Read Online Ravenspur: Rise of the Tudors by Conn Iggulden - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Conn Iggulden
Tags: Fiction, Historical
Ads: Link
Another woman lay in the crook of his arm, sprawled with one paler arm across the expanse of his chest.
‘He said I should keep going …’ the girl at the wall said, tossing the shoe away and trying to cover herself. Richardignored her, stepping in and kicking his brother in the sole of his foot. He did not care what games Edward was playing, any more than he was embarrassed at his brother’s lolling nakedness, though he lay like a huge dead fish, thick-thighed and heavy, taking up the entire bed without any modesty. There were other matters to concern them. For a second time, Richard struck out, more savage than he had intended to be in his temper, risking his brother’s flesh on the blade of his spur.
‘Stop that,’ Edward murmured sleepily. He began to turn over, then sensed a man’s presence standing over him. Richard saw his brother go from relaxed stupor to awareness in a great spasm. The eyes snapped open and the king pushed the girl away, ready to launch himself from the bed. When he saw it was his younger brother, he blew out the great breath he had taken, chuckling and looking around for the jug of wine balanced precariously on a side table.
Edward began to make some inane comment and Richard spoke over him, irritated and strained.
‘There is an army come to London, under Earl Warwick. George is with him, of course. No news of Elizabeth yet, or your girls. I’m sorry. Come down now, would you? I’ll clear the inn.’
Without another word, Richard turned and walked out, leaving his brother to stare in dismay, then suddenly roar, reaching for his discarded clothes. The two strumpets were dismissed without being paid, though they made no word of complaint after what they had heard. Over woollen hose and undershirt, King Edward buttoned a thick tunic, still rank with his sweat. He stood swaying by the bed then, pissing long and hard into a pot dragged out from under, then sat once again to pull on his boots, yanking his leg right up into the air with the force of his hands on the leather ties. At thelast, he splashed cold water on his face and hair from another deep bowl set into the dresser. Making bear-like sounds, he dipped his face in, then blew and gasped and shook his jowls as he ran his hand over his features. His head was thumping with a dull pain above his right eye. He felt as if he might vomit and two of his back teeth were loose and hot, the legacy of some piece of meat trapped in there for a week. He’d have to have the damned things drawn before they poisoned him, he was certain.
When Edward was ready, he eyed his gauntlets and mail, along with the panels and straps of his leg armour. He wore such a weight of metal on most days that when he went without it, he felt as light as a boy. He patted the bulge of his stomach ruefully. His brother Richard’s wiriness was a constant taunt to him, an irritant. Edward sweated more and yes, he knew he was much heavier and slower too. Yet he felt the strength he needed in his arms and back and legs. Was that not his reason for such hunts, to restore the trim waist he had known?
He did not look at the great pile of lamb bones on the floor, where he had kicked away a platter earlier on. A man needed meat, to fight and to ride. It was only common sense. He stood as straight as he could, pulling in his belly and patting it. Better, definitely. Mostly muscle. The room lurched suddenly and he shuddered at the hot bitterness rising in his throat. He ignored the scattered armour, snatching only a sword belt from where he had thrown it. He nodded, satisfied, as he left the room, certain he had not yet let himself grow too fat.
By the time Edward emerged, the tavern had been forcefully emptied. Even the owner and his staff had been made to vanish, the king knew not where. He saw his brother Richard and a herald in York livery rising from a table tokneel in his presence. Only one of his guards remained. Edward squinted down at the taproom. Sir Dalston, yes.
‘He said I should keep going …’ the girl at the wall said, tossing the shoe away and trying to cover herself. Richardignored her, stepping in and kicking his brother in the sole of his foot. He did not care what games Edward was playing, any more than he was embarrassed at his brother’s lolling nakedness, though he lay like a huge dead fish, thick-thighed and heavy, taking up the entire bed without any modesty. There were other matters to concern them. For a second time, Richard struck out, more savage than he had intended to be in his temper, risking his brother’s flesh on the blade of his spur.
‘Stop that,’ Edward murmured sleepily. He began to turn over, then sensed a man’s presence standing over him. Richard saw his brother go from relaxed stupor to awareness in a great spasm. The eyes snapped open and the king pushed the girl away, ready to launch himself from the bed. When he saw it was his younger brother, he blew out the great breath he had taken, chuckling and looking around for the jug of wine balanced precariously on a side table.
Edward began to make some inane comment and Richard spoke over him, irritated and strained.
‘There is an army come to London, under Earl Warwick. George is with him, of course. No news of Elizabeth yet, or your girls. I’m sorry. Come down now, would you? I’ll clear the inn.’
Without another word, Richard turned and walked out, leaving his brother to stare in dismay, then suddenly roar, reaching for his discarded clothes. The two strumpets were dismissed without being paid, though they made no word of complaint after what they had heard. Over woollen hose and undershirt, King Edward buttoned a thick tunic, still rank with his sweat. He stood swaying by the bed then, pissing long and hard into a pot dragged out from under, then sat once again to pull on his boots, yanking his leg right up into the air with the force of his hands on the leather ties. At thelast, he splashed cold water on his face and hair from another deep bowl set into the dresser. Making bear-like sounds, he dipped his face in, then blew and gasped and shook his jowls as he ran his hand over his features. His head was thumping with a dull pain above his right eye. He felt as if he might vomit and two of his back teeth were loose and hot, the legacy of some piece of meat trapped in there for a week. He’d have to have the damned things drawn before they poisoned him, he was certain.
When Edward was ready, he eyed his gauntlets and mail, along with the panels and straps of his leg armour. He wore such a weight of metal on most days that when he went without it, he felt as light as a boy. He patted the bulge of his stomach ruefully. His brother Richard’s wiriness was a constant taunt to him, an irritant. Edward sweated more and yes, he knew he was much heavier and slower too. Yet he felt the strength he needed in his arms and back and legs. Was that not his reason for such hunts, to restore the trim waist he had known?
He did not look at the great pile of lamb bones on the floor, where he had kicked away a platter earlier on. A man needed meat, to fight and to ride. It was only common sense. He stood as straight as he could, pulling in his belly and patting it. Better, definitely. Mostly muscle. The room lurched suddenly and he shuddered at the hot bitterness rising in his throat. He ignored the scattered armour, snatching only a sword belt from where he had thrown it. He nodded, satisfied, as he left the room, certain he had not yet let himself grow too fat.
By the time Edward emerged, the tavern had been forcefully emptied. Even the owner and his staff had been made to vanish, the king knew not where. He saw his brother Richard and a herald in York livery rising from a table tokneel in his presence. Only one of his guards remained. Edward squinted down at the taproom. Sir Dalston, yes.
Similar Books
