The Lord Mayor steps forwards, the keys to the City on a scarlet cushion, and bows his head to the conqueror, and hands him the keys. From all around, crowds of men are spilling out of the City gate to fall in with the soldiers behind the captain and they are greeted by his army with slaps on the back and settled into rough ranks that march past us, waving at the girls and grinning at the cheers, like an army of liberation, come at last.

The crowd follows him. I swear if he marches on Westminster at the head of such a crowd, he can seat himself on the king’s marble throne, this is a man with the City in his hand. But he leads the way to Candlewick Street where the London stone stands proudly in the street to mark the very heart of the City. He strikes the stone with his sword and at the ringing sound the crowd bellows in exultation. ‘Now is Mortimer the lord of this city!’ he shouts, and stands by the stone, holding his shield in one hand and his sword over his head, while the men cheer him.

‘To dine!’ he declares, and they all move with him to Guildhall, where the Lord Mayor will spread a dinner for him and his officers. As the crowd goes with him, eager for the off-cuts of beef and the broken baskets of bread, I slip from my horse, take hold of her reins, and lead her carefully out of the crowd, hoping to creep away unnoticed.

I edge down a side road, and then into a smaller alley. I am almost lost but I climb on a step and struggle up into the saddle and turn east, letting the slope of the street take me towards the river. I remember when I was a girl on my way to England, I was lost in the forest and Richard found me. I cannot believe that he will not come looking for me again. It does not seem possible that I should have touched him for the last time, kissed him for the last time; and now I cannot remember the last words I said to him. At least we parted lovingly, I know that. I cannot remember the words that we said nor how we looked; but I know that we parted tenderly, because we always parted tenderly. We used to kiss each other goodnight, we would kiss each other at breakfast. He was always loving to me, even when he should not have thought of me as anything but his lady. Even when I trapped him into giving me our child, and insisted on a secret marriage. For fourteen years he has been lover and husband, and now I am afraid that he is lost to me.

I give my horse her head and let her pick her way through the maze of dirty streets. She knows well enough where the Westminster stables are, and I do not care. When I think of Richard dead in a ditch in Kent, I want to lie down in the gutter and die myself. I put my hand on my belly and think of the child who will never know her father. How can it be that I shall not show Richard his new baby?