Britt unceremoniously reached out and wrapped her hand around the sword’s hilt before pulling it. The familiar sound of the sword sliding free was thunderous in the sudden quiet of the cemetery. Britt swung the sword once and held it above her head.
The people in the streets roared. They sounded angry, and their faces twisted as they shouted at the top of their lungs. Their words were indecipherable, and for a few moments Britt was afraid they would storm the cemetery to rip her to pieces. Then those near the front of the crowd were finally heard.
“Hail, King Arthur!”
“The true son of Uther Pendragon!”
“Long live King Arthur!”
“The rightful King of Britain!”
Britt took a step back, her eyes wide as she stared at the crowd that stomped and roared for her.
Knights and barons began to join the vocal display of loyalty, some more easily than others. Surprisingly, even a number of the kings began to kneel. King Leodegrance was among the first of men to bow, sweeping his long tunic to the side so he could kneel before Britt.
King Lot and his buddies, however, glowered at Britt from the back of the cemetery.
Britt smirked at him and flexed her shoulders.
“What are you planning?” Merlin said—barely audible even though he spoke directly into her ear.
“Not much. I think it’s high time I indulge myself a bit,” Britt said.
“What? What are you—,” Merlin broke off and lurched backwards when Britt again heaved the sword into the air, holding it above her head.
She completed a fancy twirl before stabbing the sword at the stone. It was a gutsy move, if the sword didn’t slide easily in Britt would very likely ruin the sword and break something in her hand. But the sword slid cleanly in. Britt released the hit with her right hand and placed her left hand beneath the guard. She pushed up, popping the sword out of the stone, and balanced it for a second before fixing her grip on the hilt and performing a forward and then backwards twirl.
The little performance made the peasants cheer even louder—Britt could feel the ground beneath her feet hum—and Merlin turned white.
“What?” Britt asked, observing with great pleasure as King Lot turned red with fury.
“Good God, I never thought to ask if you could handle a sword,” Merlin uttered.
“I can,” Britt assured him. Obviously he didn’t speak with Sir Kay and Sir Ector much.
“Is it a common trait in your time period?” Merlin asked, his eyes narrowed. Mostly he avoided asking Britt questions about the future—he was more concerned with the present than the future he claimed—so the inquiry surprised Britt.
“No. It’s a lost art,” Britt said.
Merlin started muttering under his breath, a strange mixture of prayers and curses based on the snatches Britt heard. Her attention was reclaimed by the masses, however, when the Archbishop approached Arthur.
“It appears, young Arthur, that the people have chosen,” the Archbishop said. He opened his mouth to say more, but Merlin’s knights had finally gotten themselves organized.
They—with the several dozen barons, kings, knights, and princes that had decided to join Britt—shouted in one voice. “Long live King Arthur! We will have no more delay, nor any other king, for so it is God’s will; and we will slay whoso resists Him and Arthur!”
Merlin nodded in satisfaction and the Archbishop smiled. “Come,” he said, gesturing to St. Paul’s Cathedral. “A graveyard is no place for a crowning.”
Britt trooped inside with the kings, barons, and knights. The cathedral was not big enough to house the peasants as well, but the doors were left open and those standing in the doorways shouted out details to the crowds in the streets.
“Put your sword on the altar, dedicating it to God,” Merlin whispered to Britt as everyone settled into place.
“What? All this work for a sword I don’t even get to keep?” Britt hissed.
“We will get you a better one. An enchanted one. Just do it.”
Britt heaved her eyes to the ceiling, but marched to the altar. She hesitated as the crowds grew quiet and dropped to her knee, holding the sword above her head. She stood, unnerved by the silence as she placed the sword on the altar.
She bounded back to Merlin, relieved as the crowd of men looked at the altar with great reverence. “Now I know how Frodo felt about the Ring,” Britt sighed.
Merlin frowned. “What are you babbling about?”
“Nothing.”
“Come, Arthur. It is time,” the archbishop said as he swept past Britt, carrying a crown.
Britt glanced to Merlin, who nodded, before she followed the bishop. She shifted uncomfortably when they stopped in front of the altar.
“Arthur,” the Archbishop started—for the first time since Britt met him he did not wear a smile. His gaze was piercing and his mouth was set as he spoke. “Do you vow to be a true king to all people, lords and commons alike, and to deal only in justice until your life ends?”
Britt hesitated, but she heard Merlin’s soft whisper.
“Say you do, lass.”