“Chip and Alex are our friends,” Katherine said. “We’re not abandoning them.”
She jerked her chin up in the air and was probably trying for a noble pose. But for all those stories about knights’ chivalry and honor and nobility, armor was actually a very difficult thing to wear while striking a noble pose. Jonah heard a muffled thunk, then Katherine jerked off the top part of her armor and began rubbing the back of her scalp.
“Ow,” she said sheepishly. “I hit my head on the armor. It’s not bleeding, is it?”
Jonah leaned over to look.
“You’re fine,” he said. And, he vowed, she would be fine. Even if they were in a battle zone. He’d make sure of it.
“So,” he added with studied casualness. “Just what battle are we going to? Does Chip’s army attack Richard the Third, or does Richard’s army attack Chip?”
“Neither,” JB said. “You’ve got to remember, this is fifteenth-century England. None of their political battles are simple. Here. We’ll get you up to speed.”
He reached up and plucked something out of midair. He ran his right hand over it like a magician revealing his latest trick, and the thing appeared in the palm of his left hand: the Elucidator.
Jonah groaned.
“It was up there the whole time?” he asked. “In midair? That’s not fair. We didn’t know you had antigravity powers too.”
“Defying gravity is actually easier than defying time,” JB said. “But that’s not something I’m going to explain to you. Watch.”
He pointed the Elucidator toward the fifteenth-century scene on the far wall. Instantly, everyone began moving faster, like a DVD on fast-forward. Chip, Alex, the princesses, and the queen zipped around their small room, sleeping, waking, eating, conferring with guests, sleeping, waking, eating. …
“Okay, even I’m starting to feel claustrophobic with that room,” JB muttered. “Wait, wait—here—now the queen’s sending the boys away, to safety.”
The scene slowed momentarily as Chip and Alex were bundled into a cart in the dark of night and hidden under blankets. Then—quickly—they rattled down rutted roads, out into the countryside. Jonah caught a final glimpse of them joyfully running through a field, playing with wooden swords, before the view blurred.
“They do a lot of that the next several months,” JB said. “Meanwhile, King Richard isn’t having much fun trying to consolidate his power.” The scene shifted to a grim-faced king. “His own friend, Buckingham, betrays him four months after the coronation.”
Jonah watched men hunched over tables, battle plans scattered before them. Soldiers gathered together, whispering plans for treason.
“Supposedly Buckingham is throwing his support to a rival for the throne, Henry Tudor, who’s in exile in France. But is that the point? Or does Buckingham really want to put Chip back in power?” JB asked. “Buckingham’s wife is Chip’s aunt—his mother’s sister.”
The soldiers flocking together, oddly, seemed to be facing disastrous rain and floods rather than a battle.
“In the face of extreme weather the rebellion fails,” JB intoned. “King Richard has Buckingham executed.”
King Richard appeared again, not demanding his friend’s death, not watching his friend’s execution, but sitting stonily at a table, staring off into space. He was completely alone.
The scene shifted to festivities, people dancing and feasting.
“Oh, wait, I’ll back up a little—I missed showing you one of the happiest moments of King Richard’s reign,” JB said. “He had his son named Prince of Wales, heir to the throne.”
A frail-looking blond boy of seven or eight beamed happily at the crowd from the seat of honor at the feast. Eerily, he looked a lot like Chip and Alex, only younger and more fragile. His father stepped up behind him and gave him a hearty, proud slap on the back. The feeble boy lurched dangerously—the slap seemed much too hard for his brittle bones. But he turned back to grin up at Richard.
“Seven months later the sickly boy dies,” JB said. “Richard and his wife have no other children, and his wife is too ill to give him any more heirs.”
Now Jonah saw the king sobbing beside a bed. He was clutching a woman’s thin, bony hand and crying out, “Anne! Anne! Oh, please, no …”
“Richard’s wife dies less than a year after her son,” JB said. “Richard is heartbroken.”
More scenes of Richard sobbing, Richard on his knees praying to God: “Is it because of my sins, O Lord? Is this my punishment? What wouldst Thou have me do? Am I unforgivable?”
“Please,” Katherine interrupted. “Do we have to watch this? I’m starting to feel sorry for him. That kind of makes it hard to keep hating him.”
JB froze the action on the scene of the grief-stricken king. Jonah could see each individual tear rolling down his face, each deeply etched furrow in his anguished brow. Katherine was right: It was impossible not to feel sorry for someone in such obvious pain.
“Why is it necessary to hate him?” JB asked quietly.
“He’s the enemy, isn’t he?” Katherine asked.
“Is he?” JB replied, raising an eyebrow. “Shall I also show you the queen’s conniving and plotting during this same time period?” Scenes flickered past quickly: the queen meeting again and again with clusters of solemn men. “Would you like to consider how much she’s willing to endanger her children in order to regain political power? Nobody in this story has pure motives. Not even your friends.”
Once again the scene changed. Now they were back to Chip and Alex, parrying back and forth with wooden swords in a meadow. Chip swung hard, knocking the sword from Alex’s hand. Then Chip used the broad side of his sword to push his brother down; he thrust the sword’s point against Alex’s chest to pin him to the ground. Chip threw back his head and laughed.
“They’re playing,” Jonah said. “They’re just playing.”