Read Online Death Be Pardoner To Me: The Life of George, Duke of Clarence by Dorothy Davies - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dorothy Davies
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quietly to her frightened sons. “Proud men, signing up to fight for the king. Listen to them now. Long may they rot in Hell and the traitor Trollope along with them!”
George caught his breath. Trollope, a traitor! Someone who had wined and dined at the castle, been his lord father’s confidant, knew all the plans of the Yorks – what had he been paid to turn traitor on the Yorks? More than that, how could he?
“Mother, what will happen to us?” Richard asked at last in a tiny voice croaky with fear.
“Us? Nothing, Richard, nothing at all. The king is a just man and will grant pardon and safe passage to a woman and her sons. We have to wait for the pardon and safe passage. But we are trapped here until it arrives, I am sorry to say. Now, did you both secure your possessions as I requested?”
They both nodded and George realised the wisdom of his mother’s command. Anything of value would be taken by the soldiers and everything else probably destroyed even as they seemed intent on destroying the very castle in which they were sitting at that time, judging by the horrendous noises which reached them; the sounds of things being broken, of rage and anger, of pain and sheer unmitigated terror.
The duchess settled herself in her chair, holding George in the curve of one arm and cradling Richard on her lap with the other. For a single fleeting moment, George wondered if the whole dreadful experience was worth it to have this moment of closeness, something he had never experienced before. He wondered if he ever would again.
Chapter 8
We were in the room for two days. We slept on the floor with such coverings as we could persuade the men let us have, while outside the screaming, looting and the groans of the dying went on. We ate whatever our mother’s lady could scavenge for us and we drank weak watered wine. We were cold, the Autumn air was chill and there was frost in the morning. We used the covers we slept on to wrap around ourselves in an effort to keep warm. We hardly spoke, for there was little to say. My lady mother prayed endlessly for the safety of our lord father and our brothers and for safe passage for us away from what had turned out to be a living nightmare, not the safe haven our lord father had in mind.
After two endless days of utter boredom combined with paralysing terror, the captain returned to say pardon had been granted, we were to go to Coventry to my aunt’s home and we were to leave immediately. We gathered up the coverings, in case we needed them, made sure we had our few meagre possessions safe and walked down the stairs into what seemed like a scene from Hell.
The castle was a wreck. Dead bodies, badly wounded men roughly bandaged, discarded food, empty wine casks, battered broken weapons, drunken men, all jumbled together in a way that tormented and destroyed my dreams and waking thoughts for days.
The captain’s men escorted us out past the bodies, past the wounded, past the blank bare walls, past the rooms empty of furniture, all gone. Everything I had admired, everything I had cherished about Ludlow, gone. At that moment I really believed my lord father had abandoned us and we would forever be alone. I recall a great sense of desolation falling over me like fine rain, soaking into my clothes, my heart and my mind.
Coventry was two days’ ride away, endless as the days before had been endless, travelling through a grey endless landscape that offered no shelter from the harsh winds and cold that chilled our hearts as much as our bodies. A ride of intense loneliness for we did not speak at all. We huddled over our saddles, clutching our cloaks around us, trying for every tiny scrap of warmth we could gain from the thick wool. The horses plodded rather than walked, as if they too resented the long days of travel. The inn where we stayed overnight was not good but good enough. We hardly spoke for there was nothing to say to lighten our journey or our thoughts.
It
George caught his breath. Trollope, a traitor! Someone who had wined and dined at the castle, been his lord father’s confidant, knew all the plans of the Yorks – what had he been paid to turn traitor on the Yorks? More than that, how could he?
“Mother, what will happen to us?” Richard asked at last in a tiny voice croaky with fear.
“Us? Nothing, Richard, nothing at all. The king is a just man and will grant pardon and safe passage to a woman and her sons. We have to wait for the pardon and safe passage. But we are trapped here until it arrives, I am sorry to say. Now, did you both secure your possessions as I requested?”
They both nodded and George realised the wisdom of his mother’s command. Anything of value would be taken by the soldiers and everything else probably destroyed even as they seemed intent on destroying the very castle in which they were sitting at that time, judging by the horrendous noises which reached them; the sounds of things being broken, of rage and anger, of pain and sheer unmitigated terror.
The duchess settled herself in her chair, holding George in the curve of one arm and cradling Richard on her lap with the other. For a single fleeting moment, George wondered if the whole dreadful experience was worth it to have this moment of closeness, something he had never experienced before. He wondered if he ever would again.
Chapter 8
We were in the room for two days. We slept on the floor with such coverings as we could persuade the men let us have, while outside the screaming, looting and the groans of the dying went on. We ate whatever our mother’s lady could scavenge for us and we drank weak watered wine. We were cold, the Autumn air was chill and there was frost in the morning. We used the covers we slept on to wrap around ourselves in an effort to keep warm. We hardly spoke, for there was little to say. My lady mother prayed endlessly for the safety of our lord father and our brothers and for safe passage for us away from what had turned out to be a living nightmare, not the safe haven our lord father had in mind.
After two endless days of utter boredom combined with paralysing terror, the captain returned to say pardon had been granted, we were to go to Coventry to my aunt’s home and we were to leave immediately. We gathered up the coverings, in case we needed them, made sure we had our few meagre possessions safe and walked down the stairs into what seemed like a scene from Hell.
The castle was a wreck. Dead bodies, badly wounded men roughly bandaged, discarded food, empty wine casks, battered broken weapons, drunken men, all jumbled together in a way that tormented and destroyed my dreams and waking thoughts for days.
The captain’s men escorted us out past the bodies, past the wounded, past the blank bare walls, past the rooms empty of furniture, all gone. Everything I had admired, everything I had cherished about Ludlow, gone. At that moment I really believed my lord father had abandoned us and we would forever be alone. I recall a great sense of desolation falling over me like fine rain, soaking into my clothes, my heart and my mind.
Coventry was two days’ ride away, endless as the days before had been endless, travelling through a grey endless landscape that offered no shelter from the harsh winds and cold that chilled our hearts as much as our bodies. A ride of intense loneliness for we did not speak at all. We huddled over our saddles, clutching our cloaks around us, trying for every tiny scrap of warmth we could gain from the thick wool. The horses plodded rather than walked, as if they too resented the long days of travel. The inn where we stayed overnight was not good but good enough. We hardly spoke for there was nothing to say to lighten our journey or our thoughts.
It
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