Read Online Uneasy Lies the Crown by N. Gemini Sasson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: N. Gemini Sasson
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gathered in his breast what little resolve he still had. “Speak not thusly to me, Percy. Think again on what you are about to do. Take but a moment. Weigh it. Remember all I have done for you and your —”
“You are under arrest.”
Richard was stunned beyond belief.
“Arrest?” he echoed. It was the only word his lips would shape. He heard its sound, but the meaning fled his comprehension altogether.
Behind him, the cascading thud of surrendered weapons resounded in the glen. The point of Northumberland’s sword drifted upward to meet the king’s eyes. On the glinting tip of the earl’s blade tottered the very course of the Plantagenet dynasty.
“Your sword,” Northumberland commanded.
Slowly, Richard drew his sword and surrendered it to the earth. Hotspur, at last committing to action, darted forth to seize it.
“And your dagger.”
This time, with marked hesitation, the king closed his fingers over the hilt. He never thought himself capable of cold-blooded murder, but self-defense...
“Don’t.” Northumberland pressed the point of his sword against Richard’s throat. “I was told to bring you without harm to your person, but if I have to...”
“May this haunt you to your grave.” Richard flipped the dagger from his fingers. Its finely tapered point pierced the ground.
Northumberland bent to free the dagger. “As will your deeds, m’lord.”
Iolo Goch:
The tragic son of the lauded Black Prince became Henry of Bolingbroke’s captive. Young Harry was released from Castle Trim and escorted back to England to be at his father’s side. Richard’s reign was in ebb not because of a tidal wave of insurrection, but because none had stood against Henry. Richard’s troops had merely wandered off, his assumed friends were mute on his behalf, and the people had long since ceased to remember him as the idealistic child-king.
The baggage train that Richard had taken with him to Ireland was confiscated by Sir Thomas Percy and the Duke of Aumarle, one of Richard’s own cousins. Pelts of ermine and fox; cloth of damask, samite and velvet brocade; jewelry set in silver and gold and encrusted with pearls and precious stones; and coin enough to feed all of England south of the Trent. The confiscated goods were escorted through Wales on a long strand of wagons and foreign-bred horses. Such a spectacle was impossible to hide.
Days later, a band of our Welsh brethren, sympathizers to King Richard, ambushed the train in a narrow glen. They would not share their names, but after they stripped the English soldiers of their weapons and herded them into a clump, they left Sir Thomas with one final comment: “’Tis common knowledge the king did not give these trinkets to you. So we shall return them to their rightful owner and let you go on your way. Tell the vile traitor you serve that Wales is not his for the taking, either.”
If only Henry had heeded those words. Instead, he took them as a challenge.
11
Tower of London, England — September, 1399
For nearly a month, Richard’s domain had been reduced to the periphery of his chamber’s walls in the Tower of London. His apportionment of natural light was limited to the narrow aperture of a single high window. When Sir William Beauchamp appeared in his doorway late one day, Richard was so bereft of hope that he barely raised his bleary eyes to acknowledge his visitor.
“What is it Beauchamp? Come to gloat?” Richard sniveled. “And who is that with you?”
“This is Adam of Usk, sire.” Beauchamp tipped his head toward his companion. “Welshman, Oxford scholar, and a cleric as soon as his appointment is secured.”
Beauchamp, late in years and short on words, curled his fingers at a pair of mousy servants. They scurried in with plates of food, placed them before the king and raced past the guards before they could become targets. Richard had already launched a few goblets at them.
The king swept the food aside
“You are under arrest.”
Richard was stunned beyond belief.
“Arrest?” he echoed. It was the only word his lips would shape. He heard its sound, but the meaning fled his comprehension altogether.
Behind him, the cascading thud of surrendered weapons resounded in the glen. The point of Northumberland’s sword drifted upward to meet the king’s eyes. On the glinting tip of the earl’s blade tottered the very course of the Plantagenet dynasty.
“Your sword,” Northumberland commanded.
Slowly, Richard drew his sword and surrendered it to the earth. Hotspur, at last committing to action, darted forth to seize it.
“And your dagger.”
This time, with marked hesitation, the king closed his fingers over the hilt. He never thought himself capable of cold-blooded murder, but self-defense...
“Don’t.” Northumberland pressed the point of his sword against Richard’s throat. “I was told to bring you without harm to your person, but if I have to...”
“May this haunt you to your grave.” Richard flipped the dagger from his fingers. Its finely tapered point pierced the ground.
Northumberland bent to free the dagger. “As will your deeds, m’lord.”
Iolo Goch:
The tragic son of the lauded Black Prince became Henry of Bolingbroke’s captive. Young Harry was released from Castle Trim and escorted back to England to be at his father’s side. Richard’s reign was in ebb not because of a tidal wave of insurrection, but because none had stood against Henry. Richard’s troops had merely wandered off, his assumed friends were mute on his behalf, and the people had long since ceased to remember him as the idealistic child-king.
The baggage train that Richard had taken with him to Ireland was confiscated by Sir Thomas Percy and the Duke of Aumarle, one of Richard’s own cousins. Pelts of ermine and fox; cloth of damask, samite and velvet brocade; jewelry set in silver and gold and encrusted with pearls and precious stones; and coin enough to feed all of England south of the Trent. The confiscated goods were escorted through Wales on a long strand of wagons and foreign-bred horses. Such a spectacle was impossible to hide.
Days later, a band of our Welsh brethren, sympathizers to King Richard, ambushed the train in a narrow glen. They would not share their names, but after they stripped the English soldiers of their weapons and herded them into a clump, they left Sir Thomas with one final comment: “’Tis common knowledge the king did not give these trinkets to you. So we shall return them to their rightful owner and let you go on your way. Tell the vile traitor you serve that Wales is not his for the taking, either.”
If only Henry had heeded those words. Instead, he took them as a challenge.
11
Tower of London, England — September, 1399
For nearly a month, Richard’s domain had been reduced to the periphery of his chamber’s walls in the Tower of London. His apportionment of natural light was limited to the narrow aperture of a single high window. When Sir William Beauchamp appeared in his doorway late one day, Richard was so bereft of hope that he barely raised his bleary eyes to acknowledge his visitor.
“What is it Beauchamp? Come to gloat?” Richard sniveled. “And who is that with you?”
“This is Adam of Usk, sire.” Beauchamp tipped his head toward his companion. “Welshman, Oxford scholar, and a cleric as soon as his appointment is secured.”
Beauchamp, late in years and short on words, curled his fingers at a pair of mousy servants. They scurried in with plates of food, placed them before the king and raced past the guards before they could become targets. Richard had already launched a few goblets at them.
The king swept the food aside
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