Stormbird Read Free

lost in the memory. ‘And he did! He fought his way clear and returned to my side. I knew he would be king then. I knew it. Is he coming?’
    ‘He’s not coming, Father. He’s gone and his son will be king.’
    ‘Yes, I’m sorry. I knew. I loved him, that boy, that brave boy. I loved him.’
    The king breathed out and out and out, until all breath was gone. The brothers waited in terrible silence and John sobbed, putting his arm over his eyes. King Edward the Third was dead and the stillness was like a weight on them all.
    ‘Fetch the priest for the last rites,’ John said. He reached down to close his father’s eyes, already lacking the spark of will.
    One by one, the three brothers bowed to kiss their father’s forehead, to touch his flesh for the last time. They left him there as the priest bustled in and they walked out into the June sunshine and the rest of their lives.

 
     
    Anno Domini 1443
    Sixty-six years after the death of Edward III
     
     
Woe to thee, O land, when thy king is a child.
    Ecclesiastes 10:16     
     

1
     
    England was cold that month. The frost made the paths shine whitely in the darkness, clinging to the trees in drooping webs of ice. Guardsmen hunched and shivered as they kept watch over the battlements. In the highest rooms, the wind sobbed and whistled as it creased around the stones. The fire in the chamber might as well have been a painting for all the warmth it brought.
    ‘I remember Prince Hal, William! I remember the lion! Just ten more years and he’d have had the rest of France at his feet. Henry of Monmouth was my king, no other. God knows I would follow his son, but this boy is not his father. You know it. Instead of a lion of England, we have a dear white lamb to lead us in prayer. Christ, it makes me want to weep.’
    ‘Derry, please! Your voice carries. And I won’t listen to blasphemy. I don’t allow it in my men and I expect better from you.’
    The younger man stopped his pacing and looked up, a hard light in his eyes. He took two quick steps and stood very close, his arms slightly bent as they hung at his sides. He was half a head shorter than Lord Suffolk, but he was powerfully built and fit. Anger and strength simmered in him, always close to the surface.
    ‘I
swear
I’ve never been closer to knocking you out, William,’ he said. ‘The listeners are
my
men. Do you think I’m trying to trap you? Is that it? Let them hear. They know what I’ll do if they repeat a single word.’ With one heavy fist, hethumped Suffolk lightly on the shoulder, turning away the man’s frown with a laugh.
    ‘Blasphemy? You’ve been a soldier all your life, William, but you talk like a soft-faced priest. I could still put you on your backside, William. That’s the difference between you and me. You’ll fight well enough when you’re told, but
I
fight because I like it. That’s why this falls to me, William. That’s why I’ll be the one who finds the right spot for the knife and sticks it in. We don’t need pious
gentlemen
, William, not for this. We need a man like me, a man who can see weakness and isn’t afraid to thumb its eyes out.’
    Lord Suffolk glowered, taking a deep breath. When the king’s spymaster was in full flow, he could mix insults and compliments in a great flood of bitter vitriol. If a man took offence, Suffolk told himself, he’d never get anything done. He suspected Derihew Brewer knew the limits of his temper very well.
    ‘We may not need a “gentleman”, Derry, but we do need a lord to deal with the French. You wrote to
me
, remember? I crossed the sea and left my responsibilities in Orléans to listen to you. So I would appreciate it if you’d share your plans, or I’ll go back to the coast.’
    ‘That’s it, isn’t it? I come up with the answers and I’m to give them to my fine noble friend so he can reap all the glory? So they can say “That William Pole, that Earl Suffolk, he’s a
right
sharp one”, while Derry Brewer is