‘At least eighteen, sire,’ I said with a grin. ‘We made merry, did we not?’ We began walking slowly down the passage that led to the king’s chamber. ‘I hope you will do the same this year, when the queen and the prince join you.’

Henry stopped suddenly and looked up at me. ‘Sir Richard told me it was Édouard’s birthday a few weeks ago. How old was he Jasper? I could not remember.’

I had to think quickly. ‘By my reckoning he is seventeen, sire.’

‘Seventeen!’ My brother’s face crumpled and, to my great concern, tears began to run down his hollow cheeks. ‘I do not know what he looks like any more,’ he moaned and his cry echoed in the empty passage. ‘I can only see him as he was when he left. He was a boy and now he is a man.’

I did not know what to say and I was worried about Harri seeing the king in such a state. I turned and saw that he was following at a discreet distance, studiously keeping his eyes on his feet. In silence, punctuated by Henry’s occasional sniffs and Sir Richard’s embarrassed coughs, we made our way to a guarded entrance, where two sentries came to attention and raised their halberds. One of them rapped on the door and it was opened from within.

‘I will take your nephew for some refreshment, Lord Pembroke,’ said Sir Richard quietly.

I nodded and beckoned Harri forward. ‘Go with the Chamberlain, Harri. I will come and find you in a little while.’

Once we were inside King Henry’s chamber I put my arm around my brother and led him to his canopied chair, motioning the duty squire, who was hovering awkwardly, to leave the room.

‘You have been lonely for too long, Henry,’ I said, pulling my kerchief from my sleeve pocket and handing it to him. ‘But soon now you will be able to enjoy being a father to your son again.’

‘Do you think he is my son, Jasper?’ he whispered, blowing his nose and peering about the room to check for listening ears. ‘I know dreadful rumours were spread at his birth but I have always believed Marguerite to be a faithful wife. I took the advice you gave me on that Christmas night and so I can believe it.’

My memories of that awkward encounter were still vivid but I was astonished that his were equally sharp. ‘Of course he is your son,’ I assured him. ‘Those rumours were spread by Yorkists to discredit you. God and his holy angels know that Prince Édouard is the trueborn heir to the throne of England. Your blood runs in his veins and now that you wear the crown again no one can doubt it.’