For a moment I can hardly argue. I too have thought that I wanted neither queen nor king nor prince in my life. But who is there, if not them? ‘She is the Queen of England,’ I say flatly.

‘She is our ruin,’ he replies bitterly. ‘And he is a holy fool. And the prince is none of his begetting. I am sorry, Lady Rivers, I am sorry indeed. But I cannot open the gates to the queen nor to any of her court.’

There is a shout and a noise of running feet coming to the gate. The troops behind me grasp their weapons and I hear Richard order ‘Steady!’ as Anthony takes one swift step to stand beside me, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

A man runs to the Lord Mayor and whispers urgently in his ear. He rounds on me, his face suddenly flushed red with rage. ‘Did you know of this?’

I shake my head. ‘No. Whatever it is. I know of nothing. What’s happening?’

‘While we are standing here, talking to you, the queen has sent a party to raid Westminster.’

There’s a roar of anger from the crowd. ‘Hold ranks, steady,’ Richard shouts at our guard. ‘Close up.’

‘I did not know,’ I say quickly to the Lord Mayor. ‘I swear on my honour I did not know. I would not so have betrayed you.’

He shakes his head at me. ‘She is faithless and a danger, and we want no more of her,’ he says. ‘She used you to divert us and try to take us by force. She is faithless. Tell her to go away and take her soldiers with her. We will never admit her. Make her go away, Duchess, help us. Get rid of her. Save London. You take the queen from our door.’ He bows to me and turns on his heel. ‘Duchess, we are counting on you to deliver us from that she-wolf,’ he shouts as he runs under the great gateway. We stand in our ranks as the big doors of Aldgate are pushed shut, slammed tight in our faces, and then we hear the bolts shooting home.

* * *

We march north. It seems that though we won the last battle we are losing England. Behind us, the City of London throws open the gates to the young Edward, the Duke of York’s oldest son and heir, and they take him to the throne and proclaim him King of England.

‘It means nothing,’ the queen says as I ride beside her up the north road. ‘I am not troubled by it.’

‘He’s crowned king,’ Richard says quietly to me that night. ‘It means that London closed its doors to us but admitted him and crowned him king. It means soething.’

‘I feel that I failed her. I should have been able to persuade them to let her in.’

‘When she had sent her soldiers around to Westminster? You were lucky to get us out without a riot. You failed her, perhaps, but you saved London, Jacquetta. No other woman could have done it.’