Ravenspur: Rise of the Tudors Read Online Free Page A

William Herbert, with all his scorn and cruelty. He did that for Pembroke – and perhaps for Mary Corrigan. He would not leave Pembroke’s secrets to be discovered by others.
    He could not go back. Henry heard himself breathing hard before he summoned his will and slowed his heart, forcing calm like cream poured into bubbling soup, so that all became still. The heat was still there, but hidden, or drowned.
    He turned to the river then and understood that he had been hearing the muffled sounds of a boat, somewhere close. Though there was no moon and the river was almost as black as the cave, he thought he could still make out some deeperblot, barely twenty feet long. He whistled in its direction, hoping he was not wrong.
    Oars plunked and creaked, sounding loud in the night. The boat came gliding across the current and Henry Tudor stared in fear. Smugglers, fishermen, poachers and slavers – there were a number of men with reason to go out on the waters in the dark. Not many of those would take kindly to being hailed by a boy.
    ‘Well done, lad,’ came a voice from the darkness. ‘And didn’t your tutors say you were clever?’
    ‘Uncle?’ Henry whispered. He heard the man chuckle and began to scramble down, half falling into the boat until a dark figure grabbed him by both arms and proceeded to crush the air out of him with surprising strength. Henry felt the man’s stubble rasp against his cheek and he could smell sweat and green herbs, and the odour of horses driven deep into his uncle’s clothes. There were no lamps lit, not with Pembroke’s walls looming above. Yet after the blackness of the cave, stars and the moon were enough for Henry to see surprisingly well as he was guided to a thwart to sit.
    ‘Well met, lad,’ Jasper Tudor said. ‘And I only wish my brother could have lived to see this. Half the guards seeking me in the town, the rest following one of my men with a burning brand, while I am here – and you remembered the cave under Pembroke. Your father would be so proud of you.’
    ‘He would not know me, Uncle,’ Henry said, frowning. ‘He died before I was born.’ He felt himself retreating from the warmth of the man, his tone and his embrace, pulling back in all senses, finding an old comfort in coldness. He inched a fraction clear along the plank, feeling the boat rock. ‘Delay no further for me, Uncle. There must be another boat, a larger one. I heard your words to William Herbert. Are we to London?’
    Henry did not see the way his uncle Jasper stared, obscurely deflated. They were utter strangers, both becoming aware of it in the same moment. Henry had never known a mother or a father. Waiting in strained silence, he supposed it was not so strange that his uncle might retain some family feeling for his brother’s only son. He felt no answering need in himself, only a black chill as deep as the river under them. Yet it felt like strength.
    Jasper cleared his throat, shaking off the stillness that had held him.
    ‘To London, yes. Yes, boy! My ship is moored at Tenby and this little bark is far too frail for the open sea. I have horses though, waiting a mile up the river. Can you ride, son?’
    ‘Of course,’ Henry said curtly. He’d had the training of a knight, or at least as a squire to William Herbert. It was true he’d had more in the way of cuffs and scorn than proper instruction, but he could stay in a saddle. He could handle a sword.
    ‘Good. Once we are out of sight of the castle, we’ll mount up and ride to the coast. Then London, boy! To see your namesake, King Henry. To see Lancaster restored. By God, I’m still taking it in. We are out! To roam like free men, while they search the woods for us.’
    The boat moved on the current, the oars employed with little noise. For a long time, the only sounds were from the water and the harsh breath of working men. Jasper shook his head at the continuing silence of the boy. He had expected a chattering jackdaw. Instead, he had