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for him, too. He was my friend in my father's court when I had almost no others, one of the most faithful men I ever knew. Something in you has always reminded me of him.” He turned to the earl's man. “Tell me of my daughters and Lady Hastings.”
      Lady Hastings was his aunt Bella, one of his father's sisters. The king's daughters had been in her care at Bristol. Hugh waited long enough to hear the man inform the king that his daughters were safely in the queen's household and that Lady Hastings had been escorted to her dower lands on the day after her father's execution. Then, unable to hold back his sickness any longer, he ran from the great hall and vomited in the nearest bush. Finding himself alone, he heaved himself to his feet. He made his shaky way to his own chamber and huddled in the window seat.
      Up until now, he’d dismissed the queen's invasion as an annoyance that could be got over, much like the time a few years back when his grandfather and his father had each been sent into exile by their enemies. His father had taken to piracy, his grandfather had gone to Bordeaux. Each had come back safe and well, and their enemies had been vanquished. So Hugh had thought would happen this time.
      But all of their enemies had not been vanquished. Roger Mortimer had been left alive. And he and the queen together had killed Hugh's sixty-four-year-old grandfather—who had never been their chief foe. It was Hugh's father who was the queen's quarry, and there were fewer than a hundred people and Caerphilly Castle standing between him and the queen. Probably there would soon be fewer. Men had left the king's household at Cardiff, and now that Hugh's grandfather was dead, more might find it prudent to desert.
      How could he have been so foolishly optimistic?
      It was best, perhaps, not to think just now about how much he had loved his grandfather and would miss him. Instead, he knelt and prayed for the Earl of Winchester's soul. Then he prayed for their own skins.
      His father did not reappear until the next morning. He had obviously not slept the night before, for there were dark circles under his eyes and he was wearing exactly what he had worn the previous day. The king, who a servant later told Hugh had spent the entire night sitting up with him, looked scarcely better. Yet the two of them made some pretense of normality, sending out yet more summonses that went unanswered. Overnight the household had shrunk even more. Hugh, waiting the next morning for shaving water that never came, discovered that his own page was one of the deserters. He’d taken off with his father, one of the king's household knights.
      On All Hallows’ Eve, the last of the royal clerks disappeared. With the exception of the garrison at Caerphilly and a few stray servants, the second Edward's court was down to a dozen men.
      Several nights later, Hugh was shaken awake. “Father?” he muttered.
      His father sat on the bed beside him. Coming to full consciousness, Hugh was not all that surprised to see him there. Since the Earl of Winchester's death, Hugh the younger could be seen wandering around Caerphilly at all hours. He had also virtually stopped eating, usually doing no more than rearranging the meat on his plate. “I came to tell you that we are leaving Caerphilly tomorrow morning. The king and I and a few others.”
      “Why?”
      “The king thinks we can raise some support if men see him in person, rather than staying behind these castle walls. He may be right. And there's always the possibility that we might make it yet to Ireland.” He fiddled with a ring on his finger. “Anyway, it's worth a try, I suppose.”
      “So where will we go next?”
      “Not you. You’re staying here.”
      “Father?”
      “The king's leaving a great deal of money here. We need someone to guard it.” His father's shoulders slumped. “Do you know what that whoreson the Earl of Leicester did? He and his men were supposed