‘Well, as long as you remember that your name is Henry,’ his mother responded. ‘It was your father’s wish that you carry the name of the Lancastrian kings.’

‘I know.’ Harri nodded solemnly. ‘I will never forget. You need have no fear of that.’

At Coldharbour Inn that evening Sir Henry Stafford joined us for supper and introduced me to his Steward and Receiver-General, a young man called Reginald Bray. I was immediately impressed by his polite manner and incisive grasp of England’s precarious political situation. Margaret and Sir Henry obviously rated him highly because they trusted him not only with the management of their numerous residences scattered about the country and their large household of servants but also as their Receiver General, the official who collected all the revenues from their widespread estates.

‘Reginald is my right-hand man,’ declared Sir Henry. ‘I really do not know what I would do without him, especially since I have been struck with my unfortunate malady.’

At first this malady had been feared to be the dreaded leprosy but later it was diagnosed as St Anthony’s fire, which periodically spread a painful red rash over his face and arms. A sudden flare up of this affliction had prevented him coming to Westminster, its effects being only too visible; bearable in a family environment but causing him too much discomfort and embarrassment to expose to the critical eyes of the royal court.

‘While we were at court Sir Henry and Master Bray have been devising ways of providing a suitable income for my son, to tide him over until we win back his rightful lands,’ Margaret said, taking a seat at the head of the table, a place which her husband seemed perfectly content to concede to her. Turning to Sir Henry, she went on, ‘Lord Jasper believes I can persuade my lord of Warwick to agree to strip Clarence of his Richmond estates,’ she confided, ‘but personally I fear it might incur that young man’s easily-stirred wrath.’

‘Indeed, my lady.’ It was Reginald who spoke. ‘It might be more politic at this stage to make provision for Master Tudor from the Somerset estates, at least until he comes of age.’ He smiled encouragingly at Harri who sat beside him, washing his hands in a bowl of water held by a kneeling page. ‘By then I am sure he will have proved himself more than worthy of them.’