On the second day of our march, the four of us riding at the head of the army see a lone horseman, standing by the roadsideof iting for us to come up. Richard nods to Anthony and John. ‘Go and see who that is,’ he says. ‘Take care. I don’t want to find that he’s a scout and Warwick is the other side of the hill.’

My two boys canter slowly towards the man, holding the reins in their left hands, their right hands held down, outspread, to show they are holding no weapon. The man trots towards them, making the same gesture. They halt to speak briefly then all three turn and ride towards us.

The stranger is filthy from the mud of the road and his horse’s coat is matted with sweat. He is unarmed, he has a scabbard at his side but he has lost his sword.

‘A messenger,’ Anthony says with a nod to the queen who has pulled up her horse and is waiting. ‘Bad news, I am afraid, Your Grace.’

She waits, impassively, as a queen should wait for bad news.

‘Edward of March has come out of Wales like a sun in winter,’ the man says. ‘I was there. Jasper Tudor sent me to tell you to beware the sun in splendour.’

‘He never did,’ my husband interrupts. ‘Jasper Tudor never sent such a message in his life. Tell us what you were ordered to say, fool, and don’t embroider.’

Corrected, the man straightens in his saddle. ‘Tudor told me to say this: that his army is defeated and that he is in hiding. We met the York force and we lost. Sir William Herbert led the Yorks against us; Edward of March was at his side. They broke the Welsh line and rode right through us, Jasper sent me to you to warn you. He was on his way to join you when Edward blocked our path.’

The queen nods. ‘Will Jasper Tudor come on to join us?’

‘Half his army is dead. The Yorks are everywhere. I doubt he’ll get through. He might be dead now.’

She takes a breath but says nothing.

‘There was a vision,’ the man offers, one eye on Richard.

‘Who else saw it?’ he demands irritably. ‘Anyone? Or just you? Or you just think you did?’

‘Everyone saw it. That’s why we lost. Everyone saw it.’

‘No matter,’ my husband says.

‘What was it?’ the queen asks.

My husband sighs and rolls his eyes.

‘In the sky, over Edward Earl of March, when he raised his standard, the morning sun came up, and then there were three suns. Three suns in the sky above him, the middle one shining down on him. It was like a miracle. We didn’t know what it meant; but we could see he was blessed. We didn’t know why.’

‘Three suns,’ the queen repeats. She turns to me. ‘What does it mean?’

I turn away as if she might see, reflected in my eyes, the three suns I saw, dazzling on the water of the Thames. These are three suns I know, these three suns I have seen. But I did not know then what they meant, and I still don’t know now.