‘Can the king give her a child?’ Richard asks bluntly, going to the very core of the matter.

‘I think he can,’ I say. ‘But he does not come often to her room.’

‘The man’s a fool,’ my husband says. ‘A woman like Margaret cannot be neglected. D’you think the duke has eyes for her?’

I nod.

Richard scowls. ‘I think you could trust him to do nothing which would endanger her or the throne. It would be a selfish villain who would seduce her. She has everything to lose, and it would cost the throne of England as well. He’s no fool. They are close, they are bound to be close, they are both in attendance on the king for most of every day. But Edmund Beaufort is running this kingdom through the king, he would not jeopardise his own future – never mind hers. The most important thing is for her to get an heir.’

‘She can hardly do it alone,’ I say crossly.

He laughs at me. ‘No need to defend her to me. But while there is no child then Richard, Duke of York, is the rightful heir, but the king keeps favouring others of his family: Humphrey, Duke of Buckingham, who takes precedence, and Edmund Beaufort. Now I hear he is bringing his half-brothers, the Tudor boys, to court as well. It makes everyone uneasy. Who does he think is his heir? Would he dare to put Richard, Duke of York, aside for one of these favourites?’

‘He’s young,’ I say. ‘She’s young. They could get a child.’

‘Well, he’s not likely to die on campaign like his father,’ my husband the soldier says cruelly. ‘He keeps himself safe enough.’

* * *

At the end of the twelve days of Christmas Richard has to go back to his post at Calais. I go down to the river to see him set sail. He is wearing his thick travelling cloak against the cold wintry mist and he wraps it around us both as we stand on the quayside. Inside the warmth, my head against his shoulder, my arms tight around his broad back, I hold him as if I cannot bear to let him go. ‘I’ll come to Calais,’ I promise.

‘Sweetheart, there is nothing for you there at all. I will come home again at Easter, or earlier.’

‘I can’t wait till Easter.’

‘Then I will come sooner. Whenever you bid me. You know that. When you want me I will come.’

‘Can’t you just go and inspect the garrison and come back?’

‘Perhaps; if there is no expedition into Normandy this spring. The duke hopes to mount one. Does the queen say anything?’

‘She says whatever the duke says.’

‘If we don’t have an expedition by spring there won’t be one this year, and I can come home to you,’ he promises.

‘You had better come home in the summer,’ I warn him. ‘Whatever happens. I will have something I will want you to see.’