He continued his strumming for a few bars as the knights swayed back and forth to the rhythm.
Struggling and fighting across the land
The Blades of Power seek out holy hands
No question nor wonder of dastardly plan
The Blades of Power ring on!
Slash, bash! The Blades of Power!
Destroying the bad while protecting our towers
Slash, bash! The Blades of Power!
Cutting their way right through our foes
The strumming grew quieter now and Arthur couldn’t help but feel pulled in. He even leaned forward on his elbows and noted that Merlin was doing the same. All eyes were upon the bard at this point of the song.
Now it's been told on a deathly night
The Blades of Power shine an unearthly light
They brighten the darkness, prepared for a fight
Their strength is ever involved
“Loudly, now!”
Slash, bash! The Blades of Power!
Destroying the bad while protecting our towers
Slash, bash! The Blades of Power!
Cutting their way right through our foes
“Let’s wrap this up!”
The Blades of Power, they sing their song
They slash and smash, all the deathly night long
Their strength is stronger than the strongest of strong!
Their strength is stronger than the strongest of strong!
Gareth stopped his strumming and sang the last line alone.
Their strength is as strong as Sir Lance-A-Lot's dong!
Everyone laughed and cheered. Everyone except for Lance-A-Lot, anyway. He simply sighed and shook his head.
Sir Gareth bowed and then placed the instrument back into its case.
Arthur noted that Allison was sitting among the knights, keeping up with them drink for drink. That was quite a feat considering their seemingly insatiable need for ale. Merlin appeared to be antsy regarding this as well.
“Your apprentice looks to be getting along nicely,” Arthur said.
“Yes,” Merlin replied with a sigh. “I forgot to add her to my list of worries when you’d asked about them before.”
“A word of advice from one leader to another,” Arthur said as Allison jumped up and began dancing around one of the poles in the room, “sometimes you must let the men play.”
Merlin scoffed. “I’m not letting them play with her, Arthur.”
“What? Oh, no, I was being metaphorical.”
“Oh, right. Lost me there for a second.”
Arthur adjusted again. Next time he was going to go with cotton or silk. Lace was nice for a little while, but not while on a journey such as this. It just ended up cutting in.
“Thong riding up on you?” asked Merlin, though he didn’t really seem to be paying much attention to Arthur.
“What’s a thong?”
“Just something I saw in a catalog,” Merlin replied.
“Catalog?”
“It’s a booklet from the futur…ches…” He coughed. “Yeah, that’s it, just something I saw in a, um, few churches I’ve been to over the years.”
“Ah, so a thong is a religious item?”
“Probably would be for you,” Merlin answered with a look of relief. “Anyway, we are still planning to leave first thing in the morning, right?”
“Preferably just as the sun clears the horizon. I’d like to get to Scotland before nightfall.”
“I can’t wait,” Merlin said. “It’s going to be great footage. I’m sure it will make Allison’s report shine.”
“Oh?”
“It’s her doctoral thesis. Gonna blow their socks off.”
“I have no idea what any of that just meant,” said Arthur while thinking maybe he should have an ale or two.
“More magic stuff.”
“So I assumed. I must say that you are a tiring person to be around, Merlin.”
“Tell me about it,” Merlin said with a nod.
“Well, you are constantly talking about things that make little sense; you complain a lot; you have a funny smell that I can only assume is magically-inspired; and you can be rather obstinate.”
Merlin blinked repeatedly. “I was being rhetorical, Arthur.”
“Oh,” Arthur said with a grimace. “Well, then as Sir Gawain might say, ‘may a thousand bees sting my genitals’.”
“I could probably arrange that,” Merlin stated before looking over his shoulder again at Galahad. “Anyway, I should get going. Early mornings are not my thing, as you know, so I’d better try to get to sleep now or I’ll be miserable all day.”
“We wouldn’t want that,” said Arthur sincerely.
“You really wouldn’t.”
APPROACHING SCOTLAND
The caravan left early the next morning, after ensuring that Chauncey and Leatherton had their coins as promised. Arthur also asked them both to speak with other highwaymen about the plans of the crown to make things better in the land.
Arthur, remembering that he was not supposed to look in the deep sections of the satchel was saddened to find that Guinevere had only set him up with another set of lace panties. That meant one more day of discomfort and chafing. At least they were a nice yellow.
It was closing in on evening by the time they’d crossed the final hill to the border of Scotland.
A small building sat at the bottom of the ravine with a couple of red-haired Scots standing guard.
“Halt,” called out Merlin.
“But we’re almost there,” said Arthur.
“Exactly. I need need to catch this on film.” Merlin then set about getting everything ready. “Gareth, snatch that tripod…and no jokes about it. Purcivale and Tristan, you’re going to handle the microphones. Allison’s got camera two and I’ll take camera one.”
Suddenly there was a flurry of movement as everyone jumped to their duties. Arthur groaned as Lance-A-Lot moved alongside of him.
“It was part of our agreement,” said Arthur resignedly.
“His magic worries me,” Lance-A-Lot said quietly, “and I’m sure it’s not going to go over well with the Scots.”
“Who cares what they think?”
“Typically not I,” admitted Lance-A-Lot, “but they do hold this talisman that we are questing after, sire.”
“Valid point,” Arthur mused while adjusting in his seat. “We’ll just have to use diplomacy where we can and swords where we must.”
“Still have a sore bottom, sire?”
“It’s just these damn lace panties,” Arthur said unwittingly. “Even canvas would have been more comfortable, I think.”
“Lace, sire?”
Arthur gulped. “Did I say lace?” His heart was racing. “I must be thinking of Guinevere again. You know how I get when we’re apart.”
“Ah, yes,” said Lance-A-Lot with a dreamy look in his eyes, “she’s quite the—”
“Watch yourself,” Arthur warned, silencing his first knight. “Why don’t you go and prepare whatever papers you have in that pack of yours?”
“Straight away, sire.”
Merlin came up to Arthur after Lance-A-Lot trotted safely away.
“Okay, Arthur,” Merlin said, “listen up. I’m going to need you to be very kingly in this scene.”
“Scene?”
“You’re going to ride up at the front and meet with the Scots,” Merlin said. “You have to show power and guts. You’ll have to let them see your machismo.”
“With this outfit on?” Arthur said with a scoff. “It’d take ten minutes just to pull it out.”
“What are you talking about?” Merlin said and then sighed and shook his head. “Machismo means your manliness, man.”
“I understand that, Merlin,” Arthur replied evenly. “Frankly, though—and believe me when I tell you that I hate to admit this—it’d probably be more impressive if Lance-A-Lot showed his machismo to them.”
“Oh, for the love of…” Merl
in took a deep breath and steadied himself. “I’m not talking about your actual manliness, Arthur. I’m talking about your personal power. Your inner-strength. Your damned kinglyness!”
“Okay, okay,” said Arthur defensively. “No need to…what was it they said? Oh, yes, that’s it. No need to get your panties in a bunch.”
“That’s your thing, Arthur,” Merlin stated. “Now, let’s get to the front and start this show. Remember, don’t say anything to them until I say ‘action’.”
KING OF SCOTLAND
The king of Scotland’s name, too, was Arthur, but he looked a fair bit different than the king of England. This Arthur had fiery red hair and a beard to match, eyes that were bright green, and his normal disposition was one of irritation. The two kings did have a few things in common, though. For example, both of them had a queen who was English.
“Are you just about ready, Arthur?” said his wife, Agnes.
“Aye,” Arthur replied, “just getting me britches on.”
Just as he had gotten them up to his knees, a knock came at the door. He grunted. Was two minutes of peace so much to ask for? It seemed that every little detail in his kingdom needed his opinion. Everything from the cost of potatoes to the color that people should paint their houses was laid before him. What did he care what people paid for potatoes?
The knock came again, this time more insistent.
“Aye?” he said as he shuffled to the door.
“Got word from the border, me lord,” the muffled voice said.
Arthur rolled his eyes and cracked open the door, looking through the slat since his pants were still wrapped around his ankles.
“We’re hitchin’ up for dindin,” Arthur explained. “Canne it wait?”
“It’s the English, me lord.”
“At me border?” Arthur said, eyes wide.
“Aye, me lord.”
“Hold it, hold it,” said Arthur seriously, “is we talkin’ just a few laddies here or is there after being a contingency?”
“It’s their king, me lord.”
“What?”
“And his knights, too.”
“His knets are with him?”
“Knights, me lord.”
“Right, knets.”
“Knights.”
“Knets.”
“It’s pronounced ‘knights,’ me lord. Much like the word that’s used for when the moon is out.”
“Net.”
“Night, me lord. Nye-eeet.”
Arthur stood there staring at the man for a few moments. “How long before they’re actually at me border?”
“Like I said, me lord, they’re already there.”
“Then why am I only hearin’ of it right nooo?”
“Word just came in, me lord,” the man said apologetically.
“Dinnae we have scouts about?”
“Aye, me lord,” the messenger replied. “That’s how we knew they was comin’.”
“And this king and his knets—don’t correct me again—is already at me border?” Arthur asked again. “What’s the point of havin’ scouts if they ain’t after finding things out until it’s too late?”
“Sorry, me lord. It was Fergus the Fearful’s shift. You know that he doesn’t stray very far from the gate.”
Arthur sighed and dropped his shoulders. Tonight they were having lamb in the main hall, which only happened once a week. Usually it was vegetables and tough meat. Sometimes he had to wonder if there was some sort of conspiracy against him actually having a meal of his liking.
“Fine,” he said irritably. “I’ll be down soon. Get the men at the ready.” He then snaked a hand out through the crack in the door and grabbed the messenger by the tunic. “And save me a slice of that lamb or I’ll have your testicles put in molten ore.”
“Aye, me lord,” the man replied with a terrified look.
The king shut the door, grumbling to himself.
What the hell was the king of England doing at his border anyway? Things had been relatively quiet between the two kingdoms for quite some time now. In truth, Arthur assumed that they’d finally had peace. Not in the way of an accord or anything, just in that both sides stopped fighting. Couldn’t last forever, he supposed.
“Arthur,” said Agnes, jolting the king from his thoughts, “did I just hear correctly that the the English king is here?”
“Aye, me love. That ye did.”
“Arthur,” she said.
“Aye?”
“No, I meant the English king. His name is Arthur, too.”
“Ah,” said Arthur. “I sometimes forget that you’re an Englishman.”
“Englishwoman.”
“Aye, that too.”
She strolled across the room and began adjusting Arthur’s garb. “You do realize that if he has brought his knights along, that he likely has—”
“Lance-A-Lot,” Arthur said, his voice sounding of dread.
“Indeed,” Agnes replied with a mischievous wink.
“Now, now, me love, ye know I’m all about us being free with our sexness, but not with an Englishman.”
“You have relations with an Englishwoman, Arthur.”
“Aye, but not an Englishman, me sweet.”
Agnes looked him sternly in the eye. “I know how you feel about the English, Arthur. It’s precisely how I feel about the French. But that didn’t stop you from sleeping with the French queen during your last visit, now did it?”
“Ye knew about that?” Arthur said in shock.
“I do now.”
“Damn.”
“I think this Lance-A-Lot fellow,” Agnes said while twisting her hair with her fingers, “would be the perfect bedfellow to even our score, don’t you?”
“If the stories about the man are after being true,” Arthur said in a defeated tone, “then the next time I’m with ye it’ll be like throwing a twig into a cave.”
“Let’s hope.”
“I forbehd it!” Arthur said instantly.
Agnes’ stare grew sinister. “Must I remind you who it was that got all of your men to believe that the skirts they’re wearing are helpful in battle?”
“Well—”
“And wasn’t it me who came up with the name ‘kilt,’ hmmm?”
“Yes, but—”
“And why was it that I did that for you, Arthur?”
His shoulders fell. “Because ye know I like wearin’ yer dallies.”
“Precisely,” Agnes stated as she walked to the window. “To this day your men don’t question it, do they?”
“Some do, but—”
“And it turned out that those skirts were actually quite helpful in battle, as you’ve said.”
“That they are.”
“Now,” Agnes said without looking back, “you wouldn’t want it to get out that the entire kilt craze was truly just a guise so that you could dress, shall we say, more freely, would you?”
“Ye wouldn’t,” Arthur said hoarsely as he looked at her in disbelief.
“The French queen, Arthur,” Agnes said, turning back to face him. “You shouldn’t have, but you did. Time for me to even the score…one way or another.”
“Damn.”
ANNND...ACTION!
The Scottish guards were standing at their post as Arthur, Lance-A-Lot, and Gaheris watched the rest of the men helping Merlin to set up. Arthur could only see the Scots from the waist up, but they looked like a rugged bunch. They’d certainly be more difficult to bypass than Chauncey and Leatherton had been. Fortunately, just like the highwaymen, there were only two of them.
Once everything was in place, Merlin began positioning all of the men, putting Arthur in the front. He ran about adjusting the placement of swords and making the knights correct their helmets and tunics. This was about the only part of Merlin’s tinkerings that Arthur found appealing.
“Are you nearly ready, Merlin?” asked Arthur. “The light looks to be waning.”
“Don’t I know it?” Merlin said as he push
ed Arthur’s boot farther into the stirrup. “This is the best time of day for this type of shoot. I’m working as quickly as I can.” He ran back to his camera. “Purcivale, move back slightly in your saddle. Perfect. Stay put. Okay,” Merlin said after having one last glance around, “is everyone ready?”
Arthur nodded along with the rest of the men.
“Annnd…action!”
“You there,” Arthur said in his most kingly voice as he pointed at the closest Scot, “I am King Arthur of England, holder of the throne in Camelot, and I demand entrance into this land.”
The guards looked back and forth at each other for a moment, whispering.
“Nay,” came the eventual reply.
“That’s correct,” said Arthur and then he stopped. “Sorry, what?”
“Nay.”
Arthur looked over at Lance-A-Lot. “He wants me to nay? Like a horse?”
“I believe he’s saying ‘no,’ sire.”
“Pardon me,” Arthur asked, “but are you saying ‘nay’ like what a horse does or are you saying ‘no?’”
“Nay.”
“So the horse one, then?”
“Nay, the other one.”
“Ah, good,” Arthur said, feeling as though he’d accomplished something. “Look, I don’t wish to have a skirmish with you, but we need to get into your land. As you can well see, my knights can easily overpower you two.”
“Aye, were it just we.”
“Pardon?”
The guard pulled out a horn from the pack on his shoulder and blew into it. It made a deep sound that grew until it held a note that rang for a good twenty seconds. Moments after he had tucked the horn away, a large group of men, all wearing skirts, crested the hill behind the guard station.
“Well, that changes things,” noted Arthur.
“Aye.”
“Sorry, but I have to ask,” said Arthur after allowing a few moments of silence, “are all your men wearing skirts?”
“They’s kilts.”
“What’s a kilt?”
“It’s a, uh, battle…skirt.”
Comedic Arthurian Bundle: The Adventures of Queen Arthur Page 7
