‘Oh God,’ Gwen said, ripping off Gabriel’s helm and bending over the side of her borrowed horse. ‘I think I’m going to be sick.’
‘Do it,’ said Agnes. ‘You’ve earned it.’ Guards were reaching up to help Gwen down; they had ridden back as far as the tournament grounds, slipping away unnoticed in the chaos as quickly as they had arrived. She could barely wrap her head around what had just happened; it existed only in quick flashes, horrifying glimpses of weapons and blood and cheers and terrified horses, and she had been exceedingly glad to put it behind her.
The guards rode back towards the battle, leaving Agnes and Gwen standing in the entrance to the arena, flags, banners and flowers abandoned and trampled into the ground all around them from when the spectators had either fled for safety or leaped into the fight. There were bodies too, further afield; Gwen tried her best not to look.
‘It worked,’ Agnes said, her fingers fumbling as she helped to remove the armour. ‘I was watching from here. It worked.’
‘I know,’ Gwen said, pulling off the ill-fitting breastplate. She was wearing a page’s clothes underneath, the first thing they’d been able to grab at short notice. ‘I can only hope – I can only hope that it holds.’
If not, they would either be murdered or taken prisoner imminently; there was nobody left to protect them, nothing between them and Lord Willard’s forces. Master Buchanan had stayed up at the castle sitting with the queen, waiting to find out who was coming to relieve him; their makeshift captain, with a fifty-fifty chance that he was about to go down with his ship.
‘Did you see—’ Agnes started hopefully, but Gwen cut her off with a shake of her head.
‘I didn’t see anyone,’ she said bitterly. ‘I could hardly see out of Gabriel’s helm. I wish I had, but – no. Nothing.’
‘Right,’ Agnes said. ‘Do you want to go back up?’
‘No,’ Gwen said. ‘I’m staying here. I want to see how this ends.’ She held out a hand, and Agnes took it.
A horn sounded, making Gwen jump, and a great, weary cheer followed it. Hope and fear squeezed her chest so tightly that she could barely breathe.
She exchanged a look with Agnes.
‘It’s – it’s over?’ Agnes said in a small voice, as if she too couldn’t quite believe it.
‘Come on,’ Gwen said with obviously false bravado, her grip tightening on her friend’s hand. ‘Let’s go and see.’
Gwen tried to walk slowly, as if seeming too eager might scare any good news away, but Agnes was going so fast she was almost dragging Gwen along in her wake. It was hard to tell at first, emerging out on to the top of the slope, who had claimed victory; everybody looked the same, armoured and bloodied and caked in muck.
Someone was shouting orders from a horse, and Gwen’s spirits soared when she saw who it was; Sir Hurst, riding slowly across the field, directing others to corral prisoners and help the wounded.
‘We won,’ Gwen said quietly. ‘Agnes – we won.’
A group of very dejected men was sitting on the ground, swords pointing at them from all directions. Gwen noticed that both Lord Stafford and Lord Delacey were among them, looking oddly clean and extremely perturbed; she imagined they had opted for a healthy distance from the action and an early surrender.
‘I can’t see them,’ Agnes said, her grip on Gwen’s hand slipping. ‘Maybe we should go out ourselves and start checking for – you know, they might be lying somewhere injured, or—’
‘Agnes,’ Gwen said gently, but Agnes couldn’t be stopped.
‘I can’t just go back up to the castle and wait – I’m sorry, but I really can’t, I need to know—’
‘No, Agnes,’ Gwen said, her voice like a shout of laughter, raising her hand and pointing as tears began to stream down her face. ‘Look.’
Four figures were making very slow progress up the hill towards them. They were all absolutely filthy, barely discernible through the mud, but Gwen knew them at once.
Sidney was holding up Arthur, who seemed barely conscious; Arthur was using one of his arms to pretend to help Bridget, who was somehow half carrying Gabriel. They looked ridiculous. They looked completely and utterly miserable.
She had never been so happy to see anybody in all her life.
Sir Hurst had seen them too; immediately there were men sprinting towards Gabriel, shouts of shock and triumph travelling across the field.
None of them could match Agnes and Gwen for speed; they had run for the foursome so quickly that they almost knocked them over.
‘Gabe,’ Gwen said, sobbing freely as she reached for Gabriel’s face, ‘Is he … ?’
‘He’s alive,’ Bridget said quickly, as two of the king’s guard reached them and gently extracted Gabriel from her arms. ‘I think he’s going to be okay.’ Sidney had let go of Arthur so that he could grab Agnes with both hands, and Arthur listed sideways into Bridget, who just about managed to keep him upright.
‘Oh, thank God,’ Gwen sobbed; torn between throwing her arms around Bridget and Arthur, she decided instead to launch herself at both of them. It was clumsy, and messy, and she immediately had a mouthful of mud and hair, but she felt Bridget press a kiss into the side of her head and heard Arthur make a strange, choked-up sound into her neck, and laughed with sheer relief.
‘Arthur,’ she said, muffled against him. ‘Are you crying? Are you crying because you love me, and you’re so pleased to see me?’
‘Jesus,’ Arthur said thickly. ‘I’m crying because I was just in a bloody battle. It was awful, I hated every second of it and I would not recommend it to a friend. And, yes, I suppose – I suppose I’m also crying because I love you and I’m so pleased to see you. Idiot.’
Gwen released her grip on both of them and wiped her muddy, tear-streaked face on her sleeve as Arthur stumbled away after Sidney.
It was suddenly just Gwen and Bridget, sweaty and filthy and silent, each warily awaiting the other. There were a lot of things Gwen wanted to say. She didn’t know where to start.
‘You wielded Excalibur.’
Bridget looked guiltily down at the sword in her hand. ‘Not on purpose. Just had to – borrow it.’
‘You know, that’s the number-one reason people pull swords out of stones,’ Gwen said, laughing through her tears. She was still feeling light with relief. She decided to use it to her advantage. ‘Bridget … I feel like a complete fool. The things I thought mattered, they’re just – I’m sorry I was so selfish. I really wanted you in my life, more than I’ve ever wanted anything, and—’
‘Please stop talking,’ Bridget said, stunning her into silence. ‘I don’t mean to be rude. But I’d prefer it if we … kissed now, talked later.’
Gwen gaped at her for a moment and then glanced around. Everybody who wasn’t unconscious was gathering around Gabriel; nobody was paying them the slightest bit of notice. She barely had time to nod before Bridget’s arms were around her, lifting Gwen off the ground as she kissed her hard and fast and then set her back down on her feet.
Arthur cleared his throat from somewhere behind them. ‘Eyes left, Gwendoline.’
When she turned around, she saw that a knight was walking towards her, trying to get her attention.
He gestured to where Gabriel had been laid out on some sort of makeshift litter. Somebody was tying a tourniquet around his bloodied arm, not looking particularly hopeful about the outcome.
His eyes were open.
‘Gabe,’ Gwen said, rushing over and dropping to her knees in the mud next to him. ‘Oh, God. Gabe, I’m so sorry, but Father – Father’s dead.’ He was barely there, but her words seemed to get through to him; he looked completely lost as she broke into fresh sobs. ‘Gabe, it’s going to be all right, you’re going to be all right, but I just thought you should know that – that you’re king.’
Gabriel held her gaze, tears spilling over and down his cheeks – and then very suddenly turned his head to the side and vomited.
The Captain of the Guard, who had been standing quite close to Gabriel’s head and had stepped neatly out of the vomit’s trajectory, cupped both hands around his mouth so that his voice would carry.
‘The king is dead,’ he shouted. ‘Long live the king.’
Gwen hadn’t even noticed others approaching them, but suddenly the shout was being taken up all around her; when she turned, she saw that everyone was sinking down on to one knee. Even some of the injured were making a very wobbly attempt at it, leaning on each other as they manoeuvred themselves down into the dirt. Arthur dropped to the ground immediately, seemingly glad of an excuse to be there; Bridget drove Excalibur Nine into the mud in front of her before following him. Sidney had been kissing Agnes quite enthusiastically, both of them in tears, but he gamely relocated them both southwards to pay their respects.
Gabriel let out a very pained sigh, and Gwen reached for his good hand.
‘I really wish,’ he said in a small, exhausted voice, ‘that everybody hadn’t just watched me vomit.’