of such a squat building. Her father. The falconer.
“Papa,” she whispered, her voice trembling. It had been so long since she had said his name, so long since she had been happy. She could still see his face clearly and hear his rough voice. Remembering him was easy. Letting go of him would be the difficult part.
But she lived here now, at Peveril. In England.
England. Even the name sounded strange. Perhaps it was her way of saying it that made it sound so foreign. But it was foreign to her; as was everything in this place. She suspected it would always feel this way. Some things couldn’t be undone, like taking the mountains out of a person. Her papa and the winters and Culross had taught her too much. She wasn’t a sheep, not like the English. Not like the Etons. She would rather die than be like the Etons. Resolutely, Cordaella straightened her shoulders and let down her skirts, suddenly seeming much older than her nine and a half years. She turned around to walk back the way she had come.
*
IN LONDON, THE Earl of Derby met for the second time in six months with King Henry IV. Bolingbroke, as the King was affectionately called, suffered increasingly from poor health, his bad days more frequent, limiting him to bed rest. But on his good days, and this was one of them, he tried to ride and hunt, meet with his council, consult with advisors.
Bolingbroke had not felt well enough yesterday to rise, and postponed all meetings until the next day. Fortunately, this morning he woke without the pain in his legs and he felt clear, alert. Now he convened in one of the Tower of London’s smaller halls to meet with the Earl of Derby. They were discussing England’s trade relationships and the King had been attempting to analyze why England’s agreements were not as profitable as her European counterparts.
Eton believed that England wasn’t utilizing her routes to full advantage, relying too heavily at the moment on the Italians.
“What do you propose then?” Henry said, oblivious to his scribe and bevy of advisors clustered behind him. “Limit our treaty with Italy?”
“No.” Eton enjoyed these meetings tremendously. “Rather we use our own ships and develop our own routes. If you would take a look at these maps—” The Earl drew the King and the three chief finance advisors to the table, “—you will note that Italy, Aragon, and Castile dominate particular routes and ports. For example, Italy’s heaviest trade is within the Mediterranean Sea. Italy is the only country that ventures as far as Constantinople and Tripoli. While their ships dock at some thirty-odd ports, the majority of their trade takes place between Cadiz and Naples.”
“But the Italian carracks dock in London!” interjected Thomas Beaufort.
“Yes,” the Earl agreed patiently, for he loved this subject better than any, “and that is the extent of Italy’s trade with England. Do they only dock in London because that is the only English port?” He shook his head. “We have a number of good harbors—Chester, Bristol, Plymouth, Southampton, Hull, and Newcastle.”
“But exports—does no one export from any other English port or must everything pass through London?” asked Beaufort.
“The Hansards sometimes stop in Newcastle and Hull. The Castilians, due to their proximity, prefer Bristol and Southampton.” Eton traced the routes with his finger, tapping England’s southern coastline. “We have harbors, we have ships, we have exports. But we lack the cooperation between port and merchant that I have seen in other countries.” He stood up. “Expanding our production and distribution of exports would significantly improve commerce. Not only does trade boost income—” Eton knew the King was listening closely now—“it also raises taxes. Each increment of growth, is an increment of revenue for your treasury.”
Bolingbroke said nothing for a long minute, studying the map and the black arrows that had been carefully drawn from one port to another, indicating the main directions of sea trade. “We develop our own ports and our own routes…” His voice drifted off as he considered the opportunities, “…which does not affect the trade agreements, therefore we are not breaking any contracts and we are not subject to penalty or regulation.” He continued to study the map. “Which ports do you suggest we develop first?”
“Our Chester to Dublin, and Bristol to Cork,” Eton said, naming two important Irish sea towns. “Only Spain calls at Cork. No one calls in Dublin.”
“What about the coast of Portugal?” The King asked.
“And the northwestern