Rise of the Wolf Read Online Free PDF Page B

his.
    “You're not even a Benedictine, like the prior and all them in Lewes,” Peter Ordevill, the old sailor from Selby grunted. “You're a Franciscan. De Monte Martini won't let you – a greyfriar – live amongst his Black Monks will he?”
    Tuck shrugged and got to his feet, ready, at last, to make a move. “I don't know. Before I joined you lads I didn't really have a settled home. I was sent from place to place, escorting important people and relics and money and the like. Lewes Priory was where I spent most of my time though – de Monte Martini needed my services a lot so it became the closest thing I had to a home, despite the fact I wasn't one of their order.” He shrugged again, uncertainly. He really wasn't sure what would happen when he reached Lewes. He didn't think he'd be much use as a bodyguard for the Church's shipments any more, but he knew he had to placate Prior de Monte Martini or he would never be a free man again.
    “This is pointless,” Little John broke in, his rumbling voice filling the small clearing where they'd set up their new camp. “He's made up his mind.” He strode over and grasped the surprised friar in a massive bear hug which made his face flush red, from the giant outlaw's strength and embarrassment at the unusual show of emotion. “You look after yourself,” John warned. “That bastard prior is one for the watching. If you think you're just going to walk back into his monastery, hand him his relic and all will be forgiven you should think again. He's going to make life hard for you.”
    It was true of course, but the thought of being a free man again brought a smile to Tuck's lips.
    He moved among the men, clasping hands and sharing smiles then, with a final wave of goodbye, he disappeared into the trees.
     
    * * *
     
    Edward of Caernarvon, King of England tapped his fingers on the arm of his high-backed wooden throne and sighed loudly, drawing looks of disapproval from his courtiers, although they were careful not to let the king see them.
    Another day of politicking, in Knaresborough Castle that day, which his father had paid a small fortune to rebuild, and he was already bored even though it wasn't yet midday. He could think of lots of better things to be doing on a fine spring day; rowing, or horse-riding, or just listening to his minstrels playing music would be infinitely preferable to this nonsense.
    But he had his duties to attend to, so here he was, stuck indoors again. Although he was the most powerful man in the country – and there was no question of that since he'd put down the Lancastrian revolt so successfully the previous year – he still couldn't do whatever he wanted, curse his luck.
    He'd been crowned king at the age of twenty-three, when his father, also Edward, had died but his reign had not been a particularly good one, or so the people of England seemed to think. The Welsh appeared to have an affection for him, even now, but his English subjects didn't think much of his rule. He had tried his best but the simple fact was, he wasn't really interested in the things a good king was supposed to do.
    He enjoyed the company of commoners, for example, which scandalized most of his nobles. He'd even learned how to shoe a horse along with thatching, hedging and ditching – all necessary tasks, to be sure, but not ones to be performed by a king! Even his much-admired physique was mostly thanks to his love of rowing and swimming which were, again, seen as scandalous pursuits for a royal to be so involved in.
    The truth was, Edward enjoyed such rustic pastimes so much because he felt lonely at court. Lonely and bored. It wasn't easy being the king and something as simple and good as repairing the thatch on a cottage brought him a great sense of peace.
    “Sire..?”
    The petitioner before him, a minor noble from Harrogate, looked embarrassed to be, essentially, upbraiding the king for his inattentiveness but it was clear Edward was lost in his own little