“And the boy you went to see?” I ask quietly, taking Arthur against my shoulder and gently patting his back. He is heavy on my shoulder and warm against my cheek. I have a sudden fierce desire that nothing shall ever threaten his peace or his safety. “Henry told me that he sent you to look at a boy in Portugal? I have heard nothing of him since you left.”

“Then the king will tell you that I saw a page boy in the service of Sir Edward Brampton,” my uncle says, his lisp endearing. “Some mischief-maker thought that he looked like my poor lost nephew Richard. People will make trouble over nothing. Alas, that they have nothing better to do.”

“And does he look like him?” I press.

Edward shakes his head. “No, not particularly.”

I glance around. There is no one near but the baby’s wet nurse and she has no interest in anything but eating enormous meals and drinking ale. “My lord uncle, are you sure? Can you speak to my Lady Mother about him?”

“I won’t speak to her of this lad because it would distress her,” he says firmly. “It was a boy who looked nothing like your brother, her son. I am sure of it.”

“And Edward Brampton?” I persist.

“Sir Edward is to come on a visit to England as soon as he can leave his business in Portugal,” he says. “He is letting his handsome page go out of his service. He does not want to cause any embarrassment to us or to the king with such a forward boy.”

There is more here than I can understand. “If the boy is nothing, a braggart, then how could such a nothing make such a loud noise in Lisbon that we can hear him in London? If he is a nothing, why did you go all the way to Portugal to see him? It’s nowhere near Granada. And why is Sir Edward coming to England? To meet with the king? Why would he be so honored, when he was known to be loyal to York and he loved my father? And why is he dismissing his page if the boy is a nobody?”

“I think the king would prefer it,” Edward says lightly.

I look at him for a moment. “There is something here that I don’t understand,” I say. “There is a secret here.”

My uncle pats my hand as I hold the baby’s warm body to my heart. “You know, there are always secrets everywhere; but it is better sometimes that you don’t know what they are. Don’t trouble yourself, Your Grace,” he says. “This new world is filled with mysteries. The things they told me in Portugal!”

“Did they speak of a boy returned from the dead?” I challenge him. “Did they speak of a boy who was hidden from unknown killers, smuggled abroad, and waiting for his time?”

He does not flinch. “They did. But I reminded them that the King of England has no interest in miracles.”