Embark (King Arthur and Her Knights Book 4) (3 page)

“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, and all of you may have the same weight as them. 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 giddy, 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.

Sir Kay smoothed his moustache in great joy. As Britt’s seneschal, the knights’ feeding and upkeep had caused a constant drain on her coffers that he didn’t appreciate. He had heartily approved of the plan to send knights out when Britt and Merlin first discussed it.

“You see? I told you the young ones would like the idea,” Merlin murmured to Britt.

“Leodegrance’s knights aren’t thrilled,” Britt whispered.

“Of course they aren’t. This will require them to risk their lives. Forget those old swine. It appeals to your younger knights—the rowdy ones who
need
to be aired out to play,” Merlin said before he raised his voice to speak to the crowd. “Arthur asks this because I have foreseen the great things you will do. Ladies will be saved, mythical creatures will be slain, and kingdoms shall be won!” he boomed, lying through his teeth.

The crash course on the order of the Round Table went on until late in the evening. When even Merlin could hear Sir Ywain’s stomach growling, he released them to a celebration feast in the main hall.

There, they joined Guinevere and the ladies and knights who would not be in the Order of the Round Table.

Chapter 3

The Quest of the White Hart

As usual, Britt was seated at the head table in the feasting hall. Only Merlin and Guinevere sat with her, although a steady flow of knights passed by the table to give their compliments to Guinevere and make eyes at her, or to ask Britt (and Merlin) a question about the Round Table.

“I hope you have found your first day at Camelot to be pleasant, Lady Guinevere,” Merlin said in one of the few lulls.

“There are so many great knights,” Guinevere giggled.

“Yes,” Merlin cautiously agreed, giving Britt the evil eye as she leaned back in her chair, feeding Cavall bits of meat. Britt ignored the look, leaving him with the job of speaking. “Have you made friends?” Merlin asked.

“Certainly. Lady Blancheflor and Lady Clarine first greeted me when I arrived. They were very kind and complimented me on my dress,” Guinevere said, rattling off the other ladies who greeted her as Merlin grew a vacant expression.

Britt hid her amusement—
Merlin
, entering in girl talk!—behind her wine cup before she took a mouthful of a beef pasty.

“Have you met King Pellinore’s wife, Queen Adelind?” Britt asked, nodding to the table directly in front of the dais, where King Pellinore and his lovely—and brilliant—wife sat with Sir Kay, Sir Ector, and a number of Britt’s closest knights.

“No. Is that bad?” Guinevere asked, quickly turning away from Merlin to stare wide-eyed at Britt. “I’ll go introduce myself right now,” she said, standing so fast she stepped on the hem of her dress.

“Guinevere, it’s fine,” Britt said, catching her by the wrist.

Guinevere shifted and looked ill. “Are you certain?”

“Yeah, I’ll introduce you in a bit,” Britt said, cocking her head as she took in the younger girl’s worry. “You don’t have to worry about offending me, you know.”

Britt knew she guessed correctly when Guinevere shivered.

“Look,” Britt said, glancing at Merlin for assurance. “I’m not a jerk. I know we warned you about…
talking
, but I’m not going to kick you back home just because you haven’t met everyone yet.”

“Indeed,” Merlin said. “As long as you don’t make too much work for the servants or cause rebellion among the knights, you may stay as long as you please.”

Britt was not fooled. She could see the cranks of his mind working behind Merlin’s innocent expression. Already he was pondering ways to use Guinevere’s presence for their advantage.

“But the
moment
I find you taking liberties—claiming to be my lady or love or something else equally as stupid—you’re going back to Camelgrance. If you never do that, we’re good,” Britt said. “Although I want my table back to myself in a few days.”

“Hear, hear,” Merlin grumbled.

Britt noticed, with a stormy countenance, that Lancelot seemed to be working his way in their direction. He probably intended to spill more poetry at Guinevere—who was all too easily impressed.

Fortunately, the entire banquet was interrupted when the doors to the hallway banged open. A white stag ran into the room, his antlers gleaming like ivory as he jumped tables and knocked over two servants and a knight. A white hound, baying like a beagle, nearly skid out as it too ran into the room, chasing after the deer.

Britt watched the crazed parade with narrowed eyes before she studied her wine glass. “We should ask Sir Ulfius who brewed this stuff. It’s potent,” she said.

“You are not seeing visions, Arthur. The hart and hound are real,” Merlin said, standing with a thoughtful look.

“Seriously? What’s a hart?” Britt asked, rising out of her chair.

“The deer,” Merlin said, watching as the hound almost caught the stag but missed—its jaws snapping shut on air. The hart pranced out of the room and the dog followed, colliding with a foreign knight at the door. The knight picked the dog up—quite the feat as it wasn’t a small canine—and hurried from the room.

The room was silent for several moments, until Britt broke it with the unkingly observation of, “What just happened?”

No sooner were the words out of her mouth, than a beautiful lady
riding
a white palfrey—a
horse
—indoors, entered the room. “My Lord, be merciful and address my grievance! The hound that was just stolen from here is mine. Please send someone to retrieve it—no!” the lady shrieked when another unknown knight—
also
riding a horse, but his was a courser, a warhorse—stormed the room and grabbed the lady off her horse. He tossed her over the front of his saddle and urged his steed from the room. “No! My Lord, help me! Please,” the lady called as she fell out of hearing range.

No one moved, except for Britt. She climbed down the dais steps and picked up the reins of the abandoned, white horse. “How did they get a horse in the keep, and why didn’t anybody
do
anything?” Britt said, eyeing her tables and tables of knights.

The knights sheepishly looked at each other as Britt patted the horse on the neck.

“‘Tis a quest!” Merlin declared.

“How?” Britt frowned, handing the horse off to a page boy.

“The signs are unmistakable. The hart and the hound—even the lady’s horse are all white—the color of holiness,” Merlin said. “The damsel is now in distress and must be rescued—as should her dog.”

“And the hart?” Britt asked, approaching the dais again.

“And the hart,” Merlin agreed. “It is obvious, this is a quest the heavens have delivered to glorify the Order of the Round Table, that a select few knights may be honored.”

“Right, so who volunteers to go out on this quest?” Britt asked, turning to face her men.

“I will,” Sir Tor said, standing by his seat in the back of the room. He was stationed near the door that the unusual party-crashers had used. “If you will give me your leave, My Lord,” he added.

“Of course, Sir Tor,” Britt acknowledged. “You shall pursue…”

“The hound,” Merlin whispered.

“The hound,” Britt repeated, her voice loud enough for Sir Tor to hear.

“I will go forth as well, should you wish it, My Lord,” Sir Gawain said.

“Me too!” Sir Ywain was quick to add.

“Gawain is the best choice for the deer—the hart. You will use the two tracking hounds I gave you at Christmas?” Britt asked.

Sir Gawain bowed. “It will be my pleasure, My Lord.”

“As for Ywain,” Britt hesitated. Sir Ywain was young and eager to please, but Britt wasn’t sure he was the best choice to send after a kidnapped lady. He was brash and tended to take large risks—a trait that wouldn’t mix well with the task of rescuing someone.

“I would be honored to go—either with Sir Ywain or alone,” King Pellinore said, standing.

“Really? I mean…” Britt snapped her mouth shut to hold her words in as she looked to King Pellinore’s wife.

Queen Adelind was famous for running Pellinore’s lands whenever he was off chasing after the questing beast—which was often. She was even more famous, though, for sending Pellinore scathing notes for being absent for so long.

Queen Adelind, who was beautiful in a soft, subdued way, tucked the elaborate braid her long, brown hair was coiled in over her shoulder. “It would be an honor to Anglesey if my husband would take up this quest and refrain from running off, should he happen to see the questing beast,” she said with a smile that was beautiful, but as firm as a shield of stone.

“I don’t want to send Ywain alone, but do he and King Pellinore get along well?” Britt whispered to Merlin.

“Well enough, but I doubt he could keep Pellinore’s pace,” Merlin said.

“Ah,” Britt said before raising her voice. “Of course. In that case, I ask that King Pellinore would retrieve the genteel lady who was taken before our very eyes.”

“My Lord,” Sir Ywain objected as Sir Griflet patted his shoulder in commiseration.

“You’re still too bad at jousting to go questing, Ywain,” Sir Griflet said.

“You aren’t any better than I am,” Sir Ywain scoffed.

“Yes, but I wasn’t fool enough to ask to go out on a quest, as terrible as I am,” Griflet pointed out.

“No, I suppose you learned your lesson the first time,” Sir Ywain grunted.

“What did you say?” Griflet demanded.

Britt ignored their scuffle and addressed the three knights. “I imagine you wish to start your quest tonight, lest the trail becomes cold—or lost?”

“It would be for the best, My Lord,” King Pellinore said, his hands clasped and his lips folded in a smile. He was looking forward to the chase.

“Very well. Let us end the festivities for tonight. It seems there is some clean up to be done. Knights, I wish you well in your endeavor. Good evening,” Britt said to all those present.

“I have words of wisdom to share,” Merlin said, approaching the three knights. “Especially to you, Sir Tor.”

When Britt was assured the young wizard was fully distracted, she slipped from the feasting hall—making her apologies to Guinevere—and made a beeline for her room, Cavall padding faithfully behind her.

“Send for Roen—have him saddled. For a long ride,” Britt said to a servant girl she found finishing the preparations in a visitor’s room.

“Yes, My Lord,” the girl said, curtseying before she ran away.

Britt hurried to her room, shutting the doors behind her.

“This time, you’re coming with,” Britt said to Cavall as she dug out two saddle bags. One saddle bag was already filled with all the things she would need for camping outside for a day or two. (On one occasion Merlin had spirited her out to the forest to give her a much needed break from her kingly duties. Since then, Britt made it a habit to have a bag prepared. Just in case.) Britt shoved a leather leash for Cavall, and a spare collar in the second bag. She slung the packs over her shoulder—intending to fill the second bag with food for her dog—and walked for the door. She tripped on her backpack—one of the few items she had left from her life in the twenty first century—sending the contents of the bag sprawling across the floor.

“Dang it,” Britt breathed.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Merlin said from the doorway.

Britt looked up and set her packs aside, scooping items—like clothes and a travel book—back in her backpack. “Nowhere. I just have a few items I want to give to Gawain, Tor, and King Pellinore.”

Merlin looked unconvinced. “A likely story,” he said.

“Whatever. Could you grab my ipod?” Britt asked, nodding at the ipod touch that had flown from the bag, and was now a foot or two away from Merlin.

“Your
what
?”

“The white and black thing,” Britt said, pointing as she zipped up her backpack.

“I see. Arthur, we need to talk,” Merlin said, glancing at the door that was barely cracked.

“About?”

“Earlier today I received word from one of my men. He’s heard rumors,” he said, grunting when he stooped over to pick up Britt’s ipod.

“About?” Britt repeated.

Merlin pursed his lips. “An attempt against your life,” he finally asked.

Britt blinked. “Oh,” she said, her muscles going slack for a moment. “From who? King Ryence? King Lot?”

Merlin shook his head. “No names, only a whisper that someone from the north seeks to harm you.”

Britt snorted. “That isn’t a surprise. Someone is
always
out to get me.”

“Perhaps, but one should never take spoken rumors lightly,” Merlin said.

“You told me I should never take rumors seriously either,” Britt said.

“That too,” Merlin agreed. “Either way, it is best to be paranoid at all times and in all things. Are you paranoid in all things?”

“Maybe it’s Lancelot. If Lancelot tried harming me, could we exile him?” Britt asked with a dreamy smile.

“It’s not Lancelot,” Merlin sourly said before he looked down at the device he held in his hands. “I say, what
is
this?”

“It’s an ipod. It plays music. Or it used to play music. The batteries were drained ages ago, and it’s not like you have an electrical socket I can plug it into.”

“Is it like some sort of thin music box?” Merlin asked.

“Yes, only this can play hundreds of songs instead of one,” Britt said. “Wait, they
have
music boxes already?”

“Good heavens,
no
,” Merlin said, turning the ipod over in his hands. “But I’ve heard from other wise men about that—men who can see the future. Like Blaise, my master. This is a marvel,” Merlin said, studying the mp3 player—even though the screen remained blank.

“I thought you didn’t approve of knowing about the future. You said you were more concerned with the present,” Britt said.

“I am. I care not about future
events
. But the advances in tools and industry can be fascinating,” Merlin said.

“Mmm. Did you need anything else?” Britt asked.