“I’d forgive him,” Edward said, rising and walking to the door. “He is family.” He turned to Will. “This news has given me a thirst, and, with Elizabeth pregnant and unwilling, another urge that needs to be satisfied. Shall we ride into London tonight?”

Richard was indignant. “Is that all you can think of at such a time? England is in danger!”

“Rubbish!” Edward retorted. “You are far too serious for your own good. Come with us!”

Richard’s response was a curt bow and silent exit.

Edward should have listened to his “serious” brother. Wending his way slowly north to show himself to his subjects and punish the rebels, he was still in Yorkshire in September when he received news that Warwick had landed in Devon with a force and was on his way to London, winning people to his new cause: the return of King Henry VI to the throne.

“How could this have happened?” Edward demanded of his council.

Richard resisted the temptation to snap back: “I told you so.” Instead he said: “We must reach London before the earl, or all will be lost.”

Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

1470–71

For the second time in his eighteen years, Richard found himself an exile, staring glumly over a carrack’s gunwale at England’s receding shoreline on his way to Burgundy. How did it come to this? Over and over again, he had asked himself the same question during the three weeks between Warwick’s landing and the king’s inglorious flight. At the outset, Edward seemed to have been well received on his journey north, notably for his merciful treatment of the rebels (excepting the very worst offenders), and relative calm had returned to the northern regions of his kingdom.

However, Richard rued now, his brother had more than once ignored the intelligence from his brother-in-law, Charles the Bold, that Warwick was on the brink of invading. And he invaded. Moreover, despite hearing that Warwick and Clarence were on the march for London and had been joined by Oxford, Jasper Tudor, Shrewsbury, and Lord Stanley, Edward had still not moved—until it was too late. And then, when he did march south, he hesitated near Nottingham, looking for John Neville, Lord Montagu, to bring his force to join him. How could Edward not guess that his bad judgment regarding Montagu would provide this final ignominy, Richard wondered. For Montagu, still smarting from the loss of the Northumberland earldom, had turned his coat and become Edward’s enemy. It could have been another “I told you so” moment for Richard, but watching his brother visibly crumple in his saddle as the messenger breathlessly relayed the news, Richard had instead urged his horse beside Edward’s and laid a brotherly hand on the king’s shoulder.

“It was bound to happen, Ned,” Richard had said, “but for now, we need a plan.”