Read Online The Sunne in Splendour: A Novel of Richard III by Sharon Kay Penman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sharon Kay Penman
Tags: Biographical, Biographical fiction, Fiction, Historical fiction, General, Historical, War & Military, War stories, Great Britain, Kings and rulers, Great Britain - History - Wars of the Roses; 1455-1485, Great Britain - History - Henry VII; 1485-1509, Richard
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Lancastrians diving from his path, Edmund cried out, "My sword! Rob, wait!"
The wind carried his cry away. Rob turned the horse toward the village of Wakefield.
pain was savaging Edmund. With each step he took, it flamed through his leg, burned through to bone and marrow, convulsed his lungs in queasy, suffocating spasms. They'd lost Rob's horse; the double burden of two armored men proved too much for the animal to bear. It had stumbled
once too often, laming itself and pitching both youths into a snowbank too glazed with ice to cushion the impact of their fall. Rob had been shaken, but Edmund's injured knee struck solid rock and he spiraled down into the dark. He came to consciousness moments later to find Rob desperately rubbing his face with snow.
Discarding what armor they could, they staggered on. Rob was panting, his heart beating in sickening starts and fits. Edmund's arm was leaden about his shoulders; he knew the boy was nearly out on his feet, had long since exhausted all reserves of endurance. Yet each time Edmund swayed, sagged against him, each time he felt a fearful certainty that the boy was blacking out again, Edmund somehow found the strength to cling to consciousness, to take another step into the snow that lay knee-deep before them.
Rob at last glimpsed the outlines of Wakefield Bridge. Half dragging and half carrying Edmund, he strained toward it. Beyond the bridge lay the village of Wakefield. Edmund could not go much farther.
Each time Rob looked at the boy, he found new cause for concern; saw the blood matting Edmund's hair, saw the glazed sheen that clouded Edmund's eyes. Knowing the castle was ringed by Lancaster, Rob had instinctively headed for the village. Now he dared hope they might be able to reach the parish church at the end of Kirkgate, might be able to claim right of sanctuary. He was grasping at straws, knew it, could do nothing else. He stumbled forward, blinded by snow, and propelled Edmund onto the bridge.
They were in the middle of the bridge when Rob saw the Lancastrians come from the shadows, move without haste onto the far end of the bridge. Rob whirled about, so abruptly that Edmund staggered, grabbed at the stone railing for support. Soldiers now barred their retreat, too; watched with hard-eyed triumphant grins. Rob closed his eyes for a moment, whispered, "God forgive me, Edmund. I've taken you into a trap."
DUSK was still an hour away, but light was already fading from the sky. Edmund had slumped against the bridge railing, staring down into the dark waters below. He'd long since stripped off his gauntlets, and his fingers were now so numb that he spilled most of the snow he meant to bring up to his mouth. Sucking at the snow until his thirst was slaked, he rubbed the rest against his forehead, saw with incurious eyes that it came away red. He'd not realized until then that his head had been gashed open when he was thrown from his horse. He had never been so cold, never been so exhausted, and his mind was beginning to play terrifying tricks upon him. He could no longer trust his senses; voices seemed to
come at him from all sides, uncommonly loud and strangely garbled, and then, as suddenly, would fade away into muffled oblivion, into the thinnest, weakest of echoes.
Becoming aware that yet another of his Lancastrian captors was bending over him, he looked up numbly, jerking back in involuntary protest as the man reached for his wrists. Ignoring Edmund's recoil, the soldier swiftly bound his hands tightly together at the wrists and then stepped back to inspect his handiwork.
"This one's no more than a lad," he remarked idly, looking down at Edmund with a notable lack of antagonism.
"And wearing armor that'd please even the most high-handed of lords. . . . We'll do right well with that one. I warrant you he has kinfolk who'll pay, and pay dear, to see him safe home."
The soldiers were now turning to watch approaching riders. Edmund listened with indifference to the argument
The wind carried his cry away. Rob turned the horse toward the village of Wakefield.
pain was savaging Edmund. With each step he took, it flamed through his leg, burned through to bone and marrow, convulsed his lungs in queasy, suffocating spasms. They'd lost Rob's horse; the double burden of two armored men proved too much for the animal to bear. It had stumbled
once too often, laming itself and pitching both youths into a snowbank too glazed with ice to cushion the impact of their fall. Rob had been shaken, but Edmund's injured knee struck solid rock and he spiraled down into the dark. He came to consciousness moments later to find Rob desperately rubbing his face with snow.
Discarding what armor they could, they staggered on. Rob was panting, his heart beating in sickening starts and fits. Edmund's arm was leaden about his shoulders; he knew the boy was nearly out on his feet, had long since exhausted all reserves of endurance. Yet each time Edmund swayed, sagged against him, each time he felt a fearful certainty that the boy was blacking out again, Edmund somehow found the strength to cling to consciousness, to take another step into the snow that lay knee-deep before them.
Rob at last glimpsed the outlines of Wakefield Bridge. Half dragging and half carrying Edmund, he strained toward it. Beyond the bridge lay the village of Wakefield. Edmund could not go much farther.
Each time Rob looked at the boy, he found new cause for concern; saw the blood matting Edmund's hair, saw the glazed sheen that clouded Edmund's eyes. Knowing the castle was ringed by Lancaster, Rob had instinctively headed for the village. Now he dared hope they might be able to reach the parish church at the end of Kirkgate, might be able to claim right of sanctuary. He was grasping at straws, knew it, could do nothing else. He stumbled forward, blinded by snow, and propelled Edmund onto the bridge.
They were in the middle of the bridge when Rob saw the Lancastrians come from the shadows, move without haste onto the far end of the bridge. Rob whirled about, so abruptly that Edmund staggered, grabbed at the stone railing for support. Soldiers now barred their retreat, too; watched with hard-eyed triumphant grins. Rob closed his eyes for a moment, whispered, "God forgive me, Edmund. I've taken you into a trap."
DUSK was still an hour away, but light was already fading from the sky. Edmund had slumped against the bridge railing, staring down into the dark waters below. He'd long since stripped off his gauntlets, and his fingers were now so numb that he spilled most of the snow he meant to bring up to his mouth. Sucking at the snow until his thirst was slaked, he rubbed the rest against his forehead, saw with incurious eyes that it came away red. He'd not realized until then that his head had been gashed open when he was thrown from his horse. He had never been so cold, never been so exhausted, and his mind was beginning to play terrifying tricks upon him. He could no longer trust his senses; voices seemed to
come at him from all sides, uncommonly loud and strangely garbled, and then, as suddenly, would fade away into muffled oblivion, into the thinnest, weakest of echoes.
Becoming aware that yet another of his Lancastrian captors was bending over him, he looked up numbly, jerking back in involuntary protest as the man reached for his wrists. Ignoring Edmund's recoil, the soldier swiftly bound his hands tightly together at the wrists and then stepped back to inspect his handiwork.
"This one's no more than a lad," he remarked idly, looking down at Edmund with a notable lack of antagonism.
"And wearing armor that'd please even the most high-handed of lords. . . . We'll do right well with that one. I warrant you he has kinfolk who'll pay, and pay dear, to see him safe home."
The soldiers were now turning to watch approaching riders. Edmund listened with indifference to the argument
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