Free Ravenspur: Rise of the Tudors by Conn Iggulden Page B

hands and gulped and gulped, belching ferociously. The king began to beam at them, then leaned over suddenly and vomited on to the rush-covered floor, missing the bucket by some distance.
    Richard breathed through his nose, holding a fist so tightly he could feel the muscles of his back draw. That made him open the hand immediately, fearing the first sharp twinge of the hot belt his muscles could become, like ropes pulling at him, or ribs turned and stuck in the wrong spot. With the wrong twitch, he could suffer a pain like a knife for weeks, with no way to shorten the time. His breaths would grow shallow and his shoulder blade would wing out, so that he felt it against his armour.
    Richard looked on his brother with scorn and envy, mixed. Edward had driven Warwick away and fate had decreed his daughter would give birth at sea – and that the child would die before she ever reached land.
    It should not have been enough to sunder three brothers, Richard thought, not beyond the first fury of tragedy. Therewere few parents who had not lost two or three children, finding them still in the morning, or watching them fade with fever stealing their life and smiles away. Richard grimaced at the thought. He had no children of his own and he supposed he
would
blame the man who had driven him to sea, if he lost his first as a result. Certainly his letters to George had been returned unopened since then. There was rage there – and as yet no forgiveness.
    When Edward sat straight again and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, some of his wits had returned. He focused on the nervous herald, still standing with bowed head and no doubt wishing he was not a witness to the king’s drunkenness. Such things were remembered and not often forgiven.
    ‘You – herald. Tell me of Warwick’s rag and tag of whelk-fishermen and … bailiffs.’ Edward waved a hand in annoyance at his own stumbling words, aware that his thoughts still swam in deep pools.
    ‘Your Highness, as I told my lord Gloucester, I saw only the first morning, as they crossed the bridge in London and came into the city proper. There were thousands, Your Highness, though I was sent north before the full extent became apparent, in number or in strength of arms.’
    Edward blinked slowly, nodding.
    ‘And my brother George was there with him?’
    ‘The Clarence banners were sighted, Your Highness, yes.’
    ‘I see. And my wife? What word of Elizabeth? My daughters?’
    The herald squirmed, flushing deeply. Although he wished by then that he had waited for news of the royal family, he had been away at a wild gallop as soon as he had his orders.
    ‘I have no word of them, Your Highness, though I do not doubt they are safe.’
    ‘Is there any other thing you can tell me, lad?’ Edward said, peering at the man, who was at least a decade older than he was. The herald could only shake his head, his eyes bulging slightly. ‘No? Nothing? Then go back down the road to the south and scout for me. Seek out Warwick’s rabble and note well how far the man has marched in the days since.’
    The herald was worn out, just about dead on his feet, but he only bowed and left quickly.
    Richard looked sourly at his brother. He had wanted to question the man a little more thoroughly than Edward’s feeble effort, but the opportunity had been lost.
    ‘Another jug of ale here,’ Edward said loudly, looking around him. Richard’s last thread of temper frayed at that. He turned to his brother’s guard.
    ‘Sir Dalston, you will leave us alone.’
    ‘My lord, I …’
    ‘Get
out
!’ Richard snapped over him. He dropped a hand to his sword, knowing he was taking out his impotent anger on a man of lesser estate, but still unable to control himself. Sir Dalston grew pale and tight-lipped as he stood there, unmoving. Richard had the very real sense that the knight would draw his sword. He knew he would kill him if he did.
    ‘Go on, Dalston,’ Edward said, releasing the man from his duty.