Dickon, whose heart was thumping, heard his father announce that Trollope had deserted the Yorkists and in the cover of dark had gone over to the king’s side, taking all of the Calais troops with him and more besides. “In the end, the turncoats claimed they could not bear arms against their king.”

Traitor? That word again! Dickon knew all about that word, remembering the story of his grandfather. But Trollope had promised to speak up for him with his father. He crossed his heart and promised, he remembered, feeling again the desolation of betrayal; trust would be harder to bestow after this. His heart constricted, and he felt cold.

Then Ned surprised Dickon. Magnificent in his breastplate and mail that made him look like a warrior god, he too cried: “God damn them! Traitors, all!” Dickon was transfixed as the hall resounded with the echoed words from others. “Traitors! Traitors!”

So many traitors, Dickon thought, gazing sadly at his father. So much disloyalty. As he listened to his father bark orders and make arrangements, he resolved never to be a leader. The gravity of the decisions the duke of York was having to make for everyone in the room—nay, the whole army—may not have been understood by the youngster, but he took note of his father’s anguished face and felt the tension mounting in the men below. They had to trust their leader, didn’t they? He trusted in Father, but would these Yorkists? Would they stay loyal in the face of danger? He knew he would because he could not yet imagine turning his back on his family—right or wrong—but could they? He watched and shivered.

“Dickon! What are you doing there, mon garçon?” Constance’s voice came from behind and startled the boy. He put his finger to his lips and, peering over the railing, she was astonished to see the hall filled with the same soldiers she had seen leave an hour before. Meg’s coughing had drawn her to the children’s quarters where she had noticed Dickon was missing, and hearing voices in the direction of the great hall, she guessed he must be there. She drew her bedrobe more tightly around her and looked down on her beloved mistress, who was obviously distressed.

“Captain Trollope is a traitor, Constance,” Dickon whispered, turning a distraught face up to hers. “He has betrayed Father. And I liked him very much. But now he has gone to join the king and taken a lot of men with him.”