Chapter Forty-Three #2
“But—when did you get here?” Gabriel said, staring at her in shock as she approached. She seemed completely out of place on this beach; he was surprised to find himself glad to see her.
“Just now. I rode through the night. Amazing how fast a horse can go, when you don’t tell it to stop.” She wrinkled her nose. “I received word about what happened, and I wanted to come and see if you were … all right. This tour was my idea, and I feel responsible—”
“Don’t,” said Arthur. “Seriously. We’ve got enough guilt floating around here to start a new religion.”
The others reached them in drifts. They were all there, even Bridget, who was bruised lavender and blue all over the left side of her face. They gathered in a tight circle, a round table without any furniture, and Gabriel cleared his throat before he began to speak.
“I want to talk about the Lancelot laws, and the reforms. I know what I think,” Gabriel said, “and I know what Arthur thinks. But … I do worry that I’m putting people in danger.
Not just us,” he amended. “I think we’ve proven that we can handle it.
Ordinary people. The more we push for progress, the more people will push back.
And it’s not like everyone can muster a small army of knights to protect their honor, if violence comes to their door. ”
“Are you asking if we think you should give in to ignorance and bigotry?” said Sir Bowen. “Because my answer is, and always will be, no.”
“Not give in,” Gabriel said. “Perhaps … be quieter.”
“No,” said Adah. “I think we should be extremely bloody loud. Begging your pardon, sire.”
“Please don’t,” Gabriel said. “I’d rather you swore a thousand times than ever begged my pardon.”
“Noted.”
“Why can’t there be?” Bridget said suddenly; everyone turned to look at her.
“Why can’t there be what?” said Gwen.
“A small army of knights,” Bridget said. When she spoke, she revealed a slightly split lip. “We can train them. Girls. Women. The friends of Lancelot, the Morganites. Everyone else who wants it. Needs it. I’d like to see that. Hell, I’ll train them.”
“Now, hang on,” said the archbishop, who’d been watching this unfold with an expression of concern. “Do you not think that it might be considered somewhat … inappropriate, if people find out that the King of England is funding the training of a private army of … um…”
“Yeah,” said Bridget. “Probably. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do it.”
“We could create a new order,” Lady Oakley said thoughtfully, already running public relations schemes in her head. “People do love it when you name things.”
“Well,” Gabriel said, “army of knights aside, I suppose the wider question is about whether we’re making things … harder for people, instead of better.”
“I don’t think that’s necessarily the question actually,” said Master Buchanan. “Because then mankind would never achieve any progress at all. Moving forward is always difficult. No, what you’re doing here is giving people a choice.”
“And it’s not like half the people who are different can hide it anyway,” said Bridget. “Don’t back down, don’t give in. If we don’t do it, someone else has to—someone without all the luck and protection that we have—and that’s not fair.”
“So that’s your answer?” Gabriel said, unable to keep the question out of his voice. “Keep going. Stay the course, and damn the naysayers.”
“Feel smug and accomplished,” Arthur added, “when they kill us in our beds.”
“All right,” Gabriel said, looking around at the circle of grim and determined faces. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”
Their council broke up, and they began to walk up the beach together. Gwen came to Gabriel’s side, touched his arm, and said, “You’re getting so good at this.”
“I am?” Gabriel tried for a smile, and it actually felt right. “It’s not what our father would have done.”
“No,” Gwen agreed. They fell into step with each other, slightly apart from the others. “No, it’s not. But don’t you sometimes think, recently, that maybe…”
“Maybe he wasn’t a perfect person after all?” Gabriel supplied quietly.
“Yes,” Gwen said, with a breath of relief. “Exactly. Maybe his way wasn’t the only way to do this.”
“Maybe he was even … wrong, sometimes.”
Gwen laughed sadly. “I think he probably was. And I think that’s all right, isn’t it?”
It was true. His father hadn’t been perfect; Gabriel needn’t be either.
So perhaps there was no one right way to do this.
And they were in uncharted territory now.
Forging their own path. Gabriel had to trust his gut, and his friends.
It hurt without his father there to guide him—but perhaps that was a sort of freedom too. It would have to be enough.
Arthur, who seemed to have been holding something in as he walked behind Bridget, suddenly burst out, “Please let me fix your hair, Leclair. I learned all sorts of things when mine was growing back weird—you can sort of hide it with ingenious layering.”
“I don’t want to fix it,” Bridget said. “I want to shave it.”
Arthur looked despairing. “Well, I don’t know how to shave hair. I can do beards. Is it like beards?”
Sidney, who had been walking behind him, dramatically rolled up his sleeves. “My time to shine.”
“No,” Arthur said. “You can’t let him do it, he’ll shave a penis into it or something. Adah will do it. She shaves her own head all the time.”
“I only shave mine,” said Adah. “Can’t do anyone else’s. Sorry. It’s a weird thing, like muscle memory or something. Might cut a bit of your face off.”
“I’ll do it. And I’ll only do a penis if you want a penis,” said Sidney, retrieving his knife from his belt and checking the edge with a squint. “Do you want a penis?”
“Probably not.”
“All right,” Sidney said grandly, “then I won’t.”