Revolt (The King's Knight Book 1) by Ironside J.A

Author:Ironside, J.A. [Ironside, J.A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sharpe Books
Published: 2019-06-04T16:00:00+00:00

Chaucer looked up from the document he was reading and Gregory saw the poet wore a grim expression. The bruises looked appalling by daylight. Superficial injuries but dark and damning against the pallor of his narrow, clever face. “Sir Maudesley, well met.”

“Master Chaucer. How’s the head wound?” Gregory said.

“Did you see any disturbances on your way here?”

“The streets were quiet.” Gregory realised the poet knew what that meant. A city the size of London with few folk abroad and little business being conducted? Animals were said to know when a storm would hit, weren’t they? “You think people are hiding indoors?”

“I think we’d better engage an escort to the Tower, and be quick about it,” Chaucer said. “I’ve had word that a party of Kentish rebels numbering in the thousands has camped at Blackheath. What does that suggest to you, Maudesley?”

“With the Essex insurgents on the other side of the Thames, a pincer manoeuvre,” Gregory said. “It’s no mere gang of malcontents. They’re organised.” It was going to be worse than that long ago bread riot. Much worse.

“Come, Sir Maudesley,” Chaucer reached for the door only to be nearly taken off his feet by the frightened page who threw it open.

“What in God’s name−”

“They’re coming!” The boy gasped. “The rebels!”

“Where?” Gregory grabbed the page, giving him a little shake. “How close are they? ”

“They’re…they’re here,” the boy quavered. “The guards just opened the gates for them.”

Raised voices in the hallway were followed by what sounded like glass shattering.

The rebels had entered London and headed straight for the wealthiest areas. They’d come for the instigators of their woes. First among them, the hated lord and man of state, John of Gaunt. Creator of the poll tax that had seen Bampton’s clerks slaughtered at Brentwood.

Gregory kept one hand tight on the page’s shoulder. The boy’s frightened gaze skittered around the room, a trapped animal seeking escape. “Is His Grace home?”

“No,” Chaucer said. “You think they mean harm to his person?”

“If they do, they’re out of luck. And they’ll be looking for alternatives.”

Chaucer paled further under his bruises. He’d no doubt heard all about Brentwood’s staff. “But…the guards. They can’t just march into His Grace’s residence unchallenged.”

Gregory recognised the belief in the poet’s eyes. The man was no fool but caught by surprise he had the fox’s urge to run to earth, even though the way was snared, even though the hounds were on his tail and would dig him out. “Doesn’t matter what they can do when they’ve already done it. Does His Grace have enough men-at-arms to dissuade a few thousand furious rebels who believe that God and right are on their side?”

Chaucer’s mouth trembled. “No one has enough guards for that.”

Another crash came from outside the clerks’ office. The rebels would be there soon.

“Is there another way out of here?” Gregory said.

Chaucer shook his head.

“Then we leave through the door.” Gregory gave the now sobbing page another little shake. “Enough, they’re not likely to be after boys and servants.” He met Chaucer’s gaze.

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