“No one was more surprised than us when he pulled the sword from the stone,” Sir Kay said. “You know about that, right? A great hulking stone with a sword in the middle used to be in the center of Camelot. Old as time. No one knew where or when it was from. But the sword never dimmed or rusted. And on the stone, it was written that only the true king could have the sword. Made old Uther Pendragon furious. He could budge neither the sword nor the stone that held it. No one could. The great mystery of Camelot. And to think! All that time we had the true king with us. Polishing our boots and feeding our horses and cooking our meals!” Sir Kay grinned proudly. “Not many can say they used to whip the king for burning their breakfast. Do you remember that time—”
Guinevere let their storytelling meander. They were lost in their own reminiscing, each filling in details about a time they had been hired by a village to kill a dragon and had tricked the villagers into thinking it was done.
As she heard about what they had seen and done in the years under Uther Pendragon, Merlin’s choice to leave Arthur with them re-formed itself with crystal clarity in her mind. If Arthur had been raised in seclusion in the forest, under the tutelage of a kind wizard, how would he have known the work there was to be done?
He had seen the suffering under his father. He had seen what a tyrant inflicted on the land. He had seen how little use men like Sir Ector and Sir Kay were. And rather than letting that break him, rather than letting the tragedy and violence of his very existence turn him bitter and angry, he had decided to do something about it.
He had decided to become the king his land needed.
Merlin never walked a straight path. His choices often seemed to be absurd or wrong. But he saw through time, pierced it with the arrow of his magic, and always hit his target at the other end. It was reassuring. He might not have armed her with as much knowledge as she needed regarding the coming threat, but if he had sent her here, this was where she should be. Time would prove it.
“Thank you, good sirs.” Guinevere stood, cutting them off mid-story about lighting pigs on fire to scare a charging band of thieves. “This has been most informative.”
They hurried to stand. She inclined her head to them and they bowed. Brangien lifted her eyes in relief, packing up her sewing. Guinevere stepped into the now-blinding light of day, followed by their voices.
“Breasts are rather small,” Sir Ector said.
“Pretty enough face, though. He can always find big breasts elsewhere.”
She repented of any kind thoughts she had had toward them. Merlin might have made the right decision, but that did not mean she had to like them. Ever.
“I feel like livestock,” Guinevere hissed to Brangien as the tent flap closed behind her, sealing away Sir Ector and Sir Kay.
“At least they are all talk and no hands.” Brangien glared at the tent. “With the exceptions of Sir Tristan and King Arthur, I could do without men entirely.”
“You wound me, fair maid.” Mordred stood from where he was leaning against a stall. He held out two perfect plums.
Brangien snatched her plum and aggressively bit a chunk out of it, turning her back on Mordred. Guinevere held hers, rubbing her fingers against the smooth skin. It had no stories to tell. She had had enough stories for the day, though.
Mordred pointed their way. “We are meeting my uncle king at the smithies.”
It was a relief that she would be able to get to work soon. Mordred led them through the crowds and stalls to the other end of the market. The smithies were kept at a distance because of the heat and smoke. Seeing Arthur waiting for them there, Guinevere felt her heart grow lighter. Everything she learned about him made her more sure she had made the right decision in coming here. Arthur was a protector, and it was a very fine thing to protect a protector. She smiled as she took his arm. The sun winked on his silver circlet crown, and the crowds gave him a respectful berth—aided, no doubt, by the knights orbiting around him.
“Did you enjoy the market?” he asked.
“It was…illuminating.”
“You will never guess who we met,” Mordred said.
“Who?” Arthur asked.
“I will give you a hint: they evaluated your perfect bride by commenting on her teeth, her hair, and the size of her—”
Arthur groaned, putting a hand over his face. “Sir Ector and Sir Kay are here.”
Guinevere patted his arm. “It was informative.”
“Please accept my apologies for anything they said, and anything they may say in the future. They mean well, but—” He paused. “Actually, I am not sure they mean well. But they are benign creatures. If they are not good, at least they are not bad.”
Mordred tucked a handkerchief back into his vest. “Their smell, on the other hand…”
Brangien laughed. Then she ducked her head modestly. Mordred met Guinevere’s eyes and grinned over the victory of making Brangien laugh. Guinevere matched his smile. She felt better now that she was back with Arthur and working on a problem she had a plan for.
Heat radiated from the smiths’ shaded work areas. There were fewer people here—most could not afford what the smiths were offering. But Arthur and Mordred were both familiar with the best smiths, who had their spots closest to the main market.
“My queen would like iron metal as fine as thread,” Arthur said to a smith with arms like tree trunks.
“Why?” Mordred asked.