She squeezed my hand again and turned to glance at King Henry who, alarmingly, was gazing straight at us with a puzzled look on his face. ‘No, I can see that you do not,’ she said, suddenly flashing me a dazzling smile, ‘but perhaps you will give it some thought. It is a matter of some importance that the kingdom has an heir. I asked my lord of Somerset’s advice but he is still thinking about it.’ She aimed her social smile at the king and he turned hastily away. ‘For now, perhaps you might get Henry to enjoy himself a little? It is Christmas and people like to see him laugh at such a time. Now you may take me back to the king.’

Queen Marguerite’s ladies materialized as if from nowhere and helped settle her voluminous skirts between the arms of her throne. The king half rose to greet her return and the Duke of Somerset took the opportunity to slip away in the direction of a servant who was circulating with a flagon of hippocras.

‘I enjoyed the dance you did with Jasper, my lady,’ King Henry said. ‘It was very graceful, but the first dance was a little – err – vigorous was it not? Rather undignified for a queen.’

Queen Marguerite smiled blandly and ignored the implied criticism. ‘Your brother is going to procure some hippocras, my liege. I think a digestif might be good for all of us.’

She looked at me and moved her eyes meaningfully in the direction the duke had taken and I needed no second bidding, quickly commandeering the servant’s flagon before sending him off to fetch sweetmeats as well. As I poured the wine into the cups set out on a table between the two thrones the musicians struck up again. It needed surprisingly little persuasion on the part of the queen for Henry to accept a measure of the sweet, spiced hippocras and I obeyed his invitation to take the duke’s vacated stool. In due course the servant provided a heaped platter of almond wafers and the three of us nibbled and drank as we watched the dancing.

Fortified with the heady wine, Somerset had taken to the floor with his niece Margaret Beaufort, and Queen Marguerite was quick to remark that they made an odd couple.

‘I am reminded of the story of the ogre and the little maid my nurse told me when I was a child,’ she said. ‘Do you know it?’

She held out her cup, which I hastily rose to fill, and it was the king who answered.

‘I cannot allow you to call Somerset an ogre, my lady!’ he protested, looking shocked but amused at the same time. ‘He is a man of culture and refinement.’