How was it that news could travel faster than a man, even when the tracks were good? How was it that news could travel faster than a man, even when the tracks were good?
Two days after leaving Dame Philomena’s house the king’s party arrived at Anne’s farm on the banks of the Zwijn. It was just after dawn, yet a woman was waiting by the gate on the road that ran parallel to the river’s edge.
“Anne!” The old woman hurried forward in the half-light, eyes like candles lit for thanks, as the girl slipped down from the horse she was riding, a horse so black it was nearly blue in some lights. The two embraced, cheeks wet with happy tears.
Richard glanced to the king, his tone cool. “A happy meeting, brother?”
Edward spoke quietly. “Happy, yes. But…” He caught his brother’s eye and motioned with one hand.
Richard nodded and made a sweeping gesture with his own mailed arm, holding up three fingers. Tired as they were, the men immediately shuffled their horses quickly into neat lines of three, blocking the road and surrounding the king and his brother. Archers nocked arrows to bows.
Deborah was suddenly rigid in Anne’s embrace. The girl wheeled around to confront a solid wall of men, arrows aimed at Deborah’s heart.
“My lord? What does this mean?” Anne might have laughed if she hadn’t been so angry.
Edward shrugged unhappily. “Lady Anne, this woman seems to have expected us. How can this be so?”
Deborah mustered a dignified curtsy.
“Sire, my name is Deborah. I come to the gate at dawn every day and have done ever since my mistress, Lady Anne, went away in your service.” There was the merest stress on the word “service.” “We had no word to expect your party, I can promise you that.” Her thoughts flashed to the Sword Mother, Goddess from the West, Goddess of War. Mother, protect us here, she prayed. The runes had told her that these men were coming, and that there was danger and transformation. The runes did not offer words; they brought dreams, pictures of the future, for those who could read them. And they never lied.
Edward grunted, embarrassed. As the light rose, he saw Deborah clearly and remembered her now. They had met before. Anne’s face was carefully blank but Edward knew her well. She was angry. And very hurt.
William Hastings broke the moment. “Ah, war—lies become truth, and truth? Truth is very strange. Lady, I must crave pardon for this momentary uncertainty, yet I know you understand. As does my lord, the king.”
The chamberlain was interrupted by a yell that might have come from a much bigger chest than that of the butter-haired little boy now hurtling toward them at a run. “Wissy! Wissy! You’re back. My Wissy’s home!”
The small missile hurled himself from ten paces at Anne’s legs, still yelling. She caught him just before he fell beneath the hooves of her startled horse, moving as fast as a juggler at the fair—a fact much commented on later among the archers. And, slight though she was, and tall for his age though he was, she managed to throw the boy up in the air as if he’d been a fairing himself.
“Edward! Oh, my darling, I’ve missed you! But look, here is your blue horse.”
“Where?” Little Edward raised his head and looked around, eyes enormous. He’d never seen a blue horse. Neither had the archers, and one or two crossed themselves just in case a fairy animal was lurking about. Couldn’t be too careful in foreign lands.
“Here he is!” Anne placed a hand on the animal she’d been riding.
The little boy looked puzzled. “But he’s brown. Like mud!”
Anne laughed. “No, you wait. When he’s clean and all glossy, he’s so black, he’s blue.”
Edward Plantagenet smiled down at his son and spoke softly. “Yes, Edward, he is. A horse fit for a prince. Perhaps you can ride him home? And then you can keep him.”
Anne caught the king’s eye and a slight smile destroyed the last of the tension between them. “Your Majesty is generous. My nephew is very grateful.”
Little Edward nodded with great certainty. “Very grateful! Now, may I ride? Please, Wissy?”
So it was that laughter swept the party into Riverstead Farm, not tears. And, coming home, Anne was glad that Edward Plantagenet saw what she saw. Her security; the security she had built for herself without help from anyone.
And he had seen her son again.
The boy they had made together.