“It is God’s will,” he had told his weeping wife, when yet another miscarriage laid her low. “We have Ned, who is a good boy and strong, and John is turning into a fine young squire. My dearest Anne, we have an heir and should be grateful. Let us count our blessings.”

Richard thought of that scene now as he watched his beloved heir from a viewpoint above the tiltyard and again gave thanks for the boy.

“Look, Father! Look at me!” Ned cried with delight as he trotted on the back of a cream-colored Welsh cob. The pony was a perfect size for the nine-year-old Edward, who had been taught to ride almost before he could walk. The boy adored horses, and just as his father before him had loved the kennels as a child, Ned spent hours in the stables, giving the horses treats and helping the grooms curry the beasts and muck out their stalls.

Ned wielded a long baton and when it was his turn, he kicked his horse’s flanks, lowered his weapon and galloped towards the target, a small wooden shield attached to a swivel arm on a post. Ned timed his tilt perfectly, and the quintain swung away allowing the rider to pass. The other boys whooped and their instructor nodded his satisfaction, but it was his father’s approval Ned sought, and he trotted up anxiously to where Richard was watching proudly from a platform above the yard. “Did you see, Father? I hit it well, did I not?” Ned crowed, waving his stick.

“Aye, you did, my son,” Richard said, truthfully, “but you must learn not to boast of it. Wait for a compliment, because there is always more you can learn. Humility is a better teacher than pride.” He bent down and tousled Ned’s light brown hair, loving the way his son’s expressions mirrored Anne’s. Disappointment shadowed the boy’s face though, stirring Richard’s heart. “You are the best of the boys, Ned,” he said quietly. “John has taught you well.” Ned rewarded Richard with a smile that never failed to wilt his father’s determination to be stern. “Now cheer your comrades on.”

Ned trotted off and was soon applauding the efforts of others. Richard knew he ought to be looking for the right nobleman to mentor his son, but Anne could not bear to part with her only child yet, and Richard could not bring himself to dishearten her. The couple had sadly given up hope for more children, simply treasuring the one they had. Having no siblings to compete with for attention, Ned was growing up fearless and carefree, and, unlike Richard’s lot as a boy, Ned’s childhood had been free of upheaval and violence.

But for how much longer?