CHAPTER SIXTEEN – YORK, NOVEMBER 1478

It was rare that Marion left Middleham nowadays, but when she did, she always went to see her sister, despite James Haute's cruelty towards her. Marion loved Kate dearly, and still wanted to see her, no matter what. And so that was the reason she was here on the day of her sister's twenty-fifth birthday, Katheryn sitting beside her as the three of them chatted idly over needlework. Marion scowled, hating how her stitches always seemed to be crooked, envious of her niece, who produced sewing that looked as if it could be a finely painted portrait, it was so perfect. Kate's work was good, also, not as good as Katheryn's, but still better than Marion's. This led Marion to believe that she should have spent more time working on her needlework, instead of watching John and Neddy practice their swordplay and archery – especially now that Neddy had received his little blade last Christmas from his now favourite family member: John.

"Ah, is this not lovely? To sit out here and work on our stitching?" Kate asked, tilting her head back to allow the rare blaze of sunlight to brush against her skin.

"Aye, sister, it is. Except for the needlework part."

"I agree Mother. Oh, and I hope you have enjoyed your birthday."

"Thank you my darlings, I do appreciate this. It is nice to see you both here, although I have heard there is some trouble back at Middleham?"

Marion bit her lip. She did not want to tell Kate about what had happened, how she and Katheryn had seen with their own eyes what was causing Dickon's "back ache", and how horrible it really was.

It was an accident, something they were not meant to see, yet they had. Aunt and niece were walking down one of Middleham's many halls, rushing to chapel to attend Mass as they did every Sunday, when they had heard a howl come from Dickon's bedchamber. Katheryn, out of concern for her father, had faltered in her step, turning slowly, and walking back the way she had come. Marion followed, trying to snatch the girl's arm and pull her back towards the chapel. That had been a pointless move on Marion's part, as the door had been flung open by a pale, trembling Lady Anne. And then there was Dickon. He lay in bed, the covers strewn around his waist, hiding anything the girls would not want to see, yet exposing something else entirely. His back. Red, raw flesh pulled tight over a bulging curve bending towards the right. His right shoulder blade stuck up in a sharp angle, and is hands gripped the pillow, knuckles almost as white as the linen. Katheryn had gasped, forgetting her courtesies for once, screaming:

"Papa!"

Marion had followed her into the room.

"Papa, what is it? What is wrong with your back?"

A snarl of pain was her only answer.

"Katheryn, we must go."

"Nay, I shan't leave my father like this! Papa, what is wrong? Oh please tell us, Papa!"

The man in the bed only moaned.

Still standing in the doorway, Lady Anne had wrung her hands. "Mayhap you should go, Katheryn, listen to your aunt. Your father would not want you seeing him like this."

Katheryn scowled, but nodded anyway. Yet, she did not move a step towards the door, merely faltered where she was, casting a desperate, sorrowful stare to her bedridden father.

"Lady Anne, may I ask, what exactly is it?" Marion murmured.

The Lady sighed deeply. "I know not, Marion. It has been with him, he said, since he was about fifteen. It started with a backache, you see, and gradually, he noticed his spine... curving somehow. It caused him much pain."

"'Twould have been around the time I was born that it began to curve." said Katheryn. "I have always known him to have a sore back from the time I was a babe."

Marion's eyes had widened. She knew how pious Dickon could be, she knew what he would make of something like this. If it started around the time he had first met her sister, and began to curve after the birth of his bastard daughter... he would think God was punishing him for his sins.

"Katheryn, go. I shall be at chapel shortly." Marion said, shooing the girl away.

Quickly, she turned back to Lady Anne. "Did it get worse?"

"Yes, you can see that for yourself."

"When?"

She sighed. "Around the time John was born... the curve pushed his right shoulder out of place. New armour had to be made especially for him... the armourer at Middleham knows him and his back, well."

Marion closed her eyes, pained by this information. He would think it punishment from God, then. He would look at Katheryn and John every day and the ache in his twisted spine would grow worse. Lady Anne seemed to realise where Marion's thoughts were going, for she placed a thin, delicate hand on the younger woman's shoulder.

"Fret not, Marion. There is nothing you can do to stop it... no one knows how that can be achieved, not even Hobbs."

"Not Hobbs?"

"Not Hobbs," the Lady confirmed.

"B-but... he is a genius."

"Yes, and that is what frightens me about Dickon's... condition."

Marion nodded, not wanting to say, or know, any more about this. It was terrible, frightful, simply wrong. How had Dickon lived with this, for so long? Why, oh why was God so cruel?

Presently, Marion turned back to her sister, eyes filled with grief, grief she battled to control the onslaught of emotions raging within her.

"Nay, sister, there is no trouble at Middleham. Everything is fine."

It was sinful to lie, but Marion knew she had no choice. Dickon had told her that he tried to live as normally as possible with his... condition, and that he did not want to draw attention to it.

"Although," he had said, smiling slightly. "It gives me a greater appreciation of what it means to struggle for something. You will notice that I do pay quite a bit of attention to the common folk around Middleham, and in other areas of the North. That is because I know how they have to struggle every day."

Maybe God was not so cruel, then. This did seem like a punishment indeed, but also like a blessing in disguise, to help make Dickon a wise and just Lord. Maybe Marion wasn't lying, after all.