The Bloody Birds of Britain

Prologue [Edited]

Volume i

                       "Parents can only give good advice or put them on the right paths,

                        but the final forming of a person's character lies in their own hands."

                                                                                                            Anne Frank

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Alone, encaged and mentally beaten, Edward Plantagenet former King of England sat in his filthy cell thinking of happier times.

He slumped with his head against the cell wall, staring into the encompassing darkness. Despite having been a King and a husband, he was afforded no luxuries by his wife Isabella, whom he had heard was having an affair with the traitorous Roger Mortimer; they were welcome to each other Edward thought. The unification of such two people would prove perilous; one of them was bound to die soon. He hoped it was Isabella.

His son was now King, he had reigned for, Edward estimated, nearly eight months but whether or notheruled was a different story. Edward suspected Isabella and Mortimer were running the show, stealing power from his son, who was still only a boy, fourteen years old.

Reflecting back on his son, Edward hoped he had given him the tools to avoid him making the same mistakes he did. He was sure that his son would be a better King then he ever was-

His ears perked up, the usual comforting silence was gone and instead replaced by footsteps and talking. Edward worked his way to the back of the cell; he felt death was slowly approaching him, drawing closer with each footstep that echoed eerily down the stone corridor.

"He's in the cell down there," Edward recognised the voice; it belonged to Thomasde Berkeley, one of his custodians and owner of the castle. Although Thomas spoke, his companion did not. His identity remained a mystery.

Edwards’s cell door was opened by the mysterious stranger; he jumped back against the rear of his cell, away from the approaching man. The stranger had unsheathed his sword, although Edward could not actually see the action, he recalled the familiar sound. He struggled in the darkness to find something, anything to defend himself with. He did not want to be remembered as the King who took death willingly.

His foot came into contact with something. He bent down and felt his plate which the jailers had failed to remove. It was not what he had hoped for but wait! There, just beyond the plate was his knife! He grabbed it and held it with both hands like he would his great sword.

Slowly he approached the stranger with knife and plate, ready to strike.

The stranger’s footfalls were slow, apparently he could not see. This was where Edward had the advantage. The nine months spent in pure darkness meant he had some sight in the black. Staring keenly into the obscurity beyond won him the outline of the stranger, he was tall, larger than Edward and he wore a hat with a considerably ostentatious feather. No it could not be, Edward thought gripping the knife. He recognised the outline, the man was a friend.

Although a friend, Edward leapt forward onto the outline and stabbed his knife into his head before doubt could eat his courage. He pulled the knife from the corpse when a voice spoke,

"Edward come with me quickly," the voice belonged to Charles, the Monarch's official bodyguard, a vampire. Before he could reply Charles picked Edward up and slung him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "Isabella wanted you dead."

“And am I surprised?” Edward snorted in reply, “but thank you for coming Charles, I knew I could always depend on you,” he smiled, but Charles did not reply.

They stepped out of the cell and Edward heard the distinct clink of coins as Thomas was undoubtedly handed a large bag of money. Charles turned away from Thomas and began to run. Edward had never realized how quickly vampires moved, Charles' movements were so fluid it felt as though he was flying. Edward laughed earnestly in bewilderment as they reached the crisp outdoors in seconds.

It was near midnight he estimated. The castle grounds were dark, with an eerie melancholy light cast over them by the moon, as if the moon was mourning the man’s death. He smiled at the moon and stars like you would an old friend, how much he had missed them! The grounds of the castle were silent, not a creature or person stirred, even despite the death of a man and Charles’s amazing speed.

Charles did not remove Edward from his shoulder, instead with amazing agility; he leapt over the castle wall. He didn’t even stagger on landing; he simply carried on running as if he had just jumped over a sleeping dog.

"Where are you taking me?" Edward finally decided to ask his savior as they reached a cluster of trees shielding them from castle lookouts.

"Somewhere safe." was all Charles replied.