I look at the stable yard where the cavalry horses nod their heads over the stalls. One of them will be John Grey’s horse, without his rider, now and for ever.

‘I can go now,’ I say.

He nods. They bring me out a fresh horse, Richard helps me into the saddle. The door behind us opens from the abbey and the queen comes out.

‘I knew you’d go for me,’ she says to me with her sweetest smile. ‘Agree to anything for me. We have to get into London before Edward gets here.’

‘I’ll do what I can,’ I say. ‘How is His Grace today?’

She nods to the abbey. ‘Praying,’ she says. ‘If wars were won by prayers we would have won a hundred times over. And see if you can get them to send us some food. I can’t keep my army from raiding.’ She looks at Richard. ‘I’ve issued orders but the officers cannot command them.’

‘The devil from hell couldn’t command them,’ Richard says grimly. He puts his hand on my knee and looks up at me. ‘I’ll be waiting for you,’ he promises. ‘Anthony will lead your guard. You’ll be safe.’

I glance over to where Anthony is mounting into his saddle. He throws me a smiling salute. ‘Come on then,’ I say. Anthony shouts a command to our guard and we ride out of the abbey courtyard, south down the road to London.

* * *

We meet Anne the Duchess of Buckingham and her little train a few miles from the City. I smile at the duchess and she nods at me, a little toss of her head tho;ll do whows me that she can hardly believe we are suing for the royal family to enter their capital. She has lost a son in this war, her lined face is weary. She leads the way to Bishopsgate where the Lord Mayor and the aldermen come out to meet us. They don’t want to admit us, not even over the threshold. The duchess sits up high on her horse with a face like thunder, but I get down and the Lord Mayor kisses my hand and the aldermen pull off their bonnets and bow their heads as I smile around at them. Behind them I see the London merchants and the great men of the City; these are the men I have to persuade.

I tell them that the king and queen, the royal family of England with their son the prince, require entry to their own house, in their own city. Are these men going to deny their own anointed king the right to sit on his own throne or sleep in his own bed?

I see them mutter among themselves. The sense of ownership of property is a powerful argument to these men, who have worked so hard to earn their beautiful houses. Is the prince to be denied the right to walk in his father’s garden?

‘His own father denied him!’ someone calls out from the back. ‘King Henry hasn’t slept in his own bed or sat on his own chair since he handed it all over to the Duke of York! And the queen took to her heels. They gave away their palace, not us. It’s their own fault they are not at home.’