La Damoiselle Arthur 13 (Patreon)

“You put on quite a show,” Arthur said as he accepted the ale.

Lancelot chuckled, leaned close and said, “I am quite charming, aren’t I?”

“Some think so,’ Arthur said, sipping the ale.

The Inn Keeper came with the stew.  The small tavern was starting to clear out, the fire burning down to embers, lamps sputtering.  The Inn Keeper busied himself cleaning and closing down for the night.

Arthur lifted a wooden spoon of the thick, steaming stew to his nose and sniffed. Then took a small taste with the tip of his tongue. “Quite--” tasty he had meant to finish, but when he looked up he saw Lancelot staring at him. “What?”

Lancelot shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “I was--- er-- just waiting to find out what you thought of the stew.”

“It’s good,” Arthur said.

Lancelot dug his spoon into the bowl, and then shoved a heaping portion into his mouth, chewing and swallowing. “Inn Keeper! Excellent!” Lancelot ate some more. “What a pleasure to get out of the stifling formality and pretense of Camelot,” he said. “Look at this place! Those wooden beams. It looks older than Roman times.”

‘Indeed,” the Inn Keeper said. “This taven has been here since before the Romans came to Britain. Long before. The exact date it not known, but some say it was here before the town.”  Walking over, the man lay a large, metal key on the table. It was so dirty and worn it was hard to tell what sort of metal it was made from. “Room at the top of the stairs,” he said. “I am turning in.”

“Thank you for your hospitality and this fine repast,” Lancelot said. ‘I wish we had food like this in the south.”

“Fresh ingredients cooked right,” the man said, then he turned his attention to Arthur. Seeing Arthur in the warm light of the dying lamps, the man immediately was struck by his big eyes, the long, curly lashes, the full mouth and-- was this a boy or a girl? “I almost forgot about your friend here. And how do you find my little tavern young-- er--?”

Arthur looked away.

“He,” Lancelot said, “is my valet. And a little shy. Do not be offended.”

“Hmmm. Well, good night to ya.”

The man left.

“So,” Arthur said, feeling free to talk now that the room was empty. “Tomorrow we go about finding this Colban.”

“Yes. I would have perhaps asked tonight--”

“But you were too busy performing,” Arthur said.

“I was building good will.”

“You were being an ass,” Arthur finally spat out, slamming his food down. “The plan was for us to remain incognito!

“It was a foolish plan…”

“Arrogance has always been your fatal flaw.”

“Confidence is my greatest virtue.”

“You don’t think about anyone but yourself!”

“The fact that I am here proves you wrong on that point, doesn’t it?”

“It doesn’t prove…” Arthur started, stopped. “It only…” Arthur stood and grabbed the key. Finally, realizing he had no argument, Arthur turned and stormed off. “Just shut up!”

Lancelot watched Arthur stomp his way up the stairs. He’d taken his coat off, and the pants he wore hugged his shapely new body quite nicely. “ might be fun to …” It As soon as he realized what he was thinking, Lancelot pulled his eyes away. “You mustn’t even think it!”

He waited a bit, letting Arthut calm himself. The thought of a bed made him smile-- even an old country mattress stuffed with hay would be a relief!

Making his way upstairs, he found a single door at the top of the stairs. He tried the handle. The door was locked. He knocked. Gently. “You’ll have to sleep downstairs,” Arthur said. “There is only one bed and quite a small one.”

Lancelot groaned and went down, making a small place to sleep beside the smoldering hearth.

Outside the shuttered back window, a shadowy figure chuckled. They seemed like an old married couple, indeed! He slunk off.

Upstairs, Arthur undressed. He supposed a bath was too much to ask. He smelled like his horse and would have loved to get some of the sweat and grime off his body, but at least he had a bad. Slipping out of his shirt, his breeches, Arthur was once more confronted with the soft, roundness of his body. During the day, as long as he was away from people, he didn’t feel so conscious of everything. In fact, riding along on his horse, lost in thought or examining the trail, he rather felt like himself again.

But now, feeling his chest sway, the cold air eliciting an embarrassing tightening, once more he was brought fully into this new shape, and he climbed under the covers feeling awkward, unbalanced, and egregiously annoyed as his sensitive new body and especially those now hard little soldiers on his chest seemed to react to everything they brushed against. Finally, he put his shirt back on, smelly as it was, because it at least had provided some-- comfort?

Arthur closed his eyes and breathed. God, help me.

Gradually, he drifted off to sleep.

Lancelot woke to the feeling of cold steel at his throat. In a flash, he’d knocked the blade from the hand of the man who’d held it, bashed him in the face and sent him reeling across the tables. Three more men circled, these armed with knobby cudgels. “You may take one of us,” one of the men said. “But can you take all three of us?”

“Probably,” Lancelot said, grabbing one of the chairs, smashing it and brandishing a chair leg as the man circled. “You do know I am Lancelot? THE Lancelot?” Lancelot had to keep turning. They men were trying to get one of them behind him, out of his line of sight.

“Aye, we heard of your boasting,” the man said. “But I suspect your skull will break just like any man’s.”

“If you could land a blow,” Lancelot said. “Which I rather doubt.” With that he spun and kicked the man who’d been closest to behind him in the belly, swung his cudgel down on the head of another that had made an unfortunate decision to go after Lancelot’s legs and punched the third hard in the face.

Lancelot stood in the center of the floor, the three men already cowed by their rapid beating, holding various aching body parts.  “Now, would you care to tell me what this is about?” Lancelot said.

“Nah,” the man said. “I have a better idea. Men?”

The front door opened. The shutters. Lancelot could see the tavern was surrounded-- forty men or more. Lancelot dropped his chair leg. Everyone seemed to sigh with relief. Then, he picked up two of the dropped cudgels. “Shall we?”

“You can’t be serious?” The leader said.

“I’m not serious. I’m Lancelot. Do your worst.” Indeed, Lancelot felt he had no choice. Upstairs was a king and a lady he was sworn to protect. He had no idea of their attentions, but if these rude rustics were to find out that Arthur was a lovely woman, well, Lancelot had heard stories that some of these country folk could be quite brutish.

“Well, men, let him have it.” The leader and his three men cleared away, but to Lancelot’s surprise the crowd did not attempt a direct assault. He watched as they loaded stones into slings.

“You people tell a story of David and Goliath,” the leader said. “You know how this ends. Men? At him!”

Stones whistled through the air. Lancelot ducked under one, flipped a table on its side and crouching, but then more stones were flung in from the windows. One struck him on the shoulder, another on the back, stinging pain. He was trapped, and there was no way out.  All he could do was hold out long enough for Arthur to…

He heard a scream. A woman’s scream. From upstairs. No. He stood, meaning to charge for the stairs, no matter the cost to himself.

The door slammed open, and he saw a man coming down the stairs. Arthur struggled helplessly in the man’s arms.

“Hold! Hold!” The man said. “This has gone too far. Let’s put a stop to this before someone gets seriously hurt.”

Arthur thrashed, once more infuriated by how small and weak he was. How dare this man treat him this way? Wearing only his shirt, he was scandalized to have all these men see his long, bare legs. Worse, he hadn’t buttoned the shirt all the way up when he’d gone to bed, and he could feel cool air against his maiden breast.

“Let go of--” there was no use denying it. “The girl.”

The man pushed Arthur down to the bottom of the stairs. He saw all the local village folk gawking at him, letting their eyes rise up those long legs, linger on his chest and face, then back down. The looks in the men’s eyes were more than appreciative, as some had the manner of a hungry wolf that he just found dinner.

To Arthur, having men look at him like that was a punch in the gut; he felt afraid, and he felt ashamed. He stopped struggling. It only made him feel more pathetic.

“I’ll let her go once you have given me assurances that the violence has come to an end.”

“It was your men who started it.”

“Well, let’s sit down and talk peaceably.”

“These men clear out. We talk.”

“Very well.” The man nodded. The villagers left.

“Young lady, I am sorry for the rough treatment. You can go back to your room while we talk.”

Arthur had had enough. He felt the need to assert himself. As a man. “I’m staying,” Arthur said.

“Are you sure?” Lancelot asked, remembering Arthur’s previous desire to keep-- all that-- a secret.

“I am sure,” Arthur said, pulling his shirt closed, buttoning it up.

Lancelot uprighted his table. Found a couple chairs. The three sat down. “Well, now this is a lot better,” the man said.

“Your name?” Arthur said, intending to lead the conversation.

“I am Colban,” the man said. He turned his attention to Lancelot. “I heard you were looking for me.”

“Indeed,” Lancelot said. “Though I was not expecting to be attacked.”

“I must apologize for that, you see--”

“Excuse me,” Arthur said, his voice cold. “It is not my friend who was looking for you, but I.”

Colban looked at the young woman and frowned. “And I had heard that young ladies in the south were taught good manners.”

“I am no young lady,” Arthur declared. “I am Arthur, King.”