Page 104 of Gwen and Art Are Not in Love

Someone fell next to them; Arthur watched as blood came cascading out of a man’s open mouth, soaking his beard, and then turned away, finally feeling hot tears stinging his eyes.

‘Fuck, Gabriel,’ he choked, looking desperately around for Sidney and seeing nobody he knew. ‘I’ve already done this once today, I’m not bloody doing it again. Seriously. Just – you can be dead later. Sid can’t drag both of us out of here, and he’s going to be a prick about it, but I know he’ll do the right thing, even if it kills him. He’s a stubborn arsehole, a complete pillock, but he’s – well, I love him. Just don’t be dead, and it’ll be worth it when he rescues you instead of me, and I promise I’ll just lie down here in the – in the mud, and the shit, and the blood – and I’ll die quietly, I swear.’

Arthur dragged himself up on to his elbows, staring down at Gabriel’s lifeless face. It was such a nice face. It really was a shame he was never going to see it again.

‘Gabriel,’ Arthur said, giving him a little shake, his own tears creating tracks in the mud on Gabriel’s cheeks. ‘You’reking, Gabriel. Your father is dead, and I just – everybody needs you to get up, and be alive, and be king. I know you don’t fancy it, but listen – it’s too late for that now.’

‘Excellent,’ said a strangely calm voice from somewhere above Arthur’s head. ‘I was just about ready to give up hope, but – I see you found him for me.’

Lord Willard was standing there, his sword raised. Arthur didn’t even bother acknowledging him. He looked again for Sidney – Sidney wasalwaysthere, even when it seemed impossible – but his heart sank when he saw his best friend’sface ten feet away, frowning in concentration, still locked in battle with somebody else. He was much too far away to be of any use now.

‘Sorry,’ Arthur said faintly, more to Sidney than to anybody else; he stole one more second of staring at him, wishing that they could lock eyes one last time, that Arthur could somehow impart everything he wanted to say with a look. But Sidney didn’t turn.

Arthur pressed his forehead to Gabriel’s, and closed his eyes, and waited for the killing blow.

It didn’t come.

Arthur heard Lord Willard make a strange sound – a ridiculous sound really, halfway between amusement and surprise – and when Arthur turned over to see what had inspired it, he saw something he knew he’d remember for the rest of his life: Lady Bridget Leclair, caked in mud from head to toe, launching herself at Lord Willard, with Excalibur Nine raised high above her head. Arthur didn’t even see where she hit him; he was staring at her face, wondering if he were already dead and Bridget had come to drag them all into the next life.

Arthur expected Lord Willard to get back up. He would get back up, and they would start this charade all over again, the pain and the tears and the death and the falling over – it felt like it would never end, that they would just keep on doing it forever, trapped in a purgatory made of churned and cloying mud.

But it reallywasover. Because Lord Willard wasn’t getting up. Lord Willard, unless Arthur was very much mistaken, was dead.

Bridget stood, her chest heaving, staring down at him as if she couldn’t believe it either. Arthur could hear Sidney shouting something, but it seemed inconsequential;everythingseemed inconsequential, with the last remains of the crown and the coup lying broken on the ground in front of him.

Sidney did sound quite insistent though, and as he got closer, Arthur realised what he was shouting.

‘Bridget –shit, Bridget –on your left!’

‘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. Itworked.’

‘I know,’ Gwen said, pulling off the ill-fitting breastplate. She was wearing a page’s clothes underneath, the first thingthey’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 Ihad,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.