The Court of the Midnight King: A Dream of Richard III Read Online Free PDF

the flustered landlady apologised for everything; the cramped chambers, the poor food, even the weather. As always, Eleanor assured her that all was satisfactory. A bed, some bread and ale for their supper, and a roaring fire was all they needed.
    Eleanor slept soundly, with her daughter soft and warm in her arms. Kate, with her wild black hair and bright cornflower-blue eyes, already knew far more than any six-year-old should. She was a strange and remarkable gift.
    In the night the clouds cleared. Dawn came early, sharp and frost-bright. The light roused Eleanor; strange sounds brought her fully awake. A distant rushing noise like a stream in flood, louder and louder. Voices. Men shouting.
    Like the steady flow of a river, closer came the sounds, washing along the lanes outside and breaking on the walls of the inn. War-cries, violent laughter.
    The pounding of fists on timber, right below their window, brought her leaping out of bed.
    Tangling with the sound of male exuberance were other cries, ones of distress. The commotion seemed to be both outside and inside their lodging. Eleanor clasped her robe around her. As she did so she heard a heavy pounding of feet up the stairs and then Martha shrieking through the door.
    “My lady – oh, my lady –”
    The door flew open, shuddering. Framed in the gap, Martha fell awkwardly as a brute of a man knocked her aside. She landed on her backside, tears of pain streaking her face. Eleanor caught the barest sight of Nan, huddling behind her, still wrapped in bedclothes.
    The man stepped over Martha. There was another behind him. Not men but beasts, with wild beards, sagging trews under layers of filthy ragged cloth, glittering berry eyes like blood drops. They stank. The foul waft of their sweat and dirt and ale-sour breath made her gag.
    Eleanor put herself in the doorway to block them. A huge hand struck her in the breastbone. The blow took all her breath, sent her reeling, and the man was through the door and seizing her daughter from the bed.
    Eleanor fell, striking her head on the thick corner of a table. Through a cloud of black stars she saw the beasts above her, grasping her squirming child in their paws. They grinned and leered and spoke a thick dialect she barely understood.
    “This one’s vurra young,” said the man who had Katherine. He was huge and dark, his companion a comparative runt with greasy orange curls.
    “Old enough,” sneered the other. “She’s female wi’ a slit, aye?”
    And they laughed, while the giant threw Katherine onto the bed, pulled up her nightdress, and began to fumble with the laces of his grimy trews. She looked as tiny as a kitten beneath him.
    “No!” Eleanor roared.
    She was on her feet, her head a vortex of pain. The two stared at her, faces cruel within their bramble manes. They grinned, showing broken teeth.
    “Do what you want to me, only leave her alone!”
    The dark one crooked a thick finger at her. “Wait yer turn, yer whore. We’ll have the both of ye. This one can’t wait, eh!” And the two savages roared their mirth.
    The carrot-haired one came towards Eleanor. He was small beside his comrade but still bigger than her, a squat red bull. She could hear Katherine whimpering, terrified but too young to understand. Eleanor fought, but he was hideously strong. His stench made her retch. His fingers felt fat and hot on her skin, polluting her. Pain flamed in her wrists as he grabbed her, held her one-handed, and tore open the front of her night-robe.
    And saw the symbol lying between her breasts.
    The black serpent crowned with the moon, curved like a leech and glistening on its leather cord.
    He dropped her hands. He blasphemed. He backed away, crossing himself, cursing so vehemently that his companion stopped his struggle with Katherine. Eleanor saw her daughter, wriggling like a fish, her feet braced against the pig’s broad stomach to fend him off. Brave, strong girl. His small cock bobbed ridiculously in