Margaret gives me a merry smile. ‘He has been most angry with me,’ she says. ‘He is not speaking to me for rage. But see, here you are, safe now.’

‘I am safe now,’ I agree.

‘Now come! Come!’ she urges. ‘We are on the trail of the traitor Salisbury. And we are not far behind him.’

* * *

We have a wild couple of days, riding at the head of the royal army. The king is restored to health by action, he is once again the young man that we thought might rule the kingdom. He rides at the head of his army and Margaret rides beside him, as if they were true husband and wife: friends and comrades in deed as well as by contract. The weather is warm, a golden end of summer, and the harvest is in from the fields leaving golden stubble, criss-crossed by hundreds of loping hare. There is a big harvest moon in the evenings so bright that we can march late into the night. One night we set up tents and camp, just as if we were on an evening hunting party. We have news of the York lords; they have met together at Worcester and swore a solemn oath of loyalty in the cathedral, and sent a message to the king.

‘Send it back to them,’ the queen snaps. ‘We have seen what their loyalty is worth. They killed Lord Audley and Lord Dudley, they killed Edmund Beaufort. We won’t parley with them.’

‘I think I might send a public pardon,’ the king says mildly. He beckons the Bishop of Salisbury to his side. ‘A public pardon so that they know they can be forgiven,’ he says.

The queen compresses her lips and shakes her head. ‘No message,’ she says to the bishop. ‘No pardon,’ she says to the king.

Like a rat outside its hole, Richard, Duke of York, takes his stand outside his own town of Ludlow. He and the two lords, Warwick and Salisbury, take up position, on the far side of the Ludford Bridge. On our side of the river the king flies the royal standard, and sends one last offer of pardon to any soldier who abandons his loyalty to the Duke of York, and comes over to us.

That night, my husband comes into the royal chambers where the queen and I and a couple of ladies are sitting with the king. ‘I have a comrade who served with me in Calais who wants to leave Earl of Salisbury and come to our side,’ Richard says. ‘I have promised him full pardon and a welcome. I have to know that he can trust this.’

We all look to the king who smiles mildly. ‘Of course,’ he says. ‘Everyone can be forgiven if they truly repent.’

‘I have your word, Your Grace?’ Richard asks.

‘Oh yes. Everyone can be forgiven.’

Richard turns to the queen. ‘And I have yours?’

The queen rises from her chair. ‘Who is it?’ she asks eagerly.