‘I am here to say –’ he takes a drink – ‘that the King urges you to welcome this peace.’

‘This you say for the King, William.’ Richard’s voice is colder than Cecily has ever heard it. ‘What say you for yourself?’

William sets down the glass and spreads his hands. ‘That we cannot hold France if the King will not fight. And since the King will not fight, we must have a peace. We will play for time to surrender Anjou and Maine. We will manage it … somehow. But, Richard. In all truth, what’s the alternative?’

Richard comes back to the fire, snatches a glass from the table as he passes and folds into a chair. ‘I only wonder what the Duke of Gloucester must make of this.’

William sits too. ‘I am sure that, when he knows of it, he will make his views known to any who will listen.’

Richard grunts. ‘Nor do I think your friend Edmund Beaufort will be easily convinced. Or the cardinal. Their interests in Maine are vast and Edmund its governor.’

William’s fists are clenched, thumbs tight against his lips. ‘They are to be compensated.’

Richard’s eyebrow begs the question.

William swallows, blinks slowly, fixes his eye on Richard and speaks. ‘Edmund is named Governor of Normandy. Lieutenant of France. Whatever remains of it.’ He shrugs. ‘It was done at Christmas. I thought it best you hear it from me.’

Richard’s shock is an explosion of breath that fills the room. She feels it as he does; a sword in his belly, a blow to his breast. But, as William’s gaze intensifies, her head is alight with certain knowledge: William has come to sound them. And they will be fools if they trust him.

She feels Richard rising beside her, hears him draw a breath to speak. She is on her feet, her hand flat against his breast before she knows it. ‘Say nothing, Richard. Say nothing now.’ She looks into his face, holds his eyes with her own, waits for him to blink, give a shadow of a nod. ‘Goodnight, William. It is much to hear and all unexpected. It is kind of you, to have come so far in such weather with such news. Let’s speak again in the morning. If this is peace, then we take joy in it.’

She hears William rise behind her; moments later, his voice from the door. ‘The King loves you, Richard. He will make good your loss, trust me. Only have patience. Only keep with us.’

She feels the rise and fall of breath in Richard’s breast. Then the door clicks and William is gone.

Next noon they ride with William to the Great North Road and see him on his way.

At the crossroads he leans from his horse, takes Richard’s hand, looks full in his face. ‘King’s men, Richard?’

Cecily is proud of the firm answer Richard is able to give him.