Page 101 of Gwen and Art Are Not in Love

Arthur turned to find that the King of England was standing not ten feet away. He was almost as drenched in blood as the Knife had been, but it didn’t seem to belong to him; he was alive with purpose, radiating power as he brought his longsword down on to somebody’s shoulder. He should have been surrounded by his own men, but in the chaos of battle, he seemed to have found himself fighting alone.

Arthur was confused for a moment, but then he saw what Sidney had seen: the Knife hadn’t staggered off to diepolitely. The Knife was, in fact, standing right at the king’s shoulder, helmless, his sword raised and ready to strike.

‘Your majesty,’ Sidney roared, at the same time as Arthur managed to get out a wordless shout, but it was too late; the Knife’s sword slipped up under the king’s armour almost casually, as if he hadn’t quite made up his mind to do it until the last second.

The king didn’t seem to notice, at first. He finished off the man in front of him and then faltered; he looked mildly surprised, more than anything, turning very slightly in an attempt to see who had stabbed him.

Sir Marlin removed his sword just as Sidney hit him, blade-first, in the neck; there was so much blood that he was probably dead before he hit the ground. Arthur’s instinct was to faint, his vision warping – but he managed to stay conscious, his eyes fixed on Gwen’s father.

The king sank to his knees; some of his men were beginning to shout to each other and fight their way to him. By the time Arthur reached him, crawling on his hands and knees to get there, the king had fallen completely to the ground with a small sigh of resignation.

‘It’ll be all right,’ Arthur said stupidly, pulling Gwen’s father into his lap with arms that barely seemed connected to his body. ‘Just – hang on a minute. Okay? You’re the moststubbornman alive, you can hold on for just one more minute, and then – and then someone will come to help.’ Lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the king’s face, ashen beneath his helm. His eyes seemed to be losing focus; one of his hands jerked upwards, and Arthur grabbed it. ‘Listen to me. Just – listen to me. I’m here. Gwen andGabriel will never bloody forgive me if you don’t make it back, so just – justhold on.’

‘Gwendoline,’ said the king quietly, ‘and Gabriel.’

Arthur could have sworn that the first clap of thunder sounded the exact moment he died.

Even if everything else was lost that day, Gwen had been given one tiny bit of solace to keep: Arthur hadn’t betrayed them. At least not knowingly. Only a fool would have ridden out alone into the middle of a battlefield to make that point clear, but he always had been exactly that sort of unthinking, wonderful idiot.

Gwen had watched as the second rider – Sidney, she was sure of it – had broken away and gone galloping across the field, seconds before Lord Willard gave the command for his men to attack. The two armies had met almost exactly where Arthur had crumpled to the ground; he was immediately swallowed up, just one of hundreds of dark heads in the chaos.

Agnes appeared on the parapet. Gwen expected tears from her, but instead she just came to stand with her, white-faced and resolute.

‘It wasn’t Arthur,’ Gwen said quietly to her.

‘No,’ she said simply in response.

‘But you tried to tell me that,’ Gwen said, ‘and I wouldn’t listen.’

‘Yes.’ Agnes should have been very angry at her – couldhave raged at Gwen for depriving her of her last glimpse of Sidney – but instead she reached over and took Gwen’s hand. ‘They’ve sent the rest of the men out to fight, and they’ve been evacuating people out into the city and beyond. There’s hardly anybody left in the castle, except the guard.’

Gwen nodded. It was impossible to look away from the battlefield, but it was truly grotesque to behold; where fights in the tournament had sometimes been graceful, almost beautiful, this was mindless and ugly. She tried not to focus on anybody in particular, but in looking for the people she loved her eyes would sometimes alight on a figure as they staggered gracelessly about in their heavy armour, trying to attack or to defend themselves, only to be hit and sent tumbling to the ground.

Gwen had hoped that at some point she would reach such heights of pure anxiety that she’d go numb, her body unable to take any more, but instead she felt it all. Every breath she took seemed reluctant to bring her any relief, and every shout from below plucked at her frayed nerves. She was beginning to get light-headed; she had been standing, pacing, but now she sat and put her head in her hands.

‘God, when will this be over?’ she said in a small voice. ‘I can’t stand it.’

‘Soon,’ Agnes said, although she wasn’t quite convincing. ‘Very soon. You heard what I said, they sent more men – they’ll easily overpower them, and it’ll be done.’

Gwen looked up at her, tears in her eyes, suddenly so grateful for Agnes she could hardly stand it. ‘Thank you for staying. I know you didn’t have to.’

Agnes gave her a watery smile in response, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly. ‘Of course.’

A throat was cleared, and Gwen looked up to see a messenger standing in the doorway. He looked all of twelve years old. He was covered in mud and half-dead on his feet; bowing to them almost sent him toppling over.

Gwen’s mother made a strangled, choked-off sort of noise, and Gwen looked at her in alarm; she had gone to stand, but sank back into her chair again, bloodless and stricken.

‘What?’ Gwen said, looking from her mother to the messenger and then back again. ‘What, Mother? You don’t know what he’s going to say. Youdon’t.’ Her voice sounded strange to her own ears, as if she were pleading – but with whom, she didn’t know.

‘You’re both needed,’ the boy said, in a tremulous voice. ‘Downstairs. Please, your highnesses.’

‘No,’ said the queen. ‘I’ll stay here.’

‘Mother,’ Gwen said crossly, getting to her feet. ‘Where?’ she asked the boy.

‘In the – in the war room,’ said the boy. ‘They said – they said to bring both of you.’

‘Well, I won’t go,’ said the queen, glaring at the boy like he’d done something to offend her. ‘I won’t be ordered around by – by—’