Ravenspur: Rise of the Tudors (The Wars of the Roses) by Conn Iggulden

Author:Conn Iggulden
Language: eng
Format: mobi, azw3
ISBN: 9781405921480
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2016-05-18T23:00:00+00:00

17

Elizabeth felt a pang of terror at the noise of armoured men approaching. For months, she had suffered with that particular nightmare, risen like a white spark in her chest every time a grocer or a priest came to Sanctuary. Every time she heard a strange voice or a tiny bell rang, a great, dark fear would come that it was Lancaster or some lord, come to slaughter her children and herself. She dreamed of blood, spilling black across the floor.

She heard the true clatter of knights in iron and sprang awake, her heart thumping in the darkness. There were always one or two monks in the tiny cells of Sanctuary. She had grown to know them all well in the months of confinement. She recognized Brother Paul’s tone and then a yell and a crash that had her reaching for her night robe and fumbling with its belt in the darkness.

She slept alone and could hear the wet nurse, Jenny, stirring in the next room along the corridor. Her mother, Jacquetta, was already moving about and appeared with a lamp and her hair in a great pile of sleep-creased curls.

Wordlessly, Elizabeth showed her the long knife she had snatched up. Jacquetta vanished back into her room, returning with a poker from the fireplace. The two women went to the top of the wooden stairs, shushing Jenny when she too came out, pressing her back into her room with their hands. Further along the floor, one of the girls began to wail. The crying would surely wake the old lady who looked after them and she was actually quite deaf, so that when she called out, she woke the rest of the house. Elizabeth bit her lip in fear as she edged to the top step and crouched to peer down into the tiny entrance hall.

Brother Paul lay crumpled against the wall, unconscious or dead, she did not know. Elizabeth drew in a sharp breath and then some part of her realized she knew the man standing over him with his back to her. She watched Edward turn in silence, though there had to have been noise.

Her husband looked up to where she stared down through the banisters and his face split into a great beam and shout. Elizabeth matched him, giving a cry of relief, though she felt as if she might faint and tumble right down the steps. She swayed as she tried to stand and felt her mother’s hands on her waist, guiding her away from the fall.

Edward came bounding up the stairs, peering at his wife in pride.

‘I have woken you,’ he said, laughing. Elizabeth snatched frantically at her thoughts.

‘Edward, I don’t … Is it over then?’ she asked. To her confusion, her giant of a husband shook his head, though he still grinned.

‘No, love. Though this is a part of it. Yet London is mine at least – and I can take you out of this place. That is enough for tonight, isn’t it? Now where is my son, Elizabeth?’

‘I named him Edward,’ Elizabeth said.

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