Richard was speechless. Kate had given up her child to protect him. He could not conceive of such selflessness. It took him a moment before he spoke. “Jack Howard knows how to keep a secret, in truth. I am profoundly sorry for your sacrifice, Kate. What can I do to help the boy? Tell me.”

“He is better off thinking he is a Bywood. I, too, have felt guilt that I have never even seen him since he was a baby, but I have sent what money I could. Lately, I arranged with my brother Geoffrey, who is now the schoolmaster in Ightham, to teach Dickon his lessons, although,” and she smiled, “it would seem he prefers woodcarving to Latin. The boy is very happy, truly he is.”

“Dickon,” Richard repeated, a soft smile on his mouth. “’Twas my name as a child. He is in Kent you say? Then I must do what I can for him.” He could almost feel his spirits lift. “Can I see him? Is it possible?” He saw her frown. “I promise not to reveal myself to him.”

Kate hesitated, but seeing how Richard’s eyes had lost some of their sadness and his face its careworn expression, she could not refuse him. “You swear Dickon will not know you as his father.”

“I swear.”

“Then I will write and warn Geoff to expect you.”

Dickon was another secret Richard kept from Anne. He was consumed with curiosity about the boy in Kent, and he soon found an excuse to travel to Thomas à Becket’s shrine at Canterbury to ask the saint to bless his first session of Parliament. En route, he bore off towards the village of Ightham, where Kate had spent some of her childhood. He went alone with only a groom in attendance as he did not want to attract attention. Even so, his clothes spoke of wealth, which brought the villagers out to stare when he asked the way to the schoolmaster’s residence.

Although Geoffrey Bywood had been very young during Richard and Kate’s liaison, he knew immediately who the man was who slipped off his horse to the frozen ground outside the modest cottage where Geoff lived with his young wife. He began to kneel, but Richard murmured that he did not want to arouse suspicion. “Call me Master Broome,” Richard told him, liking the simplistic translation of Plantagenet. “I do not want Dickon to be afraid. Say I am a merchant who has heard of his skill with a knife and might perhaps buy one of his woodcarvings.”

“Come inside, Your Gra…Master Broome. You must be cold,” Geoff said, ushering the king into the cozy but plainly furnished kitchen parlor, where the family spent most of their day. Through the door into the adjacent schoolroom, Richard saw an orderly row of desks empty of pupils at that hour. A roaring fire drew Richard to warm his hands as Jane Bywood entered. Richard observed she was taken aback by their visitor, and he silently admired Geoff for keeping Kate’s secret.