Read Online Falconer and the Death of Kings by Ian Morson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ian Morson
Ads: Link
However, he had to allow Falconer through the gate when the gaudily clad Appleby came to meet him. Though the guard’s puzzlement was only increased by the apparently friendly exchange between such opposites. Who could fathom the English and their wardrobes?
Falconer was led into the palace by Sir John Appleby and through a maze of rooms and corridors. All the time, Sir John prattled on about how remarkable the king was, and how he admired his maturity and good sense. Falconer nodded politely, only half listening to the courtier. He had met his sort before, when he had been summoned into the presence of the old king, Henry, who had died last year. The ailing monarch had been surrounded by men who jumped at his every whim, and doctors who were afraid to tell him he was dying. The powerful very rarely heard the truth from those in their presence. Falconer had been an exception, and Henry had seemed to relish the cut and thrust of their arguments over who had killed the king’s wardroper, and why. The Oxford master resolved he would behave exactly the same when he met Henry’s son, the new king. Then he realized Appleby had asked him a question.
‘I’m sorry, Sir John, my hearing must be getting as bad as my eyesight. What did you say?’
‘I was saying that you should show respect in the king’s presence and refer to him as Your Majesty. He is only just growing into his new role, and he is not as secure in it as his father was. After all, Henry of Winchester ruled for more than fifty-six years, and…’
Falconer abruptly interrupted.
‘And saw off a rebellion of his barons. Yes, I know. But Edward himself was a canny operator. He was clever enough to switch sides back and forth in the Barons’ War. I doubt he is as vulnerable as you think.’
Appleby pulled a face.
‘Hmm. Be that as it may. He is your monarch, so don’t remind him of his switching of allegiance. He now professes to love his father.’ He stopped to eye up Falconer’s appearance. ‘What a pity you could not bring yourself to dress more appropriately. Still, he may appreciate your humble garb for what it is.’
Though making the best of Falconer’s one and only outer garment, the courtier could not resist flicking away some of the grime on his shoulder. He then pulled the jaunty sugarloaf hat off his own head, straightened his surcoat and knocked on the studded oak door that they stood before. A voice ushered them in, and Sir John opened the door, leading Falconer into the room.
Falconer’s first impression of Edward was of his height. But he was broad-shouldered too. His time in the Holy Lands had developed him as a fighter, and even Falconer had heard the tale of his recent exploits at the tourney in Châlons. Having stared at the king for some time, while Sir John announced him, Falconer realized Edward was assessing him too. He felt embarrassed, knowing his age was beginning to tell and that he was more than a little ragged around the edges. But when Edward spoke, he was reassured.
‘I can see there is a fighting man under that dowdy scholar’s robe, Master Falconer. Your shoulders tell me that you once wielded a sword, and you have not allowed the years to deprive you of your strength.’
Falconer felt childishly pleased by Edward’s recognition of his former life as a mercenary soldier. He had indeed spent his youth fighting wars across Europe. Until he had become sickened by the carnage. A horror that had grown to be greater than he had revelled in the chance being a mercenary had given him to see the world. The University of Bologna had been the turning point in his life, where he had begun again to devote himself to the world of scholarship. But the king was correct in his second surmise. He had tried to keep himself fit, considering it important to keep his body as sharp as his brain. However, he shook his head in regret.
‘Sadly, Majesty, the years are beginning to take their toll, and I am not as vigorous as I
Falconer was led into the palace by Sir John Appleby and through a maze of rooms and corridors. All the time, Sir John prattled on about how remarkable the king was, and how he admired his maturity and good sense. Falconer nodded politely, only half listening to the courtier. He had met his sort before, when he had been summoned into the presence of the old king, Henry, who had died last year. The ailing monarch had been surrounded by men who jumped at his every whim, and doctors who were afraid to tell him he was dying. The powerful very rarely heard the truth from those in their presence. Falconer had been an exception, and Henry had seemed to relish the cut and thrust of their arguments over who had killed the king’s wardroper, and why. The Oxford master resolved he would behave exactly the same when he met Henry’s son, the new king. Then he realized Appleby had asked him a question.
‘I’m sorry, Sir John, my hearing must be getting as bad as my eyesight. What did you say?’
‘I was saying that you should show respect in the king’s presence and refer to him as Your Majesty. He is only just growing into his new role, and he is not as secure in it as his father was. After all, Henry of Winchester ruled for more than fifty-six years, and…’
Falconer abruptly interrupted.
‘And saw off a rebellion of his barons. Yes, I know. But Edward himself was a canny operator. He was clever enough to switch sides back and forth in the Barons’ War. I doubt he is as vulnerable as you think.’
Appleby pulled a face.
‘Hmm. Be that as it may. He is your monarch, so don’t remind him of his switching of allegiance. He now professes to love his father.’ He stopped to eye up Falconer’s appearance. ‘What a pity you could not bring yourself to dress more appropriately. Still, he may appreciate your humble garb for what it is.’
Though making the best of Falconer’s one and only outer garment, the courtier could not resist flicking away some of the grime on his shoulder. He then pulled the jaunty sugarloaf hat off his own head, straightened his surcoat and knocked on the studded oak door that they stood before. A voice ushered them in, and Sir John opened the door, leading Falconer into the room.
Falconer’s first impression of Edward was of his height. But he was broad-shouldered too. His time in the Holy Lands had developed him as a fighter, and even Falconer had heard the tale of his recent exploits at the tourney in Châlons. Having stared at the king for some time, while Sir John announced him, Falconer realized Edward was assessing him too. He felt embarrassed, knowing his age was beginning to tell and that he was more than a little ragged around the edges. But when Edward spoke, he was reassured.
‘I can see there is a fighting man under that dowdy scholar’s robe, Master Falconer. Your shoulders tell me that you once wielded a sword, and you have not allowed the years to deprive you of your strength.’
Falconer felt childishly pleased by Edward’s recognition of his former life as a mercenary soldier. He had indeed spent his youth fighting wars across Europe. Until he had become sickened by the carnage. A horror that had grown to be greater than he had revelled in the chance being a mercenary had given him to see the world. The University of Bologna had been the turning point in his life, where he had begun again to devote himself to the world of scholarship. But the king was correct in his second surmise. He had tried to keep himself fit, considering it important to keep his body as sharp as his brain. However, he shook his head in regret.
‘Sadly, Majesty, the years are beginning to take their toll, and I am not as vigorous as I
Similar Books
