It was also daunting as the realization of what they faced struck: the most powerful army in Christendom against a force of largely pikemen and foot soldiers.

Margaret must have come to the same realization, as she, too, fell silent.

Only when the procession of knights mounted on the fierce warhorses—clad in the same color and mail as their riders—drew close enough to make out the symbols of their arms did Margaret say, “Do you see them?”

Joan shook her head. She’d already been looking. She’d seen the squabbling earls of Gloucester and Hereford, but nowhere did she see the red and gold arms of Lancaster, or the arms for his fellow recalcitrant earls of Warwick, Lincoln, Arundel, and Warenne. “I don’t think they are with him.”

She heaved a huge sigh of relief. If England’s mightiest earl and his cohorts did not answer Edward’s call, Bruce would be facing considerably better odds—better as in horrible, not catastrophic.

“We’d best go down and take our positions,” Margaret said. “I’m sure my sister is already wondering where we are.”

Joan was sure she was right. She was also sure Alice would be furious that Joan wasn’t there to help her pick out her gown this morning.

She was right about that as well. But fortunately, the first of the king’s party rode through the gate, forestalling her scolding.

At times Joan almost envied her cousin. What must it be like to have your only thought be the color of your gown? To have your only worry be whether you looked your best? To have your own desires be all that mattered?

Vanity was simple and uncomplicated in a way that Joan could only imagine. Subterfuge and secrecy had played a part in her life for so long she’d forgotten what it felt like to not be on guard.

As the seemingly endless stream of knights rode through the gate, there were plenty that Joan recognized, including Edward’s seneschal and captain of his household knights, Sir Edmund de Mauley, and one of the most famous knights in Christendom, the man reputed to be second only to Robert the Bruce, Giles d’Argentan. Riding not far behind him was the king himself in his red surcoat emblazoned with the three lions passant in gold.

Tall like his father and blessed with an unusually handsome face, King Edward II certainly looked the part of a king and great knight. But appearances in this case were deceiving. Though reputed to be an excellent sportsman and capable soldier, Edward had yet to live up to the expectation of his kingly robes. He was a weak monarch made weaker by the influence of his favorites.