Free Ravenspur: Rise of the Tudors by Conn Iggulden

Good eye for prey gone to earth, the man had.
    Edward felt his thoughts drift, the drink still making him stupid and slow. He shook his head, but the sudden action just brought a fresh surge of acid and made the room swim. Dark depression clamped upon him, stealing away his first rush of confidence.
    He knew another few hundred or so of his followers were camped in fields nearby, with greyhounds and bull mastiffs, with the king’s gyrfalcon and a score of spare horses. Friends and trusted lords drifted in and out of the great hunt, joining Edward for weeks until the regimen of vast quantities of meat, wine and ale had reduced them to trembling old men. Then they would return to their estates to recover their vitality, to the exasperation of their wives. In comparison, Edward seemed to thrive on the life.
    As well as his brother Richard, there were others of high rank in the royal party. The king’s brother-in-law, Anthony, Earl Rivers, was present, slightly worn from a week of Edward’s drinking games. Barons Howard and Say had joined the hunt, no doubt with some awareness of the favour they might win from having the king’s ear. Earl Worcester was the last of the senior men, one with a reputation for savage treatment of the king’s enemies. Edward wondered how Worcester would react when news reached him of Warwick’s return. As Constable of England, Worcester had overseen the trials and execution of a number of Warwick’s followers over the previous months. He would not fare well if Warwick’s rebellion succeeded. Edward grimaced at that thought.
    In all, he had perhaps a hundred and forty fighting men – and as many servants who could hold a blade, if their lives depended upon it. Edward swore under his breath as hestood swaying on the steps. It was just not a large group, that was the truth of it. Yet he could not take an army with him every time he wanted to ride to the hunt or visit a lonely widow in some far-flung estate. Edward took a moment to run a hand through his wet hair. A king should be able to ride his own land without having to watch for enemies seeking him out. England always seemed so quiet, so unchanging. Yet it was a treacherous place. He looked down at his brother, imagining he could see scorn and angered further by the thought. As boys, they had not dreamed of a crown, nor dukedoms beyond that of York. Edward had won such things for them, raising them up by their belts and their collars, dragging them into the light. He did not deserve such dark glances from his brother. What would Richard have been without him? Some minor baron, he reminded himself, some forgotten man.
    ‘George is with him? Our brother?’ Edward said, his voice strained. He cleared his throat angrily, bringing a flush to his cheeks.
    Richard winced and nodded.
    ‘Turned against us. With the archers and men-at-arms from his estates, I don’t doubt. George can put two or three thousand in the field, or even more. You know Warwick can do the same, without even a levy or a call to arms in the shires. As things stand, we have been caught out of place.’
    ‘I am not out of place so close to York, Brother!’ Edward said. He struggled to sound confident, though fingers of drunken darkness seemed to suck at him. ‘I called them once.’
    Rather than argue, Richard sensed his brother’s hurt and confusion. His tone softened a touch as he went on.
    ‘They will come in the king’s name, Edward, yes. Of course they will. I have sent our lads out already with yourbadges to rouse them from their beds. Every hour will bring more to our side, I don’t doubt it.’
    He did not say it could not be done in time. The London herald had covered the two hundred miles in just two days, changing horses on good roads a dozen times. It had been a fine feat of horsemanship and endurance. Yet Richard of Gloucester had been Warwick’s ward and lived in his house for years. He admired many of his qualities – one of which was the ability to move