Urging his mount into a canter along the division between the paths, Richard began the graceful levée of precisely lowering his lance to be level with the torso of his opponent thundering towards him. He wished he could see more than Rob’s hips astride the horse through the narrow slit in his visor, but using the skills he had been taught at the quintain, he knew how to balance his blunted lance and point it at a spot above what he could see to hit his target squarely. The idea was to deal a blow to shield or chest that would unhorse one’s adversary, which would put a real knight in his cumbersome harness at a disadvantage on the ground. Often, the fight would continue on foot.

The thudding hooves echoed in his own beating heart, and he felt the blood coursing through his veins, his senses heightened both to hit the opponent and to brace for the impact to himself from the other lance. Rob usually bested Richard, being the more experienced and larger youth, but today Richard felt invincible. He tightened his grip on the lance, steadied his body in the cocooning saddle and smote Rob firmly and cleanly in his mid section, surprising his usually cocky opponent. Wobbling to his right, his lance missing its target, Rob slipped from his saddle and onto the ground, his horse cantering aimlessly away.

When Richard snapped up his visor, he was grinning. He wheeled his horse and trotted around the list to make sure his friend was uninjured. Seeing Rob gingerly get to his feet, he said: “I took your advice, Rob. I decided it was time I became a man. Besting you was my first goal.”

Rob lifted off his helmet and wiped his brow. “I wish you had started with a female conquest, damn you,” he grumbled. “I think I have hurt my shoulder.”

“At least it wasn’t your pride,” Richard replied, more seriously. “You hurt that every time you unhorsed me.”

Muffled angry sounds gave Richard pause as he lifted his hand to knock on the earl and countess’s solar door one September afternoon. He had been summoned.

Warwick had been absent for much of that summer, most of it helping to retake the Northumberland castles that guarded the Scottish border, and some of it in the south negotiating a marriage contract for the king with a French princess. He seemed indefatigable to Richard. The earl had ridden into the castle yard that morning and disappeared into his apartments without pausing to acknowledge the household dignitaries lining the steps to greet him. The uncharacteristic lapse had been reported to the henchmen after their training in the tiltyard and had given rise to speculation that the earl was on important business.