‘Secretary Thomas Cromwell is of your religion,’ he says quietly. Lotte whispers the German words into my ear so that I can be sure of understanding him. ‘He has wrongly protected some hundreds of Lutherans in this city which is under my command.’

I understand the words, of course, but not their significance.

‘They are heretics,’ he says. ‘They deny the authority of the king as a spiritual leader, and they deny the sacred miracle of the sacrifice of Jesus Christ, that his wine becomes blood. This is the belief of the Church of England. To deny it is a heresy punished with death.’

I put my hand gently on Lotte’s arm. I know these are most perilous matters, but I don’t know what I should say.

‘Secretary Cromwell himself could be charged with heresy if the king knew that he had sheltered these men,’ Lord Lisle says. ‘I was telling his son, Gregory, that these men should be charged, whoever protects them. I was warning him that I cannot look to one side, I was warning him that good Englishmen think as I do, that God will not be mocked.’

‘I know nothing of these English matters,’ I say carefully. ‘I wish only to be guided by my husband.’ I think briefly of my brother who has charged me with bringing my husband away from these Papist superstitions into the clarity of reform. I think I shall have to disappoint him again.

Lord Lisle nods, he bows and steps back. ‘Forgive me,’ he says. ‘I should not have troubled you with this. I just wanted to make clear that I resent Thomas Cromwell’s protection of these people and that I am wholly loyal to the king and to his church.’

I nod, for what else can I say or do? And he goes out of the room. I turn to Lotte.

‘That’s not quite right,’ she says very quietly. ‘He did accuse the Master Cromwell of protecting Lutherans, but the son, Gregory Cromwell, accused him of being a secret Papist, and said that he would be watched. They were threatening each other.’

‘What does he expect me to do?’ I ask blankly. ‘He can hardly think that I would judge on such a matter?’

She looks troubled. ‘Perhaps to speak to the king? To influence him?’

‘Lord Lisle as good as told me that in his eyes I am a heretic myself. I deny that the wine turns into blood. Anyone of any sense must know that such a thing cannot happen.’

‘Do they really execute heretics in England?’ the woman asks nervously.

I nod.

‘How?’

‘They burn them at the stake.’

At her aghast expression I am about to explain that the king knows of my faith and is supposed to be allying with my Protestant brother and his league of Protestant dukes; but there is a shout at the door and the ships are ready to leave.

‘Come on,’ I say with a sudden rush of bravado. ‘Let’s go anyway, whatever the dangers. Nothing can be worse than Cleves.’