The Lady of the Lake, her arm clad in the purest shimmering samite, held aloft Excalibur from the bosom of the water signifying by Divine Providence that I, Arthur, was to carry Excalibur. Nothing. Here's your nine pence. We burn her! Right! Yeaaah! Yeaah! So he has. He's scarpered. We've got a witch! I dunno. Must be a king. Right. Right. So? We have ridden since the snows of winter covered this land, through the kingdom of Mercia, through... I command you, as King of the Britons, to stand aside!