“For that matter you should stop stealing knight’s shields. Your apple tree looks like it’s going to break from all the weight, and pretty soon the shields are going to get rusty. Not to mention it looks gaudy,” Britt continued.
“Don’t you want to fight to defend your shield?” the Sable Knight asked.
“My shield? No, not really. That one really clangs when someone hits it, it’s why I brought it with,” Britt said.
“Oh,” the Sable Knight drooped.
“But I will fight you for another reason. You killed Sir Myles, and I never look kindly on slaying a fellow man, and you roughed up one of my knights.”
“What was his name?” the Sable Knight asked, sounding almost conversational.
“Sir Griflet.”
“I can’t say I’ve heard of him.”
“He’s a young knight with an appalling sword stance and is untried in almost all forms of combat,” Britt said.
“He has a flea bitten gray horse,” Merlin piped in.
“Oh, that young greenhorn,” the Sable Knight said. “The one I tossed from his horse yesterday. I tried to talk him out of it. Anyone could see the lad barely had the basics of combat down. He refused for some time so I saw no other way but to thrash him. I set him back on his horse when it was all over, though.”
Britt blinked. “He didn’t mention that part of the story.”
“I do not care what others say of me. What matters is that you said you will fight me. Let us cross arms!” the Sable Knight said before wheeling his horse in a circle and charging at Britt.
Britt whipped Excalibur from its scabbard, her heart pounding in her throat as Roen tensed beneath her.
Merlin swooped in and swung his staff at the Sable Knight’s head like a baseball player. The large knight fell off his horse like a chopped tree and lay stunned for a moment.
“Merlin!” Britt said.
“He’s fine,” Merlin insisted. “You are not skilled at mounted combat and I’m not going to let you risk your foolish neck for an equally foolish young knight. He’s dismounted so now you can fight him properly. I won’t step in, I promise,” Merlin said as Britt dismounted Roen and slowly approached the Sable Knight, who was lumbering to his feet.
“That was hardly fair,” the Sable Knight said.
“I apologize, do you still find yourself smarting for a fight?” Britt asked, elegantly twirling Excalibur.
The Sable Knight tossed his spear away and unsheathed his sword. “If the fellow on the spindly horse stays out of it.”
“He will,” Britt said, her eyes glittering as she watched the knight shift his stance.
“Then the answer is yes,” the Sable Knight said before he ran at Britt, roaring like a fierce animal. He swung his sword at Britt in a horizontal chop. Britt ducked under the blow and rammed her shoulder into the knight’s belly, her feet firmly planted.
The knight sent her skidding back a foot, but she had used his own charge against him when he hit her—a smaller, braced target—with the force of a car ramming into a tree. He bounced backwards, thrown off balance.
Britt lunged forward with Excalibur extended. She hit the Sable Knight in the chest at the prime of her swing.
The Sable knight managed to raise his sword in an attempt to block a second swipe Britt aimed at his chest, but Britt was only feinting. Instead she whirled in a circle and caught the Sable Knight in his unguarded side, throwing him to the ground.
As quick as a snake Britt wedged the tip of Excalibur under the knight’s helm so it rested against the chain mail at his throat. Britt’s shoulders heaved as she stared the knight down and leaned into her sword, applying pressure at his throat.
“I surrender,” the Sable Knight said. “Surely I have not met a man more skilled at the sword than you,” he said when Britt backed off.
Britt slid Excalibur into its scabbard. “I thank you, but I’m sure there are men a great deal more skilled than I,” she ruefully said.
The Sable Knight shook his head. “If you are as skilled with the lance and spear as you are with the sword you must be the greatest knight in all of England.”
“I’m not,” Britt said as she removed her helm from her head to wipe sweat off her forehead. “I can’t use a spear at all, and Kay almost falls off his horse laughing whenever we practice jousting,” Britt smiled.
The Sable Knight, who was in the process of boosting himself off the ground, froze.
“Is something wrong?” Britt asked, exchanging looks with Merlin.
“You are Arthur, King Arthur,” the Sable Knight said.
“Yes,” Britt said with great hesitation. (It seemed random knights in all parts of Britain were asking her that.)
The Sable Knight sunk to his knees and struggled to remove his helm. “I must beg your pardon, My Lord,” he said when he finally wrenched it from his head, revealing a man who was approximately Sir Ector’s age. His face looked noble but worn by the weather, and Britt vaguely recognized him.
When Merlin sharply inhaled Britt retreated to her horse. “Yes?”