Vera laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind. Look, I really just wanted to apologize for being the reason you had to execute that man.” She’d not known she was going to say it before the words tumbled out of her.
“It’s my duty,” Gawain said.
“Yes, well, it’s not one you’ve ever had to officially perform, is it?”
He gave her another sidelong look. “Not officially. But it was not uncommon on the battlefield.”
He’d been so skilled and precise. It stood to reason that he’d performed that task before.
“How do mages train for such things?” she asked.
“How?” Gawain chuckled. “You’re asking the wrong questions, Your Majesty.” A loud laugh erupted from Lancelot and Percival’s clump of riders, and Vera glanced wistfully at them.
“You don’t want to talk to me anymore, do you?” he asked.
She was so startled by his blunt (and correct) assessment that she wasn’t sure how to respond.
“I’m done talking anyway,” he said. “I’d heard you were strange, but I like you better than I thought I would.”
And with that, Gawain pulled up on the reins of his horse to fall back and ride alone.
Still in shock, Vera caught up with Percival and Lancelot, now on their own, apart from the other soldiers.
“Been watching you back there. What was that about?” Percival asked.
“That guy’s a fucking weirdo,” Vera said.
This set Lancelot to howling, so she felt compelled to continue. “He said he was done talking to me and wanted to ride alone.”
Percival muttered a few choice insults under his breath.
“Ooh, I’ve never seen anyone get under your skin like that,” Lancelot said to him. “You like damn near everybody.”
“I’ve never met anyone with such disrespect for Arthur. And now for the queen, too. He’s an egregious, pompous—”
“All right, all right. Point taken,” Lancelot said. “Don’t you feel a tiny bit sorry for him? Off on his own in this rowdy crew?”
“No,” Percival said.
“Also,” Vera added, joining in Percival’s annoyance that Lancelot clearly didn’t get it. “He told me that you reek of lies and that I shouldn’t trust you.”
“Really?” Lancelot’s eyes glimmered with delight. “That’s fabulous. I’m going to go annoy the shit out of him. Cheers!” He made a soft clicking noise, and his horse was trotting off toward Gawain before either could attempt to stop him.
In opposition to Vera’s abysmal familiarity with Arthurian legend (a rather hilarious joke of the universe), she was well acquainted with Glastonbury’s history. Based on all accounts that she’d been taught in school and during class trips to the abbey, all the buildings and lodgings should have been made of wood, simple structures to keep less civilized ancient peoples out of the elements. As had become the custom of her new life, her knowledge was wrong.
The party arrived on the High Street of Glastonbury in the early afternoon, as a cold rain began to fall in a broken spit like the sky was talking excitedly and couldn’t keep from at least a few drops flying free.
A merry woman met them at the edge of town with a dramatic “Good morning!” that rose and fell, sounding like an arch.
“That’s Maria. She’s the master of festival,” Arthur murmured to Vera.
Maria was lovely, with a pile of golden curls arranged atop her head and a bright magenta gown that didn’t feel like it belonged in the seventh century. She excitedly led them all to a stone building that was, as best as Vera could tell, about half a block from where the George and Pilgrims would stand in some 800 years.
“Leave your horses here with Harding; he’ll see that they’re cared for. Don’t you dare touch those bags,” she barked at Lancelot, who grinned and raised his hands from the bag on his horse. “Tawdry will bring them to your rooms. Your Majesty, may I steal you away for a titch? My queen, you can carry on to your quarters if you wish. I’m sure you need a rest after your journey.”
These were the lodgings they’d used every year when in town for the festival. The king’s party had the entire ground floor.
“This one’s yours,” Matilda said in Vera’s ear, reaching past her to open the first door on the left. She peered into the quarters, her eyes first drawn to the blazing fire in a grand hearth on the wall opposite, with all the necessities for a bedroom between here and there.
