Fate/Stay Night – Unlimited Boob Works
Chapter 13 – "La Belle Dame Sans Mercy"
"Are you sure this is a good idea, your Highness?" Merlin asked, eyeing the spectacle that was unfolding on the floor of the hall.
At Mordred's order, a large chair had been brought from the dining room, and set up on the royal dais.
"What do you think you're doing!?" the Seneschal demanded.
"Keeping court", Mordered answered curtly.
"YOU can't keep court! The King is away!"
"Nonsense! What am I supposed to do, just wait around sitting on my hands? Arturius ordered me to look after things while he was away, and that's just what I intend to do!"
With these words, she ordered the chair to be placed beside the King's seat.
"I will not sit on my Uncle's throne!" Mordred said imperiously, as all the while the hall began to fill with curious onlookers, a line of them forming out the door, while the maid who swept the courtyard pressed her ear up to the door, straining to hear.
"Let her go, Merlin", Guinivere chided, looking down from the balcony. "You know she's impossible to deal with when she gets like this. And besides, Arturia did say that she's to get some experience with running the kingdom.
'It'll be fine. I'll be beside her the whole time. We won't let her hear anything serious – just some dull stuff about cattle and property. She'll be bored to tears – utterly miserable! I must confess, I'm rather looking forward to this! And now, let us see how our dear nephew fares!"
And with that, Guinivere descended from her balcony, leaving Merlin to stare as he contemplated the vindictiveness of the female kind.
At Mordred's direction, the royal crown had been brought, and set in Arturius' seat, along with the globe and scepter. And so Mordred sat down on one side, and Guinivere on the other, with the empty throne of King Arturius between them.
"Ahem!" the Herald called, after a brief blast from the coronets. "The Royal Court of the High King of Breton is hearby in session!"
"Good!" Mordred said, pounding the armrest enthusiastically.
Guinivere snickered.
At this, the Bailiff adjusted his spectacles as he read from the royal scroll of official business.
"Hm – hmm – the first order of business is the matter of Lord Farthingham's sheep – "
"Sheep?" Mordred asked.
"Yes, my Lord. They had been entrusted to the keeping of Lord Bowlingbrooke, but in Farthingham's absence, one of the sheep was stolen, and – "
"You mean you come draggin' all the way here before the King's throne over a sheep!?"
"Yes, my Lord, as a matter between two gentlemen, it – "
"Sheesh! No WONDER my Uncle wanted to go away hunting!"
At this a general murmur of laughter made its way through the crowd.
"Anyhow, regarding the sheep – "
"Isn't all of this WRITTEN DOWN? Where's the Book of the Law?"
At these words, there was another blast from the bugles, and a fine looking old book was brought. It was bound with red leather set with jewels, and fastened with two clasps.
"The King's Law", the Herald announced, with great importance.
"Ahem – from the annals of Aethelwald, King of Breton, year of our Lord – "
"No – no! Past all that!"
"If a man shall have delivered unto him another man's goods, or property, or cattle, unto his keeping, and if whilst in his keeping, it so happen – "
"Good Lord! At this rate I wouldn't blame my Uncle if he NEVER comes back!"
This provoked another ripple of laughter.
" – that whilst in his keeping, ought of them should perish, or be found missing, let him pay the fine of three gold pieces – "
"Three gold pieces! There!" Mordred said, banging her fist on the armrest. "Next!"
The Herald cut his eyes towards Guinivere, who smiled demurely.
"You may proceed."
"Very well. Concerning the matter of Yeoman Harold's cow – "
"Three gold pieces!"
"Ahem – Lord Kentworth's ox – "
"An ox is four gold pieces!"
"The damage done to Mr. Hennington's horse by Lord Agarte – "
"SIX gold pieces!" Mordred said triumphantly. "Agarte's a noble – for him the fine's double."
"Hm – hmm – the matter of Sir Hector, who was found hunting on Sir Henry's land in Fenwick Forest without a license – "
"Six gold pieces again – and two of them belong to the Crown. Fenwick Forest is royal land. Sir Hector simply has it by lease."
After each pronouncement, there was a pause, as the Bailiff read from the Book of the Law to confirm the verdict. But in each case, Mordred's judgment was found to be correct.
"How on earth do you know anything about the Law?" Guinivere demanded, when they had paused for a brief intermission.
"Because I read it."
"YOU know how to READ!?"
"Yes, Your Highness, I do – I would much rather be out banging around with swords and armor, but His Majesty Arturius ordered me to learn, and so I did."
At this Mordred stalked away, back to her makeshift royal seat, leaving Guinivere to stare in shock as Merlin looked on in amusement.
"Perhaps Arturia knows what she's doing after all . . ."
Arturia would no doubt have been pleased that Mordred had taken her studies so seriously, but at the moment she had her own problems.
" – that's Lancelot!" she said, pressing her back against the wall until she felt the stones dig into her, as if she meant to press herself out of her very existence.
'Maybe he didn't see me . . ."
Furtively she stole over to the window again, and glanced out.
The moment she looked over the ledge, their eyes met.
"Eek! He saw me!"
All at once, she felt a golden haze swirl around her, as Merlin's spell activated, filling the air with a glimmering dust.
"Hail, fair maiden!"
Arturia sank beneath the window and pressed her back against the wall again.
" – Now I know we are near the promised end! For the sun rises in the West – soon all the planets and stars will follow, and all of nature will run backward in her course – "
"What the hell is he saying!?"
"For this reason Icarus flew too close to the sun, and did not care to melt his wings of wax – "
"Never mind that – I have to find Kay and Bedivere!"
"Do you think he recognized you?" Sir Bedivere asked, some moments later when Arturia had called an emergency meeting in her room.
"I don't know – he started spouting all of this weird poetry about Greek legends and the ends of the Earth – "
"Poetry?" Kay asked suspiciously.
Before he could question her further, there came a knock at the door.
"Ack! Hide!"
"Hide!? Where!?"
"I don't know! Under the bed! In the wardrobe! Jump out the window if you have to!"
"But we're on the second floor!" Kay protested.
"I don't care!"
Arturia shouted, as there came a second knock. She waited until Kay and Bedivere were safely out of sight, then went over and opened the chamber door, only to find Justine staring back at her.
"How do you feel about a second supper?"
Ordinarily Arturia would have been overjoyed about having another dinner – or breakfast – or anything remotely resembling food. But as it was, all should could do was sit rather awkwardly as Lancelot sat across from her, peering at her as if through a cloud. Every time he looked at her, she could feel the air around her crackle, as Merlin's spell fought with his senses to conceal her identity.
"Has he figured out that it's me?" she worried, as she bit her lip, while the Squire did his best to make conversation.
"Your timing is good", the he said, in an effort to break up the silence. "The custom in this country is to celebrate May Day at the end of the month, instead of at the beginning, so as to be closer to the season when the weather actually turns warm.
'It's nothing like the great festivals you'll find in Camelot, or at Londinium, but there's a parade and a dance, along with jousting and a foot tournament and a melee, and a great ball at the end, so there's no shortage of things to do."
"Thank you for your guidance, and hospitality. But for now", he said, looking over at Arturia, who quickly looked to the side, "I will take my leave."
"Are you sure, my Lord? You are welcome to stay the night at the Castle, as our guest."
Arturia stifled a gasp.
"I appreciate your offer, but the town is only a short ride away. I'm sure they will have an inn or lodge. At worst, I could even pass the night in some convenient barn – "
"Nonsense!"
"You are too kind. But for now I'll say goodnight."
Bright and early the next morning the preparations for the festival began, and the Lady Justine asked Elaine to go into town, under pretense of needing some things for the kitchen – though Arturia suspected she had other motives. But she had no intention of going alone.
"Aileen, come with me – "
"But why?" Aileen protested. She had just curled up in front of the fire in the main hall on the couch, and at the moment had no particular aspirations of going anywhere.
"The Lady of the Castle has asked me to go to market, and I cannot go by myself. It would be unseemly for a Lady to walk alone."
"You didn't seem all that worried about being unladylike when you demolished that roast beef the other night – "
"That was another matter . . ."
"Can't you take that Kay-dense fellow with you? He never does anything, so I'm sure he's somewhere loafing about."
"I cannot."
"Then what about that silver tongued Belvadere? He's quite the charmer – I'm sure he could talk the merchants down for you, and get you a better price."
"I cannot take him either . . ."
"Why not?"
"I simply cannot – "
"But it's my day off!"
"Listen!" Arturia said, using a commanding tone she normally reserved for issuing orders as the King. "Did not the Lady Justine place you at my disposal? And in all this time, have I ever asked you for anything? Anything at all?"
"Well, no, so why go bother and mess it all up now?"
Arturia reached out and grabbed her wrist in a grip like iron, and gave her a look that would brook no refusal.
"You're coming with me, and that's final!"
"I know what this REALLY is", Aileen fussed, adjusting her hood over her hair as they made their way through the market. "You're nervous about running into that knightly gentleman of yours – "
For an answer, Arturia walked more briskly. It was early, but already the town was beginning to show some signs of life. The girls from the surrounding farms and manors had begun to gather, bringing milk to sell, or butter or eggs. Some had vegetables, or baskets full of berries they had gathered, while others had wild flowers, or simple bundles of kindling. But before there could be any other business, the first order was breakfast.
For this, Aileen led them down a small side alley, behind where the baker had his shop. Here several of the local girls had gathered to warm themselves by the heat of the ovens, for the mornings were still quite cold, while the baker sold them fresh loaves and pastries out the back door.
"Aileen!" a young woman called. She was wearing a plain dress of beige muslin, but over the top she had a bright red chemise, tightly laced and rather close fitting. "But who is this?"
"Ahem, Miss Mabel, I present to you Lady Elaine – the Lady of Shallot – "
"A noble Lady?" Mabel asked, eyeing Elaine rather closely. As the innkeeper's daughter, she was always on the lookout for fresh business. "Where's she stayin?"
"She's staying at the castle", Aileen said stepping between them to create some space, "And she's MUCH too ladylike to associate with the likes of you!"
"So mean!"
"Here", Arturia said, handing Aileen a golden coin. "Go and buy us something – whatever you think is good – and keep the rest for yourself."
Aileen stared at the coin in shock, trying not to gasp as she re-evaluated the benefits of letting Elaine kidnap her first thing in the morning, while Mabel eyed Elaine critically, adjusting her calculations.
Her mental math was interrupted by the arrival of a girl in a grey dress of worsted wool with an olive colored cape around her shoulders.
"Hazel!" she called. "Now it's beginning to look like a party – "
But Hazel quickly waved her to silence, before gesturing back up the alley. Mabel hurried to watch, and Arturia moved to join her.
"Is something the matter?"
Glancing up the alleyway, Arturia could see one of the local milk maids standing beside the well, rather forlorn and helpless looking.
"Wait for it – wait for it – "
A moment later, as if on que, one of the local farm boys appeared. He was dressed in a tan tunic with a V-neck that was loosely laced so that it was mostly open, and beneath the fabric they could see the muscles of his arms and chest.
"That's Beaux", Mabel sighed breathlessly.
As they watched, the dairy maid gestured furtively at the well, as if she had no idea how the contraption worked, and then, moments later, after much gesturing and gracefulness, they were all treated to the sight of Beaux lowering the bucket down to the water, then his muscles bulging all the while as he raised it back out again.
"Isn't he dreamy?"
"I hear that Beaux is going to ride in the tournament this year – I wonder whose token he'll carry?"
Arturia scowled.
"Utterly ridiculous!"
"Not to your liking?" Mabel asked inquisitively.
"What, are you blind!?"
"He's too soft! Look at that face – if any REAL Knight came along, they'd bind him around their fist like a gauntlet, and then beat him against the wall until there was nothing left!"
"Well aren't WE fierce!" Mabel called as Arturia stalked down the alleyway.
"Where are you going!? If you just wait, Beaux will come back, and – "
"I'm thirsty now!" she shouted, walking up to the well and giving it a good kick, making the bucket drop all the way down to the water with a splash. "I spend all of my life at the Round Table surrounded by male piggishness – " she grumbled, "Only to come all the way out here and be surrounded by this!"
And with that she hauled at the rope with all the ferociousness of a torturer intent on making his prisoner talk. Beaux's muscles may have been impressive, but Arturia's thrawn form was acquainted to much harder use, and she pulled up the bucket with record speed, so that by the time he came running back to offer his services, all he could do was stare in amazement.
Ignoring him, she made her way back down the alley, where she filled several wooden tankards, then taking one of them for herself, finished half of it in one gulp, before slamming it back down on the makeshift table.
"I think I LIKE her!" Mabel said to Aileen, who nearly dropped the armload of bread she was carrying when she saw the spectacle unfolding before them.
"I can see YOU'VE been making friends", Aileen said, handing her a roll.
"What's all this!?" Mabel asked, seeing the baker had given Aileen enough bread to fill a small cart.
"Oh – er – they didn't have enough change if I only bought two, so they kind of threw this in extra – I hope that's all right . . ?"
"It's fine", Arturia said, biting into one of the loaves. It was simple, but piping hot, having come just from the oven, and the top was scored with a cross that had been filled with butter and honey, so that biting into it was like a mouthful of sugary warmth.
'It's delicious!" she shouted, reaching for another. She could see the wisdom of the baker in tolerating their little gathering – it certainly couldn't be bad for business to have a gaggle of girls milling around extolling the virtues of his wares.
"Hey look – it's Mauve!" Mabel called.
"Mauve!" Hazel echoed, waving her over.
Mauve, Arturia would later learn, was actually called Maude, but she hated that name –
"It sounds like a name for a cow!" she protested.
- And so everyone called her Mauve, partly for this reason, and partly for the purple cloak she wore, for she was one of the few merchants in the area licensed to dye clothes a royal purple – though she used wild berries, and not the stinky snail method Merlin had described earlier.
"And how are you and that gentleman of yours getting along?" Mabel asked. "Make any progress yet?"
"I tell you – this year is going to be the year – "
"Oh ho! Said something, did he?"
"Well, no – not yet, but – "
"You say that EVERY year!"
"Yes, but this year is going to be different – "
"And why is that?"
"Because I said so!"
For a while they stood and talked, and munched on their rolls and pastries, for the box was more than Aileen and Arturia possibly could have eaten themselves – Arturia probably could have made quite a dent in it, but some things are perhaps better left unsaid. Hazel showed off her new shoes, which had a pretty pair of brass buckles, and a green plaid kerchief she'd just bought that she wore under her hood, just over her hair, while Mabel for her part leaned against the crates at the end of the alley suggestively and gave wanton looks to every passing lad she deemed at least passing fair, to see what sort of reaction she could get.
"Oh ho! Here's a fine one!"
Arturia listened to the cantering hooves and clanking plates, getting a vague feeling of uneasiness. Her worries were soon confirmed as a familiar figure came into view.
"Eek!" she shouted, diving into a pile of straw in the corner as Lancelot came into view.
"Good morning Ladies", he said, pausing to greet Mabel when she waved. He looked at Aileen, then Hazel, then glanced around what he could see of the alley behind them curiously, as if he was trying to puzzle something out, then excused himself, after bidding them all a good day.
"Ohh! Ohh!" Mabel and Hazel said, exchanging glances as he rode away.
"Now I can die happy!"
"I don't see what the big deal is", Arturia said, emerging from her hiding place.
"Brave words Sir Kettle", Aileen said, helping her dust the straw off.
"Now, now, Miss Elaine has a type – there's nothin' to be embarrassed about – "
"I mean, he's just a man in a suit of armor. It's not like he's famous or anything – "
"You dolt! That's Lancelot!"
"Of the Round Table!"
"Lancelot?" Arturia said, pretending to be surprised. "But what would someone like THAT be doing out here?"
"He probably came to ride in the tournament."
"But how can you be sure? I mean – Camelot is so far away – how do you even know what he looks like?"
"Are you kidding!?"
"Every woman in England and France knows what he looks like!"
"They sell little pictures of him in miniature at every town fair – Mabel has one she keeps in her bodice!"
"It's true – I keep him right here beside my bosom – "
Arturia stared in disbelief.
"I had no idea he was so popular – "
"Although Sir Gawain is also quite handsome – "
"The two of them can fight over me any day!"
"Well Ladies, I'll leave you to do the fightin' and being fought over, seeing as how I'll be a married woman soon – "
"MARRIED!? He hasn't even PROPOSED yet!?"
"He has to ask for your HAND before your finger gets a RING!"
"I know but I TOLD you it's going to be THIS YEAR!"
And so it went.
"Uh oh – " Mabel said, seeing another girl approaching. "Watch out for this one – "
Turning, Arturia could see a young woman with flowing brown hair in a blue satin dress.
"Hello Ladies!" she called in a sing song voice. "You're looking well this morning – But oh! I see there's someone new among your number. Who is this?"
"This is Elaine, the Lady of Shallot", Aileen said diplomatically, stepping between the two of them. "She's staying at the Castle Joyeux – "
"Oh! A noble lady! Mistress will be most pleased! It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Elaine of –"
At that moment they were interrupted by a rude yell.
"Isabelle! Get over here! What do you think you're doing!?"
Looking past the crowd, Arturia could see a young woman, evidently Isabelle's Mistress, as they were dressed quite alike, for she also wore a dress of blue satin, but with a much fuller skirt that belled out, set with alternating blue and white panels, and adorned all around with ruffles and bows.
"Oh Mistress! Aileen was just introducing us – this is Miss Elaine, the Lady of – "
"Oh Isabelle", the poor girl's Mistress said condescendingly, "That's no Lady! Why just look at how she stands! Those slouched shoulders, and that hunched back – clearly this is some peasant who's somehow managed to scrape together enough pennies to buy a fancy dress."
Arturia stared in shock.
"But she's staying at the Joyous Gard – "
"THAT backwater place? My darling Isabelle, this is why I keep you with me, to protect you from such scandalous people, and from persons more clever than yourself – "
Aileen waited a polite amount of time for Elaine to defend herself, but Arturia seemed to have lost the power of speech – never before in her life had she been treated with such rudeness – not even before becoming King – and so she decided she had best intervene.
"Ahem – this is Lady Elaine – the LADY of Shallot", she said, bowing formally.
Isabelle's master cocked her head to one side.
"Shallots – those are what, green onions? A stinky vegetable that grows in the dirt?"
Arturia moved her mouth, but no sound came out.
"How fitting. Oh look, a bit of straw on her dress – no doubt from the barn in which she's slept. It matches the color of her hair. Well then, Miss Lady of the Leek, if you've nothing to say, we'll be going. Come along, Isabelle. We bid you good day!"
Arturia remained standing for several moments in mute silence. When at last she regained the power to speak, it came out as an explosion.
"Grrrrrrr – Rrrrrrrr – R – R – R – R – R – R – R – I'll kill her! I'LL OUT RIGHT KILL HER !"
"You're a bit late", Aileen said calmly.
"This would be so much easier if we were men! I would slap her with my glove! And then draw swords and CUT HER HEAD OFF – and let the dogs drink her blood out of the gutter – THEY COULD LAP IT OUT OF THE STREET !"
"Don't let her get to you", Mabel said gently. "That's Isolde. Her father owns the mill in the next town over. She shares the same name as a princess from one of those French tales the minstrels sing, and I'm afraid it has gone to her head – she thinks she's a princess herself."
Arturia sighed, feeling the rage draining out of her, leaving a cold sweat in its wake.
"Come on Aileen, I suppose we had best be going ourselves."
"But don't you at least want to do a little shopping? I mean we've come all this way."
"I've never cared for such things – "
"Never cared for such things! What kind of woman are you?"
"Isn't there are least one thing you need?"
Arturia put her hand to her chin.
"Well, I suppose there is ONE thing . . ."
"Are you sure?" Aileen asked rather doubtfully. "To my eye they're a bit plain."
"They're absolutely PERFECT!" Arturia answered, looking down at the black sandals on her feet. To Aileen's point, they were very simple, just little strips of black leather, with some laces to hold them in place, but Arturia didn't care. The sensation of the morning breeze between her toes was wonderful.
"I shall wear them home!"
At Aileen's urging, she also bought a matching black purse – rather handsome looking, that attached to her belt, and fastened with a carven horn buckle.
"Thank you kindly, Miss", the merchant said, handing her the change, when she felt her stomach twitch.
"Lady Elaine!"
Looking up, she could see Lancelot waving from the far end of the bazaar.
"Eek! Hide me Aileen!"
"Where!? Under my skirt!? Look, you're just going to have to face him, and – "
But before she could finish, Arturia bolted, running down the row between two stalls.
"Well if it isn't Princess Backwater – " Isolde taunted, coming up the other side, but for the moment Arturia didn't care. As it was, she nearly stepped on her, running past, before vaulting over one of the tables and darting into the smokehouse, leaving Aileen still holding her old pair of shoes as Lancelot approached. She stared at them incredulously, before putting her hands behind her back, and bowing hastily.
"Lady Aileen! Good day! Are you here with the Lady Elaine, by chance?"
Meanwhile, Arturia busied herself with looking around the butcher shop, or at least pretending too. There were roasts of beef and pork, sacks of salted ham, and sides of bacon, along with strings of sausages, and jars full of various flavors of dried jerky. The old man at the counter regarded her curiously, then bowed politely.
"May I help you, miss?"
" . . . I'm sorry, my Lord, but her Ladyship is indisposed. She is here helping Lady Justine of the Joyous Gard prepare for the festival, and has much to do – "
"Sir Lancelot!" Isolde cried, hastily pushing Isabelle in front of her.
"Ahem! Sir Knight, I present to you Lady Isolde, the Lady of – "
"Hail, maiden, well met – " Lancelot said, before quickly turning back to Aileen again. "Anyhow, when you see Elaine again, would you please give her my regards? And tell her when she has a moment, I should very much like to see her. There's a certain matter I wish to discuss."
"Yes, my Lord, of course."
She bowed formally, and bid him a good day, before turning to look for Elaine again – only to find Isolde staring at her venomously. Aileen flashed her a saccharine smile.
Arturia sighed as the bells on the door rang behind her. In the end, she'd been in the shop for so long, and looked at everything at least twice, that when she came to the ham for the third time again, she gave in, and finally bought it.
"Oh no, madame!" the butcher said graciously, taking the sack from her hands. "There is no need that you should carry it! I will have it delivered!"
For a moment she stared at the sack of salted meat protectively, before finally allowing the two of them to be parted, and even then she stood staring after it longingly.
"Ahem!" Aileen coughed. "Congratulations! Thanks to THAT stunning display of bravery, you've now gotten the new nickname of Lady Porkroast to go along with your more royal title of Princess Backwater."
Arturia sighed, and hung her head.
"Come on, let's go home."
"Personally, I'd have called you 'Princess Porkroast'."
"Now look here you – "
"It sounds better", Aileen went on, ignoring her. "A missed opportunity on Isolde's part, thought I didn't tell HER as much, of course."
"Don't you start!"
"Lady Justine always did say I was of a poetic sort. She never gave me any embroidery lessons, but she did say I could turn a phrase quite nicely. I could write a lovely limerick about you and Lancelot if you like – "
"You will do no such thing! Now listen here, you red-headed step daughter of the devil – "
"Red headed step daughter of the devil? I rather like that!" Aileen laughed.
And so it went, all the way back to the castle.
The next evening a dance was held to mark the opening of the May Day festivities.
"How do I look?" Arturia asked, twirling in front of the mirror.
At Aileen's direction, she was dressed in a beautiful white chemise that gathered just over her chest, and at the top of each arm, just under the shoulders, with its strings drawn tight so that it formed countless tiny pleats and ruffles.
Over this she wore a second gown of emerald green. It had a corseted top and was fitted through the body, with laces that criss-crossed, coming up to just under her bust, which it held up rather alluringly, while its shoulders were puffed, and the sleeves dagged, their edges coming down to a long point under each wrist.
It's skirt was made up of several long panels in the front and sides that let the white gown peek out between them, while its scalloped hem with gold ornaments hinted at what other treasures might lie underneath.
"You look RADIANT!" Aileen said, and her praise was unfeigned. "You'll be the prettiest girl at the ball, without a doubt!"
"Oh . . ." Arturia said, turning her head to the side and shrugging her shoulders. I – uh – I was thinking I would just go to the opening ceremonies – and possibly to dinner – and then retire for the evening."
"What!?"
"I'm not much of one for dancing, so I figured I would head up to my room, and – "
"But it's the opening ball! You have to go!"
"Look, I've never really cared for such things, so – "
"It doesn't matter! Now look here, you – I don't care if I have to get Cadence to tie a rope around one arm, and Belvadere to tie a rope around the other, and I have to get behind you and push – you're going to that dance, and that's final!"
"N – O – O – O – O ! ! !"
Things didn't happen quite like Aileen had described. But she wasn't far off, either. Kay and Bedivere wanted no part of such a plot, being fearful no doubt of what Arturia might do to them when they finally got back to Camelot, and quickly made themselves scarce. But Aileen made good on her threat, and so Arturia found herself standing in the doorway, her arms braced on either side, while Aileen stood behind her, with her back against hers, and shoved with all her might.
If it were a contest of wrestling in armor, Arturia would have won easily, but when it came to fighting in ball gowns, Aileen had the advantage. In short order, she outmaneuvered her, sinking down, so that Arturia had no choice but to lean forward, or else risk toppling over backwards. Once she did, Aileen gave one final push, and forcibly ejected her.
When she passed through the doorway, it was as though a spell had been lifted. Aileen quickly shut the door behind them to cut off her retreat, but there was no need. Arturia hung her head in resignation, and made her way down the stairs.
The dance, much to Arturia's relief, turned out to be nothing more than a simple country carole, or "roundel". Couples dancing was strictly prohibited, that sort of thing being reserved for the grand ball at the end of the festival. This was far simpler, requiring the participants only to link arms, or hold hands and dance in a circle.
It was nothing like the complex exercises that Guinivere put on at Court, with their thousand steps and painstaking etiquette. Out of necessity Arturia had learned several of them, applying herself with the same studiousness she used when learning the arts of war. She had become quite proficient (at least at the male part), and could execute them merciless precision.
This was much easier, and frankly more agreeable, requiring those who took part only to clap their hands and turn at the right time – both of which could easily be determined by watching everyone else around you. There was even one particularly exciting part where the circle broke into a line and went rushing through the hall in a move called the mad dragon.
This also provided her one real scare of the evening, for as the line wove around one of the columns, she suddenly found herself face to face with Lancelot. It was only for a moment, but it was enough to make her freeze in her tracks, and she found herself utterly unable to move, until she heard a familiar voice in her ear beside her.
"Worry not, my Lady", Aileen said. "For I can appear like a flash of lightning, and disappear just as quick. If there is anyone you want to speak with, I can see to it that they are brought into your audience, and if there is anyone whom you do not wish to see, I can make sure they never reach you, no matter how they try.
'For after all, did not Lady Justine say that I am to be at your disposal? And what sort of servant would I be if I did not show myself worthy of my master's appraisal? So don't worry, and do try to enjoy yourself."
After that, there were no more incidents. Arturia found Aileen's assurances strangely comforting. And better yet, as the evening wore on, the remainder of the dance was conducted barefoot – the ladies were permitted to dispense with their shoes, and many of them did, which went a long way towards making the whole thing more agreeable. Out of everything she'd seen or done, this was the closest to what she'd imagined country life might be like, and the most enjoyable.
The evening wore on, and it began to be late. When the formal dance ended, most of the minstrels converted over to singing ballads. Mainly these were comedies, or French romances. But when Aileen returned after momentarily excusing herself, the Lady Elaine was nowhere to be found. She checked all the musicians' circles, as well as the feasting tables (a likely spot), but she wasn't anywhere. She was starting to move from being concerned to really and truly worried, when at last she found her standing with a group of wizened old men as they listened to one of the bards recite passages from the Battle of Maldon.
It was the sort of story that was full of swords, with splitting helmets and splintering spears, the giving and taking of wounds – not at all the sort of thing the young women tended to like. But Elaine listened with rapt attention. When the minstrel got to the part where the body of the young King was found, with all his closest lords and retainers lying dead all around him, she actually began to weep.
"Are you alright?" Aileen asked.
"Yes – I'm sorry – it's just, it's so beautiful."
Aileen stared at her doubtfully.
"Well, it's getting late. Most of the guests are starting to head to bed. But if you feel like staying up for a bit, they're getting a bonfire going out in the courtyard."
"That sounds wonderful! I'll be right there – just let me get another drink."
"Look at you, drinking beer", Aileen teased. "That isn't very Ladylike!"
"Oh, this isn't beer – it's mead."
"Urk! That's strong! How many of those have you had?"
"Not many. Only five – or six – I think this makes six. But this is nothing. Back home, there's nothing to do but sit around keeping court and drinking all day. You go on and get us a seat by the fire – and see if you can find us some shish kebob!"
Aileen looked at her questioningly, but Arturia shooed her off, before making her way to the mead bench, where she refilled her tankard from one of the great wooden barrels, before pausing for a moment to survey the status of the buffet table. Much to her delight, the ham she'd bought earlier had been very well received, and there was scarcely any of it left, but she was able to find two slices towards the back, and she put these on a plate, along with a few bits of roast beef and some bread and cheese to share with Aileen to help soak up some of the effects of their revels. She was feeling rather pleased with herself, and was about to eat one of the ham slices as congratulations for a job well done, when she ran into Aileen in the hall.
"What is it?" she asked, seeing the look on Aileen's face. "What's the matter?"
"My Lady – it's that gentleman of yours. I think you had better see him . . . Just now, he approached me in the hall, and implored me that I must let him speak to you. He said he had a matter of the utmost importance that he needed to discuss – something that could be of national, perhaps even royal significance – "
"Royal significance – " Arturia repeated, bracing her shoulders and stiffening her back.
Aileen stared in shock at the way that, in only a moment's notice, she seemed to become a different person.
"I could send him away", she said, "I can always make up some excuse – "
"No. It's all right. I'll go."
With all the solemnity of a prisoner being lead to her execution, Arturia made her way into the hall. Her head held high, her face appeared to be made of stone, as if she had already become one of the carven effigies in the basement of the great Cathedral at Westminster, where they adorned the tombs of the British Kings, while her steps were graceful and light, so that as she moved they barely disturbed the hem of her skirt.
"Good evening, my Lord", she said as she came into Lancelot's presence, and curtsied gracefully.
At the sight of her, Lancelot froze. For a moment he stared, his face as stone set and somber as hers.
"He's trying to figure out if it's really me – " she thought.
"Good evening, my Lady."
Arturia smiled cheerfully, intent on maintaining her ruse to the very end.
"You said there was something you wished to speak with me about?"
Now that it came to it, Lancelot turned his head to the side, and paused.
"Here it comes – "
"As you know, tomorrow is the parade to open the festivities for May Day, and the start of Spring. And the day after that, a tournament is to be held –"
"Yes, my Lord, that is the custom."
"And it is also custom that a Knight should carry a Lady's token with him into battle – "
Arturia tilted her head to the side, trying to figure out what any of this had to do with her secretly being King.
" – But I am a stranger, and know no one in these parts, and so I wanted to ask – if I may be so bold – if I might carry your favor into the tournament with me – "
At this his voice practically choked in his throat.
"My – favor?"
"Yes – it could be anything – a handkerchief perhaps? Or a scarf or a glove –"
"Urk!" Arturia thought to herself. There was no way she could show him her handkerchief with that shoddy embroidery.
"I see . . . I have no scarf – and I wear no glove – " she said, reaching up behind her head.
And here she loosed the emerald ribbon that held her hair.
Lancelot watched the golden tresses descend, along with the two braids that formed her crown, shimmering with all the valiance of a light that dared to shine in a dark age. Wordlessly she took the ribbon in her hands, and folded it – rather clumsily – then reached them out to him.
"It isn't much, but – will this do?"
For a moment he stared at her as she stood, her arms outstretched, with her radiant hair hanging down around both sides of her face.
Carefully he reached out and took the ribbon from her fingers.
" – Yes, my Lady. This is perfect – I could ask for nothing better."
Arturia watched him for several moments more, as he folded the ribbon carefully, then turned and made his way down the hall.
"Goodnight, my Lord," she said, when he paused at the end of the corridor.
"Goodnight, my Lady."
The next day a Parade was held, and all the Knights assembled, to show their Ladies' colors, and all the Ladies assembled, to cheer them on, and to inspect them. Some had given their champions ribbons, as Arturia had done, while others had given scarves or gloves, and a few of the bawdier sort had given their knights their garters.
"Guinivere would probably have given her knickers", Arturia snickered to herself.
But the Lady Justine outdid them all, for she had given the Squire a velvet glove, which he kept tucked inside the cuff of his metal gauntlet.
"Tch! They're like that every year", Mabel complained, seeing her kiss him on the cheek before he mounted his horse. "Every year he still asks to carry her token, and every year she gives him that same glove, while she wears the other one – I think that's the only time she wears that damn glove, and the rest of the year she keeps it put away in a box or something – "
"Well *I* think it's very sweet", Arturia chided. "You misunderstand the gesture. The left hand is the one closest to the heart. It's the one that holds his shield, and his horse's reins. By keeping her glove in his gauntlet, it's as if she's there to guide and protect him, even when she can't be with him."
"Well aren't YOU the dreamy one! Fine words from someone who just the other day was talkin' about binding someone around her fist and beating them to a pulp – I never figured you for the type who had a sentimental bone in her whole body!"
Their argument was cut short as the procession began. Each of the knights rode, single file, as their ladies waved and called to them. Some wore their tokens bound around their wrists or arms, while others simply carried them in their hands so they were visible as they waved, while the more flamboyant had them tied to the tops of their helmets, alongside their crests. The Squire carried Justine's glove inside his gauntlet, with its velvet edges peeking out just above the iron cuff, where she could see them as she looked on from the stands, and nodded her approval.
When it got to be Lancelot's turn, Arturia stepped forward – not out of any real desire to see of course – she thought the whole custom was rather silly, but she was curious what method he would devise. But as she looked, she did not see her ribbon anywhere. It wasn't in either of his hands, or at his wrist.
"It isn't on his helmet", she noted, feeling rather foolish for bothering to look. She had all but given up, when at last he turned to wave, and she caught sight of an emerald band tied around his left arm.
"Oh my goodness – he actually wore it!" she shouted.
"Well of course he did!" Justine said, giving her a good natured nudge. "What sort of gentleman would ask for a Lady's token and then not wear it?"
For a moment Arturia looked around her at the chorus of yelling girls with their shouts of whistles, and the young men in armor riding below, who waved and hollered back. Justine cheered for the Squire of course, while Hazel evidently had gotten someone to carry her handkerchief. Maude was also with them (there had been no word about a marriage proposal being forthcoming yet), while Mabel seemed to have many admirers, cheering for anyone and everyone, most of whom cheered back. Isolde was on the end, shouting at whatever poor sap she had gotten to carry her token for her, while Isabelle was beside her, dutifully cheering on the champion of her master.
For a moment Arturia regarded them.
"How utterly foolish and distasteful", she thought, but even as she thought it, a wry smile crept onto her lips.
"Oh to hell with it!" she said, and taking out her green handkerchief, she waved it over her head, and added her voice unto the throng.
Back in Camelot there was also shouting, but for an altogether different reason.
"What is it, my Lady? You look unwell – "
"Unwell? Unwell!? Unwell is a word for HICCUPS! Or a bit of ill sleep – this is an OUTRAGE!"
"Just calm down", Guinivere's lady in waiting said, trying her best to distract her. "What on earth is the matter?"
"I just learned that Lancelot – MY LANCELOT – is to ride in a tournament tomorrow carrying the favors of one Lady of Shallot!"
At this, Guinivere's lady in waiting swallowed hard.
"Just calm down, my mistress – one cannot read too much into such things – "
"One cannot read ENOUGH!"
"Perhaps it is simply some polite gesture to his host, or to the lady who is holding the banquet – "
"And what OTHER favors might she be giving him!? Oh – this is too much! I shall go myself – "
"You cannot go, my Lady! You're the Queen! What would the people say if the Queen were to go off gallivanting around across the countryside?" she said, fighting to physically restrain her.
"I don't care! Grr! Just who IS this Elaine of Shallot!? I shall find her, and rip her hair out BY THE VERY ROOT! And then STRANGLE her with it!"
That next morning was the tournament. Already quite a number of tents had gone up the night before. Some Knights chose to sleep beside the field to save the expense of an inn, while others preferred to avoid the distractions of the town with its women and liquor, and still others held to the superstition that by sleeping as near the field of battle as possible, it would convey to them some advantage.
Whatever the reason, where there had been an empty field the day before, by morning there was an entire village of pointed roofs and curved canopies. Arturia made her way through the makeshift town, accompanied by Aileen, who on Justine's orders had dressed herself in matching green colors to act as her lady in waiting, so that she might not appear without an attendant.
When they got to the wooden stands that overlooked the lists, they met Mabel, along with Hazel and Mauve. Isolde and Isabelle were also present.
"Well if it isn't Princess Backwater – " Isolde said, at once making Arturia grate her teeth. "Aren't you going to tell us who your champion is? Oh well, I suppose he shouldn't be hard to spot – I'll just look for the Knight with a giant leek on his shield – "
Arturia clenched her fist. But Aileen put her hand on her shoulder, and after some moments was able to calm her enough to convince her that Isolde wasn't worth killing.
By nine o'clock it seemed all the town was assembled in the wooden stands, and a short while later, the tournament began.
The contestants were a motley ragtag drawn from all classes. There were some country Barons, and lesser nobility – those who had not the means or the ambition to ride all the way to Camelot, along with some mercenaries and men at arms, and even a few outright peasants, who hoped to work their way up, and through a display of bravery and skill one day join the ranks of Knighthood. Alongside these were one or two very serious professional men, those who made their living by travelling from one tournament to another, and a few who competed simply for the love of the sport, and attended every event they could.
The Squire also participated. Arturia had some concerns about this, especially how things might play out if he chanced to ride against some of the younger knights, but as it turned out, her worries were unfounded. The whole thing was run on a system of rules that awarded points for breaking lances – one point for a hit anywhere on the body – two for a solid hit on the shield or breastplate – and three if the opponent were unhorsed – so it was entirely possible for an older gentleman like the Squire to display his skill while the younger men sought to rely on their athleticism, and neither side suffered any embarrassment – an important consideration where men of rank and status were concerned.
As it was, the Squire proved to be a most formidable opponent – he always brought his point in line and broke his lance fairly. But Lancelot unhorsed most of his opponents, and so rose in points steadily. The two of them met in combat only once. Both men broke their lances, and seemed to come away with a mutual respect for one other.
By noon Lancelot had amassed a considerable lead, and though not unassailable, was clearly winning.
"Have you given much thought to how you're going to reward him?" Lady Justine asked, as they both rose and stretched while the rest of the crowd made their way down from the stands and onto the field.
"Reward?" Arturia asked, blinking with confusion.
"Why yes – that's the most important part! At the end of the festival, each Knight is supposed to return his Lady's token to her, at which time she's supposed to give him a reward – IF she feels he's done well enough", she added, taunting the Squire as he rode by.
Arturia put her fingers together and fidgeted nervously.
"What kind of reward is it supposed to be?"
"Oh, it can be anything – some trinket, a pressed flower or keepsake. But – " Justine added slyly, "the most popular gift is a kiss – "
"A kiss!" Arturia shouted.
"Oh – ho! Now that's rich! For all my lessons about quilting and embroidering, this is the first time I've seen you act like a girl since you got here! Look at you, you're blushing!"
"I am not!" Arturia shouted, feeling her cheeks flush.
"Yes you are! You're as red as a beet! Now this gives me hope – we'll make a Lady out of you yet!"
"Ohh . . ." Arturia sighed, as Justine made her way down the steps. Teasing aside, she had another, more immediate problem. The feeling of wearing sandals was wonderful, and it was a welcome relief to let her feet get some air, but she'd come to realize that there was a fatal flaw with her plan. Having just bought the sandals yesterday, she hadn't had any time to break them in, and while they'd started out comfortable enough that morning, after several hours, her feet felt like they were on fire.
"Argh . . ." she grimaced, feeling herself settle on the hardened leather soles. She made her way along the handrail, and had just gotten to the center aisle, when Isolde came hurrying down the stairs, pausing only long enough to give her a rude shove.
"Sorry Backwater, I didn't see you there – " she said as she went past.
"Gah!" Arturia recoiled, catching herself on the railing. "That little – "
By now her feet were throbbing, and her head too, for while she hadn't said anything to Aileen, she was still feeling the effects of last night, and a few hours of sitting in the sun had only made matters worse. As it was, the only thing she could think of was how much she'd like to chop Isolde's head off.
"We could make a game out of it", she thought, "And take bets on how many times it would bounce and how far it would roll, and whether it would end lying face up or down."
Alas, women were not allowed to be so direct, and so had to find other ways of avenging themselves.
Glancing out, she caught sight of the well, and then looked over towards the buffet table.
"Hmm", she thought to herself, as a plan began to form.
Meanwhile, other plans were taking shape.
"What is it, Agravaine?" Mordred asked from her seat beside the throne. She had just finished keeping court for the day, and was watching as the Bailiffs put away the royal rolls.
Agravaine bowed formally.
"My Lord, there is a certain matter about which I wish to speak – "
"Oh?" she asked, glancing up from her scroll.
"Yes . . ."
"Well, come on – what is it?"
"Well, you see – the matter is – "
"The matter is what?"
"It regards the Queen – "
"What ABOUT the Queen?"
"It's just – the matter is rather delicate – "
"OUT WITH IT, Agravaine – I'm about as gentle as a wild boar in heat – I don't DO delicate – "
Agravaine winced, trying to shake the image from his mind, when they were interrupted by muffled voices in the hall.
" – you can't, my Lady! What will the people say?"
"I DON'T CARE! I'M GOING AFTER HIM!"
Agravaine smiled.
"You see, the Queen is acting rather strangely . . ."
During the intermission, the Ladies who had champions all flocked to the field, to visit their Knights, and to show off their outfits and the trinkets they wore, and to be sure that their favors were being displayed satisfactorily. Some wore garlands of flowers, in hopes that they would soon be awarded the laurel crown, for the Lady whose Knight placed highest in all the events of the tournament would be crowned that year's May Queen. Others preferred to show off their hats, for that was the new fashion that year, to wear tall, pointed caps made of satin, with veils of silk crepe.
Arturia had no hat, and wouldn't have known how to wear one if she did (Guinivere no doubt could have given her some pointers), but she was a very striking sight nonetheless as she made her way across the field lugging a large platter, two drinking flagons, and a wooden bucket. She drew no shortage of stares, along with a host of rude snickers, but there was no time to worry about any of that – she had enough to do with picking her way through the grassy field while avoiding the minefield of messes left by the horses – a matter made all the more serious by her open toed shoes.
She made her way past the stables, and the blacksmith where a number of squires were seeing to repairs for their masters' armors, and the place where the young page boys were busy stripping the heads off of the broken spears and fitting them to new lances. Off to one side was the stand where the regalia for the May Queen was being kept. There was a scepter of white lilies, with a matching crown, but perhaps the most impressive was a floral cape, made of chains of garlands woven together, with their stems turned down, so that they could be kept in a pan of water where they wouldn't wilt from the summer heat.
Presently, she came to the canopy where the Knights were taking their leave. They were still on their horses, for it had become the custom after one of the campaigns in the east that at tournament a knight should do everything while still mounted, and so they ate and drank their lunch while still on horseback.
Arturia made her way through a sea of stares until she came to Lancelot's stand. By now the murmuring was thick around her, full of rude laughs and comments.
"What on earth is this?"
"She looks less like a Lady than a Page –"
"Perhaps she's here to water the horse – "
Lancelot regarded her incredulously.
"Elaine, I take it back. You're no Lady – " he said as she plunked the wooden bucket on the table.
" – you're an Angel!"
At this, all snickering ceased.
"An Arch-Angel!" he added, promoting her, when with her other arm she produced the wooden tray from behind her back. It was stacked high with loaves of bread and cuts of meat – beef, fowl, and pork – along with slices of chees.
Upon hearing the praises he heaped upon her, the rest of the crowd grew silent, as the other Ladies were left to clasp their hands behind their back and stare down rather sullenly, their pretty hats and flowers suddenly seeming rather trivial and unimportant.
Lancelot, for his part, wasted no time. He immediately drank nearly half of the bucket, before remembering his manners, and pausing to fill the two wooden flagons, before taking the other half and turning it up over his head and shoulders.
"Ahh – " he sighed, at once feeling twenty degrees cooler as the water ran down, dragging the loose strands of his hair along with it, adding a hint of curl to them where they showed against his armor.
For a time they rested – Lancelot on his horse, and Arturia standing beside him, as they enjoyed their lunch. She proved to be a very agreeable companion, not only because she could hold her own when it came to putting away sandwiches (though she proved very formidable in this regard), but also in terms of making conversation – for she could talk of the differences between Italian and Gothic armors, discuss opinions on various helmet designs, and strategize about who looked formidable in the second round, and who seemed likely to do well in the foot combat and melee that made up the later stages of the tournament. And so they passed what was an altogether enjoyable time.
The Lady Justine still got the best of things, of course. She had brought the Squire a tankard of water with ice in it (no one knew how she had gotten it), a flask of port wine, and a plate of meat, cheese, and bread already made up into sandwiches, neatly cut so that he could eat them without getting any grease on his fingers.
"Wouldn't want you getting my glove dirty", she chided, as he took it out to assure her that is was well cared for and being kept safely.
Things looked like they couldn't possibly get any better, when Arturia spied Isolde making her way down among the various canopies.
"Ah, Backwater! You're looking well today. I suppose even you have a certain charm, even if it is in a rustic, countrified kind of way – "
Seeing Lancelot, she stopped short.
" – Good evening, my Lord . . ."
"Good evening, Miss – Isolde, was it?"
Isolde nodded meekly, before bowing and going on her way, her face an altogether unflattering shade of green that did not go well with her frilly blue dress.
Elaine smiled sweetly, staring after her, and giving the small, courtly wave that Merlin had taught her.
But Lancelot was not willing to drop the matter so easily.
"Elaine, who is Isolde's champion?"
"Why, what are you planning to – "
"Never mind, there he is!"
"What are you planning to do!?" Arturia demanded, shouting after him, but it was no use, as he had already gone galloping off.
Poor Beaux was easy to spot, wearing Isolde's bright blue handkerchief draped across the back of his helmet, piled with ribbons and lace. Lancelot marked him well, then made a detour over to where the Pages were busy refitting the lances. Most of these were of the self destructing variety that Merlin had invented, being hollowed out so that they would shatter harmlessly upon impact, but a few were left solid, meant for games like tilting at rings. Lancelot picked one of them up from against the wall as he rode past.
"My Lord! Wait! That's – " the Pages called to him, but to no avail. Spurring his horse, he hefted the spear, and couched it under his arm.
By then, Beaux had gotten to the far end of the green, and was just beginning to turn to square off, for he was to ride in the next joust.
"Perfect", Lancelot said, slapping down his visor, ignoring the cries of protest from the Knight who was supposed to be his opponent. Beaux, seeing a foe approaching, and with all the bravery of youth, but none of the wisdom of experience, spurred his horse, and charged.
From her place on the sidelines, Arturia's heart felt sick. But there was nothing she could do to stop them. Instead she could only watch. Lancelot waited until the last possible moment, lowering his spear with murderous precision, while the boy held his lance out in front of him, where it was easily avoided. When it made impact, there was a nauseating thud, and then a terrible pause as the wooden shaft flexed, straining against the metal armor.
For a moment she waited to see which of them would break, the wooden spear or the boy.
There was a terrible snapping sound as the lance's head sheared off, leaving a long, jagged point. Lancelot held the broken spear off to the side to avoid impaling him with it, but there was no need. Beaux dropped lifelessly from the saddle.
At once the field was swarming with marshals. There was yelling and shouting. Beaux's visor was lifted, and to everyone's horror it could be seen that his face was turning blue, for the wind had been knocked out of him, and he had stopped breathing. Isolde stood by, her two hands clasped together, looking on helplessly.
The younger marshals had no idea what to do, but by and by, two of the older men took hold of him by the belt, and lifting him bodily from the ground, shook him roughly. There was a loud gasp as the air returned to the his lungs, and he sat up and stared, wide eyed, looking all around, trying to understand what had happened.
Lancelot turned and rode calmly back to his tent.
"Was that really necessary!?" Arturia demanded, her hands on her hips. "The boy could have been killed!"
"Aye, he could have."
For a moment she stared at him, so furious she didn't know what to do. Lancelot turned his horse, and looked off to the side.
" . . . There comes a time in a young man's life when he has to decide – what are his reasons for becoming a Knight. Is it to serve a Lady? Or for some noble cause? He has to consider whose champion he is, and what sort of Knight he'll be.
'If that boy and I meet again, a year from now, he'll thank me. Should we both live so long . . ."
For a moment she continued to glare at him. And then she turned and went back to her place in the stands.
"Your Lordship, are you sure this is wise? Perhaps you should reconsider – "
"What's there to consider, Merlin? If you want to prove a matter, you should just prove it! If there's one thing I can't stand, it's all this pussy footing around."
Merlin looked at Mordred worriedly. In the dim light of the hallway, the crackling of their torches only served to deepen his unease.
"That's all well and good if you should DISPROVE the matter – and even then, it's difficult to prove a negative. But supposing it should be true – what then?"
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it – "
"And besides, how would your plan even work? With Lancelot gone, how could we prove the matter one way or another?"
"Oh, I've seen to that. I sent word to the Queen that Lancelot has returned – had a message delivered by one of her ladies in waiting – one of the English girls, and not any of those French maids – someone we can trust. I had her tell the Queen that he wished to meet with her at once – alone – and that it was VERY URGENT – that should get us our answer."
Merlin frowned, but by now they were at the Queen's chamber door, and so there was nothing he could do but watch as Mordred held her torch in one hand, and reached out and knocked lightly with the other.
"Yes?" the Queen's voice sounded from the other side, much calmer than before. "You may enter."
"Oh thank goodness", Merlin thought, relieved that the Queen had regained her wits. "I suppose even Guinivere has at least some sense. She is a princess after all – "
And then Mordred opened the door.
On the other side was Guinivere. She was wearing a helmet in the northern style, with a pair of swept back wings, and a nice sword belt of brown leather. And nothing else.
"Hail the conquering hero! As a Valkyrie, I have come to escort you to Valhalla, where you will enter in at the gates of paradise!"
Merlin recoiled, covering his eyes, for he had just seen more of Guinivere than he ever wanted to see. But Mordred remained where she was. Tilting her head to the side, she smiled toothily.
"Good evening, your Highness. I take it you were expecting someone else?"
Arturia looked at the scepter of the May Queen that she held in her hands. It was nothing like the real one, of course – just a simple stick, fitted with a bouquet of white lilies, their stems coming down to a small flask of water that kept them fresh – rather clever really. The real, royal scepter was made of gold. But this one seemed just as heavy – perhaps heavier.
After the joust with Beaux, the Marshalls had met to consider what to do. Some wanted to disqualify Lancelot altogether, but the older men were against this.
"Whatever the matter was, it's been settled now."
It was, after all, a rough sport. In the end, they decided to dock him three points. That was nothing, of course – he made it in the next joust. As it was, he won easily, and before Arturia knew what she was doing, she had been called to the podium, for such was the custom that the victorious Knight should present his prize to his Lady.
"Here", he had said, bowing humbly. "This is for you."
And so she found herself standing in front of everyone with the scepter in her hands.
"Oh ho!" Justine teased on the way home. "After seeing today's contest, I think you had better get ready. You just might have to be givin' that kiss. Though that's one thing I CAN'T help you with. Most girls practice on the back of their hand – "
"The back of their hand?" Arturia asked in disbelief.
"Yes, that's the general way."
Arturia stared at the scepter. The lilies on top of it were open, and their fragrance was sweet.
"He's already won the joust. Tomorrow is the foot tournament, and I'm certain he'll win that too. Anything can happen in a melee, but – What am I going to do if he tries to kiss me?"
Arturia held out her arm, and stared at the back of her hand. For a moment she looked around guiltily, then pressed her lips to her knuckles.
"Ugh! I really AM an idiot!" she cried, pulling her hand away, and punching herself in the chest.
'What on earth is WRONG with me?" she said, falling over onto the bed. "Lance is my FRIEND . . . and I could never do that to Guin . . . and besides – for all of that – I still don't actually FEEL . . . anything . . ."
'Oh, Merlin – " she said, rolling over onto her side. "What should I do . . ."
That next morning, Arturia was up early, as was her habit. After she had gotten dressed, she went down to breakfast, and then, there being time before the foot combat was to take place, she went back up to her room, where she was surprised to find an unexpected guest.
"Merlin! What are you doing here!?"
"Did the Lady of the Castle not tell you? I arrived first thing this morning."
"Boy am I glad to see you! But first I have a bone to pick – what the hell kind of spell did you put on me!?"
"Beg your pardon?"
"You were SUPPOSED to conceal my identity – not use some sort of love potion!"
"Love potion? I did no such thing!
"Oh yes you did! Ever since Lancelot got here, he's been acting strangely – "
"Let me see", Merlin said, taking out a scroll. "Warts – witches – toadstools – no, that's something else – Ah! Here it is: presence concealment, obfuscation, and a dash of subterfuge – that last part could have served to make you seem a bit mysterious, and slightly more interesting, but it wasn't a love spell by any means. If you've noticed any other unusual effects, you can chalk those up to your OWN charms."
"My own charms . . ." Arturia repeated, touching her hand to her chest.
"Yes – wait – did you cut your hair?"
"Oh – no – Lady Justine helped put it up for me. I couldn't stand having it against the back of my neck – " Arturia explained, turning to show off her two tiered princess braids, which were held up by a matching pair of emerald ribbons, each of them tied off in neat bows, with the remainder left loose, hanging down in a waterfall of gold.
"Oh – well, it looks very nice – but that's not why I'm here!" Merlin shouted, suddenly remembering himself. "Here, read this – "
And with that he handed her another scroll.
" . . . by the power vested in me, for the preservation of Our Great Nation of England, and the esteem of Our Beloved Uncle, the King – wait! Did Mordred write this?"
"Yes, with a bit of help from the royal scribes."
" – therefore, for bringing dishonor to the name of the King, and embarrassment to the nation of Breton, We find Queen Guinivere guilty of High Treason, and hearby sentence to be – BURNED AT THE STAKE!? MORDRED!"
"Mordred did stipulate that if the Queen would confess her crimes and repent, that as a member of the nobility, she would commute her sentence to being beheaded – "
"Mordred!" Arturia said again.
"She certainly is thorough. She declared that she would have coins minted to commemorate the occasion, and even have the Royal Vinyards issue a special vintage – La Reigne Clarent – the blood of the Queen – where popping the cork would represent popping off the Queen's – " Merlin finished with a gesture across his neck.
"I wonder who gave Mordred the idea that getting rid of the Queen would be a good thing?" Arturia said, glaring at Merlin, who looked aside guiltily.
"Guinivere responded by invoking her right to a trial by combat, and to appoint a champion to fight for her. Mordred said she'd fight on behalf of the Crown, but of course that was rejected on the grounds that it would be much too dangerous. Gawain volunteered to fight in her place."
"Urk! He's strong . . ."
"Gawain is easily among the strongest Knights – in all of the Round Table, there are only a few who could even begin to hold their own against him. The only one who could possibly stand a chance of defeating him – "
" – is Lancelot."
"Even then, the outcome is doubtful. It's entirely possible that the two of them would kill each other. And even if Lancelot did win, it would touch off a blood feud with Gareth and Gaheris."
"It would tear the country apart."
"If any harm comes to Guinivere, it would mean war with Aquitaine. All the Dukes of Normandy would take to ships – half of France would be ready to swim across the Channel to take up arms against you."
Arturia sighed, and sat down on the bed.
"Tell me, Merlin, what must I do?"
"I know you've been enjoying yourself, and I hate to cut things short, but I'm afraid your little ruse must come to an end.
'The Lady of Shallot must die!"
"Lancelot is already on his way back – I took the liberty of sending messages in your name to him, as well as Mordred, Bohrs, and Gawain – that way Mordred can't pretend she never got the message, or claim it didn't arrive until after Guinivere's goose was already cooked."
"In MY name?" Arturia asked.
"Yes, under the circumstances, I figured you wouldn't mind. That should prevent Guin from becoming a special guest at Mordred's little barbecue."
"And exactly what ELSE have you issued in my name without my knowing about it?"
"Nothing you wouldn't agree with – "
Arturia regarded the shady wizard skeptically.
"Anyhow, concerning Elaine, we'll put out word that the Lady of Shallot has taken ill – and then has died – of some mysterious disease, or perhaps a broken heart – that seems fitting enough.
'We'll put you in a boat, and send you down the river – like the old Bretons used to do. You'll get to take part in your own funeral – I suppose you'll like that – it seems like the kind of mischief you'd enjoy. And from there, you'll float on out to sea – and that will be the end of the matter. And the Lady of Shallot will never be seen or heard from again."
"Wait – "
"You don't seem thrilled?"
"There's just one problem."
"Oh – what's that?"
"The part where I 'float on out to sea, never to be seen or heard from again.' How will I be King of England if THAT happens?"
"Oh, that minor detail?"
"Minor detail!"
"I'll come and rescue you, of course."
"My hero . . ."
"We'll stop the boat and have you get off, and then send it on down along the coast. Meanwhile, King Arthur will return from his hunting trip just in time to miss the funeral, but hear all about the sad tale from the bards and minstrels. It'll be a regular nine days wonder, I suppose."
A short while later, Aileen found Elaine in her room, busy folding things and putting them away in her trunk.
"My Lady? Aren't you going to the festival?"
Elaine paused for a moment, and shook her head.
"Mmm – I don't feel well today . . ."
"But today is the day of the foot tournament!"
Arturia stood up, and straightened her back and shoulders.
"Aileen – you've always been kind to me . . ."
"My Lady . . ?"
"Listen – in the coming days, you may see some things that are difficult to see, and hear some things that are difficult to hear. But don't worry. And also – promise you'll take care of the Squire and Justine for me?"
Aileen looked at her questioningly, but there was something in her face that told her she wasn't going to get an answer.
"Yes, my Lady. As you wish."
The morning was early, and the sky still dark, as Lancelot made his way through the forest. He had ridden all night to get to Camelot, and then all day to get back again, never eating or sleeping a wink, keeping a fast worthy of a pilgrim out on penance, and possessed of madness. He had ridden through the next night also, and it was only for the sake of the horses that he decided to pause, for there were no stables nearby, and even alternating between riding one and letting the other follow, by morning both were exhausted.
Pausing beside a nearby stream, he had just sat down to rest himself beneath a tree, when he heard a rustle. Seizing his sword, he went to have a look – only to be surprised by a familiar face.
"Watt! What are you doing here?"
"I suppose my Lord I could ask you the same thing! Why this isn't far from where I found you last time – what are you doing in the middle of the woods?"
"I am out on pilgrimage – on your advice."
"Oh, and how have things been since we parted last?"
"Strange. I suppose that is the best word for it. How have things been in Camelot?"
"Stranger still. It seems to be the word of the day."
"Oh?" Lancelot asked, pretending not to know anything, even though he had just come from the castle.
"Yes, the Queen's gone mad, and all the world seems to have followed after her. Sir Mordred usurped the throne, and threatened to have her burned at the state for adultery – he walked in on her in her room waiting for her lover stark naked!"
Lancelot feigned shock and surprise.
"Here, sit down a bit. I've packed a picnic lunch, but it will serve for breakfast, and tales go better over food anyway –"
And so they sat and munched as Watt related all the lurid details of the recent doings in Camelot – of the unexpected wisdom of Mordred, and the great parties, the madness of the Queen, and how she had been saved at the last minute – evidently the story Merlin put out was that the whole thing had been a giant misunderstanding, and that the Queen, fresh out of her bath, was busy letting herself air dry, while reciting poetry from a new French play she meant to have put on for Arthur to celebrate his return, when Mordred had unexpectedly walked in on her.
"Of course no one actually BELIEVES any of that, but that's what they say – " Watt laughed. Lancelot laughed along with him, before letting out a long sigh.
"Ahh, truly, women are merciless creatures. To love a beautiful one is a thankless endeavor, and no end of trouble . . ."
"That seems like a rather hopeless case, my Lord."
"Hopeless indeed. But what can one do?"
"I suppose – one could always try loving one of the less beautiful ones . . ." Watt said, fidgeting nervously.
"What's that?"
"Oh, nothing – "
Just then, they were interrupted by the sight of a boat coming down the river.
"What's this . . ?"
As Lancelot looked, he saw a beautiful white barge. Atop its deck was a canopy, spread over a bier. Along the table flowers were laid, at both the head and foot, while in the middle was a white form covered with a veil. Looking closer, Lancelot could make out the shape of a young maiden. She was draped with a cloak made entirely of white lilies, and in her hands she held a scepter of flowers, while on her head she wore a floral crown.
"Oh – that must be the funeral barge for that Lady Elaine – the Lady of Shallot."
At these words, Lancelot felt his heart stop.
"The Lady of . . . Shallot?"
"Yes, with everything else going on, I forgot to mention it. Apparently she turned up at some castle, out in the sticks. Made quite a stir – and then died suddenly –"
"What did she die of?"
"They say it was some strange, wasting disease – the doctors do, anyhow. The onset was pretty quick. But the common folk hold differently."
"Oh – and what do the common people say?"
"They say she died of a broken heart . . ."
Lancelot stared at the barge as it drew even with them, lingering for a moment, before drifting past.
"Did you know her, my Lord?"
"No . . ."
"You just seem so thoughtful all of a sudden."
Lancelot shook his head, then smiled sadly.
"It's just – methinks she has a pretty face – the Lady of Shallot . . ."
"Yes, my Lord. I suppose she did."
"Shiro is late tonight . . ."
Saber was sitting in the room next to her Master's. She was seated on the tatami floor, with her legs folded neatly beneath her, and her knees pressed modestly together.
At the moment, there hadn't been any combat. As a Servant, she relied on Shiro's mana for her continued existence, so she was keenly aware of even the slightest fluctuations. Rin had also formed a provisional contract with her. As an irregular Master, who wasn't a full Mage, Shiro's magic energy was somewhat limited. But Saber could always tell what mana was from Rin, and what was Shiro's, and she tried to keep her activities to a minimum, and rely solely on his.
She told herself that this was out of loyalty. But the wafting perfume that tickled her nose betrayed other reasons.
"Damn you, Kotomine."
She could still remember the sensation from when they had wrestled the other day – when her sweat mixed with his. She found herself wishing she hadn't taken that bath. It was a sensation she never wanted to end.
If only she could be more like Illya.
"I mean, SHE just crawls into bed with him . . ."
For a moment her mind filled with wild thoughts. She would insist that she must sleep beside him, in the same room. To keep him safe – after all, there was a war going on.
As his Servant.
And then, in the middle of the night . . . The futon covers could be moved easily.
"After all", she would say, as she looked him impudently. "The strongest Servant requires the most mana . . ."
And she was the strongest Servant.
And then -
But no – no – that would never work.
"I could never do that – "
Saber looked at the clock again, and sighed.
"Why can't I just TELL him . . ."
In another part of town, on the other side of Fuyuki City, another Servant was stirring.
Assassin landed lightly on the causeway between two buildings, barely making a sound. He could have done it without making any sound at all, but he felt like that would have been rude to his Master, and so he deliberately gave his presence away, so as to announce himself.
They were very high up, on a breezeway that joined two buildings together. It was the kind of place that ordinarily Zouken Matou could never reach. Simply taking the elevator would have strained his frail form, much less climbing out onto the roof.
But the crest worms that made up his unnatural existence had no such limitations. They could separate and divide at will, slithering up the side of a building, or else spread their wings and take flight, dissolving into a swarm only to reform again at will.
Assassin crept forward, around to his left. When he was just behind him, he stopped.
Zouken tensed.
The Hasan were assassins by trade. And the Old Man of the Mountain was an assassin of assassins, who would not hesitate to kill even the leader of the clan if he felt that he had strayed from the path. At any moment, their tenuous friendship might end with a knife in the dark.
Putting his hands together like a mantis, Assassin lowered himself to one knee, and bowed.
Zouken relaxed, breathing out.
From this high up, they had an excellent view of the City of Fuyuki. Hundreds of buildings rose all around them, each glittering with thousands of windows. But one window in particular seemed to hold his interest. It was much too far away to see what was happening inside, but nevertheless Zouken seemed to know something about it. For a moment he glared angrily. And then he turned away, tamping his cane on the ground in disgust.
"And now to put an end to this ridiculous farce – and to this pitiful excuse for a Holy Grail War."