The Court of the Midnight King: A Dream of Richard III by Freda Warrington Read Free Book Online

pony, eyelids weighed down with weariness. Snow had fallen only lightly here, a crust of white on grey. In his mind stood the crow-child, the little girl who’d comforted him. Now he was aware of climbing the hill towards his house, a stone shadow poised amid wind-blown trees. Home, home. Soon he would lie in his own bed with his tabby kitten purring on his chest, Simon beside him, the fire’s crackle lulling them to sleep…
    One of his mother’s servants spoke, sounding alarmed. Raphael heard his mother answering, then his brother piping a question.
    “Who are they?”
    Raphael woke, cold and confused. The twilight was busy with shadows.
    At first the bustle seemed part of his dream. Then he heard his mother cry out, Simon shouting, “Hey!” and angry voices all around them.
    He heard the creak of armour, the stomping of horses’ hooves, saw white surcoats aglow in the gloom. A huge bearded knight on a brown charger confronted Edith and her small entourage.
    “Forfeit to Lancaster, my lady,” he said. “Forfeit to the Crown.”
    Behind the knight was their household steward, whey-faced with misery. “I’m sorry, my lady, so sorry, there was nothing we could do…”
    Raphael was sharply awake now. He felt exhausted, vulnerable. Simon was flushed with anger. Raphael had thought him so grown-up but now he looked hopelessly small, just a child after all.
    Edith said nothing, but her mouth hung open in a soundless wail. Behind the armoured knight, Raphael saw the doors to the house standing open, figures moving in the orange glow of the great hall. They were carrying objects, furniture, tapestries. Their household servants stood in postures of helplessness, watching.
    Simon rode his pony forward. “Mama, what is he saying?”
    Raphael hurried to join him, to show he was no less brave.
    “That our estate is confiscated by the Crown,” Edith answered in a small, dry voice, “because your father fought against King Henry. We are attainted of treason. We have no home.”
    “They cannot!” Raphael cried.
    He drew his small sword. Simon looked at him in shock, and Raphael realised that his brave, grown-up brother was terrified.
    The Lancastrian knight laughed. “We can, young knave. This land is mine. It was taken from my family a century since and awarded to yours for some trivial favour your great-grandsire did the third Edward. Queen Marguerite promised it back to me in reward for my loyal service. I am only claiming what is mine.”
    “No!” Raphael cried, but his mother’s arm locked across his ribs, restraining him.
    “As a landless widow, you’ll find many a kind sanctuary willing to shelter you and your boys. A nunnery will suit you, I think. My squires will accompany you to the nearest.”
    The world stood cruelly still. The Lancastrian glowered and grinned in triumph; Raphael raged silently, waiting for a saviour to burst out of the darkness. An armoured knight with the white rose shining on his breast – his father, back from the dead! But the night betrayed them. No one came.
    He heard his mother draw a heavy, trembling breath. She uttered a soft word under her breath, then swung her palfrey on its haunches, nearly knocking her sons off their own mounts.
    Raphael’s pony spun round and bolted after her. Raphael heard mocking male laughter behind them. Simon galloped alongside him, overtaking, his face dark with fear and anger. There was only the drum of hooves, the chill rush of air.
    Raphael realised that his mother had gone mad.
    Now a couple of Edith’s esquires were galloping in pursuit. Down into the narrow valley called the Sheepfold she rode, towards the glassy spring that bubbled from a cluster of rocks. He remembered this place in summer, cupped beneath the green shimmer of hawthorns. It seemed so long ago… His mother had brought him here many times to lay flowers on the rocks as an offering to the kindly spirits. She loved the spring, her sacred place. The Green Hollow, she called