by K. M. Shea
Usually any sort of meeting involving other rulers took ages, particularly because politics seemed to demand that everything which could be stated simply had to be explained with an excessive amount of metaphors and sly remarks. The fact that this was not the case would normally indicate that she had extremely good luck. But, unfortunately, this was the one time she was counting on a long-winded discussion, just in case Merlin could return to Camelot in the hours she assumed it would take them to poetically threaten her.
It had never occurred to her that they would succinctly state their demands.
The ambassadors exchanged looks, and one of them out-right jumped when Britt abruptly stood.
“Very well,” she said. “You’ve brought before me a serious matter I would like to consider and discuss with my knights and my vassal-kings. I will return with a response for the Emperor.”
Britt swept down the stairs, the picture of nobility with her eyes slightly narrowed in thought and her hand on the hilt of Excalibur. (In reality, she was squinting and had her hand on Excalibur in case she needed to use it as a cane thanks to her excessively shiny armor.)
She strode out of the throne room, removing her crown the second the soldiers closed the door behind her. “I like them,” she announced.
Sir Ulfius gaped at her. “I beg your pardon?”
“The only reason they were so brief in their address to you is because they already have soldiers swarming Britain,” Sir Bodwain said.
“Of course.” Britt started down the hallway, making her way for the hall that held the Round Table. “You two will keep an eye on them?” She called back to the two older knights.
“It is our honor,” Sir Bodwain said.
Britt grinned and waved at them, then jogged along.
The servants, always privy to the castle’s activities, gave Britt cheers of encouragement as she jogged along, clanking loudly in her armor.
A gangly teenage boy loped up to her, bearing a tray of food.
Britt glanced at him. “What’s this?” She asked as he kept pace with her.
“Your lunch,” he said.
“Lunch was two hours ago,” Britt protested.
“Yes, and you didn’t eat then either.” The young teenager eyed Britt with a mixture of suspicion and bossiness.
Britt finally placed the kid as the young pageboy who had, in her early days as ruler, been all too interested in making sure she ate. When did he grow up?
Feeling old, Britt laughed and slowed to a walk. “Very well, you win. Here, I’ll take the tray.”
The boy sidestepped her. “Do you swear to eat it?”
“Sure, as long as it’s not blood sausage or something.”
The boy looked like he didn’t believe her, but he allowed her to take the tray and march on without his supervision.
Britt juggled the wooden tray and her gold crown, but she looked up just in time to see Sir Lancelot stepping out of an intersecting hallway.
The handsome knight showed no signs of the anger that had caused him to leave the forest previously. His smile was charming, as usual; his blue eyes twinkled, and—as the ladies of Camelot would say—his golden brow glistened.
“You are an unusual king, Arthur,” Lancelot said. “You are the only one, I believe, who answers to his servants in regards to his dietary needs.”
“It’s because they care.” She glared out of habit. Secretly, she tried not to gawk at him and instead attempted to gauge his mood by the smoothness of his steps.
She heard he had arrived in Camelot the previous night, but she had honestly done her best to avoid him, particularly since hearing about the ambassadors. She had enough trouble on her plate the way it was, and she didn’t need the handsome knight stirring up any additional drama.
Lancelot glanced at her side. “I see you have a new scabbard for Excalibur.”
Britt’s hackles rose, but she kept walking. “Vivien stole the old one.”
“So I was told when I returned last night,” Lancelot said.
Britt yanked her gaze to him so fast she almost dropped her crown. Normally when something like that happened, Lancelot would carry on loudly and dramatically. Stating he had already heard in such a lighthearted tone was unusual for him. Did he have something to do with it? Or is it just that he is still angry with me?
Britt took in a breath and opened her mouth, thinking to question him further, but they reached the door of the hall too soon, and the eager knights and kings had a lookout posted.
Sir Griflet shouted through the open doors, “He’s here,” then turned his attention to Britt. “Tell us, what did those spineless slugs have to say?”
“Surprisingly, not much.” Britt smiled at the crowd of knights and kings gathered around the Round Table as she breezed inside, making her way to her seat. She set her tray and crown down with a clank, then plopped down in her chair. “They said Emperor Lucius demands tribute and homage, or he’ll bring war to us.”
“How dare they!”
“As if we didn’t know his plans!”
“I’ll die before I send that pompous pincushion a tribute!”
Though the subject was a grim one, Britt let herself smile, vastly amused by the outrage the knights and lords voiced. She poked at her food, then chose to begin eating her baked potato.
King Anguish, Mordred’s brother, rested his elbows on the table and knitted his hands together. “The answer, obviously, is no.”
“Hear, hear,” King Pellinore said. “I can pledge at least 20,000 men for your disposal, King Arthur.”
“It’s just Arthur,” Britt quietly reminded her fellow king—who was also the only king who knew her true gender.
“I can pledge 20,000 as well. I already have that many on their way,” King Anguish said.
“Orkney can offer 10,000 mounted soldiers,” King Lot, Gawain’s father, said with haughty forbearance. Though he and Britt still weren’t on friendly terms—and she suspected he didn’t get along with his children any more now than he had before they all came to live at her Court—Britt knew there was no way he would let Orkney, and himself, look weak or pitiful. Even if it was for Britt’s sake.
King Urien, who had been studying Ywain’s empty chair, snapped to attention. “Naturally, I can offer 10,000 mounted soldiers as well.”
At Urien’s utterance more kings and lords spoke up, vowing to bring soldiers and provisions of their own.
Britt listened, smiling serenely and nodding approval whenever someone looked to her. She was relieved to see Kay was scribbling away in his logbook, hopefully taking notes for Merlin.
By the time the last of the knights and lords made their pledges, King Bagdemagus rubbed his square chin. “So it seems to me that we have over 200,000 men available for this war. Based on the numbers provided by King Arthur, Rome will still have us outnumbered.”
“But we will be fighting on our own soil, and our soldiers won’t have traveled far, whereas the Roman soldiers have been traveling north to reach us for months,” King Pellinore said.
Sir Griflet tapped his fingers on the scratched surface of the Round Table. “It’s too bad they had not arrived sooner, for if we fought them in winter, we could’ve frozen them out.”
“Emperor Lucius might be stupid enough to ask for a tribute, but even he knows that fighting in winter is not a winning strategy,” Sir Bedivere said.
“So it’s agreed,” Gawain said. “We shall go to war against Rome.”
The room was filled with murmurs of agreement.
“I don’t think we had much choice in the matter,” Britt spoke up for the first time.
“In that case, there’s no reason to let the Roman ambassadors hang about,” Agravain, Gawain’s younger brother, said. “You ought to have them thrown out on their rumps, Sire.”
Britt grinned at him. “I assure you there’s nothing I would like to do more, but I’m sure Merlin would prefer a delicate way of telling them they are being thrown out on said rumps.”
&n
bsp; King Lot drummed his fingers on the table. “You still listen to that sideshow hack?”
Britt’s grin turned wry. “Why King Lot, you’re beginning to sound like your wife now. And yes. Merlin is still one of the wisest men alive; I would be an idiot not to listen to him. Unfortunately, he’s out of Camelot at the moment.”
“You’ll think of something,” Sir Kay gruffly said.
“Indeed!” Sir Ector boomed. “You are the King of Britain! You handle yourself with more charisma and charm than Merlin could dream of!”
Though Britt was touched, she was somewhat unconvinced by Sir Ector’s argument. (As her foster-father, Sir Ector was widely known to be overindulgent with her.)
“That does raise a question, though.” Bedivere rubbed the hilt of a dagger tucked into his sword belt. “Do you think some of the Faerie folk might fight on our side?”
“I can travel to the forest of Arroy and ask the Lady of the Lake myself,” Lancelot declared.
“That’s unnecessary,” Britt was quick to say as she continued to pick at her baked potato. “I’m sure the Lady of the Lake will aid us however she can.” Especially when I explain to her that she was spared a visit from the Debaucher.
The discussion continued on this train of thought, and Britt fell quiet as she leaned back in her chair. Mordred, seated close to her, leaned in and spoke.
“You are not the High King of Britain because Merlin is your advisor, My Lord,” he said. “I’m certain you can handle the ambassadors.”
Britt, lacking any other “manly” way to show her thanks, smacked Mordred between the shoulder blades. “Hopefully. Goodness knows I’ve no reason to fear them with such amazing allies.”
Agravain must’ve been watching Britt for any sign of telling off the ambassadors, for he jumped to his feet. “I volunteer, nay, I request to be one of the knights allowed to toss the ambassadors out.”
“I feel up to a bit of ambassador tossing right now as well, if you wouldn’t mind, My Lord,” Sir Lionel, Lancelot’s cousin, said with a wolfish grin.
She laughed outright. “Though your offers are tempting, I must refuse. As much as I would like it, I don’t think anybody would call throwing ambassadors out head-over-heels an honorable gesture.” Britt stood and addressed the room when it quieted. “I shall tell the ambassadors we refuse their demands, and we are prepared for war. Please, continue to strategize. I thank you for your generous offers of help, but as they are your men, and you are my precious allies, I would like to limit the number of deaths to the smallest possible amount. We must be as cunning as possible and use every moment we can to plan against the impending invasion. Thank you.”
There was a collective inhale as Britt strode out of the hall, biting into a shriveled apple as she settled her crown back on her head.
Mordred and Gawain followed her out.
Britt gnawed on her apple as she made her way back up the familiar maze of hallways. “I don’t know whether to be honored or worried whenever one of my speeches causes silence.”
“It’s because you have a unique way of looking at things,” Mordred said.
“And you are not afraid to be openly affectionate or admit your admiration for others,” Gawain added.
She snorted. “You mean your father doesn’t call his allies precious, Gawain?”
“I suspect his heart would stop beating if he were to attempt to say such a thing,” Gawain said.
Britt would’ve responded, but she felt eyes on her and spotted the budding nutritionist sulking in an inlet of the hallway, eyeing her. “I ate the potato,” she said, sounding overly defensive. “I’m working on my apple!”
The young teenager planted his fists on his hips. “I am fully authorized by Sir Kay to refuse to serve you wine tonight, Your Highness, if you do not eat enough.”
“A bossy little thing aren’t you, considering you were barely the size of my dog when you first started serving me. Where is Cavall anyways?”
“I believe my little brothers have him,” Gawain said.
“Does Kay know?” Britt asked. “He’s always after me about taking Cavall everywhere with me.”
“It was Kay’s idea to send them off with Cavall,” Mordred said. “I believe he said the ‘fight would not be worth the win.’”
“In other words, lending them Cavall was the easiest way to keep them from insisting on being present for the meeting,” Gawain said.
“I see it now. Well then, bossy kitchen boy, find Gaheris, Gareth, and Cavall, and have them brought to me. Then I will sit down and eat after the Roman ambassadors are officially kicked out.”
“Yes, My Lord,” the pageboy said.
He peeled off from their little group at the next intersection, and Britt, Gawain, and Mordred continued on to the throne room.
Sir Ulfius stood outside the doors, his thumbs hooked on his sword belt. “You finished the discussion already?”
“Technically, we finish the discussion about a minute after I entered the hall. It’s not like any of this is fresh news.” Britt finished her apple and awkwardly held the core, not sure what to do with it. “The decision was unanimous…and obvious.”
Sir Ulfius took the core and passed it off to a manservant. “I expected as much, but I thought everyone would keep you there for a great while. More correctly,” he smiled wryly, “I thought you would try to get everyone to keep you there in another attempt to stall for Merlin.”
“That’s a great idea. I’m actually a little ashamed I hadn’t thought of that myself,” Britt said.
“It’s too late to go back now, My Lord,” Mordred said sweetly.
“Bossiness. All around me, bossiness!” Britt muttered. She winked at the knight, rolled back her shoulders, and nodded to the waiting guards.
Again, they opened the doors, and again Britt marched up to her throne, still half blinded by the golden reflection of her armor. It was a little different, for this time, Sir Bodwain stood near the ambassadors—he had been talking to them before she came in. “Thank you for your patience,” she said. “I am happy to say I have a reply for you to take to Emperor Lucius.”
The ambassador who appeared to be serving as the designated speaker, bowed. “What might we tell the mighty Emperor on your behalf?”
“That no one from Britain will give him tribute or homage, and if he is so eager for war, we will be happy to accommodate him.” Britt smiled, but it was not a welcoming grin or a sly smirk, but the confident and grim expression of someone who knew the trials ahead, yet fully expected to win.
The ambassadors moved to stand closer together. “We shall tell him your message.”
“Excellent. In that case, I wish you safe travels. My constable will see that you are given new provisions and will escort you out of Camelot.”
The ambassadors exchanged glances. “You aren’t going to kill one or two of us to set an example?” one blurted out. (Based on the way his companions smacked him, they were angry with him for giving her ideas.)
“Of course not.” For the second time that day she glided down the dais steps. “You are ambassadors that were sent to me in good faith. To mistreat you would not only be dishonorable, but a show of pettiness and instability.” She nodded at the ambassadors, finally able to see their faces now that she was out of direct sunlight.
There was a veritable stampede in the hallway, and Britt drifted away from the ambassadors. “Safe travels,” she wished them again as the guards hurriedly opened the doors for her.
When she set foot in the hallway she whistled. “Cavall!”
Her mastiff padded up the hallway, two boys—who were almost teenagers—running behind him.
“Arthur!” The boys shouted. Instead of bodily throwing themselves at her as they use to, they bowed deeply to her, holding their practice swords to keep from smacking themselves on the legs.
“Gaheris, Gareth, when did the two of you grow so tall?” It seemed to Britt like it was just yesterday she would get a crick in her neck staring dow
n at them—they were that short. “Has Kay lectured you about eating us out of Camelot?”
The boys laughed, and when Sir Bodwain joined them in the hallway, the soldiers closed the doors behind him.
The Roman ambassadors stared at the doors for several long moments.
“Arthur…He’s not the usual king, is he?” One of the ambassadors said.
“I should think not.” A second said. “He’s the first man to successfully unite all of Britain.”
“I don’t know that the Emperor understands who he’s up against,” the first ambassador said.
The ambassador who did all the talking rubbed his chin. “Then we must do our best to warn him.”
Chapter 10
Preparations
When Britt finally had a break in the many meetings she and the other kings held, she and Cavall took to the walls of Camelot. Up on the walls, the air seemed cleaner and her problems smaller as she could alternate staring out at the patchwork quilt of farmland that spread behind Camelot and the idyllic thatched roof cottages that made up the inner-city of the castle.
Britt stifled a yawn and laid her hand on Cavall’s back.
“Do you think you’ll be able to sleep tonight without walking the walls, Milord?” One of her guards asked.
“Don’t be silly,” her Scottish nanny/guard boomed. “As long as Merlin is still gone, Milord will walk these walls.”
“Sometimes I wish you all had not adjusted so easily to the reveal of my gender,” Britt said tartly.
Her guards abruptly straightened and moved into a ready stance. Moments later, Guinevere climbed the last step to the wall with a smile.
“Hello, Arthur. Are you…busy?” she asked.
“No, not at all,” Britt said. “I’m just staring out at the land like a sappy minstrel. Did you need something?”
Guinevere glanced at the guards, but they stared straight ahead and seemed to take no notice of her as she approached Britt and joined her leaning against a crenel—the indentation of the wall’s sawtooth pattern. “I’m glad you were unharmed when you were taken by Duke Maleagant,” she began.
“I like Maleagant about as much as I care for dung beetles, but I have to say I was pleasantly surprised that he appears to treat women with more care than I would’ve thought,” Britt admitted as she squatted down to rub Cavall’s chest.