The King, before all the court, greets Richard like a long-lost brother, walking him about with an arm across his shoulder. His eyes, pale as rabbit fur, blink and skitter as he talks. He nods and nods and gazes all about him, as if to say, look at this fine man I walk beside, as if, by pressing his thin frame close, he hopes to draw into himself something of Richard’s breadth and colour. He wants to know everything of France, from its battlefields to its wine harvests and the state of its sewers. ‘I would be for France myself, you know,’ he declares. ‘But I am so needed here at home, and Beauchamp did so wish to go.’

Gloucester flutters, swears England couldn’t do without him, and the King, delighted, smiles his pale-lipped smile. But when Richard turns to the weakness of Normandy’s defences, the lack of cannon and the need for cash, he grows listless, taps his feet, fidgets with the silver laces of his sleeve. ‘You must speak with Uncle Gloucester of such things,’ he says.

‘Of course, Your Grace, but …’

‘Or the cardinal here, who, as you know, is a godly man of business. But now, I must … it’s time …’ His gaze flits to the chamber entrance where, Cecily has noticed, a huddle of priests has been waiting.

The chapel bell has set up its call and its pull on the King’s mind is obvious. There’s a sigh of silk as the company makes haste to bow, but already Henry has stepped beyond them.

As Richard bends his knee, Cecily falls into a deep curtsey. ‘Remember us in your prayers, Your Grace.’

The King, who is vain about his conversations with God, turns back, holds out a ring-weighted hand. Its skin is dry and soft beneath her kiss.

He hesitates, then signals to them both. ‘Walk with me.’

In the long corridor, Cecily and Richard step either side of their king and wait for him to speak, while the priests pace slow behind them.

‘My Lord of York, you’ve been married long.’

‘And happily, Your Grace.’ Richard’s eyes flicker towards her, cautious.

She wonders where this is going.

The King falls silent a while, walks slowly. ‘My Uncle Gloucester would see me wed. And the cardinal. And all the council. They do … press … upon me.’

‘It must surely be your wish too, Your Grace. England needs an heir and … and a wife is a great comfort—’

‘Is she not a great distraction? Your wife?’ His voice suddenly sharp. ‘From duty? From prayer?’

Cecily feels her cheeks flush.

‘No, indeed, she is my trusted helpmeet in both.’

‘And yet, it was through a woman that sin came into the world.’

‘And through a woman, also, that Christ came to redeem it.’