Ashamed, I nod. ‘My son . . .’ I whisper, anguished.

‘He is a man now, danger comes to him like snow in winter, like flowers in springtime. He is a brave young man, I have taught him courage. Don’t you teach him to be a coward.’

My head comes up at that, and my husband chuckles. ‘So you don’t want him to go to war; but you don’t want him to be a coward? Where’s the sense in it? Now you be brave, and come and see us march out, and wave your hand and smile and give us your blessing.’

We go to the door together, his hand warm on my waist. The queen has ordered the army to troop before the drawbridge of the castle and the little prince is there on his white pony. Anthony comes from the ranks and kneels swiftly before me, and I put my hand down on the warm soft hair of his precious head.

‘God bless you, my son.’ I can hardly speak for the tightness in my throat. I can feel the tears hot in my eyes. He rises up and stands before me, excited and ready to go. I want to add, ‘And do what your father tells you, and keep your horse near you so that you can get away, and stay out of danger, and there is no need to get too close to the fighting . . .’ but Richard draws me close and kisses me quickly on the mouth to silence me.

‘God bless you, my husband,’ I say. ‘Come home safely to me, both of you.’

‘I always do,’ Richard replies. ‘And I will bring Anthony safe home too.’

The queen and I, her ladies in waiting, and the prince and his household stand and wave as they march past us, the standards flapping in the breeze and the men looking eager and confident. They are well equipped, the queen has used the money granted her by parliament which was supposed to improve defence against the French to pay for weapons and boots for this army. When they are gone and the dust has settled on the lane, the queen orders the prince to go with his nurse and turns to me.

‘And now we wait,’ she says. ‘But when they find Salisbury and join battle I want to see it. I’m going out to watch it.’

* * *

I almost think she is joking, but the next day we get a message sent from James Touchet to say that his scouts have found the Earl of Salisbury’s men and he is lying in wait for them near a little village called Blore Heath. At once the queen orders her horse as if we are going out on a ride for pleasure. ‘Are you coming with me?’ she asks.

‘The king would not like you to put yourself in danger,’ I say, already knowing that the king’s opinions mean nothing to her.

‘He won’t even know that I have gone and come back again,’ she says. ‘And I have told my ladies we are going out hawking.’