“Very well,” Sir Bodwain boomed.
The loud conversation had caught a few other knights’ attention, and as Britt and her escort left the jousting tournament knights and Londoners alike trailed after them. A small crowd of ten or twenty additional onlookers stormed the cemetery with them when they arrived.
The archbishop was already waiting for them, of course, being that he was in on the act.
“Merlin,” the Archbishop—an older gentleman with a dignified air to him—said as they breeched the cemetery borders. “I should have known it was you. What have you stirred up now?”
Merlin propelled Britt to the front of the group. “This boy claims he has pulled the sword from the stone.”
“If that is so then you may put back the sword in its place and pull it forth again,” the Archbishop said, indicating to the empty anvil, unruffled by the absence of a church artifact.
“Very well, go ahead Arthur,” Merlin said.
Britt dutifully approached the anvil, pulled the sword out of the scabbard, and slid it back into place.
“Wait, once it has been pulled, perhaps anyone can pull it. Someone else give it a try,” another one of Merlin’s knights shouted.
Knights rushed the stone, scrabbling for the sword. Britt would have been run over if Merlin had not whisked her out of the way.
Britt was mildly surprised as she watched the knights strain—their faces red with exhortation as they all tried to pull the sword at once. “Yeah, this is definitely a dream,” Britt muttered.
“Did you say something?” Merlin asked.
“No.”
“Ah. One moment,” Merlin said before he cleared his throat and cast his arms at the sky. “Everyone, step aside! Let Arthur try,” Merlin declared.
The knights didn’t listen and scurried around the sword like rats on garbage.
Merlin frowned and whacked the nearest knight on the helm with his walking stick. “Move, invalid,” he snarled at the knight before he bulldozed his way to the sword. “If you don’t want to be cursed—,” Merlin roared over the shouting knights.
The knights threw themselves away from the sword, their plate mail ringing as they knocked into each other.
“Much better. Now, Arthur,” Merlin said, turning to her. “Go ahead, lad. Give it a try.”
Britt adjusted the fall of her warm cloak before she joined Merlin at the anvil. She gripped the hilt and tugged on the sword—which easily slid out.
Sir Kay kneeled in an instant. “My Lord,” he murmured.
Sir Ector was next, although he was slower to move and his eyes teared up as he knelt. “It is a miracle,” he said his chest heaving.
“We have a King again,” Sir Bodwain said, joining Sir Ector.
Some of the onlookers copied the knights and knelt with wide eyes and hushed whispers.
Britt uneasily shifted, but remembered it was her turn to speak when Merlin jabbed a sharp elbow into her side. “Father, brother, do not kneel before me,” she begged, moving to stand in front of the two knights.
“No, My Lord Arthur, I am not your Father, not by blood at least. I never knew your true parentage, but you pulled the sword from the stone. You must be the son of Uther Pendragon!”
“How can this be?” Britt said.
“When you were but a babe a stranger brought you to my manor. He gave me a great sum of gold and instructed me to raise you as though you were my own son,” Sir Ector said, wiping tears from his eyes.
(For the sake of appearing impartial, Merlin had instructed Sir Ector to leave out the part about Merlin being the stranger, and of knowing all along exactly who Arthur was. “It did not work for our favor so there is no point in telling it anyway,” Merlin had said.)
Britt knew what was supposed to happen next. She was supposed to fall to the ground, weeping and crying that she had lost her father and brother. The trouble was Britt was still unimpressed with the occupation of fatherhood. Britt dropped to her knees, hoping the crowd would observe her unemotional response as shock. “What a wretched day, for in it I have lost my father and brother. And mother,” Britt said, adding the unscripted mother bit. She knew her tone was wooden and unfeeling, but almost everyone was watching Sir Ector and Sir Kay anyway.
Merlin moved behind Britt. “Archbishop, what do you say to summoning all the knights and princes and barons from the tournament to come to this cemetery and see the will of God?”
Brice, the archbishop, tucked his hands in the sleeves of his priestly robes. “I say that sounds wise, and let us commence with the summoning in all speed.”
“You will not leave me, even though I am not your son or brother?” Britt said, reciting the well rehearsed line.
Sir Kay shook his head, but Sir Ector replied with a fierceness that surprised Britt. “Never, My Lord.”