"Sharon K. Penman - The Sunne In Splendour" - читать интересную книгу автора (Penman Sharon K)

The sunne in splendour.
Copyright 1982 by Sharon Kay Penman
vv 'All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.
Published by Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 383 Madison Avenue,
New York, New York 10017.
Published simultaneously in Canada by Holt, Rinehart and Winston of Canada, Limited.
Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data
Penman, Sharon Kay. The sunne in splendour. HE 1. Richard III, King of England, 1452-1485 Fiction.
I2. Great Britain-History-Wars of the Roses, 1455-1485- Fiction. 3. Great Britain-History-Henry
SOUVII, 1485-1509- Fiction. I. Title.
COnPS3566.E474S9 813'.54 81-20149
ISBN 00 3-061368-XAACR2
his
First Edition
her
KILLDesigner: Joy Chu
danPrinted in the United States of America
Kin13579108642
lo
TO JULIE McCASKEY WOLFF
Acknowledgments
I owe a debt of gratitude to so many: First and foremost, to my parents, for their support, their faith and
their patience. To Julie McCaskey Wolff, for her encouragement, her enthusiasm, and her belief in the
book. To my agent, Molly Friedrich, who was willing to accept an unknown author's
twelve-hundred-page manuscript, and able to pilot it into a snug harbor. To Don McKinney for opening
the door, and to Carolyn Hammond and Julie Lord for taking so much of the pain out of my research. To
two friends who brought medieval York to life before my eyes, Dorothy Mitchell and Chris Arnott. To
the Richard III Societies in the United States and England for making their libraries available to me. To
the libraries of the University of Pennsylvania, University of Texas, Los Angeles, New York City, York,
England, Salisbury, Nottingham, Ludlow, Oxford, and London. Last but definitely not least, to my editor
at Holt, Rinehart and Winston, Marian Wood, who shapes and polishes words and ideas with the
precision and skill of a master diamond-cutter.
I
RICHARD did not become frightened until darkness began to settle over the woods. In the fading light,
the trees began to take on unfamiliar and menacing shapes. There was movement in the shadows.
Low-hanging branches barred his path; rain-sodden leaves trailed wetly across his cheek. He could hear
sounds behind him and kept quickening his pace, until he tripped over the exposed roots of a massive
oak and sprawled headlong into the dark. Unknown horrors reached for him, pinning him to the ground.
He felt something burn across his neck; his face was pressed into the dampness of the earth. He lay very
still, but he heard only the unsteady echoes of his own breathing. Opening his eyes, he saw that he had
fallen into a thicket, was held captive by nothing more sinister than brambles and branches broken off by
the weight of his body.
He was no longer drowning in fear; the wave was receding. In its wake, he felt shame burn his face and
was grateful that none had been there to witness his flight. He thought himself to be too old to yield so
easily to panic, for in just eight days' time he would be seven years old. He rolled clear of the bushes and
sat up. After a moment's deliberation, he retreated to the shelter of a lightning-scarred beech. Bracing
himself against the trunk, he settled down to wait for Ned to find him.
That Ned would come, he did not doubt. He only hoped that Ned would come soon, and while he
waited, he tried to keep his mind on daylight thoughts, tried not to think at all about what might be lurking
in the dark beyond the beech tree.