“’Tis for your own good and the good of our cause,” she hedged. “I promise to write to you. I shall explain everything then.” She took his face in her hands. “From this day forth, you are no longer my little boy. It is time for us to stop calling you Dickon and use your given name of Richard. You will present yourself to the duke of Burgundy as Richard Plantagenet. With your dear father gone, you are the only one of that name now. Bear it proudly. Is that agreed?”

“Must I call him Richard, as well?” George demanded.

“Certes!” came the stern response. “It will take a little while to get used to, but it will give both of you more dignity at court.” She looked up in time to see they were about to shoot through one of London Bridge’s navigable archways. It was the most dangerous part of the course, with the narrow openings causing the river to sweep through at an alarming rate, and she held on to the gunwale. The boatman was used to it, and, swinging the bow into the rushing current, lifted his oars to the sky to avoid grazing the slimy, barnacled walls, safely bringing them into the calm Pool beyond.

“Your Grace,” Sir Henry said, not betraying the concern he had for the duchess’s harebrained scheme. “Do you know on which ship you wish us to set our sights?”

“You know full well I do not, Sir Henry,” Cecily shot back. “We shall just approach the larger ones flying the Burgundian or English flags and pray someone takes pity on me.”

“I see,” said the steward, and only he could see the boatman lift his eyes heavenward. “Then, boatman, I would start with that one,” and he pointed to a caravel flying the Cross of St. George. Unfortunately the captain was ashore, and no one else had the authority to take the boys on board. The next one was bound for Lisbon, and Cecily was beginning to worry, when they approached a carrack bearing the Flemish name of Zoete. Sir Henry hailed a crew member dumping dirty water over the side. “Your captain, mariner? Where is your captain?” he shouted, and the man waved and ran off. A few moments later, as the boatman came alongside and grabbed the rope netting hanging from the gunwale, a burly man with a globe of a face appeared above them.

“Ja? I am ze captain, Captain Bouwen. Vat you vant?”

Relieved the ship was bound for Antwerp, Sir Henry stated his business and held up a pouch of coins that Cecily had given him. When the man knew he was in the presence of a noblewoman and that he might be rewarded even more for taking the two boys to Flanders, he nodded and grinned, calling over his shoulder to two of his sailors, who swarmed down the makeshift ladder like monkeys.