The Sun In Splendour
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As he turned his horse into the market square Edward began to sense that the day, which had gone so well, seemed to be turning sour.
The column of men ahead of him had slowed its progress to a crawl, and was showing signs of coming to a complete standstill. That did not worry him so much as the fact that their relaxed, weary chatter had been replaced by a low rumbling murmur which was rising into the early evening air. They had just won their battle. The enemy was scattered all over the surrounding countryside, and the only organised part of it was already back in
He pushed his horse through a narrow gap between his now stationary men and came into the body of the square. It was not really a square at all, more of an irregular triangle; cobbled and sloping up away from him towards the town cross, which was a modest thing set on a small plinth of three stone steps. On the second of these steps was the reason for the uneasy standstill. An old woman sat there. Her hair, black streaked with grey, was gathered into an elegant coiled bun. She sat with her legs slightly apart so that her fine green velvet gown formed a lap. She was rocking gently back and forth, singing softly in Welsh. In her lap she nursed the severed head of Owen Tudor. She was combing the blood-soaked hair with her long fingers. His dead, opaque eyes stared at the sky; the veins and sinews trailed from his ragged neck down over her knees.
He walked his horse forwards; the metallic clink of its hooves the only sound that now echoed around him. He was aware of being quite alone. Wherever his companions were, they were not here. He came to a halt in front of her. He wished he could say her name, but he could not remember it. He knew of her. She had been Owen’s mistress. He had ordered Owen’s execution three hours ago, and watched it happen with a feeling of satisfaction that he and his family had at last received some retribution. His friends had argued with him. Executing prisoners without at least the show of a trial was not the thing, it was not done, they had said.
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About the Book
This is the story of the first ten years of the reign of Edward the Fourth of England.
Siezing the throne at nineteen in 1461, he is plunged into a sequence of events that will take him from the blizzards of the battle of Towton to a chapel in The Tower of London and his last meeting with the King he deposed.
The years between see him experience the extremes of Kingship. Some brought on by his own actions such as his impetuous secret marriage; some by the treachery of others, including members of his own family. Forced to flee for his life, he determines to return to reclaim his Crown in the final confrontation with his enemies.
This is the story of one of the most bitter and bloody power struggles in English history.
About the Author
William J. Browse is sixty years old and this is his first novel.
He has studied the period of English History known as The Wars of the Roses for the last forty years and has read widely around the subject.
Edward the Fourth and his brother Richard the Third emerged over time as the characters that held the most fascination for him, and he decided that to write about them would be an ideal means of gathering all his thoughts on them together and that to write a novel on each of their lives would be the most satisfying way of doing this. To bring them and their actions to life in a way that would be relevant and comprehensible to the modern reader, as well as an enjoyable and exciting read.