She stopped singing and glanced up at me then began probing carefully around his neck and shoulders. ‘I think he is not badly hurt, my lord. Surely if he had cracked his skull his gaze would not be so intense.’ Harri did not wince as she probed and I felt the fear in me subsiding.

Cerys returned with something heavy wrapped in a thick cloth. ‘A firestone,’ she said. ‘The cooks use them to balance the big cauldrons. But the fire is banked and so the stone is not too hot now.’

‘Put it in the cot,’ Jane instructed. ‘I think we can risk lifting him back to bed.’

When she glanced at me for confirmation I nodded and she gathered Harri up, cradling him against her breast and supporting his head in her hand. Caught in the halo of the lantern-light the pair reminded me vividly of the wall painting of the Madonna and Child in St Mary’s Church at the castle gate. It was not an image of groomed and coiffed nobility but of natural, tousled, maternal care; not Margaret but Jane.

My fingers circled her upper arm as I helped her to rise. She had rushed to Harri’s aid without thought for herself and through the thin fabric of her linen shift I could feel the deep chill of her flesh. As she laid the little boy gently in the cot I pulled off my chamber robe and wrapped it around her shoulders. ‘You are freezing, Jane. You will catch an ague.’

‘Let us hope Harri has not caught one,’ she said, pulling the robe gratefully around her body. When I saw the garment on her I realized how small she was, almost swamped. She bent to tuck the covers around her charge, saying, ‘I thank the Virgin and St Nicholas for protecting you.’ Harri’s eyes closed. ‘Look, the warmth comforts already. He is almost asleep.’ She busied herself placing the rails in their slots to prevent another fall and called the nursemaid over to point out how important it was to make sure they were properly fixed under their swivelling security-pegs. ‘We have been very lucky, Cerys,’ she said sternly. ‘There must be no repetition of this accident.’ She had recovered her practical self now that her charge was apparently unharmed. Turning to me she said, ‘I will fetch my cloak before you catch an ague yourself, my lord.’

Her chamber was a small one off the passage that led to the nursery. I waited outside until she returned, wrapped in her own cloak, and handed me my robe. We had left the lantern with Cerys and the only light came now from the first rays of dawn filtering through an unshuttered arrow-slit. Jane watched me shrug on my robe. We were both shivering, whether from cold or delayed reaction to the shock we had felt seeing Harri lying apparently lifeless on the floor.