Margaret of Anjou by Conn Iggulden Read Free Book Online Page A

of the Neville family, Richard, Earl of Salisbury, was in an expansive mood as he emptied his bladder into a bush, watching steam rise with something like contentment. The wedding had gone well, his son John cutting a fine figure and acquitting himself with dignity. Salisbury smiled as he tucked himself away and knotted a drawstring, yawning until his jaw cracked. He’d drunk more than was surely good for a man of his age, so that he sweated even in the dawn cool, but if a father couldn’t celebrate his son’s wedding, there was something wrong with the world. It didn’t hurt that Maud was a rare beauty, wide-hipped and strong, with round crinkled marks on her right cheek that showed she had survived that particular scourge and would not bring the smallpox into his family. The earl had enjoyed himself setting up a marriage tent on the mossy ground, hooting and calling out instructions with the rest as the new couple blushed crimson and the tent shook with amorous struggle and her fit of nervous giggles. His own wife, Alice, had dragged him away in the end, shooing the men clear to give the couple some shred of privacy.
    The Neville retainers had gone on drinking after that, emptying skins of ale and white Sherris sack they’d brought on carts for the journey across country. Only a few were awake to cheer the following morning when young John hung out a cloth spotted with virgin’s blood. The young man himself had emerged some time later, to walk proudly among the crowd, clapped on the back as he went. His mother had spoiled it slightly by stopping him to wipe smudges from his face in front of them all.
    It had been a good day and the weather was holding fine. A smaller party might have spent the night in an inn by the road, but Salisbury had more than two hundred soldiers and archers with him to travel north. Over the previous year, there had been too many men killed all over the country for him to risk his wife and children anywhere without his best guards close to hand.
    His manservant had brought him a small wooden stool and shaving table, resting it on the grass with a white cloth, razor, oil bottle, and a bowl of steaming hot water. Salisbury rubbed the bristles on his chin idly, frowning as he considered all the work ahead. It was a joy to take a few days aside from the management of his estates and titles, not least among them lord chancellor to the Protector. For just a short time, he was no more than a proud father like any other, guiding a young couple safely home. The days on the road would be the only break from his duties that year, he was certain. Sheriff Hutton was one of his favorite houses, where he and his wife had spent part of their own honeymoon. He knew Alice would love seeing the old place again, despite not being able to stay long. His son and Maud would enjoy another week or so there, arranging to administer the dowry manors she had brought to the Neville name.
    Salisbury smiled easily at that thought, settling himself on a stool and accepting the cloth around his shoulders as his servant brushed warm oil onto his face and stropped the razor. On the borders of Scotland, a place he always pictured frozen or battered by stinging rain, Salisbury knew his old colleague Earl Percy would be spitting mad with rage. The thought brought further balm to an already perfect summer’s morning.
    His manservant raised the blade and Salisbury held up his hand.
    “Let’s make it interesting, shall we, Rankin? A stripe on your back for every nick, a half noble if you manage the task without one. How does that appeal to your black gambler’s heart?”
    “Very well indeed, my lord,” Rankin replied.
    It was an old game between the two men. Though it was true the servant had been flogged half a dozen times over the years, he’d won enough to give a good dowry to his three daughters, a fact he was sure the earl knew very well. Rankin’s hand was steady as he shaved away the bristles from Salisbury’s throat.