Read Online The Murders of Richard III by Elizabeth Peters - Free Book Online

against the carved stone mantel, was also in costume. Unconsciously Thomas pulled in his stomach.
    He was next struck by the unnatural alliance between Mrs. Ponsonby-Jones and Lady Isobel, who were seated side by side. They looked comical together, the ample girth of the one emphasizing the scrawniness of the other. They were united by a common emotion; two pairs of narrowed eyes stared intently at the enemy. Jacqueline was wearing her favorite green, a misty shade that set off her tanned arms and shoulders.It clung to her tall body, and the ladies weren’t the only ones who were staring.
    Weldon had taken Jacqueline’s arm in order to lead her around. He was still talking.
    There was plenty for him to talk about. High-ceilinged, with French doors opening onto the terrace, the room contained two tiers of bookshelves with an open gallery running around three sides and stairs leading up to it. Another flight of narrow circular steps went up from the gallery. It opened, as Thomas knew, into the private sitting room of Sir Richard’s suite, so that the scholarly gentleman could reach his beloved books without a long walk through the house.
    A big library table and an equally mammoth desk were dwarfed by the dimensions of the room. Fat leather chairs and sofas were scattered about. Thick wall-to-wall carpeting muffled voices and footsteps. Glass cases, spaced at intervals, contained some of the rarer items of Weldon’s collection, and there were other exhibits on the wall over the fireplace—an impressive array of medieval weapons. Prominent among these was an enormous two-handed sword. It was this object Weldon was discussing as Thomas entered.
    â€œI am convinced it was Richard’s. It comes from Leicester, near Bosworth, and the tradition—”
    Kent interrupted with a snort.
    â€œNonsense. The weapon is certainly sixteenth century. You may be the handwriting expert, but I’m the authority on armament, and I assure you—”
    Weldon turned. He looked almost grim enough for Richard III.
    â€œI beg your pardon. The historical tradition—”
    Kent gave another volcanic snort and Frank said tactfully, “I can’t understand how any soldier could wield a weapon so heavy. How long is it precisely, sir?”
    Instead of answering, Weldon climbed nimbly onto a chair and lifted the sword down. Jacqueline stepped back as the mammoth blade left its support, but Weldon handled it easily.
    â€œIt only weighs fourteen pounds and a bit,” he said.
    â€œOverall length, eighty-nine inches,” Kent added. “The blade is well over six feet.”
    The startling dimensions of the sword became clearer when Weldon held it upright. He was several inches under six feet; the hilt topped his head by a foot and a half.
    â€œYou are thinking in terms of modern dueling,” Kent said to Frank. “That didn’t begin until the seventeenth century. In Richard’s time the idea was to whack your enemy as hard and as often asyou could. The sword was used for cutting, not thrusting.”
    He demonstrated, taking the weapon from Weldon. The blade cut the air with a deadly and surprising precision; even Thomas, in the distant doorway, stepped back a pace.
    â€œThere’s a knack to it,” Kent warned, as the others crowded forward, wanting to try their hands. “Don’t swing it as I did, you’ll lop an ear off someone.”
    Frank was the first to try; he was properly cautious, remarking on the poor balance of the weapon. Lady Isobel made a show of trying in vain to lift the weight. Jacqueline gave her a thoughtful look and hoisted the sword without difficulty, remarking, “My purse weighs more than that.” But when Percy swaggered forward and reached for the sword, Thomas decided it was time to intervene.
    â€œHey,” he said. “You’re all supposed to be back in the drawing room. Wilkes is sulking…”
    It was too