Even in an audience chamber full of lords and ladies wearing their most sumptuous court dress, the arrival of mother and son caused a ripple of speculative murmuring, then a hush fell upon the assembly as the two made their way towards the throne. The only glaring anachronism was the spectacle of King Henry himself, whose voluminous ermine-trimmed mantle filled more than he did of a seat made to measure for someone of Edward’s muscular knight’s physique. Despite the crown on his head, he looked like a mad mendicant rather than a monarch and I vowed to have strong words privately with Sir Richard Tunstall, whose responsibility it was to keep the royal household, and particularly its regal head, in magnificent order. As Chamberlain he was hovering behind the throne and announced Lady Margaret as she sank into a curtsy.

Remarkably, King Henry suddenly came to life and straightened up, pulling himself forward on his seat and smiling down at the lady at his feet. She gazed up at him in her turn with an expression of earnest sincerity.

‘My gracious sovereign, how good it is to see you here in your rightful place,’ she said. ‘All your loyal subjects must rejoice to find your standard flying over Westminster Palace, your grace, it has been too long absent.’

‘Thank you, my lady,’ Henry replied, holding out his bony hand. On the middle finger a magnificent sapphire ring engraved with his personal seal hung precariously on the knuckle. ‘And I rejoice to see you back at my side.’

Margaret looked somewhat puzzled by this remark but took his hand and made her declaration. ‘I humbly pledge my allegiance to your grace and to your son and heir, Édouard, Prince of Wales.’ She pressed her lips to the ring with a fervour that no one could doubt was genuine.

King Henry nodded and shifted his gaze to the youth who knelt at her shoulder. ‘How good it is to welcome our admirable prince to court,’ he said with enthusiasm, extending his hand to Harri. ‘All must surely observe in him the qualities of a worthy successor to my throne.’