The excitement in the room is dying down very fast as everyone realises that the king is quite inert, though they go on pulling him and patting him and speaking loudly in his ears.

‘No,’ the man says. ‘He is gone again.’

The queen turns, her face dark with anger. ‘Can’t you wake him? Slap him!’

‘No.’

The little court at Windsor has been settled for so long to a routine that revolves around the queen and her little boy who is now learning to speak, and can stagger from one waiting hand to another. But things are changing. In the king’s rooms I think he is beginning to stir. They have been watching over him, and feeding him and washing him, but they had given up trying to cure him, as nothing that they did seemed to make any difference. Now we are starting to hope again that in his own time and without any physic, he is coming out of his sleep. I have taken to sitting with him for the morning, and another lady waits with him till evening. The queen visits briefly every afternoon. I have been watching him, and I think his sleep is lifting, I think it is getting lighter, and sometimes I am almost certain that he can hear what we say.

Of course, I start to wonder what he will know, when he comes out of his sleep. More than a year ago he saw a sight so shocking that he closed his eyes and went to sleep so that he should see it no more. The last words he heard were mine, when I said, ‘Don’t look. Don’t see.’ If he is opening his eyes again, ready to look, ready to see, I cannot help but wonder what he will remember, what he will think of me, and if he will think that I am to blame for his long vigil in darkness and silence.

I grow so concerned that I dare to ask the queen if she thinks the king will blame us for the shock of his illness.

She looks at me limpidly. ‘You mean the terrible news from France?’ she says.

‘The way he learned it,’ I reply. ‘You were so distressed and the duke was there. I was there too. Do you think the king might feel that we should have told him the bad news with more care?’

‘Yes,’ she says. ‘If he ever gets well enough to hear us, we will say that we were sorry that we did not prepare him for the shock. It was so terrible for us all. I myself cannot remember anything about that evening. I think I fainted and the duke tried to revive me. But I don’t remember.’

‘No,’ I agree with her, understanding that this is the safest course for us all. ‘Neither do I.’

* * *

We celebrate Christmas in the hall of Windsor Castle. It is a little feast for a sadly diminished household but we have gifts and fairings for each other and little toys for the baby prince, and then, just a few days later, the king wakes, and this time, he stays awake.