Her lips pursed and her voice dropped almost to a whisper, so that I had to bend my head to hear her. ‘The king will be the father of my children of course, when God permits it, but we have waited a long time as you cannot have failed to notice. Too long.’

Conversation all around us effectively prevented her words reaching any ears but mine; even so the blood rushed to my cheeks and I suddenly felt hot all over. The subject seemed far too intimate for such a public situation; too intimate for discussion between us at all. Instinctively I glanced across at King Henry on his throne, removed from the dancing and conversing with the Duke of Somerset, who perched beside him on a stool. As we drew nearer Queen Marguerite tightened her grip on my hand and drew me to a halt. We stood isolated in the respectful space preserved between the energetic activity of the dance floor and the raised dais with its royal presence, alone in the midst of many.

The queen took a deep breath and locked eyes with me. ‘We have been married nearly seven years and I have been a true wife to him only as many times. How can Henry imagine we will ever give England an heir? Yet it is not him the people blame, it is me. You can help me in this matter, Jasper, I know you can.’

I felt the room spin around me. Could I trust what I was hearing? Was the queen actually suggesting that I might get her with child? I could not believe this was what she meant but I perceived deep desperation in her dark eyes. Outwardly she was the glamorous, twenty-one-year-old Queen of England but inwardly perhaps she was still the girl of just fifteen who had married a king, with no one to turn to for help in achieving the one thing she must to fulfil her life’s purpose. Except now she had chosen me. What could I say? What should I say?

My throat constricted and I swallowed again. ‘I am flattered that you think so, your grace. It will always be my intention to serve you but in this matter I cannot immediately see how.’