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and would always be at a disadvantage. But I believe there’s another way.”
    Richard held his breath.
    “Your left-handedness, far from being a handicap, can serve you well. See, while an opponent has to reach across his body to get at you, you can use the hand nearest your foe and take him by surprise. ’Tis a natural advantage.”
    Richard’s heart thumped wildly in his ears.
    “The best soldier I knew was left-handed—it was camp fever that killed him, not the sword. I learned a thing or two from him myself. So it seems I’m the one to instruct you.”
    “You?” Richard exclaimed in delight. Then his heart sank. “But aren’t there battles you must fight?”
    “There are always battles I must fight, but only one Richard of Gloucester who needs to learn to wield his sword like a true knight. I shall tell my brother Warwick that the King’s brother has urgent need of my services here at Middleham. He can’t refuse the request.”
    “My gracious cousin,” Richard said, scrambling to his feet, “I shall never forget this.”
    John grinned. “’Tis no more than I’d do for any great Duke.”
     
    ~ * * * ~

Chapter 5
     
    “In that fair order of my Table Round,
    A glorious company, the flower of men,
    To serve as model for the mighty world.”
     
     
    From a high window at Barnard’s Castle, John Neville watched Richard as he sat on a ledge overlooking the forests and river. His lute was laid aside and his arms were clenched tightly around his knees. A humiliating defeat at the mock tournament the day before had devastated him and he had left the field to laughter and snickers. Worse, from the barricades crowded with common folk, someone had called out, “Hey, Gloucester— duke you may be, but knight you’re not!” Then something had struck Richard’s breastplate. A rotted apple. The small figure, so vulnerable and solitary, tugged at John’s heart.
    “Richard asked me again how his father died,” he said, almost to himself.
    Warwick looked up sharply from his ledger. “You didn’t tell him, did you?”
    “No.”
    “Good. He’s not ready yet. Now, about this accursed war. It’s making a pauper of me.” Warwick scribbled into his ledger. “Aah, wait… perhaps we can cut expenses here. Aye, this way supplies will last the men much longer. Excellent.” He looked up. “Well, John? Is it agreed?”
    John shook himself free of Richard and gave a hasty nod. Since his brother always thought his own answers best, there was no need for him to have heard the question, only to agree. He inhaled a deep breath. The time had come to broach the subject he hated before he lost his nerve.
    “Dick—I need a loan. Could I borrow fifty marks?—only until the harvest, you understand. What with the repairs to the roof at Seaton Delaval, and the sickness that killed the sheep… Well, it’s been difficult for the family.”
    Warwick offered him a forgiving smile. “Seems to have become a regular problem, John.”
    “I regret that,” John said in a small voice. “I’ll repay as soon as I can, I assure you. It’s just that the house is old and the girls are growing. If they didn’t need new gowns…”
    “As I said, this infernal war is draining my resources, but very well. I’ll do what I can.” Warwick slammed the ledger shut.
    “My thanks, brother… By your leave, I’ll take some air.” Relieved to be done with the unpleasant matter, John made for the door, anxious to be off to Richard’s side. Ever since the tournament on the previous day, his little cousin had avoided him, but there was no time for the child’s wounded pride to heal. The Scots border beckoned and he had to do something for the boy before he left. As Rufus bounded to join him, he halted sharply. In his haste to leave, he’d almost forgotten the matter that had weighed on his mind of late.
    “Dick—one more thing. Is all well between you and Edward?”
    This time it was Warwick who hesitated. “That confounded wanton