‘What has he confessed?’ I ask.

‘Never you mind. You tell me. What did you do?’

‘I was very young,’ I say. I peep up at him in case he is disposed to be sorry for me. He is! He is! His eyes are actually filled with tears. This is such a good sign that I feel much more confident. ‘I was very young and all the girls in the ladies’ chamber were badly behaved, I am afraid. They were not good friends and advisors to me.’

He nods. ‘They allowed the young men of the household to come in to the girls’ chamber?’

‘They did. And Francis came in at night to court another girl; but then he took a fancy to me.’ I pause. ‘She wasn’t half as pretty as me, and I didn’t even have my lovely clothes then.’

The archbishop sighs for some reason. ‘This is vanity. You are supposed to be confessing your sin with the young man.’

‘I am! I am confessing. I am very distressed. He was very pressing. He insisted. He swore he was in love with me, and I believed him. I was very young. He promised me marriage, I thought we were married. He insisted.’

‘He came to your bed?’

I want to say, ‘No.’ But if that fool Dereham has told them everything, then all I can do is make it seem better. ‘He did. I did not invite him, but he insisted. He forced me.’

‘He raped you?’

‘Yes, almost.’

‘Did you not cry out? You were in the room with all the other young ladies? They would have heard you.’

‘I let him do it. But I did not want it.’

‘So he lay with you.’

‘Yes. But he was never naked.’

‘He was fully dressed?’

‘I mean he was never naked except for when he took his hose down. And then he was.’

‘He was, what?’

‘He was naked then.’ Even to me this sounds weak.

‘And he took your virginity.’

I cannot see a way to avoid this. ‘Er . . .’

‘He was your lover.’

‘I don’t think . . .’

He rises from his feet as if he would go. ‘This does you no good at all. I cannot save you if you lie to me.’

I am so afraid of him walking away that I cry out, and run after him and catch his arm. ‘Please, Archbishop. I will tell you. I am just so ashamed, and so sorry . . .’ I am sobbing now, he looks so stern and if he does not take my side then how shall I explain all this to the king? And I am afraid of the archbishop; but I am utterly terrified of the king.

‘Tell me. You lay with him. You were as husband and wife to each other.’

‘Yes,’ I say, driven to honesty. ‘Yes, we were.’

He lifts my hand from his arm as if I have some infection of the skin and he does not want to touch me. As if I am a leper. I, who only two days ago was so precious that the whole country thanked God that the king had found me! It is not possible. It is not possible that everything could have gone so wrong so quickly.