Britt shrugged.
“I must apologize, My Lord. I seem to have underestimated you in a multitude of ways. I did not think you would be such a good fighter given your…circumstances,” Sir Bodwain said, bowing his head. “May I seek your forgiveness?”
“There is nothing to forgive, Sir Bodwain,” Britt said, resting a hand on the pommel of the sheathed Excalibur. “But I am glad you have corrected your opinion of me.”
“Indeed, I have.”
“So. What do we tell Urien of his son?” Britt asked, turning her horse to watch her knights tie the captured King.
“Tell him we have his son, and if he dares to stand against you again we shall not hesitate to slaughter him,” Merlin said.
Roen snorted as Britt wheeled him to face the enchanter. “Merlin! I would never allow that! I’m shocked you’re even suggesting it.”
“I’m not saying that’s what we would really do, lass. However, sometimes a lie is a kinder thing than the truth,” Merlin said.
“You think if he knows Ywain has sided we me it would kill him?” Britt asked.
“No, but he might do something stupid that he would later regret. For now it is best if we keep the father and son apart. Speaking of which, there’s the lad now,” Merlin said, squinting in the sunlight as he pointed to the slight hill Britt’s army was previously parked on. “Arthur, would you go get him and carry him back to camp? Sir Bodwain will escort you.”
“I don’t need an escort, the battle is over,” Britt said as Roen danced in place.
“Perhaps, but there are still enemy soldiers about. The fighting is not finished yet, there may be a stray soldier or two who escape capture and seek you out. You need protection,” Merlin said, gesturing to the battlefield. Lot’s army was fleeing, pouring out of the plains in a frenzy, but Britt could still hear the clang of swords and armor.
“Fine. You will tell Urien?”
“I will.”
“Let’s go, Sir Bodwain. Your babysitting duty commences.”
“My what?”
“Never mind,” Britt said before heeling Roen. The gelding lunged into a smooth canter, effortlessly carrying Britt up the sun painted hill. Ywain was nothing but a silhouette at the top, his springy hair casting long shadows in front of him.
“You won, My Lord!” Ywain shouted, pumping his fist in the air.
“We won,” Britt corrected him as Roen slowed to a trot. “I could not have done it without King Ban and King Bors, or any of my men for that matter,” Britt said as she drew close enough to Ywain to see a smile on his shadowy face.
“But now you are the rightful King of Britain, and no one can say otherwise!” Ywain said.
“Oh, I’m sure King Lot will still say no. He’ll bellyache for months. But Merlin seems to think the worst is behind us. You don’t have a horse?” Britt asked, stopping Roen near the young man.
“No. Merlin said it would be best if I went scouting on foot.”
“Then mount up behind me. We’re returning to camp,” Britt said.
“Oh I couldn’t, My Lord,” Ywain shook his head.
“Why not? Roen is a strong horse, and you don’t weigh much more than I do. If we only walk and trot he’ll be fine,” Britt said.
“But, my King… you’re the King. It wouldn’t be right for someone to ride with you,” Ywain said.
Britt snorted. “That’s kind of you to say, but it isn’t like that. Merlin catches a ride as if I were a taxi service. Come on, I want to go ride past the army one last time to look nice and regal before we go back.”
Ywain look unconvinced.
“Aren’t you hungry? Wouldn’t it be nice to return to camp extra quick?” Britt coaxed.
Food was the last thing on Britt’s mind. She was mostly working on not throwing up from the overwhelming, suffocating scent of blood. But she knew the sooner she got off the field the better she would feel, and chances were Ywain—who had seen no combat—would be starving.
“As you wish, my King,” Ywain said, finally convinced as he made for Britt’s horse.
Roen side stepped Ywain for several moments until Britt leaned over and offered her arm. Ywain eagerly climbed up, looking out from his post.
Britt directed Roen down the slight hill before trotting up and down the field in front of her army—which was reorganizing itself.
Britt’s men took a few moments to shout and raise their swords in the air as Britt rode past.
“We had best had back to camp, sire, before you start some sort of outbreak,” Sir Bodwain shouted above the roar of the troops.
“Very well,” Britt said before turning Roen south, in the direction of their camp. As Britt rode past she spotted Merlin in his Gandalf-look-alike robe, standing with King Urien. The king looked utterly dismayed, his eyes were fastened on Ywain.
The youth wasn’t aware of the fixation, and he was grinning and whooping with the rest of Britt’s men.
Merlin spoke to King Urien, who nodded as he watched Britt ride off with Ywain, disappearing behind a thicket of trees.
Chapter 8