Read Online The Sunne in Splendour: A Novel of Richard III by Sharon Kay Penman - Free Book Online Page A

dragged from his stallion into the bloody snow, held down as his armor was hacked through by a score of blades.
The snow was falling fast and thick now; through the slits of his visor Edmund saw only a blur of wind-whipped whiteness. All around him, men were running, screaming, dying. He'd long since lost sight of his father and uncle, now looked around desperately for Rob Apsall, saw only the soldiers of
Lancaster and the dead of York.
Someone was reaching again for his reins; there was someone else at his stirrup. He dug his rowels deep into his stallion's side. The animal reared, throwing off the hands at its head, and then plunged forward.
There was a startled cry; the stallion stumbled, hooves hitting flesh, and then Edmund had broken away from the encircling men, was free. He gave the horse its head, found himself caught up in the midst of fleeing soldiers floundering awkwardly through the snow, casting aside weapons and shields as they ran, panic-stricken prey for the pursuing Lancastrians.
His stallion shied suddenly to the right, veered off so abruptly that Edmund was nearly unseated. Only then did he see the river looming ahead, see the fate his stallion had spared him. Drowning men clutched with frozen fingers at the floating bodies of Yorkist comrades, while on the bank above them soldiers of
Lancaster probed with lance and pole axe, as Edmund had once seen a man at a faire spearing fish in a barrel.
The sight sent Edmund even deeper into shock. He tugged at the reins, an irrational resolve compelling him back toward the battlefield to find his father. As he did, a Lancastrian soldier blocked his way, wielding a chained mace in a wide arc toward Edmund's head. Edmund lashed out with his sword and the man fell back, sought easier quarry.
His attention thus distracted, Edmund did not see the second soldier. Not until the man thrust upward with a bloodied blade, gutting Edmund's horse. The stallion screamed, thrashed about wildly in the snow.
Edmund had time only to kick his feet free of the stirrups, to fling himself sideways as the animal went down. He hit the ground hard; pain seared up his spine, exploded in his head in a sunburst of feverish color.
    Opening his eyes, he saw queer white light, saw an armored figure swimming above him. From another world, another lifetime, he remembered his sword, groped for it, found only snow.
"Edmund! Christ, Edmund, it's me!"
The voice was known to him. He blinked, fought his way back to reality, whispered, "Rob?"
The knight nodded vigorously. "Thank God Jesus! I feared you were dead!"
Rob was tugging at him. Somehow he willed his body to move, but when he put his weight on his left leg, it doubled up under him, and only Rob's supporting arm kept him on his feet.
"My knee . . ." he gasped. "Rob, I ... I doubt I can walk. Go on, save yourself. ..."
"Don't talk like a fool! Do you think it was by chance that I found you? I've been scouring the field for you. I swore oath to your lord father that I'd see to your safety."
There was an Edmund who'd once have been mortally offended by such embarrassing parental solicitude. That was long ago, part of the lifetime lived before he'd ridden into the horror that was
Wakefield Green.
The body of his stallion lay off to his left. Closer at hand was the body of a man, skull battered into a grisly pulp of bone and brain. Edmund looked down at the bloodied battle-axe Rob had dropped on the snow beside them, back up at the face of his friend, grey and haggard in the circle of upraised visor. He opened his mouth to thank Rob for saving his life, but the youthful tutor was in no mood to tarry, was saying urgently, "Make haste Edmund!"
"My father ..."
"If he's alive, he's fled the field by now. If he's not, there's nothing you can do for him here," Rob said bluntly and pushed Edmund toward his waiting horse.
"We'll have to share my mount. Lean on me, that's it. ... Hold on, now. . . ."
As he spurred the stallion forward, sending two scavenging