White Boar and the Red Dragon, The Read Free

me?’
    He bursts into tears again, soaking the front of her kirtle. She smiles ruefully over the child’s head at her friend and hugs the little boy tight.
    ‘No, I will not leave you, Henry! I will care for you as long as you need me!’
    Middleham Castle, Yorkshire, Late Summer, 1461
    Cecily, Duchess of York, was watching her two sons, George and Richard, on the green before Middleham Castle, training in martial arts with their friends, Francis Lovell and Robert Percy. All four boys were under the mentorship of the Earl of Warwick here at the castle, learning to be knights.
    She observed them through a large window in the Solar in a rather detached fashion, as she was really more interested in her companion. This was her handsome nephew, Richard Neville, the earl, who was watching the boys with her and calling out encouragement to the youngest one, Richard, every now and then. The boy was fighting valiantly and with much determination for one so young.
    Tall and athletic, his body strong and supple, Neville was everything a man in his prime should be.
    She bit her lip as she looked at her youngest son, Richard—such a contrast.
    She had always had an eye for a handsome man. Her husband, Richard, Duke of York, whom she had loved devotedly until he was murdered by the Lancastrians, was one such. She had never left his side, even on campaigns—even when she was heavily pregnant.
    She sighed and shook her head doubtfully. ‘What is to become of him? However long or hard he trains, he will never grow big enough or strong enough to be a knight!’
    ‘Don’t you believe it, Aunt. He is very ambitious and cannot wait to grow up and go into battle against the Lancastrians! He is always talking about it, you know! Sometimes, I believe he thinks of little else! He badly wants to avenge his father’s and Edmund’s deaths! In that small frame burns a most determined spirit!’
    ‘Really? Well I fear his ambitions are doomed not to be realised, though seeing the heads of my poor husband and Edmund on the Micklegate did affect him deeply, I know. The desire may be there—which is commendable—but as for him actually being able to do anything about it, that is very doubtful. However hard we may wish for something, it does not necessarily come to pass. One learns that bitter fact soon in life. I have been praying for years—nay willing—the Lancastrians’ downfall! And especially since this King, Henry VI, has proved so ineffectual—even pathetic! He is completely under the thumb of that French bitch, Queen Margaret, who seems to make all the decisions, and he gives in to her every whim—just for a quiet life, it seems! A weakling for a king, pah! Now my husband would have been splendid as king, if only he had got the chance. He was meant to be!’
    ‘I agree about Henry. He is really quite inadequate, in body, mind, and character! He seems to hate most usual male pastimes, except hunting occasionally, and prefers to spend his time praying and studying theology with his priests. I think he would have been far happier as a monk than as a king! He is certainly more at ease with a book in his hand than a sword!’
    ‘There is nothing wrong with devotion to God and his Word, nephew. I have always tried to live by God’s Commandments, to instil awareness of him in my children and to bring them up in fear of him! It is a mother’s duty to lead her children in the right Christian way. But I doubt if they have listened to half I have said. They are all self-willed and self-centred—especially Edward! Their church attendance is only lip service most of the time, I feel.’
    ‘Richard, Aunt, is most devout, though I cannot say the same about George, I am afraid! The lad seems to really enjoy the chapel services here and attends Mass at least twice on Sundays and at least once every weekday—even when you are not here. He is also physically determined and active. I am sure he will grow into a fine man you can be proud of, in