St Martin’s Day dawned surprisingly crisp and sunny that year, and Arthur woke up in a good mood.
He knew Gabriel hadn’t, despite Arthur’s best efforts to cheer him the night before; in fact, when Arthur had last seen him, Gabriel had looked terrified almost to the point of vomiting. It wasn’t a new expression – he’d been wearing it quite a lot over the past three months – and it was, Arthur supposed, an unfortunate and necessary by-product of trying to change the world for the better.
After the battle, Gabriel had been whisked away to the royal quarters with Gwen at his side, and nobody had been around to explain that Arthur should be allowed to visit. He had spent days going slowly mad until, one evening, Gwen had knocked on his door, given him a painful hug and told him that his presence had been requested.
When he walked in, Arthur had been greeted by the sight of Gabriel propped up in bed, bruised and shattered, surrounded by an assortment of potions and draughts and very thoroughly bandaged. Logically, he wasn’t surprised to see that Gabriel’s left arm had been amputated to the elbow, the wound wrapped and packed with herbs – but it was still a bit of a shock.
‘Hello,’ Gabriel said, his voice slightly strained. ‘Can you please pass me the papers on the table? Be careful. They’re very delicate.’
Arthur obliged, placing them gently in Gabriel’s lap and then sitting down in the chair next to the bed.
‘After you found those letters,’ Gabriel said, looking down at the parchment rather than at Arthur, ‘I sent them to Tintagel, and asked that the scholars there search for more. It was a lot easier, I think, once they knew what they were looking for. Most were burned long ago, but I discovered yesterday that they’ve already turned up these. This one –’ he pulled one from the pile – ‘is from Arthur Pendragon. Telling Sir Lancelot du Lac in no uncertain terms that he’s in love with him.’
‘Good for him,’ said Arthur, not entirely sure where this was going.
‘I haven’t slept properly for days,’ Gabriel said. ‘And I might feel differently when I’m not quite so … delirious. But my father worked his entire life to try to keep this country happy by never taking any particular stance on anything, and they still … they still killed him for it.’ He stopped to take a breath. ‘If I’m going to die doing this job, Arthur, then I want to die knowing I did the best I could. I can’t do that by trying to emulate my father, because I’m not my father. I want to be true to myself, and true to England, and … well, like you said – shouted – back when you first gave me those letters, it turns out we’ve been living up to the ideals of Arthur Pendragon all along. I think it’s time people knew that. I think … it’s time to do things differently.’
Arthur was speechless for a moment before he recovered himself. ‘How long do you think you could go without sleep, long term? Because frankly, I’ve never heard you make so much sense.’
Gabriel put down Arthur Pendragon’s letter, wincing, as if pain had rushed back to claim him. ‘I’m not telling you this because I … expect anything from you, Arthur. I just wanted you to know.’
Arthur reached over to pat him on his unbandaged arm, slightly overcome with pride. ‘Get some sleep. I’ll come back tomorrow, and we can talk some more.’ He went to leave as Gabriel eased himself back against the pillows, and then paused at the door. ‘Because … I wouldn’t mind, you know. If you did harbour expectations. In fact, I’d do my very best to exceed them.’
He had come back the next day, and there had been a little talking. As Gabriel got stronger there had been more of it, and on a late September afternoon when Arthur was reading to Gabriel from one of the Arthurian tomes Mrs Ashworth had sent from home, Gabriel had closed the book for him and they had graduated from talking to kissing.
Still, they took things very slowly. The shock of the coup had left both Gwen and Gabriel brittle, unfocused, and very, very sad.
He didn’t blame either of them, of course – in fact, he thought they were doing remarkably well, for two people who had lost their father in the sudden violence of battle. Gabriel, especially, had started to take his new position in his stride.
He assembled a new council – some new faces, some old. He spoke his mind; he listened. Every time he didn’t understand something, he asked for it to be repeated in terms that made sense to him – everything was carefully debated and voted on, pride left at the door. Arthur imagined that some of his new staff probably thought him addled from his injuries and his grief, confused by this new way of doing things. They didn’t know that this was how Gabriel always would have taken to the office of king.
His quieter, gentler way of governing had certainly been called into question when it came to the matter of the prisoners from the battle; tradition dictated that they should be executed. Gabriel had scattered them across England, putting them in the care of some of his father’s most trusted bannermen, indebted and indentured, but for shockingly lenient periods that had caused Sir Hurst to storm out of a meeting in disgust.
Arthur had argued that the former Lord Delacey deserved a longer sentence, and Gabriel had just given him a very stern look. He had inherited that look, Arthur noted, from his father.
Arthur was a very slow walker these days; he had never quite recovered from the attack outside the inn, or from being so ill for so long, and some days just getting out of bed made him feel like he was still crawling through thick, unforgiving mud. Today, luckily, wasn’t one of them. The castle was busy, everybody swept up in preparations for the St Martin’s Day feast and the address Gabriel was to give to the populace at its close. None of them knew what he planned to say.
When Arthur reached the walled rose garden, he nudged the door open with his foot and almost fell over when Lucifer shot past him; the cat bounded off into the bushes, immediately distracted by a bee.
‘Lucifer,’ Arthur said sternly. ‘That one’s spicy.’
‘He’ll never catch it,’ Gabriel said, lifting his hand to shield his eyes from the low November sun. He had his speech on his lap, and it was very well-thumbed despite the fact that he had only finished this latest version yesterday afternoon.
‘O ye of little faith,’ Arthur said, stooping to kiss Gabriel’s curls. He looked, as Arthur had suspected he would, absolutely ill with nerves. ‘Hi, Sid – Agnes. I’m here, by the way. Don’t get up.’
Sidney was sitting on the bench opposite muttering something in Agnes’s ear, while she turned steadily pinker; he gave Arthur the finger without missing a beat.
‘I’m still paying your salary,’ Arthur said darkly, throwing himself down on to the seat next to Gabriel.
‘I saved your life about eight thousand times,’ Sidney said, raising an eyebrow. ‘You’re so indebted to me. You’re so indebted to me it’s embarrassing.’
Arthur threw up his hands, exasperated, and looked to Gabriel for support. Gabriel, predictably, was frowning back down at his speech again.
The door smacked against the wall on its hinges; Sidney and Agnes didn’t bother looking up, but Arthur waved to Bridget as she stalked across the courtyard with a dour expression on her face.
‘That’s a very nice dress,’ Arthur said, knowing he was pushing his luck.
‘You’re pushing your luck,’ Bridget said, looking murderous as she sat down. ‘I’d have stayed out on the road if anybody had warned me I’d have to wear a dress. Where’s Gwen?’
‘With our mother,’ Gabriel said, still looking down at his speech. ‘They’ve started playing chess together in the mornings. I don’t think either of them particularly enjoys it, but you know – they’re trying.’
‘So let me guess,’ Arthur said slowly. ‘The dress, while of course an enduring symbol of your endless subjugation, is a necessary evil to make you look feminine and proper today in light of all the extremely improper things you plan to do from this day forth.’
‘Don’t say words like “subjugation” to me right now,’ Bridget said, pressing a hand to her forehead. ‘I promised Gwen I’d be on my best behaviour.’
‘Luckily,’ Arthur said lightly, ‘I made no such promises.’ Gabriel looked up sharply from his speech.
‘Arthur,’ he said. ‘You’re not serious? You know how important today is, I really can’t think about anything else on top of—’
‘Gabe,’ Arthur said, putting a hand on his knee. ‘I’m messing with you.’
‘Oh,’ Gabriel said, looking pained. ‘Well. Don’t.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Arthur, as the door opened again. ‘Shouldn’t be too much of a strain on my self-control – your sister is here to be tortured instead.’
‘No more torture,’ Gwen said, immediately crossing to Bridget, who pulled her down on to her lap and let Gwen bury her head in her neck. ‘God. I’m so glad you came back early.’
‘So … it’s not going well with your mother then?’
‘No,’ Gwen said. ‘But I suppose it’s not her fault. She’s had a shock. You would imagine that something like … something like Father might have put everything in perspective, but apparently it hasn’t. She did ask after you today, though, Bridget, so she must be trying to acclimatise.’
‘You need to be gentle with her,’ Gabriel said, and Gwen snorted.
‘I am gentle with her. It’s all right for you, she still acts like you’re the second coming of Arthur Pendragon, even now. You can do no wrong.’
‘That’s stupid,’ Arthur said. ‘When we all know that Bridget is the second coming of Arthur Pendragon.’
‘Stop making that joke,’ Bridget said, scowling at him. ‘The more you talk about it, the more people look at me sideways. I get enough of that around here without people wondering if I’m about to seize the sword again and challenge the king for the throne.’
‘Oh, don’t tease me,’ Gabriel said drily. ‘Not if you’re not actually going to do it.’
‘You’re a good king,’ said Arthur. ‘You are. Bloody great king. Best one. Well …’ he amended, seeing Gwen look at him with a rather pinched expression. ‘You’re up there with the greats.’
‘Father would be proud of you, Gabe,’ Gwen said quietly. Gabriel closed his eyes, and then threw his speech down on to the bench next to him.
‘Not after today, he wouldn’t.’
‘You don’t know that,’ said Gwen. ‘Neither of us do.’
‘Mother,’ Gabriel said with trepidation, ‘is going to faint.’
‘I’ve already told her to stay sitting down,’ Gwen said.
Gabriel just sighed.
‘Which quote did you decide on, in the end? From the letters?’
‘Um …’ Gabriel shuffled through the pages. ‘To be truly brave, first you must be afraid – and to be afraid, you must have something you cannot bear to lose.’
‘That’s nice,’ said Arthur. ‘I still think you should have chosen the part about Lancelot’s strong, deft hands.’
‘It’s not too late to cut you out of this speech.’
‘You wouldn’t,’ Arthur said dismissively, putting an arm around Gabriel’s waist and then grinning when he didn’t remove it. ‘You think I’m far too charming.’
‘When they come for my kingdom, I’ll tell you if it was all worth it.’
‘Please stop flirting,’ said Gwen. ‘You’re giving me a headache.’
‘You are sitting in Bridget’s lap,’ Arthur pointed out. ‘And I can very clearly see that she’s got her hand on your thigh.’
‘Right,’ Gabriel said suddenly, standing up. ‘I can’t sit here and listen to this any more. I’m going to the south courtyard to practise, before they start letting people in. Are you coming?’
‘Yes,’ said Gwen, getting to her feet.
‘Sid?’ Arthur said.
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Sidney said, standing and giving Agnes an entirely unnecessary hand up. ‘Obviously. We’re all coming. We wouldn’t miss this.’
‘I think I’m going to pass out,’ Gabriel said. Arthur gave him a bracing shake, and then glanced back at Gwen’s nervous smile, Bridget’s face blazing with determination. Gabriel was white as a sheet, his hand shaking where it held the speech, but Arthur wasn’t worried.
‘No you’re not,’ he said. ‘You’re going to be brilliant. You’re going to be a brilliant, brave idiot. You’re going to shock the entire country, but they’ll come around when they realise that aside from your penchant for roguish, dark-haired gentlemen, you’re the most righteous, level-headed monarch that’s ever worn a crown. And just think: we’ll be in Tintagel in a week – that’ll give them all some time to get used to it here, where we don’t have to watch them doing it.’ Gabriel gave him a weak, forced sort of smile. ‘That’s the spirit. Now, come on. Chin up, shoulders back; let’s go and show them a new England.’
Gwen disentangled herself from Bridget for long enough to give Arthur a quick squeeze of a hug as they walked. ‘That was actually really nice, you know. Next time, perhaps don’t call him an idiot.’
Arthur squeezed her back and then put a palm to her forehead to shove her away. ‘Oh, it’s always something, isn’t it. Don’t do this, don’t do that … Agnes, I don’t know how you expect to get through this door while kissing Sidney, you have to let go at some point. I think we should make this particular union illegal, while we’re making speeches. Has anybody got Lucifer? He has to come, he loves feasts … Don’t look at me like that, Gwendoline, he’s a highly valued member of the royal family …’
From the stone crown atop the statue of Arthur Pendragon, a strangely familiar crow blinked once, shook out her dark wings, and then set off into the bright morning sky.