“A message from Mouldin?” “What?” The softly spoken word belied the rage Engelard Cigogné saw haunting the king’s face. And he had seen many looks pass over the royal visage in his tenure as one of the king’s most trusted captains. This was one of the less pleasant ones. They were standing in the king’s office at Windsor. The room was controlled chaos, filled with people coming and going, courtiers sharing tales, Wardrobe officials reporting income, household knights receiving instructions or de...livering confirmations of payments received or deeds done. Sheriffs’ men returning investigative reports. Hounds and servants and whores. It was a cacophony of humanity within the walls of Windsor as war inched closer every day. Outside, in the corridor, was a line of penitents even yet wanting to genuflect at the royal altar of endowments. But mostly, always, everywhere, were the messengers. They galloped along the roads of the countryside like blood through the body, bearing vital messages as the realm convulsed at the edge of civil war.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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