‘Praise from the expert, Geoffrey,’ Edmund told him. ‘You may not be aware that my lady has witnessed more kills than she has years. She is truly a Diana.’

Margaret giggled, a sound that was to become a familiar accompaniment to the week’s activities. ‘Only in some respects, my lord,’ she said, reaching out to lay an affectionate hand on her husband’s arm. ‘Diana was a virgin goddess and I am a married woman. Besides, I would never turn Master Pole into a stag, even if he did find me bathing naked in the woods.’

I was too stunned at the implication of Margaret’s denial of virginity to be surprised at her knowledge of Roman mythology and I squirmed as I detected a note of lust in Edmund’s responding chuckle. ‘If he did I would set the dogs on him myself,’ he declared, leaning from his horse to slide his arm around his wife’s waist and whisper something in her ear that made her blush.

I realized then with intense regret that I had allocated too many chambers to Margaret and Edmund. I turned my face away, for rage though I might against my libidinous brother, there was nothing I could do except pray for a substantial delay to any pregnancy.

The hounds found scent twice more that day and I thanked the rules of etiquette that I could not assume the honour of the kill because I was bound to cede it to Edmund and Owen as my guests. Had I been obliged to aim an arrow at a cowering stag my anger might have caused my aim to wander unforgivably.

I did not speak with Edmund alone for several days. I kept busy with my duties as host, which I could have delegated to Maredudd, who was more than capable of taking some of the responsibilities off my shoulders, but I was grateful to be occupied arranging minstrels and huntsmen for the pleasure of my guests. Had I found myself alone with Edmund before I had simmered down, I feared I might have said something I would regret, something that might also have lost me the friendship and respect of Margaret. Finally I confronted him as he emerged from the mews in the hour before Margaret’s birthday feast, the final event of our hunting party.

Edmund was grinning broadly and eager to confide the reason for his being there. ‘Come and see what I ordered from London, Jas. My falconer has just attached them to Margaret’s favourite merlin.’ He put his arm around my shoulders and led me back into the wooden lean-to, which served as a mews for the hawks. Margaret’s little merlin Elaine was dozing on her perch, tired after bringing down a variety of birds during the day. ‘Take a good look at her, Jas. Do you notice anything different?’