A Song of Sixpence: The Story of Elizabeth of York and Perkin Warbeck Read Online Free PDF

slipped from the confines of my cap, and rubs it between finger and thumb as if he is a draper testing the nap of a velvet gown. I feel like an ox on market day. “You are very fair.”
    “Thank you.”
    He turns to the table and fills two cups with wine, offers me one which I accept, although I do not drink from it.
    “Do you welcome our marriage, Elizabeth?”
    Richard’s face flickers in my mind and for a long moment I look down at the red, glutinous liquid in my cup. There is only one answer I can make. The only way to keep my family safe, my mother, my sisters, my uncles, my cousins, my brothers … is to agree.
    “Oh yes,” I hear myself reply. “I have longed for our union for years … ever since Richard of Gloucester stole my brother’s throne.”
    Detesting myself for a base liar I gulp from the cup, suppressing a cough, tears springing to my eyes.
    “Ah yes; your brothers,” he is saying. “Where are they, do you know?”
    I shake my head and look into the dying embers of the fire. He comes to stand behind me. I can feel his breath on my neck.
    “If we are to marry,I must revoke the act that made you illegitimate. I cannot wed you while you are labelle d bastard. If I revoke the act that made you so then I legitimise your brothers too and in turn, make them my rivals … and dangerous. You must see that cannot happen.”
    My throat is blocked with grief. I nod my head. “I understand,” I croak.
    “Are they still living? You must tell me if they are. And if you know their whereabouts you must tell me that, too. It is your duty … as my wife and subject.”
    Our eyes are level; his are grey, like steel, and mine are awash with tears. I let my chin tremble as I lie to him and betray Richard one last time.
    “I fear they are dead,” I sob. “My poor, poor brothers, they were defenceless in the face of Gloucester’s greed. They never stood a chance.”
    I drag a kerchief from my sleeve and sob into it, feeling him take a step closer.
    “There, there,” he says, reaching out to pat my shoulder. “You must not weep; we have had our vengeance on him already.”
    He draws me closer and I go stiffly into his arms. His chest offers little comfort. It is not vast and soft like my father’s, nor hard and muscled like Richard’s. It is narrow and bony and beneath it I can feel the pattering of his heart.
    He is as afraid as I am.

Chapter Five
Boy
     

Brussels – December 1483
     
    It feels strange to be on firm ground after the swelling and rolling of the ship’s deck. The boy stumbles and almost falls into a stack of barrels. Brampton laughs, tosses a pack onto his shoulder and moves into the crush of people. “Bring the luggage, boy,” he says.
    The boy watches him disappear into the crowd. He is tempted to ignore the order and hesitates. Men pass to and fro, coming between him and his guide until all he can see of Brampton is the top of his cap.
    Brampton is a rogue and a fool but he is all the boy knows. He snatches up the bags and staggers after him, the hard edges of the pack digging into his thighs. He calls out to him, people turn and look, and Brampton, who is deep in conversation with a shabby-looking fellow, scowls and growls at him to be silent.
    It takes a while to barter for two down at heel nags. The horses stand heads down in the shade of a spindly tree, their ribs like hoops, their hooves split, and the droppings behind them too wet to be healthy. The boy waits, tired and thirsty, overwhelmed by the voyage and the strange clamouring harbour town. It is very different to travel as the servant of an adventurer than as a royal prince. There are no comforts, no easement. At first he was full of questions but now exhaustion is making him accept whatever comes – he snatches at memories of his mother, his sisters and the love they once offered, but their faces slide away before he can grasp them.
    When Brampton tosses the saddlebags over the neck of the largest horse the boy is