第13章 (第3/3页)
y nightmare when I was a kiddy. That someone would come and put a pillow over my face when I was asleep.'
'Is that how it was done: the murder?'
'Oh, yes. Didn't you know? Sir James Tyrrel rode back to London when the court was at Warwick, and told Dighton and Forrest to kilt them, and then they buried them at die foot of some stairs under a great mound of stones.'
'But it doesn't say that in the book you lent me.'
'Oh, that book is just history-for-exams, if you know what I mean. You don't get really interesting history in swot books like that.'
'And where did you get the juicy gossip about Tyrrel, may one ask?'
'It isn't gossip,' she said, hurt. 'You'll find it in Sir Thomas More's history of his time. And you can't find a more respected or trustworthy person in the whole of history than Sir Thomas More, now can you?'
'No. It would be bad manners to contradict Sir Thomas.'
'Well, that's what Sir Thomas says, and, after all, he was alive then and knew all those people to talk to.'
'Dighton and Forrest?'
'No, of course not. But Richard, and the poor Queen, and those.'
'The Queen? Richard's Queen?'
'Yes.'
'Why "poor"?