Chapter 10

‘Look at that,’ Arthur said to Gabriel. ‘Sad, isn’t it.’

‘There are quite a few things I could say right now,’ Sidney said. ‘Quite a few stories I could tell, about the lengths you’ve gone to while pining—’

‘Yes, well, I’m very pleased for you,’ Arthur said quickly. ‘Adieu, good evening, have a lovely wait, and I hope she’s worth it.’

‘She will be,’ Sidney said, grinning.

‘So unnerving,’ Arthur muttered, as he and Gabriel started walking away across the courtyard. ‘He’s not usually like this. Maybe he’s ill.’

‘What lengths have you gone to while pining?’ said Gabriel, his face obscured by his hood.

‘Oh, he’s just trying to … There was this thing with a song, I was never particularly good at the lute – not important,’ Arthur blustered. Gabriel slowed down and glanced over his shoulder, back at the chapel.

‘I don’t really feel I should just leave her in there,’ he said. Arthur could see the lower half of his face now; he was chewing anxiously on his bottom lip, which by rights shouldn’t have been the least bit attractive.

‘Oh, she’s fine,’ Arthur said, taking him by the arm. ‘Come on – we’re far more conspicuous lurking out here than she is partying in there.’ Any other heir to the throne, Arthur thought, might protest at being hauled around by a minor member of his court; Gabriel seemed to take it in his stride, as if he’d just been waiting for somebody to tell him what to do next, and Arthur’s direction was as good as any.

‘I would have liked to see it,’ Gabriel said, as they approached the alleyway.

‘Yes. Well. It’s not in my nature to leave a party early, but we were very much surplus to requirements,’ Arthur replied. ‘I feel at a bit of a loss, now. All worked up and nowhere to go.’

‘Yes,’ said Gabriel vaguely. They lapsed into an awkward silence, which to Arthur was tantamount to torture.

‘Off to bed then?’ he said, for lack of anything else.

‘Actually, I – I’ll probably go to the library.’

‘In the middle of the night?’

‘In the middle of the night.’

‘Oh,’ said Arthur. ‘That’s … admirable, I suppose.’

‘Is it?’

‘Well, somebody’s got to do it.’ The fact that this made no sense at all was not lost on him.

‘I’m sort of … studying,’ Gabriel said, and even in the dark Arthur could see that he was blushing. It was a shame not to be able to see it more clearly; his kingdom – or, Gabriel’s kingdom, he supposed – for a well-placed brazier. They reached the gate into the main castle, and Gabriel removed his hood for the guards, who quickly scrambled aside.

‘Studying for what?’ They were slowing down, and Arthur didn’t know who had initiated it. He was usually a fastidiously fast walker; Sidney was forever complaining about it.

‘Um. Everything? My future,’ Gabriel said. Arthur’s instinct was to laugh, but he managed to keep himself in check.

‘You’re studying for life? For your life? Is there a – is there a how-to guide for monarchs? Tips and tricks for subjugating the masses? Prevent a revolt in ten easy steps?’

‘Yes,’ said Gabriel. ‘Well. Sort of. But it’s chronicled in a thousand different volumes about the history of the kings of Britain, or written by the kings themselves, and they all disagree about precisely how to go about the … subjugating.’

‘So you’re working on the pamphlet,’ Arthur said. ‘To make it snappy. Summarise it on to one piece of parchment, to instruct future generations.’

‘I’m working on …’ Gabriel sighed. They had reached the middle of the north-west courtyard and come to a complete stop. ‘I’m just working.’

‘Well, I’m sorry we couldn’t liven your spirits with a secret cultist party,’ said Arthur. ‘Clearly you needed it.’

‘Right,’ said Gabriel. There was another awkward silence.

‘So you’re going to the library?’ Arthur said.

‘Yes,’ said Gabriel. His voice was much higher in pitch when he said, ‘Are you – do you want to come?’

‘Better than going to bed, I suppose,’ he said, shrugging. ‘Or – probably about the same as going to bed, but at least it’s a change of scenery.’

‘Wild in here past midnight, is it?’ he said, peering dubiously around as Gabriel took up a lantern that had obviously been left for his use by the door. The room was packed with bookshelves, arranged back to back and bookended with large pillars, creating a dark and dusty warren. They had to take several hairpin turns, but eventually they made it to a corner that had clearly been furnished for extended stays. It contained a small linenfold table with a hard-backed chair behind it and a thick stack of books neatly piled atop it. There was also a large, well-used armchair; the velvet was slightly worn at the back and the seat, patches threadbare and faded.

‘What are you reading?’ said Arthur, pulling the next book on the pile down into his lap. It expelled quite a lot of dust; he promptly sneezed on it, and then wiped it apologetically on his tunic.

‘They’re first-hand accounts of how the early cultist factions formed,’ Gabriel said. Arthur flipped open the cover of the book he was holding and found that it had been meticulously transcribed in dark brown ink that looked unnervingly bloody. ‘It’s useful to understand the original context, but it’s also a bit of a – a personal project of mine.’

‘Go on then,’ Arthur said.

‘Go on – what?’

‘Tell me how the early cultist factions formed,’ he said. Gabriel turned a page, and Arthur put his own book down on the table, and then rested his head on it, so that he could listen in the least taxing way possible.

‘Well,’ said Gabriel, clearing his throat. ‘You’ll know this part. Arthur Pendragon fell at the Battle of Camlann, at Mordred’s hand. The cultists believe that Morgan le Fay oversaw the transportation of Arthur’s body to Avalon, an uncharted island and the source of all of England’s magic – and that one day he’ll return.’ Arthur could tell that Gabriel was much more comfortable recalling events from a book than having to come up with the words on his own; the awkwardness between them had dissipated almost immediately.

‘After all your father’s peacekeeping,’ Arthur said, ‘what would he do if they were right? If the bastard returned? He could hardly hop off the throne and say, “Sorry, old chap, I was just keeping it warm for you” – but the only other option is all-out war with King Arthur himself and all his cultist pals.’

‘What would my father do,’ Gabriel said slowly, ‘if a man who’s been dead for hundreds of years appeared and asked for his throne back? To be honest, I don’t think he’s really thought about it.’

‘I bet you all the money in my pocket that somewhere in the depths of his war room there’s a contingency plan for that exact occasion. Operation Rex Undeadus.’

‘I can assure you, there isn’t,’ said Gabriel, but he didn’t look entirely convinced.

‘All right,’ said Arthur. ‘What’s next? After the bit about the magic island.’

‘Well, it’s interesting – you would have thought that with all this magic supposedly out in the open, everybody would have believed in it, but plenty of people were sceptical at the time. Most of them only heard about it through stories, you see – it wasn’t like Merlin was standing in the town square doing tricks for all and sundry. Then after the Saxons invaded, there was a bit of a muddle with lots of old gods in the mix, and then the country was Catholicised very rapidly. It wasn’t until about a hundred years later that cultists really started practising in earnest; by that time it had been long enough for Arthur Pendragon to have become legend. A myth, not a man.’

‘Well,’ Arthur said. ‘I suppose it’s much easier to devote yourself to the idea of somebody, instead of the flesh-and-blood person. Much neater.’

‘Exactly,’ said Gabriel. ‘What I’m reading now is this man – this sort of Arthurian thought leader – talking about the power of people. The theory that with magic gone, it’s up to the cultists to stand up for Merlin and Morgana’s ideals, while they await the second coming of their king, and the magic that’ll return with him.’ He was talking earnestly, moving his hands; Arthur had never seen him so animated. It was clear that he didn’t ensconce himself in the library out of a sense of duty – he actually really enjoyed this, all the reading and the learning and the inhaling of vast quantities of dust. ‘Because the magic isn’t enough, on its own. It doesn’t just fix everything. They need people who are open to it, people who want to channel that power for good. And back when Arthur was king … he was that person.’

‘So they follow a man they believe was Merlin’s puppet,’ Arthur said. ‘Why not just worship the wizards?’

‘Well, they are very fond of them,’ Gabriel said, ‘but look – read this.’ He pushed the book towards Arthur again, and this time Arthur actually sat up properly to read it.

‘This is written in Old English,’ he said. ‘I hate Old English. It’s almost as bad as Common Brittonic. My father made me learn both.’

‘Well, this man was hardly going to write it in Latin,’ said Gabriel, pointing to a line of text.

‘Arthur … hygeclœne. I don’t know that one – what’s hygeclœne?’

‘Roughly translated, “pure of heart”,’ Gabriel said, using his finger to trace the word without ever actually touching the page. ‘He wasn’t their puppet – he was their chosen one. The only one good enough to take on all that power and not be corrupted by it. Cultists believe that Arthur’s downfall came not because he wasn’t strong enough, or good enough, but because of the people around him. I mean – in half the stories, Morgan le Fay is pitted against him, although the more progressive think that she took him to his final resting place, so they must have reconciled in the end.’

‘Ah,’ said Arthur. ‘But they don’t believe it was his final resting place, if he’s coming back. Final napping place, maybe.’

‘Well,’ Gabriel said. ‘Opinion is divided about whether he’ll come back in body, or in spirit. Plenty of cultists believe that Arthur’s return will be more of a … a rebirth. An awakening, inside somebody else who is as pure – as hygeclœne – as him. And then Merlin will return in some form too, and probably Morgana, and we’ll have magic again in England and a true ruler on the throne.’

‘But … you don’t believe any of this,’ Arthur said slowly. ‘Right? Because that would be potentially problematic, seeing as your father is our true ruler. And, you know … because soon you’ll be the one on the throne.’

‘No,’ Gabriel said, running a hand through his hair. ‘I don’t believe it. Or – no, not in the magic. But it is fascinating. And I suppose I do want to be … the kind of king these people want. Worthy. Even if the Catholics in this country don’t believe that Merlin really existed, or that Arthur had some spiritual significance, they do all think he did a pretty good job of being king.’

‘But it’s like you said. They devote themselves to the idea of somebody. You can’t live up to a legend. Not even the legend himself could do it, if he were here.’

‘Maybe not,’ said Gabriel, but Arthur wasn’t buying it.

‘Hang on – so you’re modelling yourself on Arthur Pendragon? Is that what you’re doing shut away in here all the time? Trying to read enough about him by the time you ascend to the throne that you can become the – I don’t know – the chivalric ideal?’ Gabriel didn’t say anything, but he did look slightly embarrassed. Arthur let out a huff of laughter and collapsed back against his chair. ‘Well, that’s – that’s nonsense, Gabriel. And entirely unattainable.’

‘There’s no way to live up to the chivalric ideal,’ Arthur scoffed. ‘There are only three ways to attempt it – die on a religious quest, die for your true love, or die in battle. Regardless, you never get out of it alive.’

‘Asked if you’d like to be king instead,’ Gabriel said, looking stricken. ‘I remember. I didn’t think … well, I hoped you didn’t. Remember, I mean. I had finally told Father how I felt, that it was all too much for me and I didn’t want it, and he said … he said I had to be the king the people needed, even if it wasn’t the man I wanted to be. I was so desperate for a way out, and hearing that … it felt like watching a door close, and knowing it’d never open for me again.’

‘Ouch,’ said Arthur. He tapped his fingers on the table, considering. ‘You know … fathers aren’t always right just by virtue of being fathers. Or even … just by virtue of being king.’