He turned his horse around and signaled to his group to pass the king’s men and take the last two miles at a canter. Richard wondered why Edward had sent a prisoner all that way to appear before Warwick, and he was determined to be at Warwick’s side when all was revealed. He grimaced. Something else to worry about, he mused.

“Me consorting with Margaret of Anjou?” Warwick bellowed, purple indignation matching his short houppelande. He was garbed to be as intimidating as possible, the baldric across his chest boasting his order of the garter and various precious jewels, and his enormous black felt chaperon and trailing liripipe framing his furious face. He glared at the kneeling messenger-prisoner, who, Richard learned, had been captured at Harlech castle purporting to have heard from French spies that Warwick was conspiring with the exiled Queen Margaret to incite rebellion against Edward.

The telltale marks of recent torture on the man’s bruised face did not move my lord of Warwick, the vibrations of fury emanating from the earl almost tangible. The anger felt genuine, Richard was bound to admit, for if Warwick were guilty, this playacting was brilliant. Although Richard pretended outrage at the accusation, and in truth he was inclined to think it was a lie, he knew this was not the first time Warwick’s name and the queen’s had been linked. Could there be any truth to this whey-face miscreant’s words? Or had Edward sent the messenger with false information to test Warwick? He had no time to answer his own questions, however, before Warwick raised his arm and struck the unfortunate messenger a blow to the head that toppled him sideways to the floor. Richard’s instinct was to help the man, but he resisted.

“How dare you accuse me, you odiferous, rumpfed villain! Who paid you to speak treason against me?” Warwick demanded of the trembling prisoner, now nursing an already bloodied nose.

“No one paid me,” he whimpered painfully, attempting to right himself. “’Twas but a rumor, my lord, whispered by sailors lately come from France, as I did tell the king.”

“Lies! All lies!” The earl swiveled, turning his fury on the king’s startled brother. “And what do you suppose my reward would be for treating with her, pray? Does Edward have some punishment in store for me? Is that what you have come to tell me, Gloucester?”

Richard could not restrain his own angry outburst. “How should I know, my Lord Warwick?” he lied, his fists clenched in the folds of his tunic. “As you know, I have been upon the road for the past sennight and have had no knowledge of this pitiful pumpion or his rumors until now.”