A Crown in Time by Cidney Swanson

Author:Cidney Swanson [Swanson, Cidney]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Williams Press
Published: 2018-06-30T22:00:00+00:00

2 9

• EDMUND •

February 1601, London

When Edmund was re-admitted into Geoffrey’s cell, he noticed that an improved table had replaced the rickety one from earlier. A candle burned brightly on the table. Better still, the window had been covered, keeping some of the cold out.

Geoffrey was curled into a tight ball and wrapped inside Edmund’s fur-lined cloak. Edmund had missed the cloak just now when he rode over from Whitehall, but seeing his brother thus miserable, he could not regret the sacrifice. Tomorrow he would bring blankets. Food from home. Flagons of wine.

Ye gods, but he was thirsty.

Edmund reached for a jar of beer—also new—and drank deeply. Then, reflecting Geoffrey might be thirsty when he woke, Edmund set the vessel down.

“Brother,” he said quietly.

Geoffrey startled, scrambling backward on all fours.

“Tis I, Edmund. ”

His brother stopped scrambling and rose unsteadily. “Thou dost not drink, surely,” he said, noting the jar in Edmund’s hand.

“I left some for thee,” replied Edmund, attempting to hand it to his brother.

“It may be poisoned!” Geoffrey’s face crinkled as though he was going to cry. “And if it be poisoned, brother, and thou diest? Who then will see I am given justice?”

Edmund sighed. Geoffrey’s paranoia was infamous.

“None mean to poison you. Nor am I poisoned, as you can see plainly,” said Edmund.

Geoffrey rose and stepped closer, taking the candle from the table in order to examine Edmund’s eyes.

“You see? I am whole and well.”

Grunting, Geoffrey took the jar of ale and consumed it.

“Hast thou had food as well?” asked Edmund.

“Aye. But I feared to eat it.” He indicated a wrapped bundle on the table, containing stale bread and some sort of meat or vegetable pie.

Edmund extended his hand. “Let me be thy taster,” he said, knowing Geoffrey might well starve himself otherwise. After a bite of each, Edmund returned them to his brother, who devoured the food. He must ask Maria what foods else he could bring, such as would nourish best, whilst providing the least temptation for a hungry jailor. His wife would know this sort of thing.

His wife. Great God in heaven. One of his two wives. He had to return home to speak with each tonight …

“I cannot stay,” said Edmund.

“Aye,” said Geoffrey. “I did not expect thou wouldst bed down here with me.” He said it in a slightly accusing tone, as if to imply a good brother would do just that.

“I visited court today,” said Edmund, “and shall do so again on the morrow and so on, till I have secured thy release.” He felt suddenly exhausted and wished only to be home. “I must leave. I pray you pardon the shortness of my visit.”

He turned for the door.

“Brother,” cried Geoffrey.

Edmund turned back.

“Thanks. Much thanks. Thou art a good brother. And a good man. And better to me than I have deserved.”

“Goodnight, brother,” said Edmund.

As he rode home to the confusion of his two wives, his double life, the opening lines of one of Shakespeare’s sonnet repeated to the thud of his

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