces, there is going to be suspicion,” she paused. “Where is Sir Bodwain?”
“Keeping Sir Bedivere busy so he doesn’t poke his head in the study just as we’re discussing your feminine nature,” Sir Ulfius said.
Merlin crossed his legs at the ankles and sighed. “Alright, let’s hear your idea, My Lord,” he said without any expectations.
“Rather than attempting to explain it, why don’t we make it a court fashion for men to be clean-shaven?” Britt asked.
Sir Ector choked on his wine.
“My Lord,” the normally well spoken Sir Ulfius started. “Facial hair is, well, custom. Once a boy becomes an adult—like a squire getting knighted or an apprentice becoming a master—it is a sign of manhood to grow facial hair and it aids with…um…heat retention and…”
“What Ulfius is trying to ask is do we have to?” Sir Ector said, his face turning the same fetching shade as a crimson tomato.
“Oh, no. I didn’t mean the older knights. Heavens, no. Some things should not be seen by the light of day. No, I meant the younger knights. Perhaps all knights who are unmarried,” Britt said.
Sir Kay shifted, the thick mustache on his upper lip twitching.
“With some exceptions of course,” Britt amended.
Merlin rubbed his chin. “It is an interesting proposal, and it certainly holds promise. But how do we make it a court fashion?”
“The church could make a proclamation that all unmarried knights must shave,” Sir Ector suggested.
“Yes, they could, and they would be willing to, but what would they tell the people when asked why they’re making the proclamation?”
“It is an, erm, idea from God?” Sir Ector said.
“One would have more luck making it common if the knights adopted the practice in their own will,” Sir Ulfius said.
“To make it fashionable, it would take a man everyone loves,” Merlin said. “Right now, there are no such knights in your court. You are the favorite of all.”
“It can’t be me,” Britt said. “I’m already beardless, and no one is following my example. Our fashion icon must be a man that knights imitate out of admiration or jealousy,” Britt said.
“A fashion icon?” Sir Ulfius asked.
“The court favorite,” Merlin supplied.
“I see. We must have a beloved knight take the first step and shave, is that it?” Sir Ector asked.
Merlin looked to Sir Kay.
Sir Kay raised his brows and shook his head no.
“Agreed,” Merlin said to Sir Kay’s silent refusal. “No one much likes you anyway since you keep a tight guard around Arthur.”
Britt sighed and sank into an open chair. “The knight who gave me the idea would have been perfect. He was clean-shaven and as handsome as they come.”
“Who was it?” Merlin asked in interest.
“I didn’t ask,” Britt said.
“Britt, you should know better. Names and relations are important,” Merlin scolded.
“I didn’t ask on purpose. As soon as I knew who he was, I would have to worry about offending whatever second or fifth cousin of his lives in my courts,” Britt said.
Sir Ector muffled a crow of laughter as Merlin scowled.
“If I might venture to change the subject,” Sir Ulfius said.
“I suppose—as long as we have no model knight, my idea isn’t much good. What’s on your mind, Sir Ulfius?” Britt asked.
Sir Ulfius pressed his fingers together. “I have located the Round Table you so greatly desire.”
“Really? That’s fantastic!” She flashed the older knight a brilliant smile.
Britt had always disliked stories about King Arthur—she hated Lancelot the back-stabbing best friend with a vengeance and found the courtly romances to be trite—but as one of her close friends in future America was an avid fan, Britt wasn’t able to entirely escape stories about the famous king. As such, she knew vaguely of some of the more famous parts of Arthurian lore, like the Round Table.
“I suppose so,” Sir Ulfius reluctantly said.
“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Sir Ulfius. The Round
Table is a big deal. Thank you for finding it. Where is it?”
Sir Ulfius shifted and avoided looking at Britt. “I have discovered that it was given to King Leodegrance by Uther Pendragon. He still has it.”
“Leodegrance? That’s even better news. He’s been our ally since I was crowned king, and he owes us after Sir Bodwain and King Ban and King Bors saved him from that weasel King Ryence,” Britt said. “He’ll let us buy it off him. Have you asked what he wants for it?”
“I know you have your heart set on the table, so I had one of my comrades from Uther’s court make an inquiry on your behalf,” Sir Ulfius said.
“And?”
Sir Ulfius sighed. “His requirement is that you would take his daughter, Guinevere, as your wife.”
“Not an option. Ask him how much gold he would like,” Britt said.
Sir Ulfius shook his head. “He informed my comrade marriage was the only way he would see the Round Table removed from his halls.”
“Doubtless he’s figured out how important the Round Table is to you,” Merlin said, finally chiming in. “He is an unimportant ally compared to King Ban and King Bors, and having you as a son-in-law would be the greatest boon he could ever ask for. If you marry his daughter, he’ll be able to lean upon you even more. We will tell the prig to bugger off, and that will be the end of it.”
Britt frowned. “I want the Round Table, Merlin.”
Merlin threw his hands in the air. “Why? We’ll make you your own blasted round table!”
“It wouldn’t be the same.”
“No, it would be better. It wouldn’t be stained and scratched up like this cumbersome thing Leodegrance has,” Merlin insisted.
“Do we know for certain that it is the Round Table?” Sir Kay asked, smoothing his mustache.
“No,” Sir Ulfius said. “My comrade never saw the table; it is in storage. King Leodegrance only brings it out for great feasts and such.”
“Good riddance,” Merlin said. “It’s probably a nasty, half-destroyed piece of furniture. Uther was a rough man. I can’t imagine any table of his has fared well.”
“Merlin…I really want that table,” Britt said.
The young wizard met her gaze, and the two stared at each other for several moments. “Blast. Fine,” Merlin said, mussing his blonde hair as he scratched the top of his head. “Have it your way. Kay, send an official courier to Leodegrance from Arthur inquiring about the price of the table. Make it absolutely clear that desires for marriage are intolerable.”
Sir Kay bowed and left the room as Merlin planted his chin on his hand.
“Happy?” Merlin snarked.
“Abundantly so,” Britt smiled. “Thank you, Merlin!”
Merlin rolled his eyes. “I still do not understand your fascination with circular tables,” he said as Britt seated herself in the chair next to him.
“It’s part of the legend,” Britt said.
“You are the legend. You can make up your own legends,” Merlin complained, raising his hand to acknowledge Sir Ulfius and Sir Ector as they rose and left the room.
“Maybe, but some things have to happen,” Britt said.
“Like owning the Round Table?” Merlin asked.
“Like owning the Round Table,” Britt echoed.
Two weeks passed without any new revelations. Couriers were sent back and forth between Merlin and King Leodegrance without any successful bargains being struck. The usually affable king was quite stubborn in his demands.
“I’ll go without the Round Table before I see Guinevere in Camelot,” Britt said. Her intense hatred of Lancelot was matched by her disdain for Guinevere, King Arthur’s unfaithful wife.
Cavall, Britt’s giant apricot-colored mastiff, a guard dog given to her by Sir Kay, whined at her feet.
Britt leaned over the armrest of her wooden throne and affectionately scratched her dog’s side. “It’s nothing, my fine boy. Don’t worry.”
Cavall set his head on the ground and sighed.
Britt patted him once more and raised her gaze to her courts. It was mid-afternoon on a cool spring day. As most of her knights had little to do since they were, surprisingly, at peace with not even a hint of war on the horizon, most of them chose to sit in Britt’s throne room and chatter as Merlin’s Minions ran the kingdom.
Britt considered her knights. “We need to make things more efficient. We have all these knights with no work to do. Talk about a waste of manpower,” Britt said, sitting taller when Sir Kay approached her throne.
“There is a foreign knight who wishes to speak to you, My Lord,” Sir Kay said.
Britt scratched the back of her neck. “What for?”
“He claims he recently spoke with you, and you instructed him to seek you out in Camelot should he need anything,” Sir Kay said. Although he spoke no chiding words, his displeasure of Britt’s generosity was made obvious by the slant of his mustache and the rebuke in his eyes.
Britt waved Sir Kay’s unspoken concern off. “Oh! Him! Don’t worry, Kay. He’s not a nut or a covert killer. He’s the fancy-pants knight that gave me the shaving idea.”
“Still, one should be cautious when extending hospitality to an unknown knight,” Sir Kay grumbled.
“Yes, yes. I’m sorry. I should have let you look him over before I made any invitations. Send him in, please?” Britt said.
Sir Kay bowed and swept out of the room.
Moments later, the handsome, dark-haired, clean-shaven knight entered the hall.
His entrance raised some notice from Britt’s knights. Several of the men clustered closest to Britt’s throne fell silent as they watched the young knight approach Britt.
“Welcome to Camelot,” Britt said as she stood and glided down the stairs of the dais upon which her throne was perched.
“Thank you, My Lord,” the knight said, bending over in a perfectly executed bow.
“What brings you here today?” she asked.
“I approach you to ask for living quarters for myself and my two cousins. We grow weary of making our beds under the stars and would like to rest for a time before setting off in search of more adventures.”
“There are just three of you? I don’t think that will be a problem.” Britt glanced to Merlin, who was crouched over an abacus and parchment.
The wizard flapped his hand without looking up. “Go ahead. Adopt any number of vagabond knights. We have enough room.”
Britt nodded in satisfaction. “There you have it. You and your cousins may seek refuge in Camelot as long as you like. We can speak to Sir Kay, who will make the proper arrangements.”
The young knight smiled. “I thank you for your generosity, My Lord.”
“Name,” Merlin said.
Britt winced. “I must beg you to forgive my poor manners, for I do not know your name,”
“It is I who must beg your pardon, My Lord, for I never thought to introduce myself. My cousins are Lionel and Bors, the sons of King Bors. I am Lancelot du Lac, the son of King Ban.”
All of Britt’s good cheer left her. She forced her lips into the shape of a smile that held no warmth. “Lancelot?”
Merlin looked up in alarm, hearing the frigid edge to Britt’s inquiry.
“Yes, My Lord,” Lancelot said, bowing again.
“If your name is indeed Lancelot, you can go—” Britt was cut off when Merlin hustled to her side.
“Lancelot, welcome to Camelot. You know who Kay is, yes? He’s the man with the unfortunate face and the intimidating mustache who showed you in. Talk to him, and he will show you and your cousins to your rooms. If you will excuse us,” Merlin said, yanking Britt out of the throne room.
They stumbled past Sir Kay and a squad of guards and nearly ran into a gaggle of servants before Merlin hauled Britt into an unused bedroom.
“I want him OUT of Camelot, right now,” Britt snarled.
Merlin folded his arms across his chest and stood in front of the door, barring the way. “Why?”
“Becau
se he’s a back-stabbing, spineless worm who destroys Camelot and ruins Arthur.”
“Is that in the Arthur legends from the future?” Merlin asked.
“Yes.”
“What happens?”
“He worms his way into the position of Arthur’s best friend and has an affair with Arthur’s wife, Guinevere,” Britt spat. “The two rip Arthur’s kingdom to shreds.”
Merlin didn’t even blink. “I see. You fail to realize one thing.”
“What?”
“That is a legend from the future, Britt, but right now you are the legend,” Merlin said.
“What do you mean?”
“It is your decision to marry. You decide who your closest knight is. You are in control. It is your decision whether or not you wish to put Lancelot in a position of power.”
“Exactly, which is why I’m kicking him out of Camelot,” Britt said.
“You can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Did you hear anything he said after he gave his name?”
“No.”
Merlin sighed. “I thought as much. He said his father is King Ban.”
“So?”
“King Ban is your ally, and his cousins’ father, King Bors, is as well. They were the pair who rode to your rescue when King Lot and his allies attacked you. Don’t you remember?”
“I do. So what?”
“We cannot kick out the sons of our closest allies.”
Britt groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. “This is why I didn’t want to know his name. Now we have to be afraid about offending all of his relatives. Bother feudalism!”
“It’s worse than that, I’m afraid,” Merlin said.
“How? How can it possibly be worse?”
“As long as he stays, he and his cousins will have to be seated in positions of honor.”
“What?”
“They are princes and the offspring of your closest allies. Naturally, they will sup with you at your table,” Merlin said.
“You mean I’ll have to interact with Lancelot?”
“I do.”
“Being a king sucks. You can’t do anything you want,” Britt sighed.
“Well done. Now you’re starting to get it.”