Ravenspur: Rise of the Tudors Read Online Free PDF Page A

you. Not now you’re on the right side.’
    Warwick frowned, then saw the spymaster had a wry expression that revealed his humour. Warwick shook his head.
    ‘Have a care, Master Brewer. This is a serious business.’
    The king had made no movement as they’d talked. Henry stood like his own effigy in wax, resembling those sent to shrines in times of illness, or the mannequin of Caesar Mark Antony had once shown to a mob in Rome. When Warwick took the king’s hand, it was almost a surprise to find the flesh warm and pliant. He winced as swollen knuckles shifted in his grip, the veins like cords. Henry looked slowly round at the touch, his eyes showing no recognition. There was blankness there, and a trace of sadness. All else had gone.
    Slowly, Warwick raised the king’s arm with his own, a gesture for all the eyes on them. The crowd roared and stamped below, but Warwick still heard King Henry gasp and felt him tug back, too weak to break the grip. It was pitiful, but Warwick could only maintain the hold, turning the king back and forth as he held his hand high.
    ‘It hurts!’ Henry muttered, his head drooping. Warwicklowered his arm as the man began to sag, sensing it could only get worse. Tower guards stepped past Derry Brewer then, taking the king’s weight. Warwick glanced at Henry’s hand as he let go. The nails were black with dirt and he shook his head.
    ‘Find gloves for His Majesty!’ he called after the guards. There were servants to tend the king at the Palace of Westminster. They would restore and bathe him. Perhaps the royal physicians might even bring a little life back to the man.
    Derry Brewer’s voice interrupted his thoughts.
    ‘Poor old sod. I look at him now and I wonder if he even knows you’ve freed him. Or if he’s the right … foundation stone for this rebellion of yours, if you understand me.’
    ‘I understand you. It is not a matter of right and wrong, Master Brewer. He is the king.’
    To his irritation, Brewer laughed out loud.
    ‘The guards have gone, my lord! Those below can’t hear us, up here on the wall. Perhaps they believe a king’s blood runs a deeper red than theirs, I don’t know. But you …’ Derry shook his head, smiling in wonder. ‘You saw Edward of York make himself a king. They say it was your suggestion that pricked him to it. And yet you deny him now. Perhaps
you
are the St Peter here, my lord, claiming you don’t know your master, over and over until the old cock crows.’
    ‘King Henry of Lancaster is the king of England, Master Brewer,’ Warwick said softly. For the first time in their conversation, Derry saw the man’s hand rest on the knife in his belt. He could not feel a true threat from the earl, just an awareness. Nonetheless, Derry shifted his weight and adjusted his grip on his cane. It was weighted in lead and he had surprised a couple of men with it in the years since Towton.
    ‘You can give him any name you like,’ Derry replied. ‘Itwill not mean anything. See that crowd below? All staring up at us in hope of one more glimpse? You want my advice?’
    ‘No,’ Warwick said. Derry nodded.
    ‘Good for you, son! My advice is to show the king in a few places. To let them see Henry alive and freed. Then put something in his food that will take him out of the world, so that he sleeps but doesn’t wake up. No pain or blood, mind, not for a man who never had the wits to do harm except by his own weakness. Let him go quietly. His son will make a good king. By Christ, that boy is the grandson of the victor at Agincourt. He’ll make us all proud.’
    Warwick narrowed his eyes, tilting his head as if he was seeing something he could hardly believe.
    ‘You think that is my intention!’ he said. ‘You can believe that of me? That I would murder the king? For some boy I hardly know?’ To Derry’s surprise, Warwick laughed suddenly, a harsh sound in the wind that blew at that height. ‘Edward of York said something like that to me once, when