Meanwhile my brother recovered again and dismissed the Duke of York, who disappeared in fury to Fotheringhay. Bravely in my opinion, Somerset returned to Henry’s side and decided that the court should move from a hostile London to the Lancastrian heartland of the Midlands. In May I brought my retinue from Pembroke to join the large escorting army deemed necessary to protect the royal family on their journey north.

Queen Marguerite rode beside the litter that carried her eighteen-month-old son, but once we had cleared London she let him sit smiling on the pommel of her saddle, waving at passers by. The Earl of Wiltshire and I were invited to ride beside her and it was during this time that I learned the details of Henry’s mysterious malady.

‘It strikes when it will, out of nowhere, Jasper,’ Marguerite explained. ‘There is no warning and apparently no remedy, and when it passes, after days or even weeks, it leaves him a little more depleted each time. My Édouard must grow quickly if there is to be a king on the throne who can hold England together, for I fear Henry will steadily become more unfit for the task. It is hard enough now to get him to concentrate on matters of state. James here knows how difficult it is to get him to understand the Treasury papers he has to sign.’

I glanced across at James Butler, Earl of Wiltshire, who rode knee-to-knee with the queen at her other side. He was close in age to Marguerite and had always been about the court in one way or another, particularly in the queen’s company, but his prominence had been but lately achieved. During York’s Protectorate Wiltshire, like Somerset, had been sent to house arrest in the Tower, ostensibly for crimes committed during disputes over his estates in the west country, but he had been swiftly released when the Protectorate was ended and promoted to the office of Treasurer of England. I realized that since then Marguerite had come to rely on his counsel a great deal and for the first time I discerned the roots of the scandal spread by the London mudslingers. Wiltshire was the kind of handsome, dashing figure that King Henry would never be and the favour Marguerite showed him was enough to set tongues wagging both in and outside the court. Remembering Marguerite’s veiled proposal to me a few years before, I even found myself looking for signs of Wiltshire’s blond good looks in the little prince but saw only his mother’s dark eyes and colouring.

‘Prince Edward seems to be doing his best to grow at a rapid rate, your grace,’ I responded. ‘He is already threatening to take the reins of your horse I see.’