The children were speechless. Like all sensible indentured servants of her time, Anne was not prone to voicing her opinions. Of common Norman stock, she was grateful for her position in the powerful York household, and thus she limited her platitudes to issues surrounding her charges’ safety and good health. She knew she had overstepped her bounds, but when she quickly turned back, the carter patted her hand.

Dutiful Dickon mulled over what she had said and kept it in his heart.

A thrill of pride warmed Dickon as he looked up at the sturdy walls around Ludlow, the town strategically perched on a hill above the River Teme. The castle within was another residence owned by his family, and he was beginning to realize what a great landowner his father was. Rumbling under the Broad Gate and up the cobbled street to the Market Square, its market cross standing sentinel, his several disappointments vanished as he anticipated the reunion with his older brothers.

Dickon stared up at the two giants grinning down at him. Could these be the same brothers he vaguely remembered as rough-and-tumble boys? He sidled close to George, who shook him off, puffed out his chest and extended his hand to Edward and Edmund. “Ned, Edmund, ’tis good to see you again,” George drawled, blocking Richard from their line of sight.

Edward stepped forward to grasp George’s wrist in an affectionate greeting. Dickon noticed with dismay he was eye level with Ambergris, his oldest brother’s wolfhound, who lapped Dickon’s face in greeting. Pray God Ned doesn’t call me runt, he thought, finding the dog’s ears. In truth, I pray he doesn’t notice me at all. A shadow fell on him as Edmund approached. With the ease of an athlete, the fourteen-year-old Edmund sank down on his haunches to a level with his youngest sibling. “Remember me, Dickon?” he asked gently. He had observed the boy’s reticence and was anxious to reassure him. “It seems you have grown since I last saw you. How old are you now?”

A grateful grin lit the small boy’s face, and Edmund noticed the striking likeness to their father. “I’m nearly seven, and I know how to let an arrow fly now,” Dickon said proudly, his fear banished. “Piers Taggett showed me.”

“A good man, Piers,” Edmund replied.

During those long September days, Dickon, George and Margaret were wide-eyed observers upon the high ramparts above their apartments on the western wall of Ludlow’s impressive fortifications as they puzzled over the hurly-burly below them in the inner bailey. Meg was able to glean from Edmund some news of the many meetings held in the ducal audience chamber, while he enjoyed getting to know his quick-witted sister.