The king, strapped in his chair, makes a little noise in his sleep; the queen does not even glance at him.

‘Think of York, bobbing about in his ship and the guns trained down on him,’ she gloats. ‘I wish to God they had shot him. Think how it would be for us if they had only sunk his ship and he had drowned. Think if your Richard had sunk him!’

I cannot stop myself from shuddering. Surely, Richard would never have allowed his garrison to open fire on a royal duke appointed by the king’s council? I am sure of that, I have to be sure of that.

‘It’s treason,’ I say simply. ‘Whether we like York or not, he is appointed by Privy Council and parliament to rule in the king’s place with his authority. It would be treason to attack him. And to have Calais open fire on English ships is a terrible thing to show to the French.’

She shrugs. ‘Oh! Who cares? To be appointed by his own placemen is no appointment,’ she says. ‘I did not appoint him, the king did not appoint him, as far as I am concerned he has just seized power. He is a usurper and your husband should have shot him as soon as he was in range. Your husband failed to shoot him. He should have killed him when he could.’

Again the king makes a little noise. I go to his side. ‘Did you speak, Your Grace?’ I ask him. ‘Do you hear us talking? Can you hear me?’

The queen is at his side, she touches his hand. ‘Wake up,’ she says. It is all she ever says to him. ‘Wake up.’

Amazingly, for a moment, he stirs. Truly he does. For the first time in more than a year, he turns his head, he opens his eyes, he sees, I know he does, he sees our absolutely amazed faces, and then he gives a little sigh, closes his eyes, and sleeps again.

‘Physicians!’ the queen screams and runs to the door, tears it open and shouts for the doctors who are dining and drinking and resting in the presence room outside. ‘The king is awake! The king is awake!’

They come tumbling into the room, wiping their mouths on their sleeves, putting down their glasses of wine, leaving their games of chess, they surround him, they listen to his chest, they raise his eyelids and peer into his eyes, they tap his temples and prick his hands with pins. But he has slid away into sleep again.

One of them turns to me. ‘Did he speak?’

‘No, he just opened his eyes and gave a little sigh and then went back to sleep.’

He glances towards the queen and lowers his voice. ‘And his face, was it the look of a madman, when he woke? Was there any understanding in his eyes or was he blank, like an idiot?’

I think for a moment. ‘No. He looked just like himself, only coming from a deep sleep. Do you think he will wake now?’