“Can you see him, Edward?” “Can you see him, Edward?”
Edward shaded his eyes against the rising sun with one mailed hand, the light dancing in shards off the polished steel. The morning was dazzling, a hopeful sign after long, dark days. “Not yet. Yes! There!” Edward stood in his stirrups and waved. Richard scowled.
The brothers were on the Banbury road, surrounded by a good number of their men. Today it was particularly important to appear well supported; the rest of the Yorkist army had been left outside the walls of Coventry, behind which Warwick was lodged, refusing to come out. It was barely two weeks since they’d landed and, after a slow and difficult start with the northern barons, thousands of men had joined the brothers as they rode south, and more arrived every day.
“Many with him?”
Edward turned to his younger brother. “A reasonable number. He wants to impress us.”
Richard shrugged and said nothing, his face thunderous.
Edward smiled. “He’s our brother, Richard. He’s been stupid. He knows that now.”
“Stupid? Stupid!”
“We need him if we’re to—”
“To overcome Warwick. I know, I know. That’s all very well, but still…” In the distance, the party of men with their backs to the light reined in their horses.
“This is important, Richard. Be nice.”
“Nice? He betrayed us. Betrayed you. Have you forgotten the last six months, Edward?”
The king turned to his younger brother and spoke softly. “Don’t be bitter, Richard. I forget nothing.”
Smiling, Edward Plantagenet settled himself comfortably in his saddle and waited. The king would not be the first to ride forward. This was a moment that would be talked of among both sides in the conflict for many days to come. Signs and signals were important.
A moment’s impasse, then one man from the other party rode out from the close knot of his companions. He crossed the space between the two groups until he was less than three horse lengths away. He stopped and pushed up his visor.
“Brother! And Richard! How good it is to see you both. Welcome home.” He waved to show he had nothing in his hands.
Richard nearly choked at the cheery tone. “Edward! You’re not going to…”
But the king was, and he did. After handing his sword to the simmering Richard, he nudged his destrier forward until the animal stood shoulder to shoulder with that of his younger brother. “George. You’re looking well. Marriage suits you.” Edward smiled and reached out to clasp his brother’s arm; and, doing so, pulled the horses even closer together. The brothers were a hand-span apart. Clarence did not blink. It was a game they’d all played as children: who had the nerve to stare the other down.
“And never better, brother, now that you’ve returned. I’ve missed you. Both of you.”
Breathtaking! Edward began to laugh, long and loud. He laughed until he choked and Clarence had to slap him hard on the back. That started Edward off again, and Clarence. And the men around them. But not Richard. He was red with fury.
“Richard, come and say hello to your brother.” The king turned and waved Gloucester forward affectionately.
Richard was never very good at hiding his feelings. His rigid back and dropped visor told the tale.
“Richard, come and give your brother the kiss of peace, as we used to do. I command it.” Suddenly there was steel in the king’s voice and Richard, sulky, did as he was told. He flipped the steel veil up and leaned forward, planting two hasty kisses on his brother’s cheeks, then turned away, seeming as if he wanted to spit. Clarence smiled at Richard, lips quirked over exposed teeth; the smile of a dog, or a wolf. Edward slapped both of his brothers hard on their mailed shoulders.
“Family. United again. The way it should be, eh, George?”
“Yes, it’s good to be friends again. Welcome home, Richard, as I have already said to our brother, the king.”
There. It was said. Clarence had acknowledged the changing world order. Edward covered a long, deep sigh with a brilliant smile.
“And so, brother, tell me about Warwick. Will we get him out from behind those walls? Supplies are running very low with my men. Perhaps we’re best to strike for London. What do you think?”
“Well, Edward, I have the beginnings of a plan, if you’ll bear with me while I give you some background…”
Richard listened, glowering, as Edward spoke cheerfully with Clarence. Looking at them, one would think this discussion had no more importance than the way the French were tying jesses this year.
“Richard?”
“Yes, Your Majesty?” His youngest brother leaned heavily on the honorific and Edward’s lips twitched with amusement.
“This is an excellent meeting between us all, but I swear my belly’s rumbling. What say we have a fire lit, here beside the road, and share a cup of hot wine, as brothers should? For old times’ sake.”
And shortly many beheld a sight they had never thought to see again. The three sons of the old Duke of York made camp beside the road like companions who’d never been apart.
“What happened at Honfleur, le Dain?”
“Winds, Your Majesty. Contrary winds. The queen left there well provisioned, with all her ships and her son, the prince of Wales. But a great storm beat them back again and again, and, finally, they returned to port in some disarray. They are there now, waiting for the weather to turn.” Le Dain shifted from foot to foot. The king was silent. That worried him.
“And the child. The monster. How is it?”
“The baby Louisa is very well, Your Majesty,” le Dain lied stoutly. “Thriving, in fact.”
This cheered the king. “Very well. Nothing but a small setback, it seems. Send a dispatch to Queen Margaret and let her know that the child lives and is doing well. It will comfort her to know that the Lord is with us still, as she waits. Spring is ever a changeable season.”
Le Dain bowed as deeply as he was able. He had done all he could to make sure that the only news Louis ever heard about his little protégée, Louisa, came from him and was entirely hopeful. In truth, the little monster was sickening. It was feeding less and crying more and its poor mother was distraught. That affected le Dain unaccountably. He’d become fond of them all; more than fond of the girl. Which was strange. He rarely felt affection for anything but dogs.
He dreaded what would happen to France—and to him—if the child died.
“Le Dain!” The barber jerked out of his anxious thoughts. Gallantly, he knelt. “Your Majesty?”
“What other news? The earl of March, for instance. Have the English turned him out of the kingdom yet?”
Le Dain swallowed. This was going to be difficult.
“Well, Your Majesty, not exactly…”