The Pale Banner
The name was not spoken by a friend, but by a guard’s head, who barked it across the cold yard like a command to a stray dog. Thomas Bradshaw stood rigid, his hands bound at the wrists with rough hemp that bit into the skin, while his younger brother Edward was dragged forward by the hem of his tunic, his boots scraping against the frozen mud. The year was 1348, and the air in the courtyard of...
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