Sir Kay also stood and narrowed his dark eyes at the mocking kings.
“He’s barely older than a babe. He can’t rule yet,” King Pellinore said. The ferret-y King Ryence nodded vigorously behind him.
“Indeed,” King Lot agreed. “Instead we shall give him gifts of good, hard blows on his back.”
All of Britt’s supporters/Merlin’s Minions leaped to their feet, roaring in anger and fury.
“And that pretty much ends the party,” Britt supposed as she sipped her goblet of sweet wine. She leaned back in her chair, adjusting for maximum comfort as she watched the shouting match.
“You seem relaxed for one whose right to rule is being questioned,” Merlin said, popping up at Britt’s shoulder.
Britt glanced at the wizard and shrugged. “Why should I be upset when I have dozens of men to be upset for me?” Britt asked, gesturing to the crowd. She frowned when she spotted Sir Ector barreling towards King Lot with an alarming amount of agility. Britt looked for Sir Kay, hoping he would stop his father, but the knight seemed to be making a beeline for King Urien.
“Perhaps it is just as well that you have become King, and not the real Arthur,” Merlin supposed as he plopped down into a chair next to Britt. “He had a horrible temper and took offense to the least of things. A King of solid spirits is not a bad thing, so long as you don’t appear to be a coward.”
Britt half smiled as she took another sip of her wine and watched Sir Ector’s progress across the banquet hall.
“I must admire Lot’s perseverance,” Merlin said, watching the furious king.
“He acts like a juvenile delinquent,” Britt snorted as she watched her ‘adopted father’ and the foreign king enter a shouting match.
“A what?”
“Oh, sorry. Umm, a naughty, spoiled child,” Britt supplied.
Merlin shook his head. “You have such an odd way of speaking.”
“Just wait until I bust out slang words. I’ve been pretty nice to you so far,” Britt said, watching King Urien move to slug Kay. The grave knight dodged the blow before knocking the king on his butt.
“So you know who to appoint to what positions?” Merlin asked.
“YES,” Britt said, watching the knight from her crowning ceremony, Sir Bedivere, shake a scrawny looking baron who was siding with Lot.
“Excellent. In a few days we shall set out to get you a new sword. It would be wisest to wait until Lot and his ilk leave London. The lake from which we will obtain your new sword is not far from the place I mean to fortify as your castle.”
“Oh?” Britt asked, leaning forward as she watched Lot push Sir Ector, making the older man stumble backwards a few paces.
“Indeed. It is partially why I chose that particular location. The construction is almost finished, I believe. There is just a small length of the outer wall that has yet to be built. I thi—,”
“Merlin how do we shut everyone up?” Britt asked, her throat tightening as she watched Sir Ector attempt to ram Lot. The king and knight collided.
“What?”
“I want to silence them, stop this,” Britt said, stabbing her finger at Sir Ector, who was puffing as King Lot pulled a dagger.
“No harm will come out of this. There might be a brawl, but even if daggers are used there will be no serious injuries,” Merlin said, waving off Britt’s concern.
“Merlin,” Britt repeated.
“Very well,” Merlin sighed. He got out of his chair and meandered over to a fireplace. Britt could see his mouth moving, but the hall was too loud to hear anything. When he gestured the fireplace, the torches, and all flames in the hall burst to at least twice their original height, roaring in fathomless hunger.
Men shouted and cowered before the sight, covering their arms and forgetting their quarrels for the moment.
“SILENCE,” Britt yelled, cupping her hands around her mouth.
The room obeyed, mostly, Britt suspected, because they were already half hoarse.
Britt studied King Lot for a moment before she once again took up a relaxed posture, planting her elbow on the armrest of her chair and leaning her head against her hand. She slightly narrowed her eyes and did her best to look unaffected and cold.
“King Lot, you are nothing but an old windbag. If you so dearly desire to face me in combat it can be arranged,” Britt said, her voice chilly as she stared down the king.
King Lot scowled and shrugged his shoulders to fix his cloak. “I will meet you on the fields of war,” he vowed before he banged out of the room, the three other kings and their supporters on his heels.
The rest of the feast attendees spoke to one other as they reseated themselves and set the table right. Sir Ector and Sir Kay approached Britt’s table.
“I’m sorry, Arthur,” Sir Ector said.
“What for?” Britt asked, stretching her legs out in front of her.
“I didn’t knock down that doghearted clotpole,” Sir Ector declared.
“It’s fine,” Britt smiled. “There’s always next time.”