There was a great deal of mirth and amusement in the torch-lit yard as everyone watched Mancini try to mount his enormous horse. Owen wanted to stay and watch, but Duke Horwath had other ideas and the boy could hardly insist otherwise. The final embers of the late-summer heat wave were barely cooling. The night was dark but still muggy and Owen’s jacket and hood were uncomfortable as he got situated behind the duke’s saddle.
The king maneuvered his steed close to Horwath’s.
“Where is Ratcliffe?” Horwath asked gruffly.
The king tugged one of his black gloves on more snugly. “He rode ahead last night with several of the Espion to secure the way.”
“What village are we stopping in tonight? Stony Stratford?”
The king snorted. “I wouldn’t dare. The queen dowager has a manor near there. That was where Bletchley warned me of her treachery two years ago.” His expression soured with the memory. Then he gave Horwath a pointed look. “You must do your duty at the Assizes, my friend. Be ready.”
“Loyalty binds me,” replied the duke, dipping his head in a nod.
Owen wondered what the king had meant by duty, but even thinking about it made him sick with worry for his family. The clash of horseshoes on stone nearly drowned out the rushing noise of the waterfall as the king’s men crossed the bridge to the island of Our Lady. Firelight gleamed in the sanctuary, but the new day was still hours from dawning. As they passed the gigantic sanctuary, Owen saw dozens of soldiers wearing the badge of the white boar, patrolling the closed gates. Many dipped their pikes in salute to the king as he passed. There were no street vendors, no smoked sausages for sale, but Owen could see a few timid faces peeking at the entourage from behind drawn curtains.
Soon the island and the city of Kingfountain were behind them and the world opened up into hills, woods, and roads. When Owen had traveled from Tatton Hall, the scenery had passed him in a blur. It was different now. Many of the men they were with carried the badge of the Duke of Horwath, the lion with the arrow piercing its mouth. And the symbol of the white boar was ever present. These were the king’s soldiers, men who had fought with him at Ambion Hill. There were swords strapped to saddle harnesses. There were armor and shields. The host looked as if it was prepared to make or rebuff an attack.
The pace was brutal and bone-jarring, and Owen kept fading in and out of consciousness as he clung to Evie’s grandfather. At midday, they stopped in a copse of massive yew trees to rest their mounts and eat the provisions collected earlier from one of the many towns along the way.
The trunks of the trees looked like they were made of massive cords wound up together into a huge rope that jutted straight up and sent out spear-like branches. Owen remembered from his reading that yew was the favored wood for making bows. This was what he thought of as he sat under the shadow of the giant tree and nibbled on a mincemeat pie that was cold and too peppery.
Duke Horwath was next to him, silently gnawing on his meal and offering no conversation. He took a large gulp from a leather flask and then offered it to Owen, who accepted it gratefully to ease the burning of his tongue.
Owen kept looking up at the massive trees, for there were many, and the smell was interesting. He liked being outdoors and was a little jealous that Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer’s father had taken her into the mountains of the North so often. Owen’s father had lavished most of his fatherly attention on the older boys, treating Owen as if he were too delicate for hunting.
“How old is this tree?” Owen asked the grizzled duke.
Horwath seemed surprised, not by the question, but that Owen had possessed the courage to ask it.
“Older than Ceredigion,” he said gruffly.
Owen crinkled his nose. “How can that be? How can a tree be older than the land?”
The duke gave him an amused smile and brushed some crumbs from his silver goatee. “Not the land, my boy. The kingdom. The tree is older than the kingdom. The Occitanians came to this land almost five hundred years ago and earned the right to rule by the sword. Less than a hundred years ago, we did the same to them in their realm. Beat them bloody. And then they drove us out again.” He sighed and shook his head.
“The Maid of Donremy,” Owen said softly, earning another curious look from the duke.
He frowned at the words and then nodded. “I was a young lad myself. Your age. I still remember her.”