The prince rises. He looks up at his father.

‘This is Sir Thomas, and Lord Bonville,’ the king says to his wife. ‘They have been very good . . . very good.’

‘How?’ she spits.

‘They kept me amused,’ he says, smiling. ‘While it was all going on, you know. While the noise was going on. We played marbles. I won. I liked playing when the noise was going on.’

The queen looks past him at Lord Bonville. He goes down on one knee. ‘Your Grace, he is very weak,’ he says quietly. ‘Sometimes he doesn’t know himself. We stayed with him to stop him wandering off and getting hurt. He gets lost if he’s not watched. And then he gets distressed.’

She leaps to her feet. ‘How dare you? This is the King of England,’ she says. ‘He is perfectly well.’

Bonville is silenced by the look on her face but Sir Thomas Kyriell hardly hears her, he is watching the king. He steps forwards to steady Henry who is swaying and looks as if he might fall. He guides the king into the queen’s vacated chair. ‘No, I am afraid he is not well,’ he says gently, helping Henry to sit. ‘He can’t tell a hawk from a handsaw, Your Grace. He is far from us all, God bless him.’

The queen whirls around to her son in a white-faced fury. ‘These lords have held your father the king prisoner,’ she says flatly. ‘What death would you have them die?’

‘Death?’ Bonville looks up, shocked.

Sir Thomas, still holding the king’s hand in a comforting grip, says, ‘Your Grace! We have kept him safe. We were promised safe conduct. He gave us his own word!’

‘What death would you have these rebels die?’ she repeats, staring at her son. ‘These men, who kept your father prisoner, and now dare tell me that he is ill?’

The little boy puts his hand on the hilt of his sword as if he would like to kill them himself. ‘If they were common men I would put them on the gallows,’ he says in his little-boy piping voice, each word beautifully spoken as his tutor has taught him. ‘But since they are lords and peers of the realm, I say they should be beheaded.’

The queen nods at her guards. ‘Do as the prince says.’

‘Your Grace!’ Sir Thomas does not raise his voice so as not to frighten the king who is clinging to his hand.

‘Don’t go, Sir Thomas,’ the king says. ‘Don’t leave me here with . . .’ He glances at the queen but he cannot find her name again in his addled brain. ‘We can play again,’ he says as if to tempt his friend to stay with him. ‘You like to play.’

‘Your Grace.’ Sir Thomas holds his hand and gently closes his other one over it in a warm clasp. ‘I need you to tell Her Grace the queen that I have cared for you. You said that we should stay with you and we would be safe. You gave us your word! Do you remember? Don’t let the queen behead us.’