He limps from the arena and the victor of this first joust takes a slow canter around the outside circle, his lance held upright, acknowledging the shouts from the crowd who have won their bets on him. I look back at my ladies and Lady Lisle is gazing after the young man as if she adores him and Katherine Howard, with a cape thrown around her costume, is watching him from the back of the box.

‘Enough,’ I say. I have to learn to command my ladies. They have to behave as my mother would approve. The Queen of England and her ladies must be above question. Certainly the three of us should not be gawping after a handsome young man. ‘Katherine, get dressed at once. Lady Lisle, where your husband his lordship?’

They both nod, and Katherine whisks away. I sit back on my throne while another champion and his challenger ride into the ring. This time the poem is very long and in Latin, and my hand creeps to my pocket where a letter rustles. It is from Elizabeth, the six-year-old princess. I have read it and re-read it so often that I know I have her meaning, indeed, I almost have every word by heart. She promises me her respect as a queen and her entire obedience to me as her mother. I could almost weep for her, dear little girl, creating these great solemn phrases and then copying them over and over until the handwriting is as regular as any royal clerk. Clearly, she hopes to come to court and indeed, I do think that she might be allowed to enter my household. I have maids in waiting who are not very much older than her and it would be such a pleasure to have her with me. Besides, she lives all but alone, in her own household with her governess and nurse. Surely the king would prefer her to be near us, to be supervised by me?

There is a fanfare of trumpets and I look up to see the riders drawn to one side and saluting as the king limps across the arena to the front of my box. The pages spring to open the doors so that he can mount the steps. He has to be heaved up by a young man on either side. I know enough about him by now to know that this, before a watching crowd, will make him bad-tempered. He feels humiliated and self-conscious and his first desire will be to humiliate someone else. I stand and curtsey to greet him, I never know whether I should put out my hand or reach forwards in case he wants to kiss me. Today, before the crowd that likes me, he draws me to him and kisses me on the mouth and everyone cheers. He is clever at this; he always does something to please the crowd.

He sits on his chair and I stand beside him.

‘Culpepper took a hard knock,’ he says.