Embark

by K. M. Shea

  “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 stuck 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 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 in the NFL. 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 on which Britt’s throne was placed.

  “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 Tor and the testing knights had gone as they spoke, all while 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 one’s 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. 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 is 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 discreetly—and sharply—elbowed Britt for the mistake.

  Britt hastily continued, “Sometimes those of great character come from the least 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 flee 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 the 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 for Guinevere.

  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.”

  “He did no such thing. He only acknowledged me as King of Britain!” Britt hissed, glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one could hear them. Thankfully, the knights were too involved in inspecting their new positions around the Round Table to take notice of her conversation with Merlin.

  “Yes, that was when he swore fealty,” Merlin said, speaking slowly, as if Britt were stupid. “By acknowledging you as King of Britain he acknowledged that you are sovereign above him. It’s perfectly reasonable that you should call him one of your knights.”

  “Then why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I knew you wouldn’t like it. You’re too aware of what you perceive to be his honor to see that he’s not making himself a lesser. Besides, is your Round Table not about equality and making the least on the same level as the greatest? Hmmm?” Merlin asked.

  Britt groaned. “You are unbearable.”

  “If it helps, I was anxious to get Pellinore in your order for more logical reasons. He’s a seasoned warrior, and you need him on this table of greenhorns. Your older knights—like Sir Ulfius and even Sir Bodwain—aren’t likely to go out on these quests you dream of. They must stay close to Camelot due to their positions. And the last thing you need to do is release a hoard of young idiots on the country, right?” Merlin asked.

  “I guess,” Britt said.

  “Good, now sit down and begin your grand speech,” Merlin said, nudging Britt to her chair.

  Britt gave the blonde-haired man a dirty look but did as she was told. When she sat, the knights—everyone from the newly knighted Sir Tor to the seasoned knights like Sir Bedivere, and even King Leodegrance’s knights—fell silent.

  Britt took a moment to appreciate the silence…and the event. For a long time, she had asked after the Round Table. At first it was because she knew it was part of the legend, but as time passed, Britt realized that she wanted to use it to give the knights a guide for their behavior. That was why she and Merlin had spent weeks making the oath, because it wasn’t just a piece of the legend but a code of conduct. And now, after weeks of waiting, Britt would finally have a way to hold her knights—and herself—accountable.

  “Men, tonight I am establishing the Order of the Round Table,” Britt said. “The Round Table is symbolic. It has no corners, no place that is higher than another. Here, everyone has equal value, and everyone has equal say. At this table, there are princes, lords, and kings among the knights—and all of you may have the same authority…even cowherds,” she nodded to Tor. “I am still your King. But here, I am of the same worth as you,” Britt said. She waited, looking around the table to gauge reactions. Some knights were grinning; others looked thoughtful.

  “However, to be part of the Order of the Round Table, one must prove to be a knight of excellent character. It is an honor, not an expectation, to sit here. You must take the oath I presented to Sir Tor
earlier today,” she continued. “Anyone who chooses not to take the oath of this Order may leave now, and I will not think less of him.”

  Everyone remained sitting.

  “In that case, I require all present to take this oath: Never murder, and flee treason. 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,” Britt paused to catch her breath. “Will you swear it?”

  Sir Bedivere was the first to stand. “I will never murder, and will flee treason,” he started.

  Sir Ywain leaped to his feet. “I will not be cruel, but give mercy to those who ask for it—”

  “Upon pain of forfeiting their lordship to King Arthur, forevermore!” Sir Griflet said, almost knocking his chair over in his glee.

  Sir Kay, Sir Gawain, Sir Bodwain, King Pellinore, and Sir Ulfius joined them, as did Sir Lancelot, Sir Lionel, and Sir Bors.

  The hall throbbed as the knights—just a few short of 120 or so—raised their voices and declared the oath.

  Britt smiled as she also stood and repeated the oath. When they finished, they sat back down—the sound of chairs scraping the ground drowning out most words.

  “All for one and one for all,” Britt declared.

  “I beg your pardon, My Lord?” Sir Kay asked.

  “Nothing,” Britt said, placing her arms on the table in front of her. “The first order of business: questing.”

  “Questing, what a joyous occupation of time. Doing good deeds is a worthy and just cause,” Lancelot said.

  “Yes. Thanks for that,” Britt said, eyeing the knight. “As a member of the Round Table, you will be asked to ride out for a part of the spring and summer season to go questing,” Britt said before she leaned back in her chair and waited for the buzz of conversation to die down.