‘Saw him go down myself, outside a tavern. He had been hiding in it, he wouldn’t surrender. He broke out with his men, thought he would fight himself out; but they cut him down on the threshold.’

‘Who? Who cut him down?’

‘The Earl of Warwick,’ he says shortly.

I nod, recognising a death-feud. ‘And where is the king now?’

‘Held by the Duke of York. They will rest tonight and pick up the wounded, they are looting St Albans, of course, the town will be all but destroyed. And then tomorrow they will all come to London.’

‘The king is fit to travel?’ I am so afraid for him, this is his first battle and it sounds like a massacre.

‘He is going in state,’ the messenger says mirthlessly. ‘With his good friend the Duke of York on one side, the Earl of Salisbury, Richard Neville, on the other, and the earl son, the young Earl of Warwick, hero of the battle, leading the way holding the king’s sword.’

‘A procession?’

‘A triumphant procession, for some of them.’

‘The House of York has the king, they are carrying his sword before them, and they are coming to London?’

‘He is going to show himself wearing the crown so that everyone knows he is well, and in his right mind at the moment. In St Paul’s. And the Duke of York is going to set the crown on his head.’

‘A crown-wearing?’ It is hard not to shiver. It is one of the sacred moments of a reign, when a king shows himself to his people in his coronation crown again. It is done to tell the world that the king has returned to them, that he is in his power. But this is going to be different. This will show the world that he has lost his power. He is going to show the world that the Duke of York holds the crown but lets him wear it. ‘He is going to allow the duke to crown him?’

‘And we are all to know that their differences have been resolved.’

I glance towards the door. I know that Margaret will be waiting for me, and I will have to tell her that the Duke of Somerset is dead, and her husband in the hands of her enemy.

‘Nobody can think that this is a lasting peace,’ I say quietly. ‘Nobody can think that the differences are resolved. It is the start of bloodshed, not the end of it.’

‘They had better think it, for it is going to be treason even to talk about the battle,’ he says grimly. ‘They say we must forget about it. As I came away, they passed a law that we were all to say nothing. It is to be as if it never was. What d’you think of that, eh? They passed a law to say we must be silent.’

‘They expect people to behave as if it didn’t happen!’ I exclaim.

His smile is grim. ‘Why not? It wasn’t a very big battle, my lady. It wasn’t very glorious. The greatest duke hid in a tavern and came out to his death. It was all over in half an hour, and the king never even drew his sword. They found him hiding in a tanner’s shop amid the flayed hides and they chased his army through the pigsties and gardens. It isn’t one that any of us are going to be proud to remember. Nobody will be telling this at the fireside ten years from now. No-one will tell his grandson about it. All of us who were there will be glad to forget it. It’s not as if we were a happy few, a band of brothers.’