Being occupied in Wales, I had not been present when Warwick had paraded with King Henry through the city, on his release from the Tower of London but the Earl of Oxford had told me that the king had been unable to control the lively white warhorse on which he had first been mounted and so it had been necessary to put him on a rather placid bay palfrey, which had not impressed the spectators. At least on this, his re-coronation, the short procession from the palace to the abbey was primarily on foot and I had ensured that Henry looked the part in a gown of royal ermine and purple, adorned with gem-studded chains, a jewelled coronet and gold rings. However, although I tried to persuade him to wear a shoulder brace that would have helped straighten and support his back, he flatly refused and so the prematurely-aged king shuffled rather than strode out confidently to reclaim his throne. The ramrod-straight physique of the youthful and soldierly John de Vere, Earl of Oxford, as Constable of England, made a poignant contrast as, mounted on a prancing black destrier, he bore the great Sword of State before the king and drew most of what acclamation was to be heard. Walking at Henry’s shoulders, the Earl of Warwick and I also received our share of approbation and I even heard someone, whom I guessed might be a stray Welshman in London, cry out ‘Long live Lord Jasper!’ from the steps of the Wardrobe Tower.

As we approached the abbey entrance we passed by St Peter’s Sanctuary tucked into the north corner of the precinct, a plain, square stone building with a single fortified door and tiny, shuttered windows piercing the upper floor. Here I imagined the former queen, Elizabeth Woodville, and her three little daughters, enclosed in their shadowy refuge, not knowing when or whether they would be able to emerge. It was certain they could hear the trumpets sounding and the drums beating out the steps of the sumptuously robed column of nobles and prelates escorting the true king back to the throne of St Edward the Confessor.