Read Online Uneasy Lies the Crown by N. Gemini Sasson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: N. Gemini Sasson
Ads: Link
importance, but for the nervous jerking of his shoulders as his head followed his eyes to investigate every cracked twig or rabbit bounding through the underbrush. He had reason to fear for his very life.
Half the day slipped away before he allowed them to stop long enough to relieve themselves and answer the rumblings of their stomachs. While his men sank to the ground in the shade of a dense grove, Richard stood with the reins of his horse clenched in one hand, scanning the countryside, seeking the humble army of Welshmen and peasants that would come to his aid, but also terrified of the vengeful English one that would pursue him to the furthest reaches of the isle. They had not been out of their saddles long enough to chew their stale bread before the king ordered them onward again.
Not far from Llanddulas as sunset neared, the king’s company entered a lushly wooded glen embraced by towering walls of crumbling limestone. Every hoof beat amplified in Richard’s ears, hammering in his head with relentless mockery. The deep, leafy shadows harbored goblins in hordes. Demons concealed in the burled limbs of trees jeered at Richard’s vain folly. Suddenly, one of the demons raised its hellish bow and aimed down at Richard’s fair head from a craggy cliff.
“Hold.” Richard raised a quivering hand, his eyes locked upon the arrow that marked his shrinking heart. On the trail before them, heavily armed English soldiers poured forth. Behind, above, around—everywhere. From their midst strode the stout Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland, a forced smile bracing his plump cheeks. At his shoulder was his robust son of the same name, but more commonly known as Harry Hotspur.
“Percy, what is this?” Richard’s eyes darted from one man to the next; their hands were poised threateningly upon sword hilts. Perched on the limestone outcroppings were two dozen archers, arrows nocked.
Northumberland strode up to Richard’s prancing mount and hooked his fingers through the halter. “There, there.” Gently he pulled down on the horse’s muzzle and stroked its velvety cheek. Beneath his bushy, peppered eyebrows, he glanced up at the king, then back into the horse’s great, round eyes. “We have come to escort you to Flint, my lord.”
“Then you go against your word, Percy.” King Richard gathered the reins tighter in his sweating palms, his knees gripping his mount’s ribcage. “You promised to have but six in your escort party. I count tenfold that and more. And no escort, but an armed guard. Besides, it was Chester, not Flint, that I agreed to.”
“And you, sire, said you would wait for my return, so that I could personally accompany you there. My guess is that you were headed elsewhere—and not to Chester either.”
Richard glanced at Hotspur, but he could read nothing in the knight’s stoic face.
“This is no peaceful escort,” Richard said. “It is an armed guard. I’ll go nowhere with you under these sly pretenses. I am the King of England. All that you see and more”—he raised his palm in the direction of the road ahead—“is my kingdom. So clear the road, Percy. Let us pass.”
“Your forgiveness, but I cannot let you go back to Conwy or anywhere else. You must come with me to Flint and meet with the Duke of Lancaster.”
“I will not. Besides, Henry is no longer the Duke of Lancaster. I stripped him of that inheritance long ago.” It was a futile protest, Richard knew. The slight waver of a bow caught his sight. Cold desperation crept under his skin and seeped into the very pith of his being.
“My lord, do not force my hand,” Northumberland said. “I am not good at this.”
“Good at what, Percy? Turning traitor?” Shattered bits of sunlight, broken by the canopy overhead, danced around him, but Richard felt only the chill of the shade and its completeness.
“Order your men to drop their weapons,” Northumberland said flatly.
With forced effort, Richard raised his fine chin and
Half the day slipped away before he allowed them to stop long enough to relieve themselves and answer the rumblings of their stomachs. While his men sank to the ground in the shade of a dense grove, Richard stood with the reins of his horse clenched in one hand, scanning the countryside, seeking the humble army of Welshmen and peasants that would come to his aid, but also terrified of the vengeful English one that would pursue him to the furthest reaches of the isle. They had not been out of their saddles long enough to chew their stale bread before the king ordered them onward again.
Not far from Llanddulas as sunset neared, the king’s company entered a lushly wooded glen embraced by towering walls of crumbling limestone. Every hoof beat amplified in Richard’s ears, hammering in his head with relentless mockery. The deep, leafy shadows harbored goblins in hordes. Demons concealed in the burled limbs of trees jeered at Richard’s vain folly. Suddenly, one of the demons raised its hellish bow and aimed down at Richard’s fair head from a craggy cliff.
“Hold.” Richard raised a quivering hand, his eyes locked upon the arrow that marked his shrinking heart. On the trail before them, heavily armed English soldiers poured forth. Behind, above, around—everywhere. From their midst strode the stout Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland, a forced smile bracing his plump cheeks. At his shoulder was his robust son of the same name, but more commonly known as Harry Hotspur.
“Percy, what is this?” Richard’s eyes darted from one man to the next; their hands were poised threateningly upon sword hilts. Perched on the limestone outcroppings were two dozen archers, arrows nocked.
Northumberland strode up to Richard’s prancing mount and hooked his fingers through the halter. “There, there.” Gently he pulled down on the horse’s muzzle and stroked its velvety cheek. Beneath his bushy, peppered eyebrows, he glanced up at the king, then back into the horse’s great, round eyes. “We have come to escort you to Flint, my lord.”
“Then you go against your word, Percy.” King Richard gathered the reins tighter in his sweating palms, his knees gripping his mount’s ribcage. “You promised to have but six in your escort party. I count tenfold that and more. And no escort, but an armed guard. Besides, it was Chester, not Flint, that I agreed to.”
“And you, sire, said you would wait for my return, so that I could personally accompany you there. My guess is that you were headed elsewhere—and not to Chester either.”
Richard glanced at Hotspur, but he could read nothing in the knight’s stoic face.
“This is no peaceful escort,” Richard said. “It is an armed guard. I’ll go nowhere with you under these sly pretenses. I am the King of England. All that you see and more”—he raised his palm in the direction of the road ahead—“is my kingdom. So clear the road, Percy. Let us pass.”
“Your forgiveness, but I cannot let you go back to Conwy or anywhere else. You must come with me to Flint and meet with the Duke of Lancaster.”
“I will not. Besides, Henry is no longer the Duke of Lancaster. I stripped him of that inheritance long ago.” It was a futile protest, Richard knew. The slight waver of a bow caught his sight. Cold desperation crept under his skin and seeped into the very pith of his being.
“My lord, do not force my hand,” Northumberland said. “I am not good at this.”
“Good at what, Percy? Turning traitor?” Shattered bits of sunlight, broken by the canopy overhead, danced around him, but Richard felt only the chill of the shade and its completeness.
“Order your men to drop their weapons,” Northumberland said flatly.
With forced effort, Richard raised his fine chin and
Similar Books
