by KM Shea
Britt leaned against the crenellation—the wall of the walkway that was built in a saw-tooth pattern. “Why doesn’t the guidebook have more information about Arthur? I don’t care about Guinevere and Lancelot!” Britt spat, shivering in the chilly night air. “I’ve hated them since childhood!”
It had to be midnight or later. Time was relative to Britt since she arrived in medieval England. She knew it was three weeks since her arrival at Camelot. The days were interesting enough. Sir Kay took her riding and sparring; Merlin continued his usual/unwanted lessons; Sir Ector stood with her and made amusing comments when she held open court and listened to “her” knights argue back and forth about the best way to attack King Lot and his allies. It was the nights that were the worst. In the middle of the suffocating nights, Britt would wake up screaming for her mother, for her sister and friends, only to be hit with the realization that she would never see any of them again.
“I’m an orphan,” Britt reflected. “An orphan with insomnia.” She pushed herself to her feet and retrieved her British guidebook. She dusted it off, sparing a smile at Cavall when the giant mastiff slowly approached her, his nails clicking on the stone. “Gentlemen, we walk,” Britt announced to the six guards strategically grouped around her—new protective measures compliments of “her” knights. (Although Britt suspected Sir Kay was the ringleader of this idea.)
As she had for the last two weeks, Britt walked up and down the walkways of Camelot’s outer walls, occasionally stopping to stare out at the darkened countryside or to twist on her heels and watch the dimly lit innards of her castle.
The weather was cool—much cooler than Britt’s home in America—but the endless walking would eventually push Britt into exhaustion, allowing her to sleep.
Britt placed her hand on Cavall’s head and walked. The guards in front and behind her clinked in their chain mail—their matched steps beating a steady rhythm. The air was peppered with smoke from household fires. Britt couldn’t smell anything yet, but she knew in a few short hours, the castle cook would be up, baking heavy, filling breads.
“So, it’s true.”
Britt whirled to face the speaker—who stood behind her. Cavall growled, and her guards raised their weapons.
It was Merlin. Of course. “The King of Britain paces the walls of Camelot at night like a prowling lion…or a tortured soul,” he said as the guards lowered their weapon.
Britt half smiled. “You sound surprised.”
“That is because I am,” Merlin mildly said, his hands clasped behind his back.
“I didn’t think anything could happen in this castle without your knowledge.” Britt patted Cavall on the side to soothe the dog so he finally relaxed his stiff stance.
Merlin ignored the comment and nodded to the guards. “Move on to Arthur’s rooms. I will return him to his quarters and back into your care when we are finished talking.”
The guards saluted the wizard and left in an organized formation.
Britt watched them go, moving closer to Cavall when the wind blew across the river and straight up Camelot’s walls.
“Arthur, what is wrong?”
“What do you mean?”
Merlin gestured into the night. “When Kay told me you walked the castle walls like a desperate man seeking redemption, I thought he was exaggerating. Alas, he was right, for you do look hopeless.”
Britt dryly chuckled and turned to stare into Camelot. “You have such a way with words, Merlin.”
“I am serious, Arthur.”
“It’s BRITT,” Britt snapped. She placed a hand over her mouth to hold back additional words. “Merlin, you don’t have a family, do you?” she finally managed.
“I have a mentor, an old hermit who raised me. But no, I have no parents nor siblings.”
“I have a mom. She worked a lot when I was in school, but she made sure we did fun things on the weekend. She encouraged my passions, no matter how weird they seemed. Before I came here, I talked to her just about every day on the phone. I have an older sister, too. She was the one who first taught me how to ride horses. Even though I was just her kid-sister, she would let me play with her and her friends. She lives just an hour away from my apartment. We would meet up for coffee or a movie every few weeks so we could catch up. I have a goldfish and some awesome friends. One of them is my next door neighbor, Issie. She and I do our laundry together Tuesday evenings. Do you get what I’m saying?”
Merlin slowly nodded. “I do not recognize many of the activities you speak of, but I see that you mean you have a home and kin.”
“All of them are dead to me.”
“What?”
“All of them are lost. I will never see any of them again. Everything and everyone I have ever known is gone. Forever. I will never ride a horse with my sister again. I will never call my mom and laugh over my latest work fiasco. I can’t even go by the name I was given at birth. All of that is gone. I have no one, and you are asking me why I seem like a desperate soul in the late hours?” Britt’s voice was free of malice as she stared at Merlin with level eyes.
He was quiet. “I’m sorry, lass,” he finally said. “I do not give you enough credit. You are strong. Your grieving is not unjustified. What would help you?”
Britt turned to look at the darkness lurking outside the castle walls. “I don’t think anything can. Just time.”
Merlin nodded before he gracefully seated himself on the ground, huddled against the parapet—the wall of the walkway. “Tell me about your sister. How did she teach you to ride a horse?”
“She taught me out of selfishness, really. When my dad left my mom, we moved away from the hall that was teaching me swordplay. Mom said between my sister and me, we could only have one extracurricular activity. Since I couldn’t find any swordsmanship classes at the time, I was open for a new hobby. My sister wanted to keep riding, so she knew she had to win me over. She stuck me on this ridiculously fat pony named Chubby…”
“…My sister got into jumping and dressage. I thought dressage was dead boring, and jumping scared the pants off me…”
“…favorite horse ever was this beautiful black gelding named Orion. I rode him until his owner sold him, and then I finally found another place that taught historical swordplay…”
Britt talked long into the night. By the time Merlin helped Britt to her room, the eastern horizon was a lighter color, hinting at the sun that would soon rise. Britt collapsed on her bed and heard Cavall sigh when he lay down near her while she drifted off into sleep, remembering her days spent riding with her sister.
“Did you get a new horse, Kay? He’s gorgeous,” Britt said, shading her eyes from the sun as she approached her foster brother outside the castle stables about a week later.
Kay held the reins of a gorgeous black horse—probably a gelding—who was kitted out in splendid tack and stood quietly behind the tall knight.
“No. This is your horse,” Kay said.
Britt shook her head and flexed her fingers as she pulled a riding glove on. “No, I have a little bay, remember? Merlin was afraid I was horse stupid and would fall and crack my head open so I got the half-dead mare.”
“Yes. Merlin decided you are a competent rider and purchased this new mount for your exclusive use,” Sir Kay said.
Britt grinned and folded her arm across her padded chest. “You would rather have me stick with the bay mare, wouldn’t you?”
“As your seneschal and foster brother, I am always concerned with your safety, My Lord,” Sir Kay diplomatically said.
Britt chuckled and squinted at the horse. “I don’t get it. Why the sudden change?”
“I believe Merlin thought you might find this horse more favorable than your previous mount.”
Britt slowly stroked the horse’s sleek neck. His fur felt like silk beneath her fingertips. “He is a beauty. Is he—or she—spirited?”
“Not uncontrollably so. I believe he is within your abilities to control,” Sir Kay admitted.
> “Then what about him don’t you like?”
“It is not that I dislike him, My Lord.”
“Put a sock in it, Kay. If you were happy about him, you would twitch your mustache. What’s up?”
“I do not at all understand what you are saying, but I will admit I am not altogether pleased with the fact that he is a courser, a horse trained for battle,” Sir Kay said.
“Huh.” Britt leaned back on her heels as she studied the horse. “In that case, I might agree with you. What’s his name?”
“Hengroen.”
“That’s a mouthful. Can I rename him?” Britt asked.
“I’m not certain that is possible. He is trained—,”
“I’ll shorten it to Roen. How is that boy? Do you like it, Roen?” She grinned at the horse.
To Britt’s—and Kay’s—shock, Roen lifted his head and nuzzled Britt’s cheek with his velvet muzzle.
“Well, then,” Britt swallowed, shock cooling her heart like ice. “Roen it is.”
Sir Kay wordlessly handed her the reins and retreated to the stable, glancing over his shoulder at the pair and shaking his head.
Britt carefully examined her new horse to the best of her abilities—running her hands across his body and murmuring sweetly to him, glad she had thought to leave Cavall with the kennel boy for her daily ride with Kay.
When Kay exited the stable with his horse, tacked and prepped for their ride, Merlin pounced on them.
“Arthur, I see you have met your new steed,” he said, tucking his hands inside his sleeves.
“Yeah. He’s very impressive,” Britt said. “Thank you for getting him for me.”
“Indeed, I am glad you think so. I hope you enjoy him in the days to come. I’m afraid you won’t be able to ride with Sir Kay just yet, though.”
“Oh?”
“No. I have come to you bearing news. Wonderful news.”
Britt took a step backward and warily eyed Merlin. “Somehow I doubt that. I don’t often like your brand of news. What’s up?”
“The heavens, of course. But that is not what is important; it is this: both King Bors and King Ban have agreed to be your allies! They are already in Britain. They are marching through London with 300 knights, and they have left an army of 10,000 horsemen across the sea.”
“10,000? With our 20,000, we will have half the army Lot has,” Britt said. “Didn’t he have 50,000 mounted men and another 10,000 foot soldiers?
Sir Kay nodded.
“Yes, but we have a great deal more knights than Lot has. I believe if we employ stealth and other effective strategies, we will win,” Merlin pronounced.
She squinted at the wizard. “You’re going to go get the 10,000 horsemen, aren’t you?”
“I am. You and the rest of our men from Camelot will march to our fortified camp and prepare for war.”
“You’re just going to let me prance off into a war? What about protecting your project?” Britt asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Sir Kay assures me you are a more than competent swordsman, and you will have Excalibur with you.”
“So?”
“The scabbard of Excalibur is enchanted. Whoever bears Excalibur and the scabbard will not die from bleeding out.”
“Blood loss is the only worry you have for me?” Britt said.
Merlin shrugged. “No, not at all. But you’re far more valuable to Lot and his allies alive than you are dead. You will not die on this battlefield.”
“How comforting.”
“Sir Ector, Sir Kay, Sir Ulfius, Sir Bodwain, and Sir Bedivere will be with you. I will meet you at our camp.”
“Alright. Good luck,” Britt said.
“To you as well. And Britt,” Merlin said, reaching out to place his hand on her cheek, forcing her to look at him. “Be safe. I have great confidence in you. You will do well while I am gone.”
The wizard’s usage of her real name was not lost on Britt. “I’ll try,” she smiled.
Merlin lightly cuffed her cheek. “That’s a good lass. Right then, I’m off. Enjoy your ride,” he called over his shoulder before he hurried to the stable.
Sir Kay and Britt watched Merlin mount up and ride off through Camelot before the tall knight turned to Britt. “If all is as Merlin says, we had better get you properly acquainted with Roen.”
6
Negotiating with Hostages
During the preparations for war, Britt mostly felt…useless. Sir Kay was busy buying and arranging for provisions for the newly raised army and was unavailable for swordplay, jousting practice, or their regular afternoon ride. Sir Bodwain and Sir Bedivere organized the troops that poured into Camelot, and Sir Ector was almost always answering a correspondence sent by bird from Merlin, King Ban and King Bors, or any of the other army leaders.
Their departure from Camelot was rather sudden. Sir Ector received an urgent letter from one of the camp leaders, and within the day, they were out.
“Can someone please explain to me why we are hurrying like my grandparents when they’re late for a fish fry?” Britt asked, briefly standing up in her stirrups to relieve the strain on her rear.
Roen was a much smoother ride than the bay mare, but she still wasn’t accustomed to riding for hours.
Sir Bodwain rubbed his craggy nose. “It’s military matters, Sire.”
“Why don’t we just tell the boy? He is King; he should be informed,” Sir Ector argued.
“Arthur is King, but it is Merlin who must make the decisions,” Sir Bodwain said.
Sir Bedivere frowned. “I do not think that is how it is supposed to work.”
“Gentlemen, unless you want me to turn Roen around and ride back to Camelot, please inform me what has you all in a tizzy,” Britt warned as her black horse arched his neck and neighed.
“Some of our men have captured Ywain, the heir of King Urien,” Sir Ector said.
Britt briefly pinched the bridge of her nose. “King Urien, he’s Lot’s brother-in-law, yes?”
“Indeed. His wife and Lot’s wife are sisters,” Sir Ulfius carefully said.
“So we’re hurrying to our camp to decide what to do about this Ywain guy?” Britt asked.
“Exactly,” Sir Ector beamed.
“Right. And how many more days do you think we will have to travel to get there?” Britt said.
“It is not a matter of days, but a matter of hours. We will arrive shortly before the evening meal, My Lord,” Sir Bodwain said.
She nodded to her escort. “Ah. Thank you.”
The knights picked up their conversations of war, and Britt stewed over the unsteady future of young Ywain.
When they arrived, the army camp was in an uproar.
Sir Ector grabbed the shoulder of a knight who was running with a sheathed sword. “You there, what’s going on here?” Sir Ector demanded.
“Ywain has gotten loose! We are searching the camp for him,” the knight said before hustling off.
“He what?” Sir Bodwain bellowed, then followed Sir Bedivere into the thick of the swirling camp.
“Arthur, you had best stay here. This could go badly. Come along, Kay,” Sir Ector said as he grabbed his sword from his horse. The father and son headed around the outskirts of the camp, disappearing from sight in the crush of knights.
Britt glanced at Sir Ulfius, who was frowning at the chaotic mess. “You can go as well, Sir Ulfius.”
“My Lord, it would be irresponsible to leave you alone,” Sir Ulfius gravely said.
Britt laughed. “Are you kidding? I’m at our fortified camp with a couple thousand babysitters at hand. And Ulfius, you know I’m not completely useless with a sword.”
“My Lord,” Sir Ulfius said, looking uncomfortable.
Britt sighed as she pulled her helm off her head—one always had to ride responsibly—and shook out her hair. “I won’t tell Merlin if you won’t. Good luck.” She nudged Roen forward. “You can find me at the royal tents,” she called over her shoulder, but Sir Ulfius was already
gone.
“This Ywain guy must be a ninja. Or MacGyver,” Britt said plunging into the fray. She could see the royal tents off in the distance—it was impossible to miss them. They were ornate and an all around eyesore decorated in gaudy colors and flags. “Say what you will about Merlin, but he spares no expense on my behalf. Uther must have been filthy rich.”
Britt dismounted Roen when she reached her tent and removed her gloves before tightening the leather cord that held her hair back in a half ponytail. She strapped Excalibur to her side and was about to set out in search of water for Roen when she heard a hoarse cry.
“Help!”
Britt tied Roen to a hitching post and hurried to the source of the cry: a small grouping of about twenty or so men. She pushed her way to the front of the crowd—some of the knights from London recognized her and stepped aside, bowing as she approached.
At the center of the crowd was a spindly boy who looked no older than sixteen and a well-groomed man dressed in an expensive-looking suit of armor.
The boy had a dagger at the man’s throat.
“Ywain?” Britt asked the knight closest to her.
“Yes, My Lord,” the knight—one of the London ones—nodded.
“Why is no one approaching him?”
“He has a dagger at King Ban’s throat, my Lord.”
“So? Ban’s wearing a full suit of armor. Spider-limbs doesn’t exactly look like a seasoned warrior; he wouldn’t be able to get through the mail.” She thoughtfully tipped her head. “And that is King Ban, eh?”
“S-someone, do something,” King Ban gurgled.
Britt looked up and down the circle before setting her shoulders. She wasn’t sure how her sword skills measured to the average man of the time, but she knew that she could fight Kay, and Kay was no prancing lightweight. Unless this boy was a ninja—which was unlikely based on the fear she could see in his eyes—she would have no trouble against him.
Britt stepped past the boundary of bodies and into the cleared circle around Ywain and King Ban.
