He’s on his feet and heading to the door. ‘To spread rumour and hope among the people of London. If I’ve anything to do with it, every man in the street will be your ally.’

48

London’s mayor, Richard Lee, is a merchant. He doesn’t much care who’s king, as long as it doesn’t interfere with trade. He’s also a southerner, who’s never ventured north of the Wash and believes the Scots to be savages. That’s an advantage. Cecily dresses finely for her meeting with him, puts on her highest hennin and the ruby-clawed dragon Richard gave her when George was born. She has need to appear dauntless. The mayor and his aldermen are packed so tight into Guild Hall’s chamber that she can smell the sweat of their fear and see their tremulous blinking. They’ve taken York’s side these months past, financed his campaign. That will take some explaining when Marguerite comes. She draws herself up to speak.

‘Before we hear you, Lady Cecily,’ says Mayor Lee, ‘you should know that the King has written to demand entry to his city, and we are of a mind to grant it.’

She smooths her sleeves and breathes deep. ‘The Queen has demanded, you mean?’

‘In the King’s name.’

‘The Queen does not speak for the King. She has captured him. He is in her power. But let that go, for now. You hope, by opening to her, to stay safe?’

‘She would hardly sack her own city.’ He sounds certain, but his lips are thinned to blue, and sweat beads on his brow.

‘The Queen leads a foreign army against us and pays them with plunder. She’s promised them London as their greatest prize and has no cause to love you. You’ve harboured her enemies. Did Warwick not march against her from these very streets, victualled at your cost and with your blessing? Did my lord not buy arms at your credit?’ There is muttering in the chamber, and she raises her voice to speak above it. ‘You think to exchange surrender for mercy? There will be none. I gave up Ludlow without a fight and was made to stand by while the town was taken apart.’

‘But Warwick is defeated already, what hope for us?’ A voice from the back of the room, strangled and afraid.

‘Warwick lost a battle, but is not defeated. He has joined forces with my son, the King’s heir. They ride for London with twenty thousand men. How many has the Queen?’

‘And yet,’ says Mayor Lee, ‘the Queen is on our doorstep. Where is your son? We have only your word that he comes at all.’