All through last summer and then autumn, as Cecily’s belly began to grow, the scandal had fattened. It was long known, of course, that the Gloucesters kept astrologers in their household. What man does not who wants to understand his times? Nor did it surprise Cecily to learn that the duke’s childless wife had taken potions and bought witches’ spells to make her fruitful. She herself did that in the eight years she was barren. But when those astrologers were accused of predicting the King’s death they were brought before King’s Council, where Cecily’s cardinal uncle holds sway. Suddenly they had not only predicted death, but divined it, with dark masses and damnable acts. And they named Eleanor, Gloucester’s wife, as their patron in it all.

And a witch was brought to trial too, Marjory Jourdemayne, who said that Eleanor came to her for spells that would kill the King, bring her husband to the throne and give him an heir of her body to succeed him. When asked if she knew the witch, Eleanor admitted, yes, but said she has bought from her only simples to aid conception. Of all other crimes, she protested herself innocent.

Before winter, all were condemned. The witch burned, the astrologers quartered or dead in the Tower. And Eleanor solemnly divorced from her husband by a commission of bishops that the cardinal heads. She has been sent barefoot through London in penance, walking from church to church, into perpetual imprisonment.

‘And what of my uncle? What does Talbot say of him?’

Richard shrugs. ‘That he has never looked so well. Nor ridden so high in the King’s favour.’

The cardinal and Gloucester. Gloucester and the cardinal. So long rivals for the heart of the King. And now Gloucester is down. The balance of power that has rested on the fulcrum of Henry’s love, all upset. Cecily looks into the fire and thinks of her uncle, of his burning ambition and his hungry love for his brother’s son, John Beaufort. His letters, which have for so many years amused her and kept her close to court news, have been sparse since their coming into France. ‘We should be back in England.’

‘We do the King’s will here in France, Cecily.’

‘We are out of England while the King does my uncle’s will, you mean.’

‘If you say so. But we’re getting the men we asked for. And more.’ He looks sideways at her, raises a brow to tease a smile she won’t give.

‘What?’

‘I wrote to ask the King to reward Talbot’s long good service.’

‘And?’

‘Do you think you can bear to welcome back the Earl of Shrewsbury?’

‘Ha! An Earldom for Talbot? And you mock me for valuing baubles too highly?’