‘Long has it been so,’ he mused, turning the thought over and over in his mind, delighting in the knowledge of the terror he evoked in the minds and hearts of the ignorant, the superstitious and the unwary. He was pleased, for was that not his intention, was that not his reason for being? And soon, yes very soon, he would be free of this, free to hunt anew and glory in chaos and the hopelessness of mankind.
King Richard, third of that name of the House of Plantagenet, lay like a man newly racked, his skin deathly pale; his body frail beyond endurance. His face betrayed the knowledge of a sleepless night and his eyes had fear in them.
‘The Dragon is on the move my lord, ‘tis time.’
‘The priest, where is he?’
‘Gone Sire, with neither the holy blood nor the wafers to say the Mass or ease thy soul in the coming trial. No matter. Steel shall be thy strong right arm, thy armour a shield against this bastard Welsh pretender. Come my lord, I shall help thee make ready.’
He turned from him then and in a voice too low for mortal ears, whispered, ‘Time to fight Plantagenet; time to die.’
Present Day
Toronto, Canada
Duchess of York:
My husband lost his life to get the crown,
And often up and down my sons were toss’d,
For me to joy and weep their gain and loss…
Make war upon themselves; brother to brother,
Blood to blood, self against self:
Shakespeare –
The Tragedy of King Richard the Third
[Act II, Scene 4]
‘Who’s carrying your bag, Gail?’
‘Damn it, don’t scare me like that.’
‘I scared you?’ Laura chuckled as she unfolded herself and pushed away from the frame of the bedroom door where she had been standing for the past few minutes, watching unnoticed, as Gail finished her packing. ‘What’s in there?’ she asked, marvelling at close range Gail’s massive suitcase while at the same time ignoring the chaos around her.
‘Maybe the list would be shorter if I told you what isn’t in there. Have you brought the itinerary?’
‘Yes, and don’t change the subject,’ Laura growled good-naturedly as she fought for space on what was left of Gail’s bed. ‘Look, there’s no way you’re going to be able to handle this monster. Some of the hotels in the UK have diabolical staircases. Multiple, narrow, steep, uneven, shallow and most of the time poorly lit, so you’ll be lucky if all you break is a leg. Do yourself a favour, find another, smaller bag.’
‘Got it on sale, a great buy, and I love the colours, so don't start.’ Finding just enough room on the bed, diagonally across from Laura, Gail lowered the lid of the suitcase to provide a natural table top. ‘Did you manage to get the tickets?’
Laura smiled wickedly. ‘Actors on roller-skates pretending to be trains?’
‘Starlight Express. Come on, did you get them?’
‘Best in the house.’
‘Yes!’ Gail exclaimed, adding two thumbs up for emphasis. ‘Okay, I’m ready. Let’s hear what you’ve got planned since you’ve insisted upon keeping the itinerary a secret.’
Laura hesitated for a moment, seeming to gather her strength as well as her thoughts. ‘I’ve set a theme for this trip, bearing in mind your determination to see and experience the grotesque, the macabre, the haunted, and the downright disgusting.’ Gail chuckled. ‘I’ve chosen a specific historical era and a particular individual.’
‘Yeah,’ Gail said, suddenly wary. ‘Who?’
‘The last Plantagenet, Richard, Duke of Gloucester, later King Richard the Third – born 1452, died 1485.’
‘You mean old hunchback, murdered-his-nephews-in-the-tower thus forfeiting the Uncle of the Year Award, Richard the Third? The, “a horse, a horse, a kingdom for a horse” Richard the Third?’
‘The same,’ Laura smiled wickedly. ‘Okay smarty, so you know your Shakespeare but, do you know your history?’ She paused, reached inside her jacket pocket then placed a full-colour, postcard-size picture on top of the suitcase. ‘Here’s a copy of his portrait by an unknown artist.’
Gail picked the card up and studied the portrait closely, her head to one side, her brow knotted. Laura watched her intently. ‘I can’t remember when I first became intrigued by him. Perhaps it was after reading Josephine Tey's novelette The Daughter of Time. The hero of that piece found it hard to believe that this face belongs to one of history's most notorious murderers. I guess I’m having the same problem.’
‘So, this is what he looked like. I agree it’s a nice face, but look, even in our time there have been mass murderers with faces like angels. What is it you hear? Such a nice boy, quiet, never in any sort of trouble. Yeah, right, while unbeknown to everyone, all unsuspecting, he’s torturing and murdering all over the place, burying the bodies after snacking on the choices bits. Sorry, looks are skin deep, but evil, right to the bone baby.’ She dropped the card in such a way that it landed with the face staring straight up at Laura.
Almost hesitantly Laura picked it up. ‘Was Gail right?’ The face had a strained look about it, as if he were in pain. ‘Why, and what sort of pain?
‘Well, are you interested Gail? Feel like making a comparison between the Shakespearean version of the facts and what has been written in recent times by noted historians? After all, Shakespeare did such a good job that his side of the story became the accepted classroom history text for hundreds of years.’
Laura knew that Gail would not, could not, resist such a challenge. She knew her Shakespeare, and the Bard was practically sacrosanct. Would she admit that his play was a piece of historical fiction written during Tudor times to please a Tudor Queen? Would he bend the truth to the breaking point just to see his work performed? Did he malign Good King Richard just to make a buck? Laura started to laugh and promptly slipped off the bed.
‘You’re getting weirder and weirder, do you know that?’ Gail said as she surveyed her sister-in-law sprawled on the floor. ‘Come on downstairs, nut case. There's a fresh pot of coffee waiting.’ Gail was halfway across the room when she shot back over her shoulder. ‘Now I know why you were so interested in knowing if I had studied the play in school and, whether or not I understood it, cheeky bitch.’
Laura chuckled. ‘Well, did you?’
‘As a matter of fact, I rented Olivier's Richard the Third from the video store about a month ago. Still get goose bumps just thinking about it. Scary stuff. He was a monster and the worst part was that he was so charming too. Are you saying that Shakespeare had it all wrong?’ Gail
