“Go with them, boys,” Cecily commanded, her heart constricting under her high-waisted gown. She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt. As George and Dickon wobbled unsteadily to their feet, she placed her hand on each boy’s head. “Go with my blessing. And may God keep you safe.” Then she kissed them in turn and whispered, “Never forget I love you.”

“I love you, too, Mam,” George gulped, suddenly feeling very small and afraid.

When Dickon gazed up into his mother’s anxious face, he realized she was as afraid as he was. It suddenly made her vulnerable, and, in a gesture older than his years, he patted her shoulder as he assured her, “We are big boys now, Mother. You need not worry. We shall pray for you every day and that God will keep you safe—and Meggie and Ned and Nurse Anne and you, Sir Henry, and Traveller and…” at the mention of his faithful hound, he choked. Would he ever see any of these faces again?

“You must go, now,” she said, grateful and proud, as she lovingly straightened his over-large bonnet. Turning to the sailors, she said, “Merci, messieurs,” hoping they knew French, “Allez-y.”

Clutching their bundles, the youngsters were hoisted onto the burly mariners’ backs, who delivered them safely on deck. Then John Skelton, after securing their small chest into the netting, followed them on board.

As fate would have it, before Cecily could change her mind and order the boys back, a wake from a passing boat caused the boatman to let go of the rope and tend to his oars. The current quickly widened the gap between the vessels and soon Cecily was borne out of reach. It was probably just as well the boys could not see her tears or feel her doubt, or they might have jumped overboard and attempted to swim to her. Instead, they leaned over the side waving and shouting farewells.