Dickon didn’t hesitate. He took the huntsman’s hand, unaware as yet of the jealous nature of his handsome big brother. He had no idea that George had resented him from the first day their mother had brought the squirming bundle into the nursery and introduced him as their baby brother, Richard. George wanted no rival for his mother’s affection, and, what was more galling, the puling brat had been given their noble father’s name. As far as he could surmise, George, the only child born during the duke of York’s governorship of Ireland, had been given the inauspicious name of one of Cecily’s many brothers. Meg had once upbraided her favorite brother about his petty jealousy. “Dickon will never eclipse you in stature, charm or good looks, George, and you will surely exceed him in any honors bestowed by the crown because you are older, so do not waste your time in making him feel any smaller than he is, poor child.”

Dickon skipped along with John Hood to the kennel compound, a high wooden fence enclosing a sturdy two-level shed and an outside run. Dickon often spent time in the company of the young pages of the hunt, supervised by the huntsman and learning the dozens of dogs’ names, the breeds and their function, and the language of the hunt. It had all fascinated the small boy from the time he could walk, and thus it was no wonder that Hood would seek out Dickon to give him the good news about a litter from the prized wolfhound Damosel.

Among the hounds, lymers, lurchers, spaniels and terriers, Dickon felt more at ease than with George and the other nobles’ sons who lived within the castle walls. Often excluded from that group, Dickon turned to the children of the lower classes who peopled the great castle—potters, bowyers, smiths, chandlers, carpenters, armorers, joiners, washerwomen, and stablehands. He played their games of hot cockles, spit the cherrystone, and follow-my-leader. He enjoyed the exuberance of these boys and girls and ran in and out of their simple huts nestled along the castle wall, not realizing yet the deep divide between lord and vassal. The warmth inside those cold abodes came from the close-knit families and cheerful acceptance of their lot in life. Simple folk with strong values, they gave Dickon an early yet unrecognized lesson in the divide between rich and poor. There was time enough for him to learn how to be a great lord, Anne of Caux thought, and she was glad those yeomen, whom Dickon knew by name, had warmed to the little boy who didn’t put on airs. This youthful ability to mingle with commoners taught him to listen and to care for others, qualities that would accompany him throughout his life.

But the yeomen’s respectful affection for Dickon was nothing compared to that which he found at the kennels.