Richard pondered all this as he watched the many ships bobbing like toys in the faraway bay. His own ship The Mayflower was anchored somewhere in the flotilla, he knew. He had held the position of admiral of England since his tenth birthday, even before Edward made him Constable of England. It meant he drew income from the posts, and when he came of age at sixteen, he had been presiding over both courts whenever possible.

Jack Howard was used to the young duke’s way of sizing up a situation and waited patiently. Finally Richard asked: “Why is Edward wanting you to treat with Louis? What is he expecting to achieve? Let us set sail and get the business done—or is my brother afraid?”

“King Edward is afraid of nothing, Your Grace,” Jack assured him. “I was with him at Towton, Barnet and Tewkesbury, and in truth he is a fearless fighter. If I may speak frankly,” he paused to get Richard’s nod, “his weakness is indolence and too great a taste for fine living. He now prefers governing from a throne…” he refrained from adding “or a bed,” “than from the back of a horse.”

Richard shook his head. “I am sorry to hear you say this, but I, too, have worried. He did not learn it from our father. Let us hope he proves us wrong, and we will soon engage the French in our rightful cause.”

He walked off troubled by Edward’s decision. What could he do? Edward was king by God’s grace, and his word was thus the law.

Knowing how scornful Richard was that he was negotiating with Louis rather than fighting, Edward left his brother out of the group of high ranking nobles to meet the French king at Picquigny. The scene had not been pretty, and for once George had gained Edward’s favor by being the first to step forward and join his brother in the decision to pull out of France—provided Louis gave them incentive.

“Where is our honor?” Richard had demanded of those gathered at the council meeting in Amiens in mid-August. He could hardly contain his disgust. “Where is England’s honor in this? We have sat upon our backsides since crossing to Calais two months ago. Two months! And not a shot fired nor an arrow loosed. I am ashamed, and,” he dared to add, “our father would have been ashamed.”

Edward glowered at his brother, drumming his fingers on the arms of his chair, while his commanders and fellow lords uncomfortably observed the stand off. George stood so close to Edward he must have felt the heat of anger coming from Edward’s rigid body. He awaited the predicted eruption with glee though not a muscle of his face revealed any emotion at all. Here was his chance to supplant sanctimonious Richard in the eyes of the king.