I hesitate, thinking of the king’s nervous tremor of the head, of the way he flinches at sudden noise. He will be unhappy in London, he will be frightened in Westminster. The lords will appeal to his judgement and demand that he rules. He cannot do it. ‘There will be continual quarrels in the council and shouting. He will break down, Margaret.’

‘I will order your husband home,’ she tempts me. ‘I will tell the king to pardon the garrison and allow the guard home. Richard can come home and see his grandson, and meet his son. He has not even seen your new baby.’

‘A bribe,’ I remark.

‘A brilliant bribe,’ she replies. ‘Because it’s irresistible, isn’t it? So do you agree? Shall we set the king to claim his throne again?’

‘Would you stop on this course if I disagree with you?’

She shakes her head. ‘I am determined. Whether you are with me or not, Jacquetta, I will take command through my husband, I will save England for my son.’

‘Then bring Richard home and we will support you. I want him in my life again, in my sight, and in my bed.’

WESTMINSTER PALACE, LONDON,

SPRING 1456

Richard’s recall from Calais is one of the first acts of the restored king. We go in state to Westminster and announce the king’s recovery to the council. It goes better than I had dared to hope. The king is gracious and the council openly relieved at his return; the king is now to govern with the advice of the Duke of York. The king pardons the garrison of Calais for refusing to admit both York and Warwick, and he signs a pardon especially for Richard, to forgive him for his part in the rebellion against the lord protector.

‘Your husband is a loyal servant to me and my house,’ he remarks to me, when he comes to the queen’s rooms before dinner. ‘I will not forget it, Lady Rivers.’

‘And may he come home?’ I ask. ‘He has been away such a long time, Your Grace.’

‘Soon,’ he promises me. ‘I have written to him and to Lord Welles that I myself appoint the Earl of Warwick as Captain of Calais and so they can take it as my command that they are to admit him. When they admit the earl, and he takes up his post, youd can come home.’ He sighs. ‘If only they would live together in loving kindness,’ he says. ‘If only they would be as birds in the trees, as little birds in the nest.’

I curtsey. The king is drifting into one of his dreams. He has a vision of a kinder world, a better world, which nobody could deny. But it is no help for those of us who have to live in this one.

The king’s pain at his unexpected wound, his shock at the brutality of battle and the cruelty of death in the streets of St Albans seems to have gone very deep. He says that he is well now, we have given thanks in a special Mass, and everyone has seen him walk without stumbling, talk to petitioners, and sit on his throne; but neither the queen nor I can feel confident that he won’t drift away again. He especially dislikes noise or disagreement, and the court, the parliament and the king’s council is riven with faction; there are daily quarrels between the followers of the York lords and our people. Any trouble, any discord, any unhappiness, and his gaze drifts away, he looks out of the window and he falls silent, slipping away in a daydream. The queen has learned never to disagree with him, and the little prince is whisked from the room whenever he raises his voice or runs about. The whole court tiptoes about its business so as not to disturb the king, and so far we have managed to keep him in at least the appearance of kingship.