"By Jove, you're right!" He sagged back in the throne. "Fancy that."
They smiled at one another, and then Arthur stepped off his throne and walked slowly toward Gwen. She stood there, her arms hanging loosely at her sides. He came very close to her, then paused and ran his hand gently across her face. She closed her eyes and sighed, and a little tremble rushed through her.
"Arthur ... we were married once, weren't we?"
He shook his head. "No. We were married always."
"But I hardly know you."
"You've always known me," he said softly. "We have always been. We shall always be. Not time, not distance, not lifetimes can do more than momentarily interrupt the coexistence we are meant to share."
He felt the softness of her hair, and she said, "Arthur?"
"Yes?"
"Have you really been locked in a cave for fifteen hundred years*
"Thereabouts, yes."
She whistled. "You must be the horniest bastard on the face of the earth.''
The expression on his face did not change, but he said, "Gwen, would you mind waiting here a moment?"
"Uh...sure."
Arthur stepped back and went into another room. She pricked up her ears and heard the sound of pages turning. She realized abruptly that he was consulting a dictionary, and stifled a desperate urge to giggle. There was a momentary pause in the page turning, and then she heard the book close. She fought to keep a straight face but felt the sides of her mouth turning up involuntarily.
Arthur came back into the room and faced her, looking deadly serious. "Gwen," he said with great solemnity.
"Yes, Arthur?"
"You're right."
They both dissolved into laughter.
Dinner was very quiet, but then, they felt no need to talk. There was the easy comfort in each other's presence that it takes most couples years to achieve, if they ever do.
When dinner was finished and the bones of the bird they had eaten were all that remained (and that would naturally be gone in the morning), there was a long pause. Then Gwen said softly, "Good night, Arthur."
He inclined his head. "Good night, Gwen."
She stood and left the table, leaving Arthur at the table, lost in thought.
Arthur lay in bed that night, alone, as he had been all the previous nights. He slid his hand slowly across the empty side of the bed and sighed deep in his chest, deep in his soul.
He heard a footfall at his door and sat bolt upright, his hand already reaching for Excalibur.
The door swung open and Gwen was there. Candlelight from the hallway illuminated her from the back, showing the silhouette of her body through her white shift.
His breath caught as she said in a low voice, "I don't think you'll be needing a weapon, Arthur. I'm unarmed."
She glided across the floor to him and sat down slowly in the empty part of the bed. Arthur touched her arm and felt an inner trembling. "Gwen, you don't have to. Not if you're not ready."
She laughed lightly. "According to you, I've been waiting for you for centuries . . . lived many past lives, but you were always my Mister Right. When has any girl had to wait as long for her perfect man as me?" She stroked his beard and asked, "Arthur? Am I... do I look as pretty to you as when you first knew me? Back in ... in your days?"
His voice choking with emotion, he said, "You are as I have always loved you."
He took her to him.
Merlin snapped off his TV set. "Well," he murmured, "I don't have to see this part. I know where it's going now." He sighed. "Kings. Can't live with them, can't live without them."
Chaptre the Twelfth
It had now been close to two months since Arthur had first clung batlike to the statue of Father Duffy and began espousing his views. In that time interest had mounted as word spread throughout the city. Jimmy Breslin picked up on it, the wire services picked up on it from Breslin, and soon it became quite a cachet to have been present at one of Arthurs speeches. However, campaigns cannot be won solely through word of mouth, and so it was that the press was cordially invited one day to the cramped, busy offices of Arthur Penn at the Camelot Building, to officially meet the Independent candidate for mayor of New York City.
Chairs and a podium were set up. Wine and cheese were served, and the reporters milled around, trying to pump the office workers for information. The office workers merely smiled, having been primed not to say a word until after Arthur had had an opportunity to address the press. Eventually the reporters started interviewing each other. One of them bumped into a small boy, nattily dressed in white ducks and a blue blazer with a little anchor on the pocket.
"Hi, kid," he said heartily. "You look a little young to be in politics."
"And you look a little old to be a fool," retorted Merlin, pushing his way past to the cheese balls.
There was a rapping up at the podium. Percy Vale was standing up front, and in a strong, proud voice, he said, "Gentlemen and ladies of the press, I would appreciate it if you could take your seats. I thank you all for coming, and I assure you that it will be well worth your while."
There was shuffling of the chairs while the TV camera crews stood to the sides of the podium, checking the lighting and their range. Percy paused a moment and then said, "As you know, Mr. Arthur Penn has been creating quite a stir throughout the city over the past months. His style has been referred to in the press as guerrilla politics. The truth of the matter, gentlemen, is that Mr. Penn has been so busy meeting the people, it's kind of slipped his mind that he should really be getting to work on the business of being elected mayor of this great city." There was a small ripple of laughter, and Percy continued, "And make no mistake, my friends, I guarantee that you will be looking at the next mayor of New York when I say that I would like to introduce you to Mr. Arthur Penn."
Percy stepped back from the podium as the once and future king made his way from the back of the room.
The reporters had met many a politician in their collective lives. They had seen all the types-the charismatic ones, the old-boy ones, the intellectual ones, the forthright, the sneaky, the slick, the snake-oil salesmen, and every permutation of human being in between.
And they had all had one thing in common: They all regarded the press as a necessary evil.
Something that had to be lived with, tolerated, used and maneuvered.
But this Arthur . . . what was the name, Penn? This Arthur Penn, as he walked forward shaking their hands, squeezing their shoulders affectionately, as if they were old buddies, smiling a totally disarming smile . . . this guy actually seemed happy to see them.
He made it up to the podium, slapped Percy affectionately on the shoulder, and faced the press. He blinked repeatedly as the flashbulbs went off, looked around at the crowd facing him, and then saw Gwen standing in the back. He smiled to her and she smiled back, almost schoolgirlishly, as he said, "Thank you for coming, gentlemen and ladies of the press. As you will be able to tell from the kits you should all have, I am Arthur Penn. We've paid outrageous sums for the production of my biography and to have a photographer take a black-and-white photo of me that makes me look as attractive to female voters as possible. So I would greatly appreciate any attention you might pay them.''
There were appreciative laughs, and he continued, "I've taken this opportunity to meet with you because I value your function very highly. I am hoping that you will be able to pass my message on to the wide voting public, since I have researched the matter very carefully. For me to speak personally with all of my potential voters would take at least five years, and I'm afraid that I have not been allotted that much time.,, He paused a moment and smiled. "My friends, quite simply, I wish to be the next mayor of New York City. I will now take questions.''