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you are here?” he shouted, but Margaret could not hear his words above the din.
    Nudging his horse into a walk, he continued to the steps of the cathedral, where the bells had begun pealing. Margaret watched, her eyes shining with tears of happiness. How handsome he was, she thought. His six-foot-three-inch frame sat as if he had been born in the saddle, and he towered over the nobles riding beside him. His bare head was crowned by chin-length, red-gold hair, neatly turned under in the latest fashion, and his features were as beautiful in a masculine way as his mother’s. Margaret fancied every woman in London must be in love with her eighteen-year-old brother, and she hugged herself with excitement, knowing she, as a York family member, was part of this demonstration of affection.
    After Edward and the nobles in his train disappeared into the cathedral to give thanks, Margaret wended her way back through the crowd, exhilarated by her foray into London’s everyday life. She ran down the hill to Baynard’s, barely avoiding the contents of a piss pot that was being dumped out of an upstairs window.
    “Bah!” she muttered, giving the waste a wide berth. Maybe she was better off at the castle, after all.
•   •   •
    M ARGARET DID NOT see much of Edward for the next few days. He was consumed by a whirlwind of activity from the moment he arrived. Meetings Edward held with his mother and with the earl of Warwick went far into the night. When he had first seen Margaret at supper the evening of the entry, Edward crushed his baby sister to him in a long embrace, almost knocking off her headdress, and told her, “You are receiving three hugs in one, for I do not have George and Richard here!” Then he whispered, “Your secret is safe with me, little Meg. But you are headstrong.”
    Margaret stood on tiptoe and kissed his freshly pumiced face. “Thank you, Ned!” she whispered back.
    That had been two days ago, and during that time, Edward and his councilors decided on a resolution to the extraordinary dilemma that England could have two kings. It had been arranged that an “election by procedure” would take place, a custom that was used before William, called the Conqueror, had changed the ancient system of arranging the succession. Margaret joined her mother and brother in Cecily’s comfortable solar and was told they were awaiting the result of this election. Edward was hoping the people would prefer him as king to Henry, Cecily said, but he wanted it to be legal.
    “There is not enough time to call Parliament or a representative council,” Edward explained to a puzzled Margaret. “It’s those in command at hand in the city and others who give financial and moral support who can vote.”
    Chancellor George Neville, younger brother to the earl of Warwick, was addressing an assembly consisting of all peers currently in the city, the mayor, aldermen, merchants and anyone else wishing to participate in the election of the next king—Edward.
    Margaret was not sure this was very fair, as, in the current climate in London, King Henry would not have a chance of being elected, but she nodded and held her tongue.
    A few hours later, it was all over. George Neville had addressed the crowd as his brother had instructed: “Is King Henry fit to rule over us, as feeble as he is?”
    The cry had been “Nay!”
    “In his feebleness, the queen has all the power. Do you want to be ruled by her?”
    “Nay!” was the emphatic reply.
    “Will you take Edward, heir of Richard of York and rightful heir to the crown, as your king?”
    “Yea!” was the overwhelming response from the people.
    And so it was decided. Edward would be king. When Edward and his friend William Hastings arrived, Cecily rose and faced her son. “Your grace,” she said, and sank into a deep reverence. Margaret quickly followed suit. Edward laughed, hauled his long body out of the chair and strode from the room, followed by Cecily and Will.