My Lord John

by Georgette Heyer

"The King has done him importable injury!" John said. "He will not suffer it! Not Father!"

"No, but what can he do?" Humfrey repeated.

He had to wait three weeks for the answer. It came then, tumbling from the tongue of a messenger who rode into the court of the inn, dropping with fatigue, stained with sweat and dust, and flecked with foam. He was so parched with thirst they had to give him drink before he could do more than open and shut his mouth soundlessly. When he did speak he told his tidings in a hoarse croak: Father had landed at Ravenspur, in Yorkshire, and had unfurled the banner of Lancaster.

"Breton ships brought him," the messenger said, staggering on his feet. "He has come to claim his own, and they are flocking to his banner, my lords: Percies, Nevilles, Beaumonts, with their meinies! The North is up, lordings, and I am sent to bid you be of good cheer, for my lord will be with you presently!"

This section was donated by John

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