The Sunne in Splendour: A Novel of Richard III by Sharon Kay Penman Read Free Book Online Page A

most worldly man Edmund had ever encountered, and one of the most ambitious, already Bishop of Exeter although still only in his twenties.
And then there was Thomas, the youngest. Thomas, who might have been a changeling, so little did he resemble his siblings. Fair when they were dark, as tall even as Edward, though easily twenty-five pounds the heavier, with milk-blue eyes so serene that Edmund was given to sardonic speculation whether
Thomas shared the same world as they did; a stranger to spite and, seemingly, to stress; as utterly courageous as the enormous mastiffs bred for bear-baiting, and in Edmund's considered judgment, with a good deal less imagination.
"Tell me about when you and Johnny were taken captive by Lancaster last year, after the battle of Blore
Heath, Tom. Were you ill-treated?"
Thomas broke off a chunk of bread, shook his head. "No . . . it's too common to take prisoners to risk abusing them. After all, you never know when you might yourself be taken."
"But surely you must have felt some unease ... at least at first?" Edmund persisted, and Thomas halted his knife in midair, looked at him in mild surprise.
"No," he said at last, as if he'd had to give the matter some thought.
    "No ... I don't recall that I did." He completed his knife's journey to his mouth, and then grinned again, saying with a ponderous playfulness that was as jovial as it was lacking in malice, "What be the matter, Edmund? Be you fretting about the Lancastrian hordes at our gates?"
Edmund gazed coolly at him. "Greensick with fear," he snapped, with heavy sarcasm so that none would doubt he spoke only in jest.
As Thomas turned back to the capon, Edmund shifted his own gaze toward the window behind him, staring out into the bailey of the castle, deep in snow. He didn't doubt that Ned would have answered
Thomas quite differently, would have laughed and conceded cheerfully that, Jesus, yes, he was unnerved.
Ned never seemed to concern himself with what others thought, and generally disarmed even as he surprised with his careless candor. Edmund wished he could do the same and knew it was quite impossible. He cared too much what others thought of him, even those he could not take all that seriously, like Thomas. To Ned alone could he have confessed his fears. And Ned was far to the south, back at Ludlow to raise troops for the Yorkist banner. He'd not be coming north to Sandal Castle for days yet.
It was queer, he thought, that he still minded Ned's absence so much. After all, he should be used to it by now; in the fourteen months since their flight from Ludlow, he and Ned had been apart for fully a year's time. They'd been reunited only that past October 10, when Edmund and his father at last reached
London, where Ned and their uncle Salisbury awaited them. And then, they'd lingered in London two scant months, Ned leaving for Ludlow and the Welsh borders on December 9, the same day that
Edmund, his father, and uncle Salisbury headed north into Yorkshire.
Edmund was glad there was but one day remaining in this year of grace, 1460. It had been an eventful year for the House of York, but not a happy year for him. For him, it had been a year of waiting, chafing at the isolation and inactivity of his Irish exile. Ned had drawn much the best of the bargain, in Edmund's view, for Ned had been in Calais with Salisbury and Warwick.
When they fled Ludlow into Wales, Edmund would've liked to have gone with his Neville kin, too. The freewheeling port of Calais held far greater allure for him than the staid seclusion of Dublin. But he'd felt honor-bound to accompany his father, while envying Ned his freedom to elect otherwise. It was an election that had not pleased their father in the least. Politely reluctant to offend the Nevilles by implying they'd give Ned less than satisfactory supervision, he'd nonetheless managed to make his views known to
Ned, who'd listened respectfully and then proceeded to do as he pleased, which was to accompany his
Neville