Edward had described the region as “desolate and uncivilized” when he had given Richard the news that their cousin of Warwick had agreed to take on the task of training the youngest York son. But Richard, elated at the thought of realizing his dream of knighthood, not to mention escaping the confines of Greenwich or the Royal Wardrobe, where Edward had housed his siblings in the years since his coronation, paid no heed. He had broken with protocol and flung his arms about his idol and vowed he would be as fine a warrior as Edward when he became a man. “I will never let you down, Ned,” eleven-year-old Richard promised. Much amused by this show of affection, Edward had turned to Hastings, and, as Richard ran off, remarked: “One cannot ask for more devotion even from a dog. I fear my pedestal is so high, you will need a ladder to reach me, Will.”

Edward’s description of the north had thus fallen on biased ears, and instead, Richard had fallen in love with his new home from the first moment he and his escort had their first view of Middleham more than a year before on the eastern road from York along the edge of the dales. He would soon get to know the elemental beauty of the area with its crystal-clear cascading waterfalls coming from the Pennines, its lush, upland, sheep- and cow-crowded meadows rising to the barren moorland hills, where the limestone, sandstone, and shale outcroppings had long lent themselves to ancient stone walls and isolated farmhouses. Richard learned that prehistoric man had lived there, trading the bronze and iron they dug from those hills, and much later the Romans had come, building a fort at Bainbridge, a few miles from Middleham. The upper dale was densely forested, creating perfect hunting grounds for a king—or in his absence, his cousin, the earl of Warwick.

It was into a forest to the west of the castle that Richard and Rob went riding that day, a groom following them in case of a mishap to the king’s brother. Rob, the older of the two, was leading the way hoping to catch a glimpse of a small group of roe deer that had been spotted the day before near a tumbling beck well known to the henchmen—as Richard, Rob and the other noble boys in knightly training were termed. They were not permitted to hunt without adult supervision, but they were hoping to enjoy the sight of a fawn or two.

“Mayhap we will come upon old King Henry instead,” Rob called in his pleasing northern brogue, “and then we would be exonerated from our escapade.” Poor mad Henry had been separated from the Lancastrian forces after the battle of Hexham, at which Warwick’s brother Montagu was victorious. The erstwhile king was rumored to now be roaming the Pennines as a fugitive.