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 – could have 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. You don’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—’
‘It was the Captain of the Guard, your highness,’ said the boy quickly. ‘Sir Hurst. And the Wizard, Master Buchanan.’
‘I won’t go,’ Gwen’s mother said again, sounding near hysterics; Gwen didn’t understand, but she wasn’t going to waste another minute trying to make sense of it.
As she and Agnes walked quickly after the boy, she heard her mother start to cry.
The journey to the war room seemed to take an age, their footsteps echoing eerily in the near-empty castle; when they got there, Sir Hurst, Master Buchanan and a handful of their attendants were standing around the table. They looked grim; Sir Hurst was filthy, freshly returned from the fight.
‘But – where’s everybody else?’ Gwen said, thinking they made for a pretty poor attempt at a war council.
‘Fighting,’ said the Captain of the Guard gruffly. ‘Where’s the queen?’
‘She wouldn’t come,’ Gwen said. ‘I don’t understand why, she just started shouting, so if you just let me know what this is about then I can go back and—’
‘Your highness, I’m afraid the king is dead,’ said the Wizard. He had spoken slowly, kindly, and yet somehow nothing he’d said made sense. He was studying her closely, his eyes apologetic; Gwen just stared at him. ‘Your father,’ he said, as if to remove any room for doubt. ‘He fell, at Sir Marlin’s hand. This boy witnessed it.’
She had barely spoken to Master Buchanan before. It seemed absurd that he would be the one to say such a thing to her now.
‘That’s not …’ Gwen started, but she had no idea what to say next. Her heart was beating very, very fast. There was a strange sound in the room, coupled with the sensation that she was looking at it from very far away.
The numbness she had longed for finally came as she felt herself stagger sideways, caught by the hands of her father’s men. She realised in a detached sort of way that she hated them for making her come here; for making her listen to this. They helped her into a chair. It didn’t feel real, even as she gripped the armrests.
‘Just because he fell,’ Gwen said, wondering if anybody could hear her over all that odd, muffled buzzing, ‘doesn’t mean he’s dead.’
‘I’m sorry, your highness,’ said Sir Hurst, ‘but it’s true. And we need to make a decision now. The prince is unaccounted for. Nobody has seen him since the fighting first began. We have to assume … Usually there would be a clearer order of command, but we were taken by surprise, so we have to make do. The queen has the authority, but if she won’t come …’
Gwen looked down at her hands. They seemed very stupid. Short, ragged nails, with smooth palms; hands that had never done anything of real worth in her entire life. ‘What decision?’
‘We were winning,’ said Master Buchanan. ‘But word must have already spread that the king is dead. And without your brother – our men are losing, your highness. The fight has gone out of them, because they think it’s over. They’re afraid.’
‘We could send out the castle guard,’ said Sir Hurst. ‘Our last fifty or so men. It won’t necessarily change the tide, but it might boost their spirits. That’s what they need. If we do so, though, we leave the castle – and the city beyond – entirely undefended if they make it through the last of our lines. We don’t know what they plan to do if they succeed.’
‘Who decides?’ Gwen said simply. The two men exchanged a look, and then the Captain of the Guard turned away, clearly frustrated.
‘You,’ said Master Buchanan. ‘In the absence of anybody else – you must decide.’
Gwen looked at him. She looked past him at the family sigil on the wall, so familiar that she never really saw it any more – a lion, a hawk and a cup. And then she looked down at the map in front of them; at the ancient shapes and lines of England, at all the paths and roads that eventually made their way to Camelot. She wanted to go back to her chambers and lock the door, climb into bed and wake up in a world in which her father was alive; Gabriel exhausted but waving to her on their way to breakfast; Bridget waiting for her in the stables; and Arthur knocking on her door to trade jibes and stories at the end of the day.
It was all gone, that life – and yet there was still more to be lost, if she faltered now.
‘Send out the guard,’ she said, standing up.
‘You’re sure?’ said Master Buchanan; Gwen nodded once.
‘You must fetch the queen and leave at once,’ Sir Hurst said. ‘In case the castle falls.’
Gwen shook her head. ‘She won’t go,’ she said. ‘And nor shall I.’
‘Your highness, with all due respect—’
‘Send out the guard,’ Gwen said heavily, trying to quell her shaking as she squared her shoulders and faced him head-on. ‘But first – I need you to do something for me.’