York liked his boys with him when he made forays across the Teme to ride up Whitcliff. It amused Salisbury how all four of his nephews would vie for their father’s attention. Privately, he thought York was both an indulgent father and inattentive. Ned was already a man, for Christ’s sake, and yet no mention of a bride had yet been made. He watched while Ned raced his brothers to the top of the hill. Here was surely every nobleman’s dream of a son: more than six feet tall, strong, athletic, handsome, and charismatic, Edward was always the center of attention even at seventeen. But there was an indolence that crept occasionally into Ned’s behavior, and Salisbury had noticed how the young man could not resist a pretty girl. “You should keep an eye on his philandering,” the earl had advised his sister in an intimate moment recently, but Cecily had dismissed the remark with a “Pish! He’s just a healthy boy.”

Dickon watched his two brothers enviously. George was growing into manhood, his voice changing and his lankiness filling out into athleticism. He also handled his horse superbly. Was it any wonder Dickon despaired of ever equalling his brothers in their father’s eyes. He sat sadly on his horse, unnoticed as always—or so he thought.

The early October evening was drawing in before the duke’s party cantered into the castle yard and relinquished their mounts to the grooms’ willing hands.

“Your Grace,” Roger Ree cried, exiting the keep where he had been watching for York. An over-exuberant Ambergris, waiting for his master, flung his huge body at Ned. “The king has sent his answer to your last petition, and ’tis not good news. The messenger awaits in the great hall.”

All York’s good humor following the invigorating gallop down to Ludford Bridge vanished in a scowl. Impatiently, he shouted to Ned, “Keep that dog of yours under control,” as he walked over the drawbridge followed by Salisbury, Warwick and the others. “Let us hear the king’s response.”

Dickon hurried to catch up with George and Edmund. “What does this mean?” He was almost afraid to ask. “Will Father have to go to war?”

“How should I know?” George snapped, hiding his own anxiety.

But Edmund seeing the fear in his little brother’s eyes, reassured him, “The king is a merciful man, Dickon, and he knows Father is his loyal subject. Perhaps it will not come to war.”

It became obvious to Dickon, however, that his father doubted the king’s mercy now. For the next two days, the castle and town were abuzz with the news that the royal army was approaching. From the top of the keep Dickon and George watched the completion of the extensive barricade York had ordered built on the opposite side of the river. Darkness was falling when they turned to descend the stairs, and they could see the hundreds of men lighting their camp fires and munching on their meagre rations.