It shook its back leg, by chance striking the dog against the post. The animal fell to the ground, twitching, before lying still. There was a brief lull in the noise from the crowd until the final and largest of the dogs leaped at the bear’s throat, the shock of impact toppling the bear onto its back. A terrible wheezing erupted from it. In a last attempt to free itself, the bear clasped its enemy to its chest, goring it until bones could be seen through the dog’s flesh. Then it pried the injured cur away but in so doing hastened its own end by pulling out its windpipe, clamped in the dog’s jaws. The bear collapsed with its killer across its chest.

“The King’s justice to murderers!” shouted the audience. Only the first dog had survived and the keepers lifted it with their staves and carried it away to loud whooping. The King allowed the applause to continue, as if it were for himself, before standing. The Court fell silent, leaving only the sound of pennants whipping in the strong breeze.

“The font of justice flows from God to His creation, from the King to his people,” he proclaimed, spittle leaping from his wet lips. And if the font was full of weeds and filth? Or shallow and yellowed with the piss of courtiers, what then? I looked around me. This.

The Court bowed low as the King left the platform and walked down into the lion pit. Carr followed, flanked by the other gentlemen of the bedchamber. I counted eight Scots to one Englishman and thought it no surprise there was ill will against the Scots, at Court as in the street.

The King bent and dipped his fingers in the blood of the great dog that lay across the bear, smearing it on the cheeks of his gentlemen. He held out his fingers to be cleansed and I felt a charge in the air. The bedchamber crew had not foreseen the need for warm, scented towels and the King would clean his hands no other way. There was a green-furred drinking trough in one corner and several Gentlemen looked at it as if it could be magicked into rose water. Carr, unruffled, took from his sleeve a lace-edged handkerchief of immense value, knelt and gently wiped the King’s fingers.

“Do you hear the grinding of teeth?” Frankie whispered to me.

“Distinctly,” I replied, glad to have her back with me again.

Once the royal hands were clean the King raised Carr and kissed his cheeks. Carr bowed, then held the bloodied linen to his lips before tucking it back into his sleeve. Queen Anna stood and Prince Henry, seeing his mother’s stony face, bowed to his father and led the way off the platform. The Earl of Essex followed without Frankie, a snub that she ignored.