Uneasy Lies the Crown by N. Gemini Sasson Read Free Book Online Page A

Owain cuffed him on the shoulder. “Ah! The mummers have arrived.”
    Owain and Margaret clapped gleefully as a small parade, led by their second oldest son Maredydd, entered the hall. The children drew out in a line, from tallest to shortest, all ten of Gruffydd’s younger brothers and sisters. Sweeping down from their shoulders were brightly colored cloaks borrowed from their parents’ wardrobe. Sion and little Mary, now five years of age, were more concerned with gathering up the ends of their trailing encumbrances to keep from tripping than playing their parts. Madoc, one of the middle children, stood beside his twin Isabel with a grin that was spread from one stuck out ear to the other. Dewi and Tomos traded punches. Janet clutched a mended doll, the stitched features on its face frayed, its dress a patchwork of color. Holding Janet’s free hand was her older sister Alice, the very image of her mother. Each of the children, except Catrin, who was second oldest after Gruffydd, had a wooden sword tucked beneath their belts of rope. Circling Catrin’s pale brow was a crown of yellow-faced daisies.
    Plucking up Catrin’s hand, Maredydd strutted forward. The pair stopped in front of Gruffydd and swooped low at the waist toward him.
    “I am King Arthur. Let me present my lovely queen, Guinevere. And these,” Maredydd proclaimed, spreading his arms, “are the Knights of the Round Table!”
    The audience hooted. Mugs banged on the tables and feet stomped louder and louder until the clatter was deafening. Then Maredydd swept aside the plates still in front of his parents and sprang atop the table. He held up his palms to hush the crowd. Behind him, Margaret and Owain exchanged glances of delight at their son’s ability to cast such a spell of amusement. Gruffydd, however, was bored of all the regalia and would rather have been alone hunting with his bow—or better yet, somewhere secluded with Elise—than be forced to watch such meaningless child’s play.
    “But wait, good people!” A deep seriousness weighed down Maredydd’s voice. Slowly, his hands drifted downward. “There is blight in my kingdom. One of my knights, my own nephew Mordred, has fallen from grace and seeks to destroy me.” He pointed accusingly to the far end of the hall, where Tudur sprang from behind a tapestry.
    Tudur flashed a grin and shrugged. In mocking fashion, he flipped back the ends of his long black cloak and strutted into the middle of the hall. Jeers and whistles followed him.
    It was in the midst of this earsplitting folly that the doors to the hall swung open and a sagging figure stumbled in. There was little cause for notice at first. More than one guest had already had too much to drink and people had been coming and going all day. Gruffydd’s first instinct, however, was to claim a weapon from above the hearth to chase away the bedraggled stranger. The man looked to be no threat, but clearly he was either drunk or deranged. Gruffydd turned a questioning gaze upon his father.
    The smile now gone from his face, Owain detached himself from his wife’s gentle handclasp and moved around the table. Maredydd dropped from his perch to stand behind his father. Tudur whirled around, and then took several steps back. Almost in unison, the children turned to see who had interrupted their play.
    Head bowed, Owain sank to his knee. “My lord.”
    The hall went silent. Not even a whisper rippled the air. Gruffydd had seen the man perhaps once before and then from a distance. But he knew by his father’s reaction who it was.
    King Richard’s eyes were dull and drooping. He moved in a detached manner. The clothes he wore were plainer than even those of Sycharth’s servants, unmended and tinged with the dust of mountain trails. Just beyond the doorway stood a remnant of his fragmented army, far cleaner than him, but looking every bit as weary.
    “Your guests are lacking in their manners.” Richard stole a tankard from one of the tables