Much later, Dickon’s curiosity—and a good dose of Anne’s wisdom and chamomile infusion—took him down to the hall to join his mother, where her brother had been enthralling his audience by reporting on the battle with the queen’s army near Market Drayton. Dickon’s eyes were still red from crying, but Cecily was too engrossed in Salisbury’s tale to notice.

“Praise God, we routed them,” Salisbury told York. “I will take credit for two ruses—one that feigned flight—which not only won the day but allowed us to make our way here without pursuit. As well, many of the queen’s men joined our side. It seems there are Englishmen who believe in your cause, Your Grace,” he told the surprised York. “’Tis a brave man who risks treason to join you.”

York nodded, his gray eyes thoughtful. “How many slain?”

The company gasped when they were told: “Our side lost a thousand good men, and our adversaries lost twice as many, but after the rout, when many of my soldiers followed the fleeing enemy and cut them down, ’twas hard to tell.”

Dickon shrank back. One death from battle wounds had been terrible enough, his young imagination could hardly contemplate thousands.

“Do you want to hear my ruse?” Salisbury said, and Dickon was startled to hear his uncle laugh. How can there be anything to laugh at? he wanted to ask. However, he listened as Salisbury told a preposterous story about paying a priest to man a canon all night, who let fly a ball or two to pretend his army was still there. Dickon stared around at the amused courtiers and tried to comprehend how grown-ups could bemoan thousands of deaths in one breath and make a joke in the next. Still numbed and close to tears, he forced himself to join in the laughter, but whether his was from amusement, grief or relief, Dickon did not know.

Chapter 3

Chapter Three

October 1459

By the time Salisbury’s son, Richard, earl of Warwick, arrived from Calais to swell the Yorkist ranks, Dickon had grown accustomed to the sight of so many knights and foot soldiers milling around the castle yards. The adults were far too intent on plotting strategy, sending messengers back and forth to the king with new pledges of fealty, strengthening defenses, and seeing to the wounded to worry about the daily routine of the youngest members of the household, although George and Dickon were expected to adhere to their studies. Meg, at thirteen, was made to shadow her energetic mother around the castle, helping dispense medicine, food, and prayer—in that order—to the wounded, keeping York’s steward informed of dining and housing requirements for the castle’s growing occupancy, and supervising the duties of the duchess’s ladies and tiring women.