I really despair of organising the future of our family in such a world, at such a time, and instead I take comfort in the future of our lands. I start to plan to enlarge our orchard and go to a farm near Northampton where I can buy some whips of trees. Richard tells me that the seas are safe for shipping and he will get better prices for the wool from his sheep this year in the market at Calais. The roads are safe to and fromLondon, the Duke of York is restoring the powers of the sheriffs and commanding them to see that justice is done in every county. Slowly, the counties are starting to rid themselves of bandits and thieves on the highway. We never admit it, not even to each other; but these are great improvements. We start to think, never saying it out loud, that perhaps we can live like this, as country land owners in a country at peace. Perhaps we can grow an orchard, farm our sheep, watch our children come to adulthood without the fear of treachery and war. Perhaps Richard Duke of York has thrown us down from the court, but given us peace in the country.

Then, at the end of January, I see three riders come splashing down the lane, their horses’ hooves cracking the ice in the puddles. I see them from the nursery window where I am watching Katherine as she sleeps, and I know at once that they are bringing us bad news, and that these cold winter months of stillness are over. It was not a peace at all, it was just the usual winter break in a war that goes on and on forever. A war that will go on and on forever until everyone is dead. For a brief moment I even think that I will close the shutters on the windows and sit in the nursery and pretend that I am not here. I will not have to respond to a call that I don’t hear. But it is only a moment. I know that if I am summoned I have to go. I have served Lancaster for all my life, I cannot fail now.

I bend over the little crib and kiss Katherine on her warm smooth baby forehead and then I leave the nursery and close the door quietly behind me. I walk slowly down the stairs, looking over the wooden banister as down below Richard throws a cape around his shoulders and picks up his sword, and goes out to see the visitors. I wait inside the great hall, listening.

‘Sir Richard Woodville, Lord Rivers?’ says the first man.

‘Who wants him?’

The man lowers his voice. ‘The Queen of England. Do you answer to her? Are you faithful still?’

‘Aye,’ Richard says shortly.

‘I have this for you,’ the man says and proffers a letter.

Through the crack in the doorway I see Richard take it. ‘Go round the back to the stables,’ he says. ‘They’ll see you have food and ale. It’s a cold day. Go into the hall and warm yourselves. This is a loyal house; but there is no need to tell anyone where you come from.’