‘Do nothing. And nor will I. We will not engage him, we will not support him and we will not stand in his way. Whatever madness he pursues we stand aloof from him. Go home. Go quietly to our towns and villages he has robbed, and make reparation. Draw the funds from my steward.’ He puts down the quill, folds the note and seals it. ‘Here is my authority.’

‘Not from Rouen’s treasury?’

Richard’s smile is wry. ‘No. This comes from my purse, so keep a careful accounting.’

And they do stand aloof, while Beaufort passes from Normandy into French-held land, leaving a trail of fire: burned villages, scorched earth, French corpses. When Talbot returns from England with no good answers and less money, Richard nods and holds his peace. When England’s last bastion in Dieppe falls, and old soldier Talbot weeps for its captain, his bastard son, among the dead, he folds his hands and thins his lips.

‘What are we doing, Richard?’ Cecily implores him. ‘With only half John Beaufort’s men and money we could have taken Dieppe for the King, and Talbot’s son would still be living.’

‘We are waiting out the storm, Cecily. John Beaufort will burn himself out eventually. The King will come to his senses.’

‘Will he? I see little sign of it.’ She feels at the end of her patience. ‘Does it not make you mad?’

He bows his head. ‘It irks me to see our purpose here endangered by this foolishness of policy, but …’

‘But?’

‘But we cannot oppose Beaufort without opposing the King.’

She throws up her hands.

‘Nor need we,’ he soothes her. ‘Beaufort will destroy himself. And, when he is gone, the King will remember York. We will speak sense to him, and he will listen.’

She wonders how hard it must be for him to keep believing this. But because she has no alternative strategy to offer, and because she has no wish to quarrel without purpose, she nods and holds her peace.

Then, at last, Beaufort’s firestorm does end. In shame and ignominy and withdrawal.

In the first days of winter he burns through snow as he slips across the border from Anjou to Brittany, where England’s ally, Duke Francis, holds sway. Bent on plunder, he lays siege to the rich town of La Guerche, where his men run through the town like dogs, tearing out hearts. Citizens are dragged from sanctuary churches and Beaufort, raving, tells Francis he must ransom them or see them dangle from the town’s battered walls.