“As long as we can be of use to you we will stay, My Lord,” Sir Kay said.
Britt looked to Sir Kay, surprised. Merlin had told Sir Kay to keep his mouth shut during the cemetery interchange. Kay met Britt’s gaze and nodded before lowering his eyes to the ground. The young knight meant every word.
“Stand, Arthur. This is not a time for weeping, it is a time of great joy. Finally, Britain will have a king again!” Merlin declared as he pulled Britt to her feet.
Britt stomped her hands and flapped her cloak in an effort to warm herself as she watched lords and knights parade past the sword—which was once again stabbed in the anvil—and grapple with it.
It seemed everyone from the tournament had turned out, intent on giving the sword in the stone one last pull. The sword pulling had gone on for most of the afternoon, and the air grew increasing chilly as night loomed on the horizon.
Britt leaned forward and tried to catch Merlin’s eye, but he was busy talking to the Archbishop, planning the next move probably.
“Are you cold, boy?” Sir Ector asked.
Britt leaned back against the church. “No, I’m fine thank you.”
Sir Ector held a rough wool blanket. “Are you certain? Winter has yet to truly bare its teeth, but it is still cold.”
“I’m fine,” Britt insisted. She almost shrieked when Sir Kay materialized next to her and shoved a hot mug in her hands.
“Warm cider,” Sir Kay grunted. “Drink it.”
“Thanks,” Britt awkwardly said.
The father and son stood with Britt, blocking some of the noise and excited shouts of the crowd when yet another knight failed to pull the sword from the stone.
Britt hesitated before she brought the mug to her lips and sipped. The cider was stronger and sourer than what Britt was used to. It was not nearly as sugary either, but it was warm and tasted good.
“How much longer will this last?” Britt asked, once again watching the knights.
Sir Ector turned to watch the interchange. “As long as it must. There must be no doubts that you are our true King.”
Sir Kay briefly nodded his direction in front of the crown. “King Lot hasn’t had his chance yet. He will be your biggest naysayer.”
“King Lot?” Britt asked, taking another sip of the cider.
Sir Kay pointed out a tall man who wore a fur cape and a floor length purple hued tunic. His face was craggy like cliffs, and a scowl seemed permanently etched on his lips. It was his eyes, though, that caused Britt to pull back. He had clear, grey eyes that judged every person who walked in his sight. They were cold, calculating, and hard, like chips of stone.
He stood with three other men, speaking to them as he glared at the crowd.
“Who is that with him?” Britt asked.
“Ah yes. That would be King Urien, King Pellinore, and King Ryence,” Sir Ector said.
King Urien was unremarkable, resembling most males of the day in build and hair length. King Pellinore was more…noble. He stood like a warrior, his hand resting on his sword as he sifted through the crowd with narrowed eyes. King Ryence resembled a ferret.
“They are all Lot’s allies?” Britt asked.
“Not usually, no. King Urien always sides with Lot, and Ryence follows whoever seems to have the winning side. King Pellinore is most often a lone man, though. It is unusual that he allies himself with anyone,” Sir Ector said, thoughtfully grooming his beard.
“Looks like he’s changed his ways,” Sir Kay growled as King Lot approached the sword in the stone/anvil.
The tall man pulled on the sword, his face cracking with effort even though he didn’t pull until he was red in the face like the other barons, knights, and kings before him. After pulling for a few moments he took three sweeping steps backwards and scowled at the sword. He then tilted his head up and walked away, as though the competition was a child’s game.
King Pellinore was next—pulling with everything he had—and King Urien and King Ryence were directly behind him. All three kings failed.
“Trying to figure out a way around the sword to claim the throne he is,” Sir Kay said, nodding in King Lot’s direction.
“He’ll fail. The common folk won’t let that happen,” Sir Ector promised.
Britt didn’t get a chance to reply as Merlin stepped in front of the sword in the stone. “All afternoon you mortal men have tried, and all afternoon you have failed. There is only one in Britain who is worthy and able to pull this sword!”
“That’s our cue, My Lord,” Sir Ulfius said, appearing behind Sir Kay.
“Right. Thanks again, Sir Ector, Sir Kay,” Britt said, passing the mug to Sir Kay before brushing off her cloak.