‘I’ll see him in my presence chamber,’ she says. ‘So that everyone can see we are not meeting in secret. But you stand before us so we can talk privately.’

He comes in looking grave and handsome and kneels before her till she tells him that he can sit. I stand absent-mindedly between them and the rest of the ladies and his entourage, so that nobody can hear their quiet-voiced conversation above the ripple of the harp.

They exchange three urgent sentences and then she rises to her feet and the court rises too and she grits her teeth and leads the way into dinner, like the queen she is, to the great hall, where the men greet her in silence and the king’s chair is empty.

After dinner she calls me to her side.

‘They can’t wake him,’ she says tightly. ‘The grooms tried to wake him for dinner but he would not stir. The duke has sent for the physicians to see if he is sick.’

I nod.

‘We’ll sit in my rooms,’ she decides, and leads the way from the hall. As we go out there is a whisper like a breeze, men saying one to another that the king is mortally weary.

We wait for them to report in the queen’s presence chamber, half the court gathered around, waiting to hear what is wrong with the king. The door opens and the physicians come in and the queen beckons them to enter her private rooms, with the duke, and me, and half a dozen others.

‘The king seems to be in good health, but he is sleeping,’ one of the doctors, John Arundel, says.

‘Can you wake him up?’

‘We judged it best to let him sleep,’ Dr Faceby replies, bowing. ‘It might be best to let him sleep and wake when he is ready. Grief and a shock will sometimes be healed with a sleep, a long sleep.’

‘A shock?’ the duke asks sharply. ‘What shock has the king had? What did he say?’

‘The news from France,’ the doctor stumbles. ‘I believe the messenger blurted it out.’

‘Yes, he did,’ I say. ‘The queen fainted and I took her into her rooms.’

Margaret nips her lip. ‘Does he speak?’

‘Not a word, not a word, since last night.’

She nods as if it is of no matter to her whether he speaks or not, she is only concerned for his health. ‘Very well. Do you think he will wake in the morning?’

‘Oh, almost certainly,’ Dr Faceby answers. ‘Often someone will sleep deeply after distressing news. It is the body’s way to heal itself.’

‘And wake remembering nothing?’ she asks. The duke looks down at the floor as if indifferent.

‘You may have to tell him of the loss of Gascony all over again, when he wakes,’ the doctor agrees.

She turns to the duke. ‘My lord, please give the king’s grooms the order that they should wake him, as usual, in the morning, and prepare his rooms and his clothes as usual.’