I had heard of the Lincolnshire rebellion she referred to; news had spread through Europe of its violent suppression by King Edward. Margaret’s stepbrother, Lord Richard Welles, had been arrested for a breach of the peace over a property dispute, which had infuriated his only son Sir Robert, prompting him to offer Warwick and Clarence help by raising a rebellion in his Lincolnshire lands. Believing Warwick to be loyal, Edward had commissioned him to put down the rising but when he realized that the army Warwick had raised had been handed over to Sir Robert’s command and was actually moving against his smaller royal force, Edward had Lord Welles brought to the battlefield and gave Sir Robert an ultimatum to lay down his arms or see his father executed. Believing it an empty threat, Sir Robert refused to surrender and he and his rebel army had watched in horror as Lord Welles’s head was immediately lopped from his body. His anguished son launched an instant attack but at the first barrage of royal cannon fire he was abandoned by most of his troops. Captured in the rout, he was executed a week later. Clearly Lady Margaret was enraged by this ferocious Yorkist revenge on her mother’s kin and anti-Yorkist feeling in England needed only to find a leader. Warwick was perfectly fitted for this role but he needed French ships and men and King Louis would only grant them if his Lancastrian cousins were returned to power. The Spider wished to extend his web across the Channel.

No sooner had I absorbed the content of this letter than a page knocked on my chamber door with an urgent summons to attend King René in his chamber. He greeted me graciously, bending down from his throne to raise me from my knees. Even in private His Highness displayed the trappings of royalty, sitting beneath a blue brocade canopy hung with silver tassels and wearing one of his many gem-encrusted crowns – a gold circlet with trefoils, which admirably set off his thick silver hair. Beneath it his bulldog countenance was relieved by a genial expression, his dark brown eyes twinkling conspiratorially while his thin lips curved deeply downwards into ample jowls. I liked him and I believed he liked me.

‘There is news from Louis, Lord Jasper,’ he said, cutting straight to the point. ‘He has had word from the Earl of Warwick. The Calais garrison remained loyal to Edward’s crown and prevented Warwick’s ships from entering harbour, even in a fierce storm, so they were blown around Cap Griz Nez. Voilá – the Warwick is in France, whether he likes it or not.’ He gave me the briefest of smiles, revealing brown-streaked teeth. ‘He has his whole family with him and Louis wishes you to go to Boulogne and greet them. It seems there was some drama on board during the voyage and they need help.’