Edmund lifted Richard off the ground to say goodbye and gave him a kiss, admonishing him to stop fighting with George and obey Meg. “When I come back, I shall expect you to hit the bullseye with two out of every three arrows. Do you promise to practice?”

“Put me down, Edmund,” Dickon said crossly. “I am not a baby, I’m eight years old. And by the time you return, I shall be hitting the bullseye every single time and besting George with a shortsword.”

“There is someone with fighting spirit,” Richard of York remarked as he led his horse forward to the mounting block. Dickon flushed with pleasure. “It will not be long before you and George will be riding with us.” He squatted down and tousled Dickon’s hair. “Look after your mother for me while I am gone. You, too, George,” he said, pulling his older boy into an awkward embrace. He loved all his children—especially Meggie, with whom he had already had a tearful goodbye. As well, the troops close by had already enjoyed seeing the passionate embrace of their lord and lady at the top of the staircase from the great hall half an hour earlier.

“Tell me, before I go, if you remember what is most important in this life, after loving a merciful God?” he asked his youngest sons.

“Our loyalty to England, the king and to our house of York,” they chorused, and Richard nodded, pleased.

“And what is most dishonorable?”

“Betrayal of family and friends,” Dickon piped up, eager for evidence of his father’s approval.

“Well said, Dickon.” Richard stood up.

“I knew that,” George hissed at his brother, annoyed at his own hesitation. “Come, I’ll beat you to the top,” and he made for the spiral gatehouse staircase with Dickon in hot pursuit, George’s new dog, Alaris, bounding between them and almost causing a catastrophe.

Standing on the flat roof, they watched the departure of the duke of York’s retinue now marshaled into an orderly line in Baynard’s courtyard. Cecily was already there with Meg by her side, her sable mantle wrapping her against a biting December wind. The boys ran from side to side, excited to see the knights, foot soldiers, horses, weapons carts, and even a cannon or two lined up to head north, or west with Edward. They would join the larger contingent of Yorkist forces camped outside the city walls.

“Who would you go with, if you had the chance: Father or Ned?” George asked his brother, at the same time making Alaris sit. “I’d go with Father. Ned’s good fun, but Father is an experienced commander. I’d feel safer with him.”

Dickon gazed down on his oldest brother’s golden-red head, ramrod-straight and mailed figure riding tall in his saddle, shouting cheerful greetings to his men, and he knew in a moment of wisdom beyond his years that he would follow Ned for ever. “I’d choose Ned,” he said solemnly. Then with an impish grin, he said, “If only to get away from you!” And he ran across to the other side of the parapet to avoid a jab to the ribs.