Ravenspur: Rise of the Tudors (Wars of the Roses #4)

by Conn Iggulden

all flesh failed, whereas the will was a sea deep enough to drown.

king should not have to search his whores for knives, or his towns for traitors, or have his food tasted for poisons like some oriental khan. Richard had borne the brunt of such tirades, all the while thinking that perhaps a king should. Perhaps that was what being a king meant. At least for a king who had won his crown on the battlefield.

A king could not rule those who refused to be ruled, that was the secret. All of it, all the sheriffs and bailiffs and judges and lords depended on quiet and enduring obedience, given in exchange for peace. He remembered the stories of Jack Cade coming into London, breaching the Tower. If the people refused to follow, there could be no king.

Dawn was just a cruel time of day, when all flaws are revealed.

He could not be right every time and he refused to waste any more of his life on pointless blame and wishing-it-had-been. No. He accepted his errors and put them aside. He would go on.

‘I have made such errors as you would not believe, son. Just one of them cost me this eye. Still, we ain’t angels, are we? We do our best, failures and bleedin’ all. And we go on, without looking back.’

I sometimes think we have no more say in our life’s events than you and I had in that storm at sea. We are just thrown and battered back and forth. Some sink and are lost – and some rise up on great waves, all undeserving.’

‘Yet I am one who stands before the wave that will engulf him and I am not afraid! I am the house of York, Brother. I am the ancient line. I will not turn from the storm, though it blasts me down. And if it does, I will rise to my feet once more!’

A sword aimed at his head could not make Edward flinch, but three shrieking girls would have him quickly in full retreat, closing doors behind him as he went.

He understood how much a battle depended upon that trust. It could not be one great general leading his men, at least not with so many. It was a brotherhood and he realized he was more comfortable on the field of war than any quiet room in London or Windsor.

The darkest moods drove him to the jug – and the jug made them worse. Sorrows could not be drowned. They swam.

There is great cruelty in life, more than I ever knew when I was young.’