“My Lord of March, no manner of doubt.”
“Good again. Then we thus stand: King Henry that reigneth hath no right; and the true King is shut up in Pomfret, or, granting he be dead, is then shut up in Windsor.”
“Well, Ned?”
“Shall we—thou and I—free young March and his brother and sisters?”
“Thou and I!”
She was evidently doubtful. Edward took a stronger bolt from his quiver.
“Custance, Dickon loves Anne Mortimer.”
That was a different matter. If Dickon wanted Anne Mortimer or anything else, in his sister’s eyes, he must have it. To refuse to help Ned was one thing, but to refuse to help Dickon was quite another.
“But how should we win in?”
Edward drew a silver key from his pocket.