Embark (King Arthur and Her Knights Book 4) (2 page)

“Thank you, Arthur! It’s so wonderful here!” she said, launching herself at Britt before Merlin closed the door behind her.

“Right. You’re welcome,” Britt said, trying to wrench Guinevere off, but the young lady held on with the grip of a bear. The pair nearly backed into one of Merlin’s workbenches before the wizard peeled her off.

“See here, lady,” Merlin said, holding Guinevere away from him as if she were a dead mouse. “You cannot act this way in public.”

“Oh, I know! It’s a big secret, right?” Guinevere said, her eyes wide as she looked back and forth between Britt and Merlin. “No one is to know that Arthur is really a girl. What is your name? Your girl name, I mean. Surely Arthur isn’t your Christian name?”

“It’s—”

“You will never find out!” Merlin said, shaking a finger at Guinevere. “I can barely trust your father to hang onto his own kingdom. I
certainly
don’t trust you with such information as
that
. Heaven knows you’ll go spilling it everywhere through sheer dimwittedness,” the wizard grouched.

“Yes, sir,” Guinevere said, nodding her head emphatically. She wasn’t even offended by Merlin’s insult, but hung onto his words like they were gems.

“None of this touchy-feely-female-camaraderie either,” Merlin went on.

Britt watched with an amused smirk—happy to see the wizard dominate someone besides herself so thoroughly. She had been entirely against ever speaking to Guinevere—much less bringing her Camelot—because she didn’t want to give any leeway to the King Arthur legends she knew, particularly the ones that blamed the downfall of Arthur and Camelot on Queen Guinevere and Sir Lancelot.

But when Britt visited Camelgrance in the previous months and witnessed for herself the way King Leodegrance used Guinevere as a bartering item, Britt found enough strength in her heart to begrudgingly offer Guinevere the chance to visit her in Camelot. It helped that the empty-headed girl had learned that Britt—King Arthur—was really a girl.

“You are to remain dignified and elegant when you dine with Arthur. Arthur is a
male
King. You must act accordingly so in public,” Merlin continued with his rant.

“But in private I can speak my mind, yes?” Guinevere asked, almost bouncing with excitement.

What would
we
have to talk about
? Britt wondered. Just because she was allowing Guinevere to stay didn’t mean she liked the girl.

Merlin must have similar thoughts, for he furrowed his eyebrows. “This is not a wedding party, Lady Guinevere. You are free to fill your days as you please, but Arthur will not be available at your beck and call. She has a
kingdom
to run.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Guinevere said, jutting her lower lip out in a pout.

Merlin folded his hands together and squeezed them until his knuckles turned white.

“Does the Lady of the Lake know your secret too?” Guinevere asked Britt.

“She does,” Britt confirmed. “But what Merlin is trying to emphasize, Lady Guinevere, is that secrecy is absolutely important. You cannot allow anyone to even ponder the truth of my identity, and if you make a mistake we will send you back to Camelgrance, immediately. Do you understand?”

“Of course,” Guinevere scoffed.

“In that case, will you excuse us? I’m sure you want to prepare for the feast,” Britt said.

“I really should. I have this delightful new dress. It’s a shade of blue that’s just so
perfect
—”

“Thank you, Lady Guinevere,” Britt said, offering the young lady a flat smile before she opened the door.

“We will see you when we dine—you sit with Arthur as a guest of honor,” Merlin said.

Guinevere clapped her hands in excitement. “Until then,” she bid before she disappeared through the doorway.

“I’m surprised,” Britt said, closing the door. “Usually you are odiously kind to foreign dignitaries.”

“Since visiting Leodegrance, I realized I over estimated his importance. Frankly I don’t care a fig for him. It would be our good fortune if we were not his ally. Someone else can defend his lands for all I care,” Merlin drawled. “I would still be kind to the girl—ill treatment of her would reflect badly on Camelot after all—but my biggest concern is to make sure she doesn’t spill your secret. I will do whatever it takes to wedge that concept into her head.”

“She isn’t the brightest girl,” Britt said.

“She’s worse than your menagerie of animals, and your greenest knight,” Merlin said. “I have absolutely no faith in her. If she doesn’t share your secret with someone before the week is out, I’ll be impressed.”

“What will we do if she does?” Britt asked.

“It depends whom she tells. I might be able to cover it up with a bit of magic, but we shall see,” Merlin said. “If she tells too many people, it will be beyond my powers. But we need not worry about it until it happens.”

“I can’t believe
I’m
the one saying this, but she may not tell anyone. She really wanted to get out of Camelgrance, so much so that she might remember to keep her mouth shut,” Britt said.

“We shall see,” Merlin grimly said. “Are you ready for tomorrow?”

“It’s just feasting, isn’t it?”

“Of course…not.”

“Dang it.”

“Pull up a chair, lass, and I will outline your day.”

“I hate it when royalty visits,” Britt grumbled before doing as the wizard directed.

Chapter 2

The Order of the Round Table

The following day’s celebration was deemed a marvelous success. However, Britt was more than a little off put that everyone seemed to be under the impression that the reason for the celebration was
Guinevere
, and not the Round Table.

“They’ll understand eventually, My Lord,” Sir Kay said, standing with Cavall next to Britt’s throne.

“I hope so,” Britt sighed, looking at the throne room that was filled with standards, knights, and peasant folk. Merlin proclaimed that Britt had to spend the day granting boons to the peasants of the area to further good will. As such, Britt was suck on the throne, listening to people who had come to complain to her. Sir Kay was her appointed babysitter as she was less likely to squirm away under his watchful eye, than under any of Merlin’s other minions. “Next petitioner,” she said.

One of her guards—the burly one who talked with a Scottish accent—led a tall, mountain of a boy forward. He looked like he was in his late teens—perhaps 18—but was built like an ox. He was taller than Britt—taller than Sir Kay, in fact—and had the shoulder breadth of a defensive lineman on an NFL team. He also, Britt noticed with interest, held an empty scabbard.

“What is your name?” Britt asked.

“Tor, My Lord,” the mountain of a boy said. “I am the youngest son of Aries the cowherd.”

“And what is your request, Tor?” Britt asked.

“I would like to be made a knight of Camelot,” Tor said.

The constant murmur of conversation the prevailed the throne room faded at his declaration, but Britt propped her arms on her knees and leaned forward in interest. “And why would you want that?”

“I love the sword and I want to fight for the helpless. Everyone says you’re the best in Britain, and if I could be a knight, I should like to serve a King who is known to be just. Also, I make a horrid cowherd,” Tor admitted.

“Do you have your father’s blessing?” Britt asked, curious.

Tor nodded. “He said my head is daft from fairies and I’ll be lucky if I’m not thrown out, but I might ask you anyway.”

“I see. You said you love the sword, but have you used it before?”

“I practiced whenever I could, though I don’t know if I’m any good,” Tor said, holding up his empty scabbard. “I have a sword, but the guards took it when I entered the keep.”

As Britt studied Tor, the whispers were renewed with vigor.

“Sir Gawain, Sir Bedivere,” Britt finally said.

The two knights emerged at the base of the dais Britt’s throne was placed on.

“My Lord,” Sir Bedivere said with a sweeping bow. Gawain mimicked him.

“I want you to test young Tor. I would like you, Gawain, to engage him in a sword fight at the practice grounds while Sir Bedivere watches and judges his skill,” Britt said.

“Yes, My Lord,” Sir Bedivere and Sir Gawain chorused.

“Will you agree to this test, Tor?” Britt asked.

“Of course, My Lord,” Tor said, bending forward in a deep bow before he hurried after Sir Bedivere and Sir Gawain.

Britt shifted her attention back to the petitioners. “Next,” she called.

Although Britt focused on the new requests and petitions, the knights and ladies whispered amongst themselves. Several knights motioned in the direction that Tor and the testing knights had disappeared in as they spoke, before giving Britt speculative looks.

Britt settled a dispute over a cow, granted a chicken keeper a new bag of corn, and blessed three babies before Sir Gawain, Sir Bedivere, and Tor returned.

“Well? What did you find?” Britt asked, hefting her long frame out of her throne so she could stand on the top stair, Sir Kay at her side.

“He lacks the grace of a knight, My Lord, but he was no sapling,” Sir Bedivere said. “Some time spent with a trained master could fix the worst of his stance, although he has the strength of an ox. Should he ever learn to use a lance, I think he would be a worthy opponent.”

“I see. Sir Gawain?” Britt asked.

“His blows were powerful,” Sir Gawain admitted. “I would not like to face him with a shield. He could crush your arm through sheer force.”

“Hmm. Call for Merlin,” Britt said, twisting to look for a page boy.

“No need, I am already here,” Merlin boomed, appearing mysteriously behind Britt’s throne. The ladies and knights of the room gasped in surprise, although it was obvious he had popped out of the small room—the entrance of which was hidden by a thick tapestry—located behind Britt’s throne.

Merlin’s Gandalf-rip-off-cloak swirled around him, making his dazzling blue eyes look stormy as he swept up to Britt’s side. “I know what you are thinking,” he murmured. “And I agree. It was one of
my
people who sought Tor out to tell him you were granting boons.”

“Great. I’ll knight him now?” Britt asked, reaching for Excalibur—which was leaning against her throne.

“My Lord, you can’t possibly be considering this,” a knight said. He approached the dais with a scowl, the colors of his armor marking him as one of Leodegrance’s flunkies. “He is the son of a
cowherd
. The position of knight is an
honor
given to noblemen.”

“Perhaps it was in Camelgrance, but that is not how it will be in Camelot,” Britt said, unsheathing Excalibur. “I value things like integrity, honor, and just actions. I care little for pedigrees and bloodlines.”

“Pedigrees?” Leodegrance’s knight asked.

Merlin sharply elbowed Britt for the mistake.

Britt hastily continued, “Sometimes those of great character come from the smallest of places. I will knight Tor, but let it be known that any knight who obstinately acts without honor and without remorse, will
lose
his shield, and be exiled from my courts.”

“Lass,” Merlin warned as the crowd gasped. “
That
I did not agree to.”

Britt walked down the steps to get out of elbowing-range. “Kneel, Tor,” she said to the boy, who was so overcome with joy his shoulders shook.

“Tor, son of Aries the cowherd, you are to be the first knight who swears the oath of the Round Table. Never murder, and flea treason. Don’t be cruel, but give mercy to those who ask for it. Always give aid to ladies—”

“My Lord, you forgot part of the oath,” Merlin said, eyeing Britt as he joined her in front of Tor.

“So I have,” Britt reluctantly said. She had worked out the oath with Merlin weeks ago, but she still didn’t agree with all the parts he insisted that she add. “Don’t be cruel, but give mercy to those who ask for it upon pain of forfeiting their lordship to me, King Arthur, forevermore. Always give aid to ladies, damsels, and gentlewomen, and let no man do battle in a wrongful quarrel for no law, or for any worldly object or tradable good. You are charged to ride abroad redressing wrongs, to speak no slander nor to listen to it, to honor God, and finally, to love one maiden only and to worship her through the years by noble deeds until she has been won. Do you swear to do all of these things?”

“I do,” Tor reverently said. Britt got the feeling that he was more misty eyed over being made a knight than over the idea of serving her, but, as she touched his shoulders with Excalibur’s blade, she could see kindness in his face, and decided he would probably be one of the most just knights in her service.

“Then rise, Sir Tor. Welcome to the service of Camelot,” Britt said.

She was grateful when Sir Gawain and his younger brother, Agravain, started cheering. “Sir Tor!”

Tor grinned shyly as several of Britt’s closer knights took pains to give the cowherd’s son a warm welcome, in spite of the frosty looks Leodegrance’s knights were giving him.

“I wish Leodegrance hadn’t sent knights with the table,” Britt said to Sir Kay and Merlin as they retreated back up the stairs, heading for Britt’s throne.

“You’ll never please everyone, lass. It’s better to learn that now,” Merlin advised.

“Yeah, I know,” Britt sighed as she crouched in front of Cavall, smiling when he pressed his wet nose to her cheek.

“Cheer up, My Lord. Tonight all your knights will take such an oath,” Sir Kay said.

“Yes,” Britt agreed. “Finally.”

When evening came, Britt assembled all of her knights in a grand hall where the Round Table of King Uther was assembled in a ring. The ladies of the court, and any noblemen who were not knights directly under Britt’s charge were not present, but were at a separate celebration that Guinevere was presiding over.

There was no food, although drinks were already placed on the scratched table. Plain, wooden chairs with undyed, linen cushions were crowded around the table perimeter. There was one chair that was a little more ornate, having flourishes carved into its surface. The back was emblazed with what Merlin
claimed
to be letters that spelled out “King Arthur.” Britt couldn’t be sure, though, as she couldn’t read the terrible spelling and letter formation of old English.

Britt stood behind her chair and allowed Merlin to sift through the knights, deciding where they sat. She was a little disappointed. The Round Table was the ultimate symbol of King Arthur’s court. It stood for chivalry and good deeds. Most of Britt’s career as the false King Arthur had been seeped in secret political agendas. She had hoped to make the Round Table the one fair place in her life by leveling the playing-field—which was what inspired the oath and the Order of the Round Table.

Merlin had crushed that dream by demanding to draw up the seating arrangement for the table. (“I will not undermine your rosy picture of chivalry, lass. The truth is, everyone is going to fight to sit closest to you, and you might accidentally put together men who can’t stand each other. There will be nothing political beyond that. I promise.”)

Britt didn’t trust his vow. Things were
always
political with Merlin.

Britt watched with true pleasure as Sir Ector—her supposed foster-father—Sir Kay, Sir Bedivere, Sir Bodwain, and Sir Gawain were given chairs near her. Sir Ywain and Sir Ulfius were not much farther down, as were—unfortunately so—Sir Lancelot and his cousins: Sir Lionel and Sir Bors. Britt was surprised to see an empty chair that was only one seat away from her. She was about to call attention to it when King Pellinore busted into the hall with a noble smile and quick pace.

“I apologize, King Arthur. For once it was not the questing beast that caused my late arrival, but my wife. She wanted to be certain she had an appropriate gift for Lady Guinevere. I am glad I arrived before you started,” King Pellinore said, giving a slight bow to Britt.

“King Pellinore,” Britt said, at something of a loss.

“I thought we agreed you would call me Pellinore?” the table, noble man said.

“Indeed, we did. But only if you agreed to call me Arthur,” Britt said with a sly smile. King Pellinore had, at one time, been one of her loudest nay-sayers. Now, Britt was glad to call him her friend.

King Pellinore chuckled. “As you say, Arthur.”

“King Pellinore, I am so glad you could make it,” Merlin said, swooping between them.

“Indeed, I would not miss it. It is my pleasure to declare loyalty to Arthur,” King Pellinore said, bowing in Britt’s direction.

“What?” Britt said, a smile stuck on her face.

“Your presence at the Round Table will be celebrated. Here is your chair,” Merlin said, indicating to the empty chair.

“Thank you,” Pellinore said, taking his seat with grave honor.

Britt grabbed Merlin by the throatlatch of his cloak and dragged him to the side. “Nothing political besides the seating arrangement, you said. You
liar
!”

“What? You
like
Pellinore,” Merlin snorted.

“Yes, but he’s a
king
. He’s not my
knight
. The whole point of the Round Table and the order and oath are to teach knights how to act as my vassals! I can’t make him swear an oath of fealty to me!”

“He already has.”

“
When
?”

“When you were officially made allies in early summer.”