George scrambled up from a game of fox and geese he was playing with his page, and jerked his head towards Dickon. “Let us go and see what their business is.” Exultant to be included, Dickon hurried to keep up as George was already through the door. They ran down the steep spiral staircase with the sure-footedness of familiarity and stopped where they could peer through a squint into the hall. They watched as the messengers were greeted by Richard of York’s steward, left in charge of Fotheringhay while his master moved around the country ensuring the strength of his other great castles in this time of anarchy and unrest in England.

“Their graces, the duke and duchess, are two days from Ludlow,”

Roger Ree, the duke’s usher, announced. “They charge you to ready the household within the week to join them, and that the duke’s children be given a sufficient, armed guard. The queen is on the move south, and my lord of York fears Fotheringhay is vulnerable to attack.”

“That’s Queen Margaret,” George hissed in Dickon’s ear. “The She-wolf, Mother calls her. She rules the king and thus the country. She is Father’s enemy.”

The smaller boy shivered. He did not like the word enemy; it conjured the evil-eyed, black-clad, misshapen monsters of his nightmares. But at seven, he was beginning to understand that his father and King Henry were not on the same side, despite the king’s famous visit some years ago. The man did not sound like a monster to the boy. Hadn’t his mother used the words “gentle and amiable” when Dickon had asked if the “Perfect Prince” story were true? Dickon could not imagine why his beloved father and the king would be enemies. And so now he shrugged off his fear.

However, the conflict between his father and the king confused the child, not surprising given the complexity of the Plantagenet succession. As far back as he could remember and understand what he was told, his mother and father had instilled in all their children the sanctity of loyalty to one’s sovereign. “Except in the case of evil or incompetent governance should a man turn against his king,” Richard of York had insisted. “When you are older, boys, you will swear fealty to King Henry. ’Tis an oath you will never want to break. Loyalty, above all virtues, should be your watchword. Certes, loyalty to your family should never waver, and do not forget that Cousin Henry is both our kin and our king.”

So how can anyone in our family be an enemy, the boy wondered, but as none of his siblings had questioned their father’s lesson, the youngest had not dared speak up.