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

the sleeve of Edward's doublet.
"Edward! Edmund! This be no time to play the fool, tonight of all nights!"
There was such unaccustomed asperity in the rebuke that they stared at her.
"But that be what we do best, Ma Mere," Edmund demurred, feeling it advisable to placate his irate
parent with charm.
Edward, a shade more perceptive, was frowning. "Why do you say 'tonight of all nights,' Ma Mere? It
can't be Dickon; he came to no harm. What has your nerves so on the raw?"
She didn't respond at once, shifting her gaze between their faces. "You read people well, Edward," she
said at last. "I hadn't meant to tell you till the morrow. . . . While you both were out searching for
Richard, word reached us from my brother."
The two boys exchanged glances. Their uncle, the Earl of Salisbury, was expected to reach Ludlow that
week, leading an armed force from the
North to join with their father's men and those soon to come from Calais under command of their cousin,
Salisbury's son, the Earl of Warwick.
"He was ambushed at a place called Blore Heath, to the north of Shrewsbury, by the Queen's army.
Your cousins Thomas and John were taken captive, but my brother and others were able to fight their
way free. He sent word ahead to warn us, should reach Ludlow by tomorrow night."
There was silence, broken at last by Edward, who said matter-offactly, "If the Queen is set upon war,
she'll not long keep the royal army at Coventry. She'll march on Ludlow, Ma Mere, and soon."
The Duchess of York nodded. "Yes, Edward, you are quite right," she said slowly. "She'll move on
Ludlow. I very much fear we can count on it."
LUDLOW
October 1459
'Death waited in the dark. Richard could feel its presence, knew it was there. Death was no stranger to
him, for all that he was just ten days past his seventh birthday. Death had always been very much a part
of his world, had claimed a baby sister in her cradle, had taken cousins and playmates, and more than
once in his earliest years of life, had threatened to take him, too. Now it was back, and like him, awaiting
the coming of day. He shivered and pulled the fox-fur coverlet up toward his chin, retreated still further
into the refuge of the bed. Beside him, his brother stirred sleepily and jabbed him in the ribs with an
elbow.
"Stop squirming, Dickon," he mumbled and reached over to claim Richard's pillow.
Richard made a halfhearted attempt to regain his stolen property, but
once again George's three-year advantage proved to be a telling one, and the older boy was soon asleep,
both pillows enfolded securely against his chest. Richard cushioned his head on his arm, watching with
envy as his brother slept. In all of his seven years, he had never been awake at such an hour. But in all of
his seven years, he had never been so afraid.
He thought of the dawning day with dread. On the morrow, there was to be a battle. Men were to die,
for reasons he did not fully understand. But he did understand, with chilling clarity, that when the day was
done, his father and Ned and Edmund might be numbered among the dead.
His brother's pillow covering had slipped; he could see the tip of a protruding feather. He edged closer
and fished it out, eyeing George with caution. But George was snoring softly and soon there was a
downy pile between them on the bed. He began to separate them into two camps, which he mentally
identified as "York" and "Lancaster." The feathery forces of York were led, of course, by his father, the
Duke of York, and those of Lancaster by the King, Harry of Lancaster, and the Frenchwoman who was
his Queen.
He continued methodically plucking feathers from George's pillow and aligning them in opposing camps,
but it didn't help. He was unable to forget his fear. What if his father were to die? Or Ned? Ned and
Edmund were men grown. Old enough to ride into battle tomorrow. Old enough to die.
He began to build up the army of York until it vastly outnumbered Lancaster. He knew his father did not
want to fight the King, and he did not think the King truly wanted to fight his father. Again and again he'd