Then a figure turns from the huddle of women that has formed about the midwife, steps with certainty to the bed, kneels beside her, takes her flailing hands in one that does not tremble, and lays another against her cheek to turn her face. Cecily looks into eyes that are clear and steady. It’s Annette, the widow she has taken into her household to be this new child’s nurse.

‘Be still, lady. Wait. I have seen this before and the good wife knows what to do. Pray with me now. Pray to the Virgin. Still your soul. Ave Maria …’ She taps her cheek. ‘Come now. Ave Maria …’

Cecily has never looked for an anchor before, but here is one and she clings to it, for this bed is a sea of grief that will pull her down if another child dies. She tries to pray, but the tide has taken her voice already, so she follows Annette’s words, first one then another, as certain as rosary beads, as familiar as her name. ‘Blessed be the fruit of thy womb …’

Before the second Ave is done, there is a whimper, then a full-blooded cry.

Annette looks up. ‘Is it well, good wife?’

And the answer comes. ‘It is well.’

And Cecily feels her breath come, all in a rush, as the sea gives her up into life.

When Richard is sent for at last the child is swaddled, sleeping, breathing sure and steady against Cecily’s breast. She knows he’s been told he has a son; that there was fear for a moment, but all is well now. That his wife is weary. Weary! She heard them tell him so, damn them.

His face is elation veiled with concern.

She strives for patience but has to make him see. ‘Richard, he must be baptized.’

‘Of course, of course. We will fill the cathedral. All of Normandy will come to welcome York’s son.’

‘No.’ She shakes her head. Dear God, why does he not see? ‘Now. Don’t wait.’ She reaches out a hand, grasps his sleeve, curses the weakness of her grip. She knows her son’s soul to be in peril. In the dark of night she has seen demons prowl this very room, red-clawed and ravenous. ‘We have thwarted the Devil once, but he waits.’

He tries to hush her. To hush her, for Heaven’s sake! Will he not just listen?

‘Richard, you saw how Henry was torn from us. This one too, almost. Please. Just do it.’

She sees his mind change and knows he has heard her. ‘Yes,’ he nods. ‘Alright.’

And then he’s about it.

She lies back and rests against the calm of his voice. His steady orders will have candles lit in the chapel, the priest pulled from his bed. At the last, Annette lifts the child from her arms, smiles and steps away. She lets him go. Knowing him safe in the nurse’s hands.