Chapter 4 third chapter

"Can't you find something more pleasant to look at?" the little winter melon asked the next morning, pointing to Richard's portrait, which Grant held up against the pile of books on the bedside table. "Don't you think that's an interesting face?" "Interesting! It freaks me out. It's so dark." "History records him as a man of great ability." "And so is Bluebeard." "And it seems to be quite popular." "And so is Bluebeard." "A good soldier," Grant said maliciously, and waited. "Why don't you say that Blue Beard is too?"

"Why are you looking at that face? Who the hell is he?" "Richard II." "Oh, look!" "You mean that's how you think he should look." "That's right." "Why?" "A brutal murderer, isn't he?" "You seem to know a lot about history." "Everyone knows that he killed his two little nephews. Poor baby, they were smothered to death." "Suffocation?" Grant said with great interest, "I don't know about that." "Smothered by the pillows." She slapped his pillows with her fragile but vigorous fists, then replaced them with swift precision.

"Why use suffocation? Not poison?" Grant asked. "Don't ask me. I didn't do it." "Who said they were suffocated?" "My school history textbook said it." "Yes, but who are the history textbooks quoting?" "Quote? It doesn't quote anyone, it just states the facts." "Who's smothering them? Did you tell me?" "A man named Terry. Didn't you take history at school?" "I took history class, but that's a different story. Who's Terry?" "I don't know at all, some friend of Richard's."

"How do you know Terry did it?" "He pleaded guilty." "Confession?" "Of course after his crime was discovered, before he was hanged." "You mean that Terry was actually hanged for murdering two princes?" "Yes, Furan, can I replace this gloomy face with a more cheerful one? There are many good-looking faces in the bunch of pictures that Miss Harold brought to you yesterday." "I'm not interested in good-looking faces, I like gloomy faces, and I like "very capable" "human-faced murderers"."

"Well, if it's not about taste, then," said the melon, "thank goodness I don't have to look at it, but it's enough to prevent your bones from healing in my humble opinion, so take my word for it." "If you can blame Richard III for my unhealed laceration, in my opinion, blaming him for other things is insignificant." The next time Marta came to visit, he would make sure to ask her if she knew about Terry.Her general knowledge wasn't terrific, but she had a very expensive education at a reputable school and perhaps happened to read something relevant.

But the first visitor from the outside world was Sergeant Williams, with his pink, stubbled face.Grant had forgotten the war a long time ago, presumably those treacherous people must be very happy now.Williams sat planted in a visitor's hard chair, his knees spread apart, his light blue eyes gleaming like a contented cat bathed in the sunlight pouring in through the window, Grant Greeted him warmly.It was pleasant to be able to talk about my trade again with my peers; it was pleasant to use the slang and argot that only a fellow man would use.Listen to the stories of the boss and the west at work, talk about the politics of work; know who is not going well now, and who is on the rise.

"The boss asked me to greet you," Williams said as he got up to go, "and he said let him know if there was anything he could do." He was no longer seen by sun-lit eyes Leaning on the photo of the book.He put his head down and squinted at it. "Who is this guy?" Grant was about to tell him that it occurred to him that standing here was a police officer.A man who, professionally, is as accustomed to looking at faces as he is, a man for whom faces are an important thing in everyday life. "A portrait by an unknown painter of the fifteenth century," he said. "What do you think?"

"I know nothing about painting." "I don't mean that, I mean what do you think of the protagonist in the painting?" "Oh, I see." Williams leaned forward, furrowing his mild-mannered brows exaggeratedly into a look of concentration. "What do you mean by 'opinion'?" "Where would you put him? The dock or the bench?" Williams thought for a moment, then said confidently, "Oh, the judge's bench." "real?" "Of course, why? Don't you think so?" "I'm like you, but it's weird we were all wrong. He belongs in the dock."

"You amaze me," Williams said, squinting again. "Then do you know who he is?" "Yes. Richard III." Williams whistled. "It was him! God. Prince of the Tower, and everything. The original Evil Uncle. I guess you'll see it once you know, but you won't think that way for a while. I mean, he's a hunchback. he's a copy of old husberry and if you think about it, if husberry is wrong it's that he's too soft on the bastards in the dock. he always gives them a favor when he wraps up his testimony at the end .” "Do you know how the prince was killed?"

"I don't know anything about Richard III except that his mother was two years pregnant with him." "What? Where did you hear the story?" "History class at my school, I suppose." "You must have gone to a great school. My history books don't mention any pregnancies. That's what makes Shakespeare and Bible lessons so innovative, the truth keeps coming out. Did you listen Ever had a guy named Terry?" "Yes, he was a liar on board and drowned in Egypt." "No, I mean historically." "I tell you, I don't know anything about history except what happened between 1066 and 1603."

"What's going on in 1603?" Grant asked, still thinking about Terry. "Scotland has become our drag bottle." "Better than having them down our throats every five minutes. Terry is said to be the one who killed those two kids." "Nephew? No, I can't remember. I have to go, what can I do for you?" "Did you just say you were going to Chailin Road?" "To Phoenix, yes." "You can do one thing for me." "What's the matter?" "Go to the bookstore and buy me a History of England, a grown-up book, and a life of Richard III, if you can find it." "Of course I will." He bumped into Amazon on his way out, and seemed surprised to find a figure as tall as himself in the nurse's uniform.He said good morning awkwardly and vaguely, and at the same time threw Grant a questioning look before disappearing into the corridor. Amazon said she was supposed to change the blankets in room four, but she had to come in to see if he was convinced. "You are sincerely convinced?" About the noble sentiments of Richard the Lionheart. "I haven't researched Richard I yet. But hold room four a little longer and tell me what you know about Richard III" "Oh, those poor lambs!" she said, her big bull eyes full of sympathy. "Who?" "Those two babies, it was often my nightmare when I was a child. Someone would press a pillow on my face while I was asleep." "Is that how they were killed?" "Oh, yes. Don't you know? Lord James Terry came back to London when the princes and nobles were at Warwick and told Dickton and Forrester to kill them, and they buried the bodies in the Under a certain step, and a lot of stones were pressed on it." "That's not mentioned in the book you lent me." "Oh, that's just history books for exams, if you know what I mean. You won't find really interesting history in that kind of textbook. " "And where did you get the good gossip about Terry? Excuse me." "That's not gossip," she said hurtfully. "You can find it in the contemporary history written by Sir Thomas Moore. You can't find anyone in history who is more worthy of respect and trust than him, can you?" "No, it would be impolite to contradict Sir Thomas." "Lord Thomas said the same thing, and, after all, he was alive and knew and talked to those people." "Dickton and Forrester?" "No, of course not, it's Richard, poor queen and those." "Queen? Richard's queen?" "yes." "Why are you poor?" "He made her live a horrible life, they said he fed her poison and he wanted to marry his niece." "Why?" "Because she is the heir to the throne." "I see, he got rid of the two boys, and then he wants to marry their eldest sister." "Yes, he can't marry any boy, you know." "No, I don't think even Richard III would have thought that." "So he wanted to marry Elizabeth so he could feel more secure on the throne. It turned out, of course, that she married his successor, who was Queen Elizabeth's grandmother. I'm always happy for Elizabeth White is a bit of a Brantagneet, and I never liked the Tudor side much. Now I have to go, or Matton will take over before I can get number 4 ready .” "That would be the end of the world." "That will be the end of me," she said, and walked away. Grant took her book out of the pile again and tried to make sense of the Wars of the Roses, but he failed. The army charges and flees, York and Lancaster win and win, repeating confusingly.It's as pointless as the bumper cars at the fair that keep colliding and spinning. But in his view, the root cause of this war was unknowingly planted nearly a hundred years ago, after the line of succession to the throne was interrupted by the deposed Richard II.He knew this because he had seen Richard di Bordeaux at the Neue Theater as a boy; he had seen it four times.The weeping Lancastrians have ruled England for three generations: Henry in "Richard of Bordeaux" is unhappy but efficient, Shakespeare's Prince of Hull has the glory of Agin Carter, but risks Excessive fanaticism and the dullness of the son risked a rout.No wonder people yearn for a return to orthodoxy in the succession to the throne, as they watch poor Henry VI establish a new stronghold at Eton and beg the ladies of the court to cover their breasts a little while his stupid friends slowly defeat him in France achievements. All three Lancastrians were obscenely bigoted, in stark contrast to the Liberal dynasty that followed Richard II.Richard's nonaggressive ways turned into burning heretics almost overnight. Three generations of heretics had been burned, and it was no wonder that the dormant resentment in the hearts of the people in the streets was gradually burning. Especially since then, when the Duke of York appeared before everyone's eyes.Competent, rational, influential, talented, a prince representing justice, and heir to Richard II by blood.They may not want York to kill poor silly Henry, but they hope that York can replace Henry to govern the country and clean up the chaos. York tried, but died prematurely, and his family spent a lot of time in exile as a result. When all this killing and clamor is over, and the son who stood by his side in that struggle sits on the throne of England, the country is happy at last to be tall, fair-haired, playful with women, exceedingly handsome and shrewd Under the reign of the extraordinary young Edward IV. Grant never knew more about the Wars of the Roses than he does now. When he looked away from the book he saw Marton standing in the middle of the room. "I knocked on the door," she said, "but you're fascinated by your book." She stood there, thin and cold.Just like Marta, her elegance has a style all its own.Her hands protruding from her white cuffs are lightly clasped in front of her slender waist; her white veil is stretched out, with an inviolable dignity, and the only decoration on her body is the silver badge marked with her diploma.Grant doubted that there could be a more unshakable gesture in the world than the matron of a great hospital. "I've been reading history," he said, "to a rather late date." "A laudable choice," she said, "history makes things look clearer." Her eyes lit up at the portrait: "Are you from York or Lancaster?" "Do you recognize this portrait?" "Oh, yes. I used to be in the National Gallery when I was a student nurse. For me with little money and sore feet, the gallery was warm and quiet, and there were plenty of chairs." She was very excited. Smiling slightly, as if seeing the young, tired and serious self from before. “I like the portrait gallery the most, because it’s like reading history. The dignitaries who turned things around in their time are all that’s left now, names, canvases and paints. I saw that portrait many times. ’ Her attention returned to the painting. "A most unhappy person," she said. "My surgeon said he had polio." "Polio?" She thought for a while. "Maybe, I didn't think about it before. But I always thought he looked terribly unhappy. It was the most hopelessly unhappy face I've ever seen and I've seen a lot of unhappy faces." "You think it was painted after the murder?" "Oh, yes, that's obvious. He's not the kind to joke around, he doesn't have the talent. He must have known just how heinous the crime was." "You think he's one of those people who just can't accept themselves anymore?" "That's a good description, yes. The kind of person who wants something so badly, and then finds it's too expensive to get it." "So you don't think he's a total bad guy?" "No, it's not. The bad guy doesn't suffer, and his face is full of terrible pain." For a while they examined the portrait in silence. "It must be retribution, you know, to lose his only son so quickly, and the death of his wife. To be deprived of his private world in such a short time, it seems as if God Do justice." "Does he care about his wife?" "She's his cousin, childhood sweetheart, so whether he loves her or not, she must be his mate. When you're sitting on the throne, I think it's pretty hard to find a mate. Now I have to go, see See how my hospital is doing. I haven't even asked the question I was going to ask. How are you feeling this morning? But judging by your interest in a man who has been dead for four hundred years, you should be very healthy .” Her posture was still the same as when he first saw her.Now she gave her faint, reserved smile, her hands still clasped lightly in front of the strap's catch, and moved toward the door.She has an otherworldly quiet appearance, like a nun, like a queen.