I heard Robert’s voice and his raucous laughter before we reached the door of his cell. He shared quarters with his brothers; not for them the putrid air of the dungeons below but apartments in the Beauchamp Tower with high arched ceilings and light from outside. Though the family was disgraced, the Duchess still retained sufficient funds to keep her surviving sons in comfort.

The laughter shut off abruptly as the gaoler opened the door and ushered me into the room. They were all there: Robert, John, Ambrose and Henry, gathered around a table that was littered with playing cards, tankards and empty wine flagons. The fifth place, where until recently their brother Guildford would have sat, was empty testament to his death on the scaffold.

“Praise be, a visit from my lovely wife!” Robert staggered to his feet, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “How do you fare, sweeting?” He kissed me clumsily. His breath stank of wine and there were stains on his doublet. I could smell stale sweat on him and tried not to flinch away. Imprisonment, boredom and drink had coarsened these men, or perhaps I was simply seeing what had previously been hidden beneath the silks and courtly manners.

Henry stood up too. “I need some fresh air,” he said, “or I will run mad.” His gaze dwelt on me. “I do not want to have to hear the sounds of your swiving, brother. It makes me envious.”

“Send out for a trull then,” Robert said crudely. He kissed me again, long, lingering, making a point. I stood stiff beneath the embrace, if that was what it was.

“I have news,” I told Robert, when he finally released me. “Your mother works hard to plead your cause with the Queen, as does your brother-in-law Sidney.” I thought that the mention of the Duchess might steady him, that it might restore them all to some semblance of sobriety, but they did not care. Henry paused a moment before ostentatiously turning his back and rapping on the door for the gaoler to escort him up to the roof leads. Ambrose and John turned their attention back to the game of tables. Robert caught my wrist and pulled me through to the inner chamber where, without further words he tumbled me amongst his frowsty blankets like a common whore. I could hear the shouts of his brothers at their game just beyond the door and feel the cold air on my bare thighs and Robert’s clumsy hands on me and smell his wine-laden breath. It was all over in moments.

I had enjoyed the intimacy of marriage in the early days, or perhaps I had enjoyed the fact that Robert so transparently desired me. At least then he had made some effort to please me as well as himself. Now he made no attempt and I was shaking as he rolled off me and I tidied my clothes and smoothed my hair. I felt used and drab. My mind spun as I tried to find some way to anchor myself and restore some semblance of self-respect. This was not a man I could easily continue to love.