Sacrifice Read Online Free

men, eh, Gloucester? Used to hard words and straight dealing, as befits men more used to the battlefield than the council chamber.”
       Richard winced. Buckingham’s manner was gratingly insincere, and his experience of war minimal. Rivers, by comparison, had fought at Towton and Edgecote and led a military expedition to France.
       If Rivers objected to Buckingham’s oily insincerity, he kept it well-hidden, and accepted the seat offered him with good grace.
       As usual when confronted with handsome, well-made men, Richard felt a twinge of jealousy. God had seen fit to send him into the world misshapen, small and weak and ill-favoured.
       He had striven all his life to overcome his physical flaws. Even as a child, he insisted on trying to master horses far too big for him, and trained twice as hard as his brothers in the tiltyard.
       I must not let my feelings cloud my judgment. I must be cold and logical. What I do, I do for the benefit of the realm.
       Richard took his seat at the head of the table and accepted the cup offered him by a servant.
       “My lords,” he said, raising the cup, “to the King. Long live Edward V.”
       Rivers and Buckingham echoed the toast and drank. A convivial evening followed. Richard smiled, and cracked jests, and traded anecdotes about the wars in England and his brief campaign in Scotland. All the while he toyed with his wine and ate little, though Buckingham got swine-drunk and insisted on plying their guest with more drink than was good for him.
       As the evening wore on, Richard struggled to maintain his cheerful façade. A rising tide of guilt and self-loathing was threatening to wash over him. Rivers’ sheer lack of guile, his good faith and absolute trust in his hosts combined to make Richard feel sick. He had a natural talent for deception, but preferred to pretend otherwise.
       At last the wretched evening came to an end, and a couple of squires were sent for to help Rivers to his bed. He went, laughing and singing snatches of an old hunting song, leaning drunkenly on the broad shoulders of the two young men.
       Richard sat and listened to Rivers’ wayward tread on the stair. He scowled at Buckingham, who had hiccups.
       “Be quiet, you fool,” Richard hissed, “what manner of ally are you?”
       Buckingham stifled a belch and loosened his straining doublet. “A wiser one than you think,” he replied, “I had to play at hail-fellow-well-met, especially with you sipping primly at your wine like a damned nun. Rivers is an intelligent man. He might have suspected something if we both remained sober.”
       Richard had to concede the point, though did so with ill grace.
       “Time to retire,” he said, rising suddenly, “we must be up at cock-crow tomorrow. Remember?”
       Buckingham lolled in his chair. “Oh yes,” he said, reaching for the wine jug, “I remember very well. Shame to waste the dregs though. Goodnight, my lord.”  
       Richard left him to it, and made his way to his bedchamber, which was situated next to Rivers’. He sat up most of the night, his mind churning as he listened to the drunken snores in the next room.
       “His last night,” Richard said under his breath, staring into the tawny light of the single candle he had left burning beside his bed, “his last night as a free man.”
       The glow cast obscene shadows on the walls. Devils and imps from the bowels of Hell, emerging at night to play on the fears of mortal men. Richard recognised them from the previous morning. This time he did not shrink away.
       “Come, then,” he said, raising his hands to add his own frightful silhouette to the dancing shapes, “come and gather round me. I offer up the whole of myself, body and soul, for the sake of England.”
       He kept his eyes fixed on the steadily dwindling flame. At last it flickered out, and the shadows closed over Richard’s head.
       When the first light of morning stole