“We don’t know. We haven’t had any jousts or tournaments since My Lord came to Camelot. We only know My Lord is the most skilled swordsman because no one has beaten him in practice fights,” Kay said.
“Perhaps you should take a hunter with you? Not a knight but a forestman skilled in tracking and such. It may be useful,” Sir Bedivere said.
“Perhaps,” Sir Bodwain agreed.
Britt pressed her lips together. “There is someone I wish to bring.”
“Who?” Merlin asked.
Britt briefly closed her eyes, unable to believe what she was about to say. “Lancelot du Lac.”
“He is a fair choice. He is certainly gifted in arms,” Sir Bodwain said.
“I doubt his cousins would insist on going. They are enjoying their stay here,” Sir Bedivere added. “They have been with us for five days and show no signs of wishing to leave.”
“He’s a good lad,” Sir Ector said.
Sir Kay was the only knight who did not look pleased.
Merlin leaned close to Britt and whispered, his breath tickling her neck. “What are you planning? You hate Lancelot.”
“I do,” Britt acknowledged, gritting her teeth. “But as much as I hate him I would rather die than leave him in Camelot without supervision.”
Merlin chuckled and said, “That’s my lass,” before pulling back with a handsome grin. “It’s settled then. Lancelot du Lac will join us, should he be willing. We will leave two days hence. Remember, when recruiting the knights we must be subtle. All of Camelot must believe we are going on an extended hunting trip.”
“Aye,” Sir Bodwain said, barely able to conceal a smile as he rubbed his hands together.
Sir Bedivere’s grin stretched across his face. “Ready your gear and your weapons in secret. We are setting out on a quest.”
Britt was not quite so giddy. She was looking forward to the trip, but she wasn’t about to forget that Lancelot would be coming with. “It will be interesting,” she said.
“It’s not fair. This is the first adventure since Morgause left last summer. I want to come,” Sir Ector objected. “Kay, we should switch. I will go with Arthur, you stay here.”
“I respectfully decline, Father.”
“You little urchin. It’s not fair I tell you!”
“Yes, Father.”
Britt started to regret her decision to bring Lancelot immediately after they set out. The young knight, of course, accepted the invitation— “I would never refuse to come to the aid of a king such as you, My Lord!”—and since they set out early in the morning he had done nothing but grate Britt’s nerves.
To begin with he aligned his horse next to Britt for the day, never straying from her side.
Hourly he felt the need to share a “rousing story” in which he always had the starring role, usually defeating a blackguard knight, a giant, or a serpent. He filled the day with mindless chatter and observations, remaking on everything from bird songs to tree foliage.
Britt almost wished she had brought Cavall along so she could tell the massive dog to bite the knight.
In the twilight hours, Kay signaled the party to halt for the night.
“This journey is going to be more painful than I thought,” Britt said, loosening Llamrei’s girth.
“Are you alright, My Lord?”
Britt turned to find Ywain behind her, his head tilted as he studied her with concern.
Britt blinked. “Yes.”
“Your old wound isn’t hurting you, is it?” Ywain asked, wringing his hands.
Britt laughed. “My thigh wound from the attackers healed last summer, Ywain. It didn’t even leave a scar.”
“Yes, but I thought it still might twinge. You haven’t made a long ride like this in some time,” Ywain said.
“I am fine, but I thank you for your concern,” Britt smiled.
The young knight nodded. “If you need anything at all, My Lord, do not hesitate to call,” he said before seeing to his horse.
Britt barely had enough time to slip the saddle off Llamrei before she was again interrupted.
“Do you need any help, My Lord? Shall I fetch water for your horse?”
Britt set the saddle down. “I appreciate the offer, Gawain, but I should be the one to care for my mount.”
“Can I help you with your armor then? Do you need anything unbuckled?” he offered.
“No,” Britt said, swapping Llamrei’s bridle for a rope halter. “I think I can manage, but thank you,” she said.
Shimmying out of her armor was a tricky thing. Britt usually didn’t bother to wear a full set, but she wore several pieces (the cuirass, pauldrons, faulds, and gorget—which covered her chest, upper legs, and throat.) to bulk up her form. She was tall—for both her century and this one—but too slender for a boy. The armor gave the illusion of broader shoulders, thighs, and chest.
Everyone assumed Britt’s new bulk was maturity. If they helped her remove the armor they would notice she was still as slender as ever.
“I see,” Gawain said.