Page 32 of Gwen and Art Are Not in Love

Towards the end of the meal, when people tended to drift from their places to find entertainment further afield, Sidney raised a hand to call Arthur over to where he was sitting with Agnes. Arthur left, giving Gwen a squeeze on the shoulder as he walked away.

‘That’s going well, then,’ Gabriel said.

‘Well – yes, I suppose so. Are you all right? You look … squinty.’

‘No,’ Gabriel said. ‘I mean, yes. I’m all right. Just sat in four hours of military strategy meetings, shuffling little pretend troops and horses around a map of England.’

‘Cultists again?’ Gwen said quietly, and Gabriel gave a small nod in response. ‘Is it bad?’

‘No,’ Gabriel said. ‘I don’t think so. Just these little pockets of … potential unrest, I suppose. They seem to be popping up all over the place, but especially towards the north. They look like they might boil over, so we’re sending men. Too many men, I think, but then I’ve never really had a head for strategy.’

‘If they send all our men north, who’s left to protect us here?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Gabriel. ‘You, I suppose.’

‘Well, did you tell Father what you thought? About the war chests?’

Gabriel had recently confided in Gwen that he thought they were spending too much money fighting their various battles; he wanted their father to divert some of it, to focus on helping the ordinary people of England, but hadn’t yet found the courage to tell him.

‘Somehow it hasn’t come up,’ Gabriel said. He wasn’t looking at Gwen. He was watching somebody across the room. As Gwen finished her stewed pears, he excused himself to go and speak to the Wizard; lately Gwen had noticed him spending more and more time with Master Buchanan, who was probably thrilled thatsomebodyin the royal family was taking an interest in Arthurian history, even if it was only academic. Arthur was still talking to Sidney and Agnes; he said something with a wry smile that made Agnes snort ale out of her nose. For a moment, Gwen imagined what it might be like to get up and join them.

‘Good evening, Gwendoline.’

Gwen startled at the sound of her father’s voice. He sat down in Gabriel’s chair with a glass in hand, making a small groaning sound as he did; he wasn’t that old really, but age seemed to have caught up with him in a rush recently.

‘Evening, Father. Gabriel said you were with the war council most of the day.’

‘Oh? Yes, yes. I suppose we were.’

‘But you won’t have to go?’

‘North? No, I shouldn’t think so. Not for some time anyway. Hopefully never.’

Gwen bit her lip. ‘Gabriel said – I mean, he mentioned that you were sending a lot of troops, and I thought—’

The king chuckled, sounding very tired. ‘Ah. Yes, that did take up quite a lot of the afternoon. Don’t worry yourself aboutthat… Tell me, how are things going with young Arthur?’

‘Oh. Good,’ Gwen said, which was mostly true. ‘We’re getting along much better.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said the king, patting her on the hand. ‘I really don’t wish for you to be unhappy. I know I’ve put you in a difficult position – but I hopeyouknow I wouldn’t have done it if it weren’t truly important. More so now than ever.’

‘So itisbad?’ Gwen said. When she was younger, he had often confided minor matters of state to her over their regular games of chess, when her mother wasn’t there to hear him and tell him off for filling her head with information that was of no use to her; lately any one-on-one discussions about the running of the country had been reserved for Gabriel alone. ‘With the cultists, I mean?’

Her father sighed, rubbing at his beard. ‘The problem with compromise,’ he said eventually, ‘is that, often, everybody loses. You sit on the fence for so long that you discover you’ve built a kingdom on it.’ He took a long drink of wine, and then visibly perked up. ‘Ah, here he is. Been asking the Wizard to make ready the troops of magic birds, son?’

‘No,’ said Gabriel, shifting uncomfortably. The king nodded slightly awkwardly, and then got to his feet.

‘Duty calls. The Earl of Northumberland wants to talk myear off about Arthurian miracles; apparently a magpie told somebody in the port of Blyth to beware of red-headed men.’

Gwen and Gabriel retired to her room to play chess after dinner. Gwen used the opportunity to quiz him further about the supposedly imminent cultist uprisings, while his answers got increasingly weary, most of them culminating in, ‘I don’t know, G. Come on, it’s your move.’

It was quite late when Agnes, who had ostensibly been changing Gwen’s bedclothes and arranging her outfit for the next day in the other room, emerged wearing her cloak and looking very much like a person who didn’t want to be noticed. Gwen and Gabriel both turned to look at her, and she froze on the spot.

‘Going somewhere?’ said Gwen.

‘No,’ Agnes said, flushing very pink.

‘Just thought you’d take your cloak for a turn about the room, then?’