As soon as they heard me enter the room they sprang apart but there was nothing bashful or guilty about Jane’s reaction to my arrival. She leapt to her feet crying, ‘Lord Jasper, you are back!’ before bending swiftly to scoop up the little boy and bring him to greet me. ‘Look who is here, Harri; it is your uncle, home again.’

She offered the baby’s smooth cheek for a kiss but Harri took fright at the dust-streaked, bearded man in brigandine and breastplate and his face crumpled. Over the loud wail that ensued I saw Lewys roll up the manuscript and stow it away in his capacious scrip before rising and favouring me with an awkward bow, hugging the bag protectively before him.

‘Oh, do you not remember your uncle, poppet?’ Jane gave the little boy a consoling hug and attempted to make excuses for him. ‘Three months is a long time in a baby’s life, my lord. Never mind, Harri, you go back to your toys. It is nearly bedtime.’

When he had been returned to the rug and his pile of coloured bricks the infant wails subsided. ‘At least you do not cry at the sight of a returning soldier, Jane,’ I said, deterred from giving her the usual friendly kiss by the presence of another. ‘But you have company I see.’ I swung my gaze to the poet, who was hovering between the table and the door. ‘How are you, Lewys? Still able to place yourself in the way of a meal I see,’ I added dryly, gesturing to the unfinished bowl of bread and milk on the other end of the table, which I deduced was actually Harri’s unfinished supper.

Lewys shook his head in denial. Though only in his thirties the beard that brushed the front of his old-fashioned brown côte was already threaded with silver. ‘I am grateful for all hospitality, my lord,’ he said. ‘Yours in particular. I hope your stay in London was fruitful.’

‘Time will tell – but I think not. What were you doing when I came in?’

Jane and Lewys exchanged glances and it was she who spoke. ‘I was helping Lewys to translate a poem from Welsh into English. He has written a brwd to Lord Edmund but it is not yet ready for you to hear.’

‘Ah. I am glad someone praises Edmund. There was little mention of him at court. It is almost as if he never existed.’

‘That is not how it will be in Wales,’ said Lewys. ‘The name Tudor finds favour in many houses.’

‘Well let us drink to that at least,’ I said, crossing to a sideboard where I had spotted a flagon and cups. ‘What is in here, Jane?’ I asked, touching the jug.

‘Some of your Rennish wine, my lord. Let me pour you a measure and then I will take Harri off to bed.’