For many a petty king ere Arthur came
Ruled in this isle, and ever waging war
Each upon other, wasted all the land;
And still from time to time the heathen host
Swarmed overseas, and harried what was left.
And so there grew great tracts of wilderness,
Wherein the beast was ever more and more,
But man was less and less, till Arthur came.
For first Aurelius lived and fought and died,
And after him King Uther fought and died,
But either failed to make the kingdom one.
And after these King Arthur for a space,
And through the puissance of his Table Round,
Drew all their petty princedoms under him,
Their king and head, and made a realm, and reigned.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson; The Coming Of Arthur

The Chronicles of Artie, Girl-King Of England Born

Chapter One; Arturia - Before Badon

The first thing one remembers about war, I suppose, once one has beaten down all the usual tremors and thrills through the long march, is how loud and coarse and wild everything is. Yesterday we made camp and the men swam in revelry. I believe they finished most of the drink, which is unfortunate, but by God's help we will feast on Saxon mead ere the morrow! Or so Kay said, meaning it exactly as much as he means anything. He is a bit of a sour dunderhead, my dear foster-brother, and he preens like a parrot.

Anyhow (I suppose I must learn to curb these diversions if I am to be King), as is my custom, I sat in my tent over meat and bread. With me were stalwart Bedivere, gallant Lancelot, and Kay, who from now on shall be known only as Sir Lemon.

"No, no," Bedivere was saying. "We draw up our knighthood, sound the bugle, and charge down the hill. Strike the awe of God in them, like the very fire of heaven!"

"Forgive me, Sir Bedivere," said Lancelot (always courtly, through and through, the very lilac of chivalry, but I think I shall stop now), "but we might as well gift ourselves to the Saxon spears. If we are to break their ranks we must draw up on the left, out of sight. The hill will hide us, our foot will charge, and then we sweep around and through the enemy's rear. As things are we have too few horses to spare."

Bedivere frowned.

"A strike from behind? Are you urging us to cowardice, Sir Lancelot?"

"Nay, Sir Bedivere. There are times for noble words and tourney-play, and then there are times for war. I am no archer, Sir, to cower in the ranks and break at the first glint of enemy steel. But I know that a spear in the breast is as good as a lance in the back, and I'd rather we did the stabbing. Don't forget" -and here he turned to me and bowed his head- "we fight not for chivalry, but for the Pendragon. And we will see him on his throne yet, Christ willing."

Sir Bedivere frowned, but held his peace. He is a gracious foe, Sir Lancelot, and he turns all hearts to him. They say he was raised by the Lady of the Lake. Looking at him, I can believe it - she had a very pretty arm, after all. I think I shall learn to love him. Not in that way, of course. Chastely, as befits a true knight. Something like a friend, or a sweeter Sir Lemon.

"What do you think, Sire?" asked Bedivere.

"Well," I said, "I think fighting for chivalry is all very good and all, but I have to be King first, don't I? Otherwise we can't do anything we said we'd do. Like make a table round, and all that other stuff Merlyn keeps going on about."

It was generally admitted that this was true, although I do think I could have phrased it better. One day I'll speak just like a King should.

"Anyone taking that?" asked Sir Lemon loudly.

Everyone looked at him, then at the last piece of meat.

"Not really," said Bedivere.

"Not at all," said Lancelot.

"Just eat it, you ninny," I said.

Sir Lemon shot me a lemony glare, snatched the meat, then stormed out.

"He does that sometimes," I informed the rest.

"With all due respect, Sire," said Lancelot, "the Saxon host arrives in two days. Sir Kay may be fiery, but all the same he would die for you. May I suggest that you bring him back into the fold?"

"Do you mean the tent?" I asked.

"Sir Lancelot," said Bedivere stiffly, "is speaking in knightly circles. He means, Sire, that you should make up with Sir Kay."

"Oh, come on," I said. "Kay's a big dumb grouch, but he always comes around in the end."

Lancelot smiled. It was a very courtly smile.

"Should not the King show magnanimity, my liege? Rumor runs fast in a camp, and unless you seize the reins it shall surely go amok. Show the men how great your heart truly is."

There wasn't much I could say after that, mostly because I didn't understand half of it. But it sounded nice, which was probably why one gulp and three minutes later I found myself outside.

"So," I chirped, "how's things?"

He didn't even look up.

"Go away, Artie."

I puffed out my chest.

"Sorry, but I'm the King now. So if anything, I'm ordering you to go away. In my direction."

"That didn't even make any sense."

"Too bad. The King Arturia Pendragon orders you to make sense of it, because she is Rightwise King of England Born, and also the greatest little sister ever. Adore her, villein."

Sir Lemon groaned.

"Artie, do you even know what a King does?"

I blinked.

"Sure I do. She - I mean, he..."

"There. That's it. That's exactly it. Do you honestly think you can hide the fact that you're a girl forever? What about when you... you know."

"What?"

"You know."

"...No, I don't?"

"Never mind."

Sir Lemon is weird sometimes.

"Anyway," I said, "I have no idea what you're on about. I think I'm doing perfectly fine."

"You don't even wear a helmet."

"Merlyn said I should show my face to the enemy. Something about proving my name..."

"Merlyn doesn't have a lick of good sense in his pretty head. They say he's half-demon."

"Hey," I frowned. "Even if he is, his parents aren't his fault. He's only a magician, and older than anyone in the world, and a lot of other things besides. And he knew my father."

"You mean Uther," he said flatly.

"Well, I guess. Pendragon and all that..."

"Ector's our dad, Artie. Sir Ector. Maybe not by blood, but you know he loves you more than Uther ever did. Or did you throw your family away just so you could play King?"

"What? That's not what I meant at all!"

"No, it's fine. Just go back to your tent with your little army and your handsome knights who call you Sire and my liege and Your Majesty. Never mind Kay, he's just your sourpuss older brother. Oh wait, never mind, he's not even your real brother. Oddsblood, that settles things. How wonderfully convenient."

"Okay," I said. "You earned it."

He scowled, opened his mouth, and then I socked him right in the nose. Which was great, because I haven't been able to do that for ages, and he usually gets the first hit in. Of course, he punched back, and we rolled down the hill, and there was a bit of kicking and a lot of scratching and maybe just a bit of hair-pulling. But it was all good fun, a real solid juicy fight, right until he got me in the chest.

"Agh!"

I doubled over, moaning. I think the grass went a few different colors.

"Ha!" he crowed. "Serves you right, you little—oh, no. Artie, are you alright? I didn't mean to..."

I mumbled something, tears coming to my eyes.

"It was an accident. I'm sorry. Please don't tell Merlyn. Actually, don't tell anyone. Actually... oh, sweet Virgin..."

He put an awkward hand on my heaving shoulders. I sniffed, turned around, and kicked him in the balls.

It was a while before either of us could say anything.

"So, we're good?" he asked after a while.

"We're good," I said. "You should have seen your face. I could have cured a pig with all that sweat."

"Yeah, well, you should have seen your eyes. Crybaby."

"Help, help. Save me, Sir Lancelot. My maidenly honour is being besmirched by the recreant knight, Sir Lemon."

"...What did you just call me?"

"Nothing. Now, we've got a battle to plan, so let's go clean up. Race you to the river. Last one in is a rotting squirrel."

"Wait!" he winced. "How do you expect me to walk?"

"Rotting squirrel!"

They say a good King plans ahead. I think I'm getting the hang of it. Well, here's another plan - tomorrow we trounce the Saxons, drive them right off Badon Hill, and then everyone crowns me. Arthur Pendragon, King of all England.

Sounds a bit off, but I'm sure I'll get used to it.