The King's Grace Read Online Free PDF Page B

OWER’S uncle, Sir John Gower of Stittenham, in charge, life at the castle returned to its daily routine. The girls spent their mornings in the shady garden plying their needles, reading aloud and practicing the lute under the watchful eye of Lady Gower. The nuns had taught Grace to read the scriptures, but now she thrilled to the stories of Master Chaucer and Thomas Malory. Cecily had a flair for drama, and she brought the tales of King Arthur and his knights to lurid life, causing their older attendants to chide the girls for their noisy laughter. After the midday dinner, they put on their wide-brimmed straw hats and wandered through the hamlet outside the castle gate, where villagers touched their foreheads or curtsied as they passed, and into the meadows in front of the woods. The ubiquitous Yorkshire sheep grazed unconcerned while the intruders gathered posies of cow parsley, ox-eyed daisies, heartsease and scentless mayweed.
    Tom Gower was often their escort on these meanderings, a task he did not relish; he had felt demeaned enough at being left behind with the younger henchmen while his friend, John, and other squires and knights had ridden off to probable glory against the invading forces of Richmond. Aye, he thought each time, being given the duty of bodyguard to three girls was insulting beyond the pale. It did not help that his comrades teased him mercilessly, or that Cecily flirted incessantly with him. Certes, it was flattering that a Plantagenet princess had singled him out, but unlike John, Tom had not reached the age when a pretty face took precedence over improving his prowess with sword and dagger. He usually spent this tedious time throwing sticks for Jason or practicing his slingshot skills. When the girls begged, he taught them all how to fish, although there was not much to catch in the brook that ran in front of the castle.
    One day at the end of August, however, Tom was rewarded for his mundane meadow duty. He was the first to see and hail the riders who emerged from the forest, riding hard for the shelter of the castle. The sisters, hearing his cries, picked up their skirts and ran back across the waving grass in the wake of the horsemen. Grace had immediately recognized John, and she ran as fast as her short legs could carry her to keep up with her sisters.
    “A victory!” Bess shouted, her hair coming loose from her hat and streaming in a golden river behind her. “I smell a victory!”
    Scattering hens and goats in their path through the village, the soldiers clattered into the castle yard and slithered from their sweat-flecked mounts. The guards housed in the tower next to the gate ran to help them, and grooms sprang to take hold of the horses’ reins. The John who stood swaying with fatigue on the uneven cobblestones was very different from the one who had ridden out to glory ten days earlier. Tom was already there to steady him and, looking at John’s ashen face, he knew the news was not good. A sudden pall settled over the castle as the onlookers waited for the young Captain of Calais to speak.
    “What is it, John?” Bess cried, running through the archway under the gatehouse, past the well and to his side. “Is Richmond beaten? Say he is beaten. I command you to say it!” But she knew as soon as she had spoken that it was not so.
    “King Richard…” John faltered as he spoke his father’s name and then, seeing the expectant, loyal faces staring at him, rallied to continue with his awful report. “King Richard is slain, the army is routed and Henry Tudor already wears the crown. We are lost…” His voice trailed off as gasps and groans echoed across the bailey. Villagers had crept through the gate, unmanned as it was, and stood stock-still when they heard the pronouncement. Grace overheard one say, “He was a good lord to us, was Richard of Gloucester, God rest his soul.” She crossed herself and muttered the rote response, “Amen to that.” Poor John, Grace thought, how he