However, despite Edward’s magnanimity towards Warwick, Clarence and their faction, and Edward’s determination to govern his realm better, trouble was always bubbling north of the Trent. The month of March saw Richard back in Wales and brought fresh outbreaks of rebellions. Once again it became clear that Warwick and Clarence were the instigators.

It seemed Edward had learned his lesson, and this time he moved quickly to suppress the uprising. Richard was relieved when he got the news of Edward’s victory at Empingham, a battle later dubbed Losecote Field for the numbers of rebels who tried to shed their Warwick liveries and be spared by Edward. Thinking Edward had matters under control, Richard went about his task of holding several oyer and terminer sessions, pardoning some and imprisoning or executing others for their part in the Welsh defection to Warwick.

A man had been caught with an incriminating letter about raising men for the rebel cause destined for a Welsh lord. The man was clearly guilty of treason, and it was Richard’s duty to condemn him. Owen Rhys was the same age as Richard and had his whole life ahead of him. He was brought before Richard, his heavy chains clanking on the stone floor, his face bloodied and bruised from bullying guards, and flaunting a defiant stare that hardened Richard’s heart.

“You have been found guilty of treason, Master Rhys. You shall henceforth be taken to a place of execution where a priest will hear your confession before you meet your Maker. Do you have aught to say before you are taken away.”

Several lawyers looked startled, and one whispered to another, “’Tis not customary. He will say his piece on the scaffold.”

Richard held up his hand. “My brother, the king, is perhaps more merciful than you are used to here in Wales,” he said equably. “Let us give this man a chance to defend himself once more.” He rose and approached the prisoner. “Do you deny you aided the cause of the king’s great rebel, my lord of Warwick? Perhaps you were coerced?”

“I deny nothing,” the man snarled in his sing-song Welsh and suddenly spat on the ground. “And that is for your English king, look you.”

All pity vanished from Richard’s thoughts. “Then take him away,” he commanded the guards, “and may God have mercy on his soul.”

Richard found he could now wall off his personal feelings about taking a man’s life. It became all about his duty to his brother.

And duty called soon after, when Edward found himself chasing Warwick and Clarence southward, who were making for the coast and an escape to France.

“God’s bones, Ned!” Richard cursed, reading the latest missive a messenger had just delivered. “What a fool you are.”

Rob and a new member of Richard’s circle, Sir Richard Ratcliffe, looked up from their game of cards. “What now, my lord?” Rob enquired. “Are we called to action? I am bored to tears in these dreary Welsh hills.”