"What of Salisbury?" His voice was thick, roughened with the embittered outrage of a man who feels himself unjustly accused but can find few to champion his cause." p. 46
***
But what disturbed Marguerite the most about the young Yorkist Duke now calling himself King was that he was seducer as well as soldier. He'd won London with his smile as much as with his sword ... as his father could never have done. p. 67
***
"You'd do best not to measure yourself by Ned's standards. Ned is a law unto himself, in more ways than one! You needn't look so troubled. I'm not saying Ned's standards are at fault, merely that they're his. And anytime you try to walk around in someone else's boots, you're apt to find them a poor fit." p. 126
***
His Woodville in-laws had sorely disillusioned him within months of his marriage. An extraordinarily handsome family, they soon showed themselves to be endowed with little more than good looks, to be grasping and inept at all but making enemies, at which they excelled. Edward was not long in reaching the conclusion that his interests would’ve been better served had his wife been an only child. p. 165
***
Elizabeth was a poor judge of people, for she was not curious enough to speculate upon the needs and wants that motivated others. But even to her, it was clear that her husband felt somehow threatened by the realization that her sexual needs existed independently of his own desires. p. 172
***
He [Francis Lovell] was spurred on by apprehension, and by Monday, August 27, he was in sight of the white limestone city walls of York. There he was welcomed with enthusiasm by Richard and with flattering friendliness by the King. Almost at once, he blurted out the reason for his mission, and solemnly assured them that Lovell loyalty was pledge unwaveringly to York, for now and for all time to come.
At that, Edward laughed and said he demanded no avowal of loyalty that extended beyond the length of a man’s lifetime. p. 186
***
Alison closed the door softly behind her, moved toward the bed. Elizabeth watched in silence; she never bothered to make polite conversation, never addressed Alison at all unless she had some need she wanted met.
Alison had not been witness to Elizabeth’s initial response to the devastating news of Doncaster. Rumor had it that she’d at first refused to believe it, stubbornly rejected all evidence brought before her, and continued to do so until she was confronted with a hastily scribbled warning in her husband’s own hand. It was said that she’d then given in to hysterics, an emotional outburst so violent that she’d raised fears for the well-being of the child she carried. Her recovery had been rapid enough, however, for her to have thought to take with her into sanctuary all her jewelry and much of her wardrobe. p. 211
***
“…It was then that I first suspected you might be an ally worth having! And I confess, time has not proven me wrong in that.”
Richard was pleased by shy to show it. “And for my part, I think I might safely say as much for you,” he said generously.”
Edward grinned. “Hell, you’d trust me unto death and we both do know it. Face it, Dickon, you’ve always been a faulty judge of character!” p. 235
***
Philippe grinned, bringing his hand up belatedly to hide it, and after a pause, Charles laughed grudgingly.
“I admit I like you better than I thought I would,” he conceded. “But I doubt that I like you well enough to finance an expedition doomed to failure.”
Edward was still smiling. “My sister told me you do speak your mind. If I might do likewise… You can lose only by doing nothing. If you back me, I can assure you that I’ll keep my cousin Warwick too busy to concern himself with wars of conquest! If you don’t, you’re sure to face an Anglo-French force before the spring thaw.” p. 242
***
From the white city walls of Coventry, the Yorkist army stretched as far as the eye could see, spread out in battle formation under the Sunne in Splendour banner of Edward of York. The Yorkist herald had just given challenge to combat, as he had on each of the two preceding days, and as he had done then, the Earl of Warwick refused to pick up the gauntlet, staring down in silence from the city walls at the army of his cousin of York. p. 262
***
“Men are born to sin, Richard. What does matter most is not that we err… It is that we do benefit from our mistakes, that we are capable of sincere repentance, of genuine contrition.” p. 276
***
…Edward drummed on the table with his pen, absently applying so much pressure that the quill point split. He tossed it aside, said, “Will, I do want you to take the rear again, as at Barnet.”
Will strove for nonchalance, did not quite carry it off. He’d had some uneasy days this week past, wondering if Edward would entrust him again with a command after the disaster that had overtaken his left wing at Barnet. p. 330
***
Rob and Francis were looking on with admiration, and Richard grinned. He was very proud of the white polished armor, thought it a veritable work of art, perfect in every piece, as well it should be for it had been custom-made for him by one of the Flemish masters… [Richard] laughed now as they assured him the whole of the Lancastrian army would be most grateful that he’d thus made it so easy to distinguish Gloucester from the other knights of York. p. 346
***
Edward gave no commands; he knew the knights of his household would follow. He was in the saddle in a swift smooth motion that denied the weight of the armor he wore; and then the giant destrier was bearing down upon the men emerging from the woods, men who scattered in panic before the plunging hooves, the ravaging teeth, the sword that with each downstroke sheathed itself in flesh and bone.
Edward was just six days past his twenty-ninth birthday, and for fully half of that lifetime he’d practiced the bloody arts of war. But he’d never fought as he did now. p. 348
***
“You could hardly have expected otherwise, Dickon. What does surprise me is that you didn’t see this coming. The signs were there, as far back as Windsor.”
“For God’s sake, Ned, don’t gloat!”
Edward looked mildly offended. “I assure you that was not my intent.” But after a moment, the corner of his mouth twitched.
“Yes, I guess it was! But can you honestly fault me for it? There’s no sweeter temptation, save one, than to say ‘I told you so,’ after all!” p. 397
***
“I’m beginning to think that what you know could be inscribed upon the head of a pin, and with space to spare!” Richard snapped. P. 399
***
“You could hardly have expected otherwise, Dickson. What does surprise me is that you didn’t see this coming. The signs were there, as far back as Windsor.”
“For God’s sake, Ned, don’t gloat!”
Edward looked mildly offended. “I assure you that was not my intent.” But after a moment, the corner of his mouth twitched.
“Yes, I guess it was! But can you honestly fault me for it? There’s no sweeter temptation, save one, than to say ‘I told you so,’ after all!” p. 397
***
“I’m beginning to think that what you know could be inscribed upon the head of a pin, and with space to spare!” Richard snapped. p. 399
***
“That be right! She’s a redhead, too, isn’t she, Francis? . . . the lass who bore this Kathryn?”
“That be none of your concern, Rob!” he said sharply, more sharply than he’d intended. Rob looked surprised and then hurt, and Richard relented, said with a smile meant to redeem his flare of temper.” If you must know, the first love of my life was a thoroughly bewitching redhead named Joan. . . and I adored her with all the steadfast devotion you’d expect from a boy of six!” p. 435
***
“Logically, a man should be congratulated that he’s gaining a wife, Francis, and commiserated with upon losing a mistress.” p. 435
***
“Ned, you cannot. . . My God, I’m your brother!”
“Do you think it to be a relationship born of your convenience, to be called upon when it does suit you and ignore when it does not? What have you ever done to make me think of you as a brother? Did you truly think that because we did share the same womb, you’d be forever spared a reckoning, that you’d never be held to account for your crimes, your sins, your betrayals?” p. 459
***
Her lashes lifted, giving him a glimpse of lucent liquid darkness. A man could drown in eyes like hers, he thought, and then laughed at his own foolishness. She laughed, too, for no other reason than that he did.
***
“The art of governing, Dickon, is that of making use of talent wherever you do find it. Trust is too rare an attribute to make it your prime prerequisite for holding office. If I relied only upon those I truly do trust, we’d have a council of empty chairs!” p. 476
***
He hesitated and then touched his lips lightly to hers. But as he drew back. Her arms went up around his neck and suddenly she was in his arms; he felt the familiar warmth of her body pressing against his; her mouth was clinging, sweet, and it was as if the past year had never been. p. 507
***
“Do you want go to war, Will?”
“Not particularly,” he conceded carelessly, and then held out his hand. “Come here,” he said, and she laughed, rose sleek and dripping from the bath water. She was reaching for a bath towel when the bedchamber door burst open. Will sat up with an oath, and she hastily splashed down into the tub again as Will’s steward stumbled into the chamber.
“My lord, the King is here! They be below the great hall even now and –“ He spun around in the doorway; they heard him gasp, “Your Grace!” and Edward strode past him into the chamber.
“In bed at midday, Will? What ails you?” But if the question was directed at Will, his eyes were directed elsewhere, were taking in the girl in the bathing tub, eyes that missed no detail of glistening wet skin, open red mouth, tumbled blonde hair.
“I withdraw the question,” he said, and laughed. p. 524
***
Roger yearned to ask Edward what he meant to do. Would Edward give Clarence the justice that had been denied his grandmother? Or was this to be yet another crime for which Clarence would not be called to account? But he dared not push it further. He’d been dismissed. In a turmoil of conflicting emotions, he made an awkward obeisance, and then fled the chamber.
Jane didn’t move, kept her eyes upon her lover. “Ned?” she ventured at last. “Was I wrong, my lord, to bring him to you?”
Edward turned to face her, and she caught her breath, seeing then the deadly controlled rage that thinned his mouth, filled his eyes. Pray God he does never look thus at me, she thought and shivered.
“No,” he said flatly. “No, you were not wrong.” p. 566
***
That George was dangerous, Elizabeth did not doubt. He was clumsy in his intrigues; he’d so far shown an uncanny knack for alienating people, had no friends, only lackeys and enemies, and he seemed queerly blind to the consequences of his actions, but he was dangerous withal. Edward laughed at her when she tried to tell him that, but Elizabeth couldn’t afford to laugh. George hated her with all the passions of a notoriously unstable nature. He hated her and never forgot for a moment that he stood by blood very close, indeed, to the English throne. Her son was not yet seven. Should anything happen to Ned…” p. 579
***
“…No . . . No, I couldn’t. You’re right and I’m sorry, Lisbet. I don’t blame you, in truth I don’t.” The corner of his mouth twisted upward, counterfeited a smile. “I would to God I could! But I do know better; it be one of life’s little ironies that I do lie convincingly to everyone but myself.” p. 626
***
Surrounded by clergy and city officials, Edward stood on the steps of the west door of St. Peter’s, awaiting his brother’s entry into the precincts of the Minster. He was able to gauge Richard’s progress up Stonegate by the volume of cheering; it grew louder and he knew Richard had turned now onto Petergate, was approaching the High-Minster Gate. p. 630
***
Elizabeth’s mouth was drawn down at the corners, as expressive as any denunciation she might have made. p. 630 . . . Damn Lisbet and her venom! He’d breathed her poison in like air, absorbed it without even being aware of it. p. 631
***
“Papa. . . . If the Duke of Albany be willing to betray his brother the Scots King, how can you be sure he won’t be willing to betray you?”
Richard gave Johnny a look of surprised approval. “We cannot be sure. It’s unfortunate but true that we have to take our allies as we find them, and all too often they do have feet of clay.” p. 642
***
“…For certes, some will find kin to give them shelter. But I’ll not lie to you, sweetheart. There will be others who’ll take ill and die.” Edward shifted so he could better see her face, said with sudden seriousness, “The innocent will always suffer in the time of war, Cecily. That just be the way of it. Your pity does you credit, but tell me this. Would you rather the homeless and hungry be English women and children?” p. 647
***
Anne was no longer listening, was watching the man being ushered into the hall. She’d seen enough couriers in her life to recognize one on sight. It was unusual, however, for a messenger to appear before a lord like Richard in such travel-stained disarray. That he was unshaven, grimy with days of hard riding told a tale in itself; his message must be urgent. p. 669
***
Behind him he heard John Scrope say gruffly, “I hope to Christ you’ve not blundered, Dickon, in keeping our numbers so small.”
Was Scrope right? Had he erred on the side of caution? If so, God help them all; that was not a mistake a man would get to make twice. p. 676
***
It was not a congenial gathering, the atmosphere charged with dark undercurrents of strain, much like the static electricity that foretold a coming storm. p. 722
***
“My first lesson in betrayal came at seventeen, when I did learn that […] I’d have thought no degree of double-dealing could surprise me after that, but I was wrong. Last night I did discover all over again just what men will do in the name of ambition. Even men who profess to love honor…” His mouth contorted suddenly. “Men who cloak heir betrayals in friendship.” p. 723
***
Emerging from one of the ground-floor garderobes in the southwest tower, Francis caught his breath, dazzled by the beauty of the red-gold sky above his head. Even the river was ablaze, reflecting the flaming brilliance of the dying sun. He stood there for a time by the river wall, savoring the moment. p. 751
***
Since Richard’s coronation, Stanley had thrown himself into the role of a loyal and prudent councilor with all the zeal of a reformed heretic, and he addressed himself now to Richard with an earnestness that just missed being obsequious. p. 752
***
Even assuming he could find grounds to dissolve the marriage, and he was by no means certain that he could, even then, it was just not that simple. For nineteen years Anna had been his wife, his responsibility, and it was not her fault that he could not love her. She’d done all he’d ever asked of her – ran his household, entertained his friends, befriended his sisters, ignored his infidelities. She’d failed in only one of her duties as a wife, and in that, he could not be sure if the failing was hers or his. p. 765
***
Even if she’d succeeded in silencing Bray, the damage had already been done; she was enough of a realist to know that. He’d already planted the seeds, and nothing took root faster than rumor. People didn’t have to believe it; it was enough that they’d pass it on. p. 837
***
She struggled to stave off sleep for a few minutes more, for Richard’s sake, and then felt him lifting her up, brushing her hair back from her neck, and she opened her eyes, saw that he’d taken from his own throat the silver pilgrim cross he’d worn since boyhood. He fumbled with the catch, and it took several tries before he could fasten it securely around her neck. It was tarnished, dulled with age, but warm against her skin, as it still held the heat drawn from his body. p. 856
***
The shadow-world of sleep recognized no borders. There, the past and present were one country, shaped by memory and peopled by need. Richard had been dreaming of Anne… p. 876
***
“It’s not only my own life I must wager this Monday, it be yours, too, the lives of so many men. Well, never again, that I swear to you. Should God grant me the victory, I’ll do what I must to make secure my kingship. I’m done with forgiving treasons, forgetting treachery. Leniency lends itself only to further betrayals. But that is not the way I ever wanted it to be, and that is not a future I can look to with any expectation.”
Rob and Francis looked at each other, neither knowing what to say. But Richard was already turning away, moving to meet the scout just dicking under the tent flap. p. 894
***
"I don't mean to malign the man, Dickon, but he's a mediocrity whose only known talent has been for equivocation. But what have you, the title he bears be one of England's proudest. Can you trust him?"
"Do we have a choice?"
"No," Howard conceded. p. 896
***
"I've known the Stanleys for nigh on thirty years, Dickon, and while they're long on promises, they're invariably short on delivery. If Tudor be counting on them to throw him a lifeline, he's like to find it a hangman's noose, instead." p. 898
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"I have consented to be your wife, Henry. I want no more war, no more killing, will do what I can to reconcile Yorkist and Lancastrian loyalties. I will do all that is expected of a wife, of a Queen, and God willing, I will give you sons. But there is one thing I will not do. I will not discuss Richard of Gloucester with you. . . not now, not ever." p. 916
***
Dear Reader: I was in the process of including here the last few lines of the novel, they're so good, but I'll leave that to you.
PS: Even the Afterward and the Author's Note are enjoyable, so I recommend those, too. Thank you, Sharon Kay Penman, for the longest, best novel I've ever read. ~mandy
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The author uses such beautiful language that I wanted to understand every word of it:
asperity 310 - harshness or sharpness of tone, temper, or manner
malmsey 387 - a strong, sweet wine, usually from Greece
sangfroid 580 - calm, composure
surcease 656 - to cease from some action; desist
gainsay 680 - to deny, dispute, or contradict
obeisance 810 - a movement of the body expressing deep respect or deferential courtesy, as before a superior; a bow, curtsy, or other similar gesture.
destrier 904 - a war horse
immur(e)ing 925 - to enclose within walls, to shut in, seclude or confine; to imprison
