ThisonewasformeHisroyalhighnessKingAllmotofEnglandherebydeclaresthattheroyaltournamentatCamelotwillcommenceonthefirstdayofWhitsuntide.
(Pleasedisregarddatesannouncedinpreviousdeclarations.ConstructionwillbecompletedbyWhitsun.)
Knightsofdaringandvalourwhoembodythechivalricspiritareencouragedtofightfortheirkinginthelists,atarchery,insinglecombatandthemelee,untilavictorisproclaimedonthenineteenthdayofAugust.
Pleasebringyourownswords,macesandmorning-stars,asnonewillbeprovided.Contents
Chapter1
Chapter2
Chapter3
Chapter4
Chapter5
Chapter6
Chapter7
Chapter8
Chapter9
Chapter10
Chapter11
Chapter12
Chapter13
Chapter14
Chapter15
Chapter16
Chapter17
Chapter18
Chapter19
Chapter20
Chapter21
Chapter22
Chapter23
Chapter24
Chapter25
Chapter26
Chapter27
Chapter28
Chapter29
Chapter30
Chapter31
Chapter32
Chapter33
Chapter34
Chapter35
Chapter36
Chapter37
Chapter38
Chapter39
Chapter40
Acknowledgements
AbouttheAuthor
Copyright
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423WhenGwenwokeup,sheknewshe’dhadthedreamagain–andthatshe’dbeenloud.Sheknewshe’dhadthedreambecauseshewasfeelingexhilarated,loose-limbedandalittleflushedintheface;sheknewshe’dbeenvocalaboutitbecauseAgnes,thedark-hairedlady-in-waitingwhosleptintheadjoiningchamber,keptbitingherliptokeepfromlaughingandwouldn’tlookherintheeye.
‘Agnes,’Gwensaid,sittingupinbedandfixingherwithawell-practisedandratherimperiouslook.‘Don’tyouhavewatertofetch,orsomething?’
‘Yes,yourhighness,’saidAgnes,givingalittlecurtsyandthenrushingfromtheroom.Gwensighedasshestaredupatthebedhangings,lushvelvetheavywithembroidery.Itwasprobablyamistaketosendherawaysosoon–shewasyoungandflighty,andwouldlikelybeoffgossipingwithanybodysheencountered.AtleastGwen’snocturnalexploitswouldn’tstaytopbillingforlong.Todaywasnoordinaryday;tournamentseasonwasfinallyuponthem.AnymortifyingmorselsAgnesslippedtheotherladies-in-waitingwouldbeforgotteninalltheexcitementbynoon.
WhenAgnescamebackwithapitcherofwaterGwensteppedoutofbed,raisedherarmsaboveherheadsothatAgnescouldremovethethintunicshesleptin,andthenstoodyawningandblinkingintheearlymorninglightasshewasscrubbedandoiledtowithinaninchofherlife.AgneswasjusteasinganewshiftoverGwen’sshoulderswhenthedoorwasnudgedopenandatall,pale,copper-hairedyoungmanwalkedin,hisheadburiedinastackofparchment.
‘Haveyouseenthis?’hesaid,notliftinghiseyesfromthepage.
‘Er.Gabriel,’Gwensaid,lookingathimincredulously.‘I’mnotdressed.’
‘Aren’tyou?’Gabriellookedupandfrownedatherbriefly,asifshehadremovedherclothesjusttoinconveniencehim.‘Oh.Sorry.’
‘TheGreekswrotealotofplaysaboutthissortofthing,’Gwensaid,asAgnesrushedoverwithadresstocoverher,herfairskinflushingadelicatepink.Herblusheswereprobablylesstodowiththeimproprietyofthesituationandmoretodowiththefactthatalmosteverywomanatcourtharbouredapersistentcrushonherbrother.Manyhadtriedtocatchhiseye,andsofar,allhadfailed.Hewasn’treallyonefortalkingatall,unlessitwastoGwen.Shehadalwaysheldthisasapointofpride.
‘TheGreekswrotealotofplaysaboutputtingondresses?’heaskednow,browstillfurrowed,asAgnesyankedthedressinelegantlyoverGwen’shead.
‘No,’Gwensaid,emergingwithquitealotofherhairstucktohermouth.‘You’remissingthe…Areyouevenlisteningtome?Youwalkedintomyroom,youknow.’Heturnedoverthepieceofparchmenthewasreadingtoperusetheotherside,notacknowledgingthathe’dheardaword.‘Gabriel.Gabe.Canyouhearsomething?Thesoundofaspectralvoiceupontheair?ItalmostsoundslikeI’mtalking.’
‘Hangon,G,’hesaid,raisingahandtoindicatethatheneededamoment.Gwenconsideredthis,anddecidedhehadn’tearnedit.‘Ow.’
GwenhadtakenoneofthebrocadeslippersAgneshadofferedtoherandthrownitathimwithconsiderableforce.
‘Pleasearriveatthepointwithhaste.’
‘Ah–fine,’Gabrielsaid,stillrubbinghishead.‘FatherishavingmelookattheaccountswithLordStafford–costsforthetournamentseasonmostly,butIalsosawthisandIthought…’Hetrailedoff,handinghertheparchmentsoshecouldreaditforherself.
AgnesstartedexpertlyweavingGwen’slongredhairintobraidsasGwen’seyesskimmedquicklydownthepage,takinginanextensivelistofassets.Chestsfullofsilksanddamask,anancientjewelleddiningset,endlessporcelainvases;allmarkedtobeleavingthecrown’scoffersinthecomingmonths.ComprehensiondawnedasshereachedtheendofthepageandtheentrydenotingtheenormousBiblicaltapestryofRuthandNaomithatcurrentlyhunginherchambers.
‘Thisismydowry,’shesaidslowly.‘Gabe.Mydowry.’
‘Isupposeit’sthattimealready,’Gabrielsaid,withasympatheticgrimace.
‘Shit,’saidGwen,sittingdownheavilyontheendofthebed.
‘Shit,’Gabrielagreed.
Intheory,beingbetrothedsincebirthcouldhavebeenacomforttoGwen,especiallyasitwastosomebodysoclosetoherownage.Itmeanttherewouldbenonastysurprises;nonewpoliticalalliancestoforgewithelderly,ornerynobilitythroughmarriage.Betterthedevilsheknew,etcetera.
Unfortunately,thiswasencapsulatedfartooliterallyinthemanshehadbeensworntomarry.ArthurDelacey,heirtothetitleLordofMaidvale,was–inGwen’sopinion–thedevilincarnate.
Theyhadmetforthefirsttimeonthedayshewasborn,barelymorethanashrimpandalreadypromisedtohim;he’dbeentwoyearsold,shuffledintoCamelotalongwithhisparentsandhundredsofotherfamiliescourtingfavourwiththecrown.ShecouldjustpictureArthur’saffrontedlittleface,scowlingdownatherinhercradle,disappointedalready.ShehadoftenwonderedifherparentshadconsideredcommittingwhollytothebitandcallingherGuineveretomatchhim,buthadchickenedoutjustintimeandchosenGwendolineinstead,theuncomfortablelegacyoftheformer’sextramaritalaffairswithroguishknightsstayingtheirhands.
HerfirsttruememorywasofGabrielgivingherapieceofwarm,fragranthoneycake,sneakingittoheroutsidethekitchensbeforedinnertocalmatantrum.
HersecondmemorywasofArthurtakingitfromher.Ithadbeensixteenyears,andshewasstillangryaboutthathoneycake.
Amongotherthings.
Hehadpulledherhairatmass.Mockedherrelentlesslyatfeasts.Trippedherinthecourtyardinfrontofeverypettylordandladyoftherealm,andthensteppedsmuglyoverherasshelaysprawledonthecobblestoneswithaskinnedknee.ThefirststirringsofsummermeantthatavisitfromArthurwasnigh,andsoshelearnedtodreadbrightermorningsandhawthornsinbloom.Onherninthbirthday,shehadtriedtogetaheadofhimbysettingatrapoutsidehischamber,enlistingGabriel’shelptostretchathinlengthoftwineacrossthedoorway;hehadstumbledspectacularlyoveritandbrokenhiswristintwoplaces.Theguardshadapprehendedhimaweeklatertryingtopushaferalcatthroughherbedroomwindowone-handed.
ThatSeptember,thequeenhadpolitelysuggestedthatitmightbebestiftheywereseparatedforthetimebeing.Gwenhadbeensohappywhensheheardthenewsthatshehadskippedaroundthecastleallday,buoyedbytheprospectofArthur-freesummers.HerskippinghadendedabruptlythateveningwhensheheardherfatherrefertoArthurasher‘betrothed’.
‘Gabe,’shehadsaid,seekinghimoutinhisfavouritecornerofthelibrary.‘What’sabetrothed?’
‘It’sthepersonyou’regoingtomarry,’Gabrielreplied,lookingupfromhisbook.
‘Iwasafraidofthat,’shesaidglumly.‘Who’syourbetrothed?’
‘Idon’thaveone.’
‘That’snotfair.’
‘No,’Gabrielhadsighed.‘Idon’tsupposeitis.’
*
Familybreakfasts,whichhadoncebeenaconstantinGwen’slife,hadbecomerarerinrecentyears.Thecarefullycuratedwork–lifebalancethatusedtoallowthekingtolingertodiscusseconomicswithhissonortoplayarapid-firegameofchesswithhisdaughterhaddisintegratedastensionsgrewthroughouthiskingdom;heandthequeennowhaddailyschedulespackedfromdawnuntildinnerwithcouncilmeetings,publicaudiencesandconferenceswithdiplomaticenvoysthatlastedlongintotheevening.GwenandGabrielhadadapted;theyusuallybreakfastedaloneonthecoveredbalcony,anoasisofcalminthebusycastle.
TherestofGwen’sdayfollowedastrictscheduleofherownmaking.Afterbreakfastshewentforhermorningwalk,withAgnesploddingsilentlyatherheels;lunchwasusuallytakeninherchambers,followedbyreadingandharppractice.Thelateafternoonwasalwaysdedicatedtoherembroidery.Gwenhadbeenmeticulouslystitchingspraysofwhiterosesandblueforget-me-notsonanenormousblanketforthepastthreeyears,atthebehestofhermother,whohadsaidsomethingabout‘marriagebeds’and‘weddingnights’thatGwenhadimmediatelychosentoforget.Shelikedembroidery–likedthecertaintyofit,thesoothingrepetitionandsymmetry–andwithaneedleinherhanditwaseasytostillhermindandwilfullydisregardtheissueoftheblanket’sintendeddestination.
Supperwassometimesafamilyaffairtakenintheirownprivatediningrooms,butmoreoftenthannotherfatherwouldinsistthatGwentrudgedowntotheGreatHallwithhimandeatwithahundredeyesonher,theroompackedtotherafterswithcourtiersandsquiresandvariousothershadesofhangers-on
Shetreasuredthesemornings,whenitwasjustherandGabrielonthebalconyunderathickcanopyofclematisandhoneysuckle,andshecouldpushasidetheremnantsofherbreakfastandwhileawayhalfanhourthrashinghimatchessbeforeshefellbackintothefamiliarweaveofherday.
Gabrielwasinparticularlybadformthismorning;evenstillreelingfromtheshockofherdowry,shehadhimcorneredintenshortminutes.
‘Areyouplayingpoorlyonpurposebecauseyoufeelbadforme?’shesaid,ashefrowneddownatthepieces.
Gwenlovedchess.Itflexedsomehiddenmuscle,somepartofhermindthatusuallylaydormant;asaresult,shewascalculatedandruthless,andleftlittleroomforheropponenttoenjoyhimselfforevenamoment.
‘Noteverybodylivesforthetriumphsanddefeats,theepichighsandlowsofthelittleblackandwhitesquares,’Gabrielsaid,ineffectivelypushingarookrightbacktowhereithadbeentwoturnsago.‘Sorry.I’mactuallyjustthisbadatchess.’
‘Yourcatisn’tthisbadatchess,’Gwenscoffed.‘Andalso,checkmate.’
‘Well.Verygood.You’vethoroughlyobliteratedmytenuoussenseofself-worth.’
‘Don’ttrytomakemefeelsorryforyoujustwhenI’mwarminguptoanicegloat,it’snotsportsmanlike.’
Gabrieljustsighed,satbackinhischairandsquintedoutoverthebattlements.Gwenfollowedhisgaze.Theviewfromthenorthsideofthecastle,whichhousedtheroyalquarters,wasn’tclutteredwiththechaosofthecity;fromhereGwencouldseetheorchardandthemews,and,inthefieldsbeyondtheouterwall,thetopofalargewoodenstructurethathadbeenslowlygrowinginsizeforthepastfewmonths.Workmenscurriedarounditlikeants,makingeverythingreadyforthetournamentseasonahead.Theskywasahazyblue,theweatheralreadyhotforlatespring,blossomfallingindriftsfromthetreesandgatheringinthemoat.Underdifferentcircumstances,thiswouldhavebeenathoroughlydelightfulday.
‘Hemightbebetter,’Gabrielsaideventually,knowingpreciselywhatshewasthinkingaboutwithoutneedingtoask.‘Youhaven’tseenhimforyears.’
‘Isawhimlastyear,’Gwencountered.‘Fromadistance.AttheFeastofStMichael,whenthathorribleearlhostedusandyouwerehomewiththegrippe.’
‘And?’
‘Andhesneeredatmefromacrosstheroomandwhisperedsomethinginapage’searandtheybothlaughedsohardtheyalmostfellover.’
‘Youdon’tknowhewaslaughingatyou.’
‘Hepointed.Hesmirked.Hedid…animpression.’
‘Ofwhat?’
‘Mydancing.’
‘Oh,’saidGabriel.‘Well…’
‘Behelpfulorbequiet,’Gwensaid,slumpingforwardontothetable.
‘Sorry,’saidGabriel,reachingovertopatawkwardlyatherhair.‘Ireallyam.YouknowI’dhelpifIcould.’
Gwendidknow.Hewasfartoosoft-hearted;hewouldn’teverforceherintoamarriageforpoliticalgain,nomatterhowmuchheneededit.Somedayhewouldbeking,andthosedecisionswouldbehistomake.Gwenknewhedreadeditmorethananything.Therehadbeenratherloudwhispersovertheyearsthathewastooweak–toogentle–tooquiettorule,andtheirfatherwastryingwithoutsuccesstoencouragehimtoconducthimselfwithmoremettleandconviction;Gabrieldealtwithallofthisbyretreatingintobooksandledgerswheneverpossible,seemingtohopethatifhedisappearedintothefurthestanddustiestreachesofthecastle,theneverybodymightforgetabouthimandcrownsomebodyelseinstead.
Gwenthoughtthisrelativelyunlikely.
‘Whatdidhelooklike?’Gabrielsaid,andGwenwasconfusedforamomentbeforerememberingthattheywerediscussingherleastfavouritesubject.
‘LikethesquiretoSatan,’shesaid.Gabrielraisedaneyebrow.‘Oh,Idon’tknow.Smug?Conceited?Abrasive?He’sgrownhishairverylong,keptflickingitabouttotrytomakealltheladiesblush.’
‘Anddidthey?’
‘Youknowtheydid,’Gwensaidcrossly.‘Agnesletslipthathe’sbeenleavingatrailofdevastationacrossthecountryside.’
‘Iheardthattoo,actually.Maidensdeflowered.Innsdrunkdry.Treesuprooted.’
‘DoyouthinkFather’sheard?’Gwensaidhopefully.
‘Maybemutterings,’Gabrielsaid,leaningbackinhischair.‘Butnothingsubstantial.Notenoughtomakehimrenegeonadecades-oldagreement.’
Gwensighed.‘Gabriel.HowmuchgoldwouldIhavetoslipyoutomurderme?’
Hegaveherasadsortofsmile.‘Gwendoline.It’snothingpersonal,butIjustdon’thaveitinme.It’dkilltwobirdswithonestonethough,wouldn’tit?’
Gwenlaugheddarkly.‘Iwouldn’tgosofarastopresumethatthey’dletyouoffyourroyaldutiesforalittlethinglikesororicide.’
‘No,’Gabrielagreed.‘Buttheymightthinktwicebeforeputtingaswordinmyhand–sothat’dbesomething,wouldn’tit?’
Thedoortothebalconyopenedsosuddenlythattheybothjumped;LordStafford,theirfather’sverypompoussteward,wasstandingtherelookingexceedinglyharried.HewaswearingstockingsinsuchanaggressiveshadeofchartreusethatGwenhadtoblinkafewtimestoregainfullrangeofvision.
‘Yourroyalhighness,’hesaidtoGabriel,soundingdesperate.‘Theceremony.’
‘Oh,Christ,’saidGabriel,gettingupabruptlyandknockingthechessboardtothefloor.‘Sorry!Iforgot.I’mcoming,I’mcoming.’
StaffordsteppedasidetoletGabrielpass,andthenglareddownatGwen,whohadknelttopickupthechesspieces.
‘You’reexpectedtoo.’
‘Well,whenyousayitlikethat,’Gwensaid,makingapointofgettingveryslowlytoherfeet,‘howcouldIpossiblyrefuse?’
Tournamentseasondidn’tactuallystartforanotherweek,buttheopeningceremonybroughtalltheknightsandnoblefamiliestogetherearlysothattheycouldsizeeachotherup,plancourtshipsandstartbettingtheirmoney,livestockandwivesontheoutcomesoftheevents.Thehugestandstothenorthofthecastle,setaroundonelargearenathatcouldbeconfiguredtohostthejoust,melee,singlecombatandarcherycontests,werebuiltaneweveryyear;theyhadonceagainexperiencedconstructionsetbacks,andwouldn’tbecompleteuntilrightbeforethefirstevent,sotheopeningceremonywastotakeplaceinthecastle’slargestandmostsoutherlycourtyard.Gwenwouldbeexpectedontheroyalbalconythatoverlookedit,usedforspeechesandappearancesandinexplicablypopulargroupfamilywaves.
Shehadneverbeenparticularlyinterestedintournamentseasonasachild;shewashappywithherroutine,lovedplansrepeatedtosatisfactioneveryday,andthetournamentdisruptedhersothoroughlythatshesulkedaboutiteverysummer,oftenattemptingtoreadabookinherlapwhileknightsgrappledforherfather’sfavourjustafewfeetaway.Overthepastfewyears,however,she’dfoundcertainaspectsofthetournamenttobeworththechangeofpace.
Whenshereachedthebalcony,hermotherandfatherwerealreadyseatedonthewoodenthronesthathadbeendraggedoutfortheoccasion.Gabrielwasstraight-backedandattemptingtosmileinthechairnexttoherfather.Shecrossedtohermother’ssideandsatdown,givingahalf-heartedandinformalsortofwaveatthecrowdsgatheredbelowasshedidso.
‘Whateveryouaredoingwithyourhand,’hermothersaidoutofthecornerofhermouth,‘ceaseimmediately.’
Thecourtyardwaslarge,cobblestonedandrectangular,withtheentrancetotheGreatHallatoneendandanarchwaythatledtothesmalleryardcontainingthestablesattheother.Courtierswerepackedaroundtheedge,dressedintheirfinery,andknightswerebeingannouncedonebyoneastheytroopedinunderthearchwiththeirhouseholdsandsponsors,tocheersandoccasionalboos.
Itseemedtostretchonforhours.Gwenfeltherinterestwaning,herposturewiltinginthehard-backedchair.
‘Anunusuallyhighcultistturnoutamongthecompetitors,’saidthequeeninalowvoice,assomebodyenteredtolessthanenthusiasticapplause.
‘Unusualbutwelcome,’repliedtheking,hisgazefollowingthislatestknightasherodebrisklyacrossthecourtyard.‘IaskedStaffordtoensureweweremakinganefforttobridgethedivide,anditseemshishardworkhaspaidoff.’
‘Well,yourcousinisnothere,’saidthequeen.Thenextcompetitorwasintroduced,andshenarrowedhereyesasshewatchedhim.‘Ah–butIseehesendshisdog.’
Gwenwatchedasthepallid,translucent-lookingSirMarlinenteredthecourtyard,unsmiling.Hewasmorecommonlyreferredtoinwhisperedgossipas‘theKnife’,duetothefactthathewasshort,thinanduncommonlybloodthirsty.RelationsbetweenthekingandtheKnife’ssponsorandliege,LordWillard,weresomewhatstrained,tosaytheleast;whenthelastkinghaddiedleavingnodirectheir,therehadbeenabriefskirmishforpowerthathadseenWillardthrowhishatintotheringdespitethefactthatthethronehadalreadybeenpromisedtoGwen’sfather.WillardhadbeenbolsteredbythebackingofmanyArthuriancultists–thosewhobelievedwholeheartedlyinthemagicofKingArthurandhisenchantedsidekicks,thestoriesthatgoodChristianshadlongdecidedweresimplyfablesandlegends–andhadbeenworkinghiswayuptobeingquitethelegitimatethreat.ThepotentialforarealbattlehadbeenquelledbythetimelyinvasionoftheKingofNorway,whohadfanciedastabatEnglandhimselfbuthadbeenchasedawaywhenmostofthenobilityunitedbehindGwen’sfathertokeephimatbay.
Itdidnotmakeforhappyfamilyreunions.Infact,GwenhadonlymetLordWillardoncebefore,andhadnotlikedthelookofhimonebit;hewasverytall,grim-facedandbrusque,andtheenormousdarkcloakhewore,sewnalloverwithvariouscultistsymbols,hadmadehimlooklikeanill-temperedbat.
SirMarlincrossedthecourtyardtoonlyscatteredapplauseandmorethanafewlowhisses.Asetofstoutandjovial-lookingtwinswasannouncednext,SirsBeldishandBeldish,andthentherewasapausebeforethenextburstoffanfare;Gwenheardarippleofinterestmovethroughthecrowd,andherearsprickedup.
‘ForGod’ssake,notthischaradeagain,’hermothersighed.Gwenleanedforward,strainingtoseepastthecrowdobscuringthearchwayintothecourtyard.Thischaradewasthehighlightofhersummer–no,herlife–andfranklytheonlythingthatmadethetournamentworthattending.
‘LadyBridgetLeclair,’shoutedtheGrandMarshal,abeardedmancalledSirBlackwood,alittlereluctantly.‘OfHouseLeclair.’Thecrowderuptedintojeersandlaughter,jostlingeachothertogetabetterlook.LadyLeclairignoredthemall,faceimpassiveasherenormoushorsecarriedherintotheyardunderabannersewnwithwhatlookedlikeagoldenwheelonabackgroundofdeepmaroon.Herstraight,blackhairwascutbluntlyacrossherforeheadandaboveherbroadshoulders;sheshouldhavelookedridiculous,likeanovergrownpageboy,butsomehowitsuitedherperfectly.EvenfromaheightGwencouldseehersteadygaze,herlashesdarkagainstthegoldenbrownofherskin.Thankstometiculouseavesdropping,GwenhadlearnedthatLadyLeclairwasoneyearherseniorandthatshewasTai,herlinehailingfromtheSukhothaiKingdom.GwenhadtriedtoaskGabrielabouttheplaceasnonchalantlyaspossible;hehadreachedforabookandrespondedwithadetailedandentirelyuselessspeechabouttradingports.
AsGwenwatched,somebodythrewacoinatLadyLeclair’shead.Theknightdidn’tevenflinch,herhandssureatthereinsassheleanedforwardandsteadiedherhorse,herlipsmovingeversoslightlyasshemurmuredsomethinginhisear.Theonlyfemaleknightinthecountry–probablyinthewholeworld–andsheborealltheshouting,excitementandridiculeascasuallyasifsheweregoingforacountrysidehack.
‘Idon’tknowwhywehavetoputupwiththisridiculousspectacle—’thequeenstarted,butthekingcutheroffwitharaisedhand.
‘Shehastherighttobehere,Margaret.Weatheritanotheryear,andperhapsshe’llgiveup.’
Gwenbarelyheardthem.Lastnight’sdreamwassuddenlycomingbacktoherinvividcolour.
Ithadbeenthefirstdayofthejoust,andGwenhadbeensittingintheroyalstands;herparentsweren’tthere,butGabrielwas,wearingahatwithanenormousfeatherinitandrecitingChaucerincessantlyinherear.Itwascustomaryforknightstoshowdeferencetothekingbeforetheireventbegan,approachingtheroyalstandstobowandreceiveroyalassent,andinthedreamLadyLeclairhadcomeridingrightuptoGwenonaunicorntopresentherwithasingle,softpinkrose.WhenGwenhadreachedforit,Bridgethadinsteadgivenheraroguishsmile,reachedoverwithonegauntletedhandtotiltGwen’schintowardsher,andthenkissedhersohardthatGabrielhadstoppedrecitingpoetryandmuttered‘Crikey!’ashetumbledoffhischair.
‘Yourhighness,’LadyLeclairhadsaid,hervoicedippingdangerouslylowasherfingerstangledinGwen’shair.
‘Myfairknight,’Gwenhadwhisperedhuskilyinreply.
Sheknewthatsheoftenspokealoudinhersleep;knewuponwakingthatshehadcertainlydonesoagainthistime,andthatAgneshadheardhersayit.Perhapsrepeatedly.Shecouldonlyhopethatitwasallshehadsaid.
Gwendidn’tevenrealiseshehadrisenupoutofherchair,herhandsgrippingtheedgeofthebalconyasshedrankinthesightofLadyLeclair’sapproach,untilhermotherclearedherthroatpointedly;shelookedovertoseeherentirefamilystaringather.SheloosenedhergripandglancedbackdownatthecourtyardattheexactmomentthatLadyLeclairlookedup;theireyeslocked,andtheknightgaveanalmostimperceptiblenodofgreetingbeforeurgingherhorseon.
Christ,Gwenthoughtasshesatbackdown,blushingfuriously.NotallthisagainThemanintheverylargebootswasgoingtokickArthur’sskullinifhedidn’tmoveinthenextfewseconds.Thethoughtfloatedinhismindforamomentbeforetheimplicationsreallysetin,andherolledoutofthewayjustintime.
‘Getout,’themanroared.
‘I’malreadyout,’Arthursaid,squintingupathimfromtheground.‘Youhelpedmegethere.Veryobligingofyou.’
‘Youinsolentlittle—’Arthursawthebootcomingwithmorewarningthistime,andscrambledtohisfeet.Therewasmudalldownthefrontofhistunic,andheregistereddistantlythathe’dlosthishat.
‘Pleasuretomakeyouracquaintance,’hesaid,withalittlehalf-bow.‘Averyfineestablishmentindeed,top-rateandtrulyaboveexpectations.’Heturnedtoleave,butpausedassomethingoccurredtohim.‘Oh–haveyouseenSidney?’
‘WhothehellisSidney?’
Therewasaloudscreamfromsomewhereinsidetheinn;aground-floorwindowwasflungopen,andasecondlaterashort,well-builtyoungmanfelloutofit,clutchingwhatlookedlikehalfhiscoat.
‘Ah,’Arthursaidbrightly.‘Nevermind.’
‘I’mhere,’Sidneyshouted,somewhatredundantly.‘Don’tworry.Just–can’tfindmybloody–knife.’
‘Who’sthatthen?’thered-facedinnkeeperspat.‘Yourbodyguard,cometofightyourbattlesforyou?’
‘Imean,you’resayingitinaverydisparagingtone,butinessence–yes.’
Theinnkeeperadvancedonhim,fistsraised;Arthuralmostfelloverbackwardsinhishastetogetaway.
‘Horses’roundback,’Sidneyshoutedinhisdirection,wavinghishalf-coatoverhisheadforemphasis.
‘Rightyouare,’Arthursaid,leggingitasfastashecouldaroundthesideofthebuilding.HecouldhearSidneygruntingwitheffortbehindhim,strugglingtokeepup.
‘Weren’tyoumeanttobethedistraction?’Sidneypanted.
‘Er.Yes.ButIgot–distracted.’
Thehorseslookedatthemdisapprovinglyastheyroundedthecorner.Arthurtriedtomounthisinoneleap,butmiscalculatedandalmostfellofftheotherside
‘’S’allright,’Sidneysaid,squintingbackoverhisshoulderoncehe’dscrambledupintothesaddle.‘He’snotcoming.’
‘Good,’Arthursaid,turninghishorseinaslowcircle.
‘Wait,’saidSidney.‘He’scomingnow.He’sdefinitelycoming.Andhe’sgotabigstick,Art.Areallybigstick.’
‘Luckybastard,’Arthursaid,beforedigginghisheelsinandsettingoffataclumsycanterdowntheroad,Sidneyclosebehindhim.
Whentheyreachedthelargecourtyardinfrontofthemainhousetwohourslater,thesundialtoldArthurthatitwasmid-afternoon.Thiswasmildlyunsettling.Hadn’titjustrecentlybeenthemiddleofthenight?Andcometothinkofit–didthatmeanitwasWednesday?
‘IsitWednesday?’heaskedSidneyaloudastheydismounted,handingtheirhorsesofftothestableboy.Therewasalargebarrelofrainwatersittingbytheservants’entrance;theycrossedtoitandstarteddisrobingtodealwiththeworstofthemud.
‘HowwouldIknow?’Sidneygruntedashepulledhistunicoverhishead.
‘Isn’tityourjobtoknowthings?’
‘No.It’smyjobtokeepyoualive.Andyouarealive,aren’tyou?’
‘Probably,’Arthursaid,checkinghimselfforevidenceofmortalwounds.Therewasalargebruiseformingonhisshoulder,wheretheinnkeeperhadpunchedhim
‘What’smyfacelike?’
Sidneygrimaced.‘God.Rubbish.Reallyawful.’
‘No,Imean–isitallroughedup?’
‘Oh.No,then.It’sfine.Cutonyoureyebrow.’Arthurbentoverthebarrelandstaredathisreflection.Itwasactuallyquitealargegashonhiseyebrow,anditwasstillbleeding.
‘Arthur,’cameasternvoicefrombehindhim;heturnedaroundtoseeMrsAshworth,thegrey-hairedwomanwhohadoncebeenhisnurserymaid,glaringathimfromtheservants’entrance.‘Whyareyouhalf-nakedintheyard?’
‘Afternoon,Ashworth.IsitWednesday?’
‘Whyareyouhalf-nakedandbleeding?’
‘Idon’tunderstand,’Arthursaid,turningtoSidney,‘whynobodyonmystaffcangivemeastraightanswerabouttheWednesdaything.’
‘It’sThursday,’thelaundresscalledwearilyasshewalkedpast,ignoringthefactthattheywerebothhalf-dressed.
‘Finally!’Arthurcried,raisinghishandsincelebration.‘Givethatwomanaraise.’
‘Don’tsaythingslikethat,’MrsAshworthsaidsharply.‘YouknowIcan’t.’
Inanynormalhousehold,aformernursemaidwouldn’thavebeenoccupiedwithmattersofsalaryandraises–infact,inanynormalhousehold,onemightexpectthenursemaidtohavemovedononceherchargereachedtheripeoldageofnineteen,withnofuturespawnincoming.Instead,whenArthur’smotherdied,MrsAshworthhadfallenunofficiallyintotheroleofrunningthehouse.TherehadbeenabriefpowerstrugglewhenLordDelaceyhadremarried,butwhenhissecondwifehadsadlyalsoperished,MrsAshworthhadpickedupwhereshe’dleftoff;Arthur’sfatherwouldsaythatitallseemedtorunitself,butwhentradesmenortone-deafbardsorout-of-workpagescametotheentranceandaskedforthepersonincharge,Ashworthwasalwaystheonetheycalledfor.
‘Lookinglovelyasever,Joyce,’Sidneysaid,grinningather.
‘Ican’tgiveraisesbutIcancarryoutsackings,’MrsAshworthsaid,eyeinghimsuspiciously.‘Putthataway,Sidney–you’regoingtohavesomeone’seyeout.’
‘Youflatterme,’Sidneysaid,buthegamelytrudgedintothehousetogetdressed,andArthurfollowedhim.
‘Ishehome?’hesaidtoAshworthashepassed,tryingtokeephistoneneutral.
‘He’sinhisstudy,’shereplied,withasympathetictiltofherheadthatArthurhateddeeply.‘He’sonthewarpathaboutsomething,Art.Wereyousupposedtobesomewheretoday?’
Arthurrackedhisbrains.‘No,Idon’tthinkso.Butthen–maybe?Ifit’sThursday.’
‘ItisThursday.’
‘Allright.Well.I’llgoandseewhathewants.’
WhenArthurentered,washedanddressed,theLordofMaidvalewassittingathisdesk,writingaletter.Therewasahalf-emptydecanterofwinenexttotheinkbottle.Arthurlivedinhopeofthedayhewouldmistakeonefortheother.
Thewallsofthestudywereclutteredwithportraits,coatsofarms,oldpapersofprovenanceandanenormousfamilytreeinself-importantgoldwalnutink.Therehadoncebeenamapinprideofplaceonthesouthwall;Arthur’smotherhadsatwithhimhere,apileofrosewaterandsaffronsweetsbetweenthem,assheintroducedhimtotheexpandingworld.Shehadshownhimthevastseas,thedistantcontinentsstretchingouttowardstheeast;Iran,aplacethatexistedtohimonlyinstories,wherehisgrandparentshadstartedtheirlongjourneytoEngland.Hehadtracedthelineswithhischubbyfinger,notreallyunderstanding;bythetimehewasoldenoughtohavequestionsaboutanyofit,hismotherwaslongdead.
Arthurhadcreptinayearafterherfuneral,lookingfortracesofher,andfoundthemapgone.
LordDelaceylookedupnowasArthurwalkedin;hewasveryredintheface.
‘Wherethehellhaveyoubeen?’hesaid.‘No,don’tanswerthat,Idon’twanttoknow.DoyouwanttoguesswhatI’mwritingthisveryminute?’
‘Apoem?’Arthurventuredsullenly,leaninghisbackagainstthecloseddoor.
‘Oh,veryfunny,’saidhisfather.‘I’mwritingtotheking.I’mwritingtothekinggrovellingwitheverywordIknowfor“sorry”ineverypossiblelanguage.Whydoyouthinkthatmightbe?’
‘Becauseyou’refairatlanguages,butterribleatpoetry?’Arthursaid,knowingitwasamistakebeforeithadevenlefthislips.Heduckedjustastheinkbottlesmashedagainstthedoornexttohishead;inkpoureddownthewoodandpooledonthefloor,soakingintohisboots.Heknewhisfacewasfleckedwithit,buthestareddefiantlyathisfatheranyway,refusingtoliftahandtowipeitaway.
‘Youweresupposedtobeattheopeningceremonytoday,Arthur,’hisfatherhisseddangerously.‘Itoldyouathousandtimes.Thetournament.’
Arthurtookasteadyingbreath.Hisfatherhadn’ttoldhimanythingofthesort.Heknewthetournamentmusthavebeencomingup,andthathewasexpectedtoattendthisyear,buttheyhadneverdiscussedspecifics;he’dpresumedthatatsomepointhe’dbedraggedintothisroomandtoldthatitwastimetogo,butthedaysimplyhadn’tcome.Except–apparentlyithad,andhisfatherhadneglectedtotellhim,andofcoursethatwassomehowhisfault.Arthuropenedhismouthtoargue,butthenapieceofshatteredglasscrunchedunderfootandhechangedhismind.
‘Sorry,’hesaidthroughgrittedteeth.‘Iforgot.’
‘WhenInamedyou,Arthur,Iexpectedbetterofyou…’
Arthurknewthatitwasnowsafetostoplisteningforatleastafewminutes.Therewereonlysomanytimesyoucouldlistentotheexactsamemonologueabout‘lineage’and‘dynasty’;aboutthetraitorMordred,whobegatMelehan,whobegatalonglineofperpetualdisappointments,andchieflyaboutallthewaysinwhichArthurhadfailedtoliveuptothelegacyoftheonce-greatking.ArthurPendragon,purportedlyArthur’srelativemanytimesremoved,wassuchafixtureofhisfather’slecturesthatifhe’dfallenthroughtimeandencounteredtheman,Arthur’sprimaryinclinationwouldhavebeentokickhimrightinhisdamnedroundtable.Iftheyhadeverreallybeenroyalty,overthepastfewcenturiestheDelaceyfamilyhaddoneanextremelygoodjobofsquanderingtheirconnections;theironlyreallegacywasArthur’sfather’sfranklyunhingedobsessionwiththePendragonnameandthesebloodyspeeches.
‘Youwillgonow,’LordDelaceysaidfinally,gettingunsteadilytohisfeet.‘HaveAshworthpackyourthings.You’regoingforthesummer.’
‘What?’Arthursaid,straighteningup.‘Thesummer?Allsummer?’
‘YouaretobeginyourformalcourtshipwiththePrincessGwendoline,’hesaid,whileArthurgapedathim.‘Closeyourmouth,Arthur.It’slongpasttimeforyoutogrowup,stopbeingsobloodyselfishanddosomethingofworthwithyourlife.Youaretobepleasanttoher,toearnhertrust–tobetheverypictureofadevotedfiancé.Iexpectyoutowritetome–lookatmewhenI’mtalkingtoyou–write,Arthur,toinformmeofanydevelopmentsatCamelot.Leavenothingout.’
Arthurcouldhavesaidsomethingthenabouthisfather’sembarrassingdesiretocollectgossiplikeabored,empty-headedcourtier,butthedecanterofwinelookedheavyenoughtoinflictseriousdamage,soinsteadhejustnoddedandturnedtoleave.
‘Worthless,’heheardhisfathermutterasthedoorslammedbehindhim.
HefoundSidneyinthegardens,throwingbitsofbreadforasquirrel.
‘We’regoingtoCamelot,’hesaiddully.Sidneyglancedup,grinning.‘Don’tlooksobloodyhappyaboutit.’
‘Can’thelpit,’saidSidney.‘Iloveagoodcity.Women.Booze.Banquets.AndI’veneverbeentoCamelot.’
‘Youhavesuchabeautifulwaywithwords.’
‘Besides,’Sidneycontinued,asifArthurhadn’tspoken.‘Mightbegoodtohaveachangeofscenery.Mighthelpyoufeelless…mopey,sinceyou-know-who.’
‘Idon’tmope,’saidArthur,reachingforthebreadSidneyhadbeenthrowingandtakingabite.‘Ugh,thisisstale.’
‘WhydoyouthinkIwasthrowingitaway?Doghaditinhermouthforabit,too.’HelaughedasArthurimmediatelyspatitoutontotheflagstones.‘Manners,Art.Can’tbedoingthatinfrontofyourblushingbride-to-be.’
Arthurpulledaface.‘GoandtellAshworthtopackmythings.We’rethereuntilSeptember.’
‘WhatamI?’Sidneysaidashegottohisfeet.‘Yourbloodyservant?’
‘Ihatethatjokesomuch,’Arthursaiddespondently.‘Bringasmuchwineasyoucancarry.It’sgoingtobeaverylongsummer.’
Theirthingsweresentonaheadofthem,andoncetheyhadnegotiatedthecountrylanessurroundingtheMaidvaleestateitwasessentiallyastraightshotdownoneverylongroadtoreachCamelot,whichmeanttheycouldjustpointtheirhorsesintherightdirectionandrelax.
‘Whendidyoulastseeher?’Sidneyaskedastheyambledalongsidebyside,leaningacrossthegaptopassArthurthebottleofwine.
‘Idon’tknow.Yearsago,probably,’hesaid,takingalargesipforcourage.
‘She’snotbad-looking,’Sidneyoffered.‘AsfarasI’mtold.’
‘No.It’sherpersonalitythat’stheproblem,’Arthursaiddarkly.‘Youknowshebrokemywrist?’
‘DoIknow?’S’probablyinkedontheinsideofmyskull.You’vetoldmeaboutahundredtimes.’
‘It’sneverbeenrightsince,’Arthursaid,feelingaphantomachenowastheydreweverclosertothecastle.‘It’swhyIcan’tholdaswordproperly.’
‘Yeah,’saidSidney,laughing.‘That’sdefinitelywhy.’
‘She’sawful,Sid.I’veneverseensomebodysocaughtupintheirownmajesty.Shewasfiveyearsoldandalreadystompingaboutgivingmeorders,andrunningofftomyfathertotelltalesonme.Whenwegotoldershestartedwritingallthesenastylittlethingsinherdiaryaboutme,andhidingitunderatreelikesomesortofderangedsquirrelwhenshethoughtIwasn’tlooking.’
‘Well,’saidSidneyconsolingly.‘You’renotchildrenanymore,areyou?Maybeshe’sdifferent.’
‘Idoubtit,’saidArthur.‘Ifanything,she’sprobablyworse.’
‘That’sthespirit,’saidSidney.‘Now,drinkup.’
Itwasthemiddleofthenightwhentheycrossedthemoat;therewasabitofexplainingrequiredtogettheguardstoopenthegate,SidneydiggingaboutinhispocketstofindtheletterbearingLordDelacey’sseal,buteventuallytheking’smenreluctantlysteppedasideandletthetwotipsyyoungmenfromMaidvalerideintothecastlecourtyard
‘Right,’Arthursaid,shakinghisheadtotrytoclearit.
‘Right,what?’
‘Stables…totheright.Oh,shit–Sid–I’mgoingover!’
Arthurlandedhardonhisbruisedshoulderandrolledoverontohisback,swearingfluently.Astablehandsteppedpolitelyoverhimandtookhishorse,andheheardtwosetsofhoofscloppingsoftlyawayfromhim.Heknewheneededtogetup,butcouldn’tfindthestrengthorthemotivationtodosoatpresent.
‘Youlooklikeapillock,’Sidneyobserved,appearinginhisfieldofvisionandofferinghimanarm.
‘Canyougoaheadandtellthem…tellthemwe’vearrived,andthatweneedrooms?’Arthursaidashewashauledtohisfeet.‘I’llstayhere.’
‘Inthecourtyard?’Sidneysaid.‘Inthedark?’
‘I’mputtingoffgoinginsideforaslongasphysicallypossible,’Arthursaid,sittingdownonaconvenientlyplacedbarrel.‘Self-preservation.Youunderstand.’
‘Notreally,’Sidneysaid,shruggingandwalkingconfidentlyoffinthedirectionofthenearestdoor.
ItalllookedjusthowithaddonethelasttimeArthurhadbeenthere,butsmallersomehow,whichhesupposedmadesense;hehadbeeneleven,andskinny,andatleastafootshorterbackthen.Heharbouredalong-festeringresentmentforeverycrumblingstoneinthewallsofthisplace,everybannerandhangingandloosedoorhandle.Itwaslessacastle,moreaprison.
Theoneadvantagewasthathisfatherwasn’tthere,andwassotiedupinapparentlyvitalmeetingswithpeopleArthurhadneverheardofthatheprobablywouldn’tputinanappearanceforweeks.Thatthoughtalonewasenoughtocheerhimupconsiderably.
Therewasbreadbakingsomewherenearby,andArthuronlyrealisedhowhungryhewaswhenheroseinstinctivelytofollowthesmell.Hecrossedthecourtyard,stifffromhoursofriding,andfollowedthestairsdowntothewarrenofcorridorsthatledtothekitchens.
Whenhereachedthedoor,alreadymentallyrehearsingthecharmingnicetieskeytotheacquisitionofsnacks,hecrashedsoviolentlyintosomebodycomingoutofitthathelosthisfootingandtrippedbackwards,smackinghisheadhardagainstthestonefloor.Somethingstrangelysofthithiminthefaceashelaytherewithhisearsringingfromtheimpact;whenheopenedhiseyes,ratherdazed,hesawthathewassurroundedbywhatlookedlikelittleballsofrolledmarzipan.
‘Ontheflooragain,’heobservedtohimself.‘Fantastic.’
‘Again?’
Arthurattemptedtositupandwincedassearingpainshotthroughhishead.Hetriedagain,moreslowlythistime,andthenopenedoneeyewarily.Atall,gangly,red-headedyoungmanwasstandinginfrontofhim,holdinganemptyplatterthatlookedasifitmightatonetimehaveheldquitealotofmarzipan.Arthur’smindracedtocatchupwithwhathewasseeing,andthenitclicked;PrinceGabriel.Older,taller,alljawline,eyebrowsandelbowsnow,butunmistakeablyhim.ThelasttimeArthurhadseenhim,heandGwendolinecouldhavebeentwins.
Notanymore.Hewasamannow.Thefutureking,infact.GapingatArthur.Inhisnightshirt.
‘Evening,Gabriel,’hesaid,tryingtogettohisfeetwithasmuchdignityashecouldmusterconsideringthattherewassquashedmarzipanfallingfromhishairashedidso.
‘ArthurDelacey?Isthatyou?’
Hestronglyconsideredsayingno.‘Yes.Hello.I’mhere.’
‘Icanseethat,’Gabrielsaid,frowningathim.‘Lost?’
‘Hungry,’Arthursaid,brushingdownhisclothes.
‘Drunk,’Gabrielobservedflatly.Arthurshrugged.
‘Can’tamanbeboth?Whydoyouhavetheentirecountry’ssupplyofmarzipan,anyway?’
‘Iwasalsohungry,’Gabrielsaid,lookingmoroselydownatthemessonthefloor.
‘Oh.Well.I’mgoinginthere,’saidArthur.‘Doyouwant…Theremightbesomemore,or—’
‘No,’Gabrielsaidstiffly,handinghimtheemptyplateasifArthurwereaservingboy.‘Goodnight,Arthur.’
‘Ajoy,asalways,Gabriel,’Arthursaid;hethoughtheheardalittleagitatedexhalationofbreathastheprincewalkedaway.Arthurwasleftaloneinthehallway,suddenlyfeelingverystupid.‘Sanctimoniousbastard,’hesaidconsolinglytohimself,beforegoinginsearchofbread.Itwasdangeroustowantthings,andGwenwasoutofpractice.
Infact,theonlythingshehadtrulywantedforyearswastobeleftalone.
Hermotherwagedaconstantwaragainstthistiny,precarioushope,butGwenhadkeptitalive,refusingtobecomemoreinvolvedwiththeladiesatcourt,makefriendswiththespawnofhigh-bornfamilieslikeAgnes,orinanywayprepareforlifeasthefutureLadyofMaidvale.Shedidn’tseethepoint,becauseshedidnotintendtochange;shewouldcertainlynotstoptakingherdailywalk,orworkingonherembroideryintheafternoon,orspendingthemajorityofherdayinherowncompany,evenonceshewasmarried.
Ifshethoughtaboutittoomuch,itmighthavebeendepressingthatheronlyrealwishwasfortheabsenceofsomething–soshedidn’tthinkaboutitatall.Shekepttoherroutines.Theymadeherfeelsafe.Ifshewasn’tallowedtodesireanythingforherself,thenshethoughtsheshouldatleastgettokeepthat.
LadyLeclairwasaproblem.Lookingatherfeltalotlikewantingsomething.
Onherwaydowntoafamilybreakfastthemorningaftertheopeningceremony,Gwendecided,forperhapsthefivehundredthtimesinceshehadfirstseteyesontheknightofHouseLeclair,thatitwasbestnottothinkaboutthateither.
Shehadfarmorepressingmatterstoattendto.
‘Father,’shebegan,watchingasthekingheldupaletterandsquintedatit,coveringitinquitealotofsoftcheeseintheprocess.‘I’vebeenmeaningtotalktoyouaboutArthurDelacey.’
‘Actually,’herfathersaid,wipingsomeofthecheeseonanapkin,‘I’vebeenmeaningtotalktoyouaboutArthurDelacey.’
‘Well.Yes.Ijustthinkweshouldtalkthisthroughbeforewedoanythingrash.Isitreallythebest—’
Thekingsighedandraisedhisindexfinger,asignalrarelyemployedwithhisfamilybutuniversallyunderstoodtodemandinstantsilence.
‘Hewillbestayingforthesummer,Gwendoline.Itislongpasttimeforyoutobecomereacquainted.Youarenearlyeighteen,afterall–youmusthaveknownthiswascoming.’
‘Ihadhoped,’Gwensaid,choosingherwordscarefully,‘thatthecircumstancesthatledtotheagreementinthefirstplacemighthavechanged.’
Herfatherdidn’tlookunsympathetic,butunfortunatelyhealsodidn’tlooklikeamanabouttodrasticallychangehismind.‘YouknowthattheLordandLadyofMaidvalelentmeinvaluablesupportwhenItookthethrone,Gwendoline,despitethefactthatDelaceyisacultistthroughandthroughandcouldhaveeasilythrownhislotin…elsewhere.YoualsoknowthatIamamanofmyword.’
‘Sobecauseofanoldalliancethatdoesn’tevenbenefitusanymore,Ihavetosuffer?’
‘Wedostillbenefitfromit,’herfathersaid,lookingatherevenly.‘LordDelaceymaynotholdasmuchpowerasheoncedid,butnowisnotthetimetoupsethimoranyofhisfaction.Andyoudonothavetosuffer.Youhavetomarry.’
‘Samedifference,’Gwensaid,feelinghercheeksgettinghot.
‘Gwendoline,’saidthequeen.Gwenwaitedwithlittlehopetoseeifhermotherwasabouttocometoheraid.‘Wouldyoupleasestoppickingatyournails.’
Gwenputbothhandsunderthetableandcurledthemintofistsinstead.
‘Father,’Gabrielsaidquietly.‘I’veheardsome…particularlyunsavouryrumoursaboutArthurDelacey’sbehaviouroverthepastyear,andIhadabriefencounterwithhimlastnightthatallbutconfirmedthem.’
‘Yes,’saidGwen,throwingGabrielalookofgratitudeandseizingthisopportunitytoappealtoherfather’ssenseofpropriety.‘Iunderstandthatyougaveyourword,butshouldn’tweweighupthebenefitsofhonouringthematchwiththepossibledamagehemightdo?Tothecrown?Toourreputation?’Tome,sheaddedsilently.
‘Wewilldonosuchthing,’saidhermother,lookingexasperated.‘You’renotachildanymore,Gwendoline.Itishightimeyouacceptbothhimandyourresponsibilitiesasthefutureladyofhishouseandlands.’
‘I’mnotgoingtomovetohishouseandlands!’Gwensaid.‘I’mgoingtostayatcourt,sofranklyIdon’tseethepoint.’
‘Thepoint,’saidhermotheracidly,‘isthatyoumaynothaveachoice!Andyou’llstillbeexpectedtohelpmanagehisaffairs—’
‘Iknowyou’renotoneforchange,’thekingcutinwithatouchmoresympathy,breakingthesealofanewletterwithhisknife,‘butgivehimachance.Hemightsurpriseyou.And–pleasedotrynottobreakanyofhisbonesthistime.’
‘Ican’tpromiseanything,’Gwenmuttered,butherfatherwasonceagainburiedinhiscorrespondence,andhermotherwaseatinginperturbedsilence.
‘Yousawhim?’sheaskedGabrielassoonastheyhadleftthediningroom.‘Didyoutalktohim?’
‘Sortof,’Gabrielsaid,alreadywalkingautomaticallytowardsthelibrary.
‘Howcanyousortoftalktosomeone?’
‘Itwasthemiddleofthenightandhewastryingtostealfoodfromthekitchens.Oh,andhefellover.Itwashardlyascintillatingexchange.’
‘Hefellover?’Gwensaid.‘God,IwishI’dseenthat.’
‘Don’tworry,’Gabrielsaiddrily.‘Ihavenodoubtthattheperformancewillberepeated.’
GwensuccessfullymanagedtoavoidArthurallday.ShewalkedinendlessloopsaroundthegroundswithAgnes,makingpolitebutstiltedconversation,andthenretiredforlunch,followedbyasolitaryafternooninherchambersmostlyspentdrummingherfingersagainstthingsandsighing.
WhenshewascalledtosupperintheGreatHall,Gwenknewshecouldn’tputoffseeingherbetrothedanylonger;shehadAgnespulloutherfinestspringdressindelicatepinkandgoldsilkdamask,braidherhairupoutofherfaceandweavecherryblossomsintoit.WhenshemetGabrielonhiswaydowntodinner,justaslateasshewas,heraisedaneyebrowather.
‘Youlooknice,’hesaidpointedly.
‘Oh,shutup.’
Shenoticedthathe’dalsomadeaneffort;hewaswearinganembroideredbluedoubletthatshedidn’trecognise,andhishairwasactuallycombed.‘DidElyandressyou?What’swiththejacket?’
Helookeddownatitasifhe’dneverseenitbeforeinhislife.‘Oh?No.He’sgonebacktoStafford.’
LordStaffordmanagedtherunningoftheroyalfamily’saffairs,anditwasthebaneofhislifethatGabrielrefusedeverymanofthechambersenthisway;theyeachlastedroughlyaweekbeforeGabrielfelttoohorrifiedbythefamiliarityandproximityandhadthemquietlysenttoworkelsewhere.He’dbeleftbyhimselfforamonthorsoingloriouspeacewhileStaffordlinedupanotherdoomedreplacement.
Thehallwaspacked;mostofthepeoplewho’dcometowatchtheopeningceremonyhadalsobeeninvitedtodinewiththekingtonight,whichmeantthatthelongwoodentableswereoverflowingwithguestsmessilypouringwine,shoutingtoeachotheringreetingandjostlingforabetterposition.GwenassumedthatArthurwouldbeamongthem,andfeltalittlesmugaboutbeingabletobypassthecrowdsandwalkstraightuptotheroyaltableonthedais,butstoppedshortwhenshesawwhowassittingnexttooneoftheonlytwoemptyseats.
‘I’llgiveyoueverythingIown,’shesaidquietlytoGabriel.‘I’llgiveyou—’
‘Sitbyme,yourhighness,’LordStaffordcalled,plummyasever,anupsettingamountofpeacockfeathersinhishat.‘IhadsomethingIwantedtodiscusswithyou.’
Gwenknewhewasn’ttalkingtoher.Hewasnever,evertalkingtoher.
‘Ofcourse,’Gabrielsaidpolitely,crossingtotheseatwithoutdaringabackwardglanceatGwen,whohadnochoicebuttositdownnexttoArthur.
Shedeignedtogivehimaquickonce-over,andwasgladtoseethathelookedmiserable.Hehaddarkshadowsunderhiseyesandquiteanasty-lookingcutonhisbrow.Hewasstaringsullenlyintohissoup,andalthoughhedidn’tsayanythingwhenshesatdownnexttohim,shesawhisshoulderstense.
Shewasfullypreparedtoignorehimallevening,buthermotherwasdeepinconversationwithherfatheronherleft,andwhenshetriedtoleanintotheirdiscussionherfathercaughthereyeandraisedaknowingeyebrow.Shesankbackintoherseat,resignedtoherfate.
‘Arthur,’shesaidfactually.
‘Yep,’hereplied,justasaccurately.
‘Roughjourney,wasit?’
‘Nothingcomparedtothedestination,’hereplied,withatight-lippedsmile.
‘Whatathrillingsurprisetofindyouatmytable.’
‘Believeme,itwasn’tmyidea,’hesaidgloomily,pickinguphisdrink.‘Yourmothercorneredmeonmywayin.Wouldn’tevenletSidcomewithme.’
‘Who’sSid?’
‘SidneyFitzgilbert.Mybody-man.He’stheshort,uglyoneoverthere.’Hewavedahandtowardsoneofthelongtables,andGwensawastocky,dark-hairedandperfectlygood-lookingmanraiseahandtowavecheerfully.Hewaspalebutslightlysunburned,andhadstewalldownhischin.Shedidnotwaveback.
‘Delightful.’
‘Heis,actually.Arayofsunshine.Comparedtosome.’
‘Ohcomeon,’Gwensaid,finallysnapping.‘You’renineteennow,noteleven.Atleastattemptcivility.’
Heturnedtolookatherwithpuredisdaininhisnarrowedeyes,gaveheraslowonce-over,andthenreturnedhisgazetoherface.
‘No,’hesaid.‘Idon’tthinkIwill.’
‘You’regoingtobehereallsummer,’Gwensaid.‘Arthur.Youmightbehereforever.’
‘Well.God.Isupposeyou’reright,’hesaid,sighingandlookingaround.‘Mustfindawaytogetthroughit.Faceithead-on.’Gwenwasjustabouttonodandsaysomethingvaguelyapprovingwhenhegesturedtoaservinggirlwalkingpast.‘Somewine,please,andkeepitcoming.Allsummer.’HeturnedtoGwenandgaveherasweet,entirelyartificialsmile.‘Maybeevenforever.’
‘Oh,gotohell,Arthur,’Gwenhissed.Heraisedhisnewlyfilledglassinamocktoast.
‘There’stheGwendolineIremember.’
TheysatinsilenceuntilthequeenleanedovertotalktoArthur;heimmediatelysatupstraighterandansweredallherquestionspleasantly,evencharmingly;yeshe’dkeptupwithhisreading,noofcourseitwasn’tanimpositiontobecalledhereforthesummer,yeshestilllovedtodance.ItmadeGwenallthemoreannoyed–hewascapableofplayingnice,justnotwithher.
Afterdinner,therewastobemusic.Gwenwasusuallyabletosneakawayatthispointintheevening,offeringexcusesofsprainedanklesormiscellaneous‘women’stroubles’,whileeverybodygrabbedpartnersandrushedtotaketheirpositionsforthedancing–butasshetriedtomovetowardstheexithermother’shandclosedaroundherupperarmlikeavice.
‘Dancewithyourguest,Gwen,’shesaidthroughatersesmile.
‘Mother,’Gwensaidseriously.‘Calltheguards.Hethreatenedmewithaknife.’
‘Itoldyounottosaythingslikethatanymore,’hermothersaid,takingherbytheshouldersandsteeringhertowardsthedancers.‘LordStafford’spoornephewalmostsoiledhimselfwhentheygrabbedhim.’
‘Ihopehereallydoeskillme,’Gwensaidglumly.‘Thenyou’llbesorry.’
ShecouldhaveswornthatashermotherwalkedawayGwenheardhermutter,‘Iwouldn’tcountonit.’
Gabriel,ofcourse,didnothavetodance.Hestayedseated,listeningtoLordStaffordandnoddingatregularintervals.Shethought,notforthefirsttime,thatherbrotherwouldloveforhisonlydutytobemarriage.Hewasn’tbetrothedtoanyoneinparticular;hecouldfindsomeonekindandthoughtfulandstudiousjustlikehim,andretreattooneofthecrown’shousesinthecountrytogardenandadoptahundredcatsandliveouttherestofhisdaysinpeace.
Butthatwasn’thisinheritance.Royalsonsmeantpromise–theycarriedthehopeandgloryoftheirlineage,howeverreluctantly;royaldaughterswereborntobepromisedtosomebodyelse.
Gwen’ssomebodyelsewasalreadystandinginthemen’sline,waitingforher.Shewonderedhowhermotherhadfoundthetimetoforcehimintodancingtoo,whenshehadbeensobusycorrallingherowndaughter.Perhapsshehadbroughtinco-conspirators.
Arthurdidn’tlookparticularlypleased,butwhenthemusicstartedhedidn’tdraghisfeet;hedancedwithaneasygracethatGwencouldn’thelpbutenvy.Shehatedhimforbeinggoodatit,whileshewasalwaysinchesawayfromendangeringsomeone’stoes.Shehatedthesmugsmileonhisfaceastheyhadtograsphands;thesmall,meansnortoflaughtersheheardwhenshemissedastepandalmostwentcareeningintothecouplenexttothem.
Mostofall,shehatedhowmuchdancingrequiredhertolookathim.Hewashandsome,itwasimpossibletodeny–althoughherknowledgeofhistrulyappallingpersonalityobliteratedanypointsthisgarneredinhisfavour.Hishairwasalmostblack,andfellstraightdowntohisshoulders;hisskinwasluminousbrowndespitethefactthatitwasn’tyetsummer,asifhe’dalreadybeenspendingalotoftimeoutofdoors.Thecutonhiseyebrow,thesleeplesslookhehadabouthim,theslightbruisingshenownoticedonhistemple;itallshouldhavemadehimfarlesshandsome,butinsteaditjustaddedtohisrakishcharm.Shewaspleasedtoseethathewasstillnotallerthanher,atleast.
Thegirlsadjacenttoher–girlsalldowntheline,infact–werelookingathim,andheknewit.Shecouldn’timaginewhattheysawinhim;thishorribleboywho’dbecomeahorribleman,sentheretotormentherfortherestofherlife.Assoonasthemusicstopped,shewalkedawayfromhimwithoutabackwardglanceandwentstraightuptoGabriel,whowasstandingbytheroyaltable,stilltalkingtoLordStafford.Hetookonelookatherexpressionandexcusedhimself.
‘Areyouallright?’hesaid,onceLordStaffordhadwalkedaway.
‘WhatwasStaffordtalkingtoyouabout?’Gwenasked,keentobedistracted.
‘War,’saidGabe,grim-faced.
‘Withwho?’
‘Amongstourselves.Thecultistsaregettingrestless.TheCatholicstoo.Father’skeepingitallincheck,fornow.’Gabrielleanedbackagainstthefretworkofanornateoakpillarastheywatchedthedancersbeginagain.‘AlthoughjudgingbythelookonArthurDelacey’sface,ifwedoneedtoquashanybody–reallycrushtheirspirits–you’rethewomanforthejob.’
Arthurhadalsoretreatedfromthedancers.HewasnowsittingwithSidney,hisstew-coveredmanservant–although,Gwennoticed,hehadmanagedtolocateandremovethestew–andtalkingquietlytohim,glaringaroundateverybodyashedid.WhenhesawGwenlookingathimhecaughthergazeandthenrolledhiseyeslikeachildasSidneylaughedintohisale.
‘Can’tyougoandroughhimuporsomething?’GwendemandedofGabriel,whowasstillstaringatArthur.
‘What?Er.No.Mightcauseaminorpoliticalincident.’
‘Causeamajorone.Doitforme.Heinsultedmyhonour.’
‘Didhe?’
‘Well,no.Buthewasverysnippywithme.’
Gabrielgaveherawrysmile.‘You’lllive.’
Twooftheladieswho’dbeennexttoGweninthedancinglinecamegigglingovertothem,ostensiblytotalktoGwen,butreallytobitetheirlipsandblushprettilyinfrontofGabriel,whowassounmovedthatatonepointheactuallyyawned.Gwenhadtobiteherownliptokeepfromlaughing;watchingwomenthrowthemselvesatGabrielwhilehepolitelystudiedtheflagstones,orclearedhisthroatonlytomakeacommentabouttaxesortheunusualcolouroftheevening’ssoup,wasoneofherfavouritepastimes.Theseladiesweresurprisinglytenacious;mereyawningcouldnotkeepthemaway,andtheyhoveredforanagebeforegivingin.
‘Hardluck,’shesaidtotheretreatinggirlswhentheyfinallydeparted;bothofthemlookeddaggersather.
‘That’sthesortofthingyou’resupposedtosayinsideyourhead,G,’Gabrielsaiddistractedly.‘Whydon’tyougotobed?Youdon’thavetostay.’
Gwenshrugged.‘IeithersubmittotorturebydancingtonightortorturebyMotherinthemorning.’
‘Well,whydon’tyougoandgetsomeair,atleast?I’lldistracther.’
Shegavehimagratefulpatontheshoulderandwalkedquicklyfromthehallandoutintothesouthcourtyard.Itwasmercifullyquietasshecrossedit,thesoundsofrevelrymuffled,thenightaircoolandsteepedinwoodsmoke.Shewasjustwanderinginthedirectionofthestables–andherverypatientandunderstandinghorse,Winifred–whenshesawsomebodycomingoutofthem,walkingdirectlytowardsher.
Therewasnologicalexplanationforherreactionwhensherealisedwhoitwas.Beforerationalthoughthadbeenabletocommunicatewithherlimbs,shehadduckedbehindalowwall.
LadyLeclairwasnolongerarmouredasGwenhadseenherthedaybefore,butjustasstrikinginaplaintunicandmen’sbreeches;herhairwaspulleduntidilyawayfromherface,hersleevesrolleduptoexposethetautmuscleofherforearms,andshehadasmearofsomethingdark–potentiallymud,potentiallyhorsemanure–onhercheekbone.
Gwenhadneverseensomethingsomagnificentinallherlife.
LadyLeclairstretchedherlimbsuntilherbonesclicked,elicitingasighofsatisfactionthatimmediatelyturnedGwen’smindtojelly,andthenshepausedasifrememberingsomethingandturnedabruptlytowalkbackintothestables.Shelookedlessimposingoutofarmour–shecouldn’thavebeenanytallerthanGwen,andshedidn’thaveaparticularlylargeframe–buttherewasstillasoliditytoher,asifsheweremadeofsomethingstrongerthanwhateverGwenwasspunfrom.
Gwencontinuedtocrouchinanundignifiedsortofwayevenaftershewasgone,frozentothespot,onlyrealisingthatsheshouldmovewhenshefeltacrampstartingtocreepupherleg.
Shehadjustresolvedtogetaholdofherselfandgobackinsidewhensheheardmorefootstepsapproachingfromtheoppositedirection.
Theygrewlouder,andArthurDelaceycamestumblingintoview.Oneofherfather’smen,blond,perhapsaMarkoraMichael,wastrippingalongafterhimandholdingontohisarminaveryfamiliarmanner.Shetriedtoplacehim–assistanttotheMasterofHounds,perhaps?Asshewatched,Arthurglancedaroundtheotherwiseemptycourtyard,pulledtheyoungmanintotheshadowyalcovebetweenthestablesandthegate,andkissedhim.
Gwen’smouthfellopen.
Arthurwassmilinglazilythroughheavilyliddedeyes,pressinghismouthtoMarkorMichael’sjawwhileslidingonehandinsidetheotherman’stunic.Thedog-boyclosedhiseyesandallowedhisnecktobekissed,tiltinghisheadbacksothathishairfellawayfromhisface,lookingcompletelyatease.Gwenwassoastonishedthatshecompletelyforgotshewasattemptingtostayhidden–andwhenArthurlookedup,hiseyeslockeddirectlywithhers.
Hepushedtheyoungmanaway,mutteredsomethingsharply,andMarkorMichaelwasgoneinaninstant.Arthurstoodalone,smoothinghishair,colourhighinhischeeks.HelookedbackoveratGwen,hisjawworkingasifheweretryingandfailingtosummontherightwords–andthentheybothjumped.
LadyLeclairhadre-emergedfromthestables,ajacketslungoverhershoulder.Movingwithoutthinking,Gwenduckedbackbehindthewall,herfaceflaming,listeningtounhurriedfootstepsastheknightwalkedawayinthedirectionofthekitchens.
Whenshedaredtostraightenupagain,Arthurwasstandingrightinfrontofher
‘Nicenight,’hesaid,inaverystrainedvoice.Hishandswereclenchingandunclenchingathissideashewaitedforhertorespond.
‘Arthur,’Gwensaideventually,inawhisper.‘Thatwasaboy.Youwerekissingaboy.’
‘Wasit?’saidArthur,soundingalittlepanickednow.‘No,Idon’tthinkso.I’dhavenoticed.’
‘Ishouldthinkitwouldhavebeenobvious.Youpracticallyhadyourhanddownthefrontofhis—’
‘Allright,’Arthurhissed.‘Allright.Itwasaboy.Congratulations,you’reagenius.Let’sgetthisoverwith–wouldyouliketotarandfeathermenow,orsendmebacktomyfathersohecandoit?Eitherway,I’msureyou’llbeallowedtowatch.’
‘Oh,’saidGwen.‘Oh.’Shewasstilltryingtowrapherheadaroundthis;thisbrazensneakingaroundwhereanybodycouldhavecaughthim,thisboy-kissingthathe’dbeendoingsoexpertly,asifhediditallthetime.Heprobablydiddoitallthetime.
‘Whatthehellwereyoudoingspyingonme,anyway?’hespat,withsuchvitriolthatitimmediatelyraisedherhackles.
‘Iwasn’tspyingonyou,’shesaid.‘Iwasjust…’Shegesturedinthegeneraldirectionofthestables.Arthur’sgazefollowedherhandandthensnappedbacktoherface,eyebrowsfurrowedasifhewerepuzzlingsomethingout.Sherealisedhermistakeimmediately.
‘Whowasthatgirl?’hesaidslowly.
‘Whatgirl?’Gwensaid,thenoteofhysteriathatshehadnoticedinhisvoicemakinganunexpectedappearanceinherown.
‘Youknowexactlywhichgirl,’hesaid,eyeswidening.‘Youwerespyingonher.’
‘Idon’tknowwhatyou’retalkingabout,’Gwensaid,butsomethinghadbetrayedher–God,Merlin,theuniverse–becauseshesoundedentirelyunconvincing,andhelookedtriumphant.Heknew.Ofcourseheknew.
Itwouldn’thavecrossedmostpeople’sminds,but–he’djustbeenkissingaboy,hadn’the?
‘Right,’hesaid,thepanicvisiblydrainingfromhim.‘Right.’
‘I…Listen,Idon’tknowwhatexactlyyouthinkyou’vediscoveredhere,but—’
‘Whydon’twegoandtalkaboutthissomewheremoreprivate,hmm?’Heturnedonhisheelandwalkedawayacrossthecourtyard.
Withtheairofsomebodycondemnedtoanextremelypainfuldeath,Gwenfollowed.Arthurhadthoughttheguardsmightstophim;theycertainlylookedsuspiciousashestrodethroughtheservants’doorwithGwendolinetrailingreluctantlybehindhim,butshemusthavegiventhemsomeimperceptiblesignaltofallback,becausetheydidn’tfollowhimortrytoslaphimsoundlyfordaringtobealonewiththeprincess.Iftheyhadconsideredthepossibilitythathemightbeleadingherofftoimpugnhervirtue,theydidn’tseemtoobothered–perhapstheythoughthervirtuewasinneedofalittlelightimpugning.
Helocatedthedoortothecellarandopeneditwithaflourish.
‘What’sthis?’Gwensaidwithdisgust,ashetookalittorchfromthewallandstarteddownthestepsintothedarkness.
‘Whatdoyoumean,“What’sthis”?Youlivehere,don’tyou?’
‘Idon’tmakeahabit,’Gwendolinesaid,stumblingonthestairsasshehurriedtokeepup,‘ofopeningmysterydoorsandwalkingintodarktunnelswithunreliablemen.’
‘Youshouldgiveitatry,itmightloosenyouupabit,’Arthursaidastheyreachedthebottom.‘Anyway,thisisn’tamysterydoor.It’sthewinecellar.Pleasetellmeyouknewaboutthewinecellar.’Theglowfromthetorchilluminatedrowsandrowsofenormousbarrels,stretchingonintothegloom.Itsmeltlikeagedoakanddustandalcohol,whichwassomewhatcalmingtoArthur’snerves.
‘WhywouldI?’saidGwendoline,scowling.Shehadtostandquiteclosetohimtostaywithinthetorchlight,andshewasclearlyunhappyaboutit.
‘It’swherethewinelives,’Arthursaidincredulously.
‘Oh,well,sillyme,’Gwendolinereplied,wrappingherarmsaroundherselfandlookinguncertainlyaroundattheroom.‘Idon’tdrink.Canyouhurryupandsaywhateveritisyouwanttosay?It’scolddownhere.’
Arthurleanedbackagainstabarrelwithpractisednonchalanceandconsideredherforamoment.Shealwayslookedpinchedandirritated,butrightnowherfaceactuallyseemedindangerofcollapsinginonitself.
‘Let’sjustagreetobestraightwitheachother,’hesaidslowly.‘Canyoumanagethat?’
‘Whatdoyoumean?’Gwendolinesaid,clearlyknowingexactlywhathemeant.
‘Youwerelurkingbehindthatwall—’
‘Iwasn’tlurking.’
‘Okay,fine,youwerereclininggracefully–withpoiseanddignity,asbefitsyournoblehouse–behindthatwall,spyingonthatwoman.’
‘Iwas–takingsomeair,’Gwendolinesaidtooquickly,‘andshejustsohappened—’
‘Whatisshe?Lady’smaid?Scullion?Laundress?’
‘She’saknight,actually,’Gwendolinesnapped,bristling.‘LadyBridgetLeclair.’
Arthurbitbackalaughatherfuriousexpression.‘Greatname.’
Gwenputahandtoherforeheadandclosedhereyes.Sheseemedtobethinkingpainfullyhard;hereffortwaspalpable.Whensheopenedthemagain,shefixedArthurwithanextremelyicystare.
‘Whateveryoubelieveyousaw,’shesaid,choosingherwordscarefully,‘Isawsomethingatleasttentimesas…interesting.SoIwouldn’tbethrowingaccusationsaroundhere.IfIwereyou.’
‘I’mnotaccusingyouofanything,youdespoticlittlepsychopath,’saidArthur.‘Youknowsomethingaboutme,andIbelieveIknowsomething–differentinthesuperficialdetails,butactuallyrathersimilar–aboutyou.Itwouldbeinbothofourinterestsforthatinformationtostayprivate.’
‘IfItoldmyfatherwhatIsaw…’
‘I’dtellhimIsawyoulustingafterLadyBridget.Although–Imightembellishit.Addafewsordiddetails.’
‘Hewouldn’tbelieveyou,’Gwendolinescoffed,butshewastuggingnervouslyathersleeve.
‘He’dbelievemeenoughtokeepherawayfromyou,’Arthursaid,withacertaintyhedidn’treallypossess.‘AndIthinkhe’dbelievemeenoughtokeepanextremelycloseeyeonyoufromnowon.’
‘Evenifyouhadseenwhatyou’vedreamedupinyourhead–whichyoudidn’t–notallofusarestupidenoughtogorunningaroundmakingour–ourprivatefeelingspublic,byputtingourhandsalloverMarkfromthedog-house—’
‘Well,more’sthepityforyou,’saidArthur.‘AndhisnameisMitchell.’
‘Isit?’
‘Er…Ithinkso.’
‘GoodGod,Arthur.Gotobed.We’lltalkaboutthistomorrow,’Gwendolinesaid.Shesnatchedthetorchfromhimandheadedforthestairs,takingcarefulanddeliberatestepsthatsomewhatimpededherflouncing.Hedidn’tmoveashewasswallowedbytheshadows.
‘I’mnotsureyou’reinanypositiontobegivingordersrightnow,Gwendoline.’
Sheturnedatthedoor,herfaceilluminatedintheflickeringtorchlight,lookingathimwithutterdisdain.‘Youcanaddressmeasyourhighness.’
‘Myapologies,yourfuckinghighness,’Arthurcalledafterher,butthedoorhadalreadyslammedshut–hewasshoutingintoanemptyroom.
Itwasquiteearlyinthesummerforthingstohavegonesospectacularlywrong.Thesituationrequiredquickthinking;usuallyitwasArthur’sforte,buthehadusedwineasacrutchthisevening,andhisdeductivereasoningskillshadtakenahit.
‘You’rescrewed,’Sidneysaid,ashewatchedArthurpacearoundtheirquarterslikeacagedandtipsyhound.
‘Helpful,’Arthursaid,scrubbingahandacrosshisface.‘Here’sthething.This–thisisthething.IfIhadonetinynibbleofreal,tangibledirtonher,onesalaciouslittlecrumb,I’dbelaughing.Butshe’ssodull.She’sjustso,sodull.Ifshehasbeenuptoanythinguntoward,thentheonlypersonwho’llknowisherbrother,andhewasalwaysherhorriblesidekickwhenwewerechildren.’
‘Soshewouldn’ttell…Idunno,afriend?’
‘Whatfriends?’Arthursaidmeaningfully.
Sidneyscratchedhisneckandlookedthoughtful.‘Notonemeaslyfriend?Noprincesscliqueshehasroundforsleepovers?Notevenapenpal?’
‘No,’saidArthur.‘TheonlypersonsheeverwrotetowhileIwasherewas…Oh,holdon.Holdonabloodysecond.I’vegotit.You’reagenius.’
‘Iknow,’saidSidney.‘Why?’
‘Comeon,’saidArthur,feelingfreshlyrenewedwiththevigourofsomebodywhomightsoonbeholdingpricelessblackmailmaterial.‘Putonyourworsttrousers.Oh–nevermind,you’realreadywearingthem.We’regoingdigging.’
Thenextmorningdawnedirritatinglyclearandsunny.Arthurhadn’tmanagedmuchinthewayofsleep,andthedazzlingweatherfeltpersonal.AnotehadbeenbroughttohischamberdoorandthenreadaloudtohimbySidney,requestingthathemeetGwenintheorchardwithallpossiblediscretionandhaste.
‘Verynice-lookinggirldeliveredit,’Sidneysaid,crammingasugaredbunintohismouthashedid.‘ThinkImightbeinlove.’Arthurjustbiffedhimfeeblyonthearmanddemandedabunofhisown.
Whentheyreachedthegatetotheorchard,whichwaswalledonallsides,ArthurturnedtoSidneywithanexpressionofdeepestagony.
‘Christ,Art,it’sasixteen-year-oldgirl,notanhourontherack,’saidSidney,ratherunsympathetically.
‘She’sseventeen.AndI’dtakethetortureinaheartbeat,’saidArthur,buthesquaredhisshouldersbravelyanywayandwentinside.Theorchardwaslargeandregimented,neatrowsoftreessheddingswirlingcloudsofblossomeverytimethebreezepickedup.Gwendolinewaswalkingslowlydownthemiddlerowtowardshimwithashort,delicatebrunettewoman,presumablytheoneSidneyhadtakenashineto;shewasquicklydismissed,andasshewalkedpasthimwithherheadbowedheflashedherasmileandsawhergosatisfyinglypink.
‘What’shername?’hesaidwhenhereachedtheprincess.
‘What?’Shewaswearingsky-bluetoday,herhairpulledbackintoanintricatebraidacrossthetopofherheadthatlooked,ifyouwereslightlyhungoverandsquinting,likeacrown.Hewonderedifthat’swhyshewasalwayssotetchy;toomuchstrainonherscalp.
‘Her.Brownhair.Greydress.Nicelittlehands.’
‘Whatthehellwereyoulookingatherhandsfor?’
‘Itakeaninterestinpeople,’saidArthur,noticingthatquitealotofblossomhadalreadylandedinhishairandattemptingtodislodgeit.
‘Ibetyoudo,’Gwendolinesaidgravely.
‘Oh,yes,verygood,I’mapervertandacriminalbecauseIlookedataperson’shands,’Arthursnapped.‘Shallwewalk?Whilewetalk?Youdidaskmeherebecauseyouwantedtotalk,didn’tyou?’
‘Fine,’saidGwendoline,asifwalkingwerebeneathher,despitethefactthatshehadjustbeendoingitquitewillingly.Theystartedawkwardlydowntherow,asfarapartastheycouldbefromeachotherwithouteitherofthemactuallywalkingintoatree.‘Idon’tseeanylogicalreasonwhyIwouldn’ttellmyfatherwhatIsawlastnight.Whateveryoutrytotellhimaboutme,hewon’tbelieveyou.Andthentheengagementwillbeoff,andwecanputthiswholethingtobed.’
‘Right,’Arthursaid,dreadbitteronhistongue.‘Well.Idon’tsupposeIcouldappealtoyoursenseofhumanity,instead?’
‘Oh,comeon,Arthur.Hewon’tnecessarilytellyourfatherwhy.Thenwe’rebothoutofthismess,andfreetopartwaysandnevermeetagain…’
Shewasstilltalking,butArthurwasn’tlistening.Heknewwithabsolutecertaintythatitdidn’tmatteronejotwhatreasonGwendoline’sfatherdidordidn’tgiveforbreakingthebetrothal.Hisfatherwould…well,Arthurcouldn’tbegintoimaginewhathe’ddo.Ashehadquiteavividimagination,thiswasmorethanalittleconcerning.
‘Ithoughtyoumightsaythat,’hesaid,despitehavingnoideawhatsoeverwhatshe’djustsaid.Hefoughttokeephisvoicesteady.‘SoIhadalittlethinklastnight.AndthenIwentforalittlewalk.’
‘Alittlethinkandalittlewalk?’Gwendolinesaid.‘Whatonearthareyou—’
Arthurpresentedhisevidencewithaflourish.Theflourishwasprobablyunnecessary,butgratifyingnonetheless.Gwenflushedaninterestingbeetrootcolour,andstoppedwalking.
‘But–you–howdidyou—’
Arthurclearedhisthroatandopenedthecrackedleatherbindingwithareverencebefittingtheoccasion.Hisprizehad,afterall,beenquitehard-won.Therehadbeenabsolutelynowaytoknowforcertainthatthedamnedthingwouldstillbethere,afteralltheseyears,andthey’dhadtodigunderquiteafewtreesbeforethey’dfoundtherightone.
‘Deardiary,’hebegantoread.‘Thereisanewsquireatthetourney.Sheisstrongandbrave,andshehasblackhairandbrowneyes.Ithinkshe’sverybeautiful.Theysaysheisanonlychild,andthatherfathersawnoreasonnottotreatherashewouldason.HernameisBridgetLeclairandsheisactuallyaLadybutshewantstobeaknight–Christ,didn’tanybodyeverteachyouthatyou’resupposedtoshow,nottell?–soshehasbeentravellingthecountryattendingtourneysallyear.Idon’tknowwhybutIwouldliketokissher.’Arthurstoppedthen,notbecausehehadrunoutofsteam,butbecauseGwenhadlungedforthediaryandnecessitatedhistakingaveryquickstepbackwards.
‘Ididn’t…’shesaid,stillanalarmingshadeofpurple.‘Youcan’t—’
‘Well,that’sjustthething,isn’tit?’Arthursaidsmoothly,tuckingthediaryintohistrouserswherehewasrelativelysureshewouldn’tfollow.‘Idon’twantto,butIcan.AndI’vealreadytornoutsomeparticularlydamningentriesfromthatsummerandgiventhemtoSidneyforsafekeeping.’
Ithadbeenlikestrikinggold.Hehadbeenfullypreparedtodiscoverthatshehadlongagoburnedit,ortofindpageafterpageofutterbanality–andtherehadbeenplentyofthat–butthen,datedthreeyearsago,justbeforeGwendoline’sfifteenthbirthdayandthelastsummershehadputpentoparchment,thereitallwasinembarrassinglyneatscript.
‘Don’tdothis,’Gwendolinesaid,finallyfindingherwords.
‘Iwon’tifyouwon’t.’
Therewasaverylongsilence,duringwhichArthurwonderedifhemayhavemiscalculated.
‘Fine,’shesaideventually.Hisshoulderssaggedwithreliefbeforeherememberedhewastryingtogivetheimpressionthathewastheonedrivingthiscarriage.
‘Good.That’swhatIthought.’Hestartedwalkingagain,andafterapauseGwendolinefollowed.‘There’snoneedforthistogetnasty.And,asashowofgoodfaith,whatifweagreedto…tohelpeachotherout?Inthisregard.’
‘Inwhatregard?’Gwendolinesaid,hervoicestilltightwithanger.
‘Youknow.Lookoutforeachother.Or–not,asthecasemaybe.I’llturnablindeyetowhateveryoumightgetupto,andyoudothesameforme.’
‘Idon’tgetuptoanything,’Gwendolinesaid,bristling.
‘Well,thatmuchispainfullyclear,’Arthursaid,raisinganeyebrowather.‘Butifyoudideverloosenyourskirtsforanightoutonthetown,I’d–Idon’tknow–coverforyou,ifyou’ddothesameforme.’
‘Idon’tneedyoutocoverforme,’shesnarled,butthenshethoughtforafewsecondsandseemedtoreconsider.‘Thereis…Mymotherandfatherwantthismatchtowork.Ifweweretogivethemtheimpressionthatthingsaregoingwellbetweenus,itcouldmakemylifealoteasier.I’dbeleftalone.’
‘Sowejust–pretendtogeton?’Arthursaiddoubtfully.Hesupposeditwasn’tactuallymuchtoask,butashecouldn’tlookatherscowlingfacewithoutwantingtoflickit,itfeltmonumental.
‘Yes.Wepretendtheirgrandplanisworking,weare–pleasanttooneanother.It’sclassicmisdirection.’
‘Myfatherwillbeecstatic.’
‘Aswillmine,’Gwendolinesaidgloomily.
‘Andwhathappenswhentheysay,“Right,they’reclearlynotgoingtokilleachotherifleftinthesameroomalone,let’scelebratebysettingadateforthewedding”?’
‘Idon’tknow.Wegetmarried,Isuppose.’
‘Brilliant,’saidArthur.‘Gladthisallhasahappyending.Ifwe’relucky,someinsurgentswillriseupandkillusallinourbedsbeforewehavetosay“Ido”.’
‘Don’tgivemehope,’saidGwendoline.‘It’llonlymakerealityallthemorecrushing.’
Arthurlookedather.Shewasstaringlistlesslyupintothebranchesofanappletree,lookingalmostasmiserableashefelt.
‘It’sadealthen,’hesaid,keentoconcludetheconversationasquicklyaspossiblesothathecouldachievehisdreamofbeingimminentlyhorizontal.
‘Yes–withsomecaveats.Youcan’tgetcaughtwith…people.It’llunderminethewholething.Youcan’tdoanythingtoembarrassme.Ifyoumustgoout,trytobe…Idon’tknow,discreet.’Shelookedathimdoubtfully,asifthinkingthathe’dneveroncebeendiscreetinhisentirelife.‘Youcan’ttellanyone.Andwehavetomakeitbelievable.’
‘IhavetotellSidney,’Arthursaidquickly.‘He’sgoingtoknowsomething’supanyway,ifwestartbattingoureyelashesateachother.’
‘Yes.Well.Isuppose…Gabrielwillhavetoknowatleastpartofit.Idon’tthinkIcantrustAgnes,evenifIsworehertosecrecy—’
‘Aha.Agnes.That’shername.Thebrunette.’
‘Takethisseriously,Arthur.’
‘Fine,’hesaidcurtly.‘Weshouldpretendwe’remeetinginsecret.Likewecan’tstayawayfromeachother.Butweshoulddoabadjobofit,sowordgetsout.Quickandeffective,anditmeanswedon’tactuallyhavetospendmuchtimetogether.’
‘Fine.Butthefirsteventsofthetournamentstartnextweek,andweoughttobeseenthere.Let’slaythegroundworkthen.’GwendolineglancedoveratthegateandArthurfollowedhergaze;Sidneywasclearlyvisiblethroughit,talkingtoAgnes.Shewasholdingasugaredbunandlookingdelighted.
‘Youcango,’saidGwendoline.
Furiousthatshefeltshehadtheauthoritytodismisshim,Arthurhalfwantedtostayjusttospiteher–buthisheadwaspounding,thesunwastoobright,andhereallyfanciedabun.
‘Whatever,’hesnarled,turningonhisheelandstalkingaway,worriedthathismagnificentdisplayofangermayhavebeenslightlyunderminedbytheshowerofpetalsthatfellfromhisshouldersashewent.Gwenhadneverbeenparticularlyinterestedintheoccult,butatthatmomentshewouldhavetradedherfather’sentirekingdomforonetiny,pathetictrickleofArthurianmagic.
Shejustneededenoughtoturnbacktime,sprinttotheorchardandremovethatdamneddiarybeforeArthurcouldgethishandsonit.Shetrembledwithrageeverytimeshethoughtaboutit,butshewasn’tangryatArthur–notmorethanusual,atanyrate.Shewasfuriouswithherself
Sheshouldhaveburnedityearsago,butitwastheoneplaceshehadallowedherselftovoicehermostcloselyguardedsecrets.Somepartofherlikedthatshehadarecordoffirstsightings,briefencounters–everyscrapofLadyLeclairthatshehadbeenabletocollect.Therehadbeenpreciousfewofthem:anodfromacrossacourtyardwhenBridgethadstilltechnicallybeenasquire,shadowingaknightfromaneighbouringcounty;briefglancesinGwen’sdirectionwhenBridgetwaspayingherrespectstothekingduringthetournament;anincidentwhereSirBlackwood,theGrandMarshal,hadtrippedoverhisownhemandtheyhadbeentheonlyonestolaugh.
Shehadcollectedrumourstoo,throwawayremarksandthetailendsofstoriesshehadoverheard.PeoplesaidthatLadyLeclaircouldfightofftwogrownmenbytheageoftwelve.Theysaidshespokesixlanguages.Theysaidthatastableboyhadtriedtogropeheronceataregionaltourney,andithadtakenhimsixweekstoregainfulluseofhislegs.EverythingGwenhadheardaboutLadyBridgetLeclairjustmadeherwanttoknowmore.
ShehadbeentherethefirsttimeLadyLeclairenteredthelists,hadwatchedwithherheartinhermouthasshewentoutinthefirstroundtoachorusofboosandjeers–ithadjustbeenallthesweeterthenextyearwhenshe’dwon,andkeptonwinningforweeks,untilshe’dbeenknockedviolentlyfromherhorseandforcedtoretire.Gwencouldhaveswornthatjustonce,duringagoldenAugusteveningasshesatnexttoherfatherintheroyalstands,shehadcaughtBridgetstaringatherintentlywhenshethoughtGwenwasn’tlooking.
Allthesememoriesweretaintednow,thankstoArthur.
ItfeltwrongtowithholdthefinerdetailsofwhathadhappenedfromGabriel,butthesightofhimslidingintothechairoppositeherintheirprivatediningroomthatevening,wanandexhaustedfromadayofroyalduties,gaveherpause.Shehadbeenpausinglikethisforyears,neverquitesurehowtotalktohimaboutLadyLeclair,occasionallytestingthewaterswithapassingcommentabouttheknight’schoiceofarmourorprowessinbattle,butneverabletotakethenextstep.Shewassurethatshewouldtellhimeverythingatsomepoint–shehadto,shehadneverwithheldanythingfromhimforthislong–but,asalways,shetoldherselfthatitsimplywasn’ttherighttime.
TheirparentshadbeencalledtoaprivatedinnerwiththeelderlyarchbishopofCamelot,soGwenproceededtotellGabrielapproximatelyhalfofwhathadtranspiredsincetheyhadlastspoken,thecracksinherstoryconspicuousdespitehereffortstopaperoverthem.
‘G,Idon’treallyunderstandhowthisissomedastardlyplan,’hesaid,rubbingathistemple.
‘Doyouneedmetoexplainitagain?’saidGwen,bitingintoagooseberryandwrinklinghernoseashermouthfloodedsour.
‘No,Igraspthebasicconcept,Ijust…Youcaughthimkissingsomebody?Andnowyou’recoveringforhim?Why?’
‘Charitablespirit?’Gwenoffered,andGabrielraisedaneyebrow.‘He’sagreedtobecivil,Gabe.It’llgetMotherandFatheroffmyback.’
‘Butifyoujustexplainedthathe’suptonogood,they’dprobablycallthewholethingoff.Whataren’tyoutellingme?’Helookedvery,verytired,anditmadeGwenfeelevenworseforlyingtohim.Shestareddownatthepicked-atplateoffruitinfrontofher,herthroatfeelingsuddenlytight.
‘It’snothing,’shesaid,tryingtosmileathimandonlymanagingagrimace.‘Ijustwantabitofpeace,and…thisseemstheeasiestway.’
‘Allright,’hesaidslowly,reachingoutandpattingherarmsoawkwardlythatGwenlaughed.‘But,youknow,ifyouneed—’
‘Yes,’shesaid.‘Iknow.Just…It’sfine,Gabe.IknowwhatI’mdoing.’Heconsideredherforawhile,andthensighed,reachingforanapricot.
‘So,’hesaid.‘YouandArthur?Besottedsweethearts?’Gwenputherheadinherhandsandnodded.‘Well.Thisshouldbeinteresting.’
‘Whatareyouwearing?’
Arthurwassportinganelaboratejacketthatwasallbrushedvelvetandpolishedgoldhardware;walkingnexttohim,inasimplepeachdress,Gwenfeltdistinctlyunderwhelming.
‘That’snotaverygoodstart,’Arthursaid,smilingpleasantlyather.Theywereheadingnorth,pasttheorchard,towardsthedrawbridgethatwouldtakethemoutofthecastleanddowntothetournamentgrounds.Shesawhermotherglancebackatthemandsmileapprovinglyastheycrossedthemoat,andthentheywerebeinghustledthroughabackentrancebyafleetofguardsandescortedtotheirseatsintheroyalstand.Thekingandqueensatfirst,takingprideofplaceinthehardythronesconstructedstrictlyforoutdooruse;theywerewildlyluxuriouscomparedtothetightrowsofnarrowbenchesintheotherstands.
TheornamentalswordExcaliburwasalreadyinplacedirectlyinfrontofherfatheronitsownlittleplinth.Itwaslargeandornate,modelledontheoriginal,protrudingfromaslabofglitteringrock.Thewinnerofthetournamentwasallowedtoholditverybrieflyduringtheclosingceremonywhilethecrowdcheeredforthem–andthenitwashastilyreclaimed,lesttheydropit,ortrytoyanktheswordfromthestoneandproclaimthemselvesking.
GwensatdownwithGabrielonherrightandArthur,stillsmilingthatinfuriatinglybenignsmile,onherleft.Shesawarippleofinteresttravelthroughthecrowd,andresistedtheurgetorollhereyes.Ofcoursetheywereallmuttering.Shenevercametothetournamentescorted.Arthurwasanovelty,andhewasprobablylovingit.Aquickglanceathimconfirmedhertheory;heranadeliberatehandthroughhishairandthenturnedslowlysothathisfacewasinprofile,stoppingshortwhenhemetGwen’sglare.
‘What?’
‘Areyouquitefinishedpreening?’
Thisrebukedidn’tseemtoland.‘Putyourhandonmyarm,’hesaidquietly,andGwensnorted.
‘Thanks,butI’mreallynotthatdesperate.’
‘Imean,I’dsayyouare,butthat’samatterforanothertime–putyourhandonmyarm,andlaughasifI’vesaidsomethingterriblyfunny.Foryourparents.Forthepeople.’
‘Whydon’tyouputyourhandonmyarm,andlaughasifI’vesaidsomethingterriblyfunny?’Gwenhissedbackindignantly.‘It’smorerealisticanyway–itcan’tlookasifI’msuccumbingtocharmsofyoursthatdon’texist.’
Sheexpectedaretort,butinsteadshefeltArthur’shandalightgentlyonherelbow;heleanedtowardsher,asiftheyweredeepinprivateandamorousconference,andthentossedhisheadbackprettilyandlaughed.
‘He’sgoodatthis,’Gabrielsaidquietlyinherearonherotherside.Gwenflinched.
‘Stopwatching,’shesaid,throughgrittedteeth.
‘Iamgood,though,’Arthursaid,winkingatGabriel,wholookedthunderstruckandquicklyturnedbacktofacethearena.
‘Don’twinkathim,’Gwensaid.‘Thepointistomakeitseemlikewe’regettingtogether,notthatthisissomekindof…mildlyincestuousfree-for-all.’
‘Youhaveatrulyterrifyingmind,’Arthursaid,leaningbackinhisseat.‘God–isthat–that’snotExcalibur?’
‘TherealExcaliburwaslost,’Gwensaidslowly,asifexplainingsomethingtoaninfant.‘Surelyyousawthereplacementherewhenyouvisitedasachild?’
‘You’dbesurprisedhowlittleattentionIpaytothingsthatdon’tinterestme,’Arthursaid,althoughhedidseeminterestedinthesword;hewascraninghisnecktogetabetterlookatit.‘Whyisitinastone?Didn’tsomeoddwomanchuckitoutofapond?’
‘Reportsdifferabouthowitwasobtained,’saidGabriel,soundingasifheweretryingnottosmile.Gwenwassurprisedthathewasbeingsotalkative–butthen,heneverpassedupanopportunitytowaxArthurian.‘Andwecouldhardlypresentsomebodywithapond.’
Arthur’sbrowfurrowed.‘Sothat’s,what–Excaliburversiontwo?’
‘Actually,’Gabrielsaid,‘it’sExcaliburNine.’
‘ExcaliburNine?’Arthurspluttered,asifthiswerethemosthilariousthinghe’deverheard.‘WhathappenedtoExcaliburstwothrougheight?’
‘They–Idon’tknow,theykeptlosingthem,’Gwensaidcrossly.‘Inbets,orjust…inbattle.Stoplaughing,forGod’ssake.SomeonestoleEight,probablysoldittosomeArthuriancultistssomewhere,butwe’vehadNineforyears.’
‘OhmyGod.Cananybodyjust…pullitout,andbagsyking?’
‘No,’Gwensaid.‘Well,Ithinkitmightbemadesothatnobodycanremoveit–butthen,they’dwantFathertobeabletotakeitout,ifhehadto.Seriously,Arthur,stoplaughing,bequiet…’
Arthur’sgleewasdrownedoutasthefirstknightstofaceeachotherinhand-to-handcombatwereannouncedbytheGrandMarshal,tofanfareandapplause.
Gwenlistenedintently,untilsherealisedthattwogenericSirshadbeenannounced.
‘She’ssecond,’Arthursaid,havingfinallyrecovered,andGwensnappedaroundtolookathim.
‘What?’
‘Iwalkedthroughthecompetitors’encampmentbeforeImetyou.She’ssecond,fightingaratherelderlymanwithaduck’sfeatherinhishelm.’
‘Idon’tknowwhoyou’retalkingabout,’Gwenblustered.
‘ThatwouldbealotmoreconvincingifthereweremorethanoneknightIcouldbereferringtowhenIsay“she”,’Arthurdrawled.Gwenfeltherselfblushingandstraightenedupalittletotrytomaintainhercomposure.
Thetwoknightsapproachedtheroyalstand,helmsintheirhands;unabletobendthekneeintheirarmour,theybowedawkwardly,andGwen’sfathergeniallyinclinedhisheadinresponse.Awomaninthefrontrowoftheneighbouringstandsthrewoutherfavour,aposyofflowers;theknightitwasintendedformisseditspectacularly,andthenstaredsadlydownatit,unabletoreachforitwithouttopplingover.
‘Whywereyouevenbacktherewiththecompetitors?’Gwenaskedoutofthecornerofhermouth.
Arthurgrinned.‘Talentscouting.’
Gwen’shorrifiedresponsewascutoffbytheroarofthecrowdasthetwoknightsweregiventhesignaltoraisetheirswordsandfight;theycircledeachotherforafewmomentsbeforethetallerofthetwosteppedintostrike,andthensuddenlytheyweregrappling,landingclumsyblowsthatrangoutevenoverthesoundofthebystanders.
‘There’snoarttothis,’Arthursneered,leaningbackinhisseatanddanglingonearmovertheedgeofittolookartfullyfatigued.‘Youmightaswellcladacoupleofbearsintinandletthemhaveagoateachother.’
‘Theydo,inLondon,’saidGwen,watchingasthelargermanstruckthesmallersohardontheheadwiththeflatofhisswordthatthelatterwasdrivendownontohisknees.‘Ifyou’resoconvincedit’seasy,whydon’tyouenter?I’msuremybrotherwilllendyouhisswordandarmour.Hegetslittleuseoutofthem,andhehasplentyofspares.’
‘Er–noIwon’t,’saidGabrielonherotherside.
Thevictoriousknighthadhisswordathiscompetitor’sthroat;helooked,foramoment,asifhemightbeconsideringusingittolethaleffect,butthetrumpetsquicklysoundedandthestandseruptedintocheersandboosashewasannouncedthewinner.
‘Ididn’tsayitwaseasy,Isaiditwasartless.Besides,Istruggletoholdasword–Iwonderwhythatis…’hepretendedtoponder.‘OhIknow,itmighthavesomethingtodowiththefactthatalittlegingersadistsnappedmybloodyarminhalfwhenIwasadefencelessyoungboy.’
‘Youwereneveraboy,’Gwenhissedback.‘Youwereademon.’Herhandhadgonetohermouth,andsherealisedamomentlaterthatshewaschewingagitatedlyattherawskinaroundhernail.Shepromptlyremoveditfromreachbyslidingherhandunderherleg.
‘Idon’trecallbreakinganyofyourbones,’herepliedhotly.
‘Notasifyoudidn’ttry,’saidGwen,butthetrumpetshadstartedupagain,drivingaspikeofexcitementthroughherchest.
LadyBridgetLeclairwasannouncedtoacacophonyofjeersandlaughter.Shestrodeoutacrossthearena,herpostureandbearingbetrayingnosignofdisquietatherreception.
TheGrandMarshalhadn’tannouncedhercompetitor;therewasanawkwardpause,thenoisedyingdown,andthenheclearedhisthroat.‘Fightinghertoday–SirMarlinofCoombelile.’
‘TheKnife?’GwenturnedtoGabriel.‘Shewasn’tsupposedtobefightingtheKnife.’
‘WhothehellistheKnife?’Arthurdemanded.ThecrowdbellowedasSirMarlin,cladinarmoursodarkandlustrousthatitalmostlookedliquid,walkedouttotakehisplacenexttoLadyLeclair.Hewasofaheightwithher–fromhere,helookednarrower,too–butGwenstillfeltnervousonLadyLeclair’sbehalfasshewatchedthembothapproachtheroyalstand.
‘Oh.That’llbehimthen,’saidArthur,astheKnifetookoffhishelmandslickedhisdarkblondhairawayfromhispaleface.‘He’squiteshort.’
‘Soareyou,’snappedGwen.Shecouldn’ttakehereyesoffLadyLeclair,savouringtherareopportunitytostareopenlyather;whensheremovedherhelmshedidn’tlooktheleastbitfrightened,althoughoncloserinspectionherjawwasclenchedrathertightly.Herhairwaspulledbackintoasmallbun,andGwenthoughtfleetinglyabouthowmuchshe’dliketoseeitfallfreefromitstie.
‘I’mtallerthanyou,’Arthursaid,hisvoicesqueakingalittleinindignation.
‘You’rethesameheightasme,’Gwenhissed.‘Nowshutup.’
‘Youarefreakishlytallforawoman,’mutteredArthur,justasbothcompetitorsreachedthem.
Theybowed,SirMarlinperfunctorilyandLadyLeclairwithherhandsmeetingasifinprayer,andthekinggavethemanodandasmilethatlookedsignificantlymorelikeagrimacethanhispreviousonehad;theywerejustabouttoturnawaywhenGwencaughtBridget’seye.Gwenwastooslowtopretendshehadn’tbeenstaring,andshethoughtshesawonecornerofBridget’smouthquirkupeversoslightly,asifshefoundthissomehowamusing.
‘LadyLeclair,’Arthurcalledsuddenly,haltingproceedings.Gwenfroze,herheartpoundingwildlyinherchest.‘Please,’hesaid,flashingBridgethismostcharmingsmile.‘Fightforme.’Heleanedforwardandpresentedherwithasingle,slightlycrumpledyellowflower.
Laughterrippledthroughthecrowd.Bridgetpausedforamoment,andthenreachedupandtookhisfavour.Gwenfeltlikeshecouldactuallyhearherownbloodrushingaroundherskull;astheknightswalkedawaytotaketheirpositionseverybodyelsesettledeasilybackintotheirseats,butshestayeduprightandrigid.Herfatherwasfrowningather.GabrielwasfrowningatArthur.
‘Whatthehellwasthat?’shesaidthroughclenchedteeth.
‘Audienceparticipation,’Arthurmutteredback,hissmileunwavering.Gwensobadlywantedtopushhimoutofhisseat.‘What’sthebigdealaboutthisKnifemananyway?’
‘Hehasn’tcompetedforyears,’saidGabriel,andGwenturnedtoglareathimforengagingwithArthurwhenhehadjustbeensoterrible.‘Becausethelasttimehedid,hekilledsomebody.Apparently,itwasn’tintentional–themandiedofhisinjuriesafterleavingthearena.’
‘Hesoundslikeadelight,’saidArthur.
‘Hestayedontotrytowinthetournament,’Gwensaidreluctantly.‘Itwasindreadfultaste.Andthenwhenhereachedthemeleeeverybodyturnedonhimandgavehimagoodkicking.AfeelingI’msureyou’reusedtobeingonthereceivingendof.’
‘Whodoeshefightfor?’Arthurasked,ignoringher.‘Whosponsorsamurdereratastabbingcontest?’
‘Ourfather’ssecondcousin,’Gabrielsaidinalowvoice.‘LordWillard.’
‘Ah.Yes.I’mtoldmymotherhatedtheman.Apparentlyifithadn’tbeenforher,myfathermighthavesidedwithWillardandtheothercultistsinsteadofyourfatherwhentheoldkingdied–andjustthink,wewouldneverhavebeenbetrothed.Imean,you’dalsoneverhavebeenborn,so…it’snotsomuchasilverliningasitisjustsilverallthewaydown.’
‘Whatareyoudoing?’Gwenhissed.‘That’streason.You’retalkingdirectlytoroyaltyabouttreason.’
‘Calmdown.Iwasn’tintendingtocommitany,althoughyoudomakeiteversotempting,’Arthursaidlightly.‘Now,ifyoudon’tmind–myladyisabouttofight.’
Gwenbristledat‘mylady’,butshedidn’twanttomissamomentofthefighteither;sheturnedbacktowatchasthetrumpetssoundedforLadyLeclairandSirMarlintobegin.
LastyearduringthethirdboutGwenhadwatchedBridgetcompeteagainstsomeonemuchtallerandlargerthanshewas;Gwenhadfeltsickwithnerveswatchingthemsquareuptoeachother,surethatLadyLeclairwouldn’tmakeitoutofthearenawithallofherlimbsintact.Instead,shehadbeenquickandlightonherfeet–hadbeenabletousethemuchlargerknight’sweightandlackofspeedagainsthim–andhadbeentriumphant.Theyhadbooedheranyway,ofcourse.Theyalwaysbooedherinsinglecombat.
Shereallyexcelledinthelists,andforsomereasonthecrowdsdidn’tseemtomindsomuchthatshewasawomanwhenshehadalanceunderherarm.Gwenwishedtheywerewatchingherjoustnow.Instead,shehadtowatchastheKnifefeintedtotheside,thenleapedforwardtostrike.
Ifthefightbetweenthepreviouscompetitorshadbeenundignifiedandfumbling,thiswastheexactopposite.BothLadyLeclairandSirMarlinworelighter,thinnerarmour;bothfavouredspeedoverpower.Bridgetdidn’tjustleadwithhersword.Sheusedherentirebody–elbows,knees,evenawell-timedkick.Shegotafewgoodblowsin,butitwasimpossibletobetrulyagilewhilewieldingaswordandshield.Whenshenexttriedtolandahit,theKnifesteppedneatlytooneside,hookedherlegandsenthersprawling.Shestruggledtogetup;helethertryforafewsecondsbeforeraisinghisswordandbringingitdownonherhelmwithsuchforcethatmanyofthepeopleinthecrowdgroaned.
‘She’salreadydown,’Gwensaid,glancingoveratherfather,whowastalkingtothequeen.‘Theyshouldstop.’
‘Theywon’twhileshe’sstilltryingtogetbackup,’Gabrielsaid,noddingoveratLadyLeclair,whowasindeedstrugglingtogettoherfeet.TheKnifeglancedoverattheGrandMarshal,whodidn’treactatall,andthenliftedafootalmostlazilyandstampeddownhardonLadyLeclair’shandasshereachedforhersword.
‘Staydown,’Gwensaid,herfingerstighteningagainstthewoodenbarrierinfrontofher.‘Whywon’tshejuststaydown?’
‘Isupposeit’snotinhernature,’Arthursaid,withinfuriatingindifference.LadyLeclairmanagedtogetupontooneknee;theKnifestruckheragain,andshedroppedontoallfoursinthedirt.EvenfromthestandsGwencouldseethatherchestwasheavingunderherarmour.SirMarlinconsideredherwithacute,predatoryinterest,andthenkickedherhardintheside.
‘She’snotevenarmedanymore,’saidGwen,hervoicerising,herhandsflyingtohermouth.TheKnifetookaslowanddeliberatestepback,andthenkickedheragain.Gwenfelttheimpactofitjoltthroughherbodyasifsheweretheoneontheground.LadyLeclair’shelmhadbeenknockedloose,obscuringhervision;shereachedupwithashakinghandtoremoveit,andGwensawthatbloodwaspouringdownherface.Thecrowdwerestillbayingformore.SirMarlinreacheddowntograbBridgetbythehair,haulinghertowardshimasherfeetscrabbledforpurchase,hisswordraisedasifheintendedtostrikeherbaredneck.Gwengaspedbehindherfingers–butthentheGrandMarshalfinallysignalledforthetrumpetstobeblown,andthefightwasover.
Theancientrulesofchivalrydictatedthatknightswouldbegallantandmodestinvictory,butGwenwasn’ttheleastbitsurprisedwheninsteadofhelpingLadyLeclairtoherfeet,SirMarlinleftherwhereshewas.Hewalkedovertothestandstoremovehishelmandgiveacurtfinalbowtothekingbeforeexitingwithaprofoundlysmugsmileonhisface.Bridgetgotupverygingerly,hersquirerunningouttohelpher.Astheymadetheirwaybacktothecompetitors’tents,movingatanagonisingpace,GwencaughtaglimpseofArthur’syellowflower,crushedandforlorninthedirt.
‘Pleasantsortofpeople,yoursubjects,’Arthursaid;theywereall,ofcourse,laughing.
‘CanIspeaktoyou?’Gwensaid,hervoicetight.‘Inprivate.’
‘Ofcourse,mylove,’Arthursaid,gettingtohisfeetandputtingoutanarm;Gwenhadnochoicebuttotakeit,althoughshewasloathtotouchhim.Shewatchedhermotherlookupatthemastheywenttoleave,butsheonlysmiledagainatthesightofthemgettingalong;shecouldn’thearwhatGwenwaswhisperingfuriouslytoArthurastheyexitedtothebackofthestands.
‘Youutterbastard–youbroughtthatflowerjusttoirritatemeandtohumiliateher,asifpeopleneededanyotherreasontolaughather—’
‘Steadyon,’saidArthur,yankinghisarmawayattheexactsametimethatGwenwenttoremovehers.‘I’llhaveyouknowthatitwasentirelyforyourbenefit,nothers.’
‘Oh,fantastic,wellaslongasyouwereonlytryingtohumiliateme,’Gwenfumed.‘Whathappenedtoouragreement?You’veasgoodastoldtheentirecitythatsomethingstrangeisgoingon,drawingallthatattentiontoher.Haveyoutoldanybody?’
‘No!God,youaresodelusionallyparanoid,youneed—’
Therewasacommotionoverbytheguardsstandingwatchattheentrance;GwenlookedupandsawArthur’sbody-manattemptingtogetpastthem,lookingoveratArthurandthrowinguphishandsinexasperationwhentheyrefused.
‘It’sallright,’Arthurshouted.‘He’swithme.’
Oneoftheguardsturnedtolookathim.‘Andwhothehellareyou?’
‘He’swithme,’Gwensaidreluctantly,steppingforward.TheguardspartedandletSidneythrough.HetookinGwen’scrossedarmsandArthur’ssmirk,andlaughedquietly.
‘Lovers’tiff,isit?’
‘Excuseme?’Gwensaid,glaringathimindisbelief.‘Whoexactlydoyouthinkyou’readdressing?’
‘Myapologies,’Sidneysaid,bowinghisheadslightly.‘Lovers’tiff,isit,yourhighness?’
‘Let’sgetonethingstraight,’Gwensaid,turningtoArthurandbrandishingafingerathim.‘Youarenottotrytoembarrassme,youarenottoplayhilariousjokes,youarenottoinvolve–’shedroppedthevolumeofhervoicesignificantly–‘toinvolveLadyLeclairinanyofthisforyourownsickamusement—’
‘Hello,’saidGabriel,appearingatherside.‘Iwassenttomakesureyouweren’taloneunchaperoned.’HelookedatSidney.‘Who’sthis?’
‘SidneyFitzgilbert,yourhighness,’Sidneysaid,bowingdeeplywithoutanyprompting.
‘Oh,sohegets“yourhighness”?’Gwensaid,roundingonhim.‘Youarrogant,impudentlittle…’
Sidneysteppedsideways,behindArthur.
‘You’resupposedtoprotectme,’Arthursaidindignantly.‘Whatthehelldoyoucallthis?’
‘Notinmyremit,’hereplied.‘She’snotgoingtokillyou,butshelookslikeshemightbeabouttostartpoking.’
‘Iwouldn’tbesosure,’Gwenhissed,steppingcloser,‘thatIwon’tkillyou.’
‘Ohdear,’Arthursaidwearily.‘She’sgoneferal.’
Gwenreallymighthaveslappedoneofthemthen–eitherwoulddo–butGabrielputagentlehandonhershoulderandshejustgaveaquietlittlescreamoffrustrationinstead.
‘Thisisnothelpful,’Gabrielsaid,lookingdirectlyatArthur.‘Stopgoadingmysister.’Arthurlookedbackathimdefiantly,raisinghiseyebrowsinawordlesschallenge.
Gwenhadhadenough.Sheturnedonherheelandstormedaway,twoguardspeelingofffromthegroupandfallingintostepbehindherasshemadeforthedrawbridge.Shewassoangryshewasn’tlookingwhereshewasgoing;shehadtopullupsosuddenlywhensomebodysteppedintoherpaththatshealmosttripped.Immediatelytherewasaguardathersideholdinghersteady,andanotherthrowingupaswordbetweenherandherpotentialassailant.
LadyBridgetLeclairlookedextremelydonein.Shehadanastybruisealreadymottlinghercheek,asplitinherlip,andhereyewasblackeninginonecornerwhereherhelmmusthavemadecontactwiththebone;shewaswincingasshebreathed,andGwencouldonlyimaginehowbatteredshemustbeunderhertunic.Ittooktheknightamomenttorealisewhomshehadalmostcollidedwith,andwhenshedid,shestraightenedupdespiteherinjuries;Gwentuckedoneofherplaitsbehindherear,hopingshehadn’tgonebrightred.
‘Yourhighness,’Bridgetsaid,bowingwithawinceandthenstrugglingtoriseagain;Gwenreachedoutwithoutthinking,butBridgetheldupapalmtostopher.Thesleeveofhertunichadslippeddowntoherelbow,revealingsmoothgold-brownskinandhardmuscleunderneath.
Hands,Gwenthoughthysterically.Hands–andalsoarms
‘Bridg—er,LadyLeclair,’shesaid.‘Howareyou?Imean,youlook—’
‘I’mwell,’LadyLeclairlied,grimacingaroundhersplitlip.‘Forgiveme–SirMarlinwasverythorough.’Herhair,Gwennoticed,hadn’tstayedconfinedforlong;strandsofitwereescaping,curledanddampwithsweatwheretheytouchedherneck.
‘Heshouldn’thavekepthittingyou,’Gwensaidimpulsively.‘Whileyouwerealreadydown.’
‘Well,perhapsnot,’saidBridget,hervoiceedgedwithpain.‘ButIenteredtofight,andafightwaswhatIgot.’
‘I–Isuppose,’Gwensaid,knowingshewasdefinitelyblushingnow.‘I’ll…Goodluck,intherestofyourevents.’
‘Thankyou,’saidBridget.ThattinysmirkGwenhadnoticedonherfacebeforewasbacknow,eventhoughitmusthavepainedher;itwassosubtlethatGwencouldalmosthavebeenimaginingit.Asshewenttoleave,Bridgetheldupahandagain–nottouchingher,notevenclose,butmakingGwenstopinhertracksregardless.‘And–please,thankyoursuitor.Forhisfavour.’
‘He’snotmysuitor,’Gwensaidquickly,beforerealisinghowridiculousthiswouldsound,giventhefactthattheyweretryingtoconvinceeverybodyinCamelotoftheopposite.‘Imean–yes.Thanks.Iwill.’
‘He’snotyoursuitor,’Bridgetrepeated,maintainingasteadyeyecontactthatGwenthoughtmightperhapskillher.Shehadnoideawhattosayinresponsetothis.WhenBridgetremovedherhandandsteppedback,Gwensimplynoddedawkwardly,andthencontinueduptotheslopetowardsthedrawbridge.
Shespenttherestofthedaywonderingwhatonearthitcouldhavemeant.ArthurlikedhisroomsatCamelot.Themainspacewascrampedbutcosy,filledwithatable,Sidney’scotandtwowell-paddedchairsbythefireplace.Theadjoiningbedroomcontainedafour-postersolargethatitconstitutedgrossoverkill.Thebestfeaturewasthetinyterrace,justbigenoughforhimandSidneytobreakfaston.Itcertainlyhelpedthattheguestquarterswereentirelyseparatefromtheroyalfamily’swing;hisroomswere,infact,asfarawayfromGwen’sasitwaspossibletobeonthissideofthecastle.ArthurwonderedifGwenhadchosenthemonhisbehalf.
‘Thisisnice,’Sidneysaidastheyate.‘Couldgetusedtoit.’
‘What–wakingupwithmeeverymorning?Ifyouwanttomarryme,justask,’saidArthur,throughamouthfulofbread.‘It’dsolvealotofmycurrentproblems.’
‘Imeanttheview,’saidSidney.‘Youcouldn’tmarryme.I’dbetoomuchforyou.Romanticallyspeaking.’
‘SometimesIthinkyouforgetthatI’myourboss,’saidArthur,swallowingthebreadandreachingforacupofaletowashitdown.‘Icouldhaveyouroundlyfloggedforsayingthingslikethat.’
‘Hmm,’saidSidney.‘Onsecondthoughts,Ithinkyoucouldromancemejustfine.’
Arthursnorted.‘Haven’tyoubeenrunningaroundafterthatlady-in-waiting,peltingherwithsugaredbuns?’
‘Ah,Agnes,’Sidneysaid,sighingdreamily.‘Theywon’tletmeanywherenearthatbitofthecastle.Andanyway,I’mtoobusyrunningaroundafteryou,watchingyougetshoutedatbypubescentprincesses.’
‘Well,’Arthursaid,sighingforentirelydifferentreasons.‘Consideryourselffreeofresponsibilitytoday.Iwon’tbegoingbeyondthecastlewalls.I’mbeingfrogmarchedtoanaudiencewiththekingforlunch.’
‘Soundslikeplentyofpotentialfortrouble,tome.’
‘HowmuchtroublecouldIpossiblygetuptowithoutleavingthegrounds?’Arthursaidindignantly.
Sidneypointedasternfingerathim.‘ThosewordswillcomebacktomeinamomentofvividclaritylaterasIwatchyoubeingclappedinironsorhauledoutofthemoat.’
‘Fine,Sid,you’renotfreeofresponsibility.Itaskyoutogointothecityandlocatetheverybestdrinkingestablishmentsforouruseatalaterdate.Scopethemout,counttheentrancesandexits—’
‘Samplethelibations?’Sidneysaidhopefully,perkingup.
‘Sampleallthebloodylibationsyouwant,’Arthursaid,grinning.Sidneyimmediatelygottohisfeet,disappearedbackintotheirroomsandcamebackoutsecondslaterwearinghiscleanestcoat.‘Oh,right.You’regoingnow,then?’
‘Notimelikethepresent,’saidSidney,reachingforhiscupanddrainingthelastofhisale.
‘Sid,it’steno’clockinthemorning.’Sidneyhovered,asifawaitingfurtheradmonition.‘No,Imean,I’mjustimpressed.Offyougo.Trynottomakethewomenweep.’
‘Atthesightofme?’Sidneysaid,pattinghispocketstocheckhewassufficientlyfunded.
‘Youcan’tdomypunchlinesforme,’Arthursaidcrossly.‘They’requiteliterallyallIhave.’
AthomeArthur’schiefoccupationhadbeenresponsibilities,theavoidancethereof;hisfatherhadgivenuponattemptingtoengagehiminpoliticsortheminutiaeofrunningthefamily’saffairswhenherealisedthatnomatterhowmuchhescreamed,threatenedorthrewthingsathim,hissonremaineddeterminedlyuninterested.Insteadofdragginghimalongtomeetingsortakinghimtosupperspepperedwithinfluentialpeople,LordDelaceyhadcontentedhimselfwithverballyflagellatingArthurwhenevertheirpathscrossed.Asfarashisfatherwasconcerned,hisbetrothaltoGwendolinewastheonlyproofthathehadevermadehimselfusefultoanotherlivingperson.Arthurhadrespondedtoallofthisbybeingoutofthehouseasmuchaspossiblewithouttechnicallybeingclassedasarunaway.
Asaresult,evenacastleasvastasCamelotfeltoppressiveandclaustrophobic.Afterdressing,Arthurstartedwalkingaimlesslyaroundit,exploringthereacheshehadn’tencounteredduringhisfirstweek,tryingtofindhiswaybymemoryalone.Thereweretwocourtyardsinthenorthofthecastleinadditiontothelargeronetothesouth;hethoughtherememberedthatthearmourywasattachedtotheoneinthenorth-west,andwaspleasedwithhimselfwhenhevisitedtocheckandfoundhimselfcorrect.Othertimes,hismemoryfailedhim;hekeptrunningintodeadendsaroundcornersandattheendoflong,dustygalleries,andeverytimeheapproachedtheroomsinthemostnortherlypartofthecastletheguardswouldsendhimbackthewayhe’dcomewithashakeoftheirheads.ClearlyGwenhadnotletthemknowthathewasmeanttobeenjoyingspecialprivileges.
Therewerequitealotofpeoplewalkingaround,andtheyallseemedtohavejobs;manyofthemnoddedatArthurashepassed,andheacknowledgedthemwhilewonderingwhothehelltheywere.Hesupposedalargecastofmiscellaneouscastle-dwellerswasrequiredtokeepthewholethingrunning,buthadnoideawhere,forexample,thetwoyoungmencarryingacrateoftinyhorsestatuettescouldhavebeengoingwithsuchurgency.
Arthurmadehiswayoutintothebailey,andimmediatelyfeltmorelostthanever.Everythingseemedtohaveswappedplacessincehischildhood;apparentlytheorchardwasoneoftheonlythingsthathadbeenimmoveable.Allmannerofnewbuildingshadsprunguporbeenrelocated,andhesetabouttryingtocataloguethem.Icehouse,dovecot,forge,buttery.Almostbyaccident,heopenedatinyandunfamiliardoorinanunremarkable-lookingexteriorwallandstumbledintoagardensobeautifulthatitstoppedhiminhistracks.
Itwasarosegarden,partiallyshadedfromabovebywoodentrellisesthatwerecoveredinsoftyellowclimbingrosesinbloom;raisedbedswerearrangedinconcentricdiamonds,brokenupwithsmallsculpturesandstonebenches.Itwascompletelyprivate,withonlyoneentrancein,andnothingthatoverlookedit.Intheverycentreofthegardentherewasalargestatue;beforehe’dreachedit,Arthurknewexactlywhowouldbefrowningdownathim.
KingArthurhadseenbetterdays.Hisnosewaschipped,andtwoofhisfingershadbrokenoff.Hisbeardwasstillintact,renderedinstartlingdetail;infact,hisfacewasalmostentirelyobscuredbymeticulouslycarvedbristles,hisbeadyeyesstaringoutfromunderneathenormouseyebrows.Arthurreachedoutahandandtouchedtherough,well-wornsurfaceofthestoneswordclutchedintheking’shands;itwasalmostastallashewas.
‘Hullo,youoldbastard,’hesaidflatly.‘Shaggedanyofyoursisterslately?’
Hewasstartledwhenthestatueseemedtomakeasoundinresponse;thismysterywassolvedbythesuddenappearanceofaskinny,battle-worngingertabbycat,whichgavethestatueanaffectionateheadbuttbeforeabandoningitfortheflesh-and-bloodArthurandwrappingitselfaroundhislegs.
‘Howthehelldidyougetinhere?’Arthursaid,crouchingtoofferahand;thecatcloseditseyesblissfully,andpresseditslittlepinknoseintohispalm.‘Onyourwaytocorrupttheroyalpurebreds,Iimagine.’Hegaveitascratchunderthechin;thecatpurredloudlyandthenbitdownonhisindexfinger.Arthursworeandretractedhishand,butthecathadn’tdrawnblood.Itlookedextremelypleasedwithitself.
‘Ilikeyou,’Arthursaidapprovingly.‘Trynottogetexterminated.’Abellbegantoringsomewhereinthedistance,andArthur’sstomachlurched.Afteranentiremorningofaimlesswanderingtokilltime,hewassomehowgoingtobelate.
Asherushedfromthecourtyard,hewasnearlytrippedupbyaflashoforangefurslippingbetweenhisankles.Hesprintedtowardsthemainbuildings,tryingtosmoothdownhishairandtunicashedidso;itwasonlyashereachedtheeastdoor,outofbreathfromtryingtomaintainalopinghalf-jog,thathenoticedthecatwasstillathisheels.
‘Begone,tinydemon,’hehissedoverhisshoulder.Thecatblinkedbackathim,andthenslopedoffintheoppositedirectionastheguardsletArthurinside.Asheapproachedthelabyrinthofroomsthatmadeuptheking’sprivatecabinetsanddaychambers,hesloweddown,hopingthathewasn’ttoovisiblysweaty.Hewasadmittedwithoutceremony,andmomentslaterwasstandingattheendofawood-panelledroomdominatedbyaverylargetable.Thekingsataloneatthefarend.
Thetablewasrectangular.Extremelyrectangular,thoughtArthur,asifperhapsthekingweremakingapointofit.
‘Iseeyou’readmiringthefurniture,’thekingsaid,glancingbrieflyupfromhispapers.
‘Yourmajesty,’Arthursaid,rememberinghimselfandbowing.
‘Yes,yes,hello,Arthur.Sitdown,’saidtheking.Facedwithatleastfifteenchairsandabsolutelynoideawhatwasappropriate,Arthurhoveredforamomentbeforetakingaseataboutthreeplacesdownfromhim,whichfeltasafeandrespectfuldistance.
Therewasquitealongsilence.Arthur,whodistinctlyrememberedthattheword‘lunch’hadbeenbandiedabout,lookedhopefullyatthedoortoseeifsustenancewasforthcoming;itwasnot.
‘Thelasttimeyouwerehere,’thekingsaidfinally,‘yousetfiretosomething.’
Arthurgrimaceddownathishands.‘Yes.Imean–myapologies.’
‘Whatwasit,doyourecall?’
Arthurpretendedtothinkaboutit.‘Er–Ibelieveitwasyourwife,sire.’
‘That’sright,’saidthekingevenly.‘Itwasonlymyson’squickthinkingthatstoppedherentiredressfromgoingupinflames.’
‘ItwasactuallyGwendoline,yourmajesty,wholitthecandleinthe…Nevermind,’Arthurmuttered,seeingtheking’sexpressionandthinkingbetterofhisprotestations.
‘Thereisatimeandplacefordwellingonthepast,’thekingsaid,observingArthurthoughtfully.‘Ifirmlybelievethatweshouldrespectwhathascomebefore,butbesurethatwearealwayslearningfromit;toemulatethegood,andacknowledgethebad,andalwaysbestrivingtowardsprogress.’
‘Right,’saidArthur,notentirelysurewherethiswasgoing.‘Iagree.’
‘Ihaveheardfrommanysources–mydaughterchiefamongthem–thatyourgeneralconductsincewelastmethasbeenlessthanexemplary.SomuchsothatIampleasantlysurprisedtofindthatinthefewdaysyou’vebeenhere,nobodyIholddearhasbeensetaflame…yet.’
Arthuropenedhismouthtorespond,butrealisedhehadnothingtosayinhisowndefence.
‘Ihavegreatrespectforyourfamily,Arthur,andIhavebeengratefulforyourfather’scontinuedsupportsinceyourmotherpassedon.SheandIwereoldfriendsandallies,andIfeltherlosskeenly–although,ofcourse,notaskeenlyasyouyourself.Itwasgoodofyourfathertostandwithmeaftershewasgone,beingof…well,moreofArthurianpersuasionthananythingelsehimself.ThebloodthatrunsinyourveinsmadeCamelotwhatitwas—’
‘Notreally,’Arthursaid,realisingtoolatethathehadinterrupted,whichwasquitehighonthelistofthingsyouweren’tsupposedtodotokings.
‘Not—?’
‘Ionlymeant–ifthereisanyofArthurPendragon’sbloodinme,sire,it’sdilutedwellpastthepointofconsequence.’Tohissurprise,thekingletoutasmallexhalationoflaughteratthis.
‘Well.Yourfatherhasalwaysbeenveryproudofwherehecamefrom,howeverdistantthatlinemaybenow.YouarepartofthefabricofEngland,andyouwillhelpwriteherfuture.Whichbringsmetothematterathand.’Arthurshifteduncomfortablyinhisseat.Healwaysdreadedarrivingatthematterathand.‘Leavewhateverbattleyou’refightinginthepast,Arthur.YouwillbetheLordofMaidvale.Youwillbemydaughter’shusband.DonotmakemelivetoregretthechoiceImadewhenGwendolinewasborn.BecauseifIdo,thenmakenomistake–youwillfeelthatregrettenfold.’
TherewerequiteafewthingsthatArthurconsideredsayinginresponsetothis,butsanityprevailed.‘Yes,yourmajesty.I…Thankyou.Iunderstand.’
‘Good,’saidtheking.Hepulledhispaperstowardshimagain,andArthursatawkwardlyforasecond,watchinghim.Thekingglancedbackup,seemingmildlyconfusedthathewasstillthere.‘Youaredismissed.’
Arthurdidn’tneedtellingtwice.
WhenSidneygotbacktotheirrooms,Arthurhadbeenlyingfacedownonhisbedforthebestpartofthreehours.Afterretiringfromhismeetingwiththeking,he’dheardastrangescrabblingathisdoor,anduponopeningithadbeenbaffledtofindthatthelittlegingercathadmanagedtotrackhimdown;hewatchedasitslinkedintohisroomandhoppedupontothebedforanap,andhadcometotheconclusionthatithadtherightideaabouthowtospendtherestoftheday.
‘Who’sthis?’Sidneysaid,pokingArthurontheshoulderandthengesturingatthecat.
‘Mycat,’saidArthur,asifthisshouldhavebeenobvious.
‘Right,’saidSidneydoubtfully.‘What’sitcalled?’
Arthurturnedhisheadandsquintedatthecat,whichwascurrentlylickingitselfinunfortunateplacesontopofhissilkpillowcase.‘Lucifer.’
‘Goodmeetingthen,wasit?’Sidneysaid,producingabottleofwineandputtingitdownonArthur’sdesk.Hetookoffhisjacket,too,andthenstartedrelievinghimselfofanumberofsmalldaggershelikedtoweardiscreetlyabouthisperson.
‘ThekingthinksthatifItryreallyhard,Icanbecomeasgreatamanasmyfather,’Arthursaidlistlessly.
‘Ouch,’saidSidney,withasympatheticwince.‘WanttohearmyreviewofthegreatcityofCamelot?’Arthurnodded,andSidneysatdownontheedgeofthebed.‘Shithole.Everything’sfallingapart.Fewgoodinnsthough.Auditionedthemall.’
‘Don’tletthekinghearyoucallitashithole,’saidArthur,reachingouttostrokethecat.‘It’shispetproject.’
‘Fine,it’sup-and-coming,’saidSidney.‘HecouldhavejustsettledatWinchesterlikeeverybodyelseforthepasttenmillionyears,orgivenLondonagoifhewantedtomodernise,buthehadtogivethisoldreliconelastgasp.’
‘Allright,well,you’vereallysoldmeonit,’Arthursaid,retractinghishandasthecatattemptedtoshredit.‘Ineedyoutocarryanoteforme.We’regoingouttonight.’
‘Out,’saidSidney,‘orout?’
‘Whatdoyouthink?’
Sidneyjustsighed,pickeduponeofhisdaggersandsliditbackintoplaceinhisbelt.
Arthurknockedonthedoorforasecondtime,hisbrowfurrowing.
‘Sheknowswe’recoming,’hesaidtoSidney,whoshrugged.‘Theguardletusthrough.’
Arthurwasabouttoknockforathirdtimewhenthedooropened;aprettyfacewithafaintscatteringoffrecklesoverthebridgeofitsslightlyupturnednosewaslookingwarilyatthemthroughthegap.
‘Goodevening,Agnes,’saidArthur.‘Ibelievewewereexpected?’
‘Mylord,’Agnessaid,withalittlecurtsy.Shepulledthedoorfullyopentoletthemin.
‘Bloodyhell,’saidSidney,astheywalkedintoaroomatleasttwicethesizeoftheirs;itcontainedadiningtablethatseatedsix,asetoffloor-to-ceilingbookshelvesandanenormousfireplacecarvedalloverwithflowersandgurningcherubs.Soft,cushionedchairswerearrangedregimentallyaroundthehearth,whichwascarpetedwithaplushandextremelyexpensive-lookingrug.Inthecornertherewasathicklypaddedcot,withblanketsandcushionsstackedneatly.Itwastooclean.Theonlysignoflifewasavasefullofbluebellsonthedresserbythewindow.‘Thisisaveryniceroom.’
‘Herhighnesswillbewithyouinamoment,’Agnessaid,smilingshylyatSidneyandthenretreatingthroughanadjoiningdoor.
‘There’snowayshe’sreadallthese,’Sidneysaid,strayingovertothebookshelvesandpickingabookatrandom.
‘Iwouldn’tbesosure,’saidArthur,throwinghimselfintooneofthearmchairsandimmediatelyputtinghisfeetupontheupholstery.‘She’sgotnothingelsetodo.’
‘Hello,’Gwendolinesaidwarilyfromthedoorway.HereyessweptoverSidneymaulingherbooksandArthur’sbootsonherarmchair,butAgneswaswatchingthem,soshejusttreatedthemtoaverytightandunconvincingsmile.
‘Evening.Wine?’Arthursaid,pointingatSidney,whoputdownthebookandpresentedabottlewithaflourish.
‘Agnes,’Gwendolinesaidwithsomeeffort.‘Couldyoupleasepourtheboyssomewine,andthen–andthenyou’redismissed.’
Agneslookedstartled.‘But…youwantmetoleaveyoualonewithhim?’shesaid,hervoicedippingtoaloudwhisper.
‘Yes,’saidGwendolinefirmly.Agnesdidasshewastoldandthenleft,glancingbackoverhershoulderwithwide-eyedastonishment.
‘Whydidshehavetoleave?’saidSidney,soundinggenuinelydisappointed,knockingbackmostofhisglassinonegulp.
‘Getyourfeetoffmychair,’GwendolinesnappedatArthur.Intheinterestoftemporarilykeepingthepeace,Arthurdid.‘Sendingherawayismuchmoreeffectivethanhavinghersithereandlistentouspretendatbeingsweethearts.Iftheguardsdon’ttalk,thenAgnescertainlywill.She’lltellhernoblefriendsatcourt;it’llbealloverthecastlebytomorrowthatwe’rebeinghideouslyindecorous,becausewe’resoterriblyinlove.’
‘Soyoudon’twantanywinethen,’Sidneysaid.Gwendolinegavehimawitheringlook.
‘I’mgoingtogobacktomybedroomtoread,’shesaid.‘Youcansitouthereanddrinkasmuchasyouwant.Justletmeknowwhenourgreatromanceisoverfortheevening.’
‘Ah–actually,’saidArthur,gettingupandcrossingtothemirrorontheoppositewallsothathecouldcheckhisreflection.‘We’llbeheadingout.’Hetookalengthofribbonoutofhispocketandusedittotieuphishair,twistingitexpertlyintoaknotatthenapeofhisneck.
‘Whatdoyoumean,headingout?’Gwendolinesaid,crossingherarms.‘Ithoughtthewholepointwasthatwe’resupposedtobehavinga–aclandestineeveningtogether.Howdoesthatwork,ifyou’renotevenhere?’
Sidneywalkedovertothewindowsandstartedmethodicallycheckingthem,openingeachoneandpoppinghisheadouttopeeraroundbeforemovingontothenext.‘Gotone,’heannounced.
‘I’daskifyou’veeverclimbedoutofoneofthese,butthatwouldbeasillyquestion,wouldn’tit?’saidArthur,reachingintohispocketandpullingoutarathersquashed,wide-brimmedhatwithafeatherinit.Hestretcheditoutwithhishandsandthenpulleditlowoverhiseyes.
‘Outofthewindow?’Gwendolinesaidincredulously.
‘That’swhatIthought,’saidArthur.Hewhippedoffhisjacket,turneditinsideoutandthenputitbackonagain.Theoutsidewasdarkgreenembroideredsatin,buttheliningwasbrownandnondescript.
‘There’satrickybitwherethemasonry’scomingapart,butotherwiseit’sapieceofcake,’saidSidney.‘Doyouwantmetoleavethis,orcanItakeitwithme?’Hewasholdingupthebottleofwine.
‘But–peoplewillseeyou,’Gwendolinespluttered.‘Theguards,foronething—’
‘Ah,’saidArthurknowingly.‘That’swhereyou’rewrong.Becausewe’vetimedit,andthere’satastylittlebreakinthepatrolsthatleavesjustenoughtimefortwodashingyoungwhippersnapperstomakearunforit.’
‘Well,whatabouttheguardsatthegate?’Gwendolinecountered.‘They’llcertainlyseeyou.’
‘Andsaywhat?’saidArthur.Sidneyhadwedgedthecorkbackintothebottle,tuckedthewineintohisjacketandhauledhimselfoutontothewindowsill;heglanceddownwiththetipofhistonguestickingoutinconcentration,judgingthedistance,beforedroppingoutofsight.‘Amanservantandanondescriptmaninahideouslyunfashionablehatslippedpasttheirdefencesandoffintothenight?Thehorror.AgnesandtheguardsoutsidewillstillthinkI’mheresecretlymeetingwithyou.’
‘But…’Gwendolinetriedagain.‘Whereareyougoing?’
ArthurclimbedoutafterSidneyandthengrinnedbackatheroverthesill.‘Out,’hesaid,enjoyingthehalf-furious,half-baffledexpressiononherfacebeforehefoundthenextfootholdanddisappearedfromherview.
Thepure,unadulteratedjoyhederivedfromannoyingherbuoyedhimallthewayoutofthegates,pasttheguardsanddownthehilluntiltheyreachedthebusystreetsofCamelot.Theywerenarrowandwinding,turningbackonthemselvesandproducingdeadendswithnorhymeorreason,ramshacklerowsofhousessuddenlyanddramaticallyinterruptedbylargestatuesofGalahadclutchingthegrail,orGawaininhislittlesash.Everythingsmeltlikeblackenedmeat,soiledstrawandwoodsmoke;theyseemedtobewalkingdownanotherdead-endalleywhentheyfinallyreachedtheinnSidneyhadpickedoutforthem.
Theytookupresidenceinabackcorneronricketystools,watchingallmannerofpeoplecompetingfortheinnkeeper’sattention,laughingandshoutingandspillingtheirdrinksontothealreadyale-soakedfloor.Arthurtookaglassofwine,andthenanother,knowingheshouldn’tbutfindingitdifficulttocare;hefeltthedayslideawayfromhimuntiltheconversationwiththekingcouldhavehappenedtosomebodyelseandbeenrecountedtohimsecond-hand.Sidneykeptfetchinghimdrinks,andhekeptknockingthemback,andwhenanelderlymanstartedsinginganextremelyexplicitdrinkingsonghejoinedinheartily,raisinghishandsaloftasifconductingthecrowd.
Justashewasgettingtired,andthelastglassofwinewasstartingtofeelsourinhisstomach,hesawasandy-hairedboywatchinghimfromoverbythebar.Helookedpainfullyfamiliar;forasecondArthurthoughtthataghostfromhispasthadsomehowfollowedhimallthewaytoCamelot.Heblinkedafewtimes,andrealisedtheboywasfamiliar,althoughhewasn’ttheghostinquestion.MitchellfromthefeastduckedhisheadandlookedalittlepinkwhenhenoticedArthurstaringback.
Sidneysaidsomethinginhisear,butArthurwasn’tlistening.Whenheglancedbackup,Mitchellwaslookingathimcuriously;asArthurwatched,heraisedhiseyebrowsandthenglancedtowardsthebackdooroftheinn,whichopenedoutintoacrampedalleyway.SidneylookedfromArthurtothebarandtookitallinremarkablyquickly.
‘It’s…Youknowthat’snothim,’hesaidquietly.
Arthurshrugged.‘No,but–Iknowhim.Heworkswithdogs.’
‘Doeshenow?Well,it’syourfuneral.Tenminutes,’saidSidney,swappingseatssothathehadeyesonthedoor.
ArthurwatchedasMitchellshoulderedthroughthecrowdtoreachitanddisappearedintothealleywithoutabackwardsglance.Hedrainedtherestofhisdrink,smootheddownhisjacketandthenfollowed.Gwenwasdesperateforherbed.
Shehadbeenpretendingtoherselfthatherbookwasjustsoscintillatingshecouldn’tpossiblyretireyet,butinrealityshehadreadthesamelinefivetimesinarowandnottakeninaword.ThelongerArthurwasgone,themoreannoyedshebecame.Shefoundherselflisteningforsignsofhisreturn–drunkenshoutingfrombelow,perhaps,orthescreamofsomebodymissingafootholdandplummetingtotheirverytimelydemise–andwassurprisedwhenheronlywarningthathisarrivalwasimminentwasthesoundofsomebodyswearingfaintlyrightunderneathherwindow.Asecondlater,Arthurtumbledthroughit.Hewasnolongerwearingajacket,andhishatwasfilthy,asifithadbeendroppedrepeatedlyandplacedbackonhishead.
‘Goodevening,’hesaidfromthefloor.Gwenslammedherbookshutandstoodup.
‘ForGod’ssake,Arthur,youweregoneforfourhours.Where’syour–where’sSidney?’
‘Regrettably,’Arthursaid,gettingtohisfeetwithconsiderableeffort,‘hewastoodrunktomaketheclimb.’
‘Oh,andyou’renot?’Gwensaid,castingadisapprovingeyeoverhim.
‘I’mhere,aren’tI,’hesaidbitterly,takingoffhishat.Mostofhishairhadalreadymanagedtocomeloosefromitsknot,butheuntiedtherestandpusheditawayfromhisflushedface.
‘TellAgnesshecancomebackin,’Gwensaid,watchingashewalkedunsteadilytowardsthedoor.‘She’llbeintheladies’solar,justbeforetheguards.And…we’regoingtothejousttogetherfirstthingtomorrow.Meetmeintheentrancehall.’
Arthurmadenosignofhavingheardthis.‘Adelight,asalways,Gwendoline.Hopeyouenjoyedyourbook.’
‘Justasmuchasyouenjoyeddebasingyourself,I’msure,’Gwenhissedafterhim,reluctanttolethimhavethelastword.
‘Youhavenoidea,’hesaidoverhisshoulder,beforeheclosedthedoorbehindhim.
Atbreakfast,Gwenwaspracticallyfallingasleepinherfood.HerparentswereconferringwithLordStafford,whowasstandingatherfather’sshoulderdressedinscarletandlookinggaudilyanxious;onanormaldaytheirconversationwouldhavebeenwellwortheavesdroppingon,butthismorningGwenwasonlycapableofleaningherheadononehandandpretendingtolistentoGabriel,whowastalkingtoheraboutmarketfluctuations.
‘It’samazinghowmuchbreadcantellusaboutsociety,’hewassayingnow,pointingtoapassageinhisbook.
‘Bread,’Gwensaid,pickingsomeupandshovingitintohermouth.‘Amazing.’
‘Gwendoline,pleasedon’ttalkwithyourmouthfull,’hermothersaidfromdownthetable.‘AndI’dliketospeaktoyouwhenyou’refinishedeating.’Gwensatupalittlestraighter.She’dbeenexpectingaconversationlikethis,butperhapsnotsosoon.
TenminuteslaterherfathergotupfromthetabletoleavewithStafford,kissingthequeenashewentandpassingaquickhandoverGwen’sheadinbothgreetingandfarewell.Gabrielonlynoticedthathewassupposedtobeleavingtoowhentheirmotherclearedherthroatloudly.HesnappedhisbookshutandslippedfromtheroomwithacuriousglancebackatGwen,whorolledhereyesinresponse.
‘I’vejustheardsomethingtroublingaboutavisitortoyourroomslastnight,’hermothersaid,steeplingherfingersandconsideringGwenevenly.
‘Idon’t…Whotoldyouthat?WasitAgnes?’Gwensaid,goingred.
‘No,itwasn’tAgnes.Staffordwasinformed—’
‘LordStafford?Didhehavehisearpressedagainstthedoortomychambers?’Gwensaidhotly.Itdidn’tmatterthatsheknewshe’ddonenothingwrong,orthatthishadbeentheplanallalong;shestillfelthorriblyuncomfortableknowingwhateverybodyelsemustbethinking.WhileshesupposedthissortofthingdidfallwithinStafford’sremit,herarelypaidthismuchattentiontoher–usually,shedidn’tneedmuchmanaging.
‘HehaditfromSirHurst,whowastoldinconfidence.Gwendoline.DidArthurvisityoulastnight?Inyourrooms?Unaccompanied?’
‘Um,’saidGwen,clenchingbothhandsunderthetable.‘Yes,hevisitedme.Butwewereaccompanied,Mother.Hisservantwasthere,andAgneswas–around.Wejustsatbythefireand…talked.’
Hermothersighedandsatbackinherseat,hereyesroamingGwen’sface.Shelookedmorethoughtfulthanangry,whichwassomething.
‘Gwendoline,I’m–I’mpleasantlysurprisedthatyou’regettingalongsowell,butImustsayI’mastonishedatyourbehaviour.Betrothedisnotmarried,andyoumusttakeeveryprecaution—’
‘Mother,’Gwensqueakedbeforethishideoussentencecouldcontinue.‘Iassureyou,there’snoneed–wereallywerejusttalking.Iwanttoknowthemanwho’sgoingtobemyhusband.Ithoughtyou’dbepleased.’
‘Well…Iampleased,’saidhermother.‘ButifImightrecommendamodicumofpropriety,Gwendoline?Wedon’tneedtheentirecastletalkingaboutit.’
‘Messagereceived,’saidGwen,stillbrightred.
Thequeensighedinalong-sufferingway,andthenputherhandtoGwen’scheek.‘Justthink,allthoseyearsyouspentresistingeverythingafuturebrideoughttobe,hidingyourselfawaylikearecluse–anditwasallfornothing!Ihopeyouseenowhowsillyyou’vebeen.’
Gwenfeltsomethinginherchesthardenasshepulledaway.‘Right.CanI…I’msupposedtomeetArthurforthejoust.’
‘Yes.YourfatherandIwon’tbethere,I’mjoininghimforanaudiencewiththenorthernguardafterhismorningbriefing–sopleasebehave.’
‘Ialwaysdo,’Gwensaidtruthfully.
Arthurwasn’tintheentrancehallwhenhewassupposedtobe.Gwenwaitedforwhatfeltlikeanage,gettingmoreandmorefrustrated,beforestalkingoutofthedoorwithguardsscramblingtokeepupwithher.
Todaythearena’stiltingrailshadbeenraisedforthejoust.Theairwasalreadypungentwiththesmellsofhorseshit,trampledstrawandspiltalewarminginthesun.Withoutthekingpresent,theatmospherehadshiftedslightly.Itwaswilder–morecelebratory,farlessformal.
Itfeltstrangetoentertheroyalstandsalone.Evenwithoutherparentsthere,Gwendidn’tfeelcomfortabletakingoneoftheirthrones,andshetookherusualseatawkwardly,hergazeonherlapasshefeltmanyeyesonher.She’dneveradjustedtothis,despitethefactthatithadbeenhappeningherentirelife;shestilldistinctlyrememberedwhen,agedseven,she’daskedGabrielwhateverybodywasstaringatasthey’denteredafeastinsomeviscount’sgreathall.Hehadshushedherwithawrysmile,andlaterhadgentlyexplainedthattheywereconsideredthemostimportantpeopleinanyroom;nay,inthewholeofEngland.Itwasjustasdisquietingnowasithadbeenthen.
Shewaslookingsodeterminedlyatherhandsthatittookawhiletonoticeaguardstandingattheentrancetothestandstryingtocatchherattention;whenshefinallylookedup,heseemedextremelyrelieved.
‘Yourhighness,forgiveme.There’sa–aladyhere,’hesaid,apparentlystrugglingwithsomeaspectofthissentence,‘whosaysshewassentaroyalinvitationtojoinyou.’
Baffled,Gwenglancedbehindhim,andthenfroze;LadyBridgetLeclairwasstandingthere,flankedbyguards,lookingstraightatGwen.Shewaswearingmen’sclothesagain,adarktunicwithasimplebelt,ashortswordatherhip.Thecutonherlipwasbeginningtoheal,andonesideofherfacewascoveredinblotchypurpleandyellowbruising.Theguardswereallstaringatherasifshewerealostdragon.
Gwenrealisedshewasalsoagape,andquicklyclosedhermouth.Shecertainlyhadn’tsentany‘royalinvitation’,butshecouldhardlyturnherawaynow.
‘Oh.Well–thankyou.’
‘ShouldIaskhertodisarm,yourhighness?’
‘No,no,it’sfine.Letherthrough.’GwensettledbackintoherseatandtriedtolookasifshewereutterlyfascinatedbytheknightscurrentlybeingannouncedtoraucouscheeringasLadyLeclairmadeherwayalongtherow.
‘Yourhighness,’shesaidstiffly,withatinybow.Gwenjuststaredatherforamomentbeforerealisingthatshewaswaitingforpermissiontositdown,andnoddedawkwardlyattheseattoherleft.Arthurhadloungedinit,asifborntositthere;Bridgetsettledinwithperfectpostureandquietconfidence.Gwensatboltuprightinherownchairasifstrappedintosomekindoftorturedevice.
Arthur.Ofcourse.Theonlypersonwho’ddaresendaninvitationonherbehalf.Shewasgoingtokillhim.Itwasincredible,really,thathehadn’tmanagedtomakeitoutofbedtojoinher,buthadfoundthetimetoengineeranotherplandesignedtohumiliateher.
‘You’renot–youaren’tenteringtheliststoday?’Gwenaskedeventuallytobreakthesilence,watchingasoneoftheknightstriedtocalmhishorse,whichwascurrentlywalkingjerkilybackwardsandrollingitseyesagitatedly.
‘No,’Bridgetsaidslowly.‘Ineedalittletimetorecover.ButIassumed…youknewthat.Thenotesaid—’
‘Whobroughtit?’Gweninterrupted,mainlytoavoidfindingouthowhorrificthecontentshadbeen.
‘Ah,’Bridgetsaid.‘Isee.’Sherolledoneofhershouldersbackasifitwerepainingher,andGwenheardsomethingclick.‘Croppedblackhair.Stockybuild.’
‘Yes,’Gwensaiddarkly.‘Iknowhim.Listen,LadyLeclair,I’m—’
Shehadtostopspeakingsuddenlywhensherealisedthattheknightswereapproachingherawkwardlytopresentthemselvestoherinherfather’sstead.Whentheybowedfromtheirsaddles,Gwengavethemastiffnodinreturn,notquitemanagingtosmile.ThesilencebetweenherandBridgetfeltverychargedastheyrodeawaytotaketheirstartingpositions.
‘Youdidn’tsendit,’Bridgetsaidmatter-of-factly.Gwenturnedtoher,imaginingthatshemightbeconfusedbythisrevelation,butshewasjustlookingatGwenexpectantly.
‘No,Ithink–Ithinkanacquaintanceofminewastryingtovexme,’Gwenspluttered,astheGrandMarshalsignalledfortheknightstomakethemselvesready.Bridgetwasstilllookingatherveryintently.
‘Whataboutme,’Bridgetsaidinalow,amusedvoicethatsentathrillupGwen’sspine,‘issoparticularlyvexing?’
Gwenwassparedansweringbythestartoftheevent;theknightsurgedtheirhorsesforwards,thecrowdincreasinginfervourandvolumeuntilthetwocompetitorsmetwithadullcrack.Oneofthehorseshadspookedatthelastmoment,andwhileonelancehadsplintered,theotherhadveeredwildlyofftarget.Theknightwhohadbrokenhislancehadwontheroundwithoutreceivingasingleblowfromhisopponent;healso,however,hadaratherlargepieceofsplinteredwoodstickingoutofhischeek.
Gwenwatchedwithgrimfascinationashedismountedandhissquirecamerushingtohisaid;heattemptedtopullitout,andthecrowdreactedwithcheersandgroansofsympathyasthisonlyseemedtomakehimbleedmoreprofusely.Thesoundoftheknight’sswearing–slightlygarbled,ashewasunabletomoveonesideofhisface–gotfainterashewalkedawaytowardsthecompetitors’encampment.
‘Notmuchofavictory,’saidBridget,watchinghimgo.
‘Well,I’msurethey’llbeabletogetitout,andthenhe’llbeabletocelebrate–although,mightbehardtodrinkwinewithaholeinhisface,asit’lljustallsortof…pouroutofhim,likeahumanthurible…’Gwentrailedoff,wishingshehadjustsaid,‘Yes.’
‘No,’Bridgetsaid.Hereyesweresmiling,evenifhermouthwasn’t.‘Imeant…Youwanttohaveafewrunsateachother.Getyourbloodup.’
‘Isthatwhyyoudoit?’Gwenasked.‘Togetyourblood…pumping?’
Inretrospecttheword‘pumping’didnotseemanauspiciouschoice,butBridgetdidn’tseemtonoticeGwen’scompoundingmisery.
‘That’spartofit,’shesaid,onehandgoingtohermouth,herthumbprobinggentlyatthebruisinguntilshewinced.ShelookedsidewaysatGwen,whowastransfixed.‘Ilikesomerisknowandagain,ifwhat’satstakeisworthhaving.Plus,it’snicetohaveawin.Wedon’tgetalotofthose.’
TheGrandMarshalwasannouncingthenexttojoust:SirWoolcott,anabsolutelyenormousmanwhosesteedbarelyseemedtobeholdinghimup,and…
‘TheKnife,’Gwenhissedassoonassherecognisedhimsittingastridehisgleamingblackhorse,notbotheringtoraiseahandtothecrowd,halfofwhichwasalreadybooinghim.Shedidn’ttemperherexpressionasbothoftheknightscametopayhertheirrespects,theirbowsreallynomorethannods,andnarrowedhereyesatSirMarlin’sbackashetrottedaway.
‘Youshouldn’tcallhimthat,’Bridgetsaidmildly.‘TheKnife,Imean.Givinghimasinisternicknameelevateshim.Makeshimsoundlikehe’smorethanaman.’
‘I’lljustcallhimthatbastardthen,’Gwensaid,surprisingherselfwithherownvehemence.‘TomakeitclearthatIconsiderhimsignificantlylessthanaman.’
Bridgetlaughedquietly.‘Ah.You’renotfondofhim,Itakeit.’
‘Ohyes,’saidGwenheatedly,‘Ihavehimoverforsleepoversinmychambersallthetime.Weeatsweetsandtalkaboutwhichoftheknightsoftheroundtablewe’dmostliketomarryiftheywerestillalive,andthenwelaughabouthisdelightfulpropensitytohitpeoplerepeatedlyovertheheadwhenthey’realreadyontheground.’
‘Itoldyouthatwasn’tpersonal,’saidBridget.
‘Itwasyourpersonalfacehebattered,’saidGwen.‘Yourliphesplit.Thatfeelsprettypersonaltome.’
‘Spokenlikeawomanwho’sneverbeenincombat.’
‘You’retheonlywomanwho’severbeenincombat,’Gwencountered.
Bridget’snonchalancefaltered.‘God.Youdon’treallybelievethat,doyou?’
Therewasaburstoffanfare,andthenthehorse’shoofswerepoundingthegroundastheirriderslevelledtheirlances.Knockhimoffhishorse,GwensilentlyurgedSirWoolcott.Knockhimoffandthenunderhishorse.
Whentheydidcometogether,itseemedherprayershadbeenanswered;SirMarlinwashitsohardthatthemomentumthrewhimhalfwayoutofthesaddle.Thehorsewaspushedoffbalancetoo,andtheyseemedtohoverprecariouslyatanimpossibleanglebeforebothmanandbeastcamecrashingdownintothesand.Thestandserupted,screamingforSirWoolcott,whohadpulleduphishorseandwasholdinghisbrokenlancealoftinvictory.
TheKnifewasstilldown;neitherhenorhishorseseemedabletogetup,astheywerethoroughlyentangledwithbotheachotherandthetiltingrail.SirWoolcottdismountedandapproached,walkingwithanexaggeratedswagger;Gwenexpectedhimtoreachoutahandtohelphisopponent,totakethehorse’shalterandurgeitup,butinsteadhelookedaroundatthecrowd,bathingintheiradoration,andthenslowlyanddeliberatelyunsheathedhissword.
‘Hewouldn’t,’saidBridgetquietly,hereyesnarrowed.
‘Wouldn’t…what?’
‘SirWoolcottwasbloodedinlocaltourneys.Ihavenoideahowhecamebyhistitle–hecertainlydidn’thaveonethelasttimeIencounteredhim.Therearefarfewerrulesinthoseindependenttournaments,and…well,he’snotthegreatestthinker.Andheenjoysthespectacleofviolence.It’snotareassuringcombination.’Bridgetwasn’tlookingatGwenasshespoke;shewasleaningforwardinherseat,bodytense,handsbracedagainstthebarrierasifsheweremomentsawayfromleapingrightoverit.‘Ifthepeoplekeepcheeringforhim,there’snotellingwhathemightdo.Whywon’ttheGrandMarshalcalltostop?’
Gwencranedherneck,lookingforSirBlackwood.‘He’snotinhisseat,’shesaid.Itcameoutbarelylouderthanawhisper.SirBlackwoodwasoftennotwherehewassupposedtobe;evenGwenhadheardtherumoursthattheGrandMarshalhadturneddrinkerandgamblerinrecentyears.Sheknewherfatherhadbeentoobusytopushthematter,butifitcametolightthathehadlefthisposttosettlehisdebtswhileneedlessbloodwasspiltinthearena,there’dbehelltopay.‘Oh,God.Lookatthecrowd.’Theywereallupintheirseats,chantingSirWoolcott’sname.Hehadremovedhishelmandwasgrinningbackatthem,clearlyemboldenedbytheirfrenzy.
‘Thisistheking’stourney,’Bridgetsaid,finallyfacingGwen.Herexpressionwasfurious;itwashardtolookatsomehow,liketryingtostaredirectlyintothesun.‘Everybodyhereknowstheterms.Wefightaccordingtotherulesofchivalry.’
‘Myfatherisn’there,’Gwensaidweakly,gesturingtotheemptyseatsnexttoher.
Bridget’seyestightened.‘Thenthisisyourtourney.’
Gwencouldseethelogicinthis,butinrealityshefeltnomoreinchargethanthepageboyswhoputdownfreshstrawbetweentilts.Notevenherownlady-in-waitingtookherseriously;whywouldanybodyelse?
ShewatchedhelplesslyasSirWoolcottadvancedontheKnife,whowasstilltrappedbeneathhispanickinghorse.
‘Calltheround,’saidBridget.‘Comeon.Tellthemtostop.’
Gwenlookedupather,horrified.‘Ican’tdothat,’shesaid.‘It’snotformeto…Theywon’tlistentomeanyway.’
‘He’sgoingtokillhimifyoudon’t,’Bridgetinsisted.‘Saysomething.’
‘I’msorry,’Gwensaid,paralysedbyfearandguilt.‘Idon’t–Ireallydon’tthinkIcan.’
HowcouldBridgetnotseethatshewasaskingtheimpossible?Andbesides–somebodyelsewouldsurelystepin.Iftheyjustheldonforafewmoreseconds,oneoftheotherknightswouldintervene,ortheGrandMarshalwouldreturn,andthetrumpetswouldsound.TheKnifewouldgetup,SirWoolcottwouldbereprimanded,andthey’dcallinthenextcompetitorswithnoharmdone.
‘Fine,’saidBridget,flexingherfingersagainsttherailing.‘Fine.’BeforeGwencouldblink,shehadjumpedthebarrierandlandedlightlyonthegroundbelow.Sheunsheathedherswordfromherbeltandstrodetowardsthetwoknights.Thereactionfromthecrowdwasimmediateanddeafening.
BridgetduckedunderthetiltingrailandplacedherselfsquarelybetweentheKnifeandSirWoolcott,shouldersback,handssteady.Thelatterlookedather,hischestheaving,almostvibratingwithadrenaline,andthenthrewbackhisheadandlaughed.
‘Youwon,sir.Putyourswordaway,’Bridgetsaid,hervoicelow;Gwenhadtostraintocatchit.
‘You,’scoffedSirWoolcott.‘Youmakeamockeryofthistournament.’
‘IfIdo,thenI’mabouttohavecompany,’Bridgetsaidevenly.‘YouandIbothknowthere’snohonourinfightingamanwho’salreadydown.’
‘No?’shoutedSirWoolcottforalltohear,playingtohiseagercrowd.‘Let’sseewhathonourIcanfindinfightingamangey,jumped-upbitchwhodoesn’tknowherplace’
Thecrowdroareditsapproval.Gwenwatchedwithherheartinhermouth.
Bridgetpushedherhairawayfromherfaceandadjustedherstanceeversoslightly,readyingherself.Thisisridiculous,Gwenthoughtfaintly.She’scoveredhead-to-toeinbruises,andshedoesn’tevenhaveherarmouron
ThisthoughtwasfinallyenoughtogetGwenonherfeet;shealmosttrippedoverherheminherrushtotheendoftheroyalstand.Theguardstandingtherewaswatchingthefight,transfixed.
‘PleasegoandfetchtheGrandMarshal,’Gwensaid.Hecouldn’thearheroverthesoundofthecrowd,andleanedinasshetriedagain.‘Youhaveto–please,getSirBlackwood,now.’
Theguardnodded,andcalledoveranotherofherfather’smen.GwenturnedbacktothearenajustintimetoseeSirWoolcottswinghisswordatBridgetwithsuchvelocitythatwhenshedodgedneatlyoutofthewayitstuckfastinthedirt.Bridgetcouldhavestruck,butshedidn’tseemtowanttohurthim;sheattemptedtotakeouthislegs,tounbalancehimasheyankedattheblade,buthestayedstanding,solidandimmoveableasabrutishtree.
Gwenlookedbehindherdesperately,hopingtoseetheGrandMarshalhurryingtohisseat,buthewasnowheretobefound.Someoftheothercompetingknightshadbeendrawnfromtheirencampment,andseemedtobeconsideringintervening;afewwerealreadyreachingfortheirweapons.Sheheardaclashofswordsagain;Bridgetwasontheground,herweaponheldaboveherhead,SirWoolcott’spressingdownagainstitandelicitingatortuous,shrillsquealassteelmetsteel.
Bridgetwasgoingtolose.Hewasgoingtowoundher,perhapsmortally,andnoteventheknightswiththeirswordsdrawnwouldbethereintimetostopit.Gwensuddenlyfeltdangerouslylight-headedastheentiresceneinfrontofherseemedtoslidesideways,fallingfromhergrip–butthensheheardavoiceringingoutacrossthearena.
‘Stop.’
Thecrowdquieted,andallheadsturned.Gwensaggedagainstthebarrierinherrelief.Herfatherwashere.Herfatherhadcome,andBridgetwassaved.
Whensheturned,however,itwasnotherfather,butGabriel–hewasstandingattheentrancetotheroyalstands,lookingincensedandalittlesick.Theguardsstandingeithersideofhimhadtheirhandsontheirhilts,anditoccurredtoGwenfartoolatethatsheshouldhaveorderedherownguardstostepintothefray.
‘Stopthisatonce,’Gabrielsaidagain,hisvoiceheavywithdisgust.SirWoolcottdeflated,hisgrinfaltering,andthrewhisswordtotheground.TheGrandMarshalhadfinallyreturned;hewaslookingfromGabrieltoBridgetwithnakedpaniconhisface.Good,thoughtGwen,pressinghershakinghandstoherchest.Youuselessbastard.Ihopeyou’redismissedwithoutreferenceorpay.
Bridgetgottoherfeetwithonlyahintofdifficulty,dustingherselfoffascalmlyasifshe’dbeensittingdownforabriefrestratherthanmomentsawayfromabruptlyanddramaticallyexitingthislife;eveninjuredasshewas,sheturnedtoofferahandtoSirMarlin,whohadfinallymanagedtodisentanglehimselffromhishorse.TheKnifesquintedupatherprofferedhand,barkedalaughandthenspatloudlyanddeliberatelyatherfeet.
Murmursandmockingguffawsrippledthroughthestands.BridgetlookeddownattheKnife,andtheKnifeglaredupather,andthenshegavetheslightestofshrugs–asiftosay,Haveityourway–andsheathedhersword,beforeduckingundertherailandwalkingawaytowardstheGrandMarshal.
Gwenwassopreoccupiedwiththewhite-hotragethathadfloodedeveryinchofherattheKnife’sinsolencethatittookheramomenttorealisethatGabrielhadreachedher.
‘God,Gabe,thankyou,’shesaid,puttingahandonhiselbow.‘Idon’tknowwhatwouldhavehappenedifyouhadn’t…Thankyou.’
‘Howdiditgetthatfar?’hesaid.Nowthathewascloser,shecouldseethathishandswereshaking.‘Gwendoline.Whydidn’tyousaysomething?’
‘I–Iwasgoingto,but…Icouldn’tthink,andtheywouldn’thavelistenedtomeanyway.’
Gabrieltookafewsteadyingbreaths.‘IfallIhadtodowasshout,’hesaidquietly,‘thenallyouhadtodowasshout.’
Gwenfeltshamebloomingdarklyinhergutashesighedandpattedherontheshoulder,lookingmildlyapologetic,asifitwerehisfaultforburdeningherwithhisunrealisticexpectations.
Asifheknew,likeshedid,thatattheendoftheday–shejustdidn’thaveitinher.Uponwaking,ArthurimmediatelyknewthatitwasgoingtobeanotherVeryBadDay.Sometimesthebaddayscameoutofnowhere,hittinghimwiththeforceofabatteringramhalfwaythroughsomeinanemorningtask,andsometimestheywereeasilypredicted.Anightofdrinking,forexample,usuallyprecipitatedanextremelygloomymorning,punctuatedbyroilingnauseaandwavesofself-hatredthatlefthimdourandsullenandutterlyuselesstoabsolutelyeverybody,himselfincluded.Sinceallthathadhappenedlastsummer,hislowestlowshadsomehowintensified,asifhe’dunlockedthedoortonewrealmsofmisery.
Arthurhadn’tgonetomeetGwendolineforthejoustearlierintheweek–he’dawokenlatethatmorningandnotbotheredtomarkthetime,ashehadabsolutelynointentionofbeingfriendlyoruseful–andhadinsteadspenttherestofthedayinbed.Andmostofthedayafter.He’dreceivedanextremelysnippynotethenextmorning,deliveredtoSidneybyablushingAgnes,butnoamountofblackmailcouldmakehimaconvincingsuitorwhenhewasfeelingsodire.
Eventuallyhehaddecidedthatthebestsolutionwouldbetoopenanotherbottleofwine,andheandSidneyhadstayeduplatethepreviouseveningplayingcardsuntilArthurcouldn’tdistinguishaqueenofheartsfromasixofclubs.Sidneyhadleftsomefoodthismorning,butthesightoffruitandcheeseturnedArthur’sstomach;hewantedlovely,reliablebread,andSidneyhadclearlyalreadyeatenthroughtheirsupply.Itwasselfish,really;themanhadanironstomach,andArthur’swasfamouslydelicate.
Hedreadedtheideaofleavingtheroom,buthedreadedlifewithoutbreadmore;hereluctantlyslunkfromhischambersandmadehiswaydowntothekitchens,keepinghiseyesfirmlyonthefloor.Herefusedtoacknowledgeanybodyatalluntilhehadtoattemptasmiletobarterwiththecook,whohandedoverhalfaloafwithasuspiciouslookasifhemightbeabouttodosomedark,yeastyritualwithit.Hetoreintoitashewalked,leavingatrailofcrumbsinhiswake.Hewasalmostatthestairswhenhefeltsomethingsmallandinsistentbumpagainsthislegswithpurpose.
‘Hello,Lucifer,’Arthursaid,bendingdowntostrokehimandreceivingoverenthusiasticheadbuttsinreturn.‘Iassumeitwasyouwhovomitednexttothebedlastnight.Couldhavebeenme,Isuppose,butIdon’tremembereatinganythingwitharat’sheadinit.’
‘Arthur?’saidapolitelybemusedvoicefromdownthecorridor;heglanceduptoseeGabrielapproaching,holdingastackofparchmentandpeeringdownathim.Hiscurlswerestickinguphaphazardly,asifhe’dbeenrunninghishandthroughthem,andhehadasmudgeofinkonhischin.Thegeneraleffectwasn’tparticularlyregal.
Whenthecat,suddenlyneglected,gaveascandalisedmiaow,itoccurredtoArthurthatitprobablywasn’tthedonethingtoplaywithgrimystraysonthecastlelanding.‘Youneedn’tlooksohorrified,Gabriel,’hesaid,scratchingthecatdefiantlybehindtheears.‘Ididn’tletthedamnthingin.He’sbeenfollowingmearoundfordaysmakingsadeyesatme–pitiful,really.InamedhimLucifer.’
‘Right,’saidGabriel.Atthesoundofhisvoice,Lucifer’searstwitched;heduckedunderneathArthur’shandandranstraightfortheprince,rubbinghimselfagainsthisbootsandmakinglittletrillingsounds.
‘Well.Whydidhedothat?’Arthursaid,suddenlyfeelingridiculouswithoutacattostrokeandstraighteningupfromhissquat.
‘Probablybecausehe’smycat,’Gabrielsaidmildly,bendingdowntoscratchhimandlosinghalfthestackofpapersashedidso.‘He’scalledMerlin.’
‘Merlin?’saidArthur,equalpartsmiffedthatthecathadalreadybeenclaimedandhorrifiedthatithadsuchanawfulname.‘BetyourWizardlovesthat.’
‘Ithinkhedoes,actually,’Gabrielsaid,asthecatalmostclimbedupontohisshouldersinitsattemptstogetclosertohim.TheroleofcourtWizardwasanancienttraditionreintroducedwhenGabriel’sfathertookthethrone,andwasentirelyceremonial.Whilecultistsbelievedwholeheartedlyinrealmagic–thetypethatcouldturnbackarmies,transformpeopleintobirdsandhealthesick–eventheyhadtoadmitthatnobodyhadexhibitedthatsortofpowersincethedaysofMerlinandMorgana(andthatwasifyoubelievedthelegends,whichArthurdecidedlydidnot).Asaresult,theWizardtookonaninformalspiritualandadvisoryroleonthecouncil,andwasneveraskedtoproducesomuchasasparkoftruesorcery.
‘Littlebitrougharoundtheedgesforaroyalpet,don’tyouthink?’Arthursaid,watchingLucifer–herefusedtocallhimMerlin–droptothegroundandthenflopoversothathecouldwritheshamelesslyaroundonhisback.
‘He’safreespirit,’saidGabriel,moretothecatthantoArthur.‘Ifoundhimwhenhewasakitten,lookingratherlost,andheneverreallytooktoalifeofleisure.Toowild,Isuppose.You’reamanofaction,aren’tyou,Merlin?Hescrapswithfather’shoundsallthetime,andthey’reabouteighttimeshissize.Ijustfeedhimandtrytocleanuphiswarwounds,whenheletsme.’
ThiswaswithoutadoubtthemostArthurhadeverheardGabrieltalk.Itstoodtoreasonthatitwasaboutacat.Arthurscrubbedahandacrosshisface,andlookeduptoseeGabrielwatchinghim.
‘Areyouallright?’hesaid,surprisingArthuragain;theprincewaslookingathimclosely,probablytakinginhisdarkcirclesandthegeneralairofdespondencehewasn’taliveenoughtodisguisetoday.Hewasfrowningagain.Arthurwouldhavefrownedback,buthisfacehurt.
‘Notreally,’hesaid,whichwasalsoasurprise.Thiswaswhyheshouldn’thavelefthisroom;itwasdangeroustobeletlooselikethis,tobealarminglyhonesttoanybodywhohappenedtostumbleacrosshispathandexpressamodicumofinterest.Hehadareputationtouphold,afterall.
‘Youlook…tired,’Gabrielventured.
‘Sodoyou,’saidArthur.
Itwastrue,butitwasalmosthisdefaultstate.Gabrielhadalwaysbeenaserious,quietchild–GwenwastheonlyoneArthurhadeverseengetasmileoutofhim–anditdidn’tseemlikemuchhadchanged.
‘Well.I’mexpectedatthe…Myfamilyisattendingthetournamentagaintoday,’Gabrielsaidslowly.‘IknowGwenhasaskedyoutojoinher.’
Arthurfeltimmediatelyrankledbythesuggestionthathehadbeensummoned,andshouldthereforeobey.‘Ididreceivethatinvitation.Manyinvitations,infact,eachmorecolourfullywordedthanthelast.IactuallythoughtthatinsteadImightgoandfindamanwithstrongarms–youknow,blacksmith,windowcleaner–andaskhimtoholdmedowninthemoatuntildead.’
Gabriellookedtakenaback,andsomewhereverydeepdownArthurfeltalittleguilty.Heputastoptothisatonce.HeandGwenmayhavemadeadeal,buthewasnoroyallapdog;theyweresupposedtobeequalsinthisarrangement,ifnothingelse,andhewouldn’tcomerunningonhereverywhim.
‘Fine,’saidGabriel,startingawaydownthecorridor.Thecatattemptedtofollow;heglanceddownatit,thenbackatArthur,andsaid,‘Stayhere,Merlin.’Incredibly,thecatstoppedabruptlyandsatdown,tailtwitching.TheybothwatchedasGabrieldisappearedoutofsight.
‘Uh-oh.’ArthurturnedtoseethatSidneyhadfinallycaughtuptohim;hewaswatchingGabrielwalkaway,withhisarmsfoldedandoneeyebrowraised.‘Iknowthatlook.’
‘Whatlook?Thereisn’talook,’Arthursnapped.Hestrodeovertothecatandpickeditup,ignoringitsstartledlittleyowl.
‘He’snotbad-looking,’Sidneyobservedastheywalkedtogetherbyunspokenagreementbackinthedirectionoftheirchambers.‘AndImean,youloveaterribleidea.Thisonecouldbeyourworstyet.’
Arthurchosetoignorehim.
TheyreturnedtotheirroomsandArthursleptsoundlyallafternoonwithLucifercurleduponthepillownexttohim,purringmadlyanddigginghisclawsintoArthur’sscalpwheneverthemoodtookhim.WhenArthurfinallyopenedhiseyes,Sidney’sfacewasinchesawayfromhis.
‘Isthisaseduction?’Arthurcroaked.‘Becauseyourbreathsmellslikeonions.’
‘Believeme,you’dknowifitwasaseduction,’saidSidney,puttingabitofspacebetweenthem.‘Youwouldn’tbeabletomissit.You’dbelike,Christ,whataseductionI’mhavingrightnow.’
‘Lovely,’Arthursaiddully.
‘Wasjustcheckingthatyou’restillbreathing.’
‘Iregrettoinformyou:yes,’saidArthur.
‘Doyouwanttocomeouttonight,ordoyouwanttomope?’
Arthurconsidered.‘Mope.’
‘Idon’tsupposethere’smuchpointaskingwhat’swrong?’
Arthursatuponhiselbowsandsighed.‘It’ssortofgeneralandspecificatthesametime.Life,theworld,existentialdespair;myfather,myblushing-bride-to-be,herfather.It’sallextraordinarilyboring,Sid.I’mexhaustedlisteningtomyselftalkaboutit.’
‘Well,Ithinkyoushouldbuckup,’saidSidney,pullinghisjacketon.‘Livinginacastle.Wholecityofstrappingyoungmentopineafter.Therearemuchworsethings,Art.Andyou’vegotacat.’
‘It’snotevenmycat,’ArthurcalledafterSidneyasheleft.Luciferlookedathimreproachfully,andArthurtappedhimgentlyonthenose.‘Ididn’tmeanthat.’
Afewhourslater,Arthurfoundhimselfquiteboredwithsulking;hepacedcirclesaroundtheroom,dranksomewine,trailedbootlacesacrossthefloorforLucifer,andthenfeltgenuinelyhurtwhenthecateventuallygotboredtooandscreechedatthedoortobeletout.Oncethedoorwasopen,ArthurthoughthemightaswellputonhiscoatandseeaboutcatchingupwithSidney.
Hepausedwhenhereachedthestaircase;theroyalwingwasjustbeyondit.Gwendoline’snoteshadbeengettingincreasinglycrotchetyintone,anddespitehisreluctance,hecouldkilltwobirdswithonestoneifheexitedthecastleviaherwindow.Hehalfexpectedtheguardstostophimwhenhereachedthem,butinsteadoneofthemgavehisneighbourajust-perceptiblesmirkandthenstoodasidetolethimthrough.
ArthurknockedonGwendoline’sdoor,wonderingforamomentifshemightbeelsewhere,butwhenAgnesadmittedhimhesawthattheprincesswassittingbythefire,reading.Herhair,normallybraidedupoutofherface,wasalreadyundoneforbed;itsoftenedhersomewhat,althoughsheruinedtheeffectimmediatelybyscowlingathim.
‘Areyouevernot…here?’Arthursaid,wavingaroundattheroomasheentered.
‘Areyoueverwhereyou’resupposedtobe?’Gwendolinecountered,closingherbook.‘Agnes,giveustheroomplease.’Agnesleft,ratherreluctantly.‘Thanksfornotbotheringtoshowuptothejoust,Arthur.AndforinvolvingLadyLeclairagain–doesyourselfishnessknownobounds?Youhaven’tbeenatasingleevent,orrepliedtoanyofmynotes.You’reareallyfunpersontofakearelationshipwith.’
‘Oh,shit,’saidArthurthoughtfully.‘Icompletelyforgotaboutthat.TheLadyLeclairthing,Imean.Gladitwentoffasintended.’
‘Yoursincereandheartfeltapologyisnoted,’spatGwendoline.‘Whyhaven’tyoubeenatdinnereither?Ihaven’tseenyouatall.Haveyouevenbeensleepinginthiscastle?’
‘Wouldn’tyouliketoknow,’Arthursaidairily,despitethefactthathe’dessentiallyonlybeensleeping.
‘Thisonlyworksifyou’reactuallyhere,Arthur,andifweactuallypretendit’s…Youaresoinfuriating.’Arthurshruggedinawaythatheknewalltoowellwasfrustratinglyinsolent.‘Wehadadeal,andinsteadyou’retoyingwithmeonpurpose.Whydon’tyoucare?’
Arthurwasslightlytakenabackbytheemotioninhervoice;shelookedalittlegreyaroundtheedges,asifshe’dbeenexpendingmoreenergythanshecouldaffordtogive.
‘Allright,’hesaid,sighing.‘Fine.I’mhere.I–Icare.’
Gwendolinestaredathimforasecond,andthenallthefightseemedtogooutofher.‘Sitdown,’shesaidheavily.Unabletomustertheoutragerequiredtodisobey,Arthurdid.Hecouldfeelherlookingathim,sohekepthiseyesfixedonthefire.
‘Whydoyouhateme?’shesaid.Thiswasstartlingenoughtogethimtolifthishead.
‘Doesitmatter?’
‘Yes,itmatters.I’drathernotspendmytimewithsomebodywhoactivelyrevilesme.’
‘WhatifIdon’twanttotellyou?’
‘Well,’Gwendolineblustered.‘Youhaveto.’
‘Andthereitis,’saidArthur,rollinghiseyes.‘Look–Idon’tparticularlyenjoybeingorderedaround,insubordinateasthatmightmakeme.’
‘Idon’tgiveorders,’Gwendolinesaidquickly.‘Oneofushastoactlikeanadult,Arthur—’
‘Thereisitagain,’saidArthurbitterly.‘Can’tyouhearyourself?Asconvenientanexcuseasitwouldbetobreakoffthisengagement,you’renotmymother,Gwendoline.’
Gwendolineexhaledaquickhuffoffrustration.Shedrummedherfingerslightlyonthearmsofherchair,andthengottoherfeetandcrossedtheroomtofetchapitcherofsomethingfromherdresserandpourherselfasmallglass.Whateveritwassmeltsharplyoflemons–lemonsandsomethingslightlymedicinal,likemint.Shetookalongdrink,andthenturnedtoleanagainstthedresser,eyeingArthurthoughtfully.
‘Inevermetyourmother,’shesaid.
‘What?No,you–youdid.Youjustwouldn’tremember.’Arthurbarelyremembered,andheclungtothescrapsthatweretheresofiercelythatheworriedhe’dmadethemupinhisdesperation.Long,darkhair;thesmellofincenseburninginherrooms;kissespressedtohisheadwhenhewashalfasleep;hisfatheractuallysmiling,hismotherdragginghimoutofhisstudysothatthethreeofthemcouldeatdinnertogethereverynight,Arthur’slegsnotquitereachingtheflooryetunderthetable.He’dbeensixwhenshedied.Gwendolinemusthavebeenfour.
Thatsummerwasutterlyblank.He’daskedMrsAshworthaboutitonce,andshe’dsaidthathescreamedsomuchandsocontinuouslythathisfatherhadaskedhertotakehimoutofthehouseallday,everyday,forweeksonend,returningonlywhenhe’dexhaustedhimselfintosilence.
‘Oh,’saidGwendoline.‘Whatwasshelike?’
‘Shewas…Idon’tknow,shewasmymother,’saidArthur.‘Shedidn’tlivelongenoughtobedisappointedbyme,soallIhavearepleasantmemories.’
Gwendolinesighed.Shepickedupthejugagainandfilledherglasstothebrim.Shehesitated,andthenpouredasecond.Whenshewenttohandittohim,Arthureyeditwithdeepsuspicion.
‘OhforChrist’ssake,Arthur,I’mnottryingtopoisonyou.Justdrinkit,itwon’tkillyou,’Gwendolinesaidcrossly,sittingbackdowninherchair.‘Youwereanightmareeverytimeyouvisited,youknow.That’swhyIdidn’tlikeyou,incaseyou’reevenremotelyinterested.Youwereawfultome.Andyoutookpleasureinit.Youstilldo.’
‘Youjustmakeitsoeasy.’Arthursampledhisglass.Itwasn’tbad;sour,butinfusedwithsomethinggentlysweet.
‘Iwasachild!Iwasyoungerthanyou,Ilookeduptoyou,andyoujust…Iletyouridemynewpony,andinreturnyouputatoadinmybed.’
Arthurstaredatherincredulously.‘That’snothowithappened.’
‘Yesitis,Iremember—’
‘Youletmerideyourponyasadisplayofyourgrandbenevolence,andthenyougotangryandstartedstampingyourlittlefeetbecauseyouwanteditback,andIwashavingtoomuchfun,andthen–youranandtoldmyfatherthatyoudidn’tlikeme,andthatyou’dneverlikeme.Thatyouwantedhimtotakemeaway.’Hestoppedtotakeasipoflemons.‘Myfatherdidn’ttakethatparticularlywell.’
‘Soyouputatoadinmybedbecauseyourfatherscoldedyou?’
‘No,Gwendoline,IputatoadinyourbedbecausemyfathertoldmeIwasuselesstohimifyourparentsendedourbetrothal,’Arthursaidheatedly.‘Iputatoadinyourbedbecausemyfathersaidthatitwasmysolepurposeonthisearthtouniteourfamiliesandtomakemyselfagreeabletoyou,andthatifIcouldn’tevenmanagethat,Iwasevenmoreofawasteofspacethanhe’dpreviouslyimagined.’
‘What?’saidGwendolinesharply.‘Nohedidn’t.Youwerenine.’
‘Oddlyenough,Irememberitdistinctly–althoughheprobablydoesn’t;hewasdrinkingquiteheavilybythatpoint.Anyway,Ididn’tparticularlyenjoythatlittlechat.’
‘Hencethetoad,’Gwendolinesaidquietly.
‘Hencethefuckingtoad.’
Theysatinsilenceforawhile,brokenonlybythesoundofArthurputtinghisglassbackonthetable.Heranathumbroundtherimofit,pressingalittletoohard.Hefeltrawandexposed–hewantedtogatherupeverythinghe’djustsaidandpushitbackinsidehimself,notleavinganythingforGwentoholdontooragainsthim.
‘Ididn’tknow,’shesaideventually.
‘ThisisshapinguptobetheworsthangoverI’veeverhad,’hesaidirritably.‘Justsoyouknow,that’stheonlyreasonIhaven’talreadyjumpedhead-firstoutofthewindowratherthancontinuethis.I’mcompromised.’
‘Youdrinktoomuch.’
‘Yes,andtothatpoint,theskyisblue.’
‘Don’tyoucare?’
Arthurpressedhisthumbandforefingeragainsthiseyelids,distantlyhopingthathemightpushhiseyeballsintohisbrainandputanabruptandbloodyendtothisconversation.‘Whatelsewouldyourecommend?’
‘I’mnotsure,’Gwensaid.Sheglancedoveratthewindow.‘Areyougoingout?’
‘Yes,’snappedArthur.‘No.Idon’tknow.’
‘Veryilluminating,’saidGwen.‘Youreallydon’thavetoleteverysinglethingIsayputyourbackup.’
‘Pots,kettles.’
‘God,can’twe–canwejustcallatruce?For,Idon’tknow,fiveminutes?’Gwensaid.Finallytootiredtoargue,Arthurjustshrugged.Heregrettedeverenteringthisroom,buthewasquitecommittedtothisarmchair,andGwenwaspouringhimanotherglassoflemonwater.
‘Wheredoyougo?Whenyougo…out?’
‘Oh,youknow.Densofillrepute.Gamblinghouses.Unregulatedcockfights.’Gwenjustlookedathimovertherimofherglass.‘Idon’tknow,usually…inns,taverns.Theguttersoutsideinnsandtaverns.Sofar,Sidneyisverydisappointedbywhatyourfinecityhastooffer–didyouknowthatyou’vegottwodrinkingestablishmentscalledTheRoundTable?They’reonlytenminutesapart.’
‘No,Ididn’t,’saidGwen.‘Idon’treallygointothecity.Itdoesn’tsurprisemethough.IhavefourcousinsnamedLancelot.TwoPercivals.CourtisrifewithnobleladiescalledMorgan,orMorgana.’
‘NoMordreds?’Arthursaid,andGwensnorted.
‘Shame.Healwaysseemedthemoreinterestingofmyancestors.Theydolovetoglossoverallthestickypartsthough,don’tthey?What’salittleincest,betweenfamily.’
‘Itdoesn’tbotheryou,then?Tothinkabout…whereyoucamefrom?’
Arthurlaugheddrily.‘Er,no.Ifyougobackafewhundredyears,I’mafraideverybodywasshaggingtheirbrother.Itwasweirdifyoudidn’tshagyourbrother.Don’tmakethatface,nobody’saskingyoutodoitnow,althoughasbrothersgo—’
‘Arthur.’
‘I’mjustendlesslythankfulthatmyfamilyranoutofattractivesiblingsandfirstcousinsandbranchedouttootherkingdoms.Youprobablyweren’tsolucky.’
‘Well,Fatherwasn’tabloodheirtothethrone,’Gwensaid,shrugging.‘Justrelatedbymarriage.OurlineisNormantoo,ofcourse,liketheoldking’s,butyoucankeepyourinbreedingjokes–theydon’tholdwater.’
Arthursighed.Hewasfondofthosejokes.‘I’veneverunderstoodwhyhedraggedcourttoCamelot,whenhehasabsolutelynotiestotheplaceandit’spracticallydemolishingitself.’
Gwenwrinkledhernoseathim.‘Doyoupayanyattentiontowhat’shappeninginthiscountry?’
‘NotifIcanhelpit.’
‘WhenFathertookthethrone,thepeoplehadjustunitedbehindhim–yourfamilyincluded–toavoidtheriskofbecomingWestNorway.Butoncethatthreathadpassed,peoplestoppedfeelingquitesocuddly.TheriftthatLordWillardhadwantedtoleveragetotakethethronehimself–thegrowingdividebetweenCatholicsandArthuriancultists–wasstillthere.Willardhimselfhaslongquieteneddownandmadepeacewithmyfather,butthecultistsarestillunhappy.’
‘SohedraggedeverybodytoCamelotasapeaceoffering?’
‘Well.Yes.He’stryingtohealthedivide.MakeanEnglandforeverybody.Therearelotsofcultistsonhisstaff,youknow.LordStafford,forone.AndofcoursewehaveaWizard,MasterBuchanan,whichmymotherthinksiscompletelyridiculous.’
Arthurlaughed.‘Itisridiculous.’
‘Yourfatherisacultist!’
‘Yes.AndmymotherwasMuslim,andyourfatherisCatholic.’
Gwenfinallyseemedtonoticethatherglasswasempty,andwentforthejugagain.‘What’syourpoint?’
‘Thatspiritually,ourcupoverfloweth,’saidArthur.‘Althoughmyactualcupisquiteempty.’Gwenrolledhereyes,butfilleditforhimanyway.‘MypointisthatIdon’thavetobelieveinwhatmyfatherdoes.Idon’tknowifIbelieveinanythinginparticular.’
‘I’mCatholic,’Gwensaidautomatically.‘Imean–Idon’tgotomassanymore,really.Fathercanhardlykickoffaboutitwhenhe’stryingtoencouragefreedomofreligion.AndIstoppedprayingwhen…’Shetrailedoff,lookingsuddenlyembarrassed.
‘When?’
Gwenwasn’tlookingathim;shewaspickingathernailsinstead,halfofherlipcaughtbetweenherteeth,asifshewereattemptingtodevourandunravelherselfintheleastefficientwayspossible.
‘Iusedtoprayforalltheusualthings.Formyfamily’shealth,forthekingdom.AndthenonedayIrealisedI’dbeenslippingotherthingsintheretoo.ThingsIwantedformyself.ThingsIknewIcouldneverhave.Anditgottoo…painful,Isuppose,tokeepaskingandasking,knowingitwasfutile.AndthethingsIwantedstartedtofeel…wrong.SoIstopped.’
Arthurwastryingveryhardnottopityher,butitwasdifficultwhenshewascurrentlyembodyingthePlatonicidealofpitiful.‘Iwouldn’tsayit’swrongtodevelopacrushonadashing,lustyyoungknightoftherealm.I’dsayit’sentirelynormal.’
‘Well,ofcourseyouwould,’Gwensnapped.Sheclosedhereyesandpushedherhairoutofherface.‘Sorry.Idon’treallyknowhowtotalkaboutanyofthis.Ihaven’tbefore.I’mnotlikeyou,Arthur.Youdowhatyoulike,andkisswhoyoulike,anddamntheconsequences—’
‘Iamlivingwiththeconsequencesrightnow,’Arthursaidbitterly.‘Iamdrinkingjuicewiththeconsequences.’Hisgoodwilltowardsherwasrapidlyevaporating.
‘Howdoyoudoit?’Gwensaid.Shewaslookingathimlikehewassomesortofpatronsaintofsame-sexkissing,andherelentedandshrugged.
‘Nobodyelseisevergoingtocareasmuchasyoudoaboutthethingsthatyouwant,Gwendoline.Soit’suptoyou–youcanputthemasideforever,ifyoucanlivewiththat,oryoucanputonyourbig-girlgirdleanddemandmoreforyourself.’
Gwenlookeddeflated,asifthiswerenottheanswershehadbeenafter.‘Idon’tthinkIcan.’
Arthurgrimacedatherandthenabruptlystoodup,scrapinghischairbackandstretching.‘Well.Thishasbeendepressingenoughtomakemefeelheapsbetteraboutmyownlife,soforthat,Ithankyou.’
‘Oh–soyouaregoingout?’Gwenasked,lookingstartled.Itwasdisquietingtohavemanagedcivilityforsolongthatshedidn’tlookimmediatelythrilledattheprospectofhimleaving.ItmademuchmoresensetohimwhenheandGwenactivelyloathedeachother;thishadfeltdangerouslyclosetoarealconversation.
‘No.I’mgoingbacktomyrooms.I’mtired,andI’mill-tempered,andbesides–mycatneedsme.’
‘Whatcat?Youdon’thaveacat.’Heignoredher,givingherahalf-heartedwaveofhishandonhiswaytothedoor.‘Arthur.Whatcat?’Twodayslater,thefragiletrucestillseemedtobeholding.ArthurhadnoddedatGwenfromdownthehallwaywhennobodyelsewasaroundtorequirethepretence,hadactuallybotheredtosendSidneybackwitharesponsewhenAgnestookhimanote,andthateveningwhenGwenleftherchambersfordinnerhewaswaitingatthetopofthestairs,clean-shavenandfreshlywashedandgenerallylookinginmuchhigherspiritsthanhehadbeenthelasttimethey’dspoken.
‘What’sthatsmell?’shesaid,asheheldoutanarmandshetookit.
‘Oh,lovely,that’sjustwhatapersonlikestohearinlieuofgreeting.’
‘No,it’s–it’snice,’Gwensaidquickly,eagertokeepthehard-wonpeace.‘Yousmelllikesomething…Idon’tknow,musky.Andkindoflike–atree?’
‘Kindoflikeatree,’Arthurrepeateddespairingly.‘It’sorangeandsandalwood.Youpainme.Kindoflikeatree.’
‘Whatpartofanythingyoujustsaiddoesn’tcomefromatree?’Gwensaidindignantly.Arthursighedinexasperation,whichGwenthoughtwasn’tparticularlyfair.
Shehadbeentryingtopayhimacompliment.Shejustwasn’tverygoodatthem.
Thehallwaspackedwithguestsonceagain,thetournamentcontinuingtoattractmorevisitorsthanGwenhadeverseen.AsaladyofnoblebirthandGwen’spersonalattendant,Agnesshouldhavebeensittinginherusualplacewithotherladiesofsimilarstanding,butGwensawhercovertlyslideinoppositeSidneyinstead,blushingasheleanedacrossthetabletotalktoher.Arthurhadnoticedtoo;heraisedhiseyebrowsandshotGwenaconspiratorialglance,makinghersnort.Shestoppedshortwhensherealisedwhatshewasdoing.SincewhenhadArthurmadeherlaugh?SincewhenhadsheandArthurhadinsidejokes?
Gabrielwasrunninglatefordinner;whenhesatdownnexttoGwen,shenoticedthattheywerewearingalmostexactlythesameshadeofblue.
‘Twinsareveryunnatural,’saidArthurconversationally.
‘We’renottwins,’Gwensaid.‘Asyouwellknow.’
‘Youlookidentical,’Arthursaid,spearingabitofchickenwithhisforkandpointingitatGabriel,‘andhecan’thavemorethanafewinchesonyou,height-wise,becauseyouare–toputitdelicately–somesortofgiantess.’
‘Arthurisverysensitiveaboutthefactthatwe’rethesameheight,’GwensaidtoGabrielbywayofexplanation.‘Heexaggerates,becauseifI’magiganticwoman,thenhecanpretendhe’sanaverage-sizedman.’Gabrieljustclearedhisthroatawkwardly,andpickeduphisfork.
Therestofdinnerpassedwithoutincident.Arthurwasonhisbestbehaviour,andeverytimeGwenlookedupshenoticedpeoplewatchingthem;smiles,elbownudges,whispersandnodsintheirdirection.Arthurkeptrefillingherglass,leaninginandfindinglittleexcusestoputahandonherarm.Gwenwassurprisedtofindherselfunbothered.Hehadmasteredtheartofmakingtheirconversationlookintimatewithoutactuallysteppingoverthelineintouncomfortableterritory.
Towardstheendofthemeal,whenpeopletendedtodriftfromtheirplacestofindentertainmentfurtherafield,SidneyraisedahandtocallArthurovertowherehewassittingwithAgnes.Arthurleft,givingGwenasqueezeontheshoulderashewalkedaway.
‘That’sgoingwell,then,’Gabrielsaid.
‘Well–yes,Isupposeso.Areyouallright?Youlook…squinty.’
‘No,’Gabrielsaid.‘Imean,yes.I’mallright.Justsatinfourhoursofmilitarystrategymeetings,shufflinglittlepretendtroopsandhorsesaroundamapofEngland.’
‘Cultistsagain?’Gwensaidquietly,andGabrielgaveasmallnodinresponse.‘Isitbad?’
‘No,’Gabrielsaid.‘Idon’tthinkso.Justtheselittlepocketsof…potentialunrest,Isuppose.Theyseemtobepoppingupallovertheplace,butespeciallytowardsthenorth.Theylookliketheymightboilover,sowe’resendingmen.Toomanymen,Ithink,butthenI’veneverreallyhadaheadforstrategy.’
‘Iftheysendallourmennorth,who’slefttoprotectushere?’
‘Idon’tknow,’saidGabriel.‘You,Isuppose.’
‘Well,didyoutellFatherwhatyouthought?Aboutthewarchests?’
GabrielhadrecentlyconfidedinGwenthathethoughttheywerespendingtoomuchmoneyfightingtheirvariousbattles;hewantedtheirfathertodivertsomeofit,tofocusonhelpingtheordinarypeopleofEngland,buthadn’tyetfoundthecouragetotellhim.
‘Somehowithasn’tcomeup,’Gabrielsaid.Hewasn’tlookingatGwen.Hewaswatchingsomebodyacrosstheroom.AsGwenfinishedherstewedpears,heexcusedhimselftogoandspeaktotheWizard;latelyGwenhadnoticedhimspendingmoreandmoretimewithMasterBuchanan,whowasprobablythrilledthatsomebodyintheroyalfamilywastakinganinterestinArthurianhistory,evenifitwasonlyacademic.ArthurwasstilltalkingtoSidneyandAgnes;hesaidsomethingwithawrysmilethatmadeAgnessnortaleoutofhernose.Foramoment,Gwenimaginedwhatitmightbeliketogetupandjointhem.
‘Goodevening,Gwendoline.’
Gwenstartledatthesoundofherfather’svoice.HesatdowninGabriel’schairwithaglassinhand,makingasmallgroaningsoundashedid;hewasn’tthatoldreally,butageseemedtohavecaughtupwithhiminarushrecently.
‘Evening,Father.Gabrielsaidyouwerewiththewarcouncilmostoftheday.’
‘Oh?Yes,yes.Isupposewewere.’
‘Butyouwon’thavetogo?’
‘North?No,Ishouldn’tthinkso.Notforsometimeanyway.Hopefullynever.’
Gwenbitherlip.‘Gabrielsaid–Imean,hementionedthatyouweresendingalotoftroops,andIthought—’
Thekingchuckled,soundingverytired.‘Ah.Yes,thatdidtakeupquitealotoftheafternoon.Don’tworryyourselfaboutthat…Tellme,howarethingsgoingwithyoungArthur?’
‘Oh.Good,’Gwensaid,whichwasmostlytrue.‘We’regettingalongmuchbetter.’
‘I’mgladtohearit,’saidtheking,pattingheronthehand.‘Ireallydon’twishforyoutobeunhappy.IknowI’veputyouinadifficultposition–butIhopeyouknowIwouldn’thavedoneitifitweren’ttrulyimportant.Moresonowthanever.’
‘Soitisbad?’Gwensaid.Whenshewasyounger,hehadoftenconfidedminormattersofstatetoherovertheirregulargamesofchess,whenhermotherwasn’ttheretohearhimandtellhimoffforfillingherheadwithinformationthatwasofnousetoher;latelyanyone-on-onediscussionsabouttherunningofthecountryhadbeenreservedforGabrielalone.‘Withthecultists,Imean?’
Herfathersighed,rubbingathisbeard.‘Theproblemwithcompromise,’hesaideventually,‘isthat,often,everybodyloses.Yousitonthefenceforsolongthatyoudiscoveryou’vebuiltakingdomonit.’Hetookalongdrinkofwine,andthenvisiblyperkedup.‘Ah,hereheis.BeenaskingtheWizardtomakereadythetroopsofmagicbirds,son?’
‘No,’saidGabriel,shiftinguncomfortably.Thekingnoddedslightlyawkwardly,andthengottohisfeet.
‘Dutycalls.TheEarlofNorthumberlandwantstotalkmyearoffaboutArthurianmiracles;apparentlyamagpietoldsomebodyintheportofBlythtobewareofred-headedmen.’
GwenandGabrielretiredtoherroomtoplaychessafterdinner.Gwenusedtheopportunitytoquizhimfurtheraboutthesupposedlyimminentcultistuprisings,whilehisanswersgotincreasinglyweary,mostofthemculminatingin,‘Idon’tknow,G.Comeon,it’syourmove.’
ItwasquitelatewhenAgnes,whohadostensiblybeenchangingGwen’sbedclothesandarrangingheroutfitforthenextdayintheotherroom,emergedwearinghercloakandlookingverymuchlikeapersonwhodidn’twanttobenoticed.GwenandGabrielbothturnedtolookather,andshefrozeonthespot.
‘Goingsomewhere?’saidGwen.
‘No,’Agnessaid,flushingverypink.
‘Justthoughtyou’dtakeyourcloakforaturnabouttheroom,then?’
Gabrielshotherawarninglook–alookthatsaidbenice–andshesighed.‘You’reallowedtogoout,Agnes.Idon’tparticularlycarewhatyougetuptoatnight,aslongasyoudon’twakemeonyourreturn.’
Therewasasoftknockatthedoor.Agneslookedevenmoreguiltythanshehadbefore.
‘Who’sthat?’saidGwen.
‘Nobody,’saidAgnes,bunchingtheedgesofhercloakupinherhands.
‘Agnes,’somebodyhissed,inaveryloudstagewhisper.‘Ags,it’sSidney.Openthebloodydoor.’
‘Idon’tknowwhathe’sdoinghere,’Agnessaid,stickingherchinoutdefiantly,stillbrightred.GwenandGabrielexchangedanotherlook.
‘Areweearly?’Sidneysaidquietlytosomebodyontheothersideofthedoor.
‘Shesaidalittlebeforemidnight,’saidArthur,notbotheringtolowerhisvoice.‘Soactuallywe’rerightontime.Unlessshehadnointentionofmeetingyou,andthisisactuallyajilting,inwhichcase…Oh,hello,Gwendoline.’
Gwenhadcrossedtheroomandwrenchedopenthedoor.Sidneywasbentover,apparentlytryingtolookthroughthekeyhole,whileArthurloungedbehindhimagainstthewall.Sidneystraightenedupimmediately,lookingslightlysheepish;Arthurjustnoddedingreeting.
‘Whatareyoudoing?’Gwendemanded.
‘Crimes,’saidArthur,attheexactsametimethatbothAgnesandSidneysaid,‘Nothing.’
‘Well,you’vecertainlydoneanexcellentjobofgettingyourstorystraight,’Gwensaid,crossingherarms.
‘We’regoingtoaparty,’Arthursaid,studyinghisfingernailsandthenlookingupatherarchly.‘Now,howdoIexplainwhatapartyis?It’saplacewherepeoplemeettohavefun,and—’
‘It’snotaparty,’Sidneyinterrupted.‘Right,Agnes?’
Agnesputahandtoherforeheadandsighed.‘No.’
‘Well,whatisitthen?’Gwensaid.Gabrielhadappearedathershoulder,andwaswatchingtheproceedingswithmildinterest.
‘It’sMorgan’sDay,’Agnessaid,asifthatexplainedanything.
‘Morgan’sDay?Morganwho?LeFay?’
‘Yes,leFay,’Arthursaid,asifshewerebeingincrediblyslow.‘It’sasecretgatheringforherbirthday.Or…something.’
‘You’regoingtoawitch’sbirthdayparty,’Gwensaid.‘Awitchwho’sbeendeadforhundredsofyears,andwhowasconsideredmorallyquestionableatbest.’
‘That’sthecruxofit,’saidArthur.‘Anymoreinanequestionsorcanweleave?’
‘Oh,Ihavequestions,’saidGwen.‘Whyisthispartystartinginthemiddleofthenight?Andwhat’sthepointofabirthdaypartyforsomebodywho’sdead?’
Arthurwenttospeak,butGabrielgottherefirst.
‘ThemoreprogressiveArthurianscelebratethedualityofherspirit.Hercapacityforkindnessandevil.Thestoriesabouthercan’tpindownwhethershewasgoodorbad,sopeoplehavedecidedshewasabitofboth.ThemoredevoutcultistspreferMerlin,soshe’sbecomeabitofasymbolofresistance,especiallyforwomen.Peopleconfesstheirfaultstoher,andcelebratetheirstrengths.It’sasortofritual.’
Everybodyturnedtostareathim.
‘I’mnotacultist,’hesaid.‘I’vejustreadalotaboutthem.Theirpracticesareinteresting.’
‘Youaremadasanewt,’Arthursaid,shakinghishead.Gabriellookeddownathisfeet;thetipsofhisearshadgoneverypink.
‘We’llbeoffthen,’saidSidney,offeringAgneshisarm.‘Unless–doyouwanttocome?’
‘Me?’saidGwen.‘Toasecretcultistgathering,atCamelot?Inthispoliticalclimate?’
‘Gwendolinedoesn’tdofun,’Arthursaid.‘Comeon,Idon’twanttogetthereafterthey’vegivenoutallthegooddarkmagic.’
Theywerealreadyhalfwayoutofthedoor,andGwenfeltapangoflonginglikeshehadbackintheGreatHall;shecouldn’thelpbutthinkofallthetimesshehadwatchedgroupsofyoungladieslaughingtogetheratfeastsanddances,tellingherselfshewasn’tanythinglikethem,buryingthepartofherselfthatquietlyachedforcompanionship.
Perhapsshedidn’tneedtoactoneverythingshewanted;perhapsitwasenoughjusttohavethis,andthenbedonewithit.
‘I’llcome,’Gwensaid.
‘Noyouwon’t,’saidArthur,pausinginthedoorwayandlookingmildlyscandalised.
‘YesIwill,’saidGwen.Hisindignancejustmadeherwanttodoubledown.‘It’s–it’snotoutsidethecastle,isit?’
‘No,’Agnessaidreluctantly.‘It’swithinthebailey,yourhighness.’
‘Fine.I’monlycomingtokeepaneyeonyou,Arthur,soyoudon’tdosomethingrash.Agnes–just–fetchmycloak.’
‘Don’tfetchhercloak,Agnes,’Arthursaidfirmly.AgneslookedfromArthurtoGwen.Gwennarrowedhereyes.
‘Fetch.My.Cloak.’
Agnessighed,andduckedpastGabrieltogobackintothebedchamber.
‘I’mreallynotsurethis’llbeyoursortofthing,’Sidneysaidslowly;GwensuspectedthatArthurhadgivenhimapinchonthearmtoinspirehimtospeak
‘Ifpeopleliketocelebratethisday,thenI’msureI’llfindsomepartofitamusing.I’mpeople,aren’tI?’
‘No,’saidArthur,asAgnesreappearedandreluctantlyhelpedGwenintohercloak.
‘Ithinkit’sprobablybestifIcometoo,’Gabrielsaidsuddenly.
‘What?’GwenandArthursaidatthesametime,managingtomatcheachotherintoneandpitch.
‘Just–givemeasecond,’Gabrielsaid.‘Ineedtogobacktomyroomsand—’
‘Ifyousayfetchmycloak,’saidArthur,‘Iamgoingtoscream.’
ArthurinsistedthatGwenandGabrielputtheirhoodsupastheywalked,andthattheyweren’ttotakethemdownunderanycircumstances,astheywouldrisk‘ruiningtheintegrityoftheevent’.
‘What’sthatsupposedtomean?’Gwensaid,rankleddespitethefactthatshehadabsolutelynointentionofgettingcaughtatsomequestionablecultistbacchanal.
‘Doyouthinkanyone’sgoingtorelaxandtakepartindarkandterriblemagicritualsiftheythinkthey’rebeingobservedbytheheirtothethroneandtheheirto–hmm,whatareyoutheheirto?Theslightlysmallerseatnexttothethrone?’
‘Doyousupposepeoplewillnotice?’AgnessaidquietlytoSidney.
‘Nah,’hesaid.‘They’llblendrightin.’
‘Ohyes,’saidArthur.‘Whywouldn’tthey?They’reonlyabouteightfeettallwithflamingredhair,andactliketheywereraisedinahauntedtowerawayfromallhumancontact—’
‘Well,wewere,’saidGabriel.Arthurlaughedinastrangledsortofway.
‘Whatwasthat?’hesaidincredulously.‘Gwendoline,didyourbrotherjustmakeajoke?’
‘Don’taskme,’saidGwen.‘Wherethehellarewegoing?’
Theyhadleftthefamiliarconfinesoftheinnercastleandwerenowoutinthebailey;Gwenknewtheareastothenorthandsouthofthemainkeepwell,buttheywerecurrentlywalkingeasttotheservants’domains,andinthedarknessallthesquatlittleservicebuildingslookedidentical.Theyduckeddownanalleyway,followingcloseatArthur’sheels,anditopenedoutintoasmallcourtyardthatGwenknewshehadneverseenbeforeinherlife.
‘Isthatachapel?’shesaid,frowningatthestructureatthefarend.
‘Whatgaveitaway?’saidArthur.‘Wasitthemassivebloodycrossontop?’
‘Ididn’tknowtherewasachapelinhere,’Gwensaid,lookingatGabriel,whoshrugged.
‘Religionforthelowlymasses,’saidSidney.‘Servants.Regularfolk.’
Astheywatched,acoupleofgigglingservinggirlsburstfromanotherdoorwayandcrossedthecourtyard,glancingbackovertheirshouldersandtalkinginexaggeratedwhispersbeforeopeningthedoorofthechapelandduckinginside.
‘Notimelikethepresent,’Arthursaid,leadingthemon.
‘Wearedefinitelygoingtohell,’GabrielsaidinGwen’sear,asArthuropenedthechapeldoor,cockedaneyebrowandbeckonedtheminside.
Itlookedentirelyunremarkable–rowsofneatpews,thatparticularsmelloftapestrydustandcandlewaxandwoodintheairthatGwenrecognisedfromeveryreligiousbuildingshe’deverentered–butatthefarendupbythealtaradoorwasajar,andcandlelightwasflickeringinthespacebeyond.Theyfolloweditintoanarrowcorridoranddownstonestepsuntiltheyreachedanotherdoor;ontheotherside,Gwencouldhearvoicesandlaughter.
‘I’mnotsurethisissucha…’shestarted,butitwastoolate.ArthurherdedSidneyandAgnesinsideaheadofhim,andthenlookedbackatwhereshewashoveringandrolledhiseyes.
‘Andyouweresoexcitedaboutthepartwhereyougottofetchyourcloak,’hesaid,takingherfirmlybythearmandyankingherinside.
Theyimmediatelyencounteredaproblem.
‘Beforeyouenter,Imusttellyou–therearenomenallowedinhere,’saidagrey-haired,stern-lookingwomaninadarkrobe.‘Areanyofyoumen?’
‘We’reverywell-behavedmen,’Arthuroffered.‘Normal.Innocent.’Gwensnorted.
‘Idon’tcarewhatvarietyofmanyouare,’thewomansaid.‘WeareheretocelebratetheLadyMorganleFay–it’sasacredspaceonMorgan’sDay.’
‘Ah,’saidSidney.‘Well.Agnes,shallwe…?’
‘Oh,’saidAgnes.‘Well,Isortofwantto…stay.Ifthat’sallright.’Sidneylookeddisappointed,butralliedquickly.
‘Ishallwaitforyououtside,’hesaidgallantly.
Agnesgiggledhorrifyingly,butGwenwastoopreoccupiedtoscoff–shewaslookingaroundattheroom.Shehadexpectedacellaraboutthesizeofthechapelabove,butthespacewascavernous,withpillarsandarchesrunningalongthelengthofitandatleastahundredpeoplegatheredinhoodedgroupsbeneaththem.Theentirespacewaslitbyalargeopenfireintheverycentre,thesmokedisappearingupintoahiddenchimney.Beyondtheflames,somewhatwarpedandripplingintheheat,Gwencouldseeahuge,mottledstonestatue.Ittoweredabovethem,gazingdowndispassionatelywithbothhandsraised.
‘Areyoucoming?’Gabrielasked,nudgingherarm.
‘Er,’Gwensaid.‘Gabe.Areyouseeingthis?This–thisissomesortofsecretcultisttemple.Inthecastlegrounds.’
‘Iknow,’Gabrielsaid,notlookingnearlyashorrifiedasheshouldhave.‘It’sfascinating.’
‘Comeon,’Arthursaidinsistently.‘Let’sgo.’
‘Ithink–IthinkI’dliketostay,’saidGwen.Havingbracedherselfforlife-affirmingadventure,shedidn’twanttoturnbacknow;andbesides,itwasonlyaverylittleescapade,barelyevendeservingoftheword.
‘Oh,’saidGabriel.‘Allright.Iftheydotheritual,canyoumakeanoteofeverything?Iwanttohearaboutitlater,especiallythepartwherethey—’
‘Christ,’Arthursaid.‘Evenshedidn’tbringparchmentandaquilltoaparty.Comeon,youinsufferableacademic.’
Gwenjusthadtimetoseetheexpressionofshockonherbrother’sfacebeforehewasbeingpulledbackthroughthedoorwaytheyhadjustcomethrough.Arthurdidseemtospendratheralotoftimeyankingthembotharound.Likeanillwind,thoughtGwen.Orariptide.
‘Isthather?Morgana?’Gwensaid,pointingupattheenormousstatue.
‘Yes,’saidthegrey-hairedlady.‘Now,hurryonin–theceremonyisabouttobegin.’ItappearedthatSidneywasperfectlyseriousaboutwaitingforAgnesallnight,ifhehadto;assoonastheyexitedthechapelhelocatedapromisingstretchofwallandsettledhimselfdownonit.
‘Lookatthat,’ArthursaidtoGabriel.‘Sad,isn’tit.’
‘TherearequiteafewthingsIcouldsayrightnow,’Sidneysaid.‘QuiteafewstoriesIcouldtell,aboutthelengthsyou’vegonetowhilepining—’
‘Yes,well,I’mverypleasedforyou,’Arthursaidquickly.‘Adieu,goodevening,havealovelywait,andIhopeshe’sworthit.’
‘Shewillbe,’Sidneysaid,grinning.
‘Sounnerving,’Arthurmuttered,asheandGabrielstartedwalkingawayacrossthecourtyard.‘He’snotusuallylikethis.Maybehe’sill.’
‘Whatlengthshaveyougonetowhilepining?’saidGabriel,hisfaceobscuredbyhishood.
‘Oh,he’sjusttryingto…Therewasthisthingwithasong,Iwasneverparticularlygoodatthelute–notimportant,’Arthurblustered.Gabrielsloweddownandglancedoverhisshoulder,backatthechapel.
‘Idon’treallyfeelIshouldjustleaveherinthere,’hesaid.Arthurcouldseethelowerhalfofhisfacenow;hewaschewinganxiouslyonhisbottomlip,whichbyrightsshouldn’thavebeentheleastbitattractive.
‘Oh,she’sfine,’Arthursaid,takinghimbythearm.‘Comeon–we’refarmoreconspicuouslurkingoutherethansheispartyinginthere.’Anyotherheirtothethrone,Arthurthought,mightprotestatbeinghauledaroundbyaminormemberofhiscourt;Gabrielseemedtotakeitinhisstride,asifhe’djustbeenwaitingforsomebodytotellhimwhattodonext,andArthur’sdirectionwasasgoodasany.
‘Iwouldhavelikedtoseeit,’Gabrielsaid,astheyapproachedthealleyway.
‘Yes.Well.It’snotinmynaturetoleaveapartyearly,butwewereverymuchsurplustorequirements,’Arthurreplied.‘Ifeelatabitofaloss,now.Allworkedupandnowheretogo.’
‘Yes,’saidGabrielvaguely.Theylapsedintoanawkwardsilence,whichtoArthurwastantamounttotorture.
‘Offtobedthen?’hesaid,forlackofanythingelse.
‘Actually,I–I’llprobablygotothelibrary.’
‘Inthemiddleofthenight?’
‘Inthemiddleofthenight.’
‘Oh,’saidArthur.‘That’s…admirable,Isuppose.’
‘Isit?’
‘Well,somebody’sgottodoit.’Thefactthatthismadenosenseatallwasnotlostonhim.
‘I’msortof…studying,’Gabrielsaid,andeveninthedarkArthurcouldseethathewasblushing.Itwasashamenottobeabletoseeitmoreclearly;hiskingdom–or,Gabriel’skingdom,hesupposed–forawell-placedbrazier.Theyreachedthegateintothemaincastle,andGabrielremovedhishoodfortheguards,whoquicklyscrambledaside.
‘Studyingforwhat?’Theywereslowingdown,andArthurdidn’tknowwhohadinitiatedit.Hewasusuallyafastidiouslyfastwalker;Sidneywasforevercomplainingaboutit.
‘Um.Everything?Myfuture,’Gabrielsaid.Arthur’sinstinctwastolaugh,buthemanagedtokeephimselfincheck.
‘You’restudyingforlife?Foryourlife?Istherea–isthereahow-toguideformonarchs?Tipsandtricksforsubjugatingthemasses?Preventarevoltinteneasysteps?’
‘Yes,’saidGabriel.‘Well.Sortof.Butit’schronicledinathousanddifferentvolumesaboutthehistoryofthekingsofBritain,orwrittenbythekingsthemselves,andtheyalldisagreeaboutpreciselyhowtogoaboutthe…subjugating.’
‘Soyou’reworkingonthepamphlet,’Arthursaid.‘Tomakeitsnappy.Summariseitontoonepieceofparchment,toinstructfuturegenerations.’
‘I’mworkingon…’Gabrielsighed.Theyhadreachedthemiddleofthenorth-westcourtyardandcometoacompletestop.‘I’mjustworking.’
‘Well,I’msorrywecouldn’tlivenyourspiritswithasecretcultistparty,’saidArthur.‘Clearlyyouneededit.’
‘Right,’saidGabriel.Therewasanotherawkwardsilence.
‘Soyou’regoingtothelibrary?’Arthursaid.
‘Yes,’saidGabriel.Hisvoicewasmuchhigherinpitchwhenhesaid,‘Areyou–doyouwanttocome?’
Thiswasunexpected.Arthurcouldn’timaginewhatcouldhaveprecipitatedtheinvitation,besidesperhapsgeneralpanic.
‘Betterthangoingtobed,Isuppose,’hesaid,shrugging.‘Or–probablyaboutthesameasgoingtobed,butatleastit’sachangeofscenery.’
Gabrieljustnodded,andArthurfollowedonashesetofftowardsthemainkeep.Hemanagedtorestrainhimselffromtalkingforthesakeoftalkinguntiltheyhadmadeittothelibraryentrance.
‘Wildinherepastmidnight,isit?’hesaid,peeringdubiouslyaroundasGabrieltookupalanternthathadobviouslybeenleftforhisusebythedoor.Theroomwaspackedwithbookshelves,arrangedbacktobackandbookendedwithlargepillars,creatingadarkanddustywarren.Theyhadtotakeseveralhairpinturns,buteventuallytheymadeittoacornerthathadclearlybeenfurnishedforextendedstays.Itcontainedasmalllinenfoldtablewithahard-backedchairbehinditandathickstackofbooksneatlypiledatopit.Therewasalsoalarge,well-usedarmchair;thevelvetwasslightlywornatthebackandtheseat,patchesthreadbareandfaded.
Arthurimmediatelyfloppeddownontoit,andGabrielwalkedcarefullyaroundthetabletopullouthischairandsitdown.Heseemedtolockintoit,hisspinecurvingforward,shouldershunchinguparoundhisneckashepulledthebookatthetopofthepiletowardshim.Itwasasifhehadshedhisoutsideself;inthelibrary,hewastherealGabriel.
TherealGabrielhadterribleposture.
‘Whatareyoureading?’saidArthur,pullingthenextbookonthepiledownintohislap.Itexpelledquitealotofdust;hepromptlysneezedonit,andthenwipeditapologeticallyonhistunic.
‘They’refirst-handaccountsofhowtheearlycultistfactionsformed,’Gabrielsaid.Arthurflippedopenthecoverofthebookhewasholdingandfoundthatithadbeenmeticulouslytranscribedindarkbrowninkthatlookedunnervinglybloody.‘It’susefultounderstandtheoriginalcontext,butit’salsoabitofa–apersonalprojectofmine.’
‘Goonthen,’Arthursaid.
‘Goon–what?’
‘Tellmehowtheearlycultistfactionsformed,’hesaid.Gabrielturnedapage,andArthurputhisownbookdownonthetable,andthenrestedhisheadonit,sothathecouldlistenintheleasttaxingwaypossible.
‘Well,’saidGabriel,clearinghisthroat.‘You’llknowthispart.ArthurPendragonfellattheBattleofCamlann,atMordred’shand.ThecultistsbelievethatMorganleFayoversawthetransportationofArthur’sbodytoAvalon,anunchartedislandandthesourceofallofEngland’smagic–andthatonedayhe’llreturn.’ArthurcouldtellthatGabrielwasmuchmorecomfortablerecallingeventsfromabookthanhavingtocomeupwiththewordsonhisown;theawkwardnessbetweenthemhaddissipatedalmostimmediately.
‘Afterallyourfather’speacekeeping,’Arthursaid,‘whatwouldhedoiftheywereright?Ifthebastardreturned?Hecouldhardlyhopoffthethroneandsay,“Sorry,oldchap,Iwasjustkeepingitwarmforyou”–buttheonlyotheroptionisall-outwarwithKingArthurhimselfandallhiscultistpals.’
‘Whatwouldmyfatherdo,’Gabrielsaidslowly,‘ifamanwho’sbeendeadforhundredsofyearsappearedandaskedforhisthroneback?Tobehonest,Idon’tthinkhe’sreallythoughtaboutit.’
‘Ibetyouallthemoneyinmypocketthatsomewhereinthedepthsofhiswarroomthere’sacontingencyplanforthatexactoccasion.OperationRexUndeadus.’
‘Icanassureyou,thereisn’t,’saidGabriel,buthedidn’tlookentirelyconvinced.
‘Allright,’saidArthur.‘What’snext?Afterthebitaboutthemagicisland.’
‘Well,it’sinteresting–youwouldhavethoughtthatwithallthismagicsupposedlyoutintheopen,everybodywouldhavebelievedinit,butplentyofpeoplewerescepticalatthetime.Mostofthemonlyheardaboutitthroughstories,yousee–itwasn’tlikeMerlinwasstandinginthetownsquaredoingtricksforallandsundry.ThenaftertheSaxonsinvaded,therewasabitofamuddlewithlotsofoldgodsinthemix,andthenthecountrywasCatholicisedveryrapidly.Itwasn’tuntilaboutahundredyearslaterthatcultistsreallystartedpractisinginearnest;bythattimeithadbeenlongenoughforArthurPendragontohavebecomelegend.Amyth,notaman.’
‘Well,’Arthursaid.‘Isupposeit’smucheasiertodevoteyourselftotheideaofsomebody,insteadoftheflesh-and-bloodperson.Muchneater.’
‘Exactly,’saidGabriel.‘WhatI’mreadingnowisthisman–thissortofArthurianthoughtleader–talkingaboutthepowerofpeople.Thetheorythatwithmagicgone,it’suptothecultiststostandupforMerlinandMorgana’sideals,whiletheyawaitthesecondcomingoftheirking,andthemagicthat’llreturnwithhim.’Hewastalkingearnestly,movinghishands;Arthurhadneverseenhimsoanimated.Itwasclearthathedidn’tensconcehimselfinthelibraryoutofasenseofduty–heactuallyreallyenjoyedthis,allthereadingandthelearningandtheinhalingofvastquantitiesofdust.‘Becausethemagicisn’tenough,onitsown.Itdoesn’tjustfixeverything.Theyneedpeoplewhoareopentoit,peoplewhowanttochannelthatpowerforgood.AndbackwhenArthurwasking…hewasthatperson.’
‘SotheyfollowamantheybelievewasMerlin’spuppet,’Arthursaid.‘Whynotjustworshipthewizards?’
‘Well,theyareveryfondofthem,’Gabrielsaid,‘butlook–readthis.’HepushedthebooktowardsArthuragain,andthistimeArthuractuallysatupproperlytoreadit.
‘ThisiswritteninOldEnglish,’hesaid.‘IhateOldEnglish.It’salmostasbadasCommonBrittonic.Myfathermademelearnboth.’
‘Well,thismanwashardlygoingtowriteitinLatin,’saidGabriel,pointingtoalineoftext.
‘Arthur…hygecl?ne.Idon’tknowthatone–what’shygecl?ne?’
‘Roughlytranslated,“pureofheart”,’Gabrielsaid,usinghisfingertotracethewordwithouteveractuallytouchingthepage.‘Hewasn’ttheirpuppet–hewastheirchosenone.Theonlyonegoodenoughtotakeonallthatpowerandnotbecorruptedbyit.CultistsbelievethatArthur’sdownfallcamenotbecausehewasn’tstrongenough,orgoodenough,butbecauseofthepeoplearoundhim.Imean–inhalfthestories,MorganleFayispittedagainsthim,althoughthemoreprogressivethinkthatshetookhimtohisfinalrestingplace,sotheymusthavereconciledintheend.’
‘Ah,’saidArthur.‘Buttheydon’tbelieveitwashisfinalrestingplace,ifhe’scomingback.Finalnappingplace,maybe.’
‘Well,’Gabrielsaid.‘Opinionisdividedaboutwhetherhe’llcomebackinbody,orinspirit.PlentyofcultistsbelievethatArthur’sreturnwillbemoreofa…arebirth.Anawakening,insidesomebodyelsewhoisaspure–ashygecl?ne–ashim.AndthenMerlinwillreturninsomeformtoo,andprobablyMorgana,andwe’llhavemagicagaininEnglandandatrueruleronthethrone.’
‘But…youdon’tbelieveanyofthis,’Arthursaidslowly.‘Right?Becausethatwouldbepotentiallyproblematic,seeingasyourfatherisourtrueruler.And,youknow…becausesoonyou’llbetheoneonthethrone.’
‘No,’Gabrielsaid,runningahandthroughhishair.‘Idon’tbelieveit.Or–no,notinthemagic.Butitisfascinating.AndIsupposeIdowanttobe…thekindofkingthesepeoplewant.Worthy.EveniftheCatholicsinthiscountrydon’tbelievethatMerlinreallyexisted,orthatArthurhadsomespiritualsignificance,theydoallthinkhedidaprettygoodjobofbeingking.’
‘Butit’slikeyousaid.Theydevotethemselvestotheideaofsomebody.Youcan’tliveuptoalegend.Noteventhelegendhimselfcoulddoit,ifhewerehere.’
‘Maybenot,’saidGabriel,butArthurwasn’tbuyingit.
‘Hangon–soyou’remodellingyourselfonArthurPendragon?Isthatwhatyou’redoingshutawayinhereallthetime?Tryingtoreadenoughabouthimbythetimeyouascendtothethronethatyoucanbecomethe–Idon’tknow–thechivalricideal?’Gabrieldidn’tsayanything,buthedidlookslightlyembarrassed.Arthurletoutahuffoflaughterandcollapsedbackagainsthischair.‘Well,that’s–that’snonsense,Gabriel.Andentirelyunattainable.’
Gabrielsighed,andrubbedathischeekboneirritably.‘Byallaccounts,KingArthurwasagoodman.Hetrulycaredabouthispeople.Peoplethoughtofhimasfair.And,yes,hewastheembodimentofchivalry–oratleast,hetried.HeknewwhatkindofEnglandhewantedtolivein.Idon’tseewhat’ssowrongabouttryingtobeakinglikethat.’
‘There’snowaytoliveuptothechivalricideal,’Arthurscoffed.‘Thereareonlythreewaystoattemptit–dieonareligiousquest,dieforyourtruelove,ordieinbattle.Regardless,younevergetoutofitalive.’
GabriellookedupatArthur,histhumbstillpressedtohischeek.‘WhenIwastenIthoughtaboutrunningaway,’hesaid,soquietlyArthurhadtoleanforwardtolisten.
Arthurnoddedslowly.‘Yes…Iknow.Because–don’tyourememberwhatyousaidtome,thatsummer?Thingsweregoingsoterriblybetweenyoursisterandme,andyouhadbarelyspokenawordtomeforyears,alwaysshuttinguplikeaclamwhenIwasaround,butthenyoucameuptomeonedayinthecourtyardand…’
‘Askedifyou’dliketobekinginstead,’Gabrielsaid,lookingstricken.‘Iremember.Ididn’tthink…well,Ihopedyoudidn’t.Remember,Imean.IhadfinallytoldFatherhowIfelt,thatitwasalltoomuchformeandIdidn’twantit,andhesaid…hesaidIhadtobethekingthepeopleneeded,evenifitwasn’tthemanIwantedtobe.Iwassodesperateforawayout,andhearingthat…itfeltlikewatchingadoorclose,andknowingit’dneveropenformeagain.’
‘Ouch,’saidArthur.Hetappedhisfingersonthetable,considering.‘Youknow…fathersaren’talwaysrightjustbyvirtueofbeingfathers.Oreven…justbyvirtueofbeingking.’
Gabrieldidn’treply–hejusttookanotherbookfromthepile,openeditgentlyandbegantoread.AsmuchasAgneshadprotestedthattheeventwasn’taparty,therewasasortofmakeshiftbaratoneendofthecultistcellar,stockedwithenormouscauldronsofamysteriousbeveragethattastedstronglyofliquoriceandpeppermint.GwenandAgnesbackedthemselvesintoawalltodrink,entirelyanonymousinallthehubbub.
‘Howdidyoufindoutaboutthis?’Gwenasked.‘Andwhyisitsecret?Surelyeverybodyknowsthatmyfatherencouragesfreedomofbeliefsbynow.Doingitcovertlyjustmakesitseem…suspect.’
AgneslookedsuspiciouslyasifshewerewishingthatGwenhaddecidedtoleavewiththeothers.
‘Fromanotherlady-in-waiting,’shesaidmiserably.‘Iwasmeanttomeether.And–Isupposeit’sallpartofthefun.’
DespitethefactthatGwenhadnevervoluntarilysoughtoutAgnes’scompany,herobviousdisappointmentstung.JustmomentsagoGwenhadfeltlikeoneofthegang,sneakingaroundthecastlegroundstogetherinthedeadofnight–butsuddenlythingswererightbacktohowtheyalwayswere.‘Well.Don’tletmeholdyouback.’
‘Ican’tleaveyoualone,’Agnessaid,wide-eyedandalittletoohopeful.
‘Don’tberidiculous,’Gwensaidstiffly.Shedidn’tactuallywantAgnestoabandonher,butitwasbetterthanfeelingasifherpresencewerebeingsuffered.‘NobodyhereknowswhoIam–I’mquitesafe.Go.’
‘Well,’Agnessaid,havingthegoodmannerstolookbrieflytorn.‘Ifyouinsist.’Shewasoffacrosstheroomlookingforherfriendsamomentlater.Gwenstoodclutchinghercup,catchingsnatchesofconversationandlaughterallaroundher,focusingsolelyonfinishingherdrink.Onceitwasdone,shepulledherhoodmoresecurelyaroundherfaceandwenttorefillit;sheonlymanagedtotaketwostepsbacktowardsthecauldronsbeforeshefeltahandonherarm,insistentfingerspressingintothejutofherelbow.
‘Couldyounotfindthem?’Gwensaid,expectingAgnes–butwhensheturned,shealmostdroppedheremptycup.
‘What,’saidLadyLeclair,‘areyoudoing?’
‘Um,’saidGwen,hearinghervoicejumpalmostafulloctave.‘Gettingadrink?’
‘No,’Bridgetsaid,‘Imean,whatareyoudoinghere?’ShegentlysteeredGwenbackintoadarkcorner.Shewaswearinganinky-blueformaljacket,herhairpulledhalfupandsecuredwithanornatehairpinthatwaseasilythegrandestthingGwenhadeverseenherwear.‘Yourcloakisn’tquitethedisguiseyouthinkitis.I’dcallyouyourhighness,’Bridgetcontinuedinalowvoice,‘butI’mnotsurethatwouldbewise.’
‘I’mherewith–well,whatareyoudoinghere?’Gwensaid.Or,squeaked.
‘I’mherewithfriends,’Bridgetsaid.Gwenfeltimmediatelyenviousofthesefriends,whoevertheywere.Somehow,shehadn’tpicturedBridgethavinganyatCamelot,butofcourseshedid–whowouldn’twanttobefriendswithher?‘Youdidn’t…’Bridgetstartedtosay,butshebrokeoff,lookinguncomfortable.
‘Didn’twhat?’saidGwen.
‘Youdidn’tfollowmehere,didyou?’
Gwengapedather.‘Followyou?’shesaid.‘What?Iwouldn’t–howwouldIeven—’
‘Allright,’Bridgetsaid,holdingahandup.‘Myapologies.’
‘Whywouldyoueventhinkofthat?’
‘Uh,’Bridgetsaid,glancingaroundtheroombeforeanswering.‘IthoughtI’dnoticed…Well,I’mjustsurprisedtoseeyouhere.And–tobehonest,it’snotlikeitwouldhavebeenthefirsttimesomebody’sdoneit.’
‘Peoplejust…followyouaround?’Gwensaidincredulously.
‘Girls…followmearound,’Bridgetsaid.‘Notoften,but.Ithappens.Tournamentsmakeminorcelebritiesofthosewhotakepart,asI’msureyou’venoticed.’
‘Right,’Gwensaidstiffly.‘Well.I’msorrytohavegivenyouthatimpression,Ithoughtwewerejust…Actually,Ididwanttotellyousomething,butIcertainlywouldn’thavefollowedyouanywheretosayit—’
‘Whatdidyouwanttotellme?’Bridgetsaid,cuttingcleanlythroughwhatGwenwassurewouldhavebeenquiteanextensivebluster.
‘Oh.Er.Iwantedtosay–thatitwasverybrave,whatyoudidatthetournament,’Gwensaidinasmallvoice.‘I’mnotsuretheKnife–SirMarlin–infact,Iknowhewouldn’thavedonethesameforyou.AndI’msorryyouhadtodoitatall.’
Bridgetnodded.‘Becauseyoucouldhavesaidsomething.’
‘Well,’Gwensaiddefensively.‘It’snotactuallythatsimple,but…’Bridgetwaslookingatherexpectantly.Gwensighed.‘But,yes.Isuppose…Ishouldhavesaidsomething.’
Shewasrewardedwithadangerouslittlehalf-smile.Ifshewereanartist,shewouldhaverushedhomelaterthatnightandattemptedtocommitittocanvas;embroideringitwouldprobablylosealotintranslation.
Bridgetwenttospeak,andGwenthoughtshemightbeabouttoreceivesomesortofpraise–was,quitefrankly,desperateforsomeacknowledgementthatwhilecowardly,herbehaviourhadbeenredeemableinLadyLeclair’seyes–butinstead,Bridget’sfacesmoothedoverintosomethingmoreneutral.
‘Keepyourheaddown,’shesaid.
‘What?’Gwensaid,confused–butamomentlatershewasduckingherheadastwoyoungwomendescendedonthem.
‘Thisstufftasteslikepigswill,’oneofthemsaid,handingBridgetacup.ShewastallandBlack,withdeepdimplesandcloselycroppedhair.
‘Great,’saidBridget,squintingdoubtfullyatthedrink.‘Youneedn’thavebotheredthen.’
‘Who’sthis?’saidtheotherwoman.Shedidn’twaitforananswerbeforehandingGwenafreshcupofherown.Shelooked,Gwenthought,abitlikeamouse;colourlessblondehairandafair,pointyface.
‘Er,’saidBridget.
‘I’m–Winifred,’Gwensaidquickly,hopingshesoundedconvincing.
‘Adah,’saidthefirstwoman,shootingheragrin.
‘Elaine,’saidthesecond.Shehadquitealotoflongnecklaceson,andtheyclickedwhenshemoved.
‘Adahworksinthemews,’Bridgetsaid,‘andElaineinthekitchens.’
‘Oh,’saidGwen.‘Themews–withthefalcons?HowisitI’veneverseenyoubefore?’
‘Well,I’veonlybeenthereayear,’saidAdah,shrugging.‘TookabloodyageforthemtocomeroundtotheideathatImightactuallybegoodatit.Why?Wheredoyouwork?’
‘Oh,’saidGwenagain.Shecouldthinkofnologicalreasonwhyshe’dhavebusinessinthemewsifshedidn’thouseabirdthere,andwasstrugglingtocomeupwithalie.Door-cleaner?Or,perhaps–feather-collector?Wasfeather-collectoranythingclosetoarealjob?
‘She…doesn’tworkhere.She’smycousin,’Bridgetsaid.BothoftheotherwomenlookedfromhertoGwenandthenbackagain–Bridget,dark-hairedandmuscularandbrown-skinned,Gwenwillowyandred-headedandwhite–andthenseemedtoacceptthisexplanationingoodfaith.
‘CometoseeLeclaircrushthecompetition?’Adahsaid,grinningasBridgetrolledhereyes.
Gwennoticedthattheyseemedverycomfortablewitheachother.AsBridgetknockedbackthecontentsofhercup,hernosewrinklinginexaggerateddisgust,Adahclappedheronthebackandlaughed–andthenleftherhandthere,restingeasilyonBridget’sshoulderblade.
Gwenwasinstantly,irrationallyjealous.
‘Haveyouthoughtaboutwhatyou’regoingtosay?’Elainesaid,andittookGwenamomenttorealisethatshewasbeingaddressed.
‘Say?When?’
‘Duringtheceremony,’Elainesaid.‘Yourofferings.YouofferMorganleFayastrengthandaweakness.It’sallabout…dualityofself,youknow?Allyourfacets.’
‘Elaine,’Adahsaid,‘isveryintodualityofself.AndMorganleFay.Andfacets.’
‘Areyouacultist?’GwenaskedElaine;shesmiledbeatificallyandnodded.‘Areallofyoucultists?’
‘No,’saidAdahandBridgetatthesametime.
‘But–youknowthataboutLeclair,ofcourse,’saidAdah,raisinghereyebrows.‘Asshe’syourcousin.’
‘Distantcousin,’saidBridget.
‘Soyoubelieveinmagic?’GwensaidtoElaine,desperatetochangethesubject.
‘Oh,yes,’shesaidbreathily.‘Ifyouthinkaboutit,somevarietyofmagicturnsupinthestoryofeverycountryandkingdomintheworld.Itgoesbydifferentnames,butit’salwaysthere.Otherreligionshavetheirownmagicwords–theirownrituals.Itseemsunlikelythatmagicneverexisted,andyeteverybodycametothesameconclusionoftheirownvolition.’
‘Soyouthink…KingArthurwillriseagain?’
‘Yes,’Elainesaidbrightly.‘Whentherightvesselcomesalong.Morganawillsortitallout.Merlinwillhelp.’
‘WhereareMerlinandMorgananowthen?’Adahsaid,goadingherinawaythatwasobviouslyhabit.
Elaineconsideredthisforamoment.‘Onsabbatical.’
‘Brilliant,’saidAdah.‘GladIasked.’
‘Honouredguests,’calledthewomanwhohadgreetedthematthedoor,clappingherhandstogetherimportantly.‘Gather,please.Itistime.’
Awaveofexcitedmutteringrippledthroughtheroom,andeverybodymovedtowardsthefireandtheenormousstatueaboveit.Gwenwantedtogetaproperlookatit,togazeintothestoneeyesofMorganleFayandseewhatallthefusswasabout,buttodosowouldhavemeantexposingherface;shewatchedBridget’sbackinstead,noticingthatAdahhadfallenintostepnexttoher.
‘WearegatheredheretocelebratethenightthatourladyMorgana’sspiritclaimedherbody;shewasbornfrommagic,andtomagicshereturned.Whenthetimeisright,sheshallonceagaingraceuswithamortalform…’
Gwenfeltsomebodytapherontheshoulder;whensheturned,Elainenoddedintriumphandmouthed,‘Onsabbatical.’
‘…butuntilthatday,wearetheguardiansofherlegacy,hereonthisplane.Tothatend,wepresentourofferingsintheknowledgethatweareunfinishedandimperfect;thatweareever-growingandinconstant,butalwaysstrivingtobecomemoreourselveswitheachpassingyear.’Thewomansmiledaroundatthecrowd.‘Whowillbefirsttohonourourladytonight?’
‘Iwill,’saidanelderlywomanattheveryfront,takingdownherhood;sheshuffledforwardwithouthesitation,herexpressionopenandeager,andtheirhostpressedsomethingintoherhandandthensteppedasidetomakespaceforherbythefire.‘TomyladyMorganleFay,’shesaidinaclearvoice,holdingherslightlyshakinghandoutinfrontofher,‘Igivemyvanity.’Sheopenedherfingersanddroppedwhatevershehadbeenclutchingdirectlyintotheflames;therewasabrief,strongsmellofsomethingherbal,burnedquicklytobitterness.‘AndIgivemyloveforlife.’
Everybodyclapped,andafewofthemorespiritedguestswhoopedasthewomansteppedaside.
‘Whowillgonext?’
Twopeoplesteppedforwardatonce;therewasaslightlyawkwardmomentwhenneitherofthemwantedtobackdown,andthewomanatthefrontlaughed.
‘There’snorush,’shesaid.‘Everybodyinthisroomwilltaketheirturn.’
Gwen’smouthsuddenlyfeltverydry.Thewoman’stonehadn’tallowedforargument,buttherewasnowayshewasgoingupthere;foronething,they’drecogniseherastheprincess,andforanother…shesimplydidn’twantto.Bridgetturnedaround,frowning,asifshewashavingsimilarthoughts.
‘Ithinkitmightbetimeforyoutoleave,’shesaidquietly.
‘What?’whisperedElaine,lookingdisappointed.‘But–butit’sthewholepointofthefestival!Youcan’tleavenow.’
‘I’llwalkyouout,’Bridgetsaidinalowvoice,puttingherhandonGwen’sarm;thecontactmadeGwen’sbreathcatch.Shecouldn’tquitepinpointwhythisfeltlikebeingclaimed,andwhybeingclaimedfeltsoexplicitlygood,butshewantedthewalking-outtobeextendedaslongaspossible–farbeyondthelengthoftheroom.Shetriedtomakeherselfsmallandinconspicuousasshebrokeawayfromthegroup,Bridgetfallinginbehindher,butatthatexactmomentthecrowdpartedtoletsomebodyelsecomeforward.
‘Ladies,’saidthewomanatthefront.‘Surelyyouaren’tleavingwithoutmakingyouroffering?’
‘Iwasn’tawarethatparticipationwasmandatory,’Bridgetsaidimmediately;shehadturnedtofacetheothersandtakenasmallstepbackwardstowardsGwen,asiftryingtoobscureherfromview.
‘Comenow,’saidthewoman,disapproving.‘Thatisnotinthespiritoftheday.Makeyourofferingsnow,andthenyoumayleaveatonce.’
‘Or,’Bridgetsaid,crossingherarms,‘wecouldskipstraighttothepartwhereweleave.’
Nowthatsneakingawaywithoutbeingnoticedwasoffthetable,Gwenrealisedthatthelongerthisconfrontationcontinued,themorelikelyitwasthatshewasgoingtoberecognised.‘It’sallright,’shesaidtoBridget.‘Let’sjustdoit,andthenwecango.’
‘Verygood!’saidthewomanatthefront,instantlyallsmiles,clappingherhandstogether.‘Comeforwardintothelight,ladies,andtelluswhatyouhaveforMorgana.’
Gwenthoughtshewasabittoocheeryforsomebodywhowaspress-gangingthemintoamagicalpartygame,butshewalkedforwardanyway;shekepttuggingatherhood,tryingtogetittocovermoreofherfacewithoutobscuringhereyesentirelyandleadingtoanunfortunatefire-pitaccident.
‘Here,’saidthewoman,pressingasofthandfulofsomethingintoGwen’spalmwhenshereachedthestatue.WhenGwenopenedherfingers,shesawthatitwasapileofdriedsageleaves,twistedtogetherandcrumblingaroundtheedges.
Hermindhadbeenhalfwayoutofthedoor,andnowverysuddenlyhadtosnapbacktowhereshewasactuallystanding–infrontofacrowdofexpectantfaces,waitingforhertoimpartsomedeeplyheldtruthsaboutherselfthatshehadn’tyetidentified.
‘Er…’shesaid,holdingherhandoutinfrontofherastheotherwomenhaddone.‘Soit’s–onegoodthing,onebad?’
‘Ascribing“bad”and“good”topartsofourselvesisn’thelpful,’saidthewoman,inaslightlycondescendingtone.‘Perhaps–onethingthathelpsyou,andonethingthatyoufeelhindersyou.’
Gwenthoughtthiswasjustadressed-upwayofsaying‘good’and‘bad’,butshehadreachedtheendofherstalling;herthoughtswereablurasshetrieddesperatelytothinkofsomethinggoodtosayaboutherself.Shewas–punctual?Organised?Thecrowdwasgettingimpatientnow,andinherpanic,Gwenspokewithoutknowingwhatwasgoingtocomeoutofhermouth.
‘I’m–I’mconsistentwithmyembroidery,’shesaid,throwingthehandfulofsageintothefireandthencoughingwhenitspatoutadarkplumeofsmokeinreturn.Shewasstillkeepingherheadfirmlydowntoavoiddetection,butshedidn’tneedtolookuptoknowhowthatparticularobservationhadlanded.‘And,’Gwensaid,lookingbackintotheflamesandtakingadeepbreath,‘I’m–I’macoward.’
Afewpeopleclapped,butthereactionwasfittinglylacklustre.
‘Well,’saidthegrey-hairedwoman,holdingoutanotherhandfulofsageforBridget.‘Youareactuallysupposedtodoittheotherwayaround,butIsuppose—’
‘I’mstubborn,’Bridgetsaid,immediatelytossingtheleavesintotheflames.‘AndIknowwhoIam.Comeon.’
ShetookGwenbythearmwithoutanotherword,andtheyslippedfromtheglowofthefirelightintothewelcomingshadowsbeyond.Havingquicklyascertainedthathewasn’ttheleastbitinterestedinreadinganythinginOldEnglish,Arthurhadaccidentallystartedtodozeinstead.ThesoundofGabrielturningpages,hisquillscratchingagainstparchmentwhenhewenttomakeanote,andthedistantfootstepsthatoccasionallypassedthequietlibraryweretoostrongasedativetoresist.Itwasallratherpleasant,untilthemomentwhenGabrielshutabooktooloudly,startlingArthurawakesosuddenlythathealmostfelloffthechair.
‘I’mfinished,’Gabrielsaid.
‘Right,’saidArthurblearily.‘Yes,metoo.’Hestaggeredupandstretched,noticingGabriel’seyesflickerbrieflytohismidriffwherehistunichadriddenup,andthenawayagain.‘Tobed,then?’
‘Iactually–I’mgoingtothemews,’saidGabriel.
Arthurhadvaguememoriesofthemews.Gwenhadkeptatinysparrowhawkwhenshewasachild,althoughsheseemedutterlyterrifiedofit.Arthurwouldhavegivenanythingtohaveabird,buthadpretendedtofindthewholethingbeneathhimtodisguisehisjealousy,andoncehehadcommittedtohisdisdainitwashardtoshake.Hewasstillsneerywheneveranybodytalkedaboutfalconry.Itcertainlyhelpedthatwhenpeoplereallylikedbirdstheybecameabsoluteboresaboutthingslikefeedingschedulesandflyingweights
‘Asyou’reup,’Gabrielsaidslowly,‘wouldyoumind–youmightbeabletohelpmewithsomething.’
‘Ah,’Arthursaid,takenabackonceagain.HehadassumedthatGabrielwasjusttoleratinghiscompany–andyetnowhewasaskingformoreofit.Intriguing.‘Yes?’
‘Rightthen,’Gabrielsaid,lookingembarrassedbutleadingtheway.
Whentheyreachedthebuildingthathousedthemews,awonkystonestructureneartheorchard,ArthurexpectedGabrieltoringforsomebody–orforaservanttojustappearoutofthinair,anticipatinghisarrivalevenatsuchanunsociablehour–butinsteadheproducedakeyfromhisjacketandunlockedthedoor.
Insideitwasdarkandtherewasanodd,animalsmell;amustycombinationofwood,leatherandbirddroppings.AsArthur’seyesadjustedhestartedtoseetheshuffling,uneasyshapesofbirdsontheirperches,housedbehindslattedwoodengates.Theywerehoodedandblindbutcouldclearlysensetheintruders,andArthurfeltastrangeurgetoholdhishandsuptodemonstratethathewasafriend,notafoe.
‘Whichoneisyours?’hesaid,andthebirdclosesttohimextendeditswingsalittleinprotestbeforeshudderingandsettlingbackontoitsperch.
‘She’saperegrinefalcon,’Gabrielsaidquietly.‘Thelargeone,atthefarend.MyfathergavehertomewhenIwasthirteen.HernameisEdith.’
Arthurpeeredintothegloomandglimpsedabirdfurtherdowntherow,hunchedoverandsomehowbristlingwithangerevenindingysilhouette.Heshiveredinvoluntarily.
‘Shelooksfriendly.’
‘She’snot,’Gabrielsaidshortly.‘Well–shelikesme.’
‘Arewe–arewegoingoverthere?’
‘No,’Gabrielsaid,approachinganotherdoor.Arthurfollowedcloselybehindhim,reluctanttobeleftaloneinthisroomfullofsinisterraptors.Thedooropenedwithacreak,andtherewasasuddenburstofflappingwingsandstrange,high-pitchedshrieking.
Arthurjumpedaboutafootintheair,andgrabbedGabriel’sarmwithoutmeaningto.
‘Hello,sweetheart,’Gabrielcrooned,andArthurturnedtostareathim;herealisedabeatlaterthatGabrielwasabsolutelynottalkingtohim,andreleasedhisarm.Gabrielclosedthedoorbehindthem;itwaslighterinthisroom,themoonlightfilteringthroughatiny,barredwindow,andilluminatingthedemoniccreaturethathadattackedthem.
‘What’sthat?’
Gabriellaughedsoftly.‘She’safledglingcrow.’
‘Itdoesn’thaveahaton,’Arthursaidwarily.Thecrowwasn’ttethered,either;itwasstandinginthemiddleofthesmallroomlookingupatthem,turningitsheadrapidlyfromsidetosideasittriedtodecidewhicheyeitwantedtoobservethemthrough.
‘No,she’snotahuntingbird,’Gabrielsaid,stillusingthelove-soaked,deeplyaffectionatetoneofvoicethatArthurhadheardonlyoncebefore,aimedatthecat.Gabrielleaneddownandheldoutahand;thecrowhoppedforwardandthennibbledhopefullyathisfinger.
‘Whyisitinherethen?’Arthursaid,discomfortedagainbyGabriel’ssuddentransitionfromawkwardsilencesandstuntedhalf-sentencesintoeasyconfidence.
‘She’snotsupposedtobe.Shefledgedlastweek–theyoftenleavethenestbeforethey’rereadytofly,they’retooboldfortheirowngood–andshehurtherself.Ididn’twanthertogetintoanymoretrouble,soIbroughtherinside,andsincethenshe’sjustbeenhoppingaroundhereeatingscrapsandgettingineverybody’sway.’Gabrieltwirledhisindexfinger,andthecrowfolloweditwithherhead,turningaroundinajerkycircle.‘She’sgotawoundonherside–there,youcanjustaboutseeitwhensheliftsherrightwing,withthewhitepatch.’
‘Soshe’llleave?Whenshe’shealed?’
‘Ihopeso,’saidGabriel,asthebirdtiredofspinningandattemptedtoflyupontohisbentkneeinaveryuncoordinatedflurryofdarkfeathers.‘She’sawildbird.Notapet.’
‘Right.Noname,then,’Arthursaid,bendingandreachingoutforthecrow,whosmartlysidesteppedhim.
Gabriellaughedagain,andArthurfeltawarmpullofsatisfactionatthesound.‘No.Youcangiveheronethough.Ifyou’dlike.’
‘What?’saidArthurincredulously,straighteningbackup.‘Christ,no,that’s–that’sfartoomuchresponsibility.It’syourcrow.Youshouldnameit.’
‘Irecallyouhadnotroublerenamingmycat…’
‘That’sbecauseyourcathasastupidArthurianname.’
‘Goodpoint,’Gabrielsaid,lookingupathimandraisinganeyebrow,‘Arthur.’
‘Well,Ididn’tnamemyself,didI?’Arthursaid,foldinghisarmsandwatchingasthecrowtriedtodecidewhetheritwaspleasedorfuriousthatGabrielwasscratchingitonthehead.
‘Canyou…Ineedyourhands,’Gabrielsaid.Arthurwassostartledhejuststaredbackathim.‘Justcomedownhereforaminute,willyou?’
‘Er…Allright.’Arthurkneltawkwardlyonthehardstonefloor,knockinghisthighagainstGabriel’saccidentally,andthenbrieflyconsideringdoingitagainonpurpose.Thecrowwasassessingthembothwithutmostsuspicion;Gabrielheldouthisfingerforherconsideration,andthensuddenlygrabbedather,managingtopressbothwingsagainsthersidessoshecouldn’tescape.Heturnedheroverontoherback,andherspindlylegsstuckoutridiculouslyfromherfeatherylittlebodyassheglaredathimaccusingly.
‘Hands,’Gabrielsaid,andArthurheldthemout.Gabrielimmediatelypressedthecrowintothem,andArthurjoltedattheunexpectedwarmthofbothbirdandfingers.Hefeltstrangelyskittish,andtriedtoconcentrateonthetaskofcontainingtheangryballoffeathersnowwrigglingagainsthispalms.‘Don’tsqueezeher,justholdherfirmly.Turnhertowardsthewindowabit,Iwanttogetalookatherinjury–shedoesn’tletmedoitanymore,Ithinkshe’squitetiredofme.’
HegentlypushedtwoofArthur’sfingersoutofthewaytoreleaseherrightwingandthenpulleditawayfromherbody,leaninginclosertogetagoodlook.HedippedhisheadsolowthatArthurcouldfeelGabriel’sbreath,warmagainsthisknuckles.Thecrowmadeastrange,hoarsesqueakingsoundandthenturnedherheadtoonesidetostudyArthurproperly;shewaslookingathimasifsheknewexactlywhathewasthinking,andwasnotparticularlyimpressed.
‘Therewego,’Gabrielsaidtothecrow,lettinggoofherwing.‘Healingupnicely.Youcanreleasehernow.’Arthuropenedhishandsandthebirdrightedherselfindignantly,thendroppeddownontothefloortogatherherself.‘Thankyou.Youweregoodatthat–justtherightsortofgrip.’
‘That’swhattheyallsay,’saidArthur,buttheywerestillveryclosetogetheronthefloor,andithungawkwardlyintheairbetweenthem.Hewouldn’thavesaiditatallifhe’drealisedthatGabrielwaslookingrightathim–well,downathim,evenwhilekneeling–withthemoonlightpickingoutthefine-bonedfeaturesofhisface.‘Youdon’thaveanyfreckles,’hesaidsuddenly.
‘Er–what?’
‘Yoursisterhasfreckles,’Arthursaid,asifthisexplainedanything.
‘Shetakeswalks,’Gabrielsaid,hisbrowfurrowinginawaythatalreadyfeltveryfamiliar.‘Everyday,shewalks…’Hestoppedabruptly,asifhe’dbeeninterrupted;asifArthurhadbeendoingsomethingotherthanstaringstupidlyathim.
AsmuchasArthurlikedtogivetheimpressionthathewassomesortofseasonedrake,herarelymanagedtofollowthroughwhenactuallyconfrontedwithanattractiveboy.Mitchellfromthekennelswasarecentandnotableexception,andhadbeentheonetomakethefirstmove.Flirtingwaseasy–Arthurwasnevershortofwordsorwinks,andheparcelledthemoutfreely–buthurtlinghead-firstintoanythingmorewasanincalculablerisk,andthisparticularriskwasoffthecharts.
Nevertheless,Arthurfeltthestrange,quiettensionintheroombuilding.Gabriel’seyeswerestillsoftfromlookingathisdamnedcrow,and–hereallydidn’tthinkhewasimaginingit–theyweresoftfromlookingathim,too.
HetiltedhisheadandlookedquizzicallyatGabriel,thengavealittleshrug,leanedforwardandkissedhim.
Gabrielletoutamuffledsoundofsurprise,andforhalfabreathhebarelymoved;Arthurcouldhaveswornhefelttheslightestbitofgive,thetiniesttouchofreciprocation,butsuddenlyhewasbeingshovedawaywithconsiderableforce.Hisbackhitthefloorandknockedalloftheairoutofhiminaviolentwheeze.Thecrowwasapoplectic,screechingandflappingitswings,seeminglywantingtogetinonthethrillingfightitwaswitnessing.
‘Um,’saidGabriel,staringathiminwide-eyedpanic.Arthurstaredback,breathingheavily.‘Excuseme.’BeforeArthurcouldrespondhewasup,andgone.
‘Well,shit,’Arthursaid,staggeringtohisfeet,pushinghishairbackandstraighteninghisjacketasheattemptedtoregainsomesmallsemblanceofhisdignity.HefeltshakenandslightlysickfromthefullforceofGabriel’srejection–althoughadmittedly,partofitmayhavebeenfromhisimpactagainstthefloor.Thecrowblinkedcuriouslyupathim.
‘Don’trepeatthat,’hesaidsternly.‘You’retooyoungforthatsortoflanguage.’
Hecrossedtothedoor,closeditcarefullybehindhim,thenhalfjoggedthroughthenextroomtoavoidlookingatthemenagerieofmenacingbirds,grimacingasheheardthemshakeouttheirwingsinagitationashepassed.
Hewasjustwonderingwhathe’ddoaboutlockingupwhenhesteppedoutsideandfoundthatGabrielwasstillstandingthere,lookinglikeaspookedhorse.
‘Thekey,’hesaid.‘Imean–thelock.Ineedto…’Hegesturedhopelesslyatthedoor,andArthursteppedaside.Heseemedtobehavingafairamountoftroublewithit,whichgaveArthurtimetoconsiderhisapproach.
‘Er–I’mreallysorryaboutthat,’hesaid,tryingtosoundcheerful.‘Itwas…youknow.Amistake.It’slate,and…apparentlyallthattalkaboutancientmagicaldeitiesreallygetsmegoing.’
Gabrieldidn’tsayanything.Hefinallymanagedtoturnthekeyinthedoor,butthenjuststoodtherestaringatit,hisbacktoArthur.
‘Inmydefence,Ireallydidthink—’
‘IsthiswhyyoumadeadealwithGwen?’Gabrielsaidquietly.‘Sheknows?’
Arthursquintedupatthestarryskyandonlymomentarilyconsideredlying.‘Yes.’
‘She’sprotectingyou.Becauseyou’re…youdon’tlikewomen?’Hesaiditslowly,asifthepieceswereonlycomingtogetherinhismindashedid.
‘Ilikethemjustfine,’Arthursaid.‘Forstrictlyhands-freeactivities.Goingtoconcerts.Bookclubs.Turnsaboutthehall.’
‘Whydidsheagreetothis?’Gabrielstillhadn’tturnedaround.ItwasmakingArthurextremelynervous.Thefullrepercussionsofwhathe’djustdonewerehittinghimasviolentlyashe’dhitthefloor.HehadkissedthePrinceofEngland…onawhim.Gabrielcouldbeangryenoughtotellhisfather–hecouldbeangryenoughtohaveArthurarrested,forthatmatter,forlosinghismindandattackinghiminashed.
‘Ican’t–um,’Arthursaidstupidly.‘You’dhavetoaskher.’
‘Right,’Gabrielsaid.‘Right.’
‘Areyougoingto…’
Arthurfaltered,becauseGabrielhadfinallyturnedtohimwithanexpressionofsuchuncharacteristicallyfiercedeterminationonhisfacethatArthurstronglyconsideredmakingarunforit.
Heclearedhisthroatnervouslyandtriedagain.
‘Isthisthepartwhereyou—’
Hehadbeenabouttosay‘calltheguards’,butasitturnedouttherewasnoneedforanyfurtherspeculationtothatend,becauseGabrielhadsteppedforwardandkissedhim.
Itwasextremelyclumsy–hehadapproachedwithfartoomuchspeed,andpracticallyknockedtheirheadstogether–butArthurpressedahandtoGabriel’snecktosteadyhim,feelingGabriel’scurlsbrushagainstthetipsofhisfingersasheheldhiminplace.Gabrielhadtheelementofsurprisethistime,butiftherewasonethingArthurknewhewasgoodat,itwaskissing;hiseyesflutteredclosedasGabrieltentativelyputahandtohischest,andthenGabrielwasmovingmoreinsistently,surprisingArthurwiththeurgentpressofhismouthandthefactthathisfingerswerefistinginArthur’stunic.
Arthurwasjustreallygettingintoit,deeplyenjoyingthehitchinGabriel’sbreathwhenhelethismouthgoallsoftandyielding,whenhewassuddenlypushedaway.Again.
‘Sorry,’Gabrielsaid,pinkandwild-eyedandbreathless.‘I–damn.’
Arthurgraspedforsomethingtomakethemomentlessawkwardandfailed.‘YoushouldcallyourbirdMorgana,’hesaidinastrangledvoice.‘Youknow–Merlinthecat,Morganathecrow.’
‘Right,’Gabrielsaid.‘Thanks.’
AndthenArthurwaslookingathisback.Again.Hestoodwatchingtheprincewalkquicklyawayandthenturnedandkickedthewallofthemews,immediatelyfeelingguiltywhenheheardanalarmed,avianshriekemanatefromwithin.
‘Well,’hesaidtohisachingfoot.‘Thatcertainlyclearsthingsup.’
‘Wherehaveyoubeen?’ArthursaidwhenSidneyfinallycamestumblingthroughthedoorafewhourslater.
‘YoubloodywellknowwhereI’vebeen,’Sidneysaid,wrinklinghisnoseinaffront.‘You’vebeenwhereI’vebeen.YouleftwhereI’vebeen.IwaswaitingforAgnes,andthenIwaswithAgnes.Wherehaveyoubeen?You’realldusty.’
Arthurhadbeensittingandstaringoutofthewindowatthestarssincehe’dreturnedtohisquarters.Ithadallfeltratherromanticanddramaticatfirst,butafterawhilehisneckhadstartedtohurt.
‘IwaswithGabriel,’hesaid.‘AndthenIwasn’t.’
‘Uh-oh,’saidSidney,pullingupachairandsittingdownheavilynexttohim.‘Whatdidyoudo?’
‘Kissedhim,’Arthursaidmatter-of-factly.‘Inthebirdshed.’
‘Shit,’saidSidney.‘IsthatsomesortofslangforsomethingIdon’twanttoknowabout?’
‘No,itwasaliteral–itwasashedfullofbirds.’
‘Shit,’Sidneysaidagain.‘Shouldn’twebepacking?Shouldn’twebeoutthewindowandhalfwayacrossEnglandbynow?’
‘Can’tseewhy,’Arthursaid,leaningbackinhischairandlookingrathersmug.‘Becausehekissedmeback.’
Sidneygapedathim.‘Inthebirdshed?’
‘You’reawfullyfixatedonthebirdshed.’
‘You’reright,’Sidneysaid,rubbinghiseyeswithbothhands.‘Let’sbackupto–whathappened?’
‘Hewasshowingmehisbirds,’Arthursaid,feelingslightlyhystericalnow,‘andhehadthiscrow,andhe–hecalleditsweetheart,soobviouslyIhadto…HeranoffandIthoughtthebillhadcomedue,thechoppingblockwascalling,thenoosewasnigh,buttheninsteadhe–heaskedmeifIlikedwomen,andthenhekissedme.’
Sidneyputhisheadinhishands.‘Isthistreason?’hesaid,muffledbyhisfingers.‘Orisitjustaregularcrime?’
‘Iwaswonderingthat.Butyouhaveanalibi,’Arthursaid,pattinghimonthearm.‘Youwerelurkingoutsideasecretundergroundparty.’
‘Pleasejust…Thiswasaone-timething,right?’Hepeeredthroughhisfingers,lookingverytired.‘Tellmeitwasaone-timething.’
‘Definitely,’Arthursaid.‘Absolutely.He’snot–youknow.Hebarelytalks.Hereadsbooks.’Itwastrue;Gabrielwasnothisusualtype,andheneededtobepractical.Itwouldbeonethingtoriskhisneckforsomeconfident,dashingprincewithmuscledthighsandwittyreparteetotrulydiefor,butGabrielwasquiet,andstrange,andultimatelyjust–notworththehassle.
Evenifhewasnicetobirds.
‘Ah,yes.Hisdustylooksandlackofpersonalityhavecaptivatedyou,’Sidneysaid,sighingandgettingup.‘I’mgoingtobed.Suggestyoudothesame,insteadofstaringdramaticallyoutofthewindowlikeyou’reinapoem.’
‘Idon’tdothat,’Arthursaidcrossly,andSidneyrolledhiseyesashewentovertohiscotandstartedtakinghisbootsoff.
Arthurleftthewindow,wenttobedandstareddramaticallyatthecanopyforanotherhourinstead.Itwasfarlessromantic,butmucheasierontheneck.GwenfollowedBridgetupthestairsandoutintothequietofthechurchinadaze.ShehadhopedthatBridgetmightforgetthatshewasholdingGwen’sarm–thattheymightmakeitallthewayoutintothenightairandshe’dstillbeinBridget’ssure,steadygrip–butlifehadnotbeenthatkind.
‘Thatwas…forceful,’shesaid,astheywalkedthroughtherowsofpews.Bridgetwinced.
‘Er…Yes.Myapologies.Itseemedurgentthatweremoveyoufromthesituation,beforesomebodyrecognisedyou.’
‘No,no,Imeanitwas–brilliant,’saidGwen,moreoutofbreaththantheirwalkingspeedcouldaccountfor.‘IwishIhadthatsortof…self-assurance,andstrength,and…andpresencelikeyoudo.’
‘Oh,’saidBridget,visiblyrelaxing.‘Well.I’vebeentrainingforcombatsinceIwasveryyoung,andIsupposeitinstilsacertain…confidence.’
‘Confidence?You’remagnificent,’Gwensaid,toocaughtupinthemomenttobeembarrassed;Bridget’sexpressiontwistedintosomethingunreadable,andsheclearedherthroatandlookedstraightaheadasshewalked,claspingherhandsformallybehindherback.
‘MyfamilyisfromtheSukhothaiKingdom–there’safightingstyletherethat’sverydifferenttowhattheyteachinEngland.It’stargeted–efficient.Ilearnedtofightwithmywholebody,withfists,elbowsandknees,beforeIpickedupmyfirstweapons.Myfatherneverhadason,sohetaughtmeinstead.Learningtofightlikethatmakesyouvery…awareofyourbody,andwhatitcando.’
GwenwascertainlyveryawareofBridget’sbody,specificallythehabitshehadofstretchingouthershoulderstoloosenthemusclesthere.Shewasdoingitnow,andGwenwassodistractedbytheshiftofherarmsunderherjacketthatshemissedwhatBridgetsaidtohernext.
‘Iwassaying,’sherepeated,takinginGwen’sbaffledandflushedexpression,‘Icouldteachyouthesword.Ifyoulike.’
‘Oh–no,Icouldn’t,’Gwensaidautomatically.Bridgetnodded,andtheykeptwalkinginsilenceforawhile,outacrossthecourtyardwheretheonlysoundsweretheirfootstepsandthegentlehootingofaperturbedowl.NogoodcouldcomeofspendingmoretimewithBridget,nomatterhowmuchshewantedto.Andlearningtofight,withallthephysicalexertioninvolved,theintimacyandthesweatandseeingBridgetupcloseassheexpertlyhandledherweapon…
‘Actually,’Gwensaidsuddenly.‘Maybe–yes.I’dlikethat.’
Bridgetappraisedhersolemnly.‘Well.Good.I’llcomeforyouinthemorning.’
Theypartedatthekeep,andGwenwalkedupstairsfeelingstunned.ShefellasleepthinkingofBridget,standingbetweenherandtherestoftheworldwithherarmscrossedandhereyesblazingindefiance.
Morningbroughtfreshclarity,andGwenwastwistinghersilkenbeltintoknotswhenGabrielsatdownoppositeheratthebreakfasttableonthebalcony,lookingasifhehadn’tsleptatall.
‘Doyouknowwhat’shappening?’sheasked,andGabriellookedconfusedforamoment.‘MotherandFather?Ihaven’tseeneitherofthemfordays.’
‘Oh.Yes.TherewassomekindofincidentinRuthinlastweek,’saidGabriel.‘They’remeetingwiththelocalguardnow.’
‘What’sinRuthin?’Gwensaid,asapagerushedoutbearingheapedplatesoffood.GabrielthankedhimasGwenreachedforthegrapefruit.
‘MaenHuail,’saidGabriel.‘It’sastoneblockwhereArthurPendragonapparentlybeheadedoneofhisenemies.Cultiststreatitasasacredsite.’
‘Lovely,’saidGwen,throughasourmouthfuloffruit.‘Sothey…?’
‘Attackedachurchthere,’Gabrielsaid.‘Apparently.Althoughtheysaythechurchattackedthem.Nobodywasinjuredbeyondscrapesandbruises.’
‘WereyouuplatewithFather,sortingitallout?’saidGwen.Gabrieltwitched,andthenrubbedatthebackofhisneck.Helookedalmostguilty.
‘No,’hesaideventually.
‘Butyouwereuplate?’Gwenpressed.‘Youlookwrecked.’
‘Oh,thanks,’Gabrielsaid,attemptinglevity.‘Iwenttothelibrary.AndthenIwenttothemews,tocheckonthatcrow,and…’Hetookabiteofbread,asiftryingtoputofftherestofhissentenceforaslongaspossible.‘Arthur…wasthere.’
‘Arthurcamewithyoutolookatabird?’Gwensaid,botheyebrowsraised.Shedistinctlyrememberedhimrenouncingallofbirdkindwhentheywerechildren.
‘Yes,’Gabrielsaidmiserably.
‘Well,’saidGwen.‘Howwasthecrow?’
‘Fine.Muchimproved.Fine.’
‘Soifyouweren’tuplatedealingwithmattersofstate,’Gwensaid,‘andifthecrowisfine–finetwiceover,infact–whatonearthisgoingonwithyou?’
‘Tired,’saidGabriel,andGwensnorted.
‘You’renottired.Imean,youare,butyou’realwaystired.You’re…twitchy.What’sgoingon?’
Gabrielrubbedhiseyes,andthenranahandthroughhishair;hiscoppercurlsweremussedandstickingupattheback,asifhe’dbeenfiddlingwiththemquitealotalreadythismorning.‘Whydon’tyoutellmewhat’sgoingon?’hesaidfinally.
‘Youcan’tjustrepeatwhatIsaybacktome,that’snot—’
‘Gwendoline,’Gabrielsaid,slowandserious.‘Whydon’tyoutellmewhat’sbeengoingon?’
Gwen’shandsclenchedaroundhergrapefruit,whichwasquiteanunpleasanttactileexperience.Thebottomhaddroppedoutofherstomach,whichwasevenworse.‘Why?DidArthursaysomethingtoyou?’
‘Thisisn’taboutArthur,’Gabrielsaid,althoughshenoticedthathewaspinkinthecheeks.‘Thisisaboutyou.Youdon’tkeepsecretsfromme.Oratleast–youneverhavebefore.’
Hewasright.ShehadalwaystrustedGabrielwitheverything–notthattherehadbeenmuchtotell,butstill–andithadbeendifficultnottotalkaboutthis;notjustforthepastfewweeks,butforyears,eversinceshe’dfirstseenBridgettieupherhairandstretchoutherarmsandwonderedwhyitwassothrilling.Usuallyshe’dhavemuddledthroughtheproblemwithhim,butithadfelttooinvasive,likeshewasofferingupherownorganstobeexamined.Ithadn’thelpedthatwhenshewasfifteen,Gwenhadbeenfoolishenoughtoaskhermotherwhatitmeantwhenawomanlovedanotherwoman;thequeenhadlookedslightlyalarmed,butthenexplainedtoGwenthatwhilesomeladiesexperiencedconfusionbroughtonbyclosequartersandintimatefriendships,itwasalwaystemporary,andnothingGwenwouldeverneedtoworryabout.
Ofcourse,asGwen’sfeelingsrefusedtostaytemporary,hermother’swordshadgivenhermoretoworryaboutthanever.
ButGabrielwasn’thermother.Gabrieldidn’tjudge.Gabrielwouldunderstand.
Still,shefeltseasickassheclearedherthroatandbegantospeak.‘WhenItoldyouthatArthurandIhadmadeadeal,’shesaidslowly,‘itwas…Heknewsomething.Heknewsomethingaboutme.Or,hethoughthedid,andItoldhimhewaswrong,but–hewasn’twrong.Hewasright.’
‘Okay,’Gabrielsaid,lookingevenmoreconfused.
‘I’vewanted…forawhile,I’vewantedsomethingIdon’tthinkIcanhave,’Gwenpressedon,desperationcreepingintohervoice.‘Imean,youmustunderstandthat–Iknowthisisn’tthelifeyouwouldhavechosenforyourself.’
Gabrieltookadeepbreathinandoutthroughhisnose.Thiswasn’tgoingparticularlywell.Neitherofthemhadactuallyeversaidthisoutloudsoplainly–haddaredtovoicethatGabrielreallydidn’twantthethrone.Itwentunsaidbecausetosayitfelttantamounttotreason,althoughGwencouldn’ttellwhotheywereactuallycommittingitagainst.
‘I’veneversaidthat,’Gabrielsaidquietly,andGwenleanedbackinherchairandsighed.
‘No,Idon’t–sorry.That’snotwhatImeant.Letmestartagain.I’mnotreallyinlovewithArthur.’
‘Yes.Iknow.’
‘Well–I’veneverreallylikedanybodyinthatway.Notproperly,anyway.ButlatelyI’ve…latelytherehasbeensomeone.Aperson.ThatIthinkabout.’Gabrieldidn’tsayanything.Hisfacehadclosedoffsomewhatthough,andGwenwasdesperatetobreakbackthrough.‘ForalongtimeIjusttriedtoforgetaboutit,butthat’sbecomealotharderlately.Iwanttotellyou.But…Idon’twantyoutothinkanydifferentlyofme,orforittochangethingsbetweenus.Icouldn’tbearit.’
Silence.
‘It’sLady–it’sBridget.BridgetLeclair.That’swhoI’vebeen…thinkingabout.’
Shehadexpectedhimtolooksurprised.Somepartofherhadhopedthathemightrelax,andsoftenintoasmile;thathehadnoticedsomethingwasdistractingher,andwouldonlybegladthatthemysterywassolvedandthatshehadfinallysharedthispartofherselfwithhim.IfGabrielknew,andsawher,anddidn’tmind,thenitwouldn’tfeelsowrong.ItwouldeasesomeofthepanicandregretshefelteverytimeshethoughtabouthermotherpattingherontheheadandreassuringherthatthehorrorofladieswholovedotherladieswouldneverdarkenGwen’sdoor.
ButGabrielwasn’tsmiling.
‘But…’hesaid,breakingoffandlookingdownatthetable.‘Areyousure?’
‘Sure?Aboutwhat?’Gwensaid.Herthroatfeltstrangelytight,hercheekshot.‘Idon’tknowhowIcanbesureaboutanything,whenIdon’tknowwhatanyofitmeansyet.ButIdolikeher,Gabe.Ihaveforawhile.Iknowthere’snothingIcanreallydoaboutit,andsoonI’llbemarriedtoArthurwitheverythinginitsrightplace,but…thatdoesn’tstopitfrombeingtrue.’
Gabrieltookadeepbreath.Gwenwasstillwaitingforreassurance,butitdidn’tcome.Instead,Gabrielfinallylookedupatherwithsomethingthatlookedstrangelylikepaininhiseyes.
‘Idon’tthinkthisisagoodidea.’
‘What?’Gwenfeltlikeshehadbeenslapped;thesameshock,thesamesharpsting,theringingnumbnessthatfollowed.‘Whatdoyoumean?Iknowit’snot…ideal,butit’snotanideaI’vehad,Idon’tactuallythinkIhaveachoiceinthematter—’
‘I’msorry,butIcan’t–Ican’thearthis,’Gabrielsaid,standingup.Gwenstaredathim,tearsburningbehindhereyes;heshookhisheadonce,abrief,tersemovement,andthenabruptlyturnedandwalkedfromthebalcony.
Gwenwasleftgazingafterhim,lettinghertearsfallfreelyasherchesttightenedlikeavice.Shepressedherthumbhardintothebedofoneofhernails,wheretheskinwasredandinflamedfromworryingatit.Thepainthrobbedthere,butitdidn’thelp;theotherhurtwasfartoobig.
Shemadeherwaybacktoherroomslikeasleepwalker,andonceinsidesawthatAgneshadreturned;shehadn’tcomebacktotheirchambersthenightbefore,andthesightofhertiredandhappyandalittledishevelledwassuddenlyalltoomuch.
‘Whereonearthhaveyoubeen?’Gwensnapped.‘Ihadtodressmyself,youknow.’
‘Ah–sorry,’Agnessaid,blushingcrimson.‘Iwasatthepartyuntilquitelate,andthenIwas…SidneyandIwentforawalk.’
‘ForChrist’ssake,Agnes,he’sabody-man.Acommonservant.Yourpositionhereishighlycovetedbyeverynobleladyatcourt,asyouwellknow.Yourfatherdidn’tsendyouheretothrowitallawayonamanwho–whoalwayshassouponhissleeves.’
‘I’msorry,’Agnessaidagain,beforerushingawayintothebedroom.Gwensatdownheavilyinherreadingchair,thenpickedupabookandstaredatit,seeingnothingatall.Shecouldn’ttellwhichwaswinningout–herutterdevastationatGabriel’slackofsupport,atthewayhe’dmadeherfeelsomonstrous,orthesuspicionthatshewasmonstrous;thatitwassomehowadishonourablethingtolookatBridgetthewayshedid,andthatGabrielwasrighttohavereactedwithrevulsion.Shewantedtoscrubitallout.ShewantedtotakebackeverythingshehadsaidandgobacktoatimewhenshewasstilljustthesisterthatGabrielknewandloved,notthisstrangerhehadlookedatwithsuchdisappointment.
Shame.Thatwasthefeeling.Shefeltfloodedwithit,likeitwascurdlingthebloodinherveinsandtakingrootinthepitofherstomach.
Thisiswhatcomesofwantingthings.
‘Doyou…Wecouldstillgoforourwalk?’Agnessaid,creepingintotheroomtenminuteslater.
‘It’stoolatenow.’
‘Theweatherisfair–there’sstillplentyoftimebeforelunch,wecould—’
‘Isaidit’stoolate!’Gwensnapped.Thedayfeltruined.Everythingfeltruined.Agneswaslookingatherreproachfully,likeakickeddog,butitwasn’tmakingherfeelmorecharitable;itwasjustmakingherwanttokickharder.EverythingcamesoeasilytoAgnes;shehadaclosecabaloffriends,shewasgenerallybelovedatcourt,andnowshehadthisnew,ridiculousromancewithSidney.Itjustwasn’tfair
Theypassedthenexthourinstonysilence,untiltherewasaknockatthedoor;aguardhadcometoconveyamessage,andafterhearingit,Agnesapproachedhertentatively.
‘Hesaid…’Shescrewedupherface,lookingasifthecontentsofthemessagewereentirelyindecipherable.‘Hesaidaladyisheretotakeyoudowntothenorth-westcourtyard?To–toteachyoucombat?’
‘OhChrist,’Gwenbreathed.AfterhowthingshadgonewithGabriel,shehadentirelyforgotten.TheideaoffacingBridgetnowwasalmostunbearable,butshecouldn’tturnherawaywhenshehadsograciouslyofferedtogiveuphermorning.‘Tellthemshe’sallowedtocomethrough.’
Sheglancedoveratthemirroronthewall,takinginthehairshehadbraidedinexpertlywithoutAgnes’shelpandthepinchedexpressiononherface.Itwouldhavetodo.
Gwenunclenchedherjaw,tookadeepbreathandwenttofindBridget.
Shewasstandingalittlewaypasttheguards,inbreechesandalooseshirt,ignoringthefactthattheywereallstaringopenlyather.Gwensuddenlyfeltridiculouslyoverdressed,eveninasimplegown.
‘Er–hello.’
‘Goodmorning,yourhighness.You…don’thaveanythingelsetowear?’Bridgetsaid,tiltingherheadslightlyassheconsideredGwen.Ifshewereinabettermood,Gwenmighthaveenjoyedbeingconsidered,evenifhersartorialchoiceswerebeingfoundwanting.
‘Um.Notreally.’
‘Well–Isupposeitdoesn’tmatter.Probablybestyoulearninadressanyway,ifyou’realwayswearingone.’Theybegantowalkdownthecorridor,acoupleoffeetofspacebetweenthem,GwenfallingintostepwithBridgetandthenintentionallylengtheninghergaitsoitdidn’tlooklikeshewastryingtodosomesortofsynchronisedwalking.
Gwenhadattendedcombattraininginthenorth-westyardbefore;shehadwatchedGabrielthere,hadsatonthewalleatingbunsandswingingherlegs,waitingforhimtobefinishedsothattheycouldplay.Asshehadgrownolderandfallenintoherowndailyroutine,shehadstoppedgoingwithhim.Ithadneverenteredherheadtoaskforatrainingswordofherown.
Shestillwasn’tsuresheactuallywantedtolearnnow;lastnightshehadbeengiddyfromproximitytoBridget,anddesperatetoelicitsomemore.Inthecoldlightofdayshefeltsurethewholethingwouldbeadisaster.AsBridgetgreetedtheMasterofArms,SirDhawan,andrequestedasword,Gwenpickedatherfingersandtriedtopushdownthemountingdread.
‘Asword?Fortheprincess?’SirDhawansaid,frowning.
‘Yes.Shewishestolearnthebasicsofcombat.’
‘Well…’theMasterofArmssaidslowly,lookingaroundasifexpectingGwen’sfathertoappearoutofthinair.‘I’msorry,butIwouldneedtoasktheking.Getspecialpermissions.It’snotthesortofthingweusually—’
‘It’sforaplay,’Gwensaidsuddenly,desperatetoendthisconversationasquicklyaspossible.‘It’sforaplayI’mputtingon.ForFather’sbirthday.Youwouldn’tspoilthesurprise?’
‘No,’saidSirDhawan,clearlynotconvincedbutunwillingtocallheraliar.‘Well.Isuppose–no.’HehandedBridgetthebluntedpracticeswordsshehadrequestedwithoutanyfurthercomplaints.
‘Haveyoueverheldaswordbefore?’Bridgetsaidwhentheyhadrelocatedtothecentreofthecourtyard.
‘No,’Gwensaidmiserably.Shewasholdingitgingerly,lettingthepointtrailagainstthecobblestones.‘Isupposethat’sobvious,isn’tit.’
Bridgetsmiled,archinganeyebrow.‘You’regrippingitlikeit’sgoingtobiteyou.’
‘Isn’tit?’
‘Unlikely,’saidBridget,adjustingherowngrip.‘Unlessit’sacursed,magicalsword.’
‘Well,howdoIknowifit’scursed?’
‘Holditlikethis–that’sit,watchmyfingers–thereyougo.Nowgiveitaswing.Ifyoudon’topenaportaltohell,thenyou’reprobablyfine.’
Gwenlaugheddespiteherself,encouragedbyBridget’sfirm,good-humouredguidance;shedidn’tknowwhatshe’dbeenexpecting,butitwasn’tthis.Shegavetheswordanexperimentalswing.
‘Good.Youneedtogetusedtotheweightofitfirst.Feetshoulder-widthapart,andbringthatlegforward.Watchme–dowhatIdo.’
Gwenwaswatchingher.Bridgethadtransitionedeasilyintothefightingstancethatshehadseenmanytimesduringthetournament;itlookedentirelynaturalonher,likeshehadbeenborntodoit.HereyeswerefixedonGwen’s,herexpressionseriousasshewaitedforGwentomirrorhermovements.God,Gwenthoughtwistfully.Ihopeshestabsme
Bridgetstraightenedupslightly.‘Er…you’rejuststandingthere.’
‘Oh.Yes.Sorry,’Gwensaid,liftingherswordagainandtryingtoholdherselflikeBridget,knowingthatsheprobablylookedridiculous.
‘Good.Don’tleanforwardonyourfrontfoot.Keepyourweightevenlydistributed–lookatmyfeet,notmyface,yourhighness.’
Gwenblushedandshiftedslightly,hopingshewasdistributingsomething.‘Please,justcallmeGwen.Likethis?’
‘Yes.Gwen.Now,just–giveitago.Trytohitme.’
‘Um.Okay,’Gwensaid,attemptingaclumsyforwardswing;shetriedherbesttoputsomeforceintoit,andwhenBridget’sswordcamealmostlazilyuptomeetherstheycollidedloudly,ashockwavereverberatingdownGwen’sarm.HerrewardwasapropersmilefromBridget,brieflydazzlingandthengone.Thatreverberatedtoo.
‘That’sgood.Makesureyoudon’tswingtoowide.Let’sdoitagain.’
‘Yourfatherreallydidn’tmindteachingthistoagirl?’Gwensaidastheirswordscametogether,alreadybreathingharderthanusual.‘Or–youbecomingaknight?Anyofit?’
‘No,’Bridgetsaid,inperfectcontrolofherownbreathing.‘MyparentsmightbetheonlypeopleinEnglandwhodidn’t.’Therewasabriefpause,asGwenhaddroppedherswordentirely;sheretrieveditandtuckedherhairbehindherear,tryingtorememberwhereherfeetweresupposedtobe.‘Peoplewerevery…difficultaboutmebecomingasquire,letaloneenteringthelists.Iwasturnedawayforyears.Evenatthelocaltourneys,wherethey’dletadogcompeteifitcouldstandonitshindlegsforlongenoughtomeetthemarshal.’
‘God,’saidGwen.‘Then–whydidyoudoit?’
‘BecauseitwaswhatIwanted,’Bridgetsaid,asifthatwerethesimplestthingintheworld.‘IattendedmyfirsttournamentwhenIwasfour,sittingonmyfather’sshoulders,andIknewatonceitwaswhatIwantedtodowithmylife.Wetrainedtogetherforyears;Iwasn’tgoingtobackdownjustbecausesomebodytoldmeno.Holdyourarmalittlehigher.’Gwendidso,andBridgetpausedforamoment.‘Well,itwasn’tjustsomebody,itwasactuallyquiteafewsomebodies–butwhatdidtheyknowaboutme,otherthanwhattheyassumedjustbylookingatme?IknewIcoulddoit.SoIdid.’
Gwen’sswordsagged.‘You’re…incredible.’
Bridget’sexpressiondidsomethingstrange,likeshewassuppressingmultipleemotionsatonce.‘IthoughtItoldyoutoraiseyourarm.’
GwenforgotaboutGabriel.SheforgotabouttheMasterofArms,watchingfromtheothersideofthecourtyard.Shelostherselfinthesatisfyingacheofusingmusclesshehadneverengagedbeforeinherlife;chasedtheglowthatburnedinthepitofherstomacheverytimeBridgetsmiled,ortoldhershewasdoingwell.WhenBridgetsteppedinclosertorepelGwen’smeagreattacks,withhereyesbrightwithsatisfaction,orstoppedtopresshersure,roughhandstoGwen’sandshifthergriponthepommel,itwasimpossibletothinkaboutanythingelse
Halfanhourlater,whenBridgetwasdistractedlookingatGwen’sstanceratherthanhersword,Gwenactuallymanagedtogetpastherguard;shetappedthepointofherswordlightlyagainstBridget’schestandgrinned,genuinelythrilled
‘Iwin.’
Beforeshe’devenfinishedspeakingshefeltsomethinghookaroundherankle,ahandsupportingthesmallofherbacktosoftenherfall,andthenshewaslyingflatonthecobblestoneslookingupatthebluntpointofBridget’ssword.
‘Congratulations,yourhighness–ah-ah,wait.’Gwenhadtriedtogetup,butBridgetkeptherpinnedatswordpoint.Gwennarrowedhereyes;BridgetrespondedbyraisinghereyebrowsandlettingtheendoftheswordmakegentlecontactwithGwen’schin,liftingiteversoslightlyasGwenmetBridget’sgazeandtriedtoholdbackasmile.‘Staydown,andI’llshowyouhowtogetbackupagain.’
AshortwhilelaterGwenwasbreathlessandlaughing,pushingasweatystrandofescapedhairawayfromherfaceasBridgetonceagaintriedtoshowherhowtodotheankletrick,whensheheardavoicecutacrossthecourtyardandfrozeimmediately.
‘Sidney,’saidArthur.‘Iseemtobehavingthemostvividhallucination.’
Hewasleaningagainstthearchway,Sidneynexttohimwithhisarmsfolded.
‘Nah,’saidSidney.‘Iseeittoo.’
‘Canyougoanddothisbitsomewhereelse?’Gwensaid,wipingherforeheadwiththebackofherhandinamannersoundignifiedthathermotherwouldhavepitchedafitifshe’dseenit.
‘Shespeaks,’saidArthur.‘IsthisreallythePrincessofEnglandIseebeforeme,withamassivebloodysword?’
‘It’snotbloodyyet,’Gwensaid,inwhatshehopedwasamenacingtone.
‘Iseemtohaveinterruptedtheinauguralmeetingoftheconventionforabnormallytallwomen.Whathappenedhere?Whothrewdownthegauntlet?Aboutmoney,isit?Ordidoneofyouinsulttheother’swife?’
‘Ah.Terriblewhentheyinvolvethewives,’Sidneysaid,shakinghisheadseriously.BridgetlookedfromArthurtoGwenandthenbackagain,herexpressioninscrutable.
‘Whydon’tyoucomeoverhere,’Gwensaidsweetly,‘soIcanpityoulikeanolive?’
Arthurstraightenedup.
‘Sidney,’hesaidpompously.‘Fetchmysword.’
Sidneylookedunconcerned.‘Youdidn’tbringasword.’
‘Fetchaswordthen.’
‘Righto.’SidneywentgamelyovertoSirDhawan;therewasaquickflurryofdiscussion,butheeventuallyreturnedwithaweapon.‘Don’tpokeyourfaceoff.’
‘I’mnotgoingtopokemy—Giveithere,’Arthursnapped,grabbingitfromhim.
‘Youcan’tfighttheprincess,’Bridgetsaid.‘Itwouldhardlybefair,she’sonlyjustpickedupasword.ButI’llsecondforher.’Gwenflashedherasmile–theunexpectedwinkshereceivedinreturnturnedherinsidesmolten.
Arthurpaled.‘Er…’hesaid.‘I’mgoingtoduelSidney,actually.’
‘Noyou’renot,’saidSidney.‘Sidneyisgoingtoleanagainstthiswallhereandhaveanap.’
‘It’sokaytobeafraid,’Bridgetsaid,loweringhervoiceasiftopreservehisdignity;Gwensnortedwithlaughter.
‘Ohfine,fine,’Arthursaid,straighteningupandpushinghislonghairbackoverhisshoulders.‘Butyou’renottocryafter.’
‘Iwon’tifyouwon’t,’Bridgetsaid,asshewatchedhimapproach.Gwenhastenedtothewall,tostandbySidneyandwatch.
AtfirstitseemedlikeArthurmightactuallyholdhisown,butthisillusionwasshatteredassoonasheattemptedtolandahit;inamovementsoquickandsuddenthatGwenfeltshehadsomehowmissedit,Bridgethaddisarmedhimandknockedhimflatonhisback,withnoneofthegentlenessshehadshownGwen.
‘Wouldyouliketogoagain?’Bridgetasked.
‘Iwanttoscheduleanexorcism,’Arthursaidbitterly,ashescrambledtohisfeet.‘You’reclearlypossessedbythespiritofa–amassiveblokewithasword.’
‘Ijustpractise,’Bridgetsaid,shrugging,clearlyenjoyingherself.‘Alot.’
‘Well,inanycase,it’snotfair,’saidArthurimperiously.‘Ihavetoholdback,becauseyou’reawoman.’
‘Aterribleshame.Perhapshishighnesswouldbeamoreworthyopponent,’Bridgetsaid,gesturingwithherchin.GwenturnedandsawGabrielstandingintheoppositedoorwaywithabookinhishand,watchingthem,lookingstricken.Bridgetdroppedintoaquickbow,andGabrielwavedthebookatherdistractedly,indicatingthatsheshouldbeatease.
Gwenfeltbileriseinherthroatatthesightofhim,andhelookedjustashorrifiedasshefelt.Shehadmanagedtoforgetabouttheirconversationforanentire,glorioushour,butthelookonhisfacewasbringingitallbackwithpainfulurgency.
‘Whatdoyousay?’Sidneysaid,pushingofffromthewalltostandupstraight.‘ShallIfetchyouasword,yourhighness?’
Gwenresistedtheurgetorollhereyes.Hewasneverthispolitetoher.
‘No,’Gabrielsaid,glancingoverhisshoulder.‘Iwasjust—’
‘Yourhighness,’saidSirDhawan,somehowmanagingtobowashewalked.‘I’mdelightedtoseeyou,it’sbeenweeks.We’lljust…’Heclickedhisfingers,andaboycamerunningwithasword.
‘Right,’Gabrielsaid,automaticallytakingtheswordoutofpolitenessandthenstaringatitasifhehadnoideawhatitcouldpossiblybefor.
‘Yourfathertoldmejustyesterdaythathewouldencourageyoutoreturntopractisingdaily–wehavenew-madearmourtoo,ifyou’dcaretogiveitatry.Gold-plated,justasLordStaffordrequested.’
‘Ah–yes,’Gabrielsaid,lookingtrapped.
‘Wouldyouliketotrainwithme,yourhighness?Or…Icanfetchasquire—’
‘It’sallright,’Sidneysaid,smilingaffably.‘He’llfightArthur.’
ArthurwaslookingatSidneywithamurderousexpression,butSidneyseemedentirelynonplussed.
‘Splendid!’saidSirDhawan.‘Verywell,yourhighness.ShowhimhowwefightatCamelot.’
Gabrielthrewonemoredesperateglancebackatthekeep,likehewashopingsomebodywouldappearandcallhimawaytoattendtourgentbusiness,butthensighedandliftedhissword.Arthurwasfeelingquiteconfusedaboutthesituationhefoundhimselfin.ThesightofGabrielwieldingaswordcertainlywasn’thelpingmatters.
Aneedtobenear-constantlyentertainedwas,hebelieved,oneofhisfewpersonalfailings;upuntilveryrecently,themostentertainingthingaboutGabrielhadbeenthathewasanoddlyquietandreluctantroyal.
Nowhewasapersonwhoplayednursemaidtocrows,grippedhisswordlikeanexpert,andkissedpeopleinthemiddleofthenightbeforepromptlyrunningaway.Watchinghimraiseaswordnowwithaformthatmusthavebeeningrainedthroughyearsofpractice,hewasimaginingtheleanmusclethatmustbehiddensomewherebeneathGabriel’sclothes.
Itwasallabitdistracting.
‘You’remeanttohithimwithit,’Sidneycalled.
‘Yes,thanks,Sid,’Arthursaid.Tohisright,GwenandBridgetweresparringagain;thesoundofBridgeturgingheron,givinglittlecorrectionsandlightribbingsthatseemedtoArthurtobeveryflirtatious,justmadethesilencebetweenhimandGabrielallthemorepronounced.
Arthurraisedhissword.Hisbadwristbuckledslightly;hetriedtocompensatebytighteninghisgrip.
‘Allrightthen,’hesaid.‘Shallwe—’
Gabrielhadalreadyadvanced,hiseverymovementbythebook;Arthurmanagedtoparry,butitwasclumsy,andafewsecondslaterGabrielhadtappedhisswordpointlightlyagainstArthur’sshoulder.
‘Oh.’
Gabriel’sexpressionwascompletelyneutral;Arthurraisedhisarmjustintimeashelungedagain,anddeflectedweakly.‘Shit.Thisisn’tthesortofthingyoulooklikeyou’dbegoodat,youknow.It’smisleading.’
‘Why?’Gabrielaskedquietly.
‘Well.You’rebuiltforreading,’Arthursaid,hiswordspunctuatedbythesoundofbladeagainstblade.‘Reading–inadarkenedroom–untilcoveredinafinelayerofdust.’
‘I’mgoodatthattoo,’Gabrielsaid,attemptingtoknockArthur’sswordcompletelyfromhishand;Arthurblockedhim,thenpushedincloser,forcingGabriel’sweaponbacktowardshim.
‘Iknowyouare,’Arthursaidinalowvoice.‘Amongotherthings.’ArthurdistinctlyheardSidneymakeaquick,stranglednoisebehindhim.
Gabrielimmediatelypushedawayfromhim,threwhissworddownontothecobblestoneswithaclatterandwalkedaway.
‘Guessyouwin,’saidSidney.BridgetandGwenhadstoppedfightingtowatchGabrielleave;Gwenseemedtobemakingamealofoneofherfingersasshefrownedafterhim.
‘Yourhighness?’theMasterofArmscalled,lookingratherdisappointed.
‘I’llgo,’Arthursaid.‘Sid,whydon’tyoufightLadyBridgetformewhileI’mgone,hmm?’HepressedthetrainingswordintoSidney’shandandtookoffatspeedaftertheretreatingprince.
GabrielhadmuchlongerlegsthanArthur;hehadmadeitasfarasthesouthentrancecourtyardbythetimeArthurcaughtup.
‘Goingforaspontaneouswalk?’heaskedbreathlessly.Gabrielstopped,butdidn’tturntolookathim.‘Or…aride?’Theywerealmosttothestables;asArthurwatched,astablehandledahandsomepalominooutofastalltobetackedupintheyard.
‘No,’Gabrielsaid,soundingathousandmilesaway.
‘Ithinkweshouldtalk,’Arthursaiddecisively.Gabrieldidn’tagreewithhim,buthedidn’tleave,either;Arthurreachedforhisarm,intendingtosteerhimtowardsthestables.GabrielshiedawayfromArthur’sgrip,butfollowedhimanyway.
Theylocatedanemptystall.Itwascoolinsideandsmeltsweetlyofhayandhorse;Arthurclosedthedoorfirmlybehindhimandthenrealisedsomewhatcomicallythathehadtoclosethetophalftoo,leavingtheminneardarkness.
‘It’salwayssheds,isn’tit,’hesaidthoughtfully.
‘What?’saidGabriel.
‘Don’tworry,’Arthursaid.‘Um.Hello.’
‘Hello,’Gabrielsaidwarily.Therewasquitealongsilence,accompaniedbythesoundofhorsessnortingandstampingtheirfeetinneighbouringstalls.‘Youwantedtosaysomething?’
‘Yes,’Arthursaid,neatlysidesteppingapileofmanureandcrossinghisarms.‘Youkeeprunningaway.’
‘DoI?’Gabrielsaid,shiftingfromonefoottotheotherandlookingdeterminedlyatthedoor.
‘That’stwiceinasmanydays,’saidArthur.
‘Idon’tknowifthatcountsasapattern.’
‘You’retryingtodoitnow,’Arthurpointedout.
‘Well,I’mstandinginhorsemanure,andI’dratherIweren’t,’Gabrielsaid,suddenlysoundingirritated.‘Whatdoyouwantfromme,Arthur?’Heseemedtorealiseimmediatelyjusthowchargedthisquestionwas,becauseArthursawhimgobrightred,evenintherelativedarknessofthestable.
‘Imean–nothing,really.Ijustthought–youseemedabittornupaboutlastnight.Andthere’snoneed,honestly.It’snotabigdeal.I’mnotexpectingaproposalofmarriage.Iam,famously,otherwiseengaged.’
‘Aproposalof…’Gabrieltrailedoff,glancingatArthurandthenquicklyawayagain.
‘I’mnotgoingtotellanybody,’Arthursaid.‘Obviously.Sowhatevercrisisyou’rehavingrightnow,there’snoneed.’
Gabriellookedathimproperly,facescrewedupindisbelief.‘Youcan’tbeserious.’
‘Rarely,’Arthuradmitted.‘Butrightnow,yes.’
‘Maybeitdoesn’tseemlikeaproblemtoyou,’Gabrielsaid,pressingtheheelofhishandtohisforehead,‘butI’vehadalotoftimetothinkaboutthis.Anditisaproblem.Justbecauseyou’renot…’
‘Heirtothethrone?’Arthursupplied.‘No.Butthat’snotwhatI’mtalkingabout.’
‘It’snot?’
‘No.Imean–yes,thereistheslightissueofthingslikemarriageandsuccession,ifladiesdon’ttakeyourfancy—’
Gabrielhuffedincredulously.‘Theslightissue?’
‘Listen,’Arthursaidimpatiently,‘I’mnottryingtopretendtherearen’t…pitfalls.ButwhatI’msayingis,youcan’tdecidehowyoufeelaboutwhoyoumightspendyoureveningskissing–’Gabrielwincedatthisandlookedawayagain–‘becauseofwhatitmeansforEngland.Youhavetodecidebasedonhowitfeels…toyou.Surely?Imean,Idon’tknow,I’mjustimprovisinghere.’
‘There’snoseparatingthetwo,’Gabrielsaidquietly.‘IamEngland.’
‘AndI’myoursister’sfiancé,’Arthursaidmeaningfully,raisinganeyebrow.‘We’veallgotourcrossestobear—’
‘She’snotyourcross,’Gabrielsaidsharply.
‘Well.Allright.Butyouknow,youcanbekingandstillhavewhatyouwant.Thereareplentyofwaysto—’
‘Iamnothavingthisconversation,’Gabrielsaid,crossingtothedoorsandwrenchingthemopen,havingnoneofthetroubleArthurhadexperiencedinclosingthem.‘Justforgetaboutit,Arthur.Itdoesn’tmatter.Itwas…Let’sjustpretenditdidn’thappen.’
‘Okay,’Arthursaid,leftalonewiththegold-fleckeddustmotesthatwerespirallingallaroundhim,alreadyknowinghewoulddonosuchthing.
Whenhegotbacktothetrainingyard,GwenandBridgetweregone.Sidneyactuallyseemedtohavefallenasleepagainstthewall;theborrowedswordlayforgottenathisfeet.
ArthurleanedinascloseashecouldtoSidney’sfacewithouttouchinghimandthenunleashedawordlessyell;Sidneyawokeinstantly,crackedhisheadagainstthewallwithamuffled‘Christ!’,andthensliddownuntilhewassitting.
‘Didn’tgowell?’hesaidpeevishly,rubbingthebackofhisheadandwincing
Arthursatdownnexttohim.‘No.’
‘ThankGodyoudon’treallylikehimthen.’
‘No,’Arthursaid,soundingunconvincingeventohimself.‘Idon’t.Butheintriguesme.Andhefeelslikeoneofmyown,youknow?Ioughttohelp.Tellhimhedoesn’thavetobealostlamb,stealingkissesinsecretandthenagonisingoverthemafterwards.’
‘Ah,’Sidneysaidwisely.‘Youjustwanthimtoholdyoulikeababycrow.’
‘Oh,gotohell.It’snotlikethat.’
‘Imean,foronething,Idon’treallybelieveyou,’saidSidney.‘Andforanother–don’tyouthinkyoushouldmeetpeoplewheretheyare?’
‘IliketomeetpeoplewhereIam,’saidArthur,astheygottotheirfeet.‘I’malreadythere.Savesonthecommute.’‘Goodmorning!’thekingsaidtoGwenthemomentshesatdownatbreakfastafewdayslater.Helookedexhaustedbutwassmilingthroughit,hisusuallyall-consumingstackofcorrespondenceresolutelyuntouched.‘Gloriousdayforahunt.’
Sheknewthatherfatherwastryingtoreframetheday’shuntasanopportunityforfamilybondingbecausethey’dseensolittleofeachotheroflate;inreality,itwasapoliticalexercise,awaytoentertainaninfluentialduke,whowasvisitingwithhishousehold.Nevertheless,shetriedtosmilebackathim,eventhoughherheartfeltleadeninherchesteverysecondshesatoppositeGabriel,withthechasmbetweenthemenormousandimpassable.
Shemissedtheeasyritualsofpastbreakfasts,beforeherparentshadbecomesobusyandherlifehadstartedtocrumble.Thefactthatherfatherknewhowmuchshelikedsourfruits,andwouldpushthebowlsofgooseberriesandcranberriesdowntoherendofthetable.ThewayhewouldglaredownatsomelistorledgeruntilshepluckeditoutofhishandandhandedittoGabriel,whowouldmakesenseofitatonce.SheevenslightlymissedthewayhermotherwouldtutoverAgnes’shandiworkandinsistonreplaitingGwen’shairherself.
‘We’rehunting?’Gabrielsaid,lookingupfromwhathe’dbeenreading.
‘TheDukeofLancasteriscoming,’saidthequeen.‘He’sbringinghisson,ayoungLancelot,Ibelieve–andhisthreedaughters.’
ShelookedmeaningfullyatGabriel;underusualcircumstances,Gwenwouldhavemetherbrother’seye,unitedwithhimagainsttheirmother’sattemptsatmatchmaking.
‘Right,’saidGabriel,lookingbackdownathisbook.‘Verywell.’
‘You’llcometoo,ofcourse,Gwendoline,’saidtheking,andGwenpulledaface.
‘Toentertainhisparadeofdaughters?YouknowI’mabsolutelynogoodatthat,Father.’
‘Notjusthisdaughters,’saidthequeen.‘We’veinvitedmanyoftheotherfamiliesvisitingcourt,too.Therewillbelotsofyoungpeopleinattendance.’
‘Oh,’saidGwendoline.‘Isee.’Shewaitedforwhatshehopedwasasafeamountoftime,takingalongsipoflemonwatertostopherselffromspeakingtoosoon.‘Will,er…isLadyLeclairgoingtobethere?’
ShesawGabriel’shandslipfromhisbookoutofthecornerofhereye.
‘Yes,’thequeensaidwithasigh.‘Isupposeshewill.’
‘Oh.That’s…good.’
Gwendidn’tenjoyhunting.Shelikedabriskwalkasmuchasthenextperson–unlessthatpersonhappenedtobeGabriel,inwhichcasesheenjoyedthemfarmore–buthuntinginvolvedalotofwaitingaround,andlong,dullconversationswithwhicheverofherfather’sfriends’daughtersshehadbeenbroughtalongtoaccompany.
NormallyifsheandGabrielsuspectedaset-up,shemighthaveamusedherselfbyinterveningonhisbehalf;interruptingprivatemoments,steppingveryintentionallyonthehandkerchiefthatsomeviscount’sdaughterhadconvenientlydroppedforherbrothertoretrieve.Theyfeltveryfarawayfromallofthatrightnow.
Theyhadnevergonethislongwithoutspeaking–hadneverreallyarguedbeyondgentlereprovalfromhissidewhenGwenwasfeelingparticularlyirascible,andtoughlovefromherswhenGabrielwassleepinginthelibraryandforgettingtoeatlunch–andeverysecondthatitcontinued,Gwenfeltitgnawatherinsides.
Really,shehadnoideahowtoproceedwhenhehadhurther,becausehehadneverdoneitbefore.Itwascompletelyunprecedented.Therewasonlyonethingsheknewforcertain:ifshehadtowaitforhimtoworkoutexactlyhowhefeltandapproachhertotalkthingsthrough,she’dlikelybewaitingaverylongtime.
Gwen’sfatherhadfinallygiveninandpickedupthefirstletteronhispile;asGwenwatched,hisexpressiongrewpuzzled.
‘Whatisit?’shesaid.Gabriellookeduptoo,hisgazeflickeringfromtheking’sfacebacktotheletterinhishand.
‘MycousinhasbeensightednearSkiptonCastle,’herfathersaid,exchangingalookwithGabriel.‘We’llneverheartheendofthisfromLordStafford.’
‘Why?’saidGwen,herforkhovering.
‘Staffordraisedconcerns,’thekingsaidcarefully,‘thatsomebodymighttakeadvantageofthenortherncultistuprisingstorallythediscontented.He’sbeenkeepingacloseeyeonanyunlikelymovements.Skiptonisalittletoofarnorthforcomfort,andcertainlynowherenearWillard’slands.’
‘YouthinkLordWillardisuptosomething?’saidGwen.‘Butyoumadepeaceyearsago!’
‘Idon’tthinkhe’suptoanything,’thekingsaid,sighing.‘Hewrotetomerecently,infact,towarnofunrestnearCarlisle,andthankstohimwewereabletonipitinthebud.Forallweknowhehasfriendsintheareaandwassimplyinvitedtodineatthecastle–butStaffordhasbeennear-obsessedwiththenorthlately,andthiscertainlywon’timprovematters.’
‘He’llwanttomeetbeforethehunt,’Gabrielsaidreluctantly,closinghisbook.
‘Yes,’saidtheking.‘Well.Offwego,then.AndGwendoline–pleaseseeRowanaboutyourbirdbeforewedepart.Isawthepoormanyesterday,andapparentlyit’sgonerather…feral.’
‘Hedoesn’tlikeme,’Gwensaid,eyeingtheagitated-lookingmerlinwithgreattrepidation.
‘That’sbecauseyounevervisit,’saidRowan,thetanned,brusquemiddle-agedHeadFalconerwhoalwayslookedpainedthemomenthesawGwenapproaching.‘Birdsliketogettoknowyou.Hehasn’tseenyouforsixmonths,you’repracticallyastrangertohim.’
‘Right,’saidGwen,nervouslyextendingahand.‘Hello,Beowulf.’Shehadnamedthebirdafteralongvisitfromatravellingbard;thenameseemedridiculousnow,attachedtothissmallandfuriousbundleoffeathers,butitwastoolatetochangeit.
‘Nosuddenmovements,’saidRowandisapprovingly.‘I’dkeepyourfingersoutofreach,ifIwereyou.’
‘Great,’saidGwenmiserably.‘IsthereanypartofmeIshouldallowclosetohim?’
Thefalconerconsideredher.‘No,’hesaidfirmly.‘Youcantakeoneofmyboyswithyou.They’llflyhimforyou.’
‘Fantastic.’Gwendidn’tfeelanyaffinitywithanimals,unlikeGabriel,andherinterestinfalconryhadstartedandendedwithchoosinghernewbirdwhenshewasfourteen.Assoonasshediscoveredthattheyrequiredratheralotoftraining,aswellastheabilitytocopewithsudden,incomprehensibleburstsofviolence,shehadgivenup.
Thevisitingnobleswerestartingtofillthecourtyard,andGwensidledintotheshadowofawallsothatshewouldn’tbedraggedintoconversationwithsomebodyunforgivablydullbeforesheabsolutelyhadto.ShesawanoverdressedmanwhomusthavebeentheDukeofLancastertalkingtoherfather,andthreedark-haired,prettygirlsalldressedinvariousshadesofredandpinktrailingafter;GwenimmediatelyglancedovertoseeifGabrielhadnoticedthem.
Herbrotherwasattheotherendoftheyard,Ediththeperegrinefalconperchedonhisglovedarm;hewastalkingtoherinconfidentialtones,hisexpressionserious.UsuallythesightwouldhavemadeGwensmile.
‘Yourhighness,’somebodysaid,veryclosetoherear;Gwenjumped,andturnedtoseeBridget’sfriendAdahfromtheMorgan’sDaypartysmilingexpectantlyather.‘Sorry–wereyouhiding?Icanpretendnottohaveseenyou,ifithelps.’
‘Oh,’saidGwen.‘No.Imean–yes,IsupposeIwashiding.’Adahwaswearingsomethingasfunctionallyunlikeadressaspossiblewhilestilltechnicallybeingone;shehadheavyleatherglovesonherhands,andafeatherstucktohershoulder.Abrieflookofrecognitionpassedacrossherface,andGwensuddenlyrememberedthatthelasttimeshe’dseenAdah,shehadbeenpretendingtobeBridget’sdistantcousin.
‘Right,’saidAdah.‘Winifred.’
‘Er…Yes,’saidGwen,givingheranapologeticgrimace.
‘Well,youdidareallyawfuljobofpretending,’saidAdahcheerfully.‘Iknewyouweren’treallyLeclair’scousin.Anyway–yoursisthemerlin,isn’tit?’
‘Yes,’Gwensaid.‘Hehatesme.’
‘Oh,Iwouldn’tsaythat,’Adahsaid,smilingagain.‘Hehateseverybody.Equal-opportunityloathing.I’llfetchhim,andwecanremindhimthatyou’rethekeeperofthesnacks.’
ShewentinsearchofRowantoclaimBeowulf;leftalone,GwenwasequalpartsrelievedandterrifiedtoseeBridgetwalkingacrosstheyardtowardsher,lookingdistinctlyuncomfortableinasimple,darkgreendress.Somebody–surelynothersquire,butthen,whoelse?–hadbraidedmostofherhair,sothatitwaspulledbackfromherface.
‘Goodmorning.Feelingsore?’shesaid,immediatelyuponreachingGwen.
‘What?’Gwensaid,startled.
‘Fromthetrainingyard,’Bridgetsaidslowly.‘Youmustache.’
‘Oh!Oh,yes,’Gwensaid,extendingherhandandmakingasmallcirclewithherwrist.‘Alittle.’
Shehadachedquitealot,actually.Musclesshehadn’tknownexistedseemedtohavebeentornasunderbyjustanhourortwoofactivity,leavingherstiffandwincingfordays.ButeachtwingehadremindedherofBridget’shandonhers–Bridgetraisinganeyebrowandgrantinghersmallsmileswhenshehaddonesomethingright,Bridget’sswordpointkissingherchin–soGwenhadtreasuredthemassouvenirs.
‘Youshouldstretch,’Bridgetsaid,reachingforGwen’shandandthenpausingatthelastsecond.‘MayI?’
‘Er,’Gwensqueaked.‘Yes?’
‘Likethis,’Bridgetsaid,gentlybendingGwen’shandbackuntilGwenletoutahissfrombetweenherteeth.‘Sorry.Doesthathurt?’
‘No,’Gwenlied.‘Itfeelsgood.’Thesecondpart,atleast,wastrue.
‘IwastoldIcouldacquireabird,’Bridgetsaid,lettinggoofherhandandglancingoveratthefalconer’sassistants,whowerebringingoutvariousdisgruntled-lookinghawksandmatchingthemtotemporaryowners.‘Well.Iwastoldknightscouldacquireabird.Theymostcertainlydidn’tmeanme,butIhavethemcorneredonatechnicality.’
‘Oh,don’tworryaboutthat,’Gwensaid.‘Youcanflymine.Hehatesme.’
‘Enoughwiththedramatics,’saidAdah;shehadreturnedwithBeowulfonherarm,andGwentookastepawayfromhiminstinctively.‘Morning,Leclair.Listen,yourhighness–he’sabird.Hisonlyrequirementsforfeelingabsolutelyneutraltowardsyouarethatyoufeedhim,andyou’renotamuchlargerbirdwhomighttrytokickhisarse.Hedoesn’thateyou.’Deliveredbyanybodyelse,thismayhavefeltlikeascolding,butitwasallsaidwithwarmthandgoodhumour.Beowulf,ontheotherhand,waslookingdecidedlylessfriendly.
Overinthecentreoftheyardherfatherwascomfortablysupportinghisenormousgyrfalcon,Viviane.Hemusthavegivensomesignaltothegatheredcrowd,becauseallatoncetheystartedmakingtheirwaytowardsthedrawbridgeacrossthenorthsideofthemoat,ledbytheexuberanthounds.Atadifferenttimeofyeartheywouldhavebeenabletobegintheirhuntfromalmostrightoutsidethecastlewalls,butthetournamentgroundsandthelargeareasetasideforvisitingparticipantsandspectatorstocamphadsplitthelandbeyondthecastle;acopseoftrees,whichexpandedintoaproperforestthefurthertheytravellednorth,formedanaturalbarrierbetweenthecampgroundstotheleftandtheopenmeadowstotheright.Thefalconerandhismenweretryingvaliantlytokeepthebirdshappyandcalmastheywalkedtowardsthewoods;BeowulfseemedperfectlycontenttositonAdah’sarmandglare.
‘I’veneverseensomanypeoplecomeforthetournament,’Gwensaid,noddingtowardsthespectators’campthroughthetrees.
‘Meneither,’saidBridget,frowningatthecloselypackedtentsthrongingwithpeople.Shelookedpinched,asifinpain;Gwenwonderedifshehadsleptpoorlythenightbefore,orifitwasjusthernaturalreactiontowearingadress.‘Iwonderwhathasmadethedifference.’
‘Idon’tknow,’Gwensaid,shrugging.‘Perhapsit’sallforGabriel.Theolderhegetswithoutbeingbetrothedormarried,themorefascinatingheseemstobe.Everybodywantstocatchaglimpseofhim.’
‘Perhapstheycometocatchaglimpseofyou,’Bridgetsaid,andGwensnorted.
‘Right.BecauseI’msofascinating.’
Itdangledintheairbetweenthem,butBridgetdidn’ttakethebait;sheseemedsuddenlydistracted,herjawtense.
‘They’vecometoseethefirstwomantowinthewholedamnedthing,’Adahsaid,andBridgetflashedheraquicksmilethatGwenwishedshecouldhaveearnedinstead.
Whentheyreachedthedark,mossyhushofthedeeperwoods,AdahwasjusttryingtoconvinceGwentoputonagloveandflyBeowulfherselfwhenthequeenappearedatGwen’sside,puttingherhandgentlybutfirmlyonhershoulder.
‘You’reneeded,Gwendoline,’shesaid.
‘Oh,’saidGwen,‘but–Mother,LadyLeclairisjustgoingtoborrowmybird—’
‘That’sfine,’saidhermother,withasmilethatdidn’tquitereachhereyes.‘Shecanborrowthebird,andIcanborrowyou.’
GwengrimacedatBridget,whosefaceremainedpolitelyblank,andthenallowedhermothertoguideherawaytowardstheDukeofLancaster’sdaughters,whowerewhisperingtogetherinatightlyknitflock.Gabrielwasasfarawayaspossible,talkingtotheirfather.
‘Hello,’Gwensaidawkwardly,afterhermotherhadpattedherontheshoulderandwalkedaway.‘I’mGwendoline.’
Theyallcurtsiedbrieflyandintroducedthemselves:Celestina,ClementandSigrid.
‘Doyoulikehunting,then?’Gwenaskeddesperately.
‘No,’theyoungestsaidfirmly.
‘Sigrid!’saidCelestina,shootingdaggersather.‘That’snothowyouspeaktoamemberoftheroyalfamily.’
‘Ah.Sorry,’saidSigrid.‘No,yourhighness.’
‘Oh,that’sallright–Idon’tmuchlikeiteither,’Gwensaid,encouraged
‘Idon’tmindthebirds,’saidClement,whowasbyfartheprettiest.‘ButIlikerabbits,andIcan’tstanditwhentheycatchone.They’vegotnofightinthem,youknow.They’recowardlylittlethings–theyjustwanttosurvive.’
‘Isupposeso,’saidGwen,whohadn’tputmuchthoughtintothemotivationsofrabbits.
‘Doesyourbrotherliketohunt?’Sigridasked,attemptingandfailingtosoundcasual.
Gwendidn’thavetheheartforherusualmischief,andfeltstrangediscussingGabrielatallattheminute.‘Idon’tknow.HelovesEdith,nomatterhowawfulsheistohim.Edithisthefalcon,’sheaddedbywayofexplanation,whenallthreegirlslookedconfused.
‘Ah,’saidCelestina,andtheyallturnedtolookasRowanreleasedEdithfromhisarmandsheflewelegantlytoGabriel’sfist,wheresheimmediatelyandsavagelystartedtearingintothedeadmousethatwaswaitingforherthere,sprayingbloodasshedid.‘How…lovely.’
Gwenrolledhereyes.Theverybestoflucktothemingaininghisattention;they’djustneedtosproutwingsandtalonsfirst.
‘Isyourfriendallright?’saidClement,staringpastGwen’sshoulder.
Gwenturned,confused–andthenshewasstammeringexcuses,rushingtoBridget’ssidewithoutabackwardsglance.Bridgetwasleaningagainstatree,herheadbowed,herbackheavingwitheffort;AdahwascarryingBeowulfaway,tryingtocalmhimasheshriekedandflappedhiswings,strainingagainsthistether.TherewasalargescratchonBridget’srightcheek,oozingaslowtrailofblooddowntoherchin.
‘Whathappened?’Gwensaid,goingtoputahandonBridget’sshoulderandthenswervingatthelastminuteandlettingithoveruselesslyintheair.
‘Nothing,’saidBridget,buthereyesweresqueezedtightlyshut,andshelookedalarminglybloodless.‘I’mfine.’
Thehuntingpartywasstartingtomovefurtherintotheforest;nobodyseemedtonoticethatGwen,BridgetandAdahwerebeingleftbehind.
‘Youneedtositdown,’Gwensaidfirmly,actuallyputtingahandtoBridget’sarmthistime.ShewassurprisedwhenBridgetallowedherselftobesteeredgentlytowardsafallentreetrunk.Theysatdown,andGwenwatchedasBridgetstaredattheforestfloorandbreathedshakilyinandoutthroughhernose,fistsclenchedtightlyinthefabricofherdress.
Therewassilenceforamoment,brokenonlybythesoundofBridget’slabouredbreathingandtheoccasionalflapofBeowulf’swings,asAdahcamewalkingbacktowardsthem.
‘Ithinkhe’sdonewithhistantrumnow,’shesaid,Beowulfstillcomicallyincensedonherarm.‘Youallright,Bridget?CanIdoanything?’
‘Couldyougoandfetchtheguards,please?’Gwensaid.‘Weneedtogobacktothecastle.’
AdahlookedasifshewantedtogiveBridgetacomfortingsqueezeontheshoulder,butwhenshetriedtoshiftherarmBeowulflookedincredulouslyfurious;instead,shehushedhim,andwalkedquicklyoffinpursuitofthegroup.
‘DidBeowulftrytomurderyou?’Gwenaskedseriously,andBridgetgaveashort,painedlaugh.
‘No,’shesaid.‘Itwasn’thisfault.’Herbloodhadformedascarletlinefromcheekbonetochin,andwasdrippingintoherlap.‘Ifeltfaint,and…Ialmostdroppedhim.’
‘Here,’Gwensaid,reachingoutandblottingitwithhersleeve.Bridgetbarelyseemedtonotice;herbloodblossomedpurpleonthebluesilk.‘Areyouill?’
‘Er–no,’saidBridget,openinghereyeswithagrimace.‘Notreally.’
‘Well,you’redoingaveryimpressiveimpersonationofanillpersonthen,’saidGwen,watchingasBridgetseemedtobestruckbyafreshwaveofpain.
‘I’mfine,youdon’tneedtobabyme,’Bridgetsnapped,andGwenraisedhereyebrows.
‘Areyouembarrassed?’
‘I’mnotembarrassed,I’mjust–I’drathernotbeseenlikethis.’
‘Oh,’saidGwen.‘Well,Idon’tmind.ButIwouldliketoknowwhat’swrong.Haveyoubeenpoisoned?Cursed?’
BridgetsquintedoveratthetreesbeyondGwen,andthenlookeddownatherhands.
‘It’smybleed,’shesaidbluntly.‘Ithurts.Alot.’
‘Oh,’saidGwen,somewhatrelievedthatBridgetwasn’tindangerofdyingimminentlyofsomeobscureillness.‘Oh.Youshouldhavesaidsomething!Isitalwayslikethis?’
‘Yes,’saidBridget,throughgrittedteeth.‘Orworse.’
‘Ididn’tknowitcouldbethatbad,’saidGwen.Inconvenient,messy,yes–butnotbadenoughtorendersomebodywhey-facedandshaking.She’dseenBridgetwalkawayfrombeingliterallybeatenwiththebluntsideofaswordwithherheadheldhigh,soshecouldn’timaginehowbadthepainmustbeforhertoalmostcollapseduringastrollinthewoods.
‘Well–apparentlyitisn’t,’Bridgetbitout.
‘Whatdoyoumean?’
‘I’vetriedtospeaktophysiciansaboutit,’Bridgetsaid,tentativelysittingupright,bracingherhandsagainstthelog.‘IactuallythoughtwhenIcameherethatthecastledoctor–well,Ithoughthe’dprobablyknowmorethanmydoctorathome.Buthesaidwhattheyallsay.Itcan’tbeasbadasallthat,it’snormal,andsomethingaboutladiesandalowthresholdforpain–andthenalotofblusteringnoisesuntilI…untilIgoaway.’
‘But–that’sawful,’Gwensaid,outraged.‘Dotheygiveyousomething?Forthepain?’
‘No,’Bridgetsaid,withgreateffort.‘Theysayitwouldinterferewiththenaturalorderofthings.’
‘Doesanythinghelp?’
‘No.’Bridgetblinkedupattheskyasshetriedtoevenoutherbreathing.‘Well–yes.A…friendofmineusedtokneadmyback.Hermotherwasahealer.’
‘Oh,’Gwensaid.Therewasalongsilencewhilesheworkedherselfuptosayingsomethingpotentiallyveryfoolish.‘Well–Icandothat.Ifitwouldhelp.’
‘Don’tberidiculous,’Bridgetsaid,pressingherhandtoherforehead.‘Sorry,Imean–youdon’thavetodothat.I’llaskAdahwhenshereturns,or…Itcomesandgoes,soperhapsinafewhours…’Shebrokeoff,wincing,andGwenimmediatelygottoherfeet.
‘No,I’lldoit,’shesaid,soundingbraverthanshefelt,walkingaroundthefallentreesothatshewasstandingbehindBridget,lookingatthebroadplanesofherbackwithtrepidation.ShehadspentquitealotoftimethinkingabouttouchingBridget,andnowshewasbeinggivenanopeninvitation–butit’spurelyformedicalpurposes,shetoldherselfsternly.Sodon’tgogettinganyideas.‘WhatshouldIdo?’
‘Ifyoujust–mylowerback,bothhands,’Bridgetsaid,‘ashardasyoucan.And–digyourthumbsinaroundthespine.Thisisreally–youshouldn’thaveto—’
‘No,please,it’sokay,’Gwensaid,puttingbothhandslightlyonBridget’sback.‘Here?’
‘Er–abitlower,’Bridgetsaidreluctantly.‘Yes.There.’
GwenpressedintothehardmuscleandfeltBridgetimmediatelyrelaxalittleathertouch;encouraged,shedugherpalmsindeeper.Bridgetsighedandseemedtomeltintoherhands,thebackofherheadrestingeversoslightlyagainstGwen’schest.Herhairsmeltlikesomethingrichandnuttyandsweet,andshewaswarmunderGwen’sfingers;Gwenknewshemustbeblushingscarlet,andhadabsolutelynoideawheretodirecthereyes.Shesettledonstaringataninnocuousandentirelyplatonicbitoftree.
‘Who–um,whowasthegirlwhousedtodothisforyou?’Gwenasked,shiftingafractionlowerandrepeatingthemovement;shewasrewardedwithanothersigh,andfocusingonthespecificsofthetreebecameevenmorepressing.‘Itwasn’t…WasitAdah?’
‘Adah?No.Shewasthedaughterofaneighbouringlord,’Bridgetsaid,herwordscomingmucheasiernow.‘Until–sheleft.Tomarry.’
‘And–youwereclose?’
‘Youcouldsaythat,’Bridgetsaid;Gwencouldn’tseeherface,butsomehowshesoundedasifhereyeswereclosed.‘Iwascourtingher.’
Gwenstoppedmovingherhands.Shefeltlikeshehadstoppedfunctioningaltogether.Herheadwasfullofanoddrushingnoise,likearivergoneberserk,onlyonewordaudibleovertheuproar:‘courting’.
‘Ah.Right,’shesaidstupidly.‘Lovely.’
Lovely?
‘Youdon’thavetocarryon,’Bridgetsaid,aslightedgetohervoice,‘ifyoudon’twantto.’
‘Oh,no,it’sfine,’Gwensaidquickly,verygladthatBridgetcouldn’tseeherexpression.Sheworkedawayinsilence,feelingherwristsbegintoache.
‘Shewantedmetocomewithher,’Bridgetsaidquietly.Gwendidn’tpause;shedidn’twantBridgettostoptalking.‘Whensheleft.Shewasmarryingalord,andsheaskedifI’dgotoo,asamemberofherhousehold.’
‘Butyoudidn’twantto?’
‘No.’Bridgetstretched,catlike,herbackrollingunderGwen’sfingers.‘No,thatdidn’tsoundlikemuchofalifetome.Canyou–justupundermyribs,ifyoucan.’
‘Isithelping?’
‘Yes.Itis.Butyou’renotquite–ifyoujust…’ShereachedaroundandclosedherhandoverGwen’s,herpalmagainstGwen’sknuckles,sothatshecouldguideherintoposition.Sheturnedtothesidetomakeiteasierandtheyfinallymadeeyecontact.ThecolourhadreturnedtoBridget’sface,andhereyesweredarkandheavy-lidded,lipspartedslightlyinwhatmusthavebeenrelief;foramomentGwenjuststareddownather,captivatedanduseless,forallintentsandpurposesholdingherhand.
‘Er–hello.’AtsomepointAdahhadapparentlyreturnedwithahandfulofguardsintow.Gwenimmediatelyremovedherhands;shesawAdahbiteherlipandlookaway,asiftryinghardnottosmile.‘Yourhighness.LadyLeclair.I’vebrought…aid.’
‘LadyLeclairisunwell,’Gwensaid,withasmuchdignityasshecouldmuster,addressingthenearestguard.‘Ineedassistancetakingherbacktothecastle.Thankyouforyourhelp,Adah.’
‘Icanwalk,’Bridgetsaid,butthemomentshestoodupshelookedinimminentdangeroffallingover;Gwenquicklybracedherwithhershoulder,andaguardproppedherupontheotherside.Theyallstartedslowlywalkingbackthroughthewoods.
Whentheyfinallyreachedthecastle,theymadeitasfarasaprivateantechamberonthegroundfloor,andthensentforthedoctor;whenhearrived,hetookonelookatBridgetlyingonachaiseclutchingherabdomenandtriedtoturnaroundandleaveagain.
‘I’vealreadydiscussedthiswith–er–withherladyship,’hesaid,lookinganywherebutatBridget.‘There’snothingtobedonebut–rest.Rest,andfortitudeofspirit.’
‘Fortitudeof…?’Gwensaiddisbelievingly.‘Surelyyoucangivehersomethingforthepain?’
‘Itwouldn’tbeappropriate,yourhighness,’thephysiciansaid.Hewasactuallyinchingtowardsthedoor.Gwenlookedathim,retreating,thenlookedbackatBridget,whoseemedtobebitingdownonherlowerliptokeepthepainatbay.Therewasanoddkindofpanicrisinginherchest,battlingwithdisbeliefandindignation.
‘No,’shesaidsuddenly,hervoicecracking.‘No,I’msorry–Iwouldlikeasecondopinion.’
‘It’sallright,’Bridgetsaidheavily.
‘Iassureyou,yourhighness,’thedoctorsaid,‘Iamtheking’sphysician–withallduerespect,Ihaveafairknowledgeofailmentsofthebody,andthisisnotthesortofthingthatrequiresmedicalattention.’
Gwenfaltered,feelingherchestthrumwithnerves,butoneglanceatBridget’sfurrowedbrowstrengthenedherresolve.‘Iam–Iamorderingyoutoeithergivehersomethingforthepainorfetchsomebodyelsewhoiswillingtoseereason.TheWizardhasagoodknowledgeofherbalism,doeshenot?Fetchhim.’
Thephysicianlookedoutraged,workinghisjawbutseemingunabletofindthewords,andthenabruptlylefttheroom.Afewminuteslaterhewasback,withtheWizard,MasterBuchanan,intow.Hewasanold,palemanwithasmilingface,closelyshorngreyhairandrobesthatweresurprisinglysimple,basedonGwen’slimitedknowledgeofcultisttradition;hetookonelookatBridgetandfrowned,puttingdownthesmallcasehewascarryingandwalkingovertoher.
‘Thegooddoctorwasalittlelightonspecifics–isityourbleedthattroublesyou,LadyLeclair?’
Gwenhadneverinherlifeheardamanbesomatter-of-factabouttheintimatedetailsofalady’shealth;evenBridgetlookedslightlytakenaback.
‘Yes.Iexperiencefatigue,extremepain,nausea—’
‘Fainting,’Gwenadded.‘Younearlyfainted.’
TheWizardrummagedinhiscaseforafewmoments,mumblingtohimselfunderhisbreathashesearched,andthenroseandhandedBridgetacupstuffedwithherbs.
‘Ginger,fennelandcinnamonbark.Havethemaddsomehotwaterinthekitchens.’
‘Thankyou,’saidBridget,takingthecupandlookingatitwithtentativehope.
TheWizardsmiled,hiseyescrinkling.‘Itismypleasuretobeofuse–pleasecallformeanytime.’
Thephysicianflouncedfromtheroom,andtheWizardfollowed;GwensatdowninthechairnexttoBridget’s,heartstillhammering.
‘Thankyou,too,’Bridgetsaid,givingGwenatiredsmileandbrieflypressingagratefulhandtoherwrist.‘Forsayingwhatyousaid.Ithoughtthedoctor’sheadmightfalloff.’
Suddenly,Gwenwasn’tsureshecouldblameherracingpulseonheraltercationwiththephysician.
ArthurwasuncharacteristicallyquietwhenheandSidneyvisitedGwenthatevening.HeperusedherbookswhileshewentthroughthecharadeofsendingAgnesaway–sheandSidneygazedateachotherlikeoneofthemwasbeingsentofftowar–andthensimplygaveherahalf-heartedsalutebeforeexitingthroughthewindow.
Gwenhadintendedtodosomereadingorembroidery,butinsteadshefoundherselfsittingbythefirealleveningthinkingherselfincircles,returningtothememoryofherhandsonBridget’sback;thefactthatBridgethadcourtedawoman;thatBridgethadtrustedherenoughtotellherthatshehadcourtedawoman;Bridget’shandsonhers,guidingherintoplace;thepossibilitythatshemaynothaveinventedthispullshefeltbetweenthem,thatherfeelingsmightbesomewhatreciprocated.ButthenshepicturedGabriel’sfacewhenshe’dtoldhim–Gabrielbackingawayfromherlikeshewassomethingrepellent.ShehatedhimforruiningsomethingasgoodasBridget.
‘Incoming,’saidavoiceatthewindow,barelyanhourortwolater.Gwenstartled;shehadn’tbeenexpectingArthurhomeforawhileyet.Hisfaceappeared,hairamess,eyesunfocused;suddenlyhepitchedforwardandlandedhardonthefloor,barelyreactingasbonethunkedagainststone.‘Oops.’
ItwasSidneywhohadspoken;hesummitedthesill,lookingalmostasdrunkasArthur,thenmadeahideousbelchingsoundandclaspedhisfreehandtohismouth
‘Ifyou’regoingtovomit,youcanclimbrightbackdown,’Gwensaidwarninglyassherosefromherchair.
‘Prob’lyforthebest,’hesaid,disappearingagain.Gwenheardthesoundofclumsydescentandthen,afterapause,thedistinctheaveandsplatterofvomithittingthecobblestonesbelow.
‘I’vedied,’Arthursaiddramaticallyfromthefloor.Gwensnorted.
‘Notyet.ButifIkillyounow,Icanjustsayyouchokedonyourownvomitandnobodywillbeanythewiser.’
‘Doit,’Arthurslurred.‘I’mover.I’mdone.AndI’vedrunk–I’vedrunkallthewine.’
‘Inthecountry?’Gwensaid,watchingasheturnedoverontohisbacklikeanelderlybeetle.
‘God,IreallyhopedI’dclimbedthroughthewrongwindow,’Arthurslurred,squeezinghiseyestightlyshut.‘Clearly.Over-corrected.Totherightone.’
‘Whatareyoutalkingabout?Canyougetoffmyrug?’
Heturnedtosquintather,lookingviolentlyunimpressed.‘Iknowyou’reyou,soit’shard,butcanyouatleastdredgeup–Idunno…oneshredofhumanemotion?Empathy?Pity?’
‘Arthur,youchosetodrinktoomuchwine.Andyou’regettingmudallovereverything.’
‘So…that’sano,then.’Hepulledhimselfintoasittingpositionwithdifficulty.HeandGwennoticedthebloodonhissleeveattheexactsametime.
‘You’rebleeding,’shesaidbluntly.
‘NoI’mnot.’Herolleduphisshirtandlookeddownathisarm.Thebloodwasflowingquiteprofusely,andhehadgoneaverystrangecolour;Gwenhadseenthatexpressiononsomebodyoncealreadytoday,andcouldn’tquitebelieveitwashappeningagain.
‘Don’tfaint,’shewarned.Helookedatherscathingly,clearlymeaningtosaysomethingpithyinresponse,butbetrayedhimselfbydoingexactlywhatshehadforbiddenandfaintingcleanawayinstead.‘OhforChrist’ssake.’
Itwasluckythathe’dalreadybeensoclosetotheground;hehadn’thithisheadtoobadly,andGwenratherthoughthewashard-headedenoughtotakeit.Shereluctantlycroucheddownbesidehimandturnedhimoverontohissidesothathewouldn’t,infact,chokeonhisownvomit.Hishairfellintohisface,andshesweptitawayimpatiently;hisskinwasuncomfortablywarm,andstickywithsweat.ShewantedtocallforSidney,demandthathecomeupanddealwithhischarge,butshecouldstillhearhimvomitinginthedistance.
‘Arthur.Wakeup,’shesaid,givinghimashakeontheshoulder.Hejustmoaned;bloodwasstilldrippingfromthecutonhisarm.‘Ugh.Fine.’Shecastaroundforsomethingtostopthebleeding;herhalf-finishedembroiderywasonthetablebythefire,andshehesitatedforaminutebeforetearingoffalongstripofthepearly-whitefabricandreturningtoArthursoshecouldwraphisarm.
Arthurstirredasshedidso.Hemadealittlesoundofdiscomfort,andthenreachedforher.Gwenstareddownathisfingers,whichhadclosedaroundthenarrowjutofherwrist.Hedidn’tseemtobeconscious.Shesupposeditmusthavebeenareflex.Adesiretoholdontosomethingsteady.
‘Arthur?Areyoualive?’
Hemumbledsomething,andsheleaneddowntocatchit.
‘No.Betteroff,’hemuttered,thewordssoundingheavyinhismouth.
‘What?’
‘Betteroffdead.’Hesaiditwithsuchviolentself-hatred,evenhalf-conscious,thatGwenwinced.
‘Don’tsaythat,’shesaiduncomfortably;she’dcertainlywishedhimgonemanytimes,hadjokedaboutmurderinghimendlessly,butitwasonethingforhertosayitandanotherthingentirelyforhimtodosowithsuchsincerity.‘Youjustneedtorest,that’sall.’
ShethoughtaboutcallingforAgnes,ortheguards,andhavinghimcarriedbacktohisrooms–butinsteadshewentandfetchedthehalf-finishedweddingblanketfromitsplaceonthedresserandarrangeditoverhim,carefulnottogetitbloody.Whenshesatdownnexttohimhisfingerstwitched;heseemedtobereachingforherhandagain.
Shesighed,andtookit.Arthurhadwokenuponfloorsbefore,buttherewasrarelyanybodyotherthanSidneycurledupnexttohim.Itwasdarkoutside,withastillnessthatsuggestedthelaterhoursoftheevening.Gwenseemedtobefastasleepinadeeplyuncomfortableposition,hercheekpressedagainstthestonefloor,thewell-chewedfingersofonehandrestingnexttohisarm.Heliftedhispoundinghead,confused,andrealisedhehadbeenwokenbyAgnes,whoatthatverymomenthadgivenuponknockingonthedoorandopenedittopeerinside.
‘Oh,’shesaid.Arthurshushedher,gesturingoveratGwen.‘I’msorry,’shecontinued,inawhisper.‘Ithought–it’ssolate,Ithoughtyou’dbegone.Where’sSidney?’
‘Outsidedrowninginhisownvomit,’Gwenmuttered.Oh.Notsleeping,then.‘I’dgivehimawideberthifIwereyou,Agnes.’
‘Right,’saidAgnes.Shewasholdingatraywithapotofteaonit,andputitdownonthesidetable.‘I’lljust–er–I’llleaveyoutoit.’Sheclosedthedooragain.
‘Shethinkswe’repassedoutafteraneveningofrapturouslovemaking,’Arthursaid,lettinghisheadfallgentlybackontotherug.
‘Iliketothinkthateithershe’snotthatstupidorsheknowsthatI’mnotthatstupid,’saidGwen,sittingupandpushingtheblanketoffherlegs.‘How’syourarm?’
‘What’swrongwithmy…’Arthurtrailedoffashesawthemakeshiftbandage.‘Oh.’
‘Ohisright,’Gwensaid,rollinghereyes.‘Youmusthavecaughtitonsomethingduringyourclimb.’
‘Yes,’saidArthur.‘Orperhapsduringmydaringgetaway.’
‘Yourwhat?’
‘Trynottothinkaboutit,’Arthursaid,turningoverontohissidewithagroan.‘You’llsleepbetterthatway.’Ithadactuallybeenmoreofapatheticgetawaythanadaringone–theinnkeeperhadthreatenedtohavehimarrestedforloitering,ofallthings,butheprobablywasn’tactuallygoingtocalltheguards–soallthatrunningandfallingoverthingshadlikelybeenjustforfun.‘Youdon’thaveanythingtodrink?’
‘Arthur,youarenotinneedofanymoretodrink.’
‘Oh,comeon.It’shairofthedog.’
‘It’snothairofthebloodydogifyou’restilldrunk,it’s–Idon’tknow,dogofthedog,’Gwensaidcrossly.‘Youcanhavesometea.’
Ignoringhisprotestations,shegotuptofetchhimsome.Arthurusedthetimetositupgingerly,assessinghiscriticalfaculties,andwhenitseemedsafetodososcootedslowlyacrosstheflooruntilhisbackwasagainstthebaseofthelargedresser.Gwensatdownnexttohim,handinghimacup.
‘Cheers,’Arthursaiddespondently.‘Toalongandhappylifetogether.’
‘Don’tsaythat,’Gwensaid,wincingandtakingasipofherowntea.‘I’malreadydepressedenoughasitis.’
Arthurtriedtheteaandfounditsurprisinglyfortifying.
Gwenputhercupdownonthefloorbetweenthem.‘It’snothealthy,youknow.Drinkingthatmuchwine.’
‘Really?Ihadnoidea.’
‘There’snoneedtotakethattone,Arthur,I’mjustsaying—’
‘Fine,yes,yes,Iknow.Forgivemeforwantingtohavealittlefunbeforemylifeisover.’
Gwenshrugged.‘Itdoesn’treallyseemlikeyou’rehavingfun.’
Thiswasfartooastute;itwastruethatArthurhadbeenpartakinginmoredrinkingthanusualsincehisreturntoCamelot,andequallytruethatitdidn’treallyseemtohelpmatters.HehadonlyagreedtosplitabottlewithSidneytonightbecausehewasfeelingmaudlinaboutthecrushonGabrielhewasnowcarefullycultivating,andthingshadgonesteeplydownhillfromthere.
‘Areyouhavingfun?’Arthursaid.Hewasclutchinghistealikealifeline,eventhoughitwasscaldinghisfingers.
Gwenlookedverytiredallofasudden.‘Listen,’shesaid,tiltingherheadbacksothatherhairtumbledoverhershoulder,andfixinghimwithaverypointedlook.‘Ouragreementstillstands,yes?Wekeepeachother’ssecrets.’
‘Isupposeso,’Arthursaid,feelingaveryfainttugofguilt;hehadkeptGwen’smeagresecrets,buthe’dalsobeenaddingtohisowncollectionwithnointentionoftellingheranyofthem.
‘Yourcertaintyiscomforting.’Gwenpickeduphercupoftea,andthen,ratherconfusingly,putitdownagainwithouthavingtakenasip.‘ItoldGabriel.ItoldhimhowIfeelaboutBridget.Andhe–well,heallbuttoldmeIwasahorrificabomination,andfled.He’snotspokentomesince.’
‘Ah,’Arthursaid.‘Didhenow.’
‘Thanksforthemoralsupport,’Gwensaidbitterly.‘I’dhavethoughtthatyouofallpeoplemightunderstand.’
‘Well,’Arthursaidslowly.‘Peoplearen’talwaysreadytoknowthingswhen,er…whenweneedthemtobeknown.’
‘Veryphilosophical,’Gwensaid.‘Buthe’smybrother.He’sthebestfriendI’veeverhad–theonlyfriendI’veeverhad–andIthoughtthatevenifit’snotwhathe’dchooseforhimself,he’dwantmetobehappy.’
‘Christ,’Arthursaid.Hewastootiredforthis.ItwasonethingforGabrieltobeuncomfortableinhimself–torunaway,andhide,andtrytopretendhedidn’tfeelthingsArthurwasalmostcertainhedidfeel–butitwasanotherthingentirelytohurtGweninthesamewayhewashurtinghimself.‘Idon’tthinkhe’s,er…comingfromwhereyouthinkhe’scomingfrom.’
Gwenshothimasidewaysglance.‘WhyareyoutalkinglikeyouknowsomethingIdon’t?’
‘What?I’veneverknownanything,’Arthursaid.‘It’swelldocumented,youcanaskanybody.’Hedisappearedintohisteacupforawhile,tryingtoneutralisehisexpression.‘Incidentally,whydon’tyouhaveanyotherfriends?’
‘Oh,thanks,’Gwensaid,soundingsodourthatArthurlaughed.‘Isuppose…Idon’twantany.IalwayshadGabriel,andthatseemedenough.Alltheladiesatcourtaredreadfulanyway,blitheringairheadsbusytransformingintoexactcopiesoftheirhorriblemothers.TheyalllaughatmebehindtheirhandsandthinkI’modd.’
‘Er…’Arthursaid,raisinghiseyebrows.‘Areyousurethey’renottalkingbehindtheirhandsbecausethey’reterrifiedofyou?Perhapsbecauseyoucallthem“blitheringairheads”?’
‘They’renot,Arthur.Imean,you’vebeenspendingtimewithAgnes,I’msurethetwoofyouhavehadmanylaughsatmyexpense—’
‘Agneswouldneversayawordagainstyou.Loyalthroughandthrough.AndIthinksheactuallyquitelikesyou,whenyou’renotbeingimpossible.WhichIsupposemusthappenonceinabluemoon.’
‘Agnesdoesn’tlikeme,’Gwensaid,asifthematterwereclosed.
‘Well,’saidArthur,stretchingandthenwincingasheknockedhisinjuredarm.‘Ithinkyou’rewrong.Andyoucanhardlysayyouhavenofriends,nowthatyouhaveLadyLeclair,yourveryspecialfriend.’
Gwenletherheadfalltoherknees.‘God,don’t.Idon’tknowifshethinksofmethatway,andI–Ifeelawfulaboutitall.’
‘Well,youshouldn’t,’Arthursaid.Gwensnortedintoherkneecap.‘I’mserious.Youknow,themoreprogressivecultistsbelievethatinthedaysofArthurPendragon,itwasperfectlyacceptableforamantoloveaman,oraladyalady,etcetera.Problemis,there’snoproof.ProbablybecauseonceCatholicismtookholdtheyburneditallinabigfriendlybonfireandpretendedithadneverhappened.’
‘Really?’Gwensaid,herheadliftingslightly.‘Ididn’tknowthat.Gabrielneversaid.’
Arthuralmostswallowedhistongueinhisattempttolooknormal.‘No?Strange.’
‘Thethingis,’Gwensaid,muffledagainagainstherdress,‘IthinkIcouldloveaman.Ijust…haven’t.Idon’tnoticemanypeopleinthatway.AndifIcouldloveaman,thensurelyIshouldtry.Itwouldmakeeverythingsomucheasier.’
‘Youcould,’saidArthur.‘Youcouldfallinlovewithaman,andknowthatyouoncelikedBridget,andneitherofthosethingswouldchangetheother.Theywouldbothbetrue.ButrightnowyoudolikeBridget.SoIdon’tthinkyoushouldsettleforalifethatdeniesthatparticulartruth.’
‘Well–aren’tweshiningexamplesoflivingtruthfullyrightnow?’Gwenpointedout,gesturingatArthurwithherteacup.‘Couldyou…fallinlovewithawoman,doyouthink?’
‘No,’saidArthurimmediately.‘AlthoughIassureyouthatifIeverfindmyselfontheturn,you’llbetopofmylist.’
‘Muchappreciated.’Therewasacomfortablesilencebetweenthem,duringwhichGwensatupproperly,leaningagainstthedresserandsquintingupattheceiling.‘Bridgettoldmeshecourtedawomanonce.’
Arthurpracticallyspatouthislatestmouthfuloftea.‘Well–thereyougo,then!Whywouldshetellyouthatifshehadn’tnoticedyoudesperatelymooningafterheranddecidedtogiveyousomeencouragement?’
‘Idon’tknow,maybeshewasjusttellingmeasa–afriend.And…Idon’tmoon,’Gwensaidsternly,beforeherexpressionturnedtoworry.‘DoI?’
‘Youmoon,I’mafraid.Butshemustfinditendearing.Can’tsayIunderstandtheappeal.Ilikemymenemotionallyrepressedandunavailable.’
‘Howmanymenhavetherebeen?’
‘Whenyousaythingslikethat,’Arthursaidairily,‘yousoundexactlylikeyourmother.Looklikeher,too.’
Gwennarrowedhereyes.‘There’snoneedtogetdefensive.You’reclearly…experienced.’
Arthurwinced.‘Whydoestheword“experienced”soundlikeitmeans“anunstoppableharlot”comingoutofyourmouth?’
‘Well,’saidGwen.‘Allthosestoriesaboutyou–Imean,theysaidyouwerewithwomen,butIsupposethatwassomesortofcover–andthenI’msureyou’vebeenblazingatrailthroughthecastlesinceyouarrived—’
‘HowmanypeopledoyouthinkI’vekissedsinceIgothere?’Arthurdemanded.
‘Oh.Er.Idon’tknow.Idon’treallyknowwhatanormalweekislikeforyou,andit’sbeenalmostamonth.Fivepeople,maybe?Six?’
‘It’stwo,’Arthursaid.‘Actually.Andthat’sbeenanuncharacteristicallybusymonth,forme.’
‘Oh,’Gwensaid.‘Isupposetwois…Well,youcan’tblamemeforthinkingit.Imean,thesortofthingsI’vebeenhearing,yousoundedasifyou’dbeenvery…busy.’
Arthursnorted.‘IfyouwantmetotallyeverybodyI’vebeenentangledwithsincelastsummer,excludingCamelot,Icangiveyouaprettygoodestimate.’Gwenjustwatchedhim,clearlyeager.‘None.Zero.Nil.’
‘What?’Gwenlookedgenuinelyshocked.‘Then…wheredidallthosestoriescomefrom?’
‘IamaveryeffectivewingmanforoneSidneyFitzgilbert,’Arthursaid,withgenuinepride.‘I’musuallyondistractiondutywhilehe’swooingsome…Idon’tknow,someinnkeeper’sdaughterormarriedminorlady.’
‘Andbeforethat?’
‘Ah,’Arthursaid.Hehaddonearelativelygoodjobofnottalkingaboutthis–barelyeventhinkingaboutitunlesshewasinexceedinglylowspiritsanditmanagedtosneakaroundhisdefences–anditseemedashametobreakhisrecordnow.‘Iwas…courtingsomeone.Insecret,obviously.Upuntillastsummer.HisnamewasGawain–don’tlaugh–andhewasthesonofoneofmyfather’sfriends.Heneverquitecametotermswithhimself,orwiththeideaofus,soitwasallverydramatic.PyramusandThisbe,mulberrytrees,thatsortofthing.Anyway.That’sallovernow,andhe’sdisappearedoffsomewhere–Normandy,Ithink–toruminateonhissins.’
Italmostopenedthefloodgates–Gawain’ssmile,Gawain’sblondcurls,GawainkissinghimwithspicedwineonhistongueataChristmasfeastandthenthrowinghimoutintothesnowtenminuteslaterwhentheywerealmostdiscovered–andArthurhadtopushbackveryfirmlytoretaincontrolofhissenses.Ithadbeenafullyearnow,butArthursupposedsomehurtsransodeepthattheybecamepartofyourfoundations;hehadbeenrelentlesslyoptimisticabouthisdoomedromanceuntilithadliveduptoitsnameandimplodedspectacularlyoneJuneafternoon,leavingArthurstrandedtwentymilesfromhomeasGawainrodeawayonhishorse,andhestillcringedwheneverhethoughtaboutitnow.Howfoolishithadbeentogetattachedtosomebodywhowasn’tevenparticularlynicetohim;howidiotichemusthavelookedtoSidney,theonlypersonwhoknew,everytimehereturnedfromaclandestinerendezvous,goingonasifheandGawainweretheromanceofthecentury.
‘God,’saidGwen.‘I’msorry.Ihadnoidea.’
‘Well,ofcourseyoudidn’t.I’manexpertatsubterfuge,’Arthursaid,givingheragrimsmile.‘I’madreadfulromantic,I’mafraid.Sidneygivesmehellforit.’
‘I’mreally…not.Ithinkthat’swhyI’mfeelingso…overwhelmed.’
‘Youshouldjustfallinlovewithme,’Arthursaid,inanattempttolightenthemood.‘Icouldn’tloveyouback,butImightgrowfondofyou.Iampartialtobeingadored.’
‘Whatanattractiveproposition.’
‘Well,itcouldbeconsideredaplustobeattractedtoyourfiancé.Iwouldn’tknow,ofcourse,becauseeverythinginmylifeiscompletelybackwards,butIhearithelps.’
Gwentiltedherheadandstudiedhim,asifwillingherselftofeelsomethingforhim.‘It’snogood.You’reaswaggeringidiot,andyouthinkfartoomuchofyourself.’
‘Ouch,’Arthursaid.‘I’llhaveyouknowthatIhaveextremelybroadappeal.I’measyontheeyes,I’mveryfunny–plus,I’mafantastickisser.Ifyou’dkissedme,you’dbesingingadifferenttune.’
‘That’snotatune,’Gwensaid.‘That’sthesoundofretching.’
‘Youcan’tknockituntilyou’vetriedit.’Hewasjustgoadingher,butassoonashesaidithenoticedaslightshiftinherexpression,whichwas…interesting.
‘Shutup.I’mnotgoingtokissyou,’Gwensaid,butshehadgonealittlebitpinkinthecheeks,andasArthurlaughedshewetherbottomlipwithhertongue.
‘It’snotabigdeal,Gwendoline.Peoplekisseachotherallthetime.I’vekissedSidney.’
‘Youhave?Howwasit?’
Arthurconsidered.‘Verydamp,’hesaid.‘Althoughadmittedly,wewereintheRiverTamyseatthetime.’
‘Ofcourseyouwere,’Gwensaid.Sheshifteduncomfortably,puttingdownhercup.‘Imean.Ihaven’tkissedanybodybefore.Idon’tknowhowyoudoit.AndIsupposethereismeritin–practice.’
Arthurcouldseethatshewassuddenlyverytense,althoughwhethershewasclammingupwithnervesorgirdingherloins,hecouldn’tquitetell.‘Well.That’sthemosteroticspeechI’veeverheard.’
Gwenwassuddenlyveryclosetohisface.‘Shutup.’
Hedid.Havingmadeitthisfarsheseemedreluctanttogoanyfurther,soArthurrolledhiseyesandgrabbedherbythebackofthehead,pressingakisstoherclosedlips.Instincttookoverassheopenedhermouth;heleanedin,deepeningthekiss,hishandslippingthroughherlightlyperfumedhair.Shetastedlikesweetteaandlemons.Itwasperfectlypleasant,kissingher,butinthemannerofasatisfyingstretchoreatingawell-bakedbreadroll.Inotherwords–notquiteearth-shattering.
Arthurpulledawayfirst.‘Well?’
Gwenbitherlipandthenshookherhead.‘Nothing.’
‘No.Meneither,’Arthursaid.‘Shame.’
‘HowwasI?’Gwensaid,tryingandfailingtosoundcasual.‘Atkissing,Imean.’
‘You’reanatural,’Arthursaid,pattingherarm.‘Ifonlyyouhadabeard,I’dhavebeenswooning.’
‘I’llworkonit.’Gwenclimbedtoherfeet,placinghercupontopofthedresser.‘Ishouldgotobed.’
‘Right,right.Pliedwithmeteaandhadyourwaywithmeandnowyou’redoneandI’mdismissed.’
‘Youpliedyourself,’Gwensaid.‘Anditwasn’twithtea.’
‘Oh,boreoff,’saidArthur,gettinguptoo.‘I’llsendAgnesin,shallI?’
‘Ifyoucanfindher.She’sprobablyrunofftofindSidneyandnursehiminhistimeofneed.’
‘Ah,yes.They’retrulydisgusting,aren’tthey?’Arthurmadehiswaytothedoorandthenpaused.‘Night,Gwen.’
Shegavehimasmallsmileinreturn.‘Goodnight,Arthur.’Havingalreadybeenunconsciousoncethatevening,Arthurfoundhimselfinnohurrytodoitagain.HestoodoutsideGwen’schambersforawhile,listeningtothedistantsoundsoftheguardstalkingtoeachotherinlowvoices,andthensuddenlymadeuphismind–insteadofheadingforthestairs,hecontinuedfurtherdownthecorridortowardstherestoftheroyalbedrooms.Hedidn’tknowexactlywhereGabrielslept,buttookachanceonthenextdoorhecameto,knockingsoftlywithill-gottenbravadoandhopinghewasn’tabouttocomefacetofacewiththekinginhisnightclothes.
Ittookawhileforthedoortoopen,butwhenitdid,Gabrielpeereduncertainlythroughthecrack,hisbrighthairmussedandpushedbackfromhisface.
‘Ifyoutellmetogoaway,Iwill.I’llgoatonce,’Arthursaid,holdinghishandsupinpre-emptivesurrender.‘Iwanttotalktoyouaboutyoursister.’
Gabrielsighed,hishandonthedoor,seemingmomentsawayfromshuttingitagain–butthenhesteppedback,lettingitopenwider.‘Comein.’
Gwen’sroomshadacoupleoflargebookshelvesbythefireplace,butGabriel’sseemedtobemadeentirelyoutofbooks;shelvesobscuredthewalls,andstacksoftomesandpapersclutteredeverysurface.Therewereyardsandyardsofusedparchmentonadeskbythewindow;Arthurcouldn’tseeintothebedroom,butheimaginedittoowouldbemorepaperthanfurniture.Therewasanappleonthetablewithonebiteoutofit,thefleshbrowned,asifGabrielhadnoticedhishungerforlongenoughtoacquireitbutthenimmediatelybecomedistracted.
‘Whyareyoueverinthelibraryifyourroomslooklikethis?’Arthurasked,pickingupthepieceofparchmentatthetopofthenearestpile.‘SiegesuppliesintheBattleofBadon,501.Scintillatingstuff.’
‘Thebooksinthelibraryhavebeenpasseddownthroughgenerations,’Gabrielsaid,rubbinghiseyesandsighing.‘Theybelongtothecrown.Thesearemostlymyown.’
‘Icanseewhyyouneversleep,’Arthursaid,sittingdowninanarmchair.‘Itoowouldlieawakeworryingthatmybookshelveswouldbuckle,andI’dbeburiedalivebybooksabouttheproperamountofflourtobringtoasiege.’
Therewasasuddentrillingandabluroforangefur;Luciferhadclearlybeensleeping,buthecamerushingovertogreetArthur,whobentdowntoadministerenthusiasticscratchesbehindthecat’sfrayedears.
‘Whatdoyouwant,Arthur?’
‘I’mtouringthecastlegivingadvicetoeverymemberoftheroyalfamilyImeetwhohasaconundrum,’Arthursaidbrightly,asLuciferheadbuttedhisknuckles.‘Luckyyou,you’renext.IfI’dbumpedintoyourfather,I’dbetalkingtohimabouttaxevasion.’
‘Oh,’saidGabriel.‘So–soyou’vespokentoGwenrecently?’
‘Ihave,’Arthursaidheavily.Heleanedbackinhischairandthecatseemedtoabruptlygiveuponhim,paddingovertothefarwallinsteadandthenleapingupontothewindowsill.Arthurwatcheditstaillashing,fiddlingwiththemakeshiftbandageonhisarmasheconsidereddelicacyanddecidedagainstit.‘Gabriel.Iknowabouther.’
‘Whatdoyouknowabouther?’Gabrielsaidstiffly.
‘Iknowwhatyouknow,evenifyou’repretendingyoudon’t.’
Gabrielturnedawaybutseemedtohavenoideawheretogonext.Hestoppedbyhiswritingdesk,withhisbacktoArthur.‘Shedoesn’treallyknowwhatshewants.’
‘Er–whodoes?I’mnottalkingaboutwhatshewants,I’mtalkingaboutwhosheis.She’sconfusedandtryingtoworkthingsoutrightnow,andyou’vemadeherfeellikesomekindof–well,likeshe’sdonesomethingdirtyandwrong.’Gabrieldidn’treply.‘Comeon–thetwoofyouhavealwaysbeenirritatinglyattachedatthehip.Whateveryou’refeelingrightnow,thisisn’taboutyou.Shetoldyousomethingbig–somethingimportant–andyouturneditagainsther.’
‘Ididn’tsayshe’ddonesomethingwrong,’Gabrielsaidquietly.
‘Itdoesn’tmatterwhatyouactuallysaid,’Arthursaid,raisinghisvoicemorethanhehadintended.‘Jesus,Gabriel–whyareyoupunishingherforwhosheisbecauseyou’rescaredofwhoyoumightbe?’
ThesilencefromGabrielsuddenlyseemedextremelyloud.
‘I’mjustsaying,’Arthurcontinued,‘youshouldbehappythatthisissomethingyoutwocanshare.Noteverybodygetstohavefamilywhomightactuallyunderstandthem.’
‘Idon’twanthertounderstand,’Gabrielsaidfinally,hisvoiceshakingalittle.‘Idon’twantthisforeitherofus.Notwithourtitles–what’sexpectedofus.It’stoodifficult,it’stoo—’
‘Well,hardluck,’Arthursaid.‘I’msorryit’ssoabhorrenttoyou,sodisappointingthatyoumightbelikeme—’
‘Icouldneverbelikeyou,’Gabrielsaid,turningtohim,andArthurwassurprisedbyhisfuriousexpression.‘Youdon’t…Therearesomanythingsaboutthisthatyoucan’tcomprehend.Myfathertrustsmewithhislegacy.HehasworkedsohardtowinovertheheartsofthepeopleofEngland,toprovehimselfaworthyheir–everythinghedoesisacarefulbalancingact,inthehopethathecancreatethekindofmonarchypeoplecanbelievein.That’stheonlyfuturethereisforme,becauseotherwise–otherwisewemightloseeverything.’
‘Well,’Arthursaid,takingabreathbeforecockinganeyebrowathim.‘That’scertainlyaconvenientexcuseforrunningawayfromyourself,butI’mafraidIdon’tbuyit.’
‘What?’HeseemedtohaveshockedsomeoftheangeroutofGabriel,whosemouthwashangingopen.
‘Therearewaystodoboth,youknow.Tobekingandalsohavewhatyouwant.Andbesides,hasitneveroccurredtoyouthatbeingkingmeansyou’llhavethepowertochangethings?’
‘No,’Gabrielsaid,red-cheekedandfrowning.‘It’snotthatsimple.And…it’snotwhatIwant.BecauseIwanttodothisright.’
‘Idon’tnecessarilythinkthat’strue,’Arthursaid,gettingupandtakingasteptowardsGabriel,whoshrankawayfromhimtowardsthedesk.‘Ithinkit’swhatyou’vetoldyourselfyouwant,tomakeithurtlesswhenit’sallyougetintheend.Ithinkyou’drathertrytomakeyourselfintoanidealthanacceptthatyouarearealperson,becauseitfeelssafe.You’llstillbeyou,evenwhenyou’reking.Sowhatdoyouwanttodowithyouroneslightlydullbutnonethelesspreciouslife?’
Gabrielflinched.Heopenedhismouthandcloseditagain,andthengaveitanothertry.‘IthoughtyoucameheretotalktomeaboutGwen.’
‘Well,ifitwerereallyaboutGwenthenIwouldhavestayedoncourse,butI’mafraidit’snotatall,isit?’
‘HowamIsupposedtoknowwhatIwant?’Gabrielsaidquietly.‘There’sonlyeverbeenroomforwhatI’m…destinedtohave.’
Arthursighed.Ifonlybothsiblingscouldhavehadtheircrisesinthesameroom,hecouldhavehalvedtheevening’swork.‘Comeon.Youmusthavesomeideaabouthowyou’dliketoliveyourlife.Verydeepdown,somewhereunderaboutsixtylayersofinkandparchment,youmusthaveabeatingheart.’
‘Idon’tseehowbeingrudetomeisgoingto—’
‘Well,ifyou’dstopbeingsoavoidantandjust—’
‘Fine,’Gabrielsnapped,finallylosinghistemper.‘Fine!IfIgottochoose…I’dliketodothingsdifferently.I’mnotcriticisingmyfather,I’mnot–Ijustthinkwehavedifferentpriorities.’
‘Like?’Arthurprompted.
‘Like…there’sthislibraryatTintagelCastle.It’senormous.IthousesthelargestcollectionofbooksinEngland,includingalmostalloftheremainingcultisttexts,andthereareacademicswho’vebeenlivingandstudyingtherealltheirlives.Ifitweremychoice,I’dleaveCamelot.I’dgothere.And…’
‘And?’
‘It’sstupid.’
‘I’llbethejudgeofthat.I’mveryfamiliarwithstupidity.’
Gabrielsighed.‘Iwantbookstobeavailabletoeverybody.Notjustpeoplelikeus.Iwant–I’dliketohelpeducatepeople.TotrainacademicsatTintagel,andsendthemoutacrossEngland.Notjustto…teachLatinandhymnstonobility.Doyouknowhowfewpeoplecanreadandwriteinthiscountry?Ithink–whenpeoplearegiventhechancetolearnforthemselves,they’renotforcedtothinkthateverythingthathappenstothemisduetothewhimsofsomehigherpower.Theyhaverealchoices.’Heexhaled,half-terror,half-relief.‘I’venevertoldanybodythat.AnybodyotherthanGwen.’
‘Well,’Arthursaid,brieflyspeechlessforonce.‘That’s–that’sbrilliant.’
Gabriellookedirritated.‘It’snot.It’snothowthingsaredone,andit’sunrealisticandidealisticand…foolish.’
Arthursnorted.‘It’showthingscouldbedone,ifyoujusttoldsomebodyaboutit.’
‘Whathappenedtoyourarm?’Gabrielsaid,asifArthurhadn’tspoken.
Arthurglanceddown,surprisedatthequestion;hehadmanagedtoforgetaboutit.Gwen’sbandagewasunravelling,cominglooseattheend.‘Ifell.Or–IthinkIdid,anyway.It’sallalittlehazy.’
Gabrielshookhishead.‘You’reacarelessperson,Arthur.’ArthurlikedhowhisnamesoundedinGabriel’smouth,evenifhistonewasweary.‘That’snotwhoGwenandIare.We’recareful.And–Idon’twantthingstobedifficultforme,ormysister.Iwanthertobehappy.’
‘Idon’tthinkdoingadifficultthingandbeinghappyaremutuallyexclusive,Gabriel.Ithinkyoucouldbothhavesomeofthethingsyouwant,ifyou’rebraveenoughtoaskforthem.’Hecrossedhisarms,feelingabitcombative.‘WouldIbeinvitedtothisgiantlibraryatTintagel?’
Gabrielshrugged.Hewasleaningagainsthisdesk,fingertipspressingintothewood.
‘Areyoureallygoingtotrytopretendthatyouhaven’tthoughtaboutmeatall?’
ToArthur’sgreatsatisfaction,Gabrielblusheddeepscarletatthis,andthenshruggedagain.
‘Comeon.I’mwaitingforarealanswer.Youcankissmeagainwhileyouconsiderit,ifyouthinkthatmighthelpswingit.’
TheslightlychokedsoundGabrielmadeatthiswasworththeriskArthurhadtakeninsayingit.Itwasstartingtofeelfamiliartohimnow,howquicklyGabrielwentfromsternanddistanttosuddenlybeingverypresent–toseemingveryawareofexactlyhowfaraparttheywerestandingfromeachother.
‘Idon’tthinkIcan,’Gabrielsaid,hisgazehoveringsomewhereinthevicinityofArthur’sshoes.ItwasfarmoreencouragingaresponsethanArthurhadbeenexpecting.
‘Youdidbefore.’
‘Yes,butitwasn’t…premeditated,’Gabrielsaid.HelookedupandseemedunabletostophimselffromglancingatArthur’slips,whichwerenowquirkingupwardsintoasmile.
‘Well,itwasakiss,’hesaid,stayingexactlywherehewas.‘Notaviolentcrime.’
Gabrielopenedhismouthlikehemeanttolaugh,butnosoundcameout.
‘Doyouneedmetotalkyouthroughit?’Arthursaid,halfjoking–butGabriellookedsogenuinelyatseathathefolloweditupwith,‘Putyourhandonmyshoulder.’
‘Why?’
‘SoIcanflipyoulikeawrestler,’Arthursaid.‘Whydoyouthink?’Gabriellookedwary,butapproachedanyway,lookingasifeverysensibleboneinhisbodywastellinghimtojumpoutofthewindowinstead.
‘Ihavethoughtaboutyou,’hesaid,inbarelymorethanawhisper.‘Not…justthissummer.’HereachedoutaslightlyshakinghandandputitonArthur’sshoulder.Arthurthoughtitwasprobablythebravestthinghe’deverseenGabrieldo.
Ithadthedesiredeffect.AssoonastheyweretouchingitfeltnaturalforArthurtoleanintohim,toletGabriel’sfacebluroutoffocusashehalfclosedhiseyes;hewaitedforsolongthathethoughthemightneedtoopenthemagaintogivefurtherinstruction,butthenhefeltwarmbreathghostacrosshislips.Therewasanotherpause.Hegaveanimpatientlittlehuffbeforebridgingthelastcoupleofinchesbetweenthemtosolvetheproblemhimself.
HehalfexpectedGabrieltopullawaywhenheputanarmtohiswaisttopresshimcloser,sothattheycouldkisswithoutleaningacrossaridiculousexpanse,buthedidn’t;hejustkissedhimback.Itwasgentleanduncertainatfirst,butthenheseemedtorelaxintoit,sighingintoArthur’smouthinawaythatmadehisnervessing.Itsoundedlikereliefmorethananything–thesoundofsomebodyfinallyatrestafteratoo-longday–andArthurwasamazedthatkissingcouldfeellikethat,likebothablessingandacomfort,insteadofliketheinevitablemeetingoftwopeoplewhowerereachingdesperatelyforsomethingtheycouldn’tquitegrasp.
Gabriel’shandskittereddownArthur’sarm,asifitdidn’thavepermissiontolandanywherebutdesperatelywantedto,eventuallydecidingonArthur’swrist;ArthurfeltGwen’sbandagegiveuptheghostandflutterawaytothefloor,feltthestingandshiveredasGabrielinadvertentlyranhisthumboverthefreshwoundthere,buthedidn’tflinchaway.ItoccurredtoArthurashetentativelyliftedhishandtofindthefinecurlsatthenapeofGabriel’sneckthatthiswasthesecondroyalsiblinghe’dkissedinoneevening.Itwaspotentiallythesortofthingthatmightneeddeclaring.
‘Intheinterestoffulldisclosure,’hesaid,breakingawaybutleavinghishandswheretheywere,‘Iactuallykissedyoursistertonight.Abouttenminutesago,actually.’
‘You–what?’Gabriellookedpinkandbreathlessandabsolutelybaffled.Arthurwasreachingforanexplanationthatdidn’tmakeitsoundtentimesworsewhentheyheardashoutinthecorridoroutside,followedbytheclangofsomethingheavyhittingthegroundatspeed
‘Whatinthehell…?’Arthurturnedtothedoor,hisheartpounding.HestillhadonehandonGabriel,andsomepartofhisbrainregisteredthatiftherewasanydangeritwouldalmostcertainlybeheadingintheirdirection.ThenextsecondhewaspushingGabrieltowardshisbedroom.
‘Whatareyoudoing?’Gabrielsaid,flusteredandstrugglingtokeephisbalanceasArthurbundledhimin–floor-to-ceilingbooks,justashe’dpredicted–andthenlefthimthere,rushingbacktothemaindoor.Helistenedforasecond,glancingbackatGabriel’sredandveryconfusedface,beforewrenchingitopen.
‘Shit,’hesaidloudlybeforehecouldstophimself,ahandflyingtohismouth.
LadyBridgetLeclairwasstandinginthecorridor,swordraised,shouldersheaving.Ontheflooratherfeetlayamanwhoseemedtohaverecentlybeenclutchingadagger.Hehaddroppedit,largelyduetothefactthathewasdead.
Arthurconsideredhisoptions,andthen,withonehandbracedagainstthedoorframe,bentatthewaistandvomited.Gwenwasrousedfromherbedbyguardsburstingthroughthedoor;oncetheyhadascertainedthattherewasnobodyimminentlythreateningtoharmher,shewasmarchedintoherfather’sprivatesolarandtoldtowait.Thelongershesatthere,runningherfingersoverthenotchesandwhorlsofthetableoverandoveragain,themoreconvincedshewasthatsomethingterriblemusthavehappenedtosomememberofherfamilytowarrantallthepanic.
Afterwhatfeltlikeanage,Gabrielwalkedintotheroom–closelyfollowed,forreasonsunfathomable,bybothArthurandBridget.
‘What’shappened?’Gwensaid,immediatelygettingtoherfeet.‘Where’sFather?Isthatblood?’
‘He’sfine,’Gabrielsaid,soundingveryweary.‘So’sMother.Theytoldme–he’stalkingtoSirHurstrightnow.’SirHurstwasherfather’sCaptainoftheGuard,whichsurelyindicatedthateitherallwaslostoreverythingwasinhand.ArthurpulledupachairoppositeGwenandsatdowninit,rubbingcirclesintohistemplesandlookingasifhe’dratherbeanywhereelse.GabrielandBridgetdidn’tmove.
‘Sitdown,’ArthurandGwensaidatexactlythesametime;underdifferentcircumstancesGwenmighthavelaughed,butshewasstillthrummingfromheadtotoewithspiky,nervousenergy.
‘Whathappened?’Gwensaidagain,asGabrieltookaseat.
Tohersurprise,itwasBridgetwhospoke.
‘Iwascomingtoyourchamberstobringyousomething,’Bridgetsaidfromwhereshewasstillstandingbythedoor.Arthur,whoseeyeshadbeenclosed,immediatelysnortedwithlaughter.Gwengavehimalong,incredulouslook,andhebithislip–andthensnortedagain.
‘Ithinkit’stheshock,’Gabrielsaid,lookingatArthurwithnosmallamountofhorror.
Arthurpressedahandtohismouthandmadeamuffledsqueakingnoise,butappearedtobeattemptingtocomposehimself.
‘Inoticedsomethingfurtherdownthehall,’Bridgetsaid,ignoringArthur.‘Itturnedouttobeaman,withaknife.Heattackedme,soI–intervened.’
‘Youkilledhim?’Gwensaid,hereyestravellingfromBridget’sface,whichdidnotseemtohaveanynewscratches,totheswordinherhandandthesurreallyluridstreaksofbloodonherbreeches.It’snotherblood,Gwenthoughtdistantly.That’swhereshewipedtheswordclean
‘Yes,’Bridgetsaidheavily.‘Ikilledhim.’
Theysatinuneasysilenceasthesewordssankin.
‘Wait,’Gwensaidslowly,oncetheinitialshockhadwornoffsomewhat.‘Arthur–wherewereyou?’
Shewassureshewasn’timaginingit;Arthur’seyesflickeredbrieflyovertoGabrielbeforehelookedather.‘Walking.’
‘Walking?Walkingintheroyalwing?’Gwensaid.‘Whydidyouallcomeintogether?Ithoughtyouweregoingtobed.’
‘Ididn’tsayIwasgoingtobed,’Arthursaidpetulantly.‘IsaidIwasleaving.IfyouassumedIwasgoingtobed,thatjustdemonstratesyourutterlackofimagination.’
‘Allright,’Gwensaid,narrowinghereyes.‘SojustsayIweretousemyimagination—’
Thedooropened,andthekingandqueenwalkedin,followedbyahandfulofpanicked-lookingattendants.Gwen’smothercrossedtoherimmediatelyandpressedakisstoherforeheadbeforewalkingaroundthetabletodothesametoGabriel,whoclosedhiseyestightlyshutasherlipsmethishead.Theirfatherwalkedthelengthoftheroomtotakehiscustomaryseatattheheadofthetable,leaningbackinhischairandsighingheavilyastheyallwaitedforhimtospeak.
‘Itseemsitwasonlyoneattacker,’hesaid,asapagefetchedandpouredhimsomewine.‘AlthoughGodknowshowhewasabletogetasfarastheroyalwing.’
‘Whathappenedtotheguards?’Gabrielasked.
Theking,whohadbeenstaringintohiscup,lookedup–andsuddenlyseemedtorealisethattheroomwasfarmorepopulatedthanhe’dexpected.
‘Towhatdoweowethispleasure?’heasked,noddingatArthurandthenlookingpointedlyatGwen.
‘Um,’saidGwen.ShetriedtomeetGabriel’seye,buthewasstaringatthetable.Hishandsweretensedagainstit,asifhemightneedtopushupandfleeatanymoment.‘ArthurandIwerejust–talking.’
‘Oh,Gwendoline,’hermothersighed.‘Again?’
‘Again?’thekingsaidinadangeroustone.
Arthurlookeddistinctlyuncomfortable.‘Well,it’sbeenlovely,’hesaid,gettingtohisfeet,‘butIthinkI’dbetterbegoing.Verygladyou’reallalive,ofcourse–goodjob,andkeepitupfortheforeseeable.Goodevening,yourmajesty,yourhighnesses…’
AsArthurpracticallysprintedfromtheroom,thekingturnedhisgazetoBridget.‘Andyou?’
‘Iwasonmywaytospeaktotheprincess,yourmajesty,’Bridgetsaidwithoutamoment’shesitation.‘SherenderedmeaserviceandIwantedtobringheratokenofthanks.’
‘Andwhattokenwasthis?’
Bridgetdidhesitatethistime,justforamoment,beforeliftingtheswordshehadusedtoapprehendthemaninthehallwayanddroppingitontothetablewithaclatterthatmadeGwenwince.‘This.’
‘Youwerebringingmydaughterasword?’thequeensaid,soundingutterlyhorrified.
‘Theguardsletyouthroughtotheroyalchambers,lateatnight,withaweapon?’saidtheking,equallyunimpressed.
‘Itoldthemshehadmypermissiontoenterearlierthisweek,’Gwensaid,tryingtokeephervoicesteady.‘Theywereonlyfollowingmyorders.’
‘Gwendoline,thisishighlyinappropriate,’hermothersaid,frowningdownattheswordasifittoohaddisappointedherasadaughter.
‘Iagree,’saidthekingwearily.‘AlthoughIcan’tignorethefactthatifshehadn’tbeeninexactlytherightplaceatpreciselytherighttime…Ioweyoumythanks,LadyLeclair.’
Bridgetinclinedherhead,andthekingwavedheraway,hereyesmeetingGwen’sbrieflyasshebackedoutoftheroom.LordStaffordwascomingintheotherdirection;hewaswearingagarishmagentajacketoverhisnightshirt,whichhehadstuffedintonavybreeches,andanexpressionofdeepanguish.Helooked,Gwenthought,alittlebitlikeadepressedjester.
‘Nodead,’hesaid.‘Excepttheassassinhimself,yourmajesty.’
‘So,what–somebodylethimin?’Gwensaid.Gabrieldidfinallylookatherthen,butshereciprocatedtoolate;hehadalreadyturnedaway.
‘Myguessisthathewasarecenthiretotheguard,’LordStaffordsaid,verypale.‘Aloneactor,withsomeimaginedscoretosettle.Weveteverybodyfastidiously,ofcourse,butsometimesyoujustcan’ttell.IexpectSirHurstwillconfirmasmuchwhenhecomestobriefyou,yourmajesty.’
‘Aloneactor?’saidGabriel.‘Soyoudon’tthinkthiswassomethingtodowithwhat’sbeenhappeninginthenorth?’
Staffordgrimacedsweatily.‘Notonthisoccasion,no.Unfortunatelypeopledothingslikethisforallkindsofreasons.’
‘ButIthoughtyouwereobsessedwiththenorth,’Gwensaid,forgettingthatthissortofthingwasbestsaidinprivateandearningherselfafuriouslookfromthesteward.
‘Obsessed?Notatall.Notatall.Isimplywishustoreactappropriatelytothesituationsathand.Infact,justtheotherdayIwastellinghismajesty–weneednotpaniceverytimesomebodywandersnorthofNottingham.’
‘YoumeanlikeLordWillard?’
‘Yes,’saidStafford.‘Yes!Exactly.Visitingfamily,upinSkipton.HismajestyiswellawareoftheconcernsIhaveaboutcultistuprisings,butthatdoesnotmeanthateverythingispartofsomegrandconspiracy.’
‘Well,we’llsoonknowforcertain.SirHurstisexploringalltheoptions,’saidGwen’sfather.‘He’sevenaskedthedamnWizardtocomeforquestioning,notthatit’llhelp.IknowMasterBuchanan,andthisisn’tofhisdoing,cultistornot.Just–don’tdoanythingfoolish,eitherofyou.Stayvigilant.Gabriel–getsomerest,we’llbeconveningthecouncilearlyinthemorning.’
‘Ofcourse,’saidGabriel.GwenwasitchingtogoafterBridget,butshecouldthinkofnoexcusetorushfromtheroomthatwouldn’tseemveryoddanddownrightdangerousiftherewasanychancethatmoreassassinswereroamingthehalls.
Thedooropenedyetagain,andthegrizzled,moustachioedCaptainoftheGuardentered.Hewasolive-skinnedandveryhandsomeforhisage;hehadthekindoffacethatpeoplelikedtoascribetogreatknightsandprincesintheirportraits,althoughrightnowitlookeddeeplytroubled.‘Yourmajesty.Icanbriefyounow,ifyou’reready.’
IfithadinfactbeenaguardrecentlyhiredbySirHurstwhohadattemptedalittlelate-nightregicide,Gwencouldonlyimaginehowtensethatbriefingwasgoingtobe.
‘Staytogethertonight,’saidthequeen,reachingovertotouchGwen’sshoulder.‘We’llpostextraguardsrightoutsidethedoor.’
‘Guardswetrust,’saidtheking.‘Wewon’tmakethesamemistaketwice.’Hegottohisfeet,noddingtoSirHurst.‘Let’sgetthisoverwith.’
‘Besafe,’theirmothersaidtoGabriel,beforebothoftheirparentshurriedfromtheroom.
GwenconsideredGabrielfromacrossthetable.Helookedgenuinelywretched–asgrey-facedandhollowed-outasiftheassassinhad,infact,succeeded.
‘Comeon,’shesaidwithasigh.‘I’llsleepinyourroom.’GabrielfollowedGwenwithoutcomplaintorcomment,shruggingoffhisjacketoncetheyreachedhisroomandhangingitneatlyoffthebackofoneofthechairs,whichhesankintowithaveryresignedexpressiononhisface.ItwasonlywhenGwensatdownintheotherandputahandtoherstill-braidedhairthatitoccurredtohertomissherlady-in-waiting.
‘Idon’tknowwhereAgnesis,’shesaid,anxietypluckingatherchest.‘Idon’t–shewenttofindSidney,but—’
‘Fathersaideverybody’sfine,’Gabrielsaidevenly.‘They’reprobablybothbeinginterrogatedthough,iftheywereloiteringoutside.Aboutwheretheywere.Whattheysaw.Sidneymightbeasuspect,forallweknow.’
‘PoorSirHurst,’Gwensaid,herpulseslowing.‘Ican’timagineinterrogatingSidneywillbeaparticularlyfruitfultask.’
‘Idon’tknow,’Gabrielsaid.‘I’vealwaysfoundhimperfectlypleasant.’
‘That’sbecauseyou’reaman,’Gwensaidbitterly.‘Hedoesn’ttalktomeasheshould.’
‘Perhapshejustdoesn’tknowhowtotalktoyou,’Gabrielsaid,ignoringGwen’sexasperatedsigh.
‘Well,’shesaid,crossingherarms.‘Thatmakestwoofyou.’
Gabrielranahandthroughhishair,startingtolooklikeabirdthathadmisjudgedthevoracityofthewind,andseemedtobeworkinguptosayingsomething.Gwenfoughtherurgetopresshimandjustwaited,herfingersworkingsteadilyataloosethreadinthehemofhersleeve.
‘Gwen,I’msorry.Ishouldn’thavesaidwhatIsaid,Iwasn’t–Iwasn’texpectingyoutotellme…whatyoutoldme,’hesaideventually.
Gwenjustlookedathim.Shewasalwaystheonewhospokefirst;helpedGabrielfillinthegapswhenhecouldn’tfindthewords.Itwasn’therresponsibilitythistime.He’dhavetofindthemonhisown.
‘Idon’twantthingstobemoredifficultforyou,’hesaidslowly.‘Foryoutospendyourlifelongingforsomethingthatyoucouldneverhaveinanyrealway.Isn’titbettertojust…makepeacewithwhatyoudohave?Trytoforgetabouttherest?’
‘Whatdoesthatevenmean?’Gwensaiddespondently.‘Inanyrealway?Whatpartofmylifeisreal,atthemoment?I’mbetrothedtoamanI’mnottheleastbitattractedto,andIknowhefeelsthesameaboutme.ButI’vebeenthinking…and,Gabe,ifwemightallbestabbedinourownbedsatanymoment,itseems…Well,theremightbeawaytoletalittlebitofmylifebemyown.Evenifit’ssecret,evenifit’shard,it’llbemine.What’snotrealaboutthat?’
‘Whatdoyouimagineyou’llbeallowedtohave?’Gabrielasked;itcouldhavesoundedconfrontational,buthegenuinelyseemedtobeaskingher.
‘Well,I’llmarryArthur,obviously,’Gwensaid,noticingtheslighttwitchinGabriel’shandsasshedid.‘I’llmarryhimandwe’llfindawaytolivetogetherwithoutkillingeachother,andthenBridget…’Andthenwhat?She’doffersometinysliceofherselftoBridget,whomightnotevenwantit?
‘Doesshefeelthesamewayaboutyou?’Gabrielsaid,seemingtoreadhermind.‘Becausethere’stoomuchatstakeifyou’renotsure.Ican’tevenbegintoimaginewhatthey’dsayaboutourfamilyifthisevergetsout.Theymightevencomeforourheads.’
Gwenglancedawayfromhimtothefloor,andthenpausedwhensherealisedwhatshewaslookingat.
‘Gabe.WhywasArthurstillintheroyalwing?’shesaidslowly.
‘Ihaven’tthefaintestidea.’
‘Iknowthat’shisbandageunderyourchair.Iknowbecauseit’sactuallyabitofmyblanket,andIdidaprettygoodjoboftyingit.Whyareyoulying?Whatwashedoinginhere?’
Gabriellookedcompletelyandutterlydefeated;heglancedupattheceilingasifheweretryingtospontaneouslyvacatehisbody.‘OhGod.’
‘OhGodwhat?’Gwenpressed.
Gabrielwassoredheseemedonthevergeoferupting.Heclearedhisthroat,stillunabletomeetGwen’sgaze.‘I…look,maybethere’ssomethingIneedto—’
‘No,’shesaid,comprehensiondawning.ShethoughtofGabrielputtingonhisverybestjacketthenightArthurarrivedatcourt,andlookingthunderstruckeverytimeArthurspoketohim;theimprobabilityofArthurgoingtolookatabirdwithsomeone,withoutulteriormotives.‘Wait.’
‘Hestartedit,’Gabrielmutteredwretchedly,andGwenletoutanincreduloushalf-laugh.
‘You’renotserious,’shesaid,asrealitytiltedonitsaxis.Gabriellookedlikehisfacewasimploding.‘OhmyGod.OhmyGod.’
‘I’msorry.Gwen,I’mso,sosorry.Thiswascertainlynotmyidea,andI—’
‘But–youlikehim?’
‘Likeisperhapsnottheword,’Gabrielsaid,lookingutterlymiserable,andGwenlaughedagain,outofpureshock.Thetensionbetweenthemhadbroken,theairsuddenlyeasiertobreathe.
‘Oh.Oh.Sothat’swhyyouwereso…’Gwentrailedoff,wavingahandathim.Shehadfeltsobetrayed.Shehadn’tunderstoodhowhecouldbesoterribletoher,butshewasbeginningto–becauseithadn’treallybeenaboutheratall.Perhapsshestillshouldhavebeenangrywithhim,butwatchinghimnowashestaredanxiouslyatheronthevergeoftears,shejustfeltsadforhim.
‘Ireallydidn’tmeantodoit.Itjust…happened.’
‘Well.’Gwencouldn’ttellifshewasunder-orover-reacting;theevening’seventshadleftherwithverylittleremaininginheremotionalrepertoire.Shesupposed–whyshouldn’tArthurlikeGabriel?Gabrielwaswonderful,mostofthetime.AndasforhimlikingArthur–justbecauseshehadn’texpecteditdidn’tmeanthatitdidn’tmakesense.Infact,itmademoresensetoherthanitwouldtoalmostanybodyelse.Whenshetookadeepbreathandreachedforhishand,helookedreadytocollapsewithrelief.‘God,Gabe.I’msorryyoufeltyoucouldn’ttellme.’
‘Youshouldn’tbeapologisingtome.Pleaseknowit’snotthatIdidn’twanttotellyou,Ibarelyeven–I’vetriedveryhardtomakesurethatyouwouldneverneedtoknow.Iwasn’tevergoingtoactonit.Iknowsomepeoplemightbeabletoliveonewayinpublicandanotherinprivate,butIthinkthestressofitwouldkillme.It’snotlikeIneedanymoredistractionsifI’mgoingtoattempttoleadthiscountry.’
‘Oh,Gabe,’Gwensaidsoftly.‘They’regoingtobesoluckytohaveyou.Allofyou.’
‘They’llneverhaveallofme,’hesaid,andshesqueezedhishand.Theysatquietlywiththeweightofthis,untilGwenletgo.
‘So,justtobeclear–didyoukissArthur?’Gwensaid,andGabrielwinced.
‘Er…Yes.Sodidyou,apparently.’
‘Ha!No.Well,yes,butwewerejust…tryingsomething.Didn’twork.’
‘Oh,’saidGabriel,lettinggoofherhandsothathecouldrubathischindistractedly.‘Well.’
‘Butyou…?’
Gabriellookedpained.‘Itworked,’hesaid.‘ButIcan’tletithappenagain.’
‘Great.So…you’regoingtocarryonasifnothinghaschanged.Andyou’regoingtodoexactlywhateveryoneexpects,andneverhaveanythingforyourself.Andyou’regoingtobemiserable.’
‘AndI’mgoingtobemiserable,’Gabrielrepeated.‘But–Iwasalwaysgoingtobemiserable.’
Gwensighedheavily.‘Istheresomethinginthewaterhere?’shesaid,raisingherhandsinexasperation.‘Bothofus?’
‘Perhapswewerecursed,’Gabrielsaid,withanattemptatasmile.‘Morgana’srevenge,fornottearingdownthecathedralsandputtinguptemplesinhername.’
Gwendidn’tlaugh.‘Idon’tthinkit’sacurse.’
‘Sorry.Iknow.I’msorryifImadeyoufeel–ifImadeyoufeelhowIfeel.’
‘Youwereawful,’Gwensaid.‘Butyou’resorarelyawful,Gabe.Ithinkyou’reallowedthreedaysofbeinganunfeelingbastard,afteralmosttwodecadesofbeingperfectlypleasant.’
Gabrielnoddedsolemnly.‘Youlookshattered.Youcantakemybed,I’mgoingtositupawhilelonger.’
‘Iknowyou’reonlysayingthistostopmefromaskingyoumorequestions…butyes.Bed,’Gwensaid.Shewassuddenlysoexhaustedthatittookeveryounceofherstrengthtoheaveherselfoutofherchairandwalkthefifteenfeettohisbedroom.
Despitetheveryrealandpresentdangerofmenwithkniveslurkinginthehallways,somethinginsideherhadlightened,andshefellasleepalmostinstantly.
WhenGwenawoke,Gabrielwasfastasleepinhisarmchairbythedyingfire.Sheslippedsilentlyoutofbed,pulledononeofhiscloaksandwalkedbarefootintotheantechamber,makingsurenottowakehim.Shestudiedhisprofile,thepurplishsmudgesunderhiseyesandthefrownlinesthatdidn’tcompletelydisappearevenwhenhewassleeping,andfeltarushoffondnesstowardshim.
ArthurhadtoldGwentodemandmoreforherself,once.Shewonderedifhe’dtoldGabrielthesamething.Shehadbarelybeenlisteningatthetime,sosurethatnowisdomhecouldimpartcouldpossiblyapplytoherlife,butsomeofwhathe’dsaidmusthavecaughtandheld,becauseafterthepreviousnight’spanicandrevelationsGwenhadwokenupfeelingdifferent.Reckless.
Brave.
Itwasn’tquitedayyet,thepinkishdawnlightwarmingtheflagstonesasGwenslippedonhershoesandthenwalkedquietlyfromtheroombeforeshecouldthinktoohardaboutwhereshewasgoing.Theguardsoutsideseemedmildlystartled,butonlywatchedsilentlyasshepassedthem;shecrossedthroughfourmorehumanbarricadesbeforeshereachedthestairs,anditwasonlywhenshereachedthegroundfloorandwalkedoutintothenorth-westcourtyardthattwoofthempeeledofftofollowher.
ItwasalmostlikeshehaddreamedBridgetintoexistence,alightswordineachhandandherhairwild,wearingthesamebloodiedshirtandbreechesGwenhadlastseenherin;shewasstandingontheothersideofthecourtyardsquaringuptoatrainingdummy,hershouldersheaving.Thedummyhadbeengivenashield,andtherewasasmallpileofdiscardedswordsontheground,asifBridgethadbeenworkingherwaythroughthem.
‘I’mfine,’Gwensaidtotheguards,hermouthdry.Sheclearedherthroat.‘Leaveme,please.I’dlikesomeprivacy.’TheyfellbackandoutofsightasGwenwalkedtherestofthewayalone.
Bridgetgenuinelydidn’tseemtohavenoticedher.Shewaspurefocus,unrelentingassheranherdrills,herswordsfindingtheirtargetagainandagain,butasGwenapproachedshecouldseethesweatcurlingthehairatthebackofherneck,herbreathingraggedwitheffort.
‘Bridget,’shesaidsoftly,tryingnottostartleher;Bridgetturnedabruptly,herswordsstillraised,andforasplitsecondGwenthoughtshehadmiscalculatedherselfoutofaface.
‘Gwen?’Bridgetlookedbewilderedatthesightofher,asifshefoundherentirelyincongruouswiththesurroundings.Gwensupposedshesortofwas,injusthershiftandaborrowedcloak,withherhairlooseandGodknowswhatexpressiononherface.Bridgetfinallyseemedtorealisethatshewasholdingweaponsdangerouslyclosetoaroyalthroat,andloweredthem.
‘Iwanted…Iwantedtocomeafteryouwhenyouleftlastnight,’Gwensaid.‘Iwantedtoseeifyouwereallright.Areyou?Allright?’
‘I’mfine,’Bridgetsaid–butasshespokesheturnedtothedummyandliftedherswordsagain,asifshecouldn’tbeartostandstillforanothersecond.
‘Haveyoubeenhereallnight?’
Bridgetdidn’tpauseforbreath.‘Yes.’
‘Right,’Gwensaid,watchingasshestruckwithrenewedvigour,wonderingiftheseweretheactionsofapersonwhowasfine.‘Imean…youknowyourselfbest,afterall,but—’
‘I’vebeen–training,’Bridgetsaid,herwordspunctuatedbythesoundofswordonshield,‘tofight–sinceIwasyoung.Iknewthisdaywouldcome–andithas.Iwantedtobeaknight,Iwanted–everythingthatcamewithit.AndIgotit.AndI’mfine.’
‘Okay,’Gwensaid,takingastepback,herbravadoleavingher.‘Well.IsupposeI’lljust—’
‘Shit,’Bridgetspat,asworddroppingfromhergripandclatteringagainstthecobblestones.Shewasn’twearingagauntletorgloves,andwhenshepulledherhandinagainstherchestGwensawthatherknucklehadsplit,bloodtricklingdownintoherclenchedfist.Shestretchedoutherfingers,wincing,andthenwipedthebloodonheralreadyruinedtunicbeforereadyingherselfwithherremainingweapon.
‘Bridget,’Gwensaid,alarmed.‘Stop.’
‘Isthatanorder?’Bridgetsaid,asherswordfounditstargetonceagain,handstillbleedingfreely.
‘No,’saidGwen.‘It’snot.ButIthinkyoushouldstopanyway.’
Ifanything,Bridgetonlyseemedtohitthedummyharder.Gwen’sgazedroppedtothediscardedpileatherfeet;shepickedoneup,andthenwithoutthinkingatallaboutwhatshewasdoing,putherselfsquarelybetweenBridgetandhertargetandclumsilyraisedthesword.Theblowshecaughtseemedtovibrateallthewaydowntothebaseofherspine,butshemanagedtoholdherground.
‘Thatwasstupid,’Bridgetsaidfuriouslyfrombehindherguard.Shedidn’tlowerhersword,soGwendidn’teither;theystayedlockedtogether,weaponscrossed,neitherwillingtoconcedeaninch.‘Icouldhavehurtyou.’
‘You’realreadyhurt,’Gwencountered.Bridgetsighed,lookingmutinous–andthengaveGwenalittlepush,disengagingthem,andthrewdownhersword.
‘I’veneverkilledanybodybefore,’shesaidroughly,wipingherbrowwiththebackofherunbloodiedhandandaddressingapointsomewherepastGwen’sshoulder.‘It’snotsomethingIeverwantedtodo.Takingsomebody’slife.Italljusthappenedsoquickly.Hewasgoingformythroat,andthenI…’Sheraisedherfistandthenletitfallagain.
‘Youonlydidwhatyouhadto,’saidGwen.ShewasusedtothinkingofBridgetasolderandwiser,butatthatmomentshelookedexactlyasshewas:eighteenandshaken,tooyoungtohavewatchedamandieattheendofherblade;tooyoungtohavebeentheonlythingstandingbetweentheheirtothethroneandtheknifemeantforhisthroat.Gwenhesitatedforamoment,andthenreachedouttotouchBridget’sfacewithherfreehand,herthumbgrazinghertemple.
Bridget’sgazesnappedintofocus.‘Whatareyoudoing?’shesaid.
‘Idon’tknow,’Gwensaid,wonderingwhyhervoicehaddippedsolow.‘Ithoughtitmighthelp.’
‘Damnit,’mutteredBridget,asifshehadmadeanunforgivablemistake–andthenshefollowedthroughbyleaningforwardandkissingGwensofiercelythatGwenmadeanoiseofsurpriseintohermouth.Shehadjustrecoveredenoughtoreciprocate–toclosehereyesandletherhandfalltoclutchatBridget’sshoulder,totastesaltonhertongueandgoinsearchofmore–whenBridgetbrokeoff,brieflypressingherforeheadtoGwen’sbeforewrenchingherselfaway.
Gwenstaredopen-mouthedather,thenletgooftheswordshehadn’trealisedshewasstillholding,reachedoutandpushedher.Bridgetlookedsuitablyconfused,butallowedherselftobepushedbackwardsuntilshehitthestonewall,wheretheywereoutofsightfromanypryingguardsorpassers-by.
‘Doyouhaveanyplanforwhatcomesnext?’Bridgetsaid,lookingdownatGwen’shands,whichwerestillpressedagainsthercollarbone.‘Ordidtheforethoughtstartandendatpushing?’
‘Shutup,’Gwensaid,surprisingbothofthem.‘I’mgoingtokissyou.’
‘Allright,’Bridgetsaid.‘Carryon,then.’
Ifshehadbeenpayingmoreattentiontothefinerdetails,GwenmighthavenotedthatBridget’sskinwasslightlydampandhottothetouchbeneathherfingers;thatherhandwasstillbleeding,leavingtinysmearsofbloodonGwen’sdress,andthatherdarkhairsmeltfaintlyofsmokeandleather.
Asitwas,herattentionwasprimarilyengagedelsewhere.Bridget’smuscledarmshadimmediatelyencircledher,fingersslidingupandcomingtorestonhershoulderbladeandthesmallofherback;shewaskissingGwenwithahungerthatseemedentirelyatoddswiththecarefulwayshewasholdingher,somehowbothsteadyingandwreckingherallatonce.NoteveninherdreamshadkissingBridgetbeenthisgood–shehadn’tbeenabletoimaginethatBridgetmightreachuptoslipherfingersintoGwen’shair,wrappingacoilofitaroundherhandtodrawGwencloserandmakingalittlehummingnoiseofapprovalthatmadeGwendesperatelycuriousaboutwhatelseBridget’shandscoulddo.
‘Um,’Gwensaid,breakingaway,notingdistractedlythatevenwhenBridget’seyesslowlyopened,theylingeredonGwen’slips.‘Wasthat…okay?’
‘Okay?’Bridgetsaid,hergazeflickinguptomeetGwen’s.‘Yes.Yes,thatwasokay.’
‘Well,that’s–Ijust…’Gwenstalled.‘Ihaven’treallydonethatbefore.ImeanIdidkissArthur,actually,butthatwasmoreofajokethananythingelse,andIdidn’t–Iwasn’tsureifyoulikedme.Imean,Ilikeyou,butIdidn’tthinkyou’d…noticed.’
Bridgetconsideredher,herheadcockedslightlytooneside.‘Inoticed.Itjustseemed…impractical.Andunlikelythatyou’deverdoanythingaboutit.Itdidn’tseemlikeagoodidea.Isupposeitstilldoesn’t.’
‘No.Well.I’vedonesomethingaboutitnow,’Gwensaidstupidly,asifBridgetmaynothaverealised.
‘Yes,’Bridgetsaid,withahintofasmile.‘Youhave.Youare,infact,quiteproficientatdoingsomething.’
AdooropenedontheothersideofthecourtyardandGwenjumpedaboutafootintheair;Bridgethadreversedtheirpositionsinaninstant,pressingGwenintothewallandcraninghernecktoassesstheintruder.Itwasjustaservantattendingtoearly-morningduties,whistlingtheirwaytowardstheGreatHall.
GwentriednottolooktoodisappointedwhenBridgetreleasedher.
‘Thisisall…veryodd,’Bridgetsaid,reachingupandbrushingthetiniestsmearofbloodfromGwen’sjaw.‘I’msotired.Itfeelslikeadream.’
‘It’snotadream,’Gwensaid.‘Trustme.Inthedream,you’realwaysonaunicorn.’‘Youlooksuspiciouslyperky,’Arthursaid,frowningatGwenwhenshesatdownnexttohimintheroyalstands,‘forsomebodywhowasjustperilouslyclosetobeingmurdered.’
‘Don’tberidiculous,’Gwensaidbreezily.‘Nobody’sgoingtobotherkillingme.I’mofnoconsequence;I’mbarelyinthefamilyportraits,theyputmereallysmallinthecorner.’
‘That’sthespirit,’Arthursaid.‘Anyupdateonthemalevolentforcesattemptingtoendyourfather’sline?’Theatmosphereinthecastleforthepastfewdayshadbeenextremelycharged;Arthurhadbeenseizedbysomeover-enthusiasticguardsonhiswaytothetournament,andithadtakenquitealotofshouting(onhispart)andmenacingposturing(onSidney’s)togetthemtoun-seizehimforlongenoughtoexplainwhohewas.
‘Yes.ItseemsitwasjustasLordStaffordsaid–arecenthiretotheguardwhoslippedthroughthecracks.Itwasn’tcoordinatedoranything,noco-conspirators.Isupposethey’lljustbepayingmuchcloserattentiontowhoweemploy.’
‘Howneat,’saidArthur.
‘That’swhatGabrielsaid.He’snotentirelyconvinced.ButStaffordhasbeensoparanoidaboutthenorthlatelythatthere’snowayhe’dletthisgoifheweren’tabsolutelycertain.’
Thekingandqueenenteredtheroyalstands,wavingatthecrowdastheysettledintotheirseats.ArthurglancedoveratthemandthenbackatGwen.Hefidgetedwiththehemofhissleeveforamoment,thenclearedhisthroat.‘Isyourbrothernot…’
‘No,’Gwensaidplacidly.‘He’snot.Whatparticularbusinessdoyouhavewithmybrother?’
Arthurfeltpricklyheattravelupfromthecollarofhisshirttothetipsofhisears.‘It’sa…youknow,Iwantedtoaskhimabout–beingalordandeverything,andmanaginglands,there’sachanceImightnotknowthefirstthingabout—’
Gwensnorted.‘Christ,don’thurtyourself.YoulooklikeMerlinisinyourbreechesclawingholesinsomethingvital.’
‘Thecat’snameisLucifer,’Arthursaid,soundingpatheticeventohisownears.
‘Art,’Gwensaid.‘Iknow.’
‘ThenwhydidyoujustcallhimMerlin?’
‘No,youimbecile,’Gwensaid,rollinghereyesandleaningincloserassheloweredhervoice.‘Iknow.Aboutyou.And–andGabriel.’
‘Oh,’Arthursaid,crumplingbackintohisseatandsighing.‘Right.Well.Imean.Whatdoyouknow,exactly?Becausetobefrank,Gwen,IfeellikeIhardlyknow.AndI’msomewhatinvolved.’
Gwenchewedonherlipassheconsideredheranswer,andseemedtorisklosingalargechunkofitwhenafanfareoftrumpetsannouncedthestartofthejoust;Arthurraisedhishandsinaffront,feelingthatGwenhadsomewhatskippedoverhisattempttogatherGabriel-relatedintel,butthetruesourceofherdistractionbecameclearwhenthefirstcompetitorwasannounced.
LadyBridgetLeclairemerged,resplendentinherarmour.Hersquirewasfarlesscomposed,strugglingtocarryherlanceandkeepupwithherhorse.
‘Excuseme,’saidArthur.‘Weweretalkingaboutme,andthenyougotalittlesidetracked,butjusttorecap—’
Gwenactuallyshushedhim;shehadn’ttakenhereyesoffBridget,whowasapproachingthestandsashercompetitorclosedinfromtheothersideofthelists.
Afterbowingasmuchaswaspossiblefromhorseback,Bridgetturnedhersteedbackinthedirectionshe’dcome–butnotbeforemakingbriefandburningeyecontactwithGwen,whowaspracticallyvibratingoutofherseat.ArthurwatchedasBridgetgaveheratinysmirkofgreeting,andthenturnedhisentirebodyaroundtofaceGwen,whowasred-cheekedandslack-mouthedandpracticallygiddywithlonging.
‘OhmyGod,’Arthurhissed,thetruthsuddenlybestoweduponhimlikeanearlybirthdaypresent.‘Youdidit.’
‘I–what?’Gwensaid,finallydistracted,whippingaroundtolookathimwithanalarmingexpressiononherface.
‘You–yougotyourlancewet,didn’tyou?’Arthursaid,probablynotasquietlyasheshouldhavedone;hewasfeelingabitgiddyhimself.‘Yougaveherthegreengown!Yougroundhercorn!You—’
‘Shutyourdamnedmouth,’Gwensaid,herjawclenchedtightly.
Arthurmimedsewinghismouthshutandthrowingtheneedleawaywithaflourish;hestayedsilentjustlongenoughforBridgetandheropponent,astoutandwell-worn-lookingmanonabaymare,totakeuptheirpositions.‘Youdidthough,didn’tyou?’
‘Didwhat?’Gwenhissed.‘Ihavenoideawhatanythingyoujustsaidactuallymeans.’
‘Didyoukissher?’Arthursaid,havingthepresenceofmindtolowerhisvoicetoamutter.‘Didshekissyou?’
‘Nocomment,’saidGwen,butdespitethefactthatshehadbeenspittingmadathimonlysecondsago,shehadtopressherlipstogethertokeepfromsmiling.
‘Ohno,’Arthursaid,grippingherbytheshoulderandgivingherwhathehopedwasafriendlylittleshake.‘I’mactuallyproudofyou.Idon’t…Idon’treallyknowwhattodowiththat.’
‘Please,’Gwensaid,‘doabsolutelynothingwithit.Itdoesnotrequireaction.Andstopshakingmelikeamaraca,peoplewillthinkwe’reodd.’
‘Weareodd,’Arthursaidhappily.‘Ican’tbelieveit.Ihonestlyneverthoughtyou’ddoit.Andtothink,you’remyprotégé;ItaughtyoueverythingIknew,andsentyouoffintotheworld.Didyouslipherthe—’
Gwenwassparedtheconclusionofthissentencebytheblareofthehorns;hereyesweregluedtoBridget,whowasloweringhervisorandurgingherhorseintomotion.Italllookedratherimpressive,Arthurhadtoadmit;asshepickedupspeedshesatperfectlybalancedinthesaddle,bringingherlanceintopositionasifitweighednomorethanalongsword,tuckingittightlyintoherarmandleaningforwardwitheasycompetenceandnervesofiron.
Thegroundwassoftfromrecentrainfall,andhecouldsmellthefreshlychurnedmudunderthehorse’shoofsminglingwiththesmellsofmeadandmetalthatalwayspermeatedtheaironjoustingdays;Arthuralmostclosedhiseyesatthepointofcontact,buthewasgladhedidn’t.
Bridget’saimdidn’twaver;herlancesplintered,andthecrowdroared.Themanshewascompetingagainsthadn’tevenmanagedtostrikeablow.
‘Yes,’Gwenhissed,applaudingwildly,bouncinginherseatasifshehadwantedtoleapoutofitincelebration;Arthurraisedbotheyebrowsather,noddingtowardsherparents,whowereclappingpolitely.Gwenraisedhereyebrowsback,givingthemalittlewagglethatwassouncharacteristicallysaucyArthursnortedwithshock.
‘Iknewyoujustneededagoodtonguingtocheeryouup,’hesaidinherearoverthesoundofthecrowd,andsheelbowedhimquitehardinthesidebutkeptsmiling.ShewaswatchingBridgetcome,helminhand,toaccepttheking’scongratulations.
Theyprobablythoughttheywerebeingsubtle,butevenfeetapartfromeachother,thetensionbetweenthemwaspalpable.Theymightaswellhavehadaproclamationdrawnup:Behold,kissinghathrecentlytakenplacebetwixtthislustyknightandthispassinggoodwoman.
‘Shewasbrilliant,’GwensaidbreathlesslyasBridgetwalkedaway,andArthurlaughed.
‘Whydon’tyougoandseeherinthecompetitors’encampment,andaskhertoshowyouthatthingwheresheknockspeopletotheground?’Arthursaid,andGwengrimaced.
‘Can’t,’shesaid,gesturingtotheguardsattheendofthestands.‘They’remyshadowsrightnow.Theyinterruptedandinsistedonwalkingmebacktomyrooms,whenBridgetandIwere…talking.It’smybirthdaytomorrowandIthoughtImight…Anyway.It’simpossible.’
‘Well,that’snogood,’Arthurmuttered,ashewatchedoneoftheaforementionedguardsbreakhiscomposureandattempttosquashabothersomeflybetweenhispinchedfingers.‘Howareyousupposedtoenjoyillicitaffairsandbirthdaydebaucheryundertheseconditions?’
‘I’mnot,’Gwensaidresignedly.
Itwashardtoarguewithherlogic.
‘It’saletter,’Sidneysaid,astheybothstoodeithersideofthesmalltableintheirchambersthenextday,consideringit.‘Notarabiddog.’
‘It’saletterfromarabiddog,’Arthursaid,circlingitasifitreallymightbite.HehadtostopabruptlywhenhereachedSidney,whohadrefusedtobepartofthisstrangedance.Theletterhadarrivedatbreakfast,alongwithanassortmentofArthur’sthingsthathehadrequestedfromhome,includingsomeofthemanybooksfromtheirlibraryonArthuriana,whichhehadprocuredwiththevagueideaofgivingthemtoGabriel.
‘Doyouwantmetoreadit?’Sidneysaid,foldinghisarms.
‘No,you’lldothevoiceallwrong,’Arthursaid.Itwasaweakjoke,andearnedhimanappropriatelylacklustresnortinresponse.
‘Comeon,’Sidneysaidimpatiently.‘Readingit?Notreadingit?Tossingitintothefiresofhell?’
‘Ugh,’Arthursaid,whichwasn’treallyananswer.Hepickedtheletterupgingerlyandstalkedoffintohisbedroomwithit,throwinghimselfdownontheembroideredcoverletwithasigh.Hisfather’shandwritingwasasspikyandunevenasalways,Arthur’snameinkedontothepageasifhe’dbeentryingtodrivehisquillrightthroughtotheotherside.Arthurbrokehisseal–theridiculousthreecrownshe’dlifteddirectlyfromKingArthur’sowncoatofarms,withtheadditionofthetraditionalDelaceyraven–andunfoldedtheletter.Bettertogetitoveranddonewith.
MysonArthur,theletterbegan.ThatwasenoughforArthurtoneedaquickbreak;herolledoverontohisbackandconsideredthehangingsforafewseconds,takingthedeep,calmingbreathsSidneyoftentoldhimhesorelyneeded.Heturnedoverandtookuptheletteragain.
MysonArthur,
ItpleasesmetohearthatyourrelationshipwiththePrincessGwendolineisproceedingasplanned.Thekinghaswrittentoexpressthatweshouldsetadateforyournuptialsatthistime,andIconcur.
Nowthatyouhavebecomecloselyacquaintedwiththeprincess,itwouldbegreatlybeneficialtobebroughtintotheprince’sconfidencesaswell.
Remember,Arthur:anyinformationyoucanprovideshouldbe(sentwithhaste,asagreedbeforeyourdeparture.
Yours,
TheHonourableLordofMaidvale
‘Honourable,’Arthurspat,throwingtheletterdownandlaughinghumourlesslybeforesnatchingitbackupagain.‘Honourable!’
‘Who’shonourable?’Sidneysaid,appearinginthedoorwayholdingthestackofpaperandparcelstheletterhadarrivedwith,visiblybracinghimself.
‘Well,Icantellyouwho’snot,’Arthurshouted,discardingtheletteroncemore.‘Hepretendshe’spleasedformewhenactuallyhejustwantsmetocosyuptoGabrieltocollectinformationandgossip,anythingthathemightbeabletotrade–anythingatalltomakehimfeellikeabigman,likehe’simportant,likehe’snotjustadrunk,addled,friendlessoldbastard.’
‘Ohdear,’saidSidney.‘Wasthatall?’
‘Oh,’Arthursaid,pausing.‘No.Apparentlywe’resettingadateformywedding.’
‘Ah,’saidSidneyheavily.‘Well.Congratulations.DoyouthinkGwendolineknows?’
Arthurshrugged,andSidneycametositdownnexttohimonthebed,relinquishingthepackages.‘Youknow,’Arthursaidbitterly,‘amonthagoI’dhavelovedtohavebeentheonetotellher.Miserylovescompany,youknow?Mayaswellhavesomefun,danceonthedeckiftheshipisgoingtosinkeitherway.ButsomehowIdon’tfinditparticularlyfunnyanymore.’
Sidneybithislip.‘Whatifyoutoldherit’satraditioninyourfamilytogetmarriedontopofamountain?’
‘No,no,’Arthursaiddespondently,stackingtheletterontopoftheparcelsandthrowingthemcarelesslyontothewindowsill,beforeturningbacktoSidney.‘Well.Actually.Maybe?Let’sworkshopitabit.Andthenwe’llsee.’
Arthurinsistedhewasn’tgoingtoanswertheletter,listinghisreasonsashepacedcirclesaroundhischambers,butanhourlaterhewasdoingexactlythat,tappinghisquillrapidlyagainstthetabletopasheglareddownattheslightlycrumpled,blankpieceofparchmentinfrontofhim.
Sidneysighed.‘Watchingyoudothisisn’tasfunasyoumightimagine.’
‘Goandlookatsomethingelsethen,’Arthursnapped.‘I’llnotstopyou.’
‘Nah,’saidSidneyresignedly,tiltinghischairbackwardsandbalancingitmomentarilyonjusttwolegsbeforelettingitswingbackintoplace.
Arthurknewwhyhewouldn’tleave,anditthoroughlyirritatedhim;Sidneywasworriedthatifhelefthimalonehe’dexplode,pickupabottleofwine,dropsomethingexpensiveofftheroof,orfindsomeotherself-sabotagingwaytodistracthimselffromthoughtsofhisfather,hiswedding,orhisfatherathiswedding.ArthurwonderedifSidneythoughthewasbeingsubtlewithhisattemptsatdamagecontrol;wonderedifSidneyknewthatofcourseherecognisedthesemoodsinhimself,couldisolatetheparticularpricklinginhischestandthebileatthebackofhisthroatthatheraldedthem.KnowingthatthewayArthurrespondedtostresswasn’texactlyhealthydidn’tmeanhecouldstophimselfoncehe’dstarted.
Itwaslikepullingabowstringtaut,Arthurthought;onceyou’dbegun,allthatsomethinghadtogosomewhere
‘Youdon’thavetowritetohimtonight,’Sidneysaid.‘Youdon’thavetowritetohimatall.’
‘Andlethimhavethelastword?’Arthursaid,fingersknottedinhishairasheglareddownattheparchment,feelingaffrontedthattheperfectcomebackhadn’tmaterialisedinfrontofhimwithouthisnibtouchingtheink.
‘It’sabloodyletter.It’simpossibletohavethelastword,becausehecanjustsendonerightback.You’llgoonforeverandevertryingtoone-upeachotheruntiloneofyoudies.’
Arthurlaughedmirthlessly.‘Iseeyou’refinallybeginningtounderstandthetruenatureofmyrelationshipwithmyfather.’
Intheend,Arthurwroteaquick,messymissive–he’dworkedhimselfupintoaragebythatpoint,andratherthanbeingaperfectlycrafted,immaculatelypoliterefusaltoparticipateinwhatevergameshisfatherwasplaying,itmayhaveincludedafewchoicephrasesthatinsultedbothhisfatherandthehorseherodeinon–andthen,ignoringSidney’sprotests,immediatelywenttofindaservanttoarrangeitspassage.
‘Probablyshouldhavesleptonthat,’Sidneysaidastheybothwatchedtheservingboyhurryaway.
‘Oh,shutyourmouth,andtherestofyou,’Arthursaid,somewhatnonsensically.‘Comeon.Fetchmytrunk.Wehaveworktodo.’
Thenatureoftheirworkledthem,halfanhourlater,totheroyalwing.
‘EverytimeIopenthisdoor,’Gwensaid,‘you’restandingbehindit.’
‘Youluckything,’saidArthur,pushingintoherroom;hebeheldalargeblanketspreadoutoverthetable,needleandthreaddanglingprecariouslyfromoneend.‘Whatthehellisthis?’
‘It’smyembroidery.’
‘Wait,Irecognisethatblanket–IthinkIbledonthatblanket,’saidArthur,goingtofiddlewithit.
‘Youdid,’Gwensaid.‘Ihadtoremoveawholesection.’
‘Thisiswhatyou’redoingonyourbirthday?’Arthursaid,aghast.‘Youreighteenthbirthday?’
‘Itwasthoughtunwisetothrowabanquetonlydaysafterasecuritybreach,’Gwensaid,shrugging.‘FatherofferedtosendhisFool,butIthoughtitmightbeabitdepressing,justGabrielandmesittingherewatchingagrownmanpretendtofalloverhisownbollocks.’
‘Oh,well,Artcandothatforyou,’saidSidney.
‘Haveyouheardthey’resettingadateforthewedding?’saidGwen,sittingdownheavily.
‘Ugh.Yes.Iknowwealwaysknewthisdaywouldcome,’Arthursaid,droppingthepieceofblanket,‘butIsortofhopedImightbedeadbythen.Nooffence.’
‘Er…’saidAgnes,appearinginthedoorwayfromthebedroom,whereshehadclearlybeenhoveringforsometime.‘Goodafternoon,LordDelacey.’
‘Oh,’saidArthur.‘Damn.Didyouhearanyofthat?’
‘No,no,’Gwensaid,withtheairofsomebodywhohadlonggivenuphope.‘It’sallright.Agnes–ArthurandIhavebeenfeigningattractiontoeachotherinhopesofdistractingourfamiliesandvariousotheronlookersfromthefactthatweharbourcertain…romanticinclinationsthatmightgetinthewayofusformingaharmoniousunion.’
‘Oh,’saidAgnes,takingastepintotheroom.‘Yes.Iknow.’
‘Youknow?’saidGwen,swivellingaroundinherchairtogawkatherlady-in-waiting.
‘You’reveryloudinyoursleep,’saidAgnes,shrugging.‘AndwhenyouandArthurarguewitheachother.Youtalkaboutitallthetime.And–IsawArthurkissingMitchell,theassistanttotheMasterofHounds,atthefeast.’
‘Youdid?’Arthursaid,mildlyconfused.‘Ididn’tseeyouseeingme–althoughtobehonest,mymemoriesofthatnightaresomewhathazy.’
‘Youknew,’Gwensaidagain.‘Andyou…Youhaven’ttoldanybody,haveyou,Agnes?Becauseifyouhave—’
‘OfcourseIhaven’t,’Agnessaid,lookingaffronted.‘Iwouldn’t.’
‘Weknowyouwouldn’t,’saidSidney,intonesofsuchlove-soakedadorationthatArthurmimedgaggingbehindhisback,managingtogetasmileoutofGwen.
‘Right.Getup,’hesaid,clappinghishandstogether.‘Wehaveplanstonight.Whereisyour…IsGabriel…?’
‘He’sinthelibrary,’Gwensaid.‘Underheavyguard.Hewaswithmemostoftheday.’
‘Ah,’saidArthur,feelingdisappointedforamomentbeforerallying.‘Right.Nomatter!We’llgowithouthim.’
‘Gowhere?Wait…Arthur,’Gwensaidslowly.‘Areyouwearingtwohats?’Arthurwas;hesweptthefirstoffwithaflourish.‘Whyareyouwearingtwohats?’
‘TheycallmeLittleArthurTwo-Hats,’hesaid.
‘Notheydon’t.’
‘No,theydon’t,’Arthuragreed,pressingoneintoGwen’shands.‘Butthat’sbecauseoneofthemisforyou.’‘Whenyounoticeaflawinsecurityduringatimeofheightenedperil,’Gwensaid,crossingherarms,‘youtelltheCaptainoftheGuard.Youmakesurenobodyelsecanutiliseit.Youdonotexploitsaidsecurityflawasameansto…party.’
‘Youmakeagoodpoint,’Arthursaiddiplomatically.‘Unfortunately,I’mnotactuallyinthemarketforgoodpoints,so–shutupandputyourmoustacheon.’
Gwenwouldhavepressedthisfurtherbutfortwothings:thefirstwasthattheattackerintheroyalwinghadbeenconclusivelydeterminedadeeplyunfortunateone-off,apointthatLordStaffordhadbeenmakingrepeatedlyandatlengthsincetheincidentinquestion.Thesecond–whichsheneverwouldhaveadmittedaloudtoArthur–wasthatsincehisarrivalatCamelotshehadfoundherselffallingpreytoacreepingdissatisfactionwithmanyaspectsofherlife.
Hermotherhadsatherdownatbreakfast–onherbirthday,noless–totellherthatthedatefortheweddinghadbeensetfortheendofthesummer,andhadproceededtolayoutplansforapackedscheduleofmeetings,fittingsandmind-numbingconversationsabouttheguestlistandwhichmeatstheyshouldserveatthefeast.Allsemblanceofherusualschedulewouldbethrownentirelyoutofthewindow,herdaysfilledtothebrimwithotherpeoplemakingplansforherandtalkingoverherandpokingather,withabsolutelynoroomforwhatshemightwant–namely,timetositinaquietroombyherselfortoslipawayandseeBridget.
Asshelistenedtothequeen,somethinginsideherhadfinallysnapped.Itmusthavebeenakeypartofherbrainthatlookedafterallofhermoresensiblefaculties,becauseArthur’sterribleplanfortheeveningactuallyseemedquiteappealing.
Asaresult,theyweregoingout
Itwas,apparently,stillpossibletoescapethekeepbymeansofclimbingdowntheouterwall,aslongastheinitialportionoftheclimbwasdoneatgreatspeedbetweenguardpatrols.Sidneyhaddonereconnaissancetoperfectthetiming.Gwenthoughtthat,onthewhole,itshouldn’thavebeenquitesoeasyforArthurtoconvinceherandAgnestodressinsomeofArthur’sclothes,adherefalsemoustachestotheirtoplipsandshimmyoutofthewindowtotheiralmostcertaindoom.
‘Whosehairisthis?’Gwensaidasshedubiouslyinspectedthemoustacheinquestion.‘Didyoupickitupofftheground?’
Arthurflashedheragrin.‘Don’tworry.It’sLucifer’s.’
Intruth,GwenthoughtthatalmostnothingcouldsurvivetheferocityofArthur’senergywhenheturneditagainstotherpeople’swills;givenanotherhalfanhourofarguingwhenhewasthisfiredup,heprobablycouldhaveconvincedherthatthewholethinghadbeenherideainthefirstplace.
Theclimbwentsurprisinglysmoothly.Sidneyhadfashionedaverybasicsortofropeladder,whichheknottedexpertlytoapillarinGwen’sroomsothatsheandAgnesweresparedthetrueperilsofmountaineering,andthenremovedforhisowndescent.Theywerewavedthroughthecastlegates,nobodyparticularlycaringwhotheywereduetothefactthattheyweregoingratherthancoming.
Assoonastheywereonthemainroadintothecityitbecamealittletooreal;Gwenfeltslightlysickwithpanic,andstartedmutteringanalmostconstantstreamofregrets–OhmyGod,we’regoingtogetcaught,we’regoingtodie,we’regoingtogetcaughtanddie–untilSidneyhandedherabottleofsomethingandtoldhertotakeanipofittofortifyhernerves.Ittastedlikeshewasbeingscouredbyfirefromtheinsideout.
‘Youshouldn’tmakeahabitofthat,youknow,’Arthursaid,asSidneytookthebottlebackfromher.
‘Athiefknowsathiefasawolfknowsawolf,’saidAgnes,andeverybodyturnedtolookather.Sheshrugged.‘Idon’tknow.It’ssomethingmymotherusedtosay.’
‘AmIthethief,inthisscenario?’Arthurenquiredwithmildinterest.‘OramIthewolf?’
‘You’rethemanwiththesuspectedalcoholproblem,’saidGwen.
‘Christ,notthatagain.I’mnotdrinkingtonight,amI?Bonedry.Practicallyasaint.’
Theclosertheygottothecityproper,thebusieritbecame.Therewerestreethawkerssellingwhattheyclaimedweregenuinepiecesofknightlyarmour,scavengedfromthetournament;crowdsofdrunkards,overflowingoutofthetavernsandintothesquares,whichwerepacked;childrenrushingaboutunderfoot,sellingblackenedbunsandbonewhistlesandsmallbundlesofdriedflowers.GwenrealisedonceagainwitharushofembarrassmentthatdespitelivinginCamelotformostofherlife,shehadneverreallyseenit;onparadedays,orwhentheroyalpartyleftthecastleenmassetotraveltoanearbycityornobleestate,thestreetswereclearedbeforetheyarrived.Shehadneverseenwhatherfather’speopleactuallydidwhentheyhadn’tbeentoldtostandupstraight,combtheirhairandnotcomewithintwentyfeetofamemberoftheroyalfamily;itinvolvedalotmorespittingthanGwencouldhaveimagined,butalotmorechatterandlifeandlaughter,too.
‘Walkmorelikeaman,’ArthursaidtoGwen,jostlingherwithhiselbow.Shehadhishatpulleddownlowoverherface,anddespitethefactthattheywerethesameheight,histunicfeltallwrongonher,tightacrossherstomachandlooseabouttheshoulders.
‘Idon’tknowhowtodothat,’Gwenrepliedthroughgrittedteeth,narrowlydodgingapileofvomitthathadcollectedonthecobblestones.‘Surelymendon’tallwalkalike.’
‘Justwalklikeyouownthestreet,’Sidneyadvised.
‘Ipracticallydoownthestreet,’Gwensaid.
‘Fairpoint,’saidSidney.
‘Walklikeyoudon’tcarewhereyourlimbsare,’Agnessaid,doingamuchbetterjobofitthanGwen.‘Asifit’sofnoconsequencetoyouwheretheyendup.Likethis.See?Swingthemabout.Andyoushouldact,atalltimes,asifyourcrotchisaburden.’
‘Nowhangon,’saidArthur.‘I’maman,andmycrotchisn’taburden.’
‘Maybenottoyou,’saidGwen.‘Butit’saburdenontherestofhumanity.’
‘Imadeyouafalsemoustache!’Arthursaid,outraged.‘Ididcraftsforyou!Theleastyoucandoisactgrateful.’
‘Thankyouformycat-hairmoustache,’Gwensaid,rollinghereyes.‘It’strulydisgusting.Ihopeyouwasheditfirst.’
Arthurwinkedatherinawayheprobablyimaginedwasroguishandcharming.‘IcanguaranteeyouthatIdidnot.’
Atthatprecisemomenttheyemergedfromaquestionablealleywayandintoasquarefullofsoundandcolour.Adilapidatedinnthatseemedtobehalfsinkingintothegroundwasthesourceoftherevels;abandhadsetuptheirinstrumentsjustoutsidethedoor,andpeoplehadgatheredtodrinkanddanceinthewarmeveningair.
‘Thisismorelikeit,’Arthursaidtriumphantly,asthefiddlerstruckupanewtuneandthecrowdcheeredindrunkenapproval.‘Comeon,Sid.Drinks.’HeandSidneyshoulderedthroughthecrowd,leavingGwenandAgneshoveringattheedgeofthemerriment.Gwenwassurethatatanymomentsomebodywouldaskherwhyshehadlintstucktoherupperlip,orarrestherforwearingbreeches,butnobodynoticedthematall.
Aslightlyawkwardsilencedescendedbetweenthetwowomenastheywatchedthedancers.
‘I’msorryIdidn’ttellyouearlier,’Gwensaidsuddenly.‘AboutArthurandme.Imean,youknew,butIshouldhavetoldyou.Ididn’ttrustyouwithit,because…well,IfeltlikeIdidn’treallyknowyou.’
Agneslookedather,bitingherbottomlip.‘CanIbehonest?’Gwenshrugged.‘Youstilldon’tknowmeatall,andwe’vespenteverydaytogetherforyears.Ithinkyoujustwrotemeoffassomesillygigglingwoman,offgossipingaboutyou,and–Ineverdidanyofthat.Well,thegigglingandthebeing-a-womanpart,yes.Butthere’snothingwrongwiththat.’
Gwentriedtograpplewiththis–herinstinctwastoberankled,totrytodenywhatAgneshadjustsaid,oratleastreprimandherforhertoneifshecouldn’tdisproveherlogic–butsherealisedthat,onthewhole,Agneswasright.‘Fairenough,’shesaideventually.‘Myjudgementhasn’talwaysbeen…Well,I’msorry.Forbeingsorudetoyou.And…I’dliketoknowyoubetter.’
Agnesgaveherawrysmile.‘Wouldyouliketodance?’
‘Notreally,’Gwensaidbracingly,‘butintheinterestofgettingtoknowyou—’
Agneshadalreadytakenherbythearmandpulledhertowardsthedancers;Gwenlaughed,stumblingandalmostlosingherhat,buoyedbythefreedomofdancingwithoutskirtsorhermotherorleeringmentoputadamperonherenjoyment.Therewerenoformallines,nosetdances;peopleweresimplythrowingthemselvesabouttothemusichowevertheysawfit,andGwendidherbesttoimitatethem.
‘You’rebeingtoodelicate!’Agnescalledoverthepipes.‘Mendon’tdancelikethat!’
‘Mouseinyourtrousers,isthere?’Arthurenquired,appearingatGwen’sshoulderandhandingheracupofsagewater.‘Comeon,then.I’llshowyouhowarealmandances.I’llteachyouthehurdle-girdle.Thedirtydog.Thepolyphonicrhapsody.’
‘Noneofthosearerealdances,’Gwensaid,clumsilysippingatherdrinkwithoutpausing.
‘Ofcoursetheyare,’saidArthur.‘Thisisthe–whateveritwasIjustsaid,’andheproceededtodosomethingsovulgarwithhishipsthatGwensentupaquickprayerforhersoul.
‘I’mnotdoingthat,’shesaid,andArthurlaughedandgrabbedherfreehand,wavingitaboutintheairlikeshewassomuchseaweed.
ItwaswildlydifferentfromanybirthdayGwenhadeverhadbefore–sodifferentfromwhatshehadeverwantedbefore–andyetsomehow,itwasperfect.Everybodywaslaughing.SidneykepttryingtoimpressAgneswithmisguidedattemptstospinheraround.WhenArthurapproachedGwenasifhemightbeabouttodothesame,andwasrebuffed,hesaid,‘Allrightthen,youspinme,’andsheactuallydid.Thecrowdseemedtobegrowingeveryminute,morphingandchangingandopeninguptomakeroomforthemwhenevertheyneededit.WhenArthurletgoofherhandsandstartedcraninghisnecktolookacrossthetopsofmanylaughingandshoutingheads,Gwentriedtofollowhisgaze.
‘Whatisit?’sheshouted,andArthurturnedbacktoherlookingfrighteninglypleasedwithhimself.
‘Yourbirthdaypresent,’hesaid,grabbingherbytheshouldersandturninghertowardstheinn,‘hasarrived.’
‘OhGod,’saidGwen,dreadingtothinkwhatArthurmightconsiderasuitablegiftforaneighteenthbirthday–butwhenthecrowdpartedslightly,shecaughtaglimpseofadarkfringe,broadshouldersandacarefullyneutralexpression.Shewasoffimmediately,ignoringArthur’slaughofsurprisewhensherocketedoutofhisgrip,pushingherwaythroughthecrowduntilshecouldproperlyseeBridget,whowaswearingasimple,silkenjacketandholdingontoherdrinklikeitwaskeepingheranchoredasshestaredsuspiciouslyintothecrowd.Herfriendswerestandingwithher,talking;AdahsaidsomethingtomakeElainelaughandElainebrieflyputanarmaroundAdah’swaistandsqueezed,herhandsafelybackonhertankardonlyasecondortwolater.
‘Bridget,’Gwencalled,halflaughing;shehadtheimmensesatisfactionofseeingBridgetturntowardsher,herexpressionclearing,onesideofhermouthquirkingupinasmilethatthreatenedtobuckleGwen’sknees.ElaineandAdahexcusedthemselves,AdahraisinghereyebrowsatGwenandgrinningingreetingastheycrossedpaths.
‘Happybirthday,’Elainewhispered,beforetheywereswallowedupbythecrowd
‘Nicemoustache,’BridgetsaidwhenGwenreachedher,touchingitverygentlysoasnottodislodgeit.‘Veryconvincing.’
‘Really?’Gwensaid,feelingexcitableandgiddyandmorethanalittlestupid
‘No,Gwendoline,’Bridgetsaid,herthumbstillrestingonGwen’sjaw.‘Notreally.It’shorrible.Buteverybodyhereisfartooplasteredtonotice.’
‘Sointhatcase,doyouthinkthey’dmindterribly,’Gwensaid,fingeringthetrailingendofhersleeveassheglancedbackatthecrowd,‘ifwe…?’
Insteadofanswering,BridgetusedthehandcurledunderGwen’schintogentlyturnherheadsothatshecouldkissher.HavingkissedBridgetbefore,alltheterrifyingnewnesswasgone,andinitsplacewassomethingbetter;aslow,familiaracheinsteadofheady,breathlesspanic.ShelikedthewaythatBridgetseemedtosmileintohermouthasshekissed,asifshewerepleasedtohavediscoveredsomething;shelikedthefeelingofstrongarmsandsurehandspullinghercloser;sheespeciallylikedthesmall,frustratednoiseBridgetmadeinherthroatwhenshereachedforGwen’shair,whichwascarefullyplaitedawayunderherhat.
‘Theseareridiculous,’Bridgetsaidinherear,fingerspullingveryslightlyatthebraids;Gwencouldonlymakeanundignifiedsqueakinresponse.Herexhalationseemedtodislodgesomeofhermoustachehair,andBridgethadtoturnawaytosneezeintohersleeve;itwashigh-pitched,notatallthekindofnoiseGwenhadeverexpectedtoemanatefromBridget,andshestaredatherdisbelievingly,andthenlaughedasBridgetrolledhereyesandhauledherbackinbythecollarforanotherkiss.
Theywereinterruptedbythesoundofcheers.Gwenturned,withBridget’shandstillpressedtothebackofherneck,toseeArthurandSidneyraisingtheirdrinksaloftincelebration,AgnesgigglingintoSidney’sshoulder;ArthurmusthavepounceduponAdahandElaineandmadeintroductions,astheywerestandingtheretoo,laughingastheywerejostledbythecrowd.Ared-facedmandancingnexttoArthuralmostlostaneyetoArthur’swildgesticulatingasheapplaudedinGwen’sdirection,butArthurmollifiedhimwithafriendlyclapontheshoulder,shouting,‘Sorry–sorry,mate,sorry–justpleasedformyfriendoverthere,he’sterriblewiththeladies,barelyknowswhichendiswhich–buthe’sfoundhimselfalovelyobliginggirlandheseemstohavelocatedthecorrectendforthesakeofpublicdecency.’
‘Stopit,’Gwenmouthedwithnarrowedeyes,butArthurjustsalutedherwithmocksincerityandthenturnedtoAdahandElaineandbegantalkingtothemanimatedly.
‘Yourfriendisderanged,’saidBridget.
‘Ican’targuewithyouthere,’saidGwen,toohappytobepeeved.‘I’msorrywehaven’tspoken,Iwantedtocomeandfindyou,buteverything’sbeenso…’
‘Youdon’thavetoexplain,’Bridgetsaid,shruggingandremovingsomecatfurfromGwen’sshoulder.‘Ireallywasn’texpectingtoseeyouagain.’
‘Youweren’t?’Gwensaid,frowning,feelingsomeofherelationdissipate.
‘Hey,’saidBridget,gentlytouchingherchin.‘Notlikethat.Just–beingpractical.Didn’tseehowwecouldpossiblyswingit,witheverythinggoingon.ButyourpalArthurcametoseeme,andhewasvery…insistent.’
‘Hedoestendtobe.’Gwenbitdownonherlip,stillfeelingasifshe’dsomehowmisjudgedthings.‘So–you’rehappy?Toseeme?’
‘Whatdoyouthink?’Bridgetsaid,drawingGwentowardsheragain.
‘Justchecking,’Gwensaid,leaningbackjustenoughtofeelherselfheldinplace,andthinkingthat,ideally,Bridgetwouldneverlethergo.
Intheend,shedid–butonlybecauseArthurwaspullingsoinsistentlyatGwen’ssleevethatshemighthavelostanarmifBridgethadtriedtoretainit.Bridgetdidn’tdance,exactly,butshewaswillingtomoveaslongasshewasnexttoGwen,whowasinturnbeinggoadedonbySidney–whokepttellingherthatastheman,shewassupposedtobeleading.Itdidn’tmatter;inthechaos,thestampingoffeetandthespillageofyetmoredrinksandthecacophonyofraisedvoicesandpipeandfiddle,nobodycaredthatshewasanythingotherthananotherwarmbody;theydidn’tevennoticewhenthelastbravewispsofGwen’smoustachefinallygaveuptheghostandfelltothefloortobetrampledintothestones.
AgnesdancedwithAdahandElaine,attemptingtokeepupasAdahshoutedinstructions.SidneyandArthurdancedtogether,tryingtoone-upeachotherwithlittlekicksandpirouettesthatgotincreasinglyviolent.GwendancedwithBridgetandsmiledandsmiled,andBridgetsmiledbackasifsheweretryingveryhardnotto,andArthurkeptcomingoverandclappingthembothonthebackandshakingtheirshouldersvigorouslyasifthey’dwonabetorjustannouncedthebirthofahealthyheir.Bridgettoleratedhim,althoughhereyebrowsseemedtoraisehighereverytime,untilGwenthoughthewasapproachingdangerousterritory–butthenshewentfortenminuteswithhershouldersunshaken,andwhenshelookedforhim,sherealisedthatArthurwasgone.
‘I’mjustgoingto…Youstayhere,’Gwensaid,ignoringtheuncharacteristicallypanickedlookBridgetshotatherasshebackedawayandAgnesheldoutahandtoBridgetinstead,shimmyingherhipssuggestively.Gwenshoulderedherwaythroughthecrowduntilshereachedtheedgeofit,andthereshefoundArthurleaningagainstaverylopsidedwell,watchingthefestivitieswithanemptycupinhishandandamelancholysmileonhisface.
‘Hiding?’shesaid,andheshrugged.
‘TakingamomenttoreplenishmyyouthfulstrengthandvigoursothatImaycontinueuntildawn.Andalso,Sidsteppedonmyfoot.’
‘Atragedy,’Gwensaid,takingaseatnexttohim.‘Areyouallright?Youlookabit…morose.Notusuallyyourspeed.’
‘Hmmm,’Arthursaid,peeringdownintohiscup.‘He’snotadaintylad,ourSidney.Theymayhavetoamputate.’
‘Ididn’tmeanaboutyourbloodyfoot.’
‘Iknowyoudidn’t,’Arthursaid,sighing.‘Youareterriblynosyandfartoodiscerningforsomebodywhoshouldcurrentlybecaughtupincelebration,beingthrownaboutthedancefloorbyLadyMusclesoverthere.’
‘I’vedoneplentyofcelebrating,’Gwensaid,nudginghiselbowwithhers.‘Ifit’smybrotheryou’remopingover—’
‘Iknowyouthinkeverythingisaboutyouandyourbloodrelatives,butit’sreallynot,’Arthursaid,wrinklinghisnoseather,whichsoftenedtheblow.
‘Hewouldn’thavecome,youknow,evenifhehadn’tbeenbusyinthelibraryundertentypesofguard.’
‘Oh,Idon’tknow,’Arthursaid,shrugging.‘Icanbeprettypersuasive.’
‘Urgh,’Gwensaid,pullingaface.Arthursmiledgrimlyback.‘I’msorry,Art.Iknowhe’snot…Iknowit’snoteasy,withhim.He’sgotitintohisheadthathemustbeeverythingourfatheris,andmore–andthatifhedoesn’tmanagetounitethecountryandsmoothoverhundredsofyearsofbloodshedandsquabbling,it’sbecausehedidn’tworkhardenough.Thereisn’tspaceinsidehisheadfor…formuchelse.’
Arthurputhiscupdown,smoothinghishandsoverhishairandturningtolookatherproperly.‘Don’tbesilly.I’mfine.I’malwaysfine.’
‘Allright,’saidGwen,findinghishandwherehisfingertipswerepressedintothebricksandgivingitasqueeze.‘Well.Ifyou’resure.’
‘LadyLeclairmustlikeyouanawfullot,’hesaid,insteadofreplying.‘Sidneyiscurrentlytryingtospinher,andthusfar,shehasn’tkilledhim.’
‘Ilikeheranawfullot,’Gwensaid.‘Thanksfordoingthis.Forinvitingher.Andbringingmehere.Andjust–forallofit.’
‘Christ,Imustbegoingsoft,’Arthursaid,shakinghishead.‘Imeanreally,whatwasinthisforme?Practicallynothing.It’sshocking.’
‘Art,’Gwensaid,assheleanedclumsilyintohimandrestedhertiredheadonhisshoulder.‘Iknowwedidn’tgetofftothebeststart–don’tlaughatme,Ijustwanttosaysomething,andyou’renottointerrupt.’ShefeltArthurnod,andgatheredherthoughtsbeforecontinuing.‘Beforeyoucamehere…Ispentaverylongtimefeelingconfused.Ididn’tknowwhyIwasfeelingthewayIwas,orwhatitmeant,and…youwerethefirstpersonwhoknew.Andallright,youusedittoblackmailme,whichwasn’tideal,butIsupposeitwasinself-defence…WhatI’mtryingtosayis,youknew,anditmadeperfectsensetoyouevenwhenitdidn’ttome.Ididn’thavetotrytojustifyittoyou,orbegforyourunderstanding–itwasn’tsomethingthatevenneededexplaining.Ihadnoideahowmuchthatwouldmeantome.WhenItalkedtoyouaboutit,evenwhenyouwerebeingabitofanightmare,youalwaysmademefeellikeitwas…completelyordinary.SomethingIshouldbeallowedtowantandtohave,withoutquestion.Andthismightsoundfoolish,butitfeltlikeyouweresomehowonmyside,evenwhenyouhatedme.It…itmademebraver.That’swhatIreallywanttothankyoufor.’
Arthurdidn’tsayanything.WhenGwenliftedherheadfromhisshouldertosquintupathimshecouldhaveswornthatbeforehecasuallyswipedatthemwithhissleeve,theremighthavebeentearsinhiseyes.
‘We’vebothgonesoft,’hesaid,hisvoicealittlescratchy.‘Whatsortofamarriageisthisgoingtobe?Oneofushastowearthemetaphoricalbreeches.Oh,here–Ihaveagiftforyou.’Herummagedinsidehisjacketpocketandthendroppedsomethingsmallintoherlap.‘Shouldhavegivenitbackagesago,but…anyway.It’sallthere,eventhepartswetoreout.Ichecked.’
Gwenlookeddownatthediaryinherhand,allthatchildhoodlongingandsadnessandlonelinesspressedbetweenafewhundredpages,andthenbackupatArthur.
‘Goodbirthday?’hesaid,andshesmiled,turningtowatchasSidneydidindeedtrytoliftBridgetoffherfeet;Bridgetstoppedhimwithaveryseriouslookandonehandheldupinwarning.AdahhadmanagedtopickupElaine,whowasshriekinghappily,whileAgnesthrewherheadbackandlaughedatthemall.
‘Thebest.’Afterherbirthday,GwenseemedtovanishfromArthur’slife.
Heascertainedthatshehadbeenswallowedwholebyweddingplanning,whichhadyettotouchhim;apparentlyforladiesitwasanall-consumingoccupation.Heoccasionallycaughtglimpsesofherbeingfrogmarchedsomewherebyhermother,andcaughtupwithheratdinneronceortwice,butshewasn’tfreetoentertainhiminherroombynightorwatchthetournamentbyday.ArthurandSidneyattendedthelatterfrequently,SidneypretendingnottoknowthatArthurwasprimarilytheretotrytocatchglimpsesofGabriel,whohadbeenstudiouslyavoidinghim;unfortunatelythemenoftheroyalfamilywerealsobusy,lockedawayinendlessconferenceastheirsoldiersmarchednorth,andArthurwasgettingantsy.
‘Whatthehellisgoingonheretoday?’hesaidoneafternoon,feelingshort-tempered,asheandSidneywanderedthebusycourtyards,havingalreadyattemptedtogointothecityforlunchandfounditsopackedwithpeoplethatitwasentirelyunnavigable.Hewasconvincedthatithadneverbeenlikethisinthesummersofhisyouth,althoughhehadtoallowforthefactthathehadbeenquitesmallandnotparticularlyobservant.
‘There’ssome…thingtonight,’Sidneysaidreluctantly.‘AccordingtoAgnes.AparadeofEngland’smosteligibledaughters,speciallyimportedfortheprincetoignore.’
‘Right.Well.Fantastic,’Arthursaid,pushingadooropensohardthatitmadeanominouscrackingsoundagainstthewall.‘Goodforhim.’
‘Soyou’regoingtocometotheorchardwithmeandAgnes,right?’Sidneysaiddoubtfully,followinghimthroughthedoorway.‘Andwe’regoingtoplaycardsandfrolicandenjoyourselves,andnotgetallpissedoffandpunchyanddosomethingfoolish.Right,Art?’
‘Mmm,’Arthurreplieddistractedly.
‘Ineedyoutosayit.’
‘Ah–actually,’Arthursaid,gazingdownthecorridorasifhemightfindsomesolutiontohisrestlessnessattheendofit.‘I’mgoingbacktotherooms.Togetchanged.’
‘Ofcourseyouare,’SidneysaidwithasighasArthurdeparted.
LuciferhadbeensleepingonArthur’sbedatleasteveryothernight,andhehadapparentlybeenmakinghimselfathomeintheirabsence;whenArthurenteredhediscoveredthattherewasasmearoffreshbloodontheflagstonesbythewindow,probablythelastremainsofanunluckymouse,andthestacksofbooksandpapersthathadbeensittingonthesillsincetheyhadbeendeliveredfromMaidvalehadbeentippedunceremoniouslyontothefloor.
‘Bastardcat,’Arthurgriped,leaningovertopickthemup.Theheaviestandmostdull-lookingoftheobscureArthurianbooksMrsAshworthhadincludedinthepackagehadfallenopen,someofitsancientpagesbentbeyondrepair,andwhenhelifteditafewfelloutandflutteredtothefloor.
Hewasjustgoingtoleavethemwherethey’dfallen,buthiseyeslandedonabeautifullyscrawledlineofCommonBrittonic.Hestartedtranslatingdespitehimself–andthenfroze,staringdownatwhathewassurehemusthavemisread.Hegathereduptherestofthepages,hisheartthuddinginhischest,thenspreadthemoutonthebedandhunkereddowntoread.
Anhourlater,hewasdoingexactlywhatSidneyhadbeentryingtowarnhimagainst.
Itwasnoneofhisbusiness,ofcourse,ifGabrielwantedtoignorehimandtogoalongwiththischarade,maybeevenmarryoneofthepoorgirls.Arthurcouldhardlyholditagainsthim,withhisownweddingonthehorizon.Andbesides,Arthurhaddonethisbefore–hadfoundhimselfcaringtoomuchaboutsomebody,somebodywhothoughttheonlythingtheycouldbetogetherwasamistake–andlookwherethathadlandedhim.
Completely,utterlynoneofhisbusiness…soitwasdifficulttosaywhyhewasstillwalkingtowardstheGreatHall.Hewasn’tdressedfordinner,buthedidn’tcare;hefelthotanditchyallover,determinedtoridhimselfofthismoodbytakingamoredirectcourseofaction.
Peeringthroughthedoorway,hefoundthetrestletablesfulloftheusualmotleyassemblyoflessernobles,althoughtherewerefarmorewomenpresentthanusual.Hehadtoarguequitesternlywiththeguardtoevenbeletin,asapparentlytherewassomesortofguestlistthathedefinitelywasn’ton.
Gwenwasn’tsittingattheroyaltable,whichmeanthecouldn’treallyapproachit.
Gabrielwas.
Helookedbeautifullyexhaustedinlight,silveryblue,hiscurlscombedandcarefullyarranged,ahandwrappedsotightlyaroundhisgobletthatitlookedasifhisknucklesmightbeabouttorupture.Hedidn’tlookupwhenArthurentered,soArthurjuststoodthereandwatchedhim–sawhimduckhisheadandnodseriouslyasaprettyyoungbrunetteinviolentshadesofcrimsonsaidsomethinginhisear,observedthewayhisbrowfurrowedandhisteethcaughtonhislowerlipashetriedhishardesttolookinterested.
‘Well,’Arthursaidtonobodyinparticular.‘Great.’
Hesatdownandfoundhimselflookingatanunattendedcupofwine;hehesitatedforamoment,thinkingofGwen’sremonstrationsabouthisdrinkinghabits,butoneglancebackoveratGabrielobliteratedhisself-control.
‘Badnight?’saidaratherreedyyoungmansittingnexttohim,soundingglum.‘Jointheclub.That’sLadyClementofLancastersittingnexttohim.Shewassupposedtobemybetrothed.I’veknownhersincewewerechildren.Iusedtowriteherpoems.’
‘Chinup,’Arthursaid,knockinghiscupagainstthemoroselad’s.‘Perhapshewon’twantherafterall,andyoucan–youknow–snuffleuphisleavings.’
‘Fatchance,’hesaid,ignoringtheunkindframing.‘Imean–lookather.’
Arthurdid.Shewasslightandpretty,andhereyesweredartingaroundinawaythatindicatedactualshynessratherthanaffectedtimidityforGabriel’ssake.Inanotherlife,perhapsshewouldhavebeenperfectforhim.Inthisone,Arthurhadtoconcede,shemightbetoo–albeitinaverydifferentway.
Hedranksteadilyuntilitwastimeforthemusic,ignoringthelittlevoiceinhisheadthatsoundedsuspiciouslylikeGwenandwastellinghimtoslowdown,andthenwatchedasGabrielverymuchdidnotaskLadyClementofLancastertodance.Thereweretwootherladiesattheroyaltablewithhim,andplentymorevyingforhisattentionevenfromthecheapseats;whenGabrielfinallystood,allofthemfroze,andtherewasasilencesoridiculousthatArthurwantedtolaugh.
Heonlyrealisedheactuallyhadlaughedwhenallofhisneighbours’eyesturnedtohim.Hedidn’thavetimetoregretit–hewaslookingatGabriel,whowasfinallylookingback.
Arthurdidn’tthinkheimaginedtheflushthatcreptintoGabriel’scheeks,orthewayhishandshookeversoslightlywhenhegesturedforthemusictoresume.TheprinceawkwardlymadehiswayovertoLordStafford,deftlyside-steppinghismother,whowasclearlyattemptingtocorralhimtowardsthedancefloor.
Arthurputdownhisdrink,thenpickeditupagainandfinishedit.Heloosenedthecollarofhisshirtandlookedaround,halfexpectingSidneytoappearandstophimfromdoingwhateverhemightdonext.Whennobodyintervened,hefelthismindhadratherbeenmadeupforhim.HeapproachedGabrielwithapleasantsmileaffixedtohisface,asiftheyweresimplyoldfriends,andcertainlynottwopeoplewhohadeverhadtheirtonguesineachother’smouths.
‘Nice-lookinggirl,thatLadyClement,’ArthursaidtoGabriel,whowastryingveryhardtoavoidhisgaze.‘Justyourtype.’
‘Arthur,’Gabrielsaidquietly,barelymovinghismouth.LordStaffordwaswearingahideouslimevelvetjerkinandfrowningatthemboth.‘Thisreallyisn’tthetime.’
‘I’mjustbeingfriendly,’saidArthur,pickingupafreshcupofwinefromapassingtrayandraisingit.Heknewhewasbeingbelligerent,buthewassofullofdirectionlessenergy,itwashardtostop.‘I’vebeenwantingtospeaktoyou,butyou’vebeenstrangelydifficulttotrackdown.’
‘Gwensaidyouweren’tdrinking,’Gabrielsaid,lookingpointedlyatthecup.Arthursighedandputitbackdown.
‘Comeoutsidewithme?Ineedtoshowyousomething.’
Gabriellookedhorrified;heglancedatLordStafford,shookhisheadandwalkedaway,asifArthurwereacompletestrangerwhoneededtakingcareof.
Arthurcouldn’tpretendthatdidn’tsting.
‘LordDelacey,’LordStaffordsaid,withapainfullyfalsesmileonhisface.‘IsthereanythingIcanhelpyouwith?’
‘I’mnottheonewhoneedshelp,’Arthursaid,wipingsomewinefromhischin.‘I’mfine.Youknow–you’retheonewho’ssupposedtolookafterthemall,aren’tyou?That’syourjob.Stewardofthewhatsit.He’stooafraidtotellyou,buthe’sgotsomebloodybrilliantideasabouthowtorunthiscountry,ifyou’djustbewillingtolisten.’
‘Right,’saidLordStafford,lookingbaffled.‘Suchas?’
‘Suchas–Tintagel!’Arthursaid,notentirelysurehewasgettingthepointacross,butfeelingthatforGabriel’ssake,itwasveryimportantthathetried.‘Like…likeputtingallyourgoldintoeducationinsteadofendlesssoldiersmarchingupanddowntheplace,and–he’sgoingtomovetoTintagelandmakeitaschoolforteachers,and…youshouldknowallthis,ifyouwereanygoodatyourjob.’
‘TintagelCastle?’Staffordsaid,stillminutesbehind.
‘Sortitout,’Arthursaid,pointinganaccusatoryfingeratStaffordbeforegoingtoseekmorechaos.
LadyClementofLancasterhappenedtobestandingalone,lookingcrestfallen.
Whenheaskedhertodancesheagreedeasilyenough,althoughshedidglanceoveratanolderwomanwhoArthurcouldonlyassumewashermother.Clementwasagooddancer,lightonherfeetandclearlyrelievedthatsomebodyhadfinallyaskedher.HesawherlooktoGabrielafewtimes,checkingtoseeifhewaswatching.
Arthuronlylookedonce.Gabrielwasstandingwithhisgobletstillclutchedtightlyinhishand,ostensiblytalkingtoanelderlyman,lookingdeeplyconcernedashetrackedthemacrosstheroom.Arthurfeltapangofsomethingdangerouslyclosetoguilt,soheresolvednottolookagain.Theedgesoftheroombegantoblur,thedancersspeedingupandbecomingnothingmorethanvagueshapesinhisperiphery,Clement’spinkfacetheonlythinghecouldstillseeclearly–andthenthemusicpausedandanother,equallyexcellentideaoccurredtohim.IfGabrielwouldn’tcometohim,maybehejustneededalittleencouragement.
HeleanedinclosetoClement’searandaskedherifshewantedtostepoutintothecourtyardforsomeair.Heexpectedhertosayno,butshewasflusteredandoverheatedfromallthedancing,soshenoddedandallowedherselftobeescortedawayacrossthehallandout.
‘Thankyou,’shesaid,smilingearnestlyathim.‘I’msupposedtobetalkingtotheprince.Mymother…Well,Idon’tknowwhyhewouldn’tjustaskmetodance.Hewaslooking.Hekeptlooking.Hewasn’tdancingwithanybodyelse.Idon’tunderstandhim.’
‘No,’saidArthurgrimly.‘Meneither.’
‘Weshouldn’tgofar,’saidClement.‘I’mnotsupposedtobealone,andpeoplemightthink…’Shetrailedoff,blushing.Arthursuddenlyfeltextremelytired.
‘Don’tworry.I’mengagedtobemarried.Although–youcouldkissme,ifyoulike,’heofferedhalf-heartedly.‘Might…Idon’tknow.Makehimjealous?’
‘Er–no,thankyou,’shesaid,pattinghimawkwardlyonthearm.‘Thanksanyway,though.’Sheturnedtogo,andinthatmomentherfacelitup.HefollowedhergazeandsawGabriel,standinginthedoorwaywiththelightfromthehallglowingbehindhim,castinghisfaceinshadow.
‘Yourhighness,’shesaid,withahalf-curtsy.‘LordDelaceyandIwerejust—’
‘I’dliketospeaktoArthuralone,ifyoudon’tmind,’Gabrielsaid,hisvoiceclipped.ArthurwatchedClementvisiblywiltinfrontofhim,beforeduckingherheadandhurryingbackintotheparty.‘Whatareyoudoing?’hesaid,whentheywerealone.
‘InvadingNormandy,’Arthursaidflatly.‘Cometohelp?’
‘Thisisn’tfunny,’Gabrielsaid,ignoringhim.‘Youshouldn’thavecome.’
‘Youshouldn’thavecome.’
‘It’smyfeast,’Gabrielsaidincredulously.‘Theythrewitinmyhonour.’
‘Well,youseemtobehavingheapsoffun,’Arthursaid,leaningagainstthewall,partiallytolookasifhedidn’tcarebutpartiallyoutofnecessity.‘Ifyougotanymorelivelyyoumightreachthevivacityofaplaguevictim,orarecentlydeceasedmouse,or–or—’
‘Arthur,’Gabrielsaid,suddenlystandinginfrontofhim.‘Gotobed.’
‘Makeme,’Arthursaid,hatinghimselfalittlebitforsoundingsosneery.Gabriellookedallpinchedandpiqued;itwasexactlythesortofexpressionhealwaysworejustbeforetheykissed.Hardlyagoodsign,butregardless,itwasmakingArthur’sfingersitch.
‘Gotobed,’Gabrielsaidagain,andsuddenlyArthurwasathislimit.
‘Leavewithme,’hesaid.‘Comeon.Dosomethingyouactuallywanttodoforachange.’
Gabrielletoutafrustratedhuffthatwashalf-laugh,halfsomethingelse,andstaredupatthestar-strewnskyasifhecouldn’tbeartolookatArthurforanothersecond.
‘What?’Arthursaid,knowinghesoundedpetulantandnoteventheslightestbitalluring.‘Isthatreallysomadaproposition?’
Gabriellookedbackathim,entirelyserious,andsuddenlyArthurfeltabitsick.‘WhatmakesyouthinkthatleavingwithyouwouldbewhatIactuallywant?’
‘What?’Arthurscoffedagain,buthiscertaintywaswavering.‘You’renotgoingtopretend—’
‘You’vebeendrinking.You’remakingafoolofyourself,and–you’remakingthingstoohard.I’mgoingtostayhere,whereI’msupposedtobe.AndIknowyouprobablycan’tfathomthis,butIthoughtI’dmademyselfclear–Idon’twantyouhere.’
Arthurfeltsomethingakintoafistclenchinginhischest,wringingthebreathoutofhimandthenreleasinghimjustassuddenly.
‘That’sashame,’hesaid,tiltinghisheadtotheside,knowingthathissmilewasmorecruelnowthananythingelse.‘BecauseIreallydohavesomethingforyou.Apresent.’
‘Idon’twantit,’saidGabriel,shakinghishead.Heturnedtoleave,butbeforehecould,Arthurgrabbedhisarmandpressedthethickwadoffoldedparchmenthe’dbeencarryingallnightintoGabriel’shand.HehalfexpectedGabrieltoopenhisfingersandletitallfalltotheground,buthedidn’t.
‘Hadabooksentfromhome,’Arthursaid,notingthathisvoicewastremblingslightlyandtryingtotemperit.‘It’sbeeninmyfamilyforaverylongtime–Icanonlyassumethatmyfatherneveractuallyreadit,becausetherewasalittlesomethingextrainside.Iknowhecertainlywouldn’twantthesegettingintothewronghands.Mine,especially.Goon.Readthem.’
‘Whatisthis?’Gabrielsaid,notlookingattheparchment,choosingtostareatArthurinstead.‘Idon’thavetimeforthis.’
‘Ithinkyou’llwanttomaketime,’Arthursaid.‘Becauseit’ssomethingyou’vemissed,inallyourresearch.Somethingeverybodyhas.SuchinterestinglettersourfairLancelotusedtowritetothegreatandnobleKingArthur.’
‘Whatareyoutalkingabout?’
‘Readthem,’Arthursaid,shrugging.‘Andthentellmeifyou’restillreadytobeakingasboldasArthurPendragon.’
ArthurleftbeforeGabrielcould,knowingthathewasstillstandinginthecourtyard,gapingafterhim,withsecretshundredsofyearsoldcrumpledinhisshakingfist.‘Oh,’saidGwen.‘Oh.’
‘Waituntilyougettothepartaboutthefeast,’Gabrielsaid,soundingslightlydelirious.Hewasstandingbythewindowoftheeastsolar,hisarmscrossed.Itwasverylate,andbyrightstheybothshouldhavebeenasleeplongago,butwhenGabrielhadknockedonthedoorGwenhadcalledhiminfromatopafootstoolwhileaverysour-facedseamstressstuckpinsintheblossom-pinkfabricthatwasbeingshapedintoherweddinggown.Agneswasfastasleepinoneofthearmchairs,andtheroomwaslitinstripesoflightandshadowfromlow-burningcandles.Oncetheseamstresshadfinishedheradjustments–andherfuriousmutteringaboutladieswhowerefartootall–Gwenhadsatdownheavilyonthestoolandaskedherbrotherwhyhisneckwassweating.
Hehadn’tsaidanything;he’djusthandedhertheletters.
‘What?’Gwenwhispered,havingreachedtheaforementionedpartaboutthefeast.‘SirLancelotwrotethese?TheSirLancelot?ToArthurPendragon?’
‘Isupposetheymighthavebeenforged,’Gabrielsaid,rubbinghisbloodshoteyes.‘Iwouldn’tputitpasthimtodoit,justto…toywithme.’
‘Himwho?Oh–Arthurgaveyouthese?’Gwensaid,glancingupathimandthenturningthepageover.‘No,Idon’tthinkhe’dhavehadthepatienceortheendurancetofakeallofthis.They’reso…earnest.AlthoughIsupposeIamtranslatingveryliterally.’
‘Ijustdon’tunderstand,’Gabrielsaid,finallysitting.‘Imean,ArthurlovedGuinevere,GuineverelovedLancelot,everybody’smadetheirpeacewiththatparticulardiscretion,butthisis…’
‘God,’Gwensaidagain,beforefinallypushingthelettersaway,whichwasverydifficulttodo.Theyweren’tparticularlywellwritten–therewasquitealotofrepetition,andLancelotdidn’tseemtohavemuchofapoeticimagination–buttheywerecaptivatingnonetheless,andactuallyquitesweetintheirsincerity.‘He’srespondingtowhateverArthurwrotetohim,soitlooks…youknow.Reciprocal.Andpublic,too,iftheydancedallnightatthisfeast.Theotherhalfmustbeouttheresomewhere,unlesssomebodyhadthemdestroyed.Infact,theymusthavehadtodestroyalot,iftheywerecourtinginpublicforeveryonetosee.’
‘Nobody’swhoIthoughttheywere,’Gabrielsaidbrokenly,andGwensighed,pattinghimuselesslyonthearmasheslumpedforwardwithhisheadinhishands
‘Imean,’shesaidtentatively,‘it’ssortof…goodnews,isn’tit?Hereyouare,tryingtokeepupwiththegreatKingArthur,heirtoacountrywhereatleasthalfthepopulationthinkshe’sgoingtomakeadramaticreappearance,anditturnsoutwe’vebeen…well,we’vebeenaccidentallylivinguptosomeofhisidealsallalong.’
‘Itdoesn’tmatter,’Gabrielsaid,slightlymuffled.‘Becauseobviouslywecan’treleasethem.’
‘What?Whynot?’
‘Becauseit’dbechaos!’Gabrielsaid,asifthisshouldhavebeenobvious.‘Everybodywouldassumetheywerefake,foronething.They’dcertainlysuspectanagenda,ifweever–butwewon’t.Andwecan’t.Foranother–well,it’shardlygoingtohelphealthisriftbetweenCatholicsandcultists,isit?’
‘Youdon’tknowthat,’Gwencountered.‘Youdon’tknowforsurehowpeoplemightreact.CatholicsloveArthur,eveniftheydon’tworshiphim.Shouldn’twejust…tellthetruth?Andleteverybodymakeuptheirownminds?’
Gabrielmadeanoiseofdisbeliefandraisedhishead.‘Idon’tthinkso.Iwish…IwishI’dneverseenthem.’
‘Why?’Gwensaid,clutchingthelettersclosetoherchestasifhemightbeabouttosnatchthemfromherandchuckthemintothefire.
‘Because…’Gabrielcastabout,lookinghopeless.‘Everythingjustgotfarmorecomplicated,andit’salreadycomplicatedenough.Knowingaboutthemmeans…havingtomakeadecision.’
Gwenbitherlip,hard,toholdbackfromsayingsomethingslightlytoounkindforhisdelicatestate.
‘WhatdidArthursay,whenhegavethemtoyou?’shesaidinstead,hopingthatperhapshemighthavegivenoneofhisinfamouslecturesonbravery.
‘Hejustsortofthrewthematme,’Gabrielsaid,andGwenrolledhereyes.
‘It’sgoingwell,then.’
‘Thereisnoit,’Gabrielsaid.‘Asyouwellknow.Youwerejustbeingfittedforyourweddinggown,forGod’ssake.’
‘Yes,andanhourbeforethatIwaskissingBridgetinthearmoury,’Gwensaid,causingGabrieltochokeonwhatGwencouldonlyassumewashisownsaliva.
She’dhadtomakeallmannerofexcusestogetawayfromhermother,andAgneshadbeendraggedintohelpwiththecomplicatedlogistics,butithadbeenworthitfortengloriousminutespushedupagainstawallnexttooneofGabriel’smanysuitsofarmour,everyinchofBridget’sbodypressedintohers–untilsomebodyhadwalkedpastthedoorway,andshehadbeenforcedtowrenchherselfawayandrunfromtheroomwithoutevensayinggoodbye.
‘You’rekissingnow?Whendidthathappen?’
‘Um.Afterthatsecuritybreach,andthenagainonmybirthday,’saidGwen.‘Ithappened.It…continuestohappen.’
‘Well,Isuppose…I’mhappyforyou.’
Gwensnorted.‘Thanks.I’dbealothappierifIdidn’thavetosneakaround.AndIneverwouldhavethoughtitpossible,butGabe…theseletterscouldchangeeverything.Notjustforus,butforalotofpeople.Haveyouthoughtofthat?’
Gabrielwasquietforawhile,apparentlytryingtoprocessthis,andthenhesighed.‘Ifoundsomepoetrytuckedawayinthelibraryonce.WrittenbyMordred.’
‘Mordred?Hewrotepoetry?’Gwensaid,delightedandhorrifiedinequalmeasure.
‘Yes.Itwasawful,allabouthowmisunderstoodhewasandhowterriblehisfatherwasand…anyway.Itwassostrange.I’veseensomanythingswrittenabouthim,byhim,butallofitsoformal–evenhisletters.’HejerkedhisheadtowardstheonesgraspedinGwen’shand.‘Anyway.Theydon’tseemlikerealpeople,dothey?Anyofthem.AndevenknowingFatheraswellaswedo,he’sneverjustourfather.Notentirely.He’s…untouchable.Different.Hecanneveractuallytakeoffthecrown,evenwhenhedoes.ButthisGod-awfulpoetryMordredwrote,itwassovery…human.’
‘Theywererealpeople,’Gwensaid.‘AndFatherisarealperson.Andyoucanstillbearealperson,Gabe.Youcanbekingandstillbeyou.Itdoesn’thavetobea…well,acrownyoucan’ttakeoff.’
‘Iwishthatweretrue,’Gabrielsaidsadly.Gwenwassuddenlyexhaustedbyeverything,headheavyandachingforherbed,thinkingthattheycoulduntanglethismessinthemorning–butbeforeshecouldsayanything,Gabriel’sheadsnappedup.‘Doyouhearthat?’
‘Hearwhat?’shesaid,butheshushedher;whenshetiltedherheadandstrainedtolisten,shecouldhearsomething.Strange,muffledmoanscomingfromthecorridorjustoutside.
‘I’llcalltheguard,’Gabrielsaidimmediately,reachingforhisdagger,butGwenheldupahand.
‘No,it’snot…Gabe,Ithinkthat’sArthur.’
‘Damnit,’someone–Sidney–swore,accompaniedbythesoundofsomethingfallingtothefloor.Agneswasupandoutofherchair,squintingsleepilytowardsthesound.
‘Sid!’shesaid;asecondlatershewasrushingfromtheroom.GwenandGabrielexchangedaglance,andthenwentafterher.
Inthehallwaybytheeaststairs,theyfoundArthurcollapsedontherug,Sidneycrouchingoverhimwhileacoupleofguardswatcheddispassionatelyfromtheirstations,clearlyusedtoArthur’santicsandunimpressed.‘Oh,forGod’ssake,’saidGwenastheyapproached.‘Ithoughtyouwereinrealtrouble.Sid,howmuchhashehadto–ohGod.’
ShehadassumedArthurverydrunk,butashishatfellfromhisheadshesawinthetorchlightthathewashurt.Thereweredarkbruisesbloomingonhisface,gasheswheretheskinhadsplitopen,andtherewasaterrifyingamountofbloodsplattereddownthefrontofhisshirtunderhisjacket;helookedforamomentasifhemightbeabletoopenhiseyes,butinsteadGwenonlybrieflysawthewhitesofthembeforetheyrolledbackintohishead.
‘Shit,’shesaid,droppingtoherkneesandrunningashakinghandoverhishair,pushingitbackfromhisswollenface.‘Whathappened?Howdidyouevengethimbackhere?’
Sidneyglancedupattheguardsandthenleanedintowardsthem,hisvoicelow.‘Hewas–attacked.Theyjumpedhimoutsideaninn,hewas…Idon’tknow,hewentouttherewithsomeboy,Ithoughtitwasthatblondonefrombefore,Mitchell.WhenIgotouttherehewasdown,andtheywerekickinghim.Hewasconsciousatfirst,heevenmanagedtodomostofthewalkingbyhimselfonthewayback,butthenhejust…’
GwenglancedoveratGabriel,whosejawwasclenchedsotighthelookedindangerofbreakingatooth.
‘Whyweren’tyouthere?’heshoutedatSidney,whoflinchedbackwardsasifheweretheonewho’dbeenhitintheface.‘Isn’tthatyourjob?’
‘Whyareyoujuststandingthere?Goandfetchthephysician,now,’Gwensaidtotheguards.Theyhadalreadyscrambledawaytodoherbiddingwhensomethingelseoccurredtoher.‘Damnit.Agnes–canyoupleasegotoo,andfetchtheWizard?’
‘Whywasn’tItaggingalongwithhimintosomealleyway?’SidneywassayingtoGabriel.‘Whydoyouthink?Iwasinside,Iwasmakingsurenobodyfollowedthemoutthere.BythetimeIgotoutsidetheyhadhimontheground,andtheyran,andIthoughtI’dbetter…’Sidneylookedspittingmad,butsomewhereunderneathitallGwencouldtellthathewasextremelyupset.‘Itwasanambush.Idon’tthinktheyknewwhohewas,Iguesshejustlooked–wealthy.Buttheydidn’ttakeanything.Hedidn’thaveanythingworthtaking.’
Exceptchunksofhisface,thoughtGwen.Exceptabodyuprightandunbroken
ShegentlytouchedArthur’sshoulder,tryingtoseewherehewashurt.Hehadcrossedhisarmsoverhistorsoprotectively,asifexpectingtobekickedagain.SidneytookoffhisjacketandeaseditunderArthur’shead.Gabrieljuststoodthere,staringdownatArthur.
‘Holdhishand,’Gwensaid.Gabriellookedather,startled,hardlyseemingtobeawake.‘Holdhishand,Gabe.Sidney,grabtheotherone.Iwant–Ineedtoseeifhe’sstillbleeding.’
Theycroucheddownanddidassheasked.Arthurmoanedastheygentlypulledhisarmsawayfromhistorso.GwengesturedforGabrieltohandoverhisdaggerandthencutopenArthur’stunicwithit;itwassostiffandwetwithbloodthatitfellheavilytothefloor,revealingachestalreadysoswollenandbruisedthatGwencouldn’timaginehowbaditwouldlookinthemorning.Theblooddidn’tactuallyseemtobecomingfromanywhereonhisabdomen,sotherewasnowoundthatneededurgentstaunching–itmusthavecomefromhissplitchinortempleorcheekbone,Gwenthoughtgrimlyasshetentativelytouchedtheswellingathisribs.
‘Somethingintheremightbe…broken,’Gwensaid,thinkingoffallentournamentknightsandthemysteriousinternalinjuriesthatsometimeskilledthem,andfeelingvery,verysick.
Somebodywasapproachingquicklyfromdownthehall;Gwenlookedup,expectingtoseethegrimfaceofthedoctor–butitwasBridget.Clearlyjustoutofbed,athicknightshirtstuffedintoapairofbreeches,herhairstickingupallaroundherface.Forthefirsttime,Gwenthoughtshemightcry.
‘Whathappened?’Bridgetsaid,stridingoverandputtingahandonGwen’sshoulder.‘Agnessentsomeonetofetchme,shesaid—’
‘Robbers.Outsidetheinn,’Sidneysaid,clearlytooexhaustedtorepeatthestoryinitsentirety.Bridgetdidn’tseemtoneedit.
‘Whichinn?’
‘TheRoundTable.The–thesmallerone.Butthey’llbelonggone.’
‘Iknowit,’saidBridget.‘Whatdidtheylooklike?’
Sidneydescribedthem,althoughtheysoundedsogenericthatitfelthopeless.GwenwatchedBridgetasshetookallofthisinformationin,herexpressionfocusedandserious.
‘Allright,’shesaid,givingGwen’sshoulderafirmsqueeze.‘I’llbeback.’BeforeGwencouldreact,sheglancedaroundtocheckthatthecoastwasclear,thenleaneddownandpressedakissintoherhair.Gwenclosedhereyestightlyandfelthottearsescapingfrombeneathhereyelashes.Whensheopenedthem,Bridgetwasgone.
ThedoctorarrivedatlastwithtwoapprenticesandtheWizardintow,andGwensawGabrielinstantlyletgoofArthur’shand.Theyhadbroughtamakeshiftlitter,andArthur’sheadlolledhorriblyashewashoistedupontoitandthencarriedupthestairstowardshisownroom,Sidneyathisside.
‘Weshouldgowithhim,’Gwensaid,lookingatGabrielstillsittingonthefloor,hisshirtsleevesoakedthroughwithArthur’sblood.‘Comeon.’
‘Ican’t,’saidGabriel.Gwenwantedverymuchtosaysomethingtohimthen,butsheknewitwouldn’thelp–soshelefthimtherealoneandmadeforArthur’srooms,tryinghardnottolookatthetrailofsplatteredbloodleadingtheway.Arthurtriednottobreathetoomuch.Ithurttobreathe.
HekeptwantingtoaskGwentostopscowling–shelookedbloodyterriblewhenshescowled,allhaughtyandimperious–butthenhesawthatshewasalsocrying,soitfeltrudetosay.Athoroughlyhorriblemankeptwakinghimupandpokinghimandmakinghimdrinkthings.SometimesGwenorSidneywouldgetangryifhediditfortoolong,andshoutathimtogoaway.Hewantedtocheerthemon,buttherewasthewholeissueofbreathingtocontendwith.Cheeringwoulduseupanawfullotofair.
Sometimesinthemiddleofwhatfeltlikealongnight,whenhecouldfeeldarknessandpainpressingagainsthimfromallsides–whenhefeltlikehischestwasgoingtobreakunderit,thatnomortalbodycouldpossiblywithstandit–heknewGabrielwasthere,andifhesquintedvery,veryhard,hecouldjustaboutseehisface,asinglepointoflightintheblack.Gabrieldidn’tcry.Helookeddreadful,though.
Whohurtyou?Arthurwantedtoask,buteverytimehetriedtogetthewordsout,thedarknessswallowedhim.
Hedreamedofgolden-hairedboyswhokissedhimhardandlefthimbleeding;ofamurderofcrowsburstingfromthetreeline,hundredsofthemflyingoverhead,untiltheyblackedoutthesky;ofhismother,whowaslessapersonandmoreafeeling,singingtohiminafamiliarlanguagehedidn’tunderstand,holdingsomethingsoftandcooltohisheadwhilehesobbedandclutchedatherskirts.HedreamedofGabrielsittingonahorse,thecrownonhisheadwhite-hotandburning–hetriedtocryout,towarnhim,butGabrielknewandsmiledsadlyanddidnothingashewasengulfedinflame.AhandemergedfromtheinfernoandArthursteppedtowardshimtotrytograspit,butinsteadGwenappeared,andcalmlyslippedherhandintoGabriel’ssothattheycouldgointothefiretogether,leavinghimbehind.
ThefirsttimeArthurtrulywokeup–openedhiseyesandunderstoodexactlywhoandwherehewas–heknewsomethingwasoff,butcouldn’tquiteplaceit.Thingsbegantomakesensewhenheturnedhisheadveryslightly,earsringingwiththeeffort,andsawatangleofredplaitsonthepillownexttohim.Hisheadhurt.Hischesthurt.Itwashardtopinpointeverythingelsethathurt,butheknewittallieduptobealmostallofhim.
‘You’reinmybed,’hesaid,noticingthathisvoicecameoutstrangelyquietandraspy.Gwenshifted,thenturnedovertolookathim.
‘Correct,’shesaid,frowning.Shewasfullyclothedandpinkinthecheeks.
‘Areyoulost?’Arthursaid,tryingtoclearhisthroatandthenclosinghiseyestightly,ascruel,aimlesspainshotthrougheverypartofhisbody,sendingstrangepatternsoflightskitteringacrosshiseyelids.
‘IthoughtSidneyneededabreak.He’sbeensittinginthatchairstaringatyounon-stop.Idon’tthinkhewasevenblinking.’Shesatupright,carefulnottojostlehim.
‘Yourreputationwillbetornasunder,’Arthursaidwithgreateffort,openinghiseyesagainandwatchingassheslidgingerlyfromthebedandwenttofetchhimacupofwater;hetriedtoreachforitandrealisedthathishandsweren’tobeyinghim.Hedidn’tunderstandhowhecouldbesobone-tiredwhenhe’donlyjustwokenup,hislimbsheavyandweak.Gwentriedtopressthecuptohislipsbuthechokedandspluttered,feelingcoldwaterslidedownhisneck.Itwasn’tunpleasant.Infact–hecouldhardlyfeelitatall.
‘Toolateforthat,everyonethinkswe’vebeenatitallsummer,’Gwensaid,givinguponthewaterentirely.‘AslongasIdon’twalkoutofherepregnant,IthinkI’llbefine.’
‘Comeonthen,’Arthurcroaked.‘Liftupyourskirts.Mayaswelldothewholethingproperly.’Hehadmeantittobeajoke,butitwascomingoutstrangelyquietandunconvincing.Hecouldn’treallyfeelhishandsnow,whichhethoughtmightbeabitofaconcern.
‘Arthur,’Gwensaid,butitsoundedasifsheweretalkingtohimfromveryfaraway.Hecouldn’ttellifhe’dclosedhiseyes,orifeverythinghadsimplygonedarkaroundhim.Somewherenearby,itsoundedasifacatmightbepurring.‘Art,areyouallright?’
‘Theywere…theygavemeamessage,’hesaid,withnoideawhathewastalkingabout.
‘Art,’Gwensaidagain,soundingquitepanicked.‘Lookatme.’Hetried–nobodycouldsayhedidn’ttry–buthecouldn’tquitereachheranymore.
Bridgetdidn’ttrytomakeArthurdrinkanything.Shecertainlydidn’tclimbintohisbed.Shesatinthechairnexttoit,notreadingorwritingorevenindulginginalittlehumming;simplystaringstraightaheadasifshe’dvanishedtosomeotherplaneofexistence,withLuciferasleeponherlap.Afterfiveminutesofobservingthisthroughhalf-closedeyesArthurwasabouttoannouncehimselfawakewhenshespokeinstead.
‘Youareverybadatpretendingtobeasleep.’
‘NoI’mnot,’Arthursaid,histhroatdry.‘I’vebeenawakeforanhour.’
‘Noyouhaven’t,’saidBridget,raisinganeyebrowathim.
‘No,’Arthuragreed.‘Ihaven’t.’
Bridgetgottoherfeet,displacingLucifer.‘I’llfetchSidney,’shesaid,rubbinghereyes.
‘Bridget,’Arthursaidjustasshereachedthedoor.‘DidIdreamit,ordidyou…?TheothernightGwenwastalkingtome,whenIwashalfasleep,shesaidyouwentbacktotheinnand–knockedsomeheadstogether.’
‘Inamannerofspeaking.’
‘Shesaidyoufoundoneoftheguyswhodiditandcrackedhimopenlikeawalnut.’
‘That’sanexaggeration,’Bridgetsaid,openingthedoorandpausing.‘Hewasn’tthattoughtocrack.Likeanegg,maybe.Areallypunylittleegg.’
Arthurlaughedandwinced,andthenathoughtstruckhim.
‘Theywantedtotellmesomething,’hesaid.Whatthey’dtoldhimwasinsubstantial,alreadyfloatingawayfromhim.‘Didhesayanything?’
‘No.Doyoumeantheysaidthattoyou…togetyoutocomeoutside?’Bridgetsaid.‘Torobyou?’
‘No,itwas…Idon’tknowwhatitwas,’Arthursaid.Hetriedtoreachforthethoughtonelasttime,andthenalmostinstantlyfellasleep.
ArthuronlynoticedthatGabrielwasintheroomatallbecausehemovedsoquicklytryingtoleaveit.
‘Coward,’hesaid,turningtolookathim.Hefelthotallover;hewonderediftheshuttershadbeenleftopen,ifhewastrappedinanunrelentingpatchofafternoonsun,butthenherealisedfartooslowlythatitwas,infact,themiddleofthenight.Thataccountedforthedarkness,andthequiet,andthefactthatGabrielwasstandingthereinhisnightclotheslookinggrimaboutthemouth.Luciferwascurledatthefootofthebed,seemingunconcerned.
‘You’vegotafever,’Gabrielsaid.‘They’vebeensedatingyou.Itseemstocomeandgo.’
‘What’swrongwithme?’Arthurasked,andhewasirritatedtohearhowsmallandscaredhesounded.Hecouldn’tstopshivering.Itwasextremelyembarrassing.
‘Brokenribs.Youtooksomeveryseriousblowstothehead,andtheythoughtmaybeyourskull–buttheswellingseemstohavegonedown.Yourwristwasbroken.Theoneyoubrokewhenwewerechildren.Thephysiciansaidhesetitbetterthistime,butitmight…itmightnotbemuchusetoyou,brokentwice.Yourlegsseemedtojustbebadlybruised.Yournosewasbroken,andyoubledquitealot.’Hemadeasiftotakeasteptowardsthebed,thenthoughtbetterofit.Helookedexcruciatinglyuncomfortable,hiseyesdartingfromthefloortotheceilingtothedoor,butneverlandingonArthur.‘Itwasyourhead–atfirsttheysaidyoumightdie.Andthenthatyoumightnotbeabletotalk.Orwalk.Ordoanything,really.YoumanagedtospeaktoGwenandBridgetcoherentlyacoupleofweeksago,butthen–thenyougotthatfever.Theydon’tknowwhy.’
‘Acoupleofweeksago?’Arthursaid,panicconstrictinghisthroat.‘How–howlonghaveIbeenhere?’Gabrieldidn’treply.Inthedarkness,hisvisionblurringandhiseyesfeelingstrangelyhot,Arthurcouldn’tbeentirelysurethathewasstillthere.‘Gabriel?’
‘It’sbeenamonth,’Gabrielsaid,andArthurreleasedabreaththatsoundedsuspiciouslylikeasob.‘Don’tcry,’Gabrielsaid,suddenlyalotcloser.Hewassittingontheedgeofthebed.HeseemedtobeholdingArthur’shot,sweatyhand.
‘I’mnotcrying,’Arthursaid,butifthatwastrue,whywashisfacesowet?Andwhywasitsohardtobreathe?Itreallywasunbearablywarm.Hislungswereonfire.HewantedtoaskGabrieltoopenawindow–tothrowhimoutofthewindow–tothrowhiminthemoatandlethimsinktothecool,blissfulbottom.
‘I’mhere,’Gabrielsaidquietly.
‘No,you’renot,’Arthursaid,cryinginearnestnow,feelingeachlabouredbreathrattlethroughhimuntilhisboneshurt.
‘YesIam,’Gabrielsaid,puttingahandtoArthur’sforehead.Arthurhadnoideahowhewasalive,withahandthatcold.
‘Don’tgo,’hemuttered,closinghiseyes.Itfeltlikeaspell,oraprayer;likerepeatingitwouldmakeitso.‘Don’tgo.Don’tgo.Don’tgo.’
Ofallthedisturbingsightstheworldhadtooffer,Sidneycryinghadtobetheworstofthem.ItwassodisarmingthatArthurfeltannoyed;howdareSidneycry,howdarehedosomethingsoutterlyunlikehimselfwhenArthurwastheonlyonewhoshouldbeallowedtobeafraid?
‘Shutup,’hesaidthroughchatteringteeth.Sidneyroughlywipedthetearsfromhischeeks,anddidn’tlaugh.Hiseyeswerebloodshot,theskinunderneaththemsodarkitlookedbruised.‘Youlooklikeshit.’
‘Youlooklikeaskeleton,’Sidneysaid,hisvoicehard,hiseyescastdownwards.‘Youlooklikeyou’vealreadybeendeadaweek.’
‘MaybeIhave,’Arthursaid,feelingawaveofnausearushoverhim.Hefelthollow.Hehadnoideawhenhe’dlasteaten;hehadavividmemoryofsomebodyhelpinghimtothechamberpotthough,whichhe’dquiteliketoforget.‘Idon’treallywanttoknowtheanswertothisquestion,but–didsomebodycutoffmyhair?DoIhaveany…left?’
‘Abit,’Sidneysaidgrimly.
‘Damnit,’Arthursaidwistfully.Itwasonlyhair,butitwasverynicehair.
‘Imessedup,’Sidneysaidquietly,stillstaringathishands.‘Ireallymesseditallup,Art.’
‘Noyoudidn’t,’Arthursaidmildly.
‘Don’tsaythat,’Sidneysaid,standingup.‘Don’ttellmewhatIdidn’tdo.IknowexactlywhatIdidn’tbloodydo.’
‘YoucanshoutatmeallyouwantwhenI’mdead,’Arthursaid.Sidneykickedthechairhe’dbeensittingin,anditricochetedloudlyoffthebedframe.‘Ow.’
‘Shit,’saidSidney.‘Shit.DidIhurtyou?’
‘Head,’Arthursaid,feelingpaineruptthroughit.‘Canyou–whatevertheyweresendingmetosleepwith,canyou…’
Sidneywasalreadystridingfromtheroomtofetchit.Gwenwasn’tsleeping.Shewasn’tdoingmuchelse,either.Allweddingplanninghadbeenputonholduntiltheycouldbeabsolutelysuretherewouldstillbeagroom,andevenhermotherwasleavingheralone.Thisshouldhavebeenarelief,butGwenfoundherselfwithfartoomuchtimeonherhandsandnothingtofillitwith.Once,shehadlongedfornothingmorethanherlifeofsolitude,butnowitfeltsomewhathollow;theonlybrightspotsinherdaywerethetimeswhenBridgetcouldgetawayfromthelasteventsofthetournamentandcometositwithher.
‘Who’swithhim?’Bridgetsaidnow,asAgnesletherintotheroom.Shewasholdingaplateofspicedbunsstuddedwithcurrants.‘Elainesenttheseforyou,fromthekitchens.’
‘Oh.Oh–thankher,forme,’Gwensaidfromherarmchair.Hereyesfeltrawandswollenfromcrying.Shewaswrungoutanduseless,incapableofdoingeventhesmallesttask.‘Sidiswithhim.Heneedsaproperbreak,though.’
‘Hewon’ttakeone,’saidAgnes,sighing.‘Evenwhenhe’snotthere,he’snotsleeping.’
GwencouldhaveaskedhowexactlyAgnesknewthatSidneywasn’tsleeping,butbythispoint,itwasprettyself-explanatory.
‘Didtheysayanythingmoreabouthishead?’Bridgetasked,puttingdowntheplateandcomingtositwithGwen.Thebruisinghadn’tseemedtoobadatfirst,butwhenthey’dcutawayallhishair–Gwenhadcriedwatching,asiftheywerecuttingallofherhair,notthatitreallymatteredcomparedtoeverythingelse–hisheadhadlookedoddlyswollen,andtheexpressiononthephysician’sfacehadn’tgivenGwenmuchhope.
‘No,’Gwensaid.‘Theydidn’tsayanything.’Andthensheburstintotears.
Shedidn’tseeAgnesleavetheroom,becauseshecouldn’treallyseeanything–shefeltBridget’shandsonherthough,tentativelysmoothingherhairawayfromherfaceandstrokingherback.Gwenreachedforher,feelingfoolishandlostandsmall,andfoundherselfbeinghauledintoBridget’sarmsproperlysothatshecouldcrythere.
‘Youneedsleep,’Bridgetsaideventually,whenGwen’ssobshadgonemorethewayofsniffles.‘Bed.’
Gwenallowedherselftobesteeredintoherbedroomandsatdownontheendofherbed;shewatchedthroughblurryeyesasBridgetknelttountieGwen’sboots,easingthemoff,preciseandcareful.Gwen’shearthurt,watchingher;sheleanedforwardtokissher,andBridgetcaughtherbythewrists,holdinghersteady.
‘That’snotsleeping.’
‘Stay,’Gwensaid,knowingshesoundeddesperateandonlyslightlycaring.‘Please.’
BridgetconsideredGwen;shemusthavelookedcompletelypitiful,becauseamomentlatershewastakingoffherownbootssothatshecouldclimbupontothebed.
Itshouldhavebeenawkward,butGwenwastooexhaustedtocare;shelaydown,andBridgetlaydownnexttoher,bothfullyclothedandstaringupatthecanopyceiling.
‘Idon’tevenlikehim,’Gwensaideventually,andBridgetlaughedquietly.
‘Hegrowsonyou.’
‘Likemould,’saidGwen.‘Likeoneofthoseplantsthatstranglestrees.’
BridgetturnedherheadtolookatGwen,herexpressionknowing.‘Keepslanderinghimifit’llmakeyoufeelbetter.’
‘Itwon’t,’saidGwen.‘Canwetalkaboutsomethingelse,please?’
‘Likewhat?’
Gwenshrugged.‘Anything.’
Bridgethummedthoughtfully.‘Iwonagainyesterday.Atthelists.It’sasfarasI’veevermadeitinaroyaltourney.Onlyafeweventsleft.’
‘Youdid?’Gwensaid,turningoverontoherelbowsoshecouldlookatBridgetproperly.‘That’s–that’swonderful.Youshouldhavetoldme.’
‘Itdidn’tseemimportant,considering.’
‘Well,itis.You’reincredible.GlorytoHouseLeclair,honouruponyourfamilyname,etcetera,etcetera.’Bridgetlaughedquietlyupattheceiling.‘Hasanybodyelseinyourfamilyevercompeted?’
‘No,’Bridgetsaid.‘Myfatherwouldhave,buthehasakneeinjuryfromabadfall.AndHouseLeclairhasonlybeenaroundforthreegenerations,sothereisn’taparticularlywidepoolofapplicants.Mygrandfatherpickedthenamehimself.’
‘Oh.Didn’thewanttouseaTainame?’
‘Theydon’thavefamilynamesinSukhothai.IthinkhechoseLeclairfromabook.’
‘Whichone?’
‘TheBigBookofVaguelyFrench-SoundingNames,’Bridgetsaidseriously,makingGwensnortwithlaughter.‘IdohaveaTainickname,butitmeansfrog,soI’dratheritdidn’tcatchonatcourt.’
‘Frog?’
Bridgetgaveherahardlookandrefusedtoelaborate.‘SirMarlinwasknockedoutyesterdaytoo,soitwasanexcellentdayallround.’
‘Good,’saidGwen,thinkingoftheKnifehavingtoleaveCamelotindisgraceandfindingthatitinstantlyliftedherspirits.‘Bridget,ifyouwonthetournament,wouldthatbeit,foryou?Wouldyoufeellikeyou’ddoneit?’
‘Whatdoyoumean?’Bridgetsaid.Withoutherseemingconsciousofit,oneofherhandshadfoundtheendofGwen’sbraid,andwasveryslowlypullingitloose.
‘Imean…’Gwensaid,slightlylosingtrackofhertrainofthoughtasBridget’sfingerstuggedgentlyatherhair.‘Imean,wouldyoustoptouringthetourneysallyear?Find…somethingelsetodo?Itcan’tbeeasy,thewaypeopletreatyoubecauseyou’reawoman.Iimagineitmustgetquitewearing.’
‘No,’Bridgetsaid,herfingersbrieflystilling.‘No,Idon’tthinkI’dstop.Ienjoyit.It’salotofhardworkforverylittleglory,butyoucanfindjoyevenintheworstandthemostmundanepartsofit,ifyouapproachthemwiththerightattitudeandsurroundyourselfwithgoodpeople.Besides,IknowI’mnotthebestIcanbe,yet.I’dliketogetthere.’
TherewasabriefsilencewhileGwenponderedthis.Shewastryingtogatherthecouragetosaysomething,andfeltherheartstarttobeatveryrapidly,arushofbloodinherears,assheopenedhermouthtodoit.
‘What’sgoingtohappenwhensummerisover?’
Bridgethadfinishedunpickingonebraid,andmovedontoasecond.‘Iimaginewe’llthrowconkersatSidney’shead.’
‘I’mserious.’
‘SoamI.Thoughitwon’tbeaparticularlychallengingtarget,hisheadisenormous.’
Gwenpulledawayfromherhandtositupright.‘Bridget.Whensummerisover,andthetournamentisover,andeverybodyleaves…’
Bridgetlookedupather,impassive.‘Whatareyouaskingme?’
‘Idon’tknow.’
‘Whatdoyouwantmetosay?’
Gwenthrewupherhands.‘Idon’tknow!’
‘Yesyoudo,’Bridgetsaid,calmandinfuriatinglycorrect.
‘Fine,’saidGwen.‘Fine.Iwantyoutostay.Stayatcourtwithme.’
Bridgetclosedhereyesforamoment;whensheopenedthem,Gwenfounditdifficulttolookather.‘Staywithyouanddowhat?’
Gwenshruggedhopelessly.
‘Beyour…lady-in-waiting?’Bridgetsaidevenly.‘Wearnicedressesandgotodancesandwatchyoufromacrossthehalleverynightatsupper?’
‘No!Imean–yes,youmighthavetodosomeofthat.Allright,allofthat.Butwoulditreallybesobad?’
‘Wedon’tevenknoweachotherthatwell,Gwen,’Bridgetsaid,insuchakindandunderstandingtonethatGwenwantedtopunchsomethinginanimate.
‘ButIlikewhatIdoknowaboutyou.Iwanttoknowmore.Ifyouleave…wewon’tevengetthechance.Tournamentswillalwaysbethere,youcanputthemoffforayearorso,youcan—’
‘Let’snottalkaboutthisnow,’Bridgetsaidsoftly;toGwen,itsoundedlikeadeathknell.ShehadassumedthatBridgetfeltexactlythesamewayasshedid,butsuddenlyshehadnoideawhy.Alltheyhadbeendoingwaskissing–alotofkissing,whenevertheycould,preciousminutessnatchedinquietcornerswhereGwenlostherselfentirelyinBridget’sgentlemouthandfirmgrip–butthatdidn’tmeanBridgetreallylikedher.Thethoughtofthis–thatshehadmisjudgedeverything,rightfromthestart–feltlikebeingplungedintoicewaterandlefttheretoburn.
‘Iwanttotalkaboutitnow,’Gwensaid,tryingtokeephervoiceascalmasBridget’swas,andfailing.‘Woulditreallybesobad?Tostopcompetingforawhile?Toseeifwemight…besomething?’
Bridgetsighedupatthecanopy,scrubbingahandacrossherface.‘Yes.Yes,itwould.Iwant…morethanthat,frommylife.I’vebeenfightingforthatforaverylongtime,I’vehadtobruiseandbreakmyselfandbleedforit,sowhatyou’reoffering…I’msorry.Icareaboutyou.Butit’snotenoughforme.’
Gwenlaybackdown,feelingleaden.Shesqueezedhereyestightlyclosedandfeltfreshtearsbreakfreetoslideslowlydownherface.
‘ButIknowwhatIwantnow,’shesaid,hervoicecracking.
‘Gwen,’Bridgetsaid,reachingforherhand.‘Summerisn’tover.I’mstillhere,andI’llbebacknextyear.IcouldcomeatChristmas.’
‘Christmas?’Gwenwhispered,horrified.‘Ican’twaituntilChristmas.’
‘Pleasedon’tcry.Just–comehere.’
GwenallowedherselftobepulledintoBridget’sarms,butshefeltcompletelyunmoored,evenwhenBridgetpressedakisstothetopofherheadandtoldheragaintogetsomesleep.Shewantedtorespondproperly,totrytoarguehercase,butshewasexhaustedandheartbrokenandreally…whatelsewastheretosay?Bridgetwasn’tgoingtostay.Bridgetdidn’tfeelthesamewayabouther,andneverhad.Ithurtandhurtandhurt,eachsecondsuddenlysteepedwithmelancholy,asiftheywerealreadysayinggoodbye.
ItseemedlikeGwenhadonlyjustdriftedoffwhenshewaswokenbyafranticknockingatthedoor–sheexperiencedamomentofconfusion,followedbyherstomachdroppingthroughthefloor.Itfeltasifitcouldonlybebadnews,andshewaslight-headedwithpanicasshescrambledoutofbed,Bridgetclosebehind–butwhenshereachedtheouterchamber,shesawthatSidneyhadalreadybeenadmitted,andwascurrentlyenthusiasticallykissingAgnesbythefire.
‘What?’Gwensaid,andtheybrokeapart.‘Don’ttellmeyouknockedlikethatbecauseyouwerejustsodesperatefor—’
‘Feverbroke,’Sidneysaid,grinningather;shefoundherselfsmilingback,hereyesjustasmistyashiswere.‘Theythinkhe’sgoingtobeokay.’
‘Feverbroke,’Gwenrepeated,sittingdownheavilyinachair,Bridgetlettingoutalongwhistleofreliefbehindher.
Hewasgoingtobeokay.
Ifnothingelseinherlifewasgoingtogoright,perhapsitwasworthit,justforArthurtolive.
AgnesandSidneywerealreadykissingagain.TheystoppedgivingArthuranythingatallforthepain,ortohelphimsleep.Herealisedthatthey’dcuthimoffwhenhespentanentiredayawake,Sidneysittingstoicallyattheendofthebed,unsmiling,sayingnothingwhenhemadedemands.Heragedandragedagainstthephysician,triedtodraghimselfoutofbedtoreallymakeapointofit,butallthey’dgivehimwasendlessbroth.
Gwenvisitedandinsistedonhugginghim,eventhoughhewasgrumpyandsweatyandgenerallyunpleasanttobehold.
‘Getoff,’hegrunted,unabletodefendhimself.‘You’reembarrassingyourself.’
‘Idon’tcare,’Gwensaid,smilingathimfondly.‘God,I’msogladyou’restillalivetobehorribletome.Itwon’tlast.Getyourdigsinnow,whileyou’reallpatheticandIfeelsorryforyou.’
Sheinsistedonhugginghimagainbeforesheleft.Hebreathedintheclean,now-familiarsmellofherhair,andfeltstrangelycalmer.
Hegotbetterinincrements,thedaysbeginningtotakeshapeandform.Heevenvoluntarilydranksomedamnbrothintheend,eventhoughitwaslateatnightandtheservinggirlhadbeensentaway,andSidneyhadtospoonitintoArthur’smouthhimself.
‘Thisisweird,’Arthursaid,asSidneyusedonehandtotilthisheadupandtheothertofeedhim.
‘I’vebeendoingthisforweeks,’hesaid.‘ItwasweirderwhenyouhadnoideawhoIwas,orwhataspoonwas.’
‘Right,’Arthursaid,takingadeepbreath.‘SoIsupposeitwasn’ttheghostofmydeadmothercradlingmeandcleaningmeandweepingallovermefornightsonend.’
‘No,’Sidneysaidgrimly.‘Thatwasme.D’youwantsomewine?’
‘No,’Arthursaidquickly,surprisinghimself.Thethoughtofitturnedhisstomach,butitwasn’tjustthat.‘No.Ithink…mightbeasgoodatimeasanytotrylifewithout.Seeingasitwasnevermuchhelpbefore.Whatdoyouthink?’
‘Christ,’saidSidney.‘Isthatallittakes,toknocksomesenseintoaperson?Ineedaheadinjury.’
‘Youareaheadinjury.’
Sidneyeventuallyfellasleepinthechair,whichlookeduncomfortable;Arthurwokehimupbyshoutinghisnameasloudlyashecould–which,asitturnedout,wasn’tparticularlyloudly–andtoldhimtogoandsleeponahorizontalsurface.Helookedasifhemightbeabouttoargue,butthenshruggedandwalkedintotheadjoiningroomtocollapseontohiscot.
Arthurtookthisasagoodsign.Ifhewereinanyimminentdangerofdying,Sidneywouldn’thavefallenasleepatall.
Hourslater,asArthurlayawakefeelingsimultaneouslyexhaustedandasifhe’dneversleepagain,heheardthedooropen.Heknewwhoitwasbytheirfootstepsalone.He’dcertainlyheardthemenoughbynow.
‘You’reup,’Gabrielsaid,seemingsurprised.HelookedsotenseanddrawnintohimselfthatArthurwantedtoreachupandpushdownhisshoulders.
‘Notbymostdefinitionsoftheword,’Arthursaid,andGabrielgaveahumourlessexhalationofalaugh.
‘Areyouinpain?’hesaid,sittingdowncarefullyinthechair.
Arthurtriedmovinghislimbsexperimentally.Itfeltlikehewasdraggingthemthroughthicktreacle,buttheydidn’thurt.
‘No,’hesaid.‘Just…feellikeI’vebeenstampeded.Byhorses.Extremelylargehorses.’
‘Andthatdoesn’thurt?’
‘Thestampedewasamonthago.’
‘Ah,’saidGabriel.‘Right.’Hedidn’tseemtoknowwhattodowithhimself.Hecertainlywasn’tlookingatArthur.‘Yourfatherishere,’hesaideventually.‘Isawhimatdinner.Isupposehecametoseeyoutoday.’
Arthurdidn’tthinkhehaditinhimtofeelangry,buthemanageditanyway.Hisfather–here.Hisfather,insidethecastle,presumablytovisithisdeathlyillson,butinexplicablyabsentfromhisbedside.Hesimultaneouslywantedtoragehiswaythroughthehallwaysuntilhefoundhim,andaskforhimtobebarredfromenteringtheroom.
‘Notyet,’wasallhesaid.
‘Well…’saidGabrieluselessly.
‘HowdoIlook?’Arthurbitout.Gabrielreluctantlylookeddownathim.Hisexpressioncouldhavebeenmistakenfordispassionate,ifnotfortheslighttighteningofhiseyes.
‘Wethoughtyouweregoingtodie,’hesaidquietly.‘Ithoughtyouweregoingtodie.’
‘Yes,’Arthursaid,tryingtositupalittlestraighterandmanagingitatanagonisinglyslowpace.‘Well.Ididn’t.’
‘Ididn’tthinkI’d–thatI’dgetthechancetospeaktoyou.’
‘Anythingyouwanttogetoffyourchest?Thelasttimewespokeproperly,Irecallyousayingsomethingaboutnotwantingmearound,andyethereyouareagain—’
Hestoppedtalkingabruptly,becauseGabrielhadshiftedinfinitesimallytowardshimandputapainfullygentlehandtohisjaw.Arthurstayedperfectlystill,everynerveinhisbodyseemingtomigratetohischeek,sothathecouldfeeltheminutedetailofthepadsofGabriel’sfingersonhischeekbone,hischin,thecornerofhismouth.Gabrielconsideredhimforanothersecondandthenleaneddowntokisshim.Itwasinfuriatinglysoft,justthefaintestbrushofhislipsagainstArthur’s–thereforasecond,andthengoneagain.Arthurtriedtochasehimashepulledaway,reachingoutforhimwithashakinghandtobringhimbackandforcehimtostaythere,butGabrieljustinterlockedArthur’soutstretchedfingersinhisandtookadeep,steadyingbreath.
‘Sorry,’hesaid,lookingdownattheirhands.
‘Forwhichpart?’Arthursaid,pressinghisthumbintothecreasesofGabriel’spalm.‘Before?Orthis,now?’
‘Allofit,’saidGabriel.
‘That’snotreallytheanswerIwaslookingfor,’Arthursaidfaintly,closinghiseyes,suddenlytoobone-tiredtolookatanythingatall.Theysatinsilenceforamoment.
‘IknowthatyouandGwenthinkthisshouldbesoeasy,’Gabrielsaidquietly,asifhe’dbeenplanningtoforsometime.‘Nowthatwehave…whatwehave.Thoseletters.Butitwouldn’tbeeasy.I’dhavetogivethemtomyfather.I’dhavetoexplaintohimwhy…whytheymattersomuch.Tome.ToGwen.Andhe’sagoodman,Arthur,buthe’skeepingthiscountrytogetherbyathread,andhe’snotgoingtothrowallofthatawayforsomethinglikethis.’
‘Youdon’tknowthat,’Arthursaid,hismouthdry.‘BecauseIdon’tthinkyou’veevereventriedtotellhimwhatyouactuallythink.Whatyoureallywant.’
‘That’snotfair,’Gabrielsaidinstantly,butthenhesighed.‘Maybenot.Butitwouldbeanenormousbattletopick.AndI’mnotbravelikeyou.LikeGwen.’
‘Ha!’Arthursaid,withsuchvolumethathesurprisedthemboth.Lucifer,whohadapparentlybeensleepingattheendofthebedagain,lookedupinannoyance.‘I’mnotbrave.Idon’tknowwhatgaveyouthatidea.’
‘Arthur.Comeon.You…yougoafterwhatyouwant.Youdon’tletanythingstopyou.What’sthat,ifitisn’tbravery?’
‘Somemightsay–yoursisterchiefamongthem–thatit’sstupidity,’Arthursaid,raisingahandtomeetLuciferashestalkedupthebedlookingresentful.‘I’maselfishbastard,Gabe.Idoitallforme,andwhenthingsdon’tgomyway,I’m…deeplyunpleasantaboutit,asyou’vediscovered.That’snotbravery,it’sjust–ego.AndI’macowardwhenitmatters.You’dneverfindmereallyriskingmyneckforanybodyelse.That’snotwhoIam.’
Gabrielconsideredhim.‘Ithinkyou’rewrong.Idon’tthinkthat’swhoyoureallyareatall.’
‘I’mafraiditis,’Arthursaid,tryingtolaughbutfindinghimselfincapable.‘I’maself-centred,arrogant,worthlessexcusefora—’
‘Whotoldyouthat?’Gabrielsaidinsistently.Arthurfaltered.
Heknewtheanswer.Hejustdidn’twanttosayitoutloud.
‘Well,aren’tweasorrypair,’hesaidshakilyinstead.Hesquintedtowardsthewindow;itwasgettinglighteroutside,thecloudspickedoutingreyandgold.‘Isupposeyou’llneedtobeoff.’
‘What?’Gabrielsaid,confusedbythissuddenchangeofdirection.
‘Sun’snearlyup,’Arthursaid,smilingtightlyathim.‘We’reoutoftime.’
HewantedsobadlyforGabrieltodisagreewithhim–totellhimthathe’dstay–buttheytrulywereapairofcowards;Gabrielleft,andArthurdidn’tdoathingtostophim.Itwassohotduringthelastweekofthetournamentthatspectatorskeptpouringaleonthemselvestocooloff,whichledtoaratherunfortunateolfactoryexperienceasitmingledwiththegeneralfugofsweatandhorsemanure.
GwenwastheretowatchBridgetjoust.Itwasthelastdayofeventstodeterminewhowouldmakeitthroughtothefinalmelee,andthestandswererowdywithanticipation.Boththekingandqueenhadmadetimetoattend,andweresittinginalltheirstatetryingtoignorethefliesthatplaguedcommonersandroyaltyalike.Gwenhaddebatednotgoing,consideredsulkinginherroominsteadorgoingtobotherArthur,butintheendshecouldn’tstandtomissit–tositelsewhereandbeagitatedandcrotchetyasshewonderedwhatwashappeningatthetiltingrail.
AverychildishpartofherhadwantedtostayawayjustsothatBridgetwouldnoticeherabsenceandmissher.UnfortunatelyitwasexactlythesortofthingBridgetwouldseerightthrough,soinsteadGwenputonasagesilkdressandsatwithhermotherandheldherheadhigh.Shethoughtshewasdoingafairjobofpretendingtobesomebodymatureandreasonable,andnotsomebodywhohadcriedherselftosleepthenightbeforethinkingabouthowemptylifewouldfeelbythetimewintercame.
Bridget’scompetitorwasferocious,anenormousknightwholookedlikehecouldn’thavebeenunseatedbyadirecthitfromabatteringram.Theyeachshatteredalanceduringtheirfirstrun,Bridget’shorsealmostlosingitsfootingduetothesheerforceoftheircollision,andGwenalmostjumpedupoutofherseatbeforerememberingherself.Bridgetcalmedherhorseasshetookupanewlance,andthensetoffthunderingtowardsthegiganticknightagain,butitwasalloveramomentlater;shehadtoducktoavoidtheriskofdecapitationastheendofhercompetitor’slancesnappedalmostcompletelyinhalfagainsthershield,andshedidn’tlandablowatall.Thetrumpetssoundedforthewinner,andGwenwasalreadystanding.
‘Gwendoline?What’swrong?’thekingsaid,turninginhisseatandfrowningoverather.
‘Nothing.Well–actually,Ifeelabitfaint,’shesaid,pressingahandtoherforehead.‘Fromtheheat.I’mjustgoingto…’Shewavedahanduptowardsthecastle.
‘Go,’saidtheking,smilingwearily.‘IknowyourmotherandIhaveneglectedourtournamentduties,butyouareofficiallyrelieveduntilthefinale.Getsomerest.You’vehadalotonyourmind.’
Gwenreallydidintendtowalkbackuptothecastle,butatthelastmomentsheveeredrightinstead,towardsthecompetitors’encampment,aguardswearingunderhisbreathashehalfjoggedafterher.Thetentswereswarmingwithknightshalf-armouredandshoutingfortheirsquires.ShestoppedonetoaskwhereshemightfindLadyLeclair.
‘Littleoneontheend,yourhighness,’saidapink-facedsquire.‘Youcan’tmissit,it’s–well,it’stheonlyonewithaladyinit.’
ShelefttheguardstandingoutsidethetentandenteredtoseeBridget’ssquireatherside,tryingtorelieveherofherarmourasshepouredwaterdownherthroat;whenshesawGwenenter,shehandedtheflaskbacktohim,wipedhermouthwiththebackofherglovedhandandsaid,‘Leave.’
‘But,you’resupposedto—’
‘Neil,’shesaid,inatonethatinvitednoargument.‘Leave.’
‘Well,fine,’Neilthesquiresaidcrossly,‘ifyouwanttogetrusty.’Hefussedaroundfarmorethannecessaryputtingtheflaskaway,thengaveGwenabriefandwide-eyedlookofappraisal,beforescurryingoutpastherandlettingthetentflapfallbackintoplacebehindhim.
‘Hello,’Gwensaidawkwardly.
Bridgetjustnodded.Shewasstilltryingtocatchherbreath.
‘Sorryyoulost.’
Bridgetstartedtakingoffhergloves,andthenhervambraces,throwingthemoneatatimeintoanopentrunk.
‘Hislancewaspre-cut,’shesaid.‘That’swhyitsplitsoneatly.Hewascheating.’
‘What?’saidGwen,instantlyoutraged.‘Weshouldsaysomething!’
‘Nah,’Bridgetsaid,shuttingthelidofthetrunksothatshecouldsitonitandunbucklehergreaves.‘I’llsoundlikeasoreloser.TheGrandMarshalmusthaveseen,itwasn’tcleverlydone,butifhedidn’tsayanythingthen,he’snotgoingto.Itdoesn’tmatter–Iknowthetruth.It’sjustonetournament.’
‘Howcanyoubesocalmaboutit?’Gwensaid.ShehadknowntheGrandMarshalwashardlyasaint,buttoallowoutrightcheatingattheking’stournamentwasnominoroffence.Bridgetshrugged.Asshebentdown,anecklaceswungfreefromherneck;aplainsilverchainwithadarkstonependant.Gwenhadneverseenitbefore.‘What’sthat?’
‘What?’Bridgetsaid,glancingup.‘Oh.It’s…Elainegaveittome.Forprotection.Apparentlyit’smagic.’
‘Ofcourseitis,’Gwensaid,watchingasBridgetcaughtitandtuckeditaway.‘Doyouneedhelp?Withyourarmour?’
‘No,’Bridgetsaid,pullingalargerpiecelooseandplacingitcarefullyonthetrunkbesideher.‘Icanmanagemostofit,andNeilwilldotherest.’
Intheensuingsilence,GwenfullyrealisedwhathadbeensetinmotionthenightArthur’sfeverhadbroken.Itwasclearfromthesuddendistancebetweenthem,theslightcoolness,thefactthatBridgetsuddenlyfeltuntouchable.
Summerwasn’tover–butwhatevershe’dhadwithBridgetalreadywas.
‘Whenwillyouleave?’shesaid,tryingtoswallowdownthenauseathathadriseninherthroat.
Bridgetputdownthearmourshewasholding.‘Afterthefinalmelee.I’llgohomeforawhile,getsomerest,eatsomerealfoodandtrainwithmyfather,andthenI’mtravellingtoatournamentinCumbria,meetingsomefriends.Areyoucrying?’
‘No,’Gwensaid,eventhoughsheprobablywas.
‘Gwen,’Bridgetsaidgently;shesoundedsad.Good,thoughtGwen.‘Webothknewthiswas—’
‘Pleasedon’t,’Gwensaid,hervoiceshaking.‘Ireallydon’twanttohearit.Maybeitwasstupidofme,butIthoughtthis…meantsomething.Itdidtome.ObviouslyIwasmistaken.Ifeelsuitablyfoolish.’Shewasdefinitelycryingnow,tearsrollingsteadilydownherface.Bridgetlookedstricken.
‘Itmeantsomethingtometoo,’shesaid,andGwenlaughed.
‘Notenoughtostay.’
Bridget’sjawwasworking,asifsheweretryingveryhardnottorisetothis.Shefailed.‘Youcantellyourself,ifyoulike,thatIshowedupandflirtedwithyou,andkissedyoubackwhenyoukissedme,andledyoutobelievethatIwouldstayforeverifyouonlyaskedme–andthenturnedaroundandbrokeyourheart.Iknowthat’swhatyouthinkishappeningrightnow.ButIdidn’tsaynotoyou,Gwen.Isaidnotogivingupmywholelifetowaitaroundformomentswithyou,wheneveryoucouldsparethem.That’snotwhoIam,andit’snotwhatIwant,andIthinkthat,givensometime,you’llrealisethatitisn’twhatyouwanteither.’ShegotupandtriedtotakeasteptowardsGwen–butGwensteppedback,knowingthatifBridgettouchedherrightnow,allwouldbelost.Bridgetsighed,lettingherhandsfalltohersidesindefeat.‘I’llseeyounextsummer.’
‘Fine,’Gwensaid.Andthenshefled.
ThelastthingGwenwantedtoseeassherushedthroughthecourtyard,eyesblurrywithtears,wasoneofBridget’sfriends;shereluctantlysloweddownasElaineapproached,lookingbright-eyedandcheerywithasmearofflouronherforehead.
‘Ihavesomethingforyou,’Elainesaidearnestlywithaquickcurtsy.‘Bridgetsaidyourfriend…yourbetrothed,Imean–shesaidhe’sdoingmuchbetter.’
‘Oh–yes,thankyou,’Gwensaid,attemptingtosmile.‘Thankyousomuchforallthefood,Elaine.’
‘Oh,it’snothing–andthisisn’tfood,’Elainesaid,reachingintoherpocketandpullingoutalittlepackage.‘They’reprotectivewards.IhadtheladiesfromtheMorganameetingshelp.GiveittoArthur,allright?IalreadygaveonetoBridget,forthetournament.’
‘Ah,’Gwensaidwoodenly.‘Right.Thenecklace.’
‘It’snotanecklace,’Elainesaidbreezily.‘It’saspell.Or–Ithinkitis,anyway.Justhavehimwearit.’
‘Iwill,’Gwensaid,closingherhandtightlyaroundthepaper.‘Thanks,Elaine.’
Elainepeeredatherthoughtfully.‘Hmmm.PerhapsI’llmakeyouoneaswell.Youdon’tlookatallwell.’
Gwenjustnodded.ShemanagedtoholdherselftogetheruntilElainehadleft,andthensheturnedtowardsthestables,walkedascalmlyasshecouldintoanemptystall,andthensatdownonanupturnedbucketandletherselfburstintotears.Shefeltlikeherchestwasbreakingopen,tectonicshiftsexposingthesoftest,mostvulnerablepartsofher.Shehatedthatshe’dcriedonBridget’sshouldersooftenwhileArthurhadbeenunwell;thatshe’dletherguarddowncompletelyandmadeitclearhowmuchsheneededBridget,whenallthewhileBridgetmusthavejustbeenhumouringher,holdingherhandtogetherthroughit,onefootalreadyoutthedoor.
Voicessuddenlyflaredupjustoutsidethestall;Gwenstoppedcrying,holdingherselfverystill,dreadingdiscovery.Insteadofretreating,thevoicesgrewcloser,andthensheheardadoorswingingopenandslammingshut.Somebodywasinthestallnexttoher;twosomebodiesandahorse,Gwensurmised,afteraquickfoot-and-hoofcount.
‘Isthisreallynecessary?’hissedaman’svoice,soundingasifhehadjuststeppedinsomethingunpleasant.HisvoicewasvaguelyfamiliartoGwen,butshecouldn’tquiteplacehim.
‘Idon’tcaretobeoverheard.Now–whatexactlyhaveyoulearnedsinceSkipton?’asecondmanmuttered,asthehorseshuffledwarilyinthehay.
‘There’snoneedtotakethattonewithme,’saidthefirstman.
‘I’veheardrumoursthatyouhavemisledusaboutthenatureofyourrelationshipwithyourson–thatinfact,hedespisesyou,’saidthesecondmansharply.‘Thatoutsideofthisfarceofamarriageheopenlydefiesyou,andhisloyaltieslieelsewhere—’
Gwensuddenlyfeltlight-headedandsick.Sheleanedtowardsthewall,tryingnottomakeasound,bothwantinganddreadingtohearwhatLordDelaceymightsaynext–becauseshehadplacedhim,now.ItwasArthur’sfather,andherownfarcicalmarriagetheywerediscussing.
‘Ha!Thatisalie.Andonewe’vetoldconvincingly,ifit’ssowidelybelieved.Hecamehereundermyinstruction.Hewritestomeoften.Herecentlyobtainedprivate,personalinformationthatIbelievewillproveinvaluable.’
‘Whatinformation?’
‘Well,Ican’tpossiblydivulgeeverything,youunderstand–let’sjustsaytheprinceisveryunhappywithhiscurrentcircumstances,foravarietyofreasons.HeintendstoabandonCamelot,decamptoTintagel–diverthugeamountsofgoldintohispetprojects,leavingthecountryundefended.Heandtheprincesshaveproventobe…extremelymalleable.’
Footstepswereapproachingfromtheotherendofthestables;aservantwascoming,whistlingtohimselfashewalked,andGwenheardbothLordDelaceyandhisconfidantmakeahastyexit.Gwenstayedwhereshewas,staringdownatthepackageinherhands;eventuallyshegotstifflytoherfeetandwalkedoutintothecourtyard.
Shestoodthereforsolong,hermindracing,astrangeringingsoundinginherears,thateventuallyastablehandcametoaskherifsherequiredmedicalattention.
Intheend,itwasalmosttooeasytofindproof.Arthurwassleeping,darkcirclesunderhiseyes,thechairthatusuallyheldSidneyempty;Gwenhadhopedthatitwouldbeimpossible,thatshe’dfindnoevidenceatall,butallshehadtodowasquietlysiftthroughthemessystacksofpapersonhiswindowsilluntilshefoundalettersigned‘TheHonourableLordofMaidvale’.
Shereadtheletterthreetimes,justincasetherewassomenuanceshehadmissed–somethingthatcouldundoallthis,fixit,makeituntrue–butitwasallthere,inscrawlingblackink.
Itwaslikeapunchtothegut,anditleftherdizzyandreeling.Inthenextroom,sheheardArthurmovingaroundinhissleep,andshegatheredherselfandfledbeforehecouldwakeupandseeherthere.
Gabrielwasn’tinhisroomswhensheknockedforhim,soshewalkedwithleadenfeetdowntothelibraryandtracedherusualpaththroughthestacksuntilshefoundhiminthecorner,booksandledgerspiledsohigheithersideofhimthatitlookedlikehehadbeenmethodicallybuildinghimselfafortress.Shehadtotakedownahandfulofbookstoslidetheletterthroughtohim.
‘What’sthis?’hesaid,frowningdownatitandcarefullypushingtheinkwellasidetomakeroomasheunfoldedit.‘G?Wait–haveyoubeencrying?’
Gwencouldn’tanswer.Shesimplysatdownonthechairnexttohim,putherheadinherhandsandbracedherselfforimpact.Arthurawoketoaverystrangesensation.Hecouldn’tpinpointitatfirst,butheknewforcertainthatsomethingwasvery,verywrong.Itseemedtobemorningoutside,whichmadesense–ifhecranedhisneck,hecouldseeSidneyasleeponhiscotinthenextroom;sofar,sonormal.
Itwasonlywhenhesatupinbedandreachedforadrinktowethisparchedlipsthatherealisedwhatitwas.
‘Sid,’hecalledscratchily,clearinghisthroatandthentryingagain.‘Sidney.Comehere.’
‘Wha—?’Sidneysaid,fallingoutofbedandattemptingtogettohimevenashisblanketstwistedaroundhim.‘Whassappening?’
‘Startagain,’Arthursaid.‘Retraceyoursteps.Youhavetogetoutofbedbeforeyoucandoanythingelse.You’recurrentlytryingtobringthebedtome.’
‘Right,’Sidneysaid,floppingbackontohisbedlikeafishbeforemanagingtoextricatehimselfandrushingtoArthur’sside.‘What’swrong?’
‘Well,’Arthursaid.‘That’sthething,isn’tit.Lookatme.’
‘Iamlookingatyou,’Sidneysaid,hiseyesdartingalloverArthurasifsearchingforsomenewinjuryorevidenceofimpendingdeath.‘Youlookfine.’
‘Exactly,’saidArthur,nodding.‘Ifeelfine.DareIsay–IthinkIamfine.’
‘What?’Sidneysaid,lookinggenuinelybaffled.‘Thatcan’tberight.’
‘Watchthis,’Arthursaid.‘I’mgoingtodoatrick.’Hepushedoffthecovers,thenpulledhimselfuprightandswunghimselfaroundsothathewassittingontheedgeofthebed.
‘Jesus,’Sidneysaid,impressed.‘Whatelsecanyoudo?’
‘Well,Idon’tknow,’Arthursaid,astheybothstareddownathislegs.Theylookedthinnerandropierthanusual,lesssturdy,andhewasn’tentirelysurethey’dholdhisweight.Hetriedanyway,andfoundthemtobestrangelyshakyanduselessunderneathhim;Sidneycaughthimbeforehemadeamessofhiskneecaps.
‘Goodtrickthough,’Sidneysaid,tryingtogethimbackintobed;Arthurwashavingnoneofit.
‘Theonlywaytogetbetteratwalkingistowalk,’hesaid,throwinganarmaroundSidney’sshouldersandleaningheavilyonhimashisthighsstartedtoshake.‘Solet’swalk.’
TheycompletedafewverywobblylapsaroundtheirchambersbeforeSidneyinsistedondepositingArthurinachairandcallingforbreakfast;thenoveltyofitall,ofbeingabletositoppositeSidneyatthetableandspillrunnyeggalldownthefrontofhimselfandnibbleatpiecesofbreadandlaughalmostasifitwereanyotherday,madeArthurfeelgiddy.
‘WeshouldcallforGwen.ShowherwhatIcando.She’llprobablyweepwithjoy,poorlamb.Actually–whereisGwen?Ihaven’tseenheror…well,nobody’svisitedmefordays.’
‘Yeah,’Sidneysaid,wipingcrumbsfromhismouthandleaningbackinhischair.‘Funnything,that.TriedtogoandseeAggieyesterdayafternoonwhenyouwereconkedoutandthebloodyguardwouldn’tletmeintotheroyalwing.’
‘Odd,’saidArthur.‘Mightbeasecuritything.’Hedroppedhisknife,andwhenSidneytriedtograbitforhim,heheldupahandtostophimandinsistedondoingithimself.Asheleaneddown,henoticedasmallbrownpackageonthefloor,asifithadbeendroppedandforgotten.‘What’sthis?’
‘Dunno,’Sidneysaid,followingArthur’snodandthenleaningovertopickitup.Heunwrappedthepaperandextractedalongpendant.Theybothwatchedthecutblackstonerotateslowlybetweenthemattheendofitschain.‘I’veseenthesebefore,they’remeanttobe…Idunno.Charms.Spells.Theykeepyousafe.’
‘Well.Excellent.Isupposesomebodybroughtitasagift,’Arthursaidcheerfully,takingitfromSidneyandloopingitoverhishead.‘Ilikeit.It’shardandblack,likemyheart.’
‘Yourheartissoftandyellow,’saidSidney.‘Likemarzipan.’
‘Ihavetheheartofalion.Andthelegsofahorse.I’mgoingbacktobed,buttomorrowlet’sshoweveryonewhattheseshapelypegscando.’
Hefeltevenbetterthenextmorning;shattered,withachinglimbsasifhe’drunamarathonratherthantakenahundredstepsaroundthesamefifteen-footradius,butitwassuchanoveltytofeeltiredfromphysicalexertionthathewasinanextremelygoodmood.Noteventhesightofhiscloselycroppedhairinthemirror,orthefactthathecouldnowbarelybendhiswrist,wasenoughtoputadamperonthepurejoyofbeingsomewhereotherthanhisbed.Hehadneverfeltsoemotionalaboutachairbefore.
Itwasslowgoing,thebusinessofgettingbackonhisfeet,buthewaspoweredbydeterminationandthestrange,insistenttwistofanxietyhefeltinhisguteverytimeSidneyattemptedtogleananynewsfromtheroyalwing,andheardnothing.
‘Whatthehellisgoingon?’Arthurdemanded,whenSidneyreturnedonceagainwithoutnews.
‘Iwouldn’tworry,’Sidneysaid,obviouslyveryworried.‘Focusongettingallyourpartsinworkingorderandthenwe’llsortitout.’
HereportedbacktoArthurthatthecastlewasabsolutelypackedwithpeople;hundredswereturnedawayeveryeveningfordinnerintheGreatHall,andthecrowdsattendingthetournamentastheyapproachedthefinalewereenormous.
‘AndIsawyourfather,’Sidneysaidhesitantly,astheysatdowntoeatdinneronthedayArthurmanagedtowalkthelengthofthecorridoroutsidehisroommostlyunaided.
Arthurtriednottowince,butrealisedtoolatehe’ddoneitanyway.‘Joyofjoys.Didheofferanyexplanationastowhyhehasn’tbeenuphereyet?Anoteexpressinghisconcern,perhaps?’
‘Er…’saidSidney.‘No.Hepretendedhehadn’tseenme,actually.’
‘Ofcoursehedid,’Arthursaid,sighing.Itwasaparticularlyfrustratingconundrum;hehadabsolutelynodesiretoseehisfather,buthisimagined,shadowyprogressaroundthecastlebeneathArthur’sfeetwasalmostasintrusiveasifhewerestandingintheroom.‘Andtheothers?’
‘Haven’thadareplytothosenotesyet,’Sidneysaid,throughamouthfulofbread.Increasinglyannoyedbythelackofvisitors,ArthurhadaskedhimtosendmessagestoGwenandGabriel,informingthemthathewasoutofbed,andhadexpectedthemtoappearimmediatelytorejoiceinthemiracle;inamomentofmadnesshe’dalsoaskedSidneytodeliveronetoBridget.Thathadbeenyesterdaymorning;theyhadallgoneunanswered.
‘It’sstartingtofeelsomewhatpersonal.’
‘Nah,’saidSidney,impressivelyunconvincing.‘They’reprobablyjustbusy.Withthetournament.’
‘Let’spaythemavisit,shallwe?’Arthursaidsuddenly,tryingtogetupandmanagingmoreofanundignifiedstumble,duringwhichhehadtograbontothetableforsupport.
‘What,now?’
‘Yes,’Arthursaidinsistently.‘Now.’
‘Youhavetoletusin,’Arthursaidtotheleastthreatening-lookingguard.
Hiseyesdartedsideways,andthenhegaveaminuteshrug.‘Can’t.’
‘Well,whynot?’Arthurasked,tryingtolookintimidatingandprobablyonlysucceedinginlookingabitmiffed.
‘Youdonothaveaccesstotheroyalwing,’saidadifferentguardwithanimpressivemoustache.
‘Underwhoseorders?’Arthurdemanded.
‘Theprincess,’saidtheunthreateningguard;themoustachioedonenarrowedhiseyesathim,asifhe’dsaidsomethinghewasn’tsupposedto.
‘Letmetalktoher,’Arthursaid.‘Thisisclearlyamistake,we’llhaveitfixedina—’
Twoverysharpswordsweresuddenlywithinscratchingdistanceofhischin.
‘Oi!’Sidneysaid,pullingArthurroughlybackwards.‘Noneedforanyofthat.We’llbegoing.’
‘But,’Arthursaid,twistinginSidney’sgrip,‘iftheyjust—’
‘Ifyoudon’tcomewithmenow,’Sidneymutteredsternly,‘I’lljustwalkoffandleaveyouhere.Andyoucan’treallystanduponyourown,soyou’lljustflopstraightoverandliehereonthefloorwagglingyourlimbsintheairlikeadyingbeeuntilsomeoneelsetakespityonyou.So.Youcoming?’
‘Fine,’Arthursaidbelligerently,allowinghimselftobepulledaway.‘But–takemetothelibrary.’
Thelibrarywasapparentlynotincludedinthepartsofthecastlethathadbecomemysteriouslyoff-limits;therewas,however,apairofverylistlessguardsstandingatthedoor,whichconfirmedArthur’ssuspicionsaboutwhomightbewithin.
‘Ineedyoutodistractthem,’hesaidtoSidney,duckingoutofsight.‘Just–getthemawayfromthedoor,andI’llslipinside.’
‘You’ll“slipinside”?’Sidneyscoffed.‘Yougoingtoslitherinonthefloorlikeasnake?’
‘Ifneedsmust,’Arthursaid,withasmuchdignityashecouldmuster.
‘Fine,’saidSidney,lookingresigned.‘Whichdistraction,doyoureckon?Numberfour?Numbersix?’
‘Modified1.5,’Arthursaid,grinningathim.
‘Ihatemodified1.5,’Sidneysaiddarkly,buthegamelywalkedaway.Arthurwaitedforaminuteortwoashetookthelongwayaround,andthenhereappearedatthefarendofthehallwayasifcomingfromthecourtyard,anddramaticallylistedsideways,swearingandhalfcollapsingtotheground.
‘Allrightdownthere?’oneoftheguardscalled,clearlythrilledthatsomethingvaguelyinterestingwashappeningonhisshift.
‘OhGod,’Sidneymoaned.‘Idon’tknow,Idon’tknow–whatsortofrashdoyougetifyouhavealover’sdisease?’
‘Alover’s…?’theguardsaid,exchanginganamusedlookwithhiscounterpart.
‘Just,Idon’tknowifyoucangetit,doingwhatwedid–ohGod,it’sgonesuchanunnaturalcolour,Ithinkitmightbeabouttofalloff—’
‘Falloff?’Distraction1.5neverfailed;hilariousanddisgustinghumanmiserywastoostrongalure.Theguardsglancedbackintothelibrarytochecktheirchargewassafelywithin,andthenheadedforSidney,intentonseeingwhatmayormaynotbeabouttodetachitselffromhisperson.
Arthurdidn’thavetoslitherintotheroomlikeasnake,butitdidtakeratheralotoutofhimtogetthroughthedoorbeforetheyturnedaround.Onceinside,hesloweddown,leaningontheshelvesforsupport;hegrappledhiswaytowardsthebackcorner,whereacandlewasburninglow.
‘Boo,’hesaidflatly,whenGabrielglancedupinalarmfromthebookhewasreading.Helookeddreadful–asifhehadbeentheoneillinbedforoveramonth.
‘Whatareyoudoing?’Gabrielsaid,closingthebookandimmediatelylookingaround,asifforbackup.
‘That’safunnywayofsaying“Gladyou’renotdead,Arthur”,’Arthurreplied,tryingtosteadyhimselfasdarkspotsencroachedonthecornersofhisvision.
‘Youcan’tbehere,’Gabrielsnapped.ItwassounexpectedthatArthur’smouthdroppedopen;hewasunsurewhetherthepaininhislungswasduetooverexertionorthefactthatGabrielwaslookingathimlikehewassomehorrifyingspectre.
‘Tellmewhat’sgoingon,’hedemanded;Gabrielstoodup,andactuallyseemedtobackawayfromhim,furtherintohiscorner.
‘Howdidyougetpasttheguards?’
‘Oh–killedthemallincoldblood,obviously,’Arthursaidincredulously.‘Ididn’tdoanythingtothem.Sidney’sdistractingthem–withalittlesomethingwecallthe“bachelorindistress”.’
‘Leavenow,’Gabrielsaidslowly,‘orI’llcallthemtohaveyouremoved,Arthur.Stayawayfromme,stayawayfrommysister—’
‘Areyoupossessed?’Arthurshouted,accidentallyknockingoneofGabriel’sbookstotheground,andfeelingahorridjoltofuneasewhenGabrielflinched.‘WhathaveIdone,Gabriel?BecauseIdon’tunderstand.Tellme—’
Gabrielhadn’tneededtocallfortheguards;Arthur’sshoutinghaddonethejobforhim.Theycameupbehindhimandgrabbedhimquiteforcefullybythearms.Whatlittlestrengthhadpoweredhimtothelibrarywaslongspent,andhedidn’tevenattempttostruggleastheystartedtodraghimaway.
‘Gabriel,’hesaid,knowinghewaspleadingnowandfindinghedidn’tcare.‘Please.Comeon.Shit.Please.TellmewhatIdid.’
Gabrielsaidnothing,hisfacestricken.Inthelamplight,helookedstrangelyyoung–notlikeafuturekingatall,justaboy,beingswallowedwholebythedustandthedarknessandthethousandsofwordsofhistoryclosinginallaroundhim.Onemoreday.
Gwenjusthadtomakeitthroughonemoreday,andthenthetournamentwouldbeover;Bridgetwouldbegone;thepeoplefillingthecityofCamelottotherafterswouldstarttomaketheirwayhome.Herlifewouldshrink,andsheandGabrielcouldsitdownandworkoutwhatonearththeyweregoingtodoaboutArthur.
Theletterhadspelleditalloutforher,damninglyclear.TheDelaceyshadplannedthistogether;herfriendshipwithArthur,hisclosenesswithGabriel.Arthurhadbeensenttocharmthem.Itwasallpolitical,agame–andsheandGabrielhadwalkedrightintoitwillingly,readytospilltheirsecretsthemomentsomebodyshowedthemtheslightestbitofkindness.
AfterGabrielhadreaditforhimself,she’dtoldhimexactlywhatshe’doverheard–LordDelacey’sbragging,Gabriel’ssecrethopesforthefuturelaidbare.Hehadsatforatleasttwominutesincompletesilencegoingovertheletteragain,Gwenfeelingasifsheweregoingslowlymadasshewaitedforhimtosaysomething,untilhehadsuddenlycrumpleditinhishand,lookedupatherandsaid‘Well.That’sthatthen.’
‘Howcanyoubesocalm?Heknowseverythingaboutus.MeandBridget.You,and—’
‘Yes.’Gabrielwasverypale.‘Hedoes.Butlet’sthinkaboutthisrationally.Hisfatherwon’tusethisinformationnow,becausehestillwantsyouandArthurtomarry.LordDelaceylikestofeelpowerful,andIknowFatherhasbeenbrushinghimoff–hewantsmorethanFatheriswillingtogive.’
‘Howdoweknowhewon’tuseitnow?Hewastellingthatmanplenty.’
‘Helikestolethismouthrunawayfromhim,buthe’snotgoingtoruinthechancetomarryArthurintoroyalty,’Gabrielsaid.‘That’sthehighestpositionavailabletohim,andweknowthat’swhathe’safter.No…Ithinkhe’lluseitlater.Forleverage.Hecanholditaboveourheads–andFather’s–wheneverhepleases.Useittogetahighertitle,perhaps,orapositiononFather’scouncil.’
Gwenputherheadbackinherhands,whereitfeltlesslikelytofalloffhershouldersandplummetrightthroughthefloor.‘OhGod.DowehavetotellFatheraboutthis?’
Gabrielrosetohisfeetveryslowly,asifeveryligamentinhisbodywereresisting.‘No.Notyet.HemightnoteventellFather,hemightcomestraighttome.Ijustneedalittletimeto…thinkthisthrough.’
‘Gabe,’Gwensaid.Hewasapproachingallofthiswithcarefulpragmatism,asiftheyhadn’tbothbeenthoroughly,ruthlesslybetrayedintheworstwaypossible.‘You’reallowedtobe…Idon’tknow…angry.Upset.Whathedidtoyou…’
Gabrielsighed,rubbingathisforeheaduntilitlookedpinkandpainful.‘Yes.Fine.Iambothofthosethings.Butmorepressingly,Ineedtoworkoutwhatwe’regoingtodoaboutthis.’
Theybothlookeddespondentlydownattheletter.
‘Howcouldhedothis?’Gwenwhisperedintothesilence.
Neitherofthemhadananswer.
Aclean,brightragehadcomeoverGwenthatnight.Shehadtoldtheguardsthatcircumstanceshadchanged,topreventSidneyorArthurfromsnoopingaroundtheroyalquartersattheirleisure,andthencorneredAgnesintheladies’solarandtoldhertoceaseallcontactwithSidneyimmediately.
‘WhywouldIdothat?’Agneshadsaid,chinliftedindefiance.
Gwenhadgivenherabriefsummaryofevents,buttoherutterdisbelief,Agneshadrefusedtoacceptherexplanation.
‘Itmustbeamisunderstanding,’shekeptsaying,shakingherhead.‘Ifyou’djusttalktohim—’
‘I’mnotgoingtotalktohim!’Gwenhadshouted.‘I’mnotgoingtogivehimachancetowormhiswaybackintomybrainwhenI’vejustmanagedtogethimout.He’sobviouslyavery…averyskilledliar,averygoodmanipulator–I’mnotgoingtotalktohim,andneitherareyou.Toeitherofthem.’
‘Isthatanorder?’Agnessaid,hereyesglossywithfurioustears.
‘Yes,Agnes.It’sanorder,’Gwensaid,turningandmarchingfromtheroom.
Asshelaysleeplesslyinherbedthatnight,countingdownthehoursuntildawnandthefinaldayofthetournament,shewonderedwhatBridgetwouldsayifsheknew.Shepicturedherthere,lyingnexttoGweninthegloom,thetwoofthemtalkinginthekindofhushedtonesonlyusedbetweenpeopletentativelymappingthefoundationsofeachotherinthemiddleofthenight.
Whenshe’dfinallyslept,shehaddreamedofCamelotsilentandempty,besiegedbyenormousdriftsofsnow.
Onemoreday.
GwenhadneverseensomanypeoplepackedintothecourtyardsofCamelot.Astheydescendedtowardsthetournamentstands,thetruescaleoftheturnoutbecameapparent.
‘Ican’tbelievetherearethismanypeopleinEngland,’shesaidtoGabriel,whohadjoinedherasshewalkedundertheportcullis.‘Whataretheyalldoinghere?’
‘It’satournament,’Gabrielsaiddisinterestedly.Gwenlookedathimproperly.Shewasconvincedhehadn’tsleptawinksincetheyhadreadArthur’sletter,andoneglanceathimseemedtoconfirmhersuspicions.
‘Youlooklikehell,’shesaid,andhedidn’tevenattemptasmile.
‘Let’sjustgettodayoverwith,’hesaidgrimly.‘Andthenallthesepeoplewillleavethecity,andI’llhaveroomto–tothink.’
‘Gabe,areyou…’shesaid,reachingouttoputahandonhisarm,buttheirlittlecavalcadehadsuddenlycollidedandmergedwiththekingandqueen’s.
‘Hullo,Gwendoline,’herfathersaid,givingheranabsent-mindedkissontheheadbeforestraighteningup,squaringhisshouldersandascendingthestairstotheroyalstands,hisfamilyintow.Gwencouldn’thelpbutscanthemakeshiftrowsinfrontofthecompetitors’encampment,whichwerepopulatedbyahandfulofknightswhohadn’tmadethecutfortheday’sevent.Manyhadleft,helmsandpridesdented,buttherewerestillafewstandingshoulder-to-shoulderontheleftsideofthegrounds.Shewishedherhearthadn’tjumpedsoviolentlyinherchestatthesightofBridget,whowasstandingattheveryend,dressedinsoftbrownsandwhites,talkingtoanotherknightandshieldinghereyesfromthewaterysun.
Themeleewasthegrandfinaleofthetournament;aftermonthsofcompetition,thehighest-rankingknightsweretogatherintwoteamsandfightuntiltheGrandMarshaljudgedthebattleoverandcalledtostop.Fromthevictoriousside,thekingwastochoosetheultimatewinnerofthetournament.
Excalibur–Gwencouldn’thelpbutheartheword‘Nine?’whenshelookedatit,inArthur’sincreduloustone–wassitting,freshlypolishedandgleaming,awaitingpresentationtothewinner.Theweatherwasbeingsuitablydramatic,thewindchivvyingthecloudsalongsothatthegroundskeptalternatingbetweenweaksunshineandgloom,bannersandflagswhippingviolentlyagainsttheirrestraints.
Thecrowdwaschatteringexcitedly,thetensionsothickGwenfeltstrangledbyit;shewasjustsettlingintoherseatwhenGabrieltouchedheronthearm.
‘LordWillardishere,’hemutteredinherear.
Sureenough,herfather’scousinwassittingintheraisedstandsopposite,wheretheyhadcrowdedsomeofthenobilityduetooverflow,watchingthem.Hesawherstartledglance,andgaveheraperfectlypoliteandperfunctorynodofgreeting.Hishairwaslongerthansheremembered,andhewasgrandlydressedinsilverandblack.
‘Whatonearthishedoinghere?’
‘HeandFatherhavebeenmorecordiallately–hewrotetowarnaboutanuprisinginthenorth,’Gabrielsaid,shrugging.‘Isupposehewasinvited,ashealwaysis,anddecidedtobefriendly.’
Thisdidn’tquitemakesensetoGwen;afterall,Willard’sonlyrealstakeinthetournamentwastheKnife,whowasnolongercompeting.
‘Who’shetalkingtonow?’Gwensaid,narrowinghereyes.‘Isthat–Arthur’sfather?’
‘Yes,’Gabrielsaidquietly.‘Yes,Ibelieveitis.’
TheLordofMaidvalewasstandingatLordWillard’sshoulder,talkinginsistentlyinhisear.Thesightofthetwoofthemwiththeirheadstogetherstirredavaguememory,butGwencouldn’tquitegrabholdofit.
‘Gabe,didwehaveaconversationaboutLordDelaceyandLordWillard?’Gwenasked,frowning.‘Ifeelliketherewassomething…’
Gabrieljustshookhishead,barelylistening.
Therewassomething,Gwenknewit.Somethingaboutatrip,orameeting…forsomereasonshethoughtofLordStafford,andthensuddenlyitclickedintoplace.
‘SkiptonCastle.Gabe,wasn’tWillardseenatSkipton?’
‘Yes,’saidGabrielslowly.‘ButStaffordlookedintoit,andhehasfamilynearthere.Therewasnoreasontosuspectanythinguntoward.’
‘But–inthestables,themantalkingtoArthur’sfather…hesaidthatLordDelaceyhadbeentoSkipton.’
‘Areyousure?’
‘Yes,’Gwensaidimpatiently.‘Yes,hesaid…“WhathaveyoulearnedsinceSkipton?”Surelythatcan’tbecoincidence.WhatwouldArthur’sfatherandLordWillardhavetotalkabout?WhywouldtheybothhavetravelledtoNorthYorkshire?’
Gabrielshookhishead.‘Idon’tknow.Perhapsthey’refriends.’
ButGwenwassuddenlyseeingtheconversationinthestablesinanentirelynewlight.Surelytheexchangeofidlegossipdidn’trequiresuchconfidentiality–andifLordDelaceyhadattendedsomesortofmeetingatSkiptonCastle,ameetingkeptsecret,fromwhichhehaddepartedwithinstructionstogathermoreinformation…
‘Father,’Gwensaid,standinguptotrytocatchhisattention.‘Father.’
‘Notnow,Gwendoline,’hesaid,dismissingherwithawaveofhishand–butGwenrefusedtobedismissed.
‘Father,please–yourcousinishere.LordWillardissittingrightoverthere,look.’
Thekingdidn’tappeartheleastbitsurprised.‘Iknowhe’sthere,Gwendoline.Keepyourvoicedown.Hewasinvited,andhasdecided,onthisoccasion,totakemeupontheoffer.We’retryingtokeepupfriendlyrelations,ashowofunityatthisdifficulttime,sopleasestoppointingandshoutingabouthimandsitdown.’
‘But…’Gwensaid,glancingwithoutmeaningtobackatLordWillard,andfindingthathewasstilllookingdirectlyather.‘Whyisheonlyherenow,attheendofthetournament?And–he’stalkingtoArthur’sfather.He’stalkingtoLordDelacey.’
‘And?’thekingsaid,soundingexasperated.
‘And–Ineedtotellyousomething,’Gwensaid,hervoicereducedtoanervoussortofhigh-pitchedtrill.‘I…IrecentlydiscoveredthatLordDelaceywrotetoArthurandaskedhimtokeepaneyeonus.HewantedArthurtoingratiatehimselfwithus–withGabeandme–andreportbacktohim.’
Herfathershrugged.‘Andwhyshouldn’the,Gwendoline?He’sgoingtobeyourhusbandafterall.AndweallknowLordDelaceyisoverfondofknowingthe–ah–particularsofeverythingthatgoesonatcourt.Now–’heloweredhisvoice,soundingstern–‘sitdown.’
‘But–listen,that’snotall,’shesaid,notsitting.‘LordDelaceywasatSkiptonCastlerecently.JustlikeLordWillard.’
‘MycousinwasseennearSkipton,’thekingsaid.‘NotatSkipton.AndStaffordconfirmedwithtwosourcesthathewasvisitingfamily.Themanissoparanoidaboutuprisingsinthenorth,he’dcertainlyhavespokenupifhethoughtnobleswereconveningsecretmeetings.Pleasesit,Gwendoline.Twopeoplemayvisitaplacewithout—’
‘Youdon’tunderstand,’Gwensaid.‘Iwasthere,Iheardhimtellingsomebody–ifyou’djustheardthewayhewastalking,Ithink—’
Shewascutoffbythesoundoftrumpets,anelaboratefanfarethatwentonforsolongthatherfatherhadaskedhertwicemoretositdownbythetimeitended.Shefinallycomplied,throwingherselfbackintoherchairandexchangingalookofdesperationwithGabriel,whojustshruggedhelplessly.
Asteadystreamofknights,theirarmourpolishedandtheirweaponsfreshlysharpened,wasenteringthesmallarena.Cheersandboosgreetedeachone,andtheyraisedtheirswordsandshooktheirfistsinreturn.Thecrowdwasravenous,boiling;insomeplacesitlookedasifthestandsmightfailcompletely,splitattheirseamsandsendthespectatorspressedupagainstthemtumblingdownintothefreshlyrakedsand.
Thenoisewasreachingfeverpitchasthelastofthecompetitorsappearedandtheystartedsplittingintotheirtwoteams,denotedbyaknottedhandkerchiefineitherregalblueorknife-slashredabouttheirwrists.Itallseemedgood-natured,ifalittlerabid,whichdidn’taccountforhowantsyGwenwasfeelingassheshiftedinherseat;thecheersandscreamsgratedonhernerves,andherfingertipskeptjumpingagainsttheguardrail.ShechancedaglanceoveratBridgetandsawthatshewaslookingback,frowningslightlyasifshe’dbeenwatchingherexchangewiththeking.
‘Idon’tlikethis,’shesaidinGabriel’sear.Hestilldidn’tseemquitewithher,asifsleephadgivenuponwaitingforhimandcometoclaimhimthenandthere.‘Gabe.ThisthingwithWillardandDelacey.Itfeels…off.’
‘IfFatherisn’tworried…’Gabrielsaid,trailingoff.‘Youcouldgobacktoyourroomstorest.I’lltellFather–I’llsayyouwereunwell.’
‘No,’Gwensaid,turningherfrustrationonherbrother.‘That’snotit,Gabe,it’snotjusta…Wait.’Shehadturnedbacktolookatthetwoteamsofcompetitors,nowarrangedinrelativelyneatrowseithersideofsomeinvisiblelineinthesandGwencouldn’tsee.‘Wait,is–where’sArthur’sfathergone?Gabe,payattention.WherethehellisLordDelacey?’‘We’vebeendoingthisallsummer,’Sidneysaidtothesurlyguardatthetournamentgrounds.Arthurhadnoticedthatthey’dbeenspendingalotoftimebargainingwithguardslately;itfeltlikeawasteoftheirmanytalents.‘Comeon.’
‘Can’tdothat,’saidtheguard.Hewasblockingtheonlyentrancetotheroyalstands,andArthurquitedesperatelyneededtobeontheothersideofhim.SidneyflexedhishandsatArthur’sside;hisknucklescrackedominously.
‘Well–whynot?’Arthursaid.‘WhatonearthhaveIdone,specifically,toincuryourwrath?Iwanttogotothetournament.Ilikewatchingpeoplehiteachother.Ifyoudon’tletusthrough,I’llgladlydemonstrate,withthehelpofmyslightlyunhingedfriendhere.’HeknewwithoutlookingthatSidneywasrollinghiseyes.
‘Lotofpeopleheretoday,’saidtheguard,ignoringhisthreat.‘Security’stight.’S’notpersonal,boy.LordStaffordsaidnobody’stocomethroughthisentranceexcepttheroyalfamilythemselves.’
‘I’mgoingtobeintheroyalfamilyinamatterofweeks,’Arthursaidthroughgrittedteeth.‘Comeon.EverybodyknowswhoIam.Justletmethrough,Ineedtoseemy–mybetrothed.’
‘Sorry,pal.Generalstandsarefulltoo,soyouwon’tgetinthere,’saidtheguard.Arthurdidseriouslyconsiderdoingsomethingverystupidforafewseconds,butSidneyseemedtosensehisrapidlyincreasingappetiteforchaos,andpulledhimgentlyaway.
ItwasSidney’sfaultthattheywerehereanyway.AfterthealtercationinthelibraryArthurhadbeenperfectlycontenttolieinhisbedandstew,wonderinghowhecouldhavepossiblyruinedeverythingbetweenhimselfandtheroyalsiblingswithoutevenleavinghisroom.Perhaps,hethoughtwildly,theweddinghadbeencalledoffforsomereason?Maybethekinghadchangedhismindand,nowthattheywerefreefromobligation,GwenandGabrielhadbeenextremelyrelievedtocuthimoffatthefirstopportunity?
Sidneyhadinsistedthatitwasn’tsimplythatArthurwasaninnatelyunloveableperson,asheoftensuspected,andhadfinallyshedhisreluctanceanddemandedthattheygoinsearchofanswers.
‘Thisis,quitefrankly,bullshit,’Arthursaidnow,noticingthathewasleaningheavilyonSidneyandmakinganefforttostraightenupandbearmoreofhisownweight.
‘Chill,’Sidneysaid,steeringArthuraroundtheperimeterofthetournamentgrounds.‘Betyouagoldnobletheguardscarealotlessaboutwhogetschummywiththecompetitors.’Hepointedtotheentrancethatledtotheknights’tentsandenclosures.
‘Youdon’thaveanoble,’Arthursaid,buthewaspleasedtodiscoverthatSidneywasright;therewasn’tevenanybodystandingguardattheentrance,andwhentheygotinside,itwasalmostdeserted
Sidneyjerkedhisheadtowardsthearena.‘Hearthat?Reckonthey’reabouttostart.’
Thecrowdwasindeedgrowingloudereverysecond,andtheypickeduptheirpaceasmuchastheycould,Arthursettinghisjawagainstthepain.
‘Sotheplanis…’hesaid,breathingheavily.‘Outthroughthecompetitors’entrance–don’tgetdraggedintothemelee–wriggleourwaytowardsGwen.Ireckonifwecanjustgetherattention,wecan—Oh.’
Hehadwalkedstraightintohisfather.
‘Ah,’saidLordDelacey.‘Arthur.’
Arthurhadnoideawheretobeginwithhisresponse;inhisdeterminationtogettoGwen,hewascompletelybaffledbythissuddenandconsiderableobstacle.Sidney,however,gaveaquickandcurtsortofbow,takingArthurwithhim.
‘It’sfortuitous,actually,’hisfathercontinuedslowly,eyesdartingfromArthurtoSidneyandthenbackagain,‘thatIhaverunintoyou.’
‘Oddthatyoushouldsayso,’Arthursaidtightly.‘Ifyouwantedtocomeandfindme,I’veactuallybeenprettystationary.Youknow.Nearlydying.’Nexttohim,ArthurfeltSidneystiffen;quiteafewlargemenhadjustwalkedthroughtheentrance,andwerenowstandingmenacinglyatLordDelacey’sshoulders.
‘Arthur,’hisfathersaid,raisinghiseyebrowsandcontinuingtospeakasifArthurwereastraydogthatneededtobeapproachedwithcaution.‘There’snoreasontobedifficult.Comewithmenow,andI’llexplainontheway.’
‘Actually,’Arthurspat,‘Icanthinkofquiteafewreasonstobedifficult.One—’
‘Seizehim,’hisfathersaid,inatonesolightthatforamomentArthurwassurehehadmisheard.Hisfather’smenclearlyhadn’t;theyimmediatelymovedtowardshim,andSidneytookastepforward,pullingouthisshortswordandputtinghimselfsquarelybetweenArthuranddanger.
‘Er…whatthehellishappening?’Arthursaid,astwoofthemenalsoraisedtheirweapons,andSidneymovedbacktoaccommodatethem,hisshoulderspressedagainstArthur’schest.
‘Getoutoftheway,’Arthur’sfathersnarledatSidney.‘Ipayyourwages,boy.’
‘Nowthatyoumentionit,’Sidneysaidevenly,‘Iresign.Indisgrace.’
‘Father,’Arthursaid,hisvoicewavering.EvenSidneycouldn’texpecttoholdoffthehalf-dozenmenwhowerenowadvancingonthem,andArthurhadnodesiretoseehisheadremovedfromhisbody.‘Canwetakeamomentandgobackafewsteps?Ithinkthere’sbeensomesortof—’
IthappenedsoquicklythatArthurcouldn’thaveexplainedhowithadtranspiredwithaswordtohisthroat–andcertainlynotwithsix.Oneofthementowardsthebackofthegroupletoutanextremelyloudgruntassomethinginhisbodymadethesortofcrackingnoisethathealthybodiesshouldn’t,onthewhole–andthenhewastopplingsideways;anothermanagedtoturnandraisehisswordjustintimeasLadyLeclair,wieldingonlyadagger,broughtherarmuptomeethim.
‘Bridget!’Arthursaid,genuinelydelightedtoseeher.
‘Youseemtobe–’Bridgetgrunted,pushinghardagainstthemanwhowasattemptingtosuppressher–‘inaspotofbother.’
‘Idon’thavetimeforthis,’Arthur’sfatherhissed.‘Gethim,andlet’sgo.’
ThefirstmanwhotriedtograbArthurdiscoveredveryquicklyhowreluctantSidneywastoletanybodygetwithintouchingdistance;hewasdispatchedwitharathernastystabwoundtothethighandablowtotheheadthatsenthimtotteringsidewaysuntilhecollapsedquietlytotheground.Thesecond,thirdandfourthwerenotquitesohasty;theyattackedenmasse,anditbecameclearalmostimmediatelythatthiswasafightthatArthurandSidneyweren’tgoingtowin.
Withinapproximatelytenseconds,Sidneyhadbeenknockedfromhisfeet,aswordpressedtohisthroat,andArthurwasholdinguphisshakinghandsinsurrender.Behindhisfather,hecouldseeBridgetlockedincombatwithamuchtallermanwhowastryingveryhardtokeepoutofdagger-swipingrange.
‘Stop,’Arthursaidraggedly,asthemanwhohadSidneyathismercyliftedhisswordasiftogetabetterangleonSidney’sjugular.‘Father.Stop.I’llcomewithyou–webothwill.Sid,dropyoursword.’
Sidneyswore,butimmediatelydidashewastold,openinghishandandlettingitfalltotheground.
‘Fine,’LordDelaceysaid;themanwhohadbeenabouttokillSidneyinsteadroughlyhauledhimtohisfeet,andthenturnedhimtobindhishandscrudelybehindhisback.
‘Whatabout…?’OneofthemengesturedatBridget,whohadbeenpushedbackagainstthefencebutwasstillgivingherall.
‘Leavethem.He’llfinishher.Wemustgonow,’LordDelaceysaidimpatiently.Arthurfoundhimselfpracticallyliftedfromthegroundbythetwomen,whoeachgrabbedoneofhisshoulderstofrogmarchhimaway.
Itwasjustaswell,really;hislegshadalmostgivenoutthemomentSidneyhadbeenforcedtotheground.
Ifhisfather’smenhadn’tbeensounforgivablyrude,hemighthavethankedthemforthelift.Gabrieldidn’tseematallinterestedinthefactthatArthur’sfatherhaddisappeared.Infact,hewasn’tpayingGwentheslightestbitofattention.
‘Gabe,’Gwensaidurgently.‘Whyareyou–whatareyoulookingat?’
Gabrielwasgazingupatthestands,hiseyelinehighabovethecompetitors.‘That’s–I’msurethat’sMorgana.’
‘Morgana?’Gwensaid,momentarilyconvincedthathehadstartedhallucinatingduetoextensivesleepdeprivation.‘MorganleFay?Thewitch?’
‘No,’Gabrielsaiddistantly,stillsquinting.‘No.Morgana–mycrow.TheoneIwasraising.Ireleasedheraboutamonthago.Look,she’sontopofthecompetitors’stands–shehasthatflashofwhite,onherleftflank.’
‘Areyouevenlisteningtome?’Gwendemanded,feelingratherthanseeingherfather’seyescutacrosstoherashervoiceraisedinpitchandvolume.
‘Shelooksveryagitated,’Gabrielsaid,tiltinghisheadtoonesideinaverybirdlikeway.
‘Gabe.LookatmeIlookveryagitated,’Gwensaid.‘Willyoucomewithme?IwanttoseewhereArthur’sfatherwent.Ijustwanttomakesurehe’snot—’
‘Atthesoundofthetrumpet,’theGrandMarshalcalled,‘ourtwoteamsofdistinguishedknights–thebestthatEnglandhastooffer–willfightforhonour,forthelong-heldidealsofchivalry,andfortheirking!’
‘Notwhat?’Gabrielsaid,finallylookingawayfromthecrow.
‘Idon’tknow!Plottingsomething!Perhapshe’s…Hangon,where’sBridget?Wheredoeseverybodykeepdisappearingoffto?’
‘Readyyourselves,’calledtheGrandMarshal.‘Onthecountofthree.One…’
‘Don’tworry,’Gabrielsaid.‘We’llspeaktoFatherproperlywhenthisisdone.’
‘Two…’calledtheGrandMarshal.
Morganathecrowcawed,andthensetoffacrossthearena.Someofthecompetitorslookeduptowatchasshepassedjustovertheirheadsandthenvanishedfromsight.
‘Three…’
‘Wait,’Gwensaid,herthoughtsseemingtoaccelerateasshewatchedthefrontlineoftheknightstoherleftreadythemselvesforbattle.‘That’stheKnife.’
‘Isit?’
‘Gabe,theKnifedidn’tqualify!Heshouldn’tbethere!’Gwenstoodupnow,abandoningallpropriety,nolongercaringifherfatherwasangrywithherorifsheembarrassedherself.‘Father.’
‘Begin!’shoutedtheGrandMarshal.
GwenlookedattheKnife.TheKnifelookedatLordWillard.Inthesplitsecondbeforethehowlofthetrumpets,GwensawWillardnod.
Insteadofconvergingoneachother,mostoftheknightsturnedinunisontowardstheroyalstands.
Thereweretwoverydistinctsecondsofconfusion,duringwhicheverybodyseemedfrozeninplace;inthoseseconds,Gwenhaddonesomethingshehadneverinherlifeimagineddoingandthrownherselfbodilyatherfather,halfsucceedinginknockinghimoutofhischair.
Amomentlater,aknifethathadbeenthrownwithdeadlyprecisionfromthearenahadstruckthewoodenpostjustabovethethrone–andchaoswasunleashedfromalldirections.
Gabrielandhermotherweresuddenlyonthegroundnexttoher.Gwenpressedherselfintothewoodenboards,hereyessqueezedshutasshebracedforthestingofaknifeorasword.Numerousbootsthunderedpastherasherfather’sguardmovedtowardsthefray.
‘Move!’herfatherwasroaringinherear.‘Youhavetomove!’
Gabrielhadherbytheshoulder,waspullingheralongastheyhalfcrawledtowardstheexitoftheroyalstands;thereweresomanypeoplescreamingandshoutingthattheybecameawordlesswallofsound,anoisethatGwencouldn’thaveimaginedinherworstnightmares.Shefeltasplintercatchinherforearm,hereyeswateringinpainassomebodyhauledhertoherfeet;somehow,miraculously,theyhadmadeitoutbeforeanybodycouldbreachthestand.
‘Bridget,’Gwenchokedout.‘Gabe,Gabe,Idon’tknowwheresheis,Ineed—’
‘Go,’shoutedherfather,moretotheguardsthantoanybodyelse;atleasttwentyofthemhadformedaprotectiveringaroundtheroyalfamily,butGwenwasstillpushingagainstthem,mindlesslyattemptingtomovebacktowardstheviolence.ShethoughtofBridgetouttheresomewhere,withnoarmouron.Bridget,whowouldsurelyratherriskdeaththanwalkawayfromafightlikethisone.
‘Comeon,’Gabrielshouted,pullingathershoulder.
Gwencastonelastdesperateglanceoveratwhatshecouldstillseeofthetournamentgroundsthroughthestands–peoplefleeing,swordsclashing,bodiescrumpling–andinthatmomentshesawBridget,completelyimpossibleandyetentirelyreal,puttingherfootupontothewoodenrailwhereGwenhadbeensittingjustmomentsago.
Inoneswiftmovementshereachedover,graspedthehiltofExcaliburNineandpulled.
Theswordslidneatlyout,witharingingraspofmetalonstonethatGwenheardevenoverthemayhem.
Bridget’seyesdartedacrosstowhereGwenwasstandingbutdidn’tseemtoseeher;shejustwipedasleeveacrossherbloodiedforeheadbeforejumpingbackdownintothefight.
TherewasnothingmoreGwencoulddoexceptletherselfbeborneaway,acrossthedrawbridgeandbacktowardsthecastle.
Theywerecrossingthethresholdwhenitbegantorain.
‘Theymusthavebeenfillingupthecampsforweeks,’SirHurst,theCaptainoftheGuard,wassaying,asthekingwasstrappedintohisarmour.Theywerestandinginherfather’swarroom,hiscouncilaroundhim–oratleastthosewhohadmadeitbackfromthetournamentgrounds.Gwenknewshewasonlystillinthisroom–sittingbythedoor,herhandsshakinguncontrollablyagainstherknees–becausenobodyhadnoticedthatshewasinthere.‘Noonethoughttomonitortheattendees,there’sbeennoreasontosuspectinthepast…It’sbeenbusier,yes,butthetournamentispopular.They’vebeenconcealingthemselvesinplainsight.Thestandswerehalffulloftraitors.’
‘Andwe’re…sureitwasWillard?’saidGwen’smother,lookingstunned.
SirHurstduckedhishead.‘Yes,yourhighness.Hewasseengivingorders.’
Thekingbreathedinandoutslowlythroughhisnose,clearlytryingtokeephistemperincheck.
‘Hellfireanddamnationtotraitorouscousins.’
‘Wesenthimcasksofwine,’thequeensaidfaintly.‘Onhisbirthday.’
‘Andhowisitthatmostofthebestknightsoftherealmalsohappentobemurderousturncoats?’thekingasked.
SirHurstwinced.‘Ibelieve–SirBlackwood,theGrandMarshal,wasbribed.Weknowhegambles,buthisdebtsmustbeworsethanweimagined.Itwouldhavebeeneasyenoughforamaninhispositiontomismatchopponents,overlooklancesthathadbeentamperedwith…’
‘Damn,’saidherfathersoftly,hishandcurlingintoafistandthenquicklyreleasingagain.‘Allright.Wherearewenow?And–wherethehellisStafford?Didhemakeitinside?’
Somebodyrushedfromtheroom,presumablytotrytofindout.
‘Whenitbegan,’Gabrielsaid,hisvoicequietbutsteady,‘theknightswhohadn’tboughttheirplaceinthefinalerushedtoouraid,andIsawsomeofthosewatchingfromthestandsdothesame.Theyhaven’tallbeenturned,Father.Farfromit.’
Bridgethasn’tbeenturned,Gwenthought,awaveofnausearollingthroughher.Bridgetisoutthere,fightingforus
‘Howmanyofourpeoplehavemadeitbackintothecastle?’herfathersaid,ashisgauntletswereeasedoverhishands.
‘Agoodmany.They’regatheredintheGreatHall,’saidtheCaptainoftheGuard.‘Wehavehundredsfittofight,notincludingthecastleguard.’
‘Andmycousinhas?’
‘Impossibletosay–theymaynothavebroughttheirfullforcetothefirstwave.Iimaginetherewillbemorecomingfromthecampgrounds.’
‘Theguardstayshere,’thekingsaid,holdinghisarmsupsothathecouldbefullyequippedwithswordanddagger.Somebodyelsehadhurriedintotheroomcarryingyetmorearmour–itwasdroppedunceremoniouslyonthetable.Gwentriedtoplaceit;itwaspalegold,withtheroyalcrestemblazonedacrossthebreastplate.
‘No,’shesaid,turningtoGabriel,whowasstandingwithbothpalmsflatagainstthetable.‘No.Notyouaswell.’
Gabrieltriedtosmileather,butitlookedinsteadlikeanapologyshedidn’twanttoaccept.Amessengercamerushingin,hischestheaving.
‘Yourmajesty,therebelsdidn’tsucceedinpushingupthehill–they’vefallenbackandthey’reregroupingwithmoreforcesforafreshassault.’
Gabrielstraightenedup,clearinghisthroat,andthekinglookedathim.‘What?’
‘Wecould…’Hebrokeoff,swallowed,andthencontinued.‘Wecouldbringupthedrawbridge.Shelterinplaceuntilthenearesttroopsreachus.Perhaps—’
‘No,’thekingsaidimmediately.‘That’lltakedays.Ifwedidn’thavemenouttherealready,Imight–but,no.Wecannotprotectourselvesandleavethemcutoff.Camelotdoesnothide.’
‘Yourmajesty,’themessengersaidapprehensively.‘Iwastoldtoinformyou–LordStaffordiswiththem.’
Astunnedsilencefollowedthis,andthenthekingslammedahanddownonthetablesohardthateverybodyjumped.
‘Butthen…thatassassin…’Gabrielsaidslowly.Hisfatherglancedsharplyathim.‘Hewassoinsistentthatitwasjustalonewolfwithsomepersonal,inventedvendetta.Butitwouldn’thavebeentoohardforhimtohaveapersonwithillintentionshiredtotheguard.Hewasconstantlythrowingusoffthescent.Hewasoneoftheloudestvoiceswhenitcametosendingourtroopsnorth,leavingusunprotected,butwhenWillardwassightedheabout-facedandtoldusitwasallparanoia…’
‘Aftereverythingyoudidforhim,’Gwen’smothersaid.‘Afterthetrustyouputinhim,knowinghewasacultistandgivinghimachance.’
‘But…hehadplentyofopportunitiestojustkillyouhimself,’saidGwen.‘Whydidhenottakethem?’
‘Becausethemanisacoward,’SirHurstsaid.‘Isupposethatassassinwasalast-ditchattempttopreventall-outwarfare.’Heturnedtotheking,shakinghishead.‘Thisismyfault,sire.Itakefullresponsibility.Ishouldhave—’
‘Let’snotwastetimeonregretsnow,’saidtheking.SirHurstnoddedbracingly,thentookhimaside.Therestoftheroomlapsedintoanxiousmuttering.
‘Gabe,stay,’Gwensaiddesperately,asapageliftedthebreastplateofhisarmourandattemptedtosecureit.‘Somebodyneedsto,incase—’
‘G,’Gabrielsaidquietly,fumblingtohelpthepage;thesmallshakeinhisvoiceasheattemptedtobereassuringbrokeGwen’sheart.‘Ihavetogo.Weneedeverybodywecanget,andbesides,Fatherisright–howwoulditlookifwejustsathereandhid,whilewesentothermenouttofightforus?’
Gabrielwasshruggingonhispauldronssothatthepagecouldbucklehimintothem.Witheverynewpieceofarmouraddedtohim,itfeltasifGwenwerewatchinghimbeingentombed–hisnarrow,breakablebodygraduallyencaseduntilshehardlyrecognisedhimanymore.
‘Gabe,’shesaidquietly,desperatenowasshefeltthemrunningoutoftime,movingclosersothatonlyheandtheboydressinghimcouldhear.‘IfArthur’sfather–ifhewasworkingwithWillardthiswholetime,thenthatmeansArthurmusthave—’
‘Yes,’saidGabriel,brieflyclosinghiseyes.‘Yes,Iknow.Ican’tquitebelieveitofhim,thathecouldhavesatinourroomsandlaughedwithus,allthewhileknowinghewasworkingtosendustoourdeaths,but…IsupposeIdidn’treallyknowhimatall.’
‘Hedidn’tdeserveyou,’Gwensaidtearfully,grippingtheshoulderthathadnotyetbeenplated.‘Hedidn’tdeserveeitherofus.’
‘Well.Nobodydoes,’Gabrielsaid,smilingweakly;amomentlaterherhandwasbeingwavedawaysothathisarmourcouldbecompleted,andtheneverybodyseemedtobemovingatonce.Thekingsignalledforthemtoexit,andtheyallwalkedbrisklyfromtheroomanddownthestairs,aclamourofsteelandtensevoicesandbootsonstone.TheyreachedtheGreatHallandweregreetedbythesightofhundredsofmenpullingonarmour,swordsbeingpressedintohands,helmsplacedonheads.
Itwasallhappeningtooquickly.Gwenfeltlikeachildclutchingathandfulsofwater,unabletounderstandwhyitwouldn’tstoprunningthroughherfingers.
‘Gabriel,’shebegan,buthehadalreadybeenpulledintoaconversationwithherfatherandSirHurst;theyweregatheringthemenaroundthem,shoutinginstructions,andthequeenpulledgentlyatGwen’sarmtostopherfromgettingintheway.
‘Theycan’tjustdothis,’Gwensaid,expectinghermothertoagree,butshedidn’t–becauseofcoursetheycould.
Herfatherstrodeovertokisshermother,hiseyessqueezingtightlyshut;hepressedhisforeheadagainstGwen’sforonequickmoment,andallshecouldthinkwasthatwhenhewalkedaway,hisbeardwouldstillbewetwithhertears.
Gabrieldidn’tsaygoodbye.Hetried–Gwensawhimtakeasteptowardsherwithahandhalfraised–butthentherewereshoutsfromthecourtyardandherfatherclappedhishandstogether.
‘Moveout,’heshouted.
Andtheydid.Upuntilthemomentalltheshoutingstarted,Arthurhadbeenrelativelyconvincedthathisfatherwasjustbeingmiscellaneouslyunhinged;hehadbeenbothbaffledandfurious,butnotsurprised.Itdidn’tseemoutoftherealmsofpossibilitythathisfathermightjustbeinthemoodfortyingSidneyupandholdinghisownsonatswordpoint,afterall.Unlikely,butnotimpossible.
Whenheheardthedistinctivesoundsofpanic–thedeep,brassycommandofaguardshouting‘Protecttheking!’–hefinallyrealisedthatthiswasnoaimlessmidlifecrisis.
‘What’shappening?’Arthurshouted,strugglingagainsttheguardsthatheldhim,craninghisneckashetriedtocatchaglimpseofthetournamentgroundsbehindthem.‘ForChrist’ssake,whatthehellhaveyoudone?’
‘Shutup,’hisfathersaid,stridingalongbesidehim.Ithadstartedtorain,lightbutsteady,thedropspatteringloudlyonhelmsandarmour.‘Foronceinyourlife,shutupandlisten.’
‘Notuntilyoutellme—’
‘Notuntilyouquietdown.’
‘Fine,’Arthursaidbitterly,wincingashislegdragged.
‘Ihaveformedaveryadvantageousalliance,’hisfathersaid,practicallyspittingwithexcitement,hisfaceruddyandflushedbehindhisbeard.‘Analliancethatwillrestoreglorytoourhouse,andourname.’
‘Iwasabouttobemarried,’Arthursaidthroughgrittedteeth.‘Totheprincess.’
‘Youshouldbepleasedthen,thatI’vefoundabetterwayforwards,’hisfathersaiddismissively.‘Thekingobviouslythinkslittleofme,andyoucertainlyweren’tgoingtoarguemycaseorshowmepreferencedespitethefactthatweareblood,somethingyoumadeveryclearinthatdelightfulhatemailofyours–andIseenoreasonwhyIshouldwaitaroundforthescrapsofwhateverthekingwaswillingtospare.No,no–we’rebeingofferedrealpower,Arthur.Asbefitsus.WhenLordWillardtakesthethrone—’
‘Ohfuck,’saidArthur,hiseyeswidening.‘Jesus.Youhaven’t.’
‘Thinkhehas,’Sidneywheezed;he’dbeenpunchedquitehardinthesolarplexusaftertheytiedhishands,andArthurwasgladtohearhimperkingup.
‘Thisisn’tfunny,’hissedLordDelacey,roundingonhim.
‘Actually–Iagree,’Arthursaiddisjointedly,asaguardpulledpainfullyathisarmtokeephimmoving.‘It’sfarfromfunny.So,justtogetmeuptospeed,we’vejoined…
Thisisanousting?You’vesignedmeuptoacoup?’
‘Ifeverybodycooperates,’hisfathersaid,wringinghishandsashespoke,‘itwillbea–arelativelypeacefultransferofpower.’
‘Right,becausethat’sdefinitelygoingtohappen,’saidArthur.Hismindwasracing;wasthekingstillalive?WasGwen?Gabriel?Thefurthertheygotfromthetournament,walkingthroughtheeerilydesertedcampgrounds,thelesshecouldguessatwhatwashappeningbehindthem.‘Doyouknowhowembarrassingitistostageafailedcoup?Youhavetogoall-out,andthen,whenyoulose,everybodyknowsyoucompletelyandutterlyshatthebed.’
‘Shutup,’hisfathershouted,andArthurflinchedawayfromhim,unabletogoparticularlyfar.‘You’reinthisnowwhetheryoulikeitornot,Arthur.Thekingshouldbedeadbynow.’Dead?Arthur’ssupposedlyhealedribsached.‘Wearetorallythesecondwaveandleadthemintoclaimthecastle.DoasIsay–andasLordWillardcommands–andyoushallberewarded.Theremightevenbeaplaceforyouontheking’scounciloneday,ifyouplayyourcardsright.Ifonlyyouhadlistenedtomebefore,insteadofthrowingyetanothertantrum–IthoughtIhadsentyouaveryclearmessageaboutwherethatpathwouldlead,althoughIadmit,thingsmayhavegot…outofhand…’
Arthurattemptedtoparsethis.Somebodyhadrecentlytoldhimtheyhadamessageforhim,andashetriedtorecallwho,hefeltphantompainrackhisbodyagain–because,herealised,thenextmomenthe’dbeenlyingonthegroundastheykickedhisribsuntiltheycracked.
Arthur’smouthfellopen.‘JesusChrist–thatwasyou?Nexttimeyouasksomebodytodelivermeamessage,youmightwanttotellthemI’msupposedtobealivetohearit.You–youutterbastard,youprick—’
‘Itwasneversupposedtogothatfar,’hisfathersnapped,asifArthurwereoverreacting.Heratherthoughthewasunder-reacting.‘Youneededareminderofwhereyourloyaltiesshouldlie,andyouhadmadeitobviousyouwouldn’tlistentoreason.Iregretthattheywereso…enthusiastic,butthepointstillstands—’
‘I’mgoingtokillyou,’Arthurspatathim,straininguselesslyagainsthiscaptors.‘Although,hey,maybeIwon’thaveto!Doyoureallythinkthatifyouwintoday,thepeopleofEnglandaren’tgoingtomindthatyou’vebaselesslyattackedthecapitalandbumpedofftheirking?’
‘Baselessly?’LordDelaceysaid,withahumourlesschuckle.‘Arthur,you’vealwaysbeenanidiotaboutthesethings.Willardhasn’tbeenlayinglow;he’sbeenlayinggroundwork.Hisclaimtothethronehasalwaysbeenasgoodastheking’s,andhe’sbeenslowlygatheringsupportbacktohimalltheseyears.’
‘Allthoseuprisings?Inthenorth?’Arthursaid,stumblingagainandfindinghimselfyankedupbythescruffofhisneck.
‘Ha!No.Theywerenothing.Adistraction.Diverttheking’sattentionandtroopsnorthwards,leavingCamelotundefended–thathalfwitStaffordnearlylostthelastofhishairensuringthatonewentoffproperly.’
‘LordStafford?’Arthursaid,tryingtorecallthelasttimehe’dseenhim–theirconversationintheGreatHall,Arthurdrunkandmelancholyandtellinghim…
‘Yes,’LordDelaceysaidwithgrimsatisfactionastheynearedthetreeline.‘Yes,youaccidentallyprovedyourselfmoreusefulthanyou’veevermanagedtodoonpurpose.Ididhavetoembellishalittle,sothetruthofyourreluctancetobeinanywayusefultotherebelliondidn’tshameme.ItcertainlyhelpedthingsalongwithcertainfactionstohearthattheprinceplanstoabandonCamelot,runawaytotheseasideandtakeallthecrown’sgoldwithhimtowasteonbooks…’
‘That’snotwhathe–God,youmiserabletosser,you—’
‘Bequiet,Arthur,you’rewastingyourbreath.Nowthatthekingisdead,andhisheirisnext—’
Arthurinhaledsharply.‘Andwhatabouttheprincess?’
‘I’msureyourbetrothedissafe.Shehasheruses–infact,IthinkWillardplanstomarryher.’
‘Right,’SidneysaidthicklyfrombehindArthur.‘Fuckthis.’Therewasagaspandacrunchingsound,asifsomebody’snosehadjustcollidedwithsomethingveryhard;ArthurrathersuspecteditwasSidney’sforehead.Ascufflefollowed,duringwhichoneoftheguardsholdingArthuruprightabandonedhisposttokeepSidneycontained;withasuddenfiftypercentincreaseinfreedom,Arthurfinallymanagedtotwistaroundtolookbackuptowardsthecastle.
Thereweremeninarmourrunningandridingtowardsthem,swordsandfacesbloodied.Sidney,havingputupagoodfight,wasonthegroundagain.Seeingnoreasonwhyhisfathermightnotjustorderhimkilledthistime,Arthurdidthefirstthingthatcameintohishead,andlethisbodygocompletelyslacksothattheguardonlyhalfholdinghimpromptlydroppedhim.HethrewhimselfontopofSidney,bothofthemgruntingattheimpact.
‘Arthur,willyoujust—Wellmet,mylord!’
Arthur’sfacewasburiedsomewherebetweenSidney’sshoulderandhisear,butatthesoundofapproachinghoofsandhisfather’ssimperingreverence,heheavedhimselfovertolookatthenewarrivals.
TheinfamousLordWillardwassittingastrideanenormousgreyhorse,adarkcapebillowingathisshoulders,notaspotofbloodordirtonhim;theKnifewaswithhim,absolutelydrenchedingorefromheadtofoot.Arthurwatchedwithhorrorashundredsmoremenpouredfromthecopseoftreesbehindthem,armouredandarmedandclearlyraringforafight.LordDelaceyhadgonetospeaktoLordWillardinhushed,self-importanttones,leavinghissoncrumpledontheground.
‘Whatthehellarewegoingtodo?’Arthursaid,muffledbySidney’schest,feelinghopeless.Ifthekingwasreallydead–ifthey’dtakenGabrielandGwentoo–thenitwasalreadyover.
Itwasunthinkable.
‘Agnes,’Sidneymoaned.‘Ididn’teven–Ineverevensleptwithher,Art.Ifellinlovewithher,likeapillock,sonowI’mgoingtodiewhenIhaven’tseensomuchasatitsincethespring—’
‘GoodLord,Sidney,shutup,’Arthurgrunted,rollingawaysothathewaslookingupatthegreyingsky,rainfallingsoftlyonhisface.‘Shit.Thisisvery,verybad.’
‘Maybe…maybethey’renotdead,’Sidneysaid.‘They’renotstupid.Andthislothavecomefleeingback,sotheydidn’twinonthefirstpush.And–andourlothavegotacastle.’
‘Theyweren’treadyforabattlethough,’Arthursaidquietly.‘Theywerereadyforaparty.’
‘Well,thatdoesn’tnecessarilymean—’
‘Arthur,’LordDelaceysaidsharply,nudgingArthur’sfacewiththetoeofhisboot.‘Getup.Youtoo,boy.’HebentdownsothatonlyArthurandSidneycouldhearhim,anextremelyalarmingsmilefixedonhisfaceashehissed,‘Getonahorse,anddon’tmakeafoolofyourself.’Hestraightenedupagain.‘Thekingstilllives,butnomatter.’
ArthurexchangedadesperateglancewithSidney.Ifthekingstilllived,itstoodtoreasonthateverybodyelsedidtoo.
‘Wewillbeonthefrontline,’continuedArthur’sfather.‘LeadingLord–King–Willardtoglory.It’sanimmensehonour.’Hestrodeawaytomeetthemanwhowasbringingroundhishorse.
‘They’realive,’saidSidney.Arthurgavehimaweakthumbs-up.‘Although…frontlines.’Arthurflippedhishandtogivetheappropriatethumbs-down.
‘Willard’sjusthopingweDelaceysdiefirst,’hesaidbitterly,reachingovertountieSidney,who,oncefreed,putanarmunderArthur’sshoulderandheavedhimup.‘Sohedoesn’thavetoinvitemyfathertodinnerparties.’
LordDelaceyglancedsharplyoveratthem,butnobodywastryingtostopthemfromleavinganymore.Itseemedpointless;whoupatthecastlewouldn’tassumethembothturncoatsnow,aftereverythingArthur’sfatherhaddone?They’dlikelybekilledonsight.
Someonebroughtarmour,anditwasparcelledouttotheminarush.ArthurletSidneydresshim;hetriedtohelpwiththefasteningsbutfoundhishandstooshakyandfatiguedtodomuchofanything.Hewascyclingthroughtheiroptionsinhishead.First,andmostobviously,theycouldrun.Theycouldmakeabreakforitassoonastheywereahorse,fleeandwaitsomewheresafeuntiltheyknewwhohadwontheday.Eitherway,he’dlikelybeontherunfortherestofhislife,labelledatraitorbywhicheversideclaimedvictory.
Second,theycouldstayandlookoutfortheirownnecks.IfArthurdidlive,whichwashilariouslyunlikely,hesupposedhe’djusthavetoacceptwhatevermeaslylifehisfatherandWillardofferedhimfromthatpointonwards.
ButthatwasalifeinwhichGabrielwasdead;thekingtoo,andperhapsGwenwiththem–soneitherofthefirsttwooptionswoulddoatall.
‘TheythinkI’matraitor,’Arthursaidsuddenly,asSidneyledagleamingwhitehorsetowardshimandpushedthereinsintohishand.‘BecauseofwhatItoldStafford.Thatmustbewhytheywouldn’tseeme.TheythinkI’mpartofallthis.’
‘Hadbeenthinkingthatmyself,’Sidneysaidgrimly,beforegoingtofetchahorseofhisown.
‘Shit,’Arthursaidtothehorse;itstaredbalefullyathim,asifwillinghimnottodoanythingthatmightbringaboutbothoftheirdemises.
‘So–arewerunning?’Sidneysaid,eyeingupthemessylinethatwasforming,newlyarrivedhorsesbeingbroughtforwardintothemayhemwithrollingeyesandnervous,skitteringhoofs.
‘Can’t,’Arthursaid,grimacingathim.‘Youshould,Sid.ButIcan’t.’
‘Sodoff,’Sidneysaidmildly,pattinghisownhorseonitstawnyforelock.‘Fatbloodychanceofthat.’
‘Hmmm.Isupposenowwouldbeanexcellenttimeformetohavemyveryfirstidea.’
‘Yeah,keepworkingawayatthat,’Sidneysaid.HecuppedhishandstoboostArthurupintothesaddle;Arthuralmostfellbackdown,butwithafewheavesmanagedtogethimselfupontothehorse,withnoguaranteehewouldstaythere.
Arthurwasthinking,thinking,thinking.Eventually,itallseemedlaughablyclear.
‘Doyouknowwhatthefirstsignofcivilisationwas,inpeople?’
‘What?’Sidneysaiddistractedly,handingArthurasword.Hetriedtogivehimashieldtoo,butArthurcouldn’tbeartheweight,sohekeptitforhimself.
‘AshworthtoldmewhenIwaslittle,’Arthursaid,shakilysheathingtheswordonhisthirdtry.‘Theythinkthefirstsignofcivilisationwasahealedfemur.’
‘Whatthehellareyoutalkingabout?’Sidneysaid,mountinghisownhorsewithagrunt.
‘It’saboneinyourleg.’
‘Iknowit’sabone—’
‘Justaskmewhy,Sid.I’mtryingtodosomethinghere.Indulgemeinmyfinalmoments.’
‘Fine,’Sidneysaid.‘Why?’
‘Because,’Arthursaid,asLordWillardhimselfpulledaheadtothefrontoftheline,‘it’sabadbreak.Itdoesn’thealbyitself.Otherpeoplehavetocareaboutyou–bringyoufoodandprotectyouwhileyouheal–whenreallytheyshouldjustleaveyoubehindtodie.Theyhavetomakesacrificesthatmakeabsolutelynologicalsensefortheirownsurvival.Theyhavetodefyallrationality,inthenameoflove.’
Twostandard-bearerssteppedforwardoneithersideofLordWillardholdingthinscarletbanners,eachemblazonedwithablacktower.Closetothetournamentgrounds,Arthurcouldseetheking’sforcesgathering,disciplinedlinesofmenwiththeirheadsheldhigh.Hecouldalso,herealised,justaboutseetheking–hisbannermenmadehimeasytospot,lookingenormousastridehishorseevenfromthisdistance.Therewassomebodynexttohimarmouredinlight,lustrousgold,leaningforwardtocalmhisagitatedhorse.
Arthurthoughtheprobablyknewwhothatwas,too.
‘Ifeel,’Sidneysaidapprehensively,‘likethiswholefemurthingissymbolic.Becauseyoudidn’tbreakyourfemur.Andthat–thatcan’tbeagoodsign.’
‘Well,’Arthursaidquietly.‘Ifwe’regoingtodiehere,Ireckonweshouldlethistoryrememberusasreprobatesforallofthequestionablethingsweactuallydid,don’tyou?Notasfilthyturncoatsformybastardfather.’
Sidney’sgazewassteady.Henoddedjustonce.
‘Youdon’thavetofollowme,Sid,’saidArthur,reachingovertoputagauntletedhandoverSidney’s.‘Partofmewouldreallyratheryoudidn’t.’
‘HowmanytimesamIgoingtohavetotellyou,’Sidneysaidirritably,‘tosodoff.’
‘That’swhatIthought,’Arthursaid,unabletokeephimselffromsmilingfondlyatSidney,hisstomachlurchingashewonderedifitmightbeforthelasttime.‘Inthatcase,SidneyFitzgilbert–IhavedecidedtomakeaseriesofpoordecisionsinanattempttoclearmynameintheeyesofthoseIlove,mostlikelyculminatinginouruntimelydeaths.’
‘Well,’saidSidney,shakingouthisshouldersandthensettlingintothesaddle,chinstubbornlyraised.‘Goodofyoutoannounceitthistime.Usually,youjustcrackon.’Gwenwasstandingonaparapet,waiting.
Thequeenhadtriedtoconvincehertostayinside;shehadsaidthatnogoodwouldcomeofwatching,eveniftheycouldseeeverythingquiteclearlyfromthenorthbattlements,andthatitwouldbebettertooccupythemselveswithsomethingelseuntilnewscameofthecrown’svictory.Shehadpointedoutthatitwas,afterall,raining.
Gwenhadignoredher,andnowthequeenwasstandingwithherbacktothefieldandperiodicallyaskingGwenwhatwashappeningwhilerefusingtolookherself.
LordWillardseemedtohavemoremen,butfromwhatGwencouldsee,theywereinastateofcomparativedisarray;despitethefactthattheyhadbeentheonestoorganisethisambush,apparentlytheyhadbeensoconvincedofitsearlysuccesstheyhadn’tthoughtthey’dreallyneedthesecondwavetodoanythingmorethanrideinandenjoytheirvictory.
Herfather’smen,ontheotherhand,hadimmediatelyfalleninline;theyhadmarchedoutawayfromthetournamentgroundsandthenstoppedallatonce,dividedintoclearregiments,withafewhundredfeetbetweenthemandtheirattackers.Shecouldseeherfather,cladinhisdarkarmourandcloakedinblue,uprightandsteadyinthesaddle;nexttohimsatGabriel,andevenfromsofarawayandwithsomuchmetalbetweenthem,shecouldtellthathewasrigidwithterror.
He’spractisedforthis,Gwenthoughtfiercely.Hemightnotliketodoit,buthe’snotabadswordsman–he’llhaveanawfultime,andthenhe’llcomehometotellmeallaboutit
Shewasn’tworriedaboutherfather.Thisiswhathehadbeenborntodo.Hewasenormous,immoveable,completelyunstoppable;hewouldcutthroughtheirlineliketheywerebutterandreturnwithahundreddramatictalestotell.
‘Theyhaven’tstarted,havethey,’Gwen’smothersaid,inavoicethataffectedcalmbuthadatell-taleshakeinthedelivery.Itsoundedasifsheweretalkingaboutagameatthetournament,notarealbattle,anditmadeGwenfeellikeshewasgoingmad.
‘No,’shesaid,fingerstighteningagainstthebrickwork,feelingitcrumbleslightlybeneathherhandsandhopingitwasn’tanillomen.Shewasfeverishlyhotallover,andherlungsfeltshrunkenanduseless.Therewasnowheretogo;nothingtodobuttowatchandfeeleverysecondofthisdread.Theenemytroopsweretoofarawayforhertomakethemoutindividually,butshefeltasharpthrillofangereverytimesheimaginedArthuramongtheirnumber.
No,Gwenthought,hewon’tbefightingatall.Becausedeepdown,underallthatartificeandcharm,he’sacoward,throughandthrough.
‘Whyhaven’ttheystarted?’saidthequeen,soundingasifshewerebeingpersonallyinconveniencedbythedelay,andGwensighedwithbarelyconcealedfrustration.
‘Idon’tknow,Mother.Idon’tknowhowitallworks.I’veneverdonethisbefore.Idon’tknowifthey’reexpectingsomesortofsignal.Perhapsthey’rewaitingfortrumpets.Perhapsthey’llallgetboredofwaitingandgiveup,andturnaroundandgohome.’
‘Don’tbefacetious,’hermothersnapped,andGwenclosedhereyesandtookadeepbreathsothatshewouldn’tstartscreamingandnever,everstop.
Whenshewaseleven,herfatherhadgonetofightinaskirmishinthesouth-east.Thishadbeennohalf-heartedgrabforpower,notinyuprisingquicklyquelledwithafirmhandandfreshpromisesofsupportandfealty;theboatshadcomefromthesouth,andtheyhadjustkeptoncoming.
Whenherfathertoldstoriesaboutitlater,hehadskippedoverthemostgruesomeparts;hehadtoldheronlyofthebraveryoftheirmenonthebeaches,ofthefactthatbythetimeitwasover,mostoftheboatsthathadintendedtocometoshorehadsimplyturnedandfledbackacrosstheChannel.
Later,aknightwho’dhadfartoomuchwineatthevictoryfeasthadtoldherthepartsshewasn’tsupposedtohear;theyhadslaughteredsomanymenonthatbeachthatthesandhadbeenstainedpinkformiles.Herfatherhadstoodintheshallow,gentlesurf,thesalt-spraytanglinghishairandbeard,andkilledandkilleduntilthewateraroundhimwashotandredwithblood.
Fromthatmomentonwards,she’dbelookingatherfatherashesatatthebreakfasttable,orreadbythefire,orplayedgamesofchesswithheronthecoveredbalcony,andsometimeshehadsplitintwo;itwasasifoneofhereyescouldseeherkind,stern,weather-beatenfather,andtheothercouldseeamanwild-eyedwithmurder,stronganddeadlyenoughtochangethecolouroftheverysea.Shehadneverbeenabletoreconcilethetwoimagesintooneman.
Gwenknewwhyhermotherdidn’twanttowatch,butitwastheveryreasonshehadto;shehadtobesurethatthesecondmanstillexisted.Evenifherfatherfelthuman,fallible,thekingdidn’t;thekingwouldkeepthemallsafe,andbringeverybodyhome.
LordWillard’smenseemedrestless–Gwencouldseeasinglehorsemanridingalongthebackoftheirlines,presumablybringingamessage.Theyhadlosttheadvantageofthesurpriseattack,perhapsunderestimatedhowmanyguardstherewouldbeatthetournament,orhowmanyofthespectatorswouldfightbackratherthanflee;manyofthemwereherfather’smen,andhadswornfealtytohimjustthesameasanyknightorlordoftherealm,andtheyhadhelpedtobeatbacktheintruderswithwhatevertheyhadtohand.
‘It’sstarting,’thequeensaidquietly.Gwenflinched.Shehadn’tnoticedhermothercomingtostandbyherelbow.
‘Howdoyouknow?’Gwenwhispered.
‘Youcanfeelit,’hermothersaid.‘Look.’
AsingleriderfromthefrontlineofWillard’smenhadbrokenranktodosomethingveryodd.Hehadremovedhishelm,letitdropontothegrass,andinexplicablyseemedtobewrestlingoneofthebannersawayfromthestandard-bearers.
‘Whatcouldpossiblybethepointofthat?’Gwensaid.Themanhadsucceededinhistaskjustasothersapproachedtointercede,andheimmediatelyurgedhiswhitehorseforward,breakingawayfromthelineashepickedupspeedandrodealonetowardsCamelot.Anotherhorsemanhadtriedtofollow,butsomebodyelseseemedtograbthereinstopullhimback;theyweretusslingtogetherasthewould-befollowerattemptedtofreehimself.
‘Idon’tknow,’thequeensaid.‘Perhapsit’ssomesortof…trick?Adistraction?’
Gwendidn’tseehowitcouldpossiblybeatrick,butitwascertainlydistracting;nobodyelsewasmoving,fromherfather’ssideorfromLordWillard’s.Theywereallwatchingthesolitaryriderashecanteredacrossthefield,thebannerstreamingthroughtheairabovehim.
‘Hehasnochanceatall,’Gwen’smothersaidscornfully.Gwenhadtoagree.Hewasaloneoutthere,completelyunprotected;whateverhewastryingtodo,itwassuicide.
Justastheriderreachedthemidpointbetweenthetwomakeshiftarmies,hedidsomethingevenmorepeculiar.Heraisedupthebanner–hisarmsseemedtobeshaking,theflaglistingintheairashetriedtoholditaloft–andthenthrewitdramaticallytothegroundinfrontofhim,whereitwasimmediatelytrampledintotheblackmudunderthehoofsofhishorse.
‘OhGod,’Gwensaid,asthefiguredrewcloser,stillridingwithsingularpurposetowardsthehostilefrontlines.
‘It’sallright,’hermothersaid,touchingherarm.‘Look.Thearcherswillhavehimdown.’
‘No,’Gwensaid,leaningsofarovertheparapetthatshewasindangeroftumblingtoherdeath.‘No,Mother,Ithink…JesusChrist,Ithinkthat’sArthur.’
Therider,whosebadlyshorndarkhairbecamevisibleasheputhisheaddownandmadestraightforGabriel,neverhadachance.
Shesawherbrotherturntoherfather,heardhimshoutsomething,butthekinghadalreadygiventhesignal.Gwencouldn’ttellwhichofthethreearrowsfoundtheirmark,butthehorsestartled–thereinswerepulledfromhisgrip–andArthurfelldownintothedark,unforgivingground.ThehorseswiththeverylargehoofsweregoingtokickArthur’sskullinifhedidn’tmoveinthenextfewseconds.Henotedthisthought,andtriedtogethisbodytodosomethingaboutit;hisbody,havinggiveninlongbeforeimminenttramplinghadbeenbroughtintotheequation,didn’trespond.
Hisearswereringingfromtheimpactofhisfall;hecouldfeelratherthanhearthathundredsofmenwererunningandgallopingtowardshimoneitherside–thattheyweregoingtomeetpreciselywherehewascurrentlylyingwithhismouthfullofmudandastingingsensationinhisarmthatcouldn’tbeanythinggood.
‘Getup,’somebodyyelled.Arthurwasmildlyirritated–couldn’ttheyseethathewastrying?Itwasonlyamentalsortoftrying,ofcourse,notmanifestingitselfinanythingphysical,butitwasthethoughtthatcounted.‘Shittinghell,’thevoicecontinued.Arthur’sspiritsrose–heknewthatswearing.
Sidneygrabbedhimbytheshouldersandhauledhimoutofthemud;hepushedArthurtowardshishorse,butdespiteArthur’sattemptstobehelpfulamidsthisterror,itmusthavebeenliketryingtodirectamanmadeoutofsacksofpotatoes.
‘Okay,’Sidneysaid,clearlypanicking.‘You’reokay,thearrowjustgrazedyou.Ifwejust—’
Arthurdidn’tgetthechancetohearwhatsortofplanSidneyhadcobbledtogetherinthehalf-secondbeforetwoarmiesthreatenedtoconvergeuponthem,becausesuddenlytheconvergingwasverymuchhappeninginpresenttense.SidneythrewhimselfatArthurtopushhimoutofthewayasahorsealmostknockedhimdown;unabletodoanythingotherthanbracehimself,ArthurfeltSidneyhefthisshieldoverthetwoofthemastheworlderupted.
‘Wehavetomove,’Sidneyshouted;swordsseemedtobeclashingrightabovetheirheads,punctuatedbyshoutsandscreamsandhorriblewetsoundsthatcouldonlybetheviolentdisassemblingofbonesandorgans.
‘Find–Gabriel,’Arthurmanaged,butSidneywasn’tlistening;hehadputhisheadupovertheshieldonlytofindhimselflockedincombatwithastranger.Whyaretheydoingthis?Arthurthoughthysterically,andthen,Ithinkthatmangavemehissoupatdinnerlastmonthbecausehedidn’tlikepeas
Sidneymanagedtogetagoodhitin,andthemanstaggeredawayblindly,swordheldaloftasifitwouldbeabletoprotecthimwithouthisdirection.Itwasraininghardernow,thegroundslickandunforgiving,theskyafurious,yellowishgrey.
‘Let’sgetoutofhere,’Sidneysaid.Hishairwasplasteredtohishead,hiseyesconstantlydartingaround,searchingforthenextthreat.‘Comeon–ifwecanjustmakeittotheedgeofthe—’
‘Sid,’Arthursaidhoarsely,asSidneymanagedtogetashoulderunderhisarmandstartdragging.‘Bridget.’
‘What?’Sidneysaid,preoccupied;itwasonlyamatteroftimebeforesomebodyelsenoticedthattheywereinneedofagoodstabbing.
‘Bridget,’Arthurshoutedinsistently,andSidneyfinallyturnedtolook.
BridgetwaslockedincombatwithSirMarlin.Bothofthemwereonfoot,andtheKnifewasevenbloodierthanhehadbeenbefore,ifsuchathingwerepossible.Bridget,incredibly,seemedunharmed.
‘She’snotwearinganyarmour,’Sidneysaid,soundingalittlefaint.Itwastrue;shewaswearingawhitetunic,anecklaceswingingatherthroat,mudsplatteredhalfwayupherbreeches.WheretheKnifewaswild-eyedandmanic,shewasmovingonlyasmuchassheneededto,herexpressioncalmandfocused,andshewaswielding…
‘ExcaliburfuckingNine,’Arthurchokedout,watchingasshebroughtthesworduptorepelanotherenthusiasticattack.
‘She’smental,’Sidneysaid.‘She’slostit,she’sgoingto…’
Bridget’sfootcaughtinthemud,andshestumbled;theKnifepressedhisadvantageandmanagedtoknockheroffherfeet.Shewentdownhard;theyheardtheominoussoundofboneonmetalevenabovethemadnessofthebattle,andArthursawExcaliburNinefallfromhergrip.
‘Damn,’Sidneysaid.‘Shit.Okay.Just–stayhere.’HeshovedtheshieldintoArthur’shands,andArthurwillinglycollapsedtothefloor,tryingveryhardtolookalreadydead.
Hisviewhalfobscured,hewatchedasSidneythrewhimselfbetweenBridget’sproneformandtheKnife’sblade;hemightnothavebeenatournamentfighter,butSidneycompletelyunleashedwastrulyathingtobehold.SirMarlinattemptedsomesortofquick,dirtyparry,amovethatperhapswouldhaveunbalancedsomeonewhowasplayingfair,butSidneyjustdughisheelsintothegroundandgrinnedlikeataunteddog.
ThenexttimetheKnifeswung,Sidneyducked,andthenwentforhisleg–asSirMarlintriedtorecoverhisbalance,Sidney’sswordfounditstarget.TheKnifestaggeredbackwards,clutchingathisside,wheredarkbloodwasbubblingupfromthegapinhisarmourandstreakingitswaydownthepretentiousobsidianfinish.
‘Isshealive?’Arthurshouted,pushinghimselfupontohiselbows.Sidneywenttocheck,glancingbackupatArthurwithhiseyesgrimbeneathhishelm–butthenhisexpressionchangedandhewasbarrellingtowardsArthurlikeabull,hiseyesfixedsomewherebeyondArthur’sshoulder.
ArthurturnedtofindthattheKingofEnglandwasstandingnottenfeetaway.HewasalmostasdrenchedinbloodastheKnifehadbeen,butitdidn’tseemtobelongtohim;hewasalivewithpurpose,radiatingpowerashebroughthislongsworddownontosomebody’sshoulder.Heshouldhavebeensurroundedbyhisownmen,butinthechaosofbattle,heseemedtohavefoundhimselffightingalone
Arthurwasconfusedforamoment,butthenhesawwhatSidneyhadseen:theKnifehadn’tstaggeredofftodiepolitely.TheKnifewas,infact,standingrightattheking’sshoulder,helmless,hisswordraisedandreadytostrike.
‘Yourmajesty,’Sidneyroared,atthesametimeasArthurmanagedtogetoutawordlessshout,butitwastoolate;theKnife’sswordslippedupundertheking’sarmouralmostcasually,asifhehadn’tquitemadeuphismindtodoituntilthelastsecond.
Thekingdidn’tseemtonotice,atfirst.Hefinishedoffthemaninfrontofhimandthenfaltered;helookedmildlysurprised,morethananything,turningveryslightlyinanattempttoseewhohadstabbedhim.
SirMarlinremovedhisswordjustasSidneyhithim,blade-first,intheneck;therewassomuchbloodthathewasprobablydeadbeforehehittheground.Arthur’sinstinctwastofaint,hisvisionwarping–buthemanagedtostayconscious,hiseyesfixedonGwen’sfather.
Thekingsanktohisknees;someofhismenwerebeginningtoshouttoeachotherandfighttheirwaytohim.BythetimeArthurreachedhim,crawlingonhishandsandkneestogetthere,thekinghadfallencompletelytothegroundwithasmallsighofresignation.
‘It’llbeallright,’Arthursaidstupidly,pullingGwen’sfatherintohislapwitharmsthatbarelyseemedconnectedtohisbody.‘Just–hangonaminute.Okay?You’rethemoststubbornmanalive,youcanholdonforjustonemoreminute,andthen–andthensomeonewillcometohelp.’Lightningflashedacrossthesky,illuminatingtheking’sface,ashenbeneathhishelm.Hiseyesseemedtobelosingfocus;oneofhishandsjerkedupwards,andArthurgrabbedit.‘Listentome.Just–listentome.I’mhere.GwenandGabrielwillneverbloodyforgivemeifyoudon’tmakeitback,sojust–justholdon.’
‘Gwendoline,’saidthekingquietly,‘andGabriel.’
Arthurcouldhaveswornthatthefirstclapofthundersoundedtheexactmomenthedied.Evenifeverythingelsewaslostthatday,Gwenhadbeengivenonetinybitofsolacetokeep:Arthurhadn’tbetrayedthem.Atleastnotknowingly.Onlyafoolwouldhaveriddenoutaloneintothemiddleofabattlefieldtomakethatpointclear,buthealwayshadbeenexactlythatsortofunthinking,wonderfulidiot.
Gwenhadwatchedasthesecondrider–Sidney,shewassureofit–hadbrokenawayandgonegallopingacrossthefield,secondsbeforeLordWillardgavethecommandforhismentoattack.ThetwoarmieshadmetalmostexactlywhereArthurhadcrumpledtotheground;hewasimmediatelyswallowedup,justoneofhundredsofdarkheadsinthechaos.
Agnesappearedontheparapet.Gwenexpectedtearsfromher,butinsteadshejustcametostandwithher,white-facedandresolute.
‘Itwasn’tArthur,’Gwensaidquietlytoher.
‘No,’shesaidsimplyinresponse.
‘Butyoutriedtotellmethat,’Gwensaid,‘andIwouldn’tlisten.’
‘Yes.’Agnesshouldhavebeenveryangryather–couldhaveragedatGwenfordeprivingherofherlastglimpseofSidney–butinsteadshereachedoverandtookGwen’shand.‘They’vesenttherestofthemenouttofight,andthey’vebeenevacuatingpeopleoutintothecityandbeyond.There’shardlyanybodyleftinthecastle,excepttheguard.’
Gwennodded.Itwasimpossibletolookawayfromthebattlefield,butitwastrulygrotesquetobehold;wherefightsinthetournamenthadsometimesbeengraceful,almostbeautiful,thiswasmindlessandugly.Shetriednottofocusonanybodyinparticular,butinlookingforthepeopleshelovedhereyeswouldsometimesalightonafigureastheystaggeredgracelesslyaboutintheirheavyarmour,tryingtoattackortodefendthemselves,onlytobehitandsenttumblingtotheground.
Gwenhadhopedthatatsomepointshewouldreachsuchheightsofpureanxietythatshe’dgonumb,herbodyunabletotakeanymore,butinsteadshefeltitall.Everybreathshetookseemedreluctanttobringheranyrelief,andeveryshoutfrombelowpluckedatherfrayednerves.Shewasbeginningtogetlight-headed;shehadbeenstanding,pacing,butnowshesatandputherheadinherhands.
‘God,whenwillthisbeover?’shesaidinasmallvoice.‘Ican’tstandit.’
‘Soon,’Agnessaid,althoughshewasn’tquiteconvincing.‘Verysoon.YouheardwhatIsaid,theysentmoremen–they’lleasilyoverpowerthem,andit’llbedone.’
Gwenlookedupather,tearsinhereyes,suddenlysogratefulforAgnesshecouldhardlystandit.‘Thankyouforstaying.Iknowyoudidn’thaveto.’
Agnesgaveherawaterysmileinresponse,squeezinghershoulderreassuringly.‘Ofcourse.’
Athroatwascleared,andGwenlookeduptoseeamessengerstandinginthedoorway.Helookedalloftwelveyearsold.Hewascoveredinmudandhalf-deadonhisfeet;bowingtothemalmostsenthimtopplingover.
Gwen’smothermadeastrangled,choked-offsortofnoise,andGwenlookedatherinalarm;shehadgonetostand,butsankbackintoherchairagain,bloodlessandstricken.
‘What?’Gwensaid,lookingfromhermothertothemessengerandthenbackagain.‘What,Mother?Youdon’tknowwhathe’sgoingtosay.Youdon’t.’Hervoicesoundedstrangetoherownears,asifshewerepleading–butwithwhom,shedidn’tknow.
‘You’rebothneeded,’theboysaid,inatremulousvoice.‘Downstairs.Please,yourhighnesses.’
‘No,’saidthequeen.‘I’llstayhere.’
‘Mother,’Gwensaidcrossly,gettingtoherfeet.‘Where?’sheaskedtheboy.
‘Inthe–inthewarroom,’saidtheboy.‘Theysaid–theysaidtobringbothofyou.’
‘Well,Iwon’tgo,’saidthequeen,glaringattheboylikehe’ddonesomethingtooffendher.‘Iwon’tbeorderedaroundby–by—’
‘ItwastheCaptainoftheGuard,yourhighness,’saidtheboyquickly.‘SirHurst.AndtheWizard,MasterBuchanan.’
‘Iwon’tgo,’Gwen’smothersaidagain,soundingnearhysterics;Gwendidn’tunderstand,butshewasn’tgoingtowasteanotherminutetryingtomakesenseofit.
AssheandAgneswalkedquicklyaftertheboy,sheheardhermotherstarttocry
Thejourneytothewarroomseemedtotakeanage,theirfootstepsechoingeerilyinthenear-emptycastle;whentheygotthere,SirHurst,MasterBuchananandahandfuloftheirattendantswerestandingaroundthetable.Theylookedgrim;SirHurstwasfilthy,freshlyreturnedfromthefight.
‘But–where’severybodyelse?’Gwensaid,thinkingtheymadeforaprettypoorattemptatawarcouncil.
‘Fighting,’saidtheCaptainoftheGuardgruffly.‘Where’sthequeen?’
‘Shewouldn’tcome,’Gwensaid.‘Idon’tunderstandwhy,shejuststartedshouting,soifyoujustletmeknowwhatthisisaboutthenIcangobackand—’
‘Yourhighness,I’mafraidthekingisdead,’saidtheWizard.Hehadspokenslowly,kindly,andyetsomehownothinghe’dsaidmadesense.Hewasstudyingherclosely,hiseyesapologetic;Gwenjuststaredathim.‘Yourfather,’hesaid,asiftoremoveanyroomfordoubt.‘Hefell,atSirMarlin’shand.Thisboywitnessedit.’
ShehadbarelyspokentoMasterBuchananbefore.Itseemedabsurdthathewouldbetheonetosaysuchathingtohernow.
‘That’snot…’Gwenstarted,butshehadnoideawhattosaynext.Herheartwasbeatingvery,veryfast.Therewasastrangesoundintheroom,coupledwiththesensationthatshewaslookingatitfromveryfaraway.
Thenumbnessshehadlongedforfinallycameasshefeltherselfstaggersideways,caughtbythehandsofherfather’smen.Sherealisedinadetachedsortofwaythatshehatedthemformakinghercomehere;formakingherlistentothis.Theyhelpedherintoachair.Itdidn’tfeelreal,evenasshegrippedthearmrests.
‘Justbecausehefell,’Gwensaid,wonderingifanybodycouldhearheroverallthatodd,muffledbuzzing,‘doesn’tmeanhe’sdead.’
‘I’msorry,yourhighness,’saidSirHurst,‘butit’strue.Andweneedtomakeadecisionnow.Theprinceisunaccountedfor.Nobodyhasseenhimsincethefightingfirstbegan.Wehavetoassume…Usuallytherewouldbeaclearerorderofcommand,butweweretakenbysurprise,sowehavetomakedo.Thequeenhastheauthority,butifshewon’tcome…’
Gwenlookeddownatherhands.Theyseemedverystupid.Short,raggednails,withsmoothpalms;handsthathadneverdoneanythingofrealworthinherentirelife.‘Whatdecision?’
‘Wewerewinning,’saidMasterBuchanan.‘Butwordmusthavealreadyspreadthatthekingisdead.Andwithoutyourbrother–ourmenarelosing,yourhighness.Thefighthasgoneoutofthem,becausetheythinkit’sover.They’reafraid.’
‘Wecouldsendoutthecastleguard,’saidSirHurst.‘Ourlastfiftyorsomen.Itwon’tnecessarilychangethetide,butitmightboosttheirspirits.That’swhattheyneed.Ifwedoso,though,weleavethecastle–andthecitybeyond–entirelyundefendediftheymakeitthroughthelastofourlines.Wedon’tknowwhattheyplantodoiftheysucceed.’
‘Whodecides?’Gwensaidsimply.Thetwomenexchangedalook,andthentheCaptainoftheGuardturnedaway,clearlyfrustrated.
‘You,’saidMasterBuchanan.‘Intheabsenceofanybodyelse–youmustdecide.’
Gwenlookedathim.Shelookedpasthimatthefamilysigilonthewall,sofamiliarthatsheneverreallysawitanymore–alion,ahawkandacup.Andthenshelookeddownatthemapinfrontofthem;attheancientshapesandlinesofEngland,atallthepathsandroadsthateventuallymadetheirwaytoCamelot.Shewantedtogobacktoherchambersandlockthedoor,climbintobedandwakeupinaworldinwhichherfatherwasalive;Gabrielexhaustedbutwavingtoherontheirwaytobreakfast;Bridgetwaitingforherinthestables;andArthurknockingonherdoortotradejibesandstoriesattheendoftheday.
Itwasallgone,thatlife–andyettherewasstillmoretobelost,ifshefalterednow.
‘Sendouttheguard,’shesaid,standingup.
‘You’resure?’saidMasterBuchanan;Gwennoddedonce.
‘Youmustfetchthequeenandleaveatonce,’SirHurstsaid.‘Incasethecastlefalls.’
Gwenshookherhead.‘Shewon’tgo,’shesaid.‘AndnorshallI.’
‘Yourhighness,withallduerespect—’
‘Sendouttheguard,’Gwensaidheavily,tryingtoquellhershakingasshesquaredhershouldersandfacedhimhead-on.‘Butfirst–Ineedyoutodosomethingforme.’Theatmosphereonthebattlefieldhadbeguntochangethemomentthekinghadfallentohisknees;Arthurheardconsternationallaroundhim,battlecriesturningintoshoutsofgenuinefear.Hehadn’tbeenparticularlyfondoftheking–hehadn’treallyknownhim–butitfeltasifEnglandhaddiedinhisarmssomehow,thecountryasheknewitextinguished.
‘Letgo,’Sidneywassaying,andArthurdidn’tquiteunderstandwhathemeant–letgoemotionally?DidSidneywanthimtocry?–butthenherealisedthathewasstillholdingontotheking’shandasthreeofhisknightstriedtoclaimhisbody.
‘Gabriel,’Arthursaidsuddenly,ashewatchedthemenlifttheking’sproneformandthenputtheirheadsdowntobarrelthroughthefray.Sidneywasn’tpayingattention;somebodyhadjusttriedtostabhim,andhewasretaliatinginkind.AsprayofmudandbloodhitArthurfullinthefaceasthemantoppledheavilydownbesidehim;Arthurretched,heavingupabsolutelynothing,andSidneygrabbedhimandhauledhimtohisfeet.‘Gabriel,’Arthurtriedagain.‘Where’sGabriel?He’s–he’sking.’
‘Noidea,’gruntedSidneyastheybegantomove.‘Wereallyhavetogo.It’sabloodymiraclewe’velastedthislongwithyousouseless.’
Someoftheking’smenseemedtobeattemptingtofleebackuptowardsthecastle;Arthurwatchedasonescrambledtohisfeet,onlytobesentbackdownintothemudwithahand-axetothebackofthehead.Itwaslikelookingataparticularlyviolentpainting,hethought,orwatchingaplay;hismindcouldn’tcomprehendthatanyofitwasreal.
‘Notgood,’Sidneysaid,lookingaroundattheopenpaniconthefacesofthecrown’smen.‘Shit.Thisisgoingtogosouthprettysoon,Art.Timetorun.’
‘No,’Arthursaid,dazed,feelingasifheweredreaming.‘Look.’
Afreshwaveofmenwasridingacrossthedrawbridgeanddownthehillfromthecastle,unbloodied,unscathed,sureandresoluteastheycanteredtowardsthechaos.Theraineased;thecloudsseemedtopart.Leadingthemingleaminggoldarmour,hishelmflashinginthesun,wasthescarlet-hairedKingofEngland.
AcheerwentupfromthosefightingforCamelot,anditwasasiftheyhadsuddenlybeenimbuedwithnewstrength;wheretheyhadbeenstaggering,theyweresuddenlyupright.Fleeingmenstoppedintheirtracksandturnedbacktowardsthebattle.Arthursawamanwhohadbeenknockedtotheground,andappearedforallintentsandpurposesverydead,usehisfoottohookhisattacker’sankleandthendrivehisswordupthroughtheman’sneckwhenhefell.
‘It’sallright,’Arthursaid,hiseyeswide.‘It’sgoingtobeallright.AndGabrielis…Wait.’Hekeptstaringasthecastleguard–forhecouldseethat’swhotheywerenow–reachedthebattleandbeganfightinginearnest.
‘Yeah,’Sidneysaidgrimly.‘That’swhatIwasjustthinking.’ThepurportedKingofEnglandwasunderextremelyheavyguardandwasn’tparticularlygoodatholdinghissword–notthatanybodyseemedtonotice,astheystartedtobeatLordWillard’smenback.
‘Whatthehellisshedoing?’Arthurbreathed.Hewastryingnottothinkabouttheimplicationsofthisact–tryingnottoassumetheworst.Itwasbecomingmoredifficultbythesecond.
‘Look,she’sturningaround,’Sidneysaid,‘Ithink—’
Somethingenormousslammedintothebackofbothofthem;itsentthemsprawlingintothemud.Arthurfeltblindingpainjoltuphisbadwristasittriedvaliantlytobreakhisfall.Don’tbebroken,youpiece-of-shitarm,hethoughtfuriously,flexinghisfingersandfindingthattheystillseemedtowork.Thehorsethathadhitthemseemedtohavecopedsurprisinglywellwiththeordeal;itscrambledtoitsfeetandtookoffacrossthebattlefield,headingforthesafetyofthetrees.
Lyinginthemudonceagain,Arthurwonderedwhybardsandwarriorsalwaysseemedtoleavethispartoutoftheirwarstories;fightingwasjustblood,andmud,andfallingdownanddownagainuntilsomebodyputaswordinyourbacktokeepyoudownforever.Hefeltsomethinginhismouth,andspatitoutinhorror–butitwasjustthependantonhisnecklace.
‘Sid,’Arthursaidindistinctly.‘Ishouldbedeadbynow.’
‘Yes,’Sidneygroaned,rollingtowardshim.
‘Right.Thoughtso.Anddidn’tyousaythisnecklacewas—’
‘It’snotthebloodynecklace,’Sidneysaidthroughgrittedteeth.‘I’mnotdoingallthisforyoutogivethecredittoapieceofsoddingjewellery.It’sme.I’mprotectingyou.Getup.’
Arthurwasn’tlisteningtohim;hewassquintingatadarkshapethathadappearedsuddenlynexttohishead.‘Doesthis…doesthisbirdlookagitatedtoyou?’
‘Birdscan’tlookagitated.’
ThecrowinquestionwasstandingrightnexttoArthur,doingastrangelittledance–itkeptturningitsheadfromsidetoside,skippingawayafewstepsandthenreturning.
‘Oh,’saidSidney.‘Thatbirdlooksextremelyagitated.’
Assoonashe’dsaidit,thecrowtookflight,swoopinglowoverthepilesofdiscardedswordsandbrokenbodies;watchingitgo,Arthursawsomethingglintinginamongstthemudbeneathitspath.
‘Oh,shit,’hesaid.
‘Oh,shit,’Sidneysaid,withmuchmorefeeling;somebodyhadjustattemptedtokillArthuragain,whichwasbecomingabitofahazard,andhehadstaggeredtohisfeettorepelthem.‘Justgo,Art.’
Arthurknew,deepdown,thatSidneymeantforhimtogetasfarawayfromthefightingaspossible.Heknewthathewasbeingahindranceratherthanahelp;thatwithhimoutoftheway,Sidneymightactuallysurvive–nay,thrive–inthisbattle.Arthurshouldhavebeendoingeverythinginhispowertomakeittotheedgeofthefield,andaway.
HedecidedtowilfullymisunderstandSidney’sinstructions.
Arthurhadalwaysknownthathewasn’tagoodperson,evenwithouthisfatherconstantlytellinghimso.Recentactsoftheoreticalbravery,hereasoned,hadbeenthelastresortofadesperateman.Itwasn’tbraverythatwasonhismindashecrawled–reallycrawled,uptohisshouldersinmud,moreswampcreaturethanman–towardsthethinghewassurehehadseeninthemiddleofthefield.Hewasn’tdoingitbecausehewasbrave–hewasdoingitforpurelyselfishreasons.
IfGabrielweretodie–andifGwenweretofollow,havinginexplicablydecidedtothrowherselfintotheheatofbattleinborrowedarmour–thenhe’dnevergettoberatethemforthinkingsolittleofhim.Andhereally,reallycouldn’thavethat.
WhenhereachedGabriel’sbody,itwasalmostentirelyobscuredbysomeonerecentlydeceased;Arthurusedtheverylastounceofhisstrengthtopushthecorpseaway,bracinghimselfforwhathewasabouttosee.
OneofGabriel’sarmswassomangledbeneathhiscrumpledarmourthatitbarelylookedlikealimbatall.Theotherwastheoreticallystillclutchinghissword,buthisgriphadgoneslackaroundthepommel.Hisskinwaswaxen,makingthecopperofhishairlookimpossiblybrightwhereitwasstuckinmattedwhorlstohisdampforehead.Hiseyesweremostlyclosed,athincrescentofwhitevisiblebeneathhislashes.
‘Gabriel,’Arthurcroaked;somebodystaggeredpastthem,andArthurinstinctivelythrewhimselfdownontopoftheking’sbrokenbody,toshieldhimfromview.‘Gabriel.’
Gabrieldidn’tsayanything.Hedidn’tmove.Arthurcouldn’ttellifhewasbreathing,orifitwasjustwishfulthinking.
Someonefellnexttothem;Arthurwatchedasbloodcamecascadingoutofaman’sopenmouth,soakinghisbeard,andthenturnedaway,finallyfeelinghottearsstinginghiseyes.
‘Fuck,Gabriel,’hechoked,lookingdesperatelyaroundforSidneyandseeingnobodyheknew.‘I’vealreadydonethisoncetoday,I’mnotbloodydoingitagain.Seriously.Just–youcanbedeadlater.Sidcan’tdragbothofusoutofhere,andhe’sgoingtobeaprickaboutit,butIknowhe’lldotherightthing,evenifitkillshim.He’sastubbornarsehole,acompletepillock,buthe’s–well,Ilovehim.Justdon’tbedead,andit’llbeworthitwhenherescuesyouinsteadofme,andIpromiseI’lljustliedownhereinthe–inthemud,andtheshit,andtheblood–andI’lldiequietly,Iswear.’
Arthurdraggedhimselfupontohiselbows,staringdownatGabriel’slifelessface.Itwassuchaniceface.Itreallywasashamehewasnevergoingtoseeitagain.
‘Gabriel,’Arthursaid,givinghimalittleshake,hisowntearscreatingtracksinthemudonGabriel’scheeks.‘You’reking,Gabriel.Yourfatherisdead,andIjust–everybodyneedsyoutogetup,andbealive,andbeking.Iknowyoudon’tfancyit,butlisten–it’stoolateforthatnow.’
‘Excellent,’saidastrangelycalmvoicefromsomewhereaboveArthur’shead.‘Iwasjustaboutreadytogiveuphope,but–Iseeyoufoundhimforme.’
LordWillardwasstandingthere,hisswordraised.Arthurdidn’tevenbotheracknowledginghim.HelookedagainforSidney–Sidneywasalwaysthere,evenwhenitseemedimpossible–buthisheartsankwhenhesawhisbestfriend’sfacetenfeetaway,frowninginconcentration,stilllockedinbattlewithsomebodyelse.Hewasmuchtoofarawaytobeofanyusenow.
‘Sorry,’Arthursaidfaintly,moretoSidneythantoanybodyelse;hestoleonemoresecondofstaringathim,wishingthattheycouldlockeyesonelasttime,thatArthurcouldsomehowimparteverythinghewantedtosaywithalook.ButSidneydidn’tturn.
ArthurpressedhisforeheadtoGabriel’s,andclosedhiseyes,andwaitedforthekillingblow.
Itdidn’tcome.
ArthurheardLordWillardmakeastrangesound–aridiculoussoundreally,halfwaybetweenamusementandsurprise–andwhenArthurturnedovertoseewhathadinspiredit,hesawsomethingheknewhe’drememberfortherestofhislife:LadyBridgetLeclair,cakedinmudfromheadtotoe,launchingherselfatLordWillard,withExcaliburNineraisedhighaboveherhead.Arthurdidn’tevenseewhereshehithim;hewasstaringatherface,wonderingifhewerealreadydeadandBridgethadcometodragthemallintothenextlife.
ArthurexpectedLordWillardtogetbackup.Hewouldgetbackup,andtheywouldstartthischaradealloveragain,thepainandthetearsandthedeathandthefallingover–itfeltlikeitwouldneverend,thattheywouldjustkeepondoingitforever,trappedinapurgatorymadeofchurnedandcloyingmud.
Butitreallywasover.BecauseLordWillardwasn’tgettingup.LordWillard,unlessArthurwasverymuchmistaken,wasdead.
Bridgetstood,herchestheaving,staringdownathimasifshecouldn’tbelieveiteither.ArthurcouldhearSidneyshoutingsomething,butitseemedinconsequential;everythingseemedinconsequential,withthelastremainsofthecrownandthecouplyingbrokenonthegroundinfrontofhim.
Sidneydidsoundquiteinsistentthough,andashegotcloser,Arthurrealisedwhathewasshouting.
‘Bridget–shit,Bridget–onyourleft!’‘OhGod,’Gwensaid,rippingoffGabriel’shelmandbendingoverthesideofherborrowedhorse.‘IthinkI’mgoingtobesick.’
‘Doit,’saidAgnes.‘You’veearnedit.’GuardswerereachinguptohelpGwendown;theyhadriddenbackasfarasthetournamentgrounds,slippingawayunnoticedinthechaosasquicklyastheyhadarrived.Shecouldbarelywrapherheadaroundwhathadjusthappened;itexistedonlyinquickflashes,horrifyingglimpsesofweaponsandbloodandcheersandterrifiedhorses,andshehadbeenexceedinglygladtoputitbehindher.
Theguardsrodebacktowardsthebattle,leavingAgnesandGwenstandingintheentrancetothearena,flags,bannersandflowersabandonedandtrampledintothegroundallaroundthemfromwhenthespectatorshadeitherfledforsafetyorleapedintothefight.Therewerebodiestoo,furtherafield;Gwentriedherbestnottolook.
‘Itworked,’Agnessaid,herfingersfumblingasshehelpedtoremovethearmour.‘Iwaswatchingfromhere.Itworked.’
‘Iknow,’Gwensaid,pullingofftheill-fittingbreastplate.Shewaswearingapage’sclothesunderneath,thefirstthingthey’dbeenabletograbatshortnotice.‘Icanonlyhope–Icanonlyhopethatitholds.’
Ifnot,theywouldeitherbemurderedortakenprisonerimminently;therewasnobodylefttoprotectthem,nothingbetweenthemandLordWillard’sforces.MasterBuchananhadstayedupatthecastlesittingwiththequeen,waitingtofindoutwhowascomingtorelievehim;theirmakeshiftcaptain,withafifty-fiftychancethathewasabouttogodownwithhisship.
‘Didyousee—’Agnesstartedhopefully,butGwencutheroffwithashakeofherhead.
‘Ididn’tseeanyone,’shesaidbitterly.‘IcouldhardlyseeoutofGabriel’shelm.IwishIhad,but–no.Nothing.’
‘Right,’Agnessaid.‘Doyouwanttogobackup?’
‘No,’Gwensaid.‘I’mstayinghere.Iwanttoseehowthisends.’Sheheldoutahand,andAgnestookit.
Ahornsounded,makingGwenjump,andagreat,wearycheerfollowedit.Hopeandfearsqueezedherchestsotightlythatshecouldbarelybreathe.
SheexchangedalookwithAgnes.
‘It’s–it’sover?’Agnessaidinasmallvoice,asifshetoocouldn’tquitebelieveit.
‘Comeon,’Gwensaidwithobviouslyfalsebravado,hergriptighteningonherfriend’shand.‘Let’sgoandsee.’
Gwentriedtowalkslowly,asifseemingtooeagermightscareanygoodnewsaway,butAgneswasgoingsofastshewasalmostdraggingGwenalonginherwake.Itwashardtotellatfirst,emergingoutontothetopoftheslope,whohadclaimedvictory;everybodylookedthesame,armouredandbloodiedandcakedinmuck.
Someonewasshoutingordersfromahorse,andGwen’sspiritssoaredwhenshesawwhoitwas;SirHurst,ridingslowlyacrossthefield,directingotherstocorralprisonersandhelpthewounded.
‘Wewon,’Gwensaidquietly.‘Agnes–wewon.’
Agroupofverydejectedmenwassittingontheground,swordspointingatthemfromalldirections.GwennoticedthatbothLordStaffordandLordDelaceywereamongthem,lookingoddlycleanandextremelyperturbed;sheimaginedtheyhadoptedforahealthydistancefromtheactionandanearlysurrender.
‘Ican’tseethem,’Agnessaid,hergriponGwen’shandslipping.‘Maybeweshouldgooutourselvesandstartcheckingfor–youknow,theymightbelyingsomewhereinjured,or—’
‘Agnes,’Gwensaidgently,butAgnescouldn’tbestopped.
‘Ican’tjustgobackuptothecastleandwait–I’msorry,butIreallycan’t,Ineedtoknow—’
‘No,Agnes,’Gwensaid,hervoicelikeashoutoflaughter,raisingherhandandpointingastearsbegantostreamdownherface.‘Look.’
Fourfiguresweremakingveryslowprogressupthehilltowardsthem.Theywereallabsolutelyfilthy,barelydiscerniblethroughthemud,butGwenknewthematonce.
SidneywasholdingupArthur,whoseemedbarelyconscious;ArthurwasusingoneofhisarmstopretendtohelpBridget,whowassomehowhalfcarryingGabriel.Theylookedridiculous.Theylookedcompletelyandutterlymiserable.
Shehadneverbeensohappytoseeanybodyinallherlife.
SirHursthadseenthemtoo;immediatelythereweremensprintingtowardsGabriel,shoutsofshockandtriumphtravellingacrossthefield.
NoneofthemcouldmatchAgnesandGwenforspeed;theyhadrunforthefoursomesoquicklythattheyalmostknockedthemover.
‘Gabe,’Gwensaid,sobbingfreelyasshereachedforGabriel’sface,‘Ishe…?’
‘He’salive,’Bridgetsaidquickly,astwooftheking’sguardreachedthemandgentlyextractedGabrielfromherarms.‘Ithinkhe’sgoingtobeokay.’SidneyhadletgoofArthursothathecouldgrabAgneswithbothhands,andArthurlistedsidewaysintoBridget,whojustaboutmanagedtokeephimupright.
‘Oh,thankGod,’Gwensobbed;tornbetweenthrowingherarmsaroundBridgetandArthur,shedecidedinsteadtolaunchherselfatbothofthem.Itwasclumsy,andmessy,andsheimmediatelyhadamouthfulofmudandhair,butshefeltBridgetpressakissintothesideofherheadandheardArthurmakeastrange,choked-upsoundintoherneck,andlaughedwithsheerrelief.
‘Arthur,’shesaid,muffledagainsthim.‘Areyoucrying?Areyoucryingbecauseyouloveme,andyou’resopleasedtoseeme?’
‘Jesus,’Arthursaidthickly.‘I’mcryingbecauseIwasjustinabloodybattle.Itwasawful,IhatedeverysecondofitandIwouldnotrecommendittoafriend.And,yes,Isuppose–IsupposeI’malsocryingbecauseIloveyouandI’msopleasedtoseeyou.Idiot.’
Gwenreleasedhergriponbothofthemandwipedhermuddy,tear-streakedfaceonhersleeveasArthurstumbledawayafterSidney.
ItwassuddenlyjustGwenandBridget,sweatyandfilthyandsilent,eachwarilyawaitingtheother.TherewerealotofthingsGwenwantedtosay.Shedidn’tknowwheretostart.
‘YouwieldedExcalibur.’
Bridgetlookedguiltilydownattheswordinherhand.‘Notonpurpose.Justhadto–borrowit.’
‘Youknow,that’sthenumber-onereasonpeoplepullswordsoutofstones,’Gwensaid,laughingthroughhertears.Shewasstillfeelinglightwithrelief.Shedecidedtouseittoheradvantage.‘Bridget…Ifeellikeacompletefool.ThethingsIthoughtmattered,they’rejust–I’msorryIwassoselfish.Ireallywantedyouinmylife,morethanI’veeverwantedanything,and—’
‘Pleasestoptalking,’Bridgetsaid,stunningherintosilence.‘Idon’tmeantoberude.ButI’dpreferitifwe…kissednow,talkedlater.’
Gwengapedatherforamomentandthenglancedaround.Everybodywhowasn’tunconsciouswasgatheringaroundGabriel;nobodywaspayingthemtheslightestbitofnotice.ShebarelyhadtimetonodbeforeBridget’sarmswerearoundher,liftingGwenoffthegroundasshekissedherhardandfastandthensetherbackdownonherfeet.
Arthurclearedhisthroatfromsomewherebehindthem.‘Eyesleft,Gwendoline.’
Whensheturnedaround,shesawthataknightwaswalkingtowardsher,tryingtogetherattention.
HegesturedtowhereGabrielhadbeenlaidoutonsomesortofmakeshiftlitter.Somebodywastyingatourniquetaroundhisbloodiedarm,notlookingparticularlyhopefulabouttheoutcome.
Hiseyeswereopen.
‘Gabe,’Gwensaid,rushingoveranddroppingtoherkneesinthemudnexttohim.‘Oh,God.Gabe,I’msosorry,butFather–Father’sdead.’Hewasbarelythere,butherwordsseemedtogetthroughtohim;helookedcompletelylostasshebrokeintofreshsobs.‘Gabe,it’sgoingtobeallright,you’regoingtobeallright,butIjustthoughtyoushouldknowthat–thatyou’reking.’
Gabrielheldhergaze,tearsspillingoveranddownhischeeks–andthenverysuddenlyturnedhisheadtothesideandvomited.
TheCaptainoftheGuard,whohadbeenstandingquiteclosetoGabriel’sheadandhadsteppedneatlyoutofthevomit’strajectory,cuppedbothhandsaroundhismouthsothathisvoicewouldcarry.
‘Thekingisdead,’heshouted.‘Longlivetheking.’
Gwenhadn’tevennoticedothersapproachingthem,butsuddenlytheshoutwasbeingtakenupallaroundher;whensheturned,shesawthateveryonewassinkingdownontooneknee.Evensomeoftheinjuredweremakingaverywobblyattemptatit,leaningoneachotherastheymanoeuvredthemselvesdownintothedirt.Arthurdroppedtothegroundimmediately,seeminglygladofanexcusetobethere;BridgetdroveExcaliburNineintothemudinfrontofherbeforefollowinghim.SidneyhadbeenkissingAgnesquiteenthusiastically,bothofthemintears,buthegamelyrelocatedthembothsouthwardstopaytheirrespects.
Gabrielletoutaverypainedsigh,andGwenreachedforhisgoodhand.
‘Ireallywish,’hesaidinasmall,exhaustedvoice,‘thateverybodyhadn’tjustwatchedmevomit.’Writteninexcellentblackcalligraphyonthefinestparchment,carefullyfoldedandstillpristineupondelivery:
Bridget,
I’dsayit’squietatCamelotwithoutyou,butofcourseArthurishere,soIbarelyknowamoment’speace.We’reallstillclingingtoeachotherlikeweexpectsomebodytoknockthedoordownanysecond.I’vemovedbackintomyownroomnowthatGabrielisoutofbed;I’msureArthur’sthrilled,asIwasthwartinghisattemptstomakemidnightvisits.
Themoodhereisstillverystrange.PeoplehavebeencomingfromallovertoswearfealtytoGabriel,whichwouldusuallyfeellikeoverkill,butisactuallyquitereassuringinthecircumstances.Helooksembarrassedhalftodeathwhentheyinsistondoingallthecustomarykneelingandthering-kissing.Plentyofcultistshavecome,IsupposetheonesWillardcouldn’tturnagainstFather;theyseemhorrifiedbywhathappenedhere,anddeterminedtomakeitveryclearthattheyhadnopartinit.Theythinkhewashardlyacultistatall,andwassimplyimpersonatingonetorallypeopletohiscause.Itreassuresme,Isuppose,thatwewon’tseearepeat.
Ihopetheydidn’tmindtoomuchthatyouwerelatetoarriveatthetournament.Itfeelsasiftheyshouldmakeallowances,considering.
Imissyou.Ihopeyouwin.
Gwen
Scrawledonwhatlookedlikehalfa‘Wanted’notice,intwodifferentcoloursofink:
Gwen,
Startofthetournamentwaspostponedfordecency.Lostmyfirsttilt,feellikeabitofanidiot,butNeilsaysit’sthealtitude.Itoldhimit’sjustahill,butheinsistsittamperswiththebrain.Ithinkhisbrainistheonethat’stheproblem.
Somebody(Neil)letonaboutthebattleandWillardandExcaliburtoallhislittlesquirefriends,andeveryonekeepslookingatmelikethey’reexpectingmetoflyorspitfire.Actuallyreallyannoyingbecausenobodywillhaveanormalconversationwithmeortellmewheretheblacksmithis.
Icanalreadyfeeltheweatherturning.Neverbeensohappytoseefrostontheground.
Keepholdingontoeachother.I’llbebacksoon.
BridgetStMartin’sDaydawnedsurprisinglycrispandsunnythatyear,andArthurwokeupinagoodmood.
HeknewGabrielhadn’t,despiteArthur’sbesteffortstocheerhimthenightbefore;infact,whenArthurhadlastseenhim,Gabrielhadlookedterrifiedalmosttothepointofvomiting.Itwasn’tanewexpression–he’dbeenwearingitquitealotoverthepastthreemonths–anditwas,Arthursupposed,anunfortunateandnecessaryby-productoftryingtochangetheworldforthebetter.
Afterthebattle,GabrielhadbeenwhiskedawaytotheroyalquarterswithGwenathisside,andnobodyhadbeenaroundtoexplainthatArthurshouldbeallowedtovisit.Hehadspentdaysgoingslowlymaduntil,oneevening,Gwenhadknockedonhisdoor,givenhimapainfulhugandtoldhimthathispresencehadbeenrequested.
Whenhewalkedin,ArthurhadbeengreetedbythesightofGabrielproppedupinbed,bruisedandshattered,surroundedbyanassortmentofpotionsanddraughtsandverythoroughlybandaged.Logically,hewasn’tsurprisedtoseethatGabriel’sleftarmhadbeenamputatedtotheelbow,thewoundwrappedandpackedwithherbs–butitwasstillabitofashock.
‘Hello,’Gabrielsaid,hisvoiceslightlystrained.‘Canyoupleasepassmethepapersonthetable?Becareful.They’reverydelicate.’
Arthurobliged,placingthemgentlyinGabriel’slapandthensittingdowninthechairnexttothebed.
‘Afteryoufoundthoseletters,’Gabrielsaid,lookingdownattheparchmentratherthanatArthur,‘IsentthemtoTintagel,andaskedthatthescholarstheresearchformore.Itwasaloteasier,Ithink,oncetheyknewwhattheywerelookingfor.Mostwereburnedlongago,butIdiscoveredyesterdaythatthey’vealreadyturnedupthese.Thisone–’hepulledonefromthepile–‘isfromArthurPendragon.TellingSirLancelotduLacinnouncertaintermsthathe’sinlovewithhim.’
‘Goodforhim,’saidArthur,notentirelysurewherethiswasgoing.
‘Ihaven’tsleptproperlyfordays,’Gabrielsaid.‘AndImightfeeldifferentlywhenI’mnotquiteso…delirious.Butmyfatherworkedhisentirelifetotrytokeepthiscountryhappybynevertakinganyparticularstanceonanything,andtheystill…theystillkilledhimforit.’Hestoppedtotakeabreath.‘IfI’mgoingtodiedoingthisjob,Arthur,thenIwanttodieknowingIdidthebestIcould.Ican’tdothatbytryingtoemulatemyfather,becauseI’mnotmyfather.Iwanttobetruetomyself,andtruetoEngland,and…well,likeyousaid–shouted–backwhenyoufirstgavemethoseletters,itturnsoutwe’vebeenlivinguptotheidealsofArthurPendragonallalong.Ithinkit’stimepeopleknewthat.Ithink…it’stimetodothingsdifferently.’
Arthurwasspeechlessforamomentbeforeherecoveredhimself.‘Howlongdoyouthinkyoucouldgowithoutsleep,longterm?Becausefrankly,I’veneverheardyoumakesomuchsense.’
GabrielputdownArthurPendragon’sletter,wincing,asifpainhadrushedbacktoclaimhim.‘I’mnottellingyouthisbecauseI…expectanythingfromyou,Arthur.Ijustwantedyoutoknow.’
Arthurreachedovertopathimonhisunbandagedarm,slightlyovercomewithpride.‘Getsomesleep.I’llcomebacktomorrow,andwecantalksomemore.’HewenttoleaveasGabrieleasedhimselfbackagainstthepillows,andthenpausedatthedoor.‘Because…Iwouldn’tmind,youknow.Ifyoudidharbourexpectations.Infact,I’ddomyverybesttoexceedthem.’
Hehadcomebackthenextday,andtherehadbeenalittletalking.AsGabrielgotstrongertherehadbeenmoreofit,andonalateSeptemberafternoonwhenArthurwasreadingtoGabrielfromoneoftheArthuriantomesMrsAshworthhadsentfromhome,Gabrielhadclosedthebookforhimandtheyhadgraduatedfromtalkingtokissing.
Still,theytookthingsveryslowly.TheshockofthecouphadleftbothGwenandGabrielbrittle,unfocused,andvery,verysad.
Hedidn’tblameeitherofthem,ofcourse–infact,hethoughttheyweredoingremarkablywell,fortwopeoplewhohadlosttheirfatherinthesuddenviolenceofbattle.Gabriel,especially,hadstartedtotakehisnewpositioninhisstride.
Heassembledanewcouncil–somenewfaces,someold.Hespokehismind;helistened.Everytimehedidn’tunderstandsomething,heaskedforittoberepeatedintermsthatmadesensetohim–everythingwascarefullydebatedandvotedon,prideleftatthedoor.Arthurimaginedthatsomeofhisnewstaffprobablythoughthimaddledfromhisinjuriesandhisgrief,confusedbythisnewwayofdoingthings.Theydidn’tknowthatthiswashowGabrielalwayswouldhavetakentotheofficeofking.
Hisquieter,gentlerwayofgoverninghadcertainlybeencalledintoquestionwhenitcametothematteroftheprisonersfromthebattle;traditiondictatedthattheyshouldbeexecuted.GabrielhadscatteredthemacrossEngland,puttingtheminthecareofsomeofhisfather’smosttrustedbannermen,indebtedandindentured,butforshockinglylenientperiodsthathadcausedSirHursttostormoutofameetingindisgust.
ArthurhadarguedthattheformerLordDelaceydeservedalongersentence,andGabrielhadjustgivenhimaverysternlook.Hehadinheritedthatlook,Arthurnoted,fromhisfather.
Arthurwasaveryslowwalkerthesedays;hehadneverquiterecoveredfromtheattackoutsidetheinn,orfrombeingsoillforsolong,andsomedaysjustgettingoutofbedmadehimfeellikehewasstillcrawlingthroughthick,unforgivingmud.Today,luckily,wasn’toneofthem.Thecastlewasbusy,everybodysweptupinpreparationsfortheStMartin’sDayfeastandtheaddressGabrielwastogivetothepopulaceatitsclose.Noneofthemknewwhatheplannedtosay.
WhenArthurreachedthewalledrosegarden,henudgedthedooropenwithhisfootandalmostfelloverwhenLucifershotpasthim;thecatboundedoffintothebushes,immediatelydistractedbyabee.
‘Lucifer,’Arthursaidsternly.‘Thatone’sspicy.’
‘He’llnevercatchit,’Gabrielsaid,liftinghishandtoshieldhiseyesfromthelowNovembersun.Hehadhisspeechonhislap,anditwasverywell-thumbeddespitethefactthathehadonlyfinishedthislatestversionyesterdayafternoon.
‘Oyeoflittlefaith,’Arthursaid,stoopingtokissGabriel’scurls.Helooked,asArthurhadsuspectedhewould,absolutelyillwithnerves.‘Hi,Sid–Agnes.I’mhere,bytheway.Don’tgetup.’
SidneywassittingonthebenchoppositemutteringsomethinginAgnes’sear,whilesheturnedsteadilypinker;hegaveArthurthefingerwithoutmissingabeat
‘I’mstillpayingyoursalary,’Arthursaiddarkly,throwinghimselfdownontotheseatnexttoGabriel.
‘Isavedyourlifeabouteightthousandtimes,’Sidneysaid,raisinganeyebrow.‘You’resoindebtedtome.You’resoindebtedtomeit’sembarrassing.’
Arthurthrewuphishands,exasperated,andlookedtoGabrielforsupport.Gabriel,predictably,wasfrowningbackdownathisspeechagain.
Thedoorsmackedagainstthewallonitshinges;SidneyandAgnesdidn’tbotherlookingup,butArthurwavedtoBridgetasshestalkedacrossthecourtyardwithadourexpressiononherface.
‘That’saverynicedress,’Arthursaid,knowinghewaspushinghisluck.
‘You’repushingyourluck,’Bridgetsaid,lookingmurderousasshesatdown.‘I’dhavestayedoutontheroadifanybodyhadwarnedmeI’dhavetowearadress.Where’sGwen?’
‘Withourmother,’Gabrielsaid,stilllookingdownathisspeech.‘They’vestartedplayingchesstogetherinthemornings.Idon’tthinkeitherofthemparticularlyenjoysit,butyouknow–they’retrying.’
‘Soletmeguess,’Arthursaidslowly.‘Thedress,whileofcourseanenduringsymbolofyourendlesssubjugation,isanecessaryeviltomakeyoulookfeminineandpropertodayinlightofalltheextremelyimproperthingsyouplantodofromthisdayforth.’
‘Don’tsaywordslike“subjugation”tomerightnow,’Bridgetsaid,pressingahandtoherforehead.‘IpromisedGwenI’dbeonmybestbehaviour.’
‘Luckily,’Arthursaidlightly,‘Imadenosuchpromises.’Gabriellookedupsharplyfromhisspeech.
‘Arthur,’hesaid.‘You’renotserious?Youknowhowimportanttodayis,Ireallycan’tthinkaboutanythingelseontopof—’
‘Gabe,’Arthursaid,puttingahandonhisknee.‘I’mmessingwithyou.’
‘Oh,’Gabrielsaid,lookingpained.‘Well.Don’t.’
‘Fairenough,’saidArthur,asthedooropenedagain.‘Shouldn’tbetoomuchofastrainonmyself-control–yoursisterisheretobetorturedinstead.’
‘Nomoretorture,’Gwensaid,immediatelycrossingtoBridget,whopulledherdownontoherlapandletGwenburyherheadinherneck.‘God.I’msogladyoucamebackearly.’
‘So…it’snotgoingwellwithyourmotherthen?’
‘No,’Gwensaid.‘ButIsupposeit’snotherfault.She’shadashock.Youwouldimaginethatsomethinglike…somethinglikeFathermighthaveputeverythinginperspective,butapparentlyithasn’t.Shedidaskafteryoutoday,though,Bridget,soshemustbetryingtoacclimatise.’
‘Youneedtobegentlewithher,’Gabrielsaid,andGwensnorted.
‘Iamgentlewithher.It’sallrightforyou,shestillactslikeyou’rethesecondcomingofArthurPendragon,evennow.Youcandonowrong.’
‘That’sstupid,’Arthursaid.‘WhenweallknowthatBridgetisthesecondcomingofArthurPendragon.’
‘Stopmakingthatjoke,’Bridgetsaid,scowlingathim.‘Themoreyoutalkaboutit,themorepeoplelookatmesideways.IgetenoughofthataroundherewithoutpeoplewonderingifI’mabouttoseizetheswordagainandchallengethekingforthethrone.’
‘Oh,don’tteaseme,’Gabrielsaiddrily.‘Notifyou’renotactuallygoingtodoit.’
‘You’reagoodking,’saidArthur.‘Youare.Bloodygreatking.Bestone.Well…’heamended,seeingGwenlookathimwitharatherpinchedexpression.‘You’reuptherewiththegreats.’
‘Fatherwouldbeproudofyou,Gabe,’Gwensaidquietly.Gabrielclosedhiseyes,andthenthrewhisspeechdownontothebenchnexttohim.
‘Notaftertoday,hewouldn’t.’
‘Youdon’tknowthat,’saidGwen.‘Neitherofusdo.’
‘Mother,’Gabrielsaidwithtrepidation,‘isgoingtofaint.’
‘I’vealreadytoldhertostaysittingdown,’Gwensaid.
Gabrieljustsighed.
‘Whichquotedidyoudecideon,intheend?Fromtheletters?’
‘Um…’Gabrielshuffledthroughthepages.‘Tobetrulybrave,firstyoumustbeafraid–andtobeafraid,youmusthavesomethingyoucannotbeartolose.’
‘That’snice,’saidArthur.‘IstillthinkyoushouldhavechosenthepartaboutLancelot’sstrong,defthands.’
‘It’snottoolatetocutyououtofthisspeech.’
‘Youwouldn’t,’Arthursaiddismissively,puttinganarmaroundGabriel’swaistandthengrinningwhenhedidn’tremoveit.‘YouthinkI’mfartoocharming.’
‘Whentheycomeformykingdom,I’lltellyouifitwasallworthit.’
‘Pleasestopflirting,’saidGwen.‘You’regivingmeaheadache.’
‘YouaresittinginBridget’slap,’Arthurpointedout.‘AndIcanveryclearlyseethatshe’sgotherhandonyourthigh.’
‘Right,’Gabrielsaidsuddenly,standingup.‘Ican’tsithereandlistentothisanymore.I’mgoingtothesouthcourtyardtopractise,beforetheystartlettingpeoplein.Areyoucoming?’
‘Yes,’saidGwen,gettingtoherfeet.
‘Sid?’Arthursaid.
‘Yeah,yeah,’Sidneysaid,standingandgivingAgnesanentirelyunnecessaryhandup.‘Obviously.We’reallcoming.Wewouldn’tmissthis.’
‘IthinkI’mgoingtopassout,’Gabrielsaid.Arthurgavehimabracingshake,andthenglancedbackatGwen’snervoussmile,Bridget’sfaceblazingwithdetermination.Gabrielwaswhiteasasheet,hishandshakingwhereitheldthespeech,butArthurwasn’tworried.
‘Noyou’renot,’hesaid.‘You’regoingtobebrilliant.You’regoingtobeabrilliant,braveidiot.You’regoingtoshocktheentirecountry,butthey’llcomearoundwhentheyrealisethatasidefromyourpenchantforroguish,dark-hairedgentlemen,you’rethemostrighteous,level-headedmonarchthat’severwornacrown.Andjustthink:we’llbeinTintagelinaweek–that’llgivethemallsometimetogetusedtoithere,wherewedon’thavetowatchthemdoingit.’Gabrielgavehimaweak,forcedsortofsmile.‘That’sthespirit.Now,comeon.Chinup,shouldersback;let’sgoandshowthemanewEngland.’
GwendisentangledherselffromBridgetforlongenoughtogiveArthuraquicksqueezeofahugastheywalked.‘Thatwasactuallyreallynice,youknow.Nexttime,perhapsdon’tcallhimanidiot.’
Arthursqueezedherbackandthenputapalmtoherforeheadtoshoveheraway.‘Oh,it’salwayssomething,isn’tit.Don’tdothis,don’tdothat…Agnes,Idon’tknowhowyouexpecttogetthroughthisdoorwhilekissingSidney,youhavetoletgoatsomepoint.Ithinkweshouldmakethisparticularunionillegal,whilewe’remakingspeeches.HasanybodygotLucifer?Hehastocome,helovesfeasts…Don’tlookatmelikethat,Gwendoline,he’sahighlyvaluedmemberoftheroyalfamily…’
FromthestonecrownatopthestatueofArthurPendragon,astrangelyfamiliarcrowblinkedonce,shookoutherdarkwings,andthensetoffintothebrightmorningsky.Acknowledgements
Thisbookcametolifein2020,theyearwespentinside.IwroteitsittinginmyLondonflatwiththebalconydoorcrackedopentoletinsomeair,typinginburstsbetweenpiss-yourself-funnyconversationswithnewfriendsandeveningsspentwatchingstringsofsatellitespassoverheadliketheywereshootingstars(theywereactuallytheexperimentsofvillainoustechbillionaires,butifyousquinted:celestialbodies!).It’skindofaweirdbook.Ihadsomuchfunwritingit.I’mendlessly,almostfrighteninglygratefultothepeoplewhogaveitachance.
ThankyoutoChloeSeager,myagent,whokicksarseforalivingandlooksgooddoingit;toSylvanCreekmore,whomadegrabbyhandsfirst,andVickiLame,whotookustothefinishlineatWednesdayBooks;andtoHannahSandford,forgivingGwenandArttheirwonderfulUKhome.
ThankyoualsotoFlissStevens,KatieAger,JadeneSquires,NickdeSomogyi,AnnaSwan,NinaDouglas,BeatriceCross,MatteaBarnes,AleshaBonser,LauraBirdandMichaelYoungonthissideoftheoceanandVanessaAguirre,RivkaHoller,BrantJaneway,SoleilPaz,MichelleMcMillian,MeghanHarrington,EricMeyer,AdrianaCoada,MelanieSanders,KimLudlam,TomThompson,DylanHelstien,BrittSaghi,EmmaPaigeWest,MichelleAltmanandAmberCortesontheother.
IamsogratefultoOlgaGrlic,NatalieShawandThyBuiformybeautifulcovers,andtoAliceOseman,RainbowRowell,BeckyAlbertalli,C.S.Pacat,FreyaMarske,AvaReid,ArvinAhmadiandLaurenNicolleTaylorforearlyreadsandkindwords.
ThankyoutoNickandHannah,whohavetolivewithme,andmyparents,whoalsohadtolivewithmeatonepointbuthavesinceescaped.ThankyoutoPhotine,GwenandArt’sfirstandbiggestfan.ThankyoutofriendsandreadersRosianna,El,Maggie,Dervla,AliceandAva.Thankyoutomyfandomcomrades,whogotmethroughtheworstofthatyear.Abouquetofratsformywritinggroup.Alittlekissonthenoseformycat,andforanybodyelsewhofanciesone,especiallyifIforgottothankyouwithwords.AbouttheAuthor
LexCrouchergrewupinSurrey,readingalotofbooksandmakingfriendswithstrangersontheinternet,andnowlivesinLondonwithanelderlycat.WithabackgroundinsocialmediaforNGOs,Lexnowwriteshistorical-ishromcomsforadults(Reputation,Infamous)andhistoricalfantasyromcomsforteenagers.GwenandArtAreNotinLoveistheirYAdebut.
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