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

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    Now the valley lay frozen and leafless.
    Raphael saw men standing around the spring. The rocks were splashed with gold from so many lanterns that he thought the men must be very afraid of the dark. A few soldiers in leather brigandines stood around leaning on pikes. At the heart of the gathering were five priests with numerous attendants.
    “Who are they?” demanded Simon. His voice was small but fierce. “How dare they?”
    Raphael saw their saffron robes, the gleam of pearls, the arch of a bishop’s mitre. Each cleric wore the badge of the white Lamb, and a spindly cross with dagger points. The intense monotone of their prayers thrummed like a bell.
    Raphael didn’t understand what was happening but he sensed their deadly seriousness of their purpose. They were trespassing on Edith’s beloved Green Hollow.
    Although she’d brought Raphael and Simon here, they were never allowed to attend her mysterious night meetings with other women. Once they had followed, and spied. They’d watched the women stepping in a circle, speaking and singing in soft chorus. A few stood in the spring itself and appeared to waver like mist, even vanishing completely. The whole valley had been enveloped in a cobalt glow. Raphael had been terrified. Edith was no longer his mother but another being entirely, able to summon power that was subtle, beautiful and weird beyond his experience.
    He and Simon had fled, but they’d never forgotten.
    This was Edith’s place. These men had no right here. Their ceremony was crude and heavy with arrogant authority. And his mother, mad, was rushing to stop them like a hare throwing herself among hounds.
    “In the name of Creator, Son, and Holy Lamb, we exorcise thee,” the Bishop uttered in a thin, hard voice. He spoke in Latin but Raphael had learned well. “With holy water we purge thee. With the cross of the Lamb we bind thee. Demons of the dark, we cast thee into darkness, no more to haunt this place. In our Creator’s name, let this gate be sealed for eternity.”
    “No,” cried Edith. “No!”
    She rode her horse among the priests. They scattered with oaths. The two esquires who’d followed shouted in dismay for her to stop. With a cry, Simon galloped after her. Raphael’s pony reared in fright. He fought to stay in the saddle.
    Edith was shouting, “You don’t know what you do – this is a violation –” but the Bishop yelled back, in righteous rage, about witchcraft and blasphemy.
    A cleric seized the palfrey’s reins. Edith was pulled from her horse and fell amid the priests, her skirts billowing. Her esquires plunged after her; the foot-soldiers sprang into the fray. Raphael saw the esquires – his friends and companions, hardly more than boys themselves – unhorsed and cut down. Blood sprayed in the lamplight. Shouts and screams filled his head.
    Now Simon was in the melee, his sword shining, his mouth square with fear and fury. Raphael spurred his pony to his brother’s side. Simon’s rosy face turned to him and as their eyes locked, the sword was knocked from Simon’s hand and a heavy blade sliced into his abdomen. His brother slid from sight. Raphael heard his mother wail.
    Furious white faces surrounded him. Raphael was disorientated. He felt a crushing blow across his back and as he doubled over, his pony reared again and threw him.
    As he fell, a vision rushed upon him. Above the spring he saw a tunnel of blue twilight winding through trees to some strange realm where marsh-birds uttered lonely cries and the mist was alive and watchful. A wonderful, terrible place. But now, across the entrance to the hidden realm, a portcullis of white fire blocked the way. Elementals fled, melting into water, wind or earth. The priests looked with satisfaction on the results of their work: a dead Hollow.
    The vision stopped as he hit the ground.
    Helpless on the frosted grass, Raphael saw his mother trying to rise, falling again with a red wound on her temple. He saw his brother