Dickon crept forward, seeing vividly the armored knights, weapons at the ready, the lines of soldiers, the ends of their long halberds planted on the ground, and Ned on his white courser riding up and down in front of them shouting encouragement. It must have been a wondrous sight, the boy thought, all nightmarish fears of dying banished for now in a view of his glorious brother in battle.

“’Twas close to ten of the clock,” John Harper was saying, “and we were chafing at the bit waiting for the enemy to approach, when we noticed three suns in the sky…”

“Three? Do not babble nonsense, man,” Cecily snapped. “How can there be three suns?”

“I know not how, Your Grace, but I saw them with my own eyes. A fearful hush came over our troops and then Lord Edward turned his horse to us and cried: ‘’Tis the symbol of the Trinity, good faithful men—God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Ghost! It means God is on our side! ’Tis a sign.’ And we believed him then. He was so sure and so brave, and the light from the three suns shone bright on his gold-brown head, making him look like…like a young god,” he cried, his voice ringing around the hall. Dickon fell to his knees and crossed himself.

Seeing Dickon on his knees triggered the natural response from the pious duchess. “My son is right,” she called out, kneeling where she stood on the cold, flagged floor, “we should all give thanks.” Dickon beamed at thus being praised, and he shot his mother a grateful look as the rest of the household followed his lead and Cecily’s chaplain began the te deum.

When Cecily again stood, she addressed her steward. “Sir Henry, see to Master Harper’s needs, but first, let us celebrate. Bring wine for the whole company! Our victory is sweet.”

A cheer rose from the assembled retainers, whose very livelihoods were in jeopardy at this unstable time, and as the flagons of wine were passed, the shout of “A York! A York” rose in a hopeful crescendo, echoing off the hammered-beam rafters.

Dickon was thrilled to be allowed his first taste of wine, and he eagerly gulped down a mouthful as the company watched. He lifted his face in disgust. “Ugh. If victory is so sweet, my lady Mother, why does this taste so bitter?”

The Yorkist castle was gratefully relieved by the laughter that followed. Young Dickon, however, not grasping the humor, flushed with embarrassment. Cecily drew him to her and whispered: “They are not laughing at you, Dickon, I promise. Remember this, only the nicest people are teased.”

Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

February 1461