Excaliburia

King Arthur knelt in a crumbling Roman ruin, gripping Excalibur like a shovel. The blade, dulled from years of misuse, scraped against dirt and rocks.

“The Romans were geniuses,” he declared, puffing out his chest. “If they buried a secret army here, we’ll find it and rebuild civilization!”

His squire, Percy, stood nearby holding a bucket, squinting at Arthur. “But, sire, civilization already ended. Isn’t it too late for secret armies?”

“Too late? Nonsense!” Arthur thrust Excalibur into the ground dramatically. “The world craves heroes, Percy! And I—” CLANG! The sword struck metal.

Percy shuffled over. “What is it?”

Arthur yanked at the object, pulling up a rusty iron chest. Dusting it off, he grinned. “Aha! Roman brilliance! Their secrets await!” He pried it open with Excalibur.

Inside was…a teapot.

“A teapot?” Percy tilted his head. “What kind of army needs tea?”

Arthur ignored him. He pulled the teapot out reverently, inspecting it for ancient runes. “This must be ceremonial! Imagine: legions of warriors sipping tea before battle!” He placed it on the ground and opened the lid. Nothing but cobwebs.

“Maybe they didn’t finish their tea,” Percy offered.

Arthur waved him off. “No matter! This teapot will lead us to the army. How do you take it?”

“Take what?” Percy asked, confused.

“Your tea! If we’re recreating their rituals, we’ll need to prepare ourselves!” Arthur began pantomiming tea-making, pouring imaginary liquid into cups he’d formed with his hands.

Percy groaned. “Sire, this is ridiculous. There’s no army. It’s just junk the Romans forgot about.”

“Forgot about?” Arthur scoffed. “The Romans forgot nothing! Observe!” He shook the teapot for emphasis. A small slip of paper fell out.

Percy picked it up. “‘Thank you for visiting Roman Bathhouse #42. Complimentary tea included with admission.’”

Arthur froze, staring at Percy. Then, slowly, he began to laugh. “A bathhouse? A Roman army of…bathers?”

Percy cracked a grin. “Guess they were fighting grime, not wars.”

Arthur sighed, leaning on Excalibur. “Oh well, Percy. It seems we’ve uncovered not warriors, but history’s greatest soap enthusiasts.”

Percy chuckled. “So…shall we dig for their towels next?”

Arthur groaned, then laughed. “Lead on, Percy. Lead on.”

King Arthur chuckled as Percy grabbed a rusty comb from the chest. “Perhaps this was their weapon,” Percy joked, holding it aloft. Arthur snorted. “A comb? Their battles must’ve been hair-raising!” They both laughed, their quest for glory reduced to ancient toiletries.