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Back Winter Pilgrims Save as PDF
Chapters (55)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Book
  3. About the Author
  4. Kingmaker: Winter Pilgrims
  5. Dedication
  6. Though the Lancastrian Claim comes from Edward III’s THIRD son, it relies on a) possession and b) that the crown can not pass through a woman – Philippa Mormer – so must fall to the next male in line. The Yorkist Claim relies on their descent from Edward III’s SECOND son, and says it can pass through Philippa. The Tudor Claim ignores the fact of passing through a woman – Lady Margaret Beaufort – or that John, Earl of Somerset, was born illegimate.
  7. Factions in the Wars of the Roses
  8. Prologue
  9. PART ONE
  10. 1
  11. 2
  12. 3
  13. 4
  14. PART TWO
  15. 5
  16. 6
  17. 7
  18. 8
  19. 9
  20. 10
  21. 11
  22. 12
  23. 13
  24. PART THREE
  25. 14
  26. 15
  27. 16
  28. 17
  29. 18
  30. 19
  31. PART FOUR
  32. 20
  33. 21
  34. 22
  35. 23
  36. PART FIVE
  37. 24
  38. 25
  39. 26
  40. 27
  41. 28
  42. 29
  43. 30
  44. 31
  45. PART SIX
  46. 32
  47. 33
  48. PART SEVEN
  49. 34
  50. 35
  51. 36
  52. 37
  53. 38
  54. 39
  55. Acknowledgements

‘Dafydd,’ he says and points Little Dafydd to the spot next to her. Little Dafydd cautiously sits down next to her, but she is too far gone to care for station or manners and she slumps against him. For a moment the coughing stops and it seems she will be comfortable. Then it starts again.

‘We need a fire,’ Katherine says.

He is doubtful.

‘Can we risk it? What if . . .?’

Neither wants to think about what might have happened down in the woods. It is better to concentrate on getting away.

Thomas rummages in his bag for his flint and steel and the little bag of baked linen for kindling. He looks around for anything he might get burning. There is nothing. Even in the shelter of the great stone the wind tugs at his clothes. Katherine pulls out her extra clothes from her own bag and lays them over Margaret and Little Dafydd. Dafydd looks over her shoulder at Thomas. His eyes are large, and Thomas suddenly wonders if any of them will live through this.

They must have a fire.

He has the ledger. He opens the bag and is about to rip out the pages, all those names, all those dates and moneys paid out, all up in smoke. Would it matter? But Katherine leans forward and takes his wrist. She shakes her head.

‘Not that,’ she says. ‘What about the book in Margaret’s bag?’

He is relieved. He packs the ledger away and picks out Margaret’s Book of Hours instead. He knows that it is good by its binding and the quality of the paper, and he fears to burn what might be a work of some beauty. But what choice is there? He closes his eyes as he rips out the pages, one, two, three at a time, tearing them from their stitches and pressing them into balls. He strikes the steel and the flint and after a moment the linen catches. He lets the flame grow, and then builds it a shelter from the balls of paper.

‘Keep it going,’ he tells Katherine, passing her the book. The others huddle forward, spread their shaking hands over the tremulous heat. Thomas brings Margaret’s pattens, then his bow, useless without arrows, then he tears up some thick-rooted snarls of heather, beating them on the ground to knock the snow off. There is a small twisted tree he hacks at with his sword and brings back to feed into the flames. It will not last the night but it will have to do.