“Farewell, dear friend,” he said to the dog, who cocked his head and thumped his tail.

“Thank you, Meg.” Cecily smiled wanly at her daughter. “Now let us to the wharf or we shall miss the tide.”

They made their way to the castle quay, where Sir Henry had commandeered a boat without markings so Cecily would not be recognized lest some enterprising Lancastrian spot the duchess and her sons and thwart her plan. Undeterred by its lack of luxury or size, she saw the boys safely stowed with Squire Skelton and then sat herself in the stern. A harried Heydon took the bow seat, his white wispy hair clinging to his sweaty forehead as the boatman dipped his heavy oars into the water and pulled away from the pier towards the scores of ships moored in the Pool on the other side of London Bridge. Cecily sat with her black fur-trimmed cloak wrapped around her frightened children as they huddled together for warmth against the damp February afternoon.

Dickon twisted round to get a last glimpse of Traveller, each pathetic whine weighing on his heart, and wondered if they would ever be reunited. He knew he would miss the dog more than his mother; surely Traveller would miss him, too.

“I will be back with the tide, Meg,” Cecily called to the desolate girl waving her brothers farewell. “You must take care of everything until I return. You can do it; you have learned well!”

Cecily suddenly felt tired. She was used to taking charge of her household and averting crises, but her grief had depleted her great reservoir of energy and making the decision to send her boys overseas was an enormous responsibility. Not for the first time did she resent her husband’s leaving her alone to cope. But cope she must.

She turned to George and delivered another homily. “You are the older brother here, George, and you should think for the two of you. I beg you to stop your incessant fighting and be strong together for the house of York. Do you promise to watch over Dickon?”

Holding his hand over his heart, George replied: “I swear I will do my duty to you and our house,” he said so solemnly, it made Cecily’s mouth twitch. “I will let no harm come to Dickon, I promise.”

“Spoken like a true son of York,” Cecily said, kissing the top of his head. “And Dickon, do you swear to listen to George?”

“Aye, Mother,” Dickon stated, trying to sound as grown up as George. “But…but how long must we be gone?”