Lost From The Legend

The Coming of Arthur - Lancelot

I wasn't supposed, or really allowed, to be in Camelot, but I had to stop somewhere and the only village for miles was on the wrong side of the border.

One of Essetir's noblemen was looking for fighters, and I intended to sign up. His manor was very far south, just over the border from the Forest of Balor.

Smoke rose from most of the chimneys in the village, and the streets were quiet. The moon had risen, though the sky was not yet completely black. Behind closed shutters, I could see the glimmer of candles. I had been in better places, but I had also been in far worse.

A figure emerged from behind one of the houses. I ran towards whoever it was, stopping them just before they opened their door. A young woman with masculinely broad shoulders turned to face me.

"I am so sorry to bother you. My name is Lancelot."

"Good evening." She was polite enough, but I sensed her suspicion.

"I am travelling to Essetir, to enlist as a soldier. Do you, by any chance, have a place for me to spend the night?" I blew on my hands, trying to keep them warm.

"You'll have to talk to my mother." She raised her eyebrows, looking in my direction as she pushed the door open.

The single-room cottage was well lit by candles. A table and bench stood beside the door, opposite the hearth. A clean linen curtain cordoned off the rest of the house.

"Ma?" The young woman brushed the curtain aside and stepped past it.

A small boy with dark hair peeked around the other side of the curtain. I smiled and he emerged entirely.  I could see him inspecting me, taking in every detail. When his eyes reached my sword, his whole face brightened.

"May I see your sword please?" he asked, fumbling nervously with the sleeve of his tunic.

"Of course." I unsheathed it, laying it flat in my hands.

"That's a good sword."

I started as a stern-looking woman strode into the room. "I trust a man with a good sword."

"Could I stay here for the night, please madam?"

"You are most welcome, Sir Lancelot."

I opened my mouth to thank her, then hesitated. "You think I'm a knight?"

"Your sword comes from the royal forges of Camelot. Only knights have swords from there." She placed her arm around the little boy, who I assumed was her son.

"I was a knight once, now I go wherever there is work for a fighter."

"Your business is your own." She shrugged. "My name is Orla. You've met my daughter, Sigourney, and Thomas." Orla tousled her son's hair. 

***

The sun had barely risen, but I heard the door creak and scrambled upright, reaching for my sword. It was a reflex by then. Sigourney looked back at me, her hand on the door, her eyes wide but filled with pity. 

"I think you should spend a few days here before you move on. It'll do you good."

"Where are you going?" I walked past her into the morning air that made my breath appear like a white cloud.

"I have to heat up the forge," she said, as if it was obvious.

"Oh, is your father a blacksmith?"

"No, my ma. She makes pikes and spears for most of the foot soldiers in the army." Sigourney walked much quicker than was considered ladylike in the cities. "She's teaching me to make swords and basic armor - hauberks and greaves and such."

I stopped in my tracks, stunned. It did, however, explain why both women wore trousers.

I had to run to catch up with Sigourney.

Her mother's smithy was on the outskirts of the village. An assortment of hammers and tongs hung against the back wall beside the forge. A well-used anvil stood closer to the path. Next to it lay several pike  .

Sigourney peeked out from behind the forge and gestured to me to come over. The yard behind the smithy was full of crates labeled 'charcoal'. Sigourney lifted one easily and carried it back into the work area.

"Open it and put the charcoal in a thin layer in the forge," she instructed, pointing to the crate.

As I strew charcoal into the forge, a puzzled voice behind me said: "Good morning."

I put the crate down and turned around. A man nearly a head taller than me bounced slightly on the balls of his feet.

"Is Sigourney here?" he asked.

"She's in the yard. My name is Lancelot." I reached for a handshake.

"Percival." He shook my hand with a firm grip, then walked past me into the yard.