She goes white and staggers. I hold her by the waist and she leans against me. ‘The king?’

‘I went as they were fighting their way towards his tent. His lords were outside, covering his retreat, they were shouting to him to get away.’

‘Did he go?’

The darkness of his face tells us that he did not, and perhaps the lords gave their lives for nothing. ‘I didn’t see. I came to warn you. The battle is lost. You had better get yourself away. I think they may have the king.’

She turns to me. ‘Get the prince,’ she says.

Without a word I hurry to the royal nurseries and find the boy in his travelling cape and riding breeches, his toys and books packed. His governor stands beside him. ‘Her Grace the queen commands that her son shall come at once,’ I say.

The man turns gravely to the six-year-old boy. ‘You are ready, Your Grace?’

‘I am ready, I am ready now,’ the little prince says bravely.

I hold out my hand but he does not take it. Instead he walks ahead of me and stands before the door, waiting for me to open it for him. At another time this would be amusing. Not today. ‘Oh, go on!’ I say impatiently, and open the door and bustle him through.

In the great hall the queen’s jewel boxes and chests of clothes are being rushed through the door to the stables. The queen is outside, her guard is mounting up. She pulls her hood over her head and nods at her son as he comes out with me.

‘Get on your horse, we have to hurry,’ she says. ‘The bad York lords have won and perhaps captured your father. We have to get you to safety. You are our only hope.’

‘I know,’ he says gravely, and steps up on the mounting block as they bring his horse to him.

To me she says, ‘Jacquetta, I will send for you as soon as I am safe.’

My head is whirling at the speed of this rout. ‘Where are you going?’

‘To Jasper Tudor in Waes to start with. If we can invade from there I will, if not France, or Scotland. I will win back my son’s inheritance, this is just a setback.’

She leans down from her saddle and I kiss her, and smooth her hair under the hood. ‘God speed,’ I say. I try to blink the tears from my eyes but I can hardly bear to see her fleeing, with her baggage and her guard and her little son, from the country that I brought her to with such hopes. ‘God speed.’

I stand in the courtyard as the small train walks to the road and then sets off, at a steady canter, due west. She will be safe if she can get to Jasper Tudor; he is a faithful man and he has been fighting for his lands in Wales ever since she gave them to him. But if they catch her on the way? I shudder. If they catch her on the way then she and the House of Lancaster are lost.