The growing list of violent deaths in his family circle caused Dickon to spend long hours by himself with only Traveller for company. He pondered mostly the vengeful murder of Edmund by Lord Clifford’s son. Neither had met the other before, Dickon knew, and yet John Clifford hated Edmund enough to kill him in cold blood to avenge his father’s death. For five years the younger Clifford had nursed this animus and sought revenge. Was Ned now bound to go and kill Lord Clifford, Dickon wondered. Was he, Dickon, expected to carry on the blood feud? He tried to imagine himself saying, “And this is for my brother!” but could not.

The bigger question that confounded the boy was why Englishmen were fighting Englishmen? His military studies had taught him about fighting foreign foes, like King Harry had at Agincourt, the Black Prince at Crecy, even Caesar against the Gauls. But then he recalled learning about the Barons’ wars in England two hundred years before, and about Stephen and Mathilda—he could not remember when. What was the term his tutor had used? Civil war—was that it?

Indeed it was, for if no one that autumn had publicly acknowledged a civil war was imminent, the battle of Wakefield confirmed it had begun.

The knowledge suddenly conveyed an awful truth to Dickon: his friend King Henry was now truly his enemy.

It was predictable that his father’s and brother’s deaths gave Dickon new nightmares, but he had become adept at waking himself before disturbing Nurse Anne or George. Trembling, he would lie in a cold sweat and will the grisly image of Edmund, his throat slashed and blood gushing, to dissolve with the help of prayers to the Holy Mother.

“Why do they put heads upon the city gates?” he had asked his father once. “It is a horrible sight, and suppose a boy like me sees his father’s head there. ’Tis barbaric,” he declared, pleased to be able to use a word he had learned the meaning of from one of Caesar’s descriptions of barbarians.

“’Tis the custom to display the heads of traitors, Dickon. It reminds others they should not betray their king or country,” Richard of York had explained. Then he added quietly, “I agree with you though. It is barbaric.”