‘We’ve been doing this all summer,’ Sidney said to the surly guard at the tournament grounds. Arthur had noticed that they’d been spending a lot of time bargaining with guards lately; it felt like a waste of their many talents. ‘Come on.’
‘Can’t do that,’ said the guard. He was blocking the only entrance to the royal stands, and Arthur quite desperately needed to be on the other side of him. Sidney flexed his hands at Arthur’s side; his knuckles cracked ominously.
‘Well – why not?’ Arthur said. ‘What on earth have I done, specifically, to incur your wrath? I want to go to the tournament. I like watching people hit each other. If you don’t let us through, I’ll gladly demonstrate, with the help of my slightly unhinged friend here.’ He knew without looking that Sidney was rolling his eyes.
‘Lot of people here today,’ said the guard, ignoring his threat. ‘Security’s tight. ’S’not personal, boy. Lord Stafford said nobody’s to come through this entrance except the royal family themselves.’
‘I’m going to be in the royal family in a matter of weeks,’ Arthur said through gritted teeth. ‘Come on. Everybody knows who I am. Just let me through, I need to see my – my betrothed.’
‘Sorry, pal. General stands are full too, so you won’t get in there,’ said the guard. Arthur did seriously consider doing something very stupid for a few seconds, but Sidney seemed to sense his rapidly increasing appetite for chaos, and pulled him gently away.
It was Sidney’s fault that they were here anyway. After the altercation in the library Arthur had been perfectly content to lie in his bed and stew, wondering how he could have possibly ruined everything between himself and the royal siblings without even leaving his room. Perhaps, he thought wildly, the wedding had been called off for some reason? Maybe the king had changed his mind and, now that they were free from obligation, Gwen and Gabriel had been extremely relieved to cut him off at the first opportunity?
Sidney had insisted that it wasn’t simply that Arthur was an innately unloveable person, as he often suspected, and had finally shed his reluctance and demanded that they go in search of answers.
‘This is, quite frankly, bullshit,’ Arthur said now, noticing that he was leaning heavily on Sidney and making an effort to straighten up and bear more of his own weight.
‘Chill,’ Sidney said, steering Arthur around the perimeter of the tournament grounds. ‘Bet you a gold noble the guards care a lot less about who gets chummy with the competitors.’ He pointed to the entrance that led to the knights’ tents and enclosures.
‘You don’t have a noble,’ Arthur said, but he was pleased to discover that Sidney was right; there wasn’t even anybody standing guard at the entrance, and when they got inside, it was almost deserted.
Sidney jerked his head towards the arena. ‘Hear that? Reckon they’re about to start.’
The crowd was indeed growing louder every second, and they picked up their pace as much as they could, Arthur setting his jaw against the pain.
‘So the plan is …’ he said, breathing heavily. ‘Out through the competitors’ entrance – don’t get dragged into the melee – wriggle our way towards Gwen. I reckon if we can just get her attention, we can— Oh.’
He had walked straight into his father.
‘Ah,’ said Lord Delacey. ‘Arthur.’
Arthur had no idea where to begin with his response; in his determination to get to Gwen, he was completely baffled by this sudden and considerable obstacle. Sidney, however, gave a quick and curt sort of bow, taking Arthur with him.
‘It’s fortuitous, actually,’ his father continued slowly, eyes darting from Arthur to Sidney and then back again, ‘that I have run into you.’
‘Odd that you should say so,’ Arthur said tightly. ‘If you wanted to come and find me, I’ve actually been pretty stationary. You know. Nearly dying.’ Next to him, Arthur felt Sidney stiffen; quite a few large men had just walked through the entrance, and were now standing menacingly at Lord Delacey’s shoulders.
‘Arthur,’ his father said, raising his eyebrows and continuing to speak as if Arthur were a stray dog that needed to be approached with caution. ‘There’s no reason to be difficult. Come with me now, and I’ll explain on the way.’
‘Actually,’ Arthur spat, ‘I can think of quite a few reasons to be difficult. One—’
‘Seize him,’ his father said, in a tone so light that for a moment Arthur was sure he had misheard. His father’s men clearly hadn’t; they immediately moved towards him, and Sidney took a step forward, pulling out his shortsword and putting himself squarely between Arthur and danger.
‘Er … what the hell is happening?’ Arthur said, as two of the men also raised their weapons, and Sidney moved back to accommodate them, his shoulders pressed against Arthur’s chest.
‘Get out of the way,’ Arthur’s father snarled at Sidney. ‘I pay your wages, boy.’
‘Now that you mention it,’ Sidney said evenly, ‘I resign. In disgrace.’
‘Father,’ Arthur said, his voice wavering. Even Sidney couldn’t expect to hold off the half-dozen men who were now advancing on them, and Arthur had no desire to see his head removed from his body. ‘Can we take a moment and go back a few steps? I think there’s been some sort of—’
It happened so quickly that Arthur couldn’t have explained how it had transpired with a sword to his throat – and certainly not with six. One of the men towards the back of the group let out an extremely loud grunt as something in his body made the sort of cracking noise that healthy bodies shouldn’t, on the whole – and then he was toppling sideways; another managed to turn and raise his sword just in time as Lady Leclair, wielding only a dagger, brought her arm up to meet him.
‘Bridget!’ Arthur said, genuinely delighted to see her.
‘You seem to be –’ Bridget grunted, pushing hard against the man who was attempting to suppress her – ‘in a spot of bother.’
‘I don’t have time for this,’ Arthur’s father hissed. ‘Get him, and let’s go.’
The first man who tried to grab Arthur discovered very quickly how reluctant Sidney was to let anybody get within touching distance; he was dispatched with a rather nasty stab wound to the thigh and a blow to the head that sent him tottering sideways until he collapsed quietly to the ground. The second, third and fourth were not quite so hasty; they attacked en masse, and it became clear almost immediately that this was a fight that Arthur and Sidney weren’t going to win.
Within approximately ten seconds, Sidney had been knocked from his feet, a sword pressed to his throat, and Arthur was holding up his shaking hands in surrender. Behind his father, he could see Bridget locked in combat with a much taller man who was trying very hard to keep out of dagger-swiping range.
‘Stop,’ Arthur said raggedly, as the man who had Sidney at his mercy lifted his sword as if to get a better angle on Sidney’s jugular. ‘Father. Stop. I’ll come with you – we both will. Sid, drop your sword.’
Sidney swore, but immediately did as he was told, opening his hand and letting it fall to the ground.
‘Fine,’ Lord Delacey said; the man who had been about to kill Sidney instead roughly hauled him to his feet, and then turned him to bind his hands crudely behind his back.
‘What about … ?’ One of the men gestured at Bridget, who had been pushed back against the fence but was still giving her all.
‘Leave them. He’ll finish her. We must go now,’ Lord Delacey said impatiently. Arthur found himself practically lifted from the ground by the two men, who each grabbed one of his shoulders to frogmarch him away.
It was just as well, really; his legs had almost given out the moment Sidney had been forced to the ground.
If his father’s men hadn’t been so unforgivably rude, he might have thanked them for the lift.