He takes his dagger and without another word he makes a quick slice against his left wrist, and the blood wells up quickly from the scratch. He lets it come and then he pulls back the covers of the bed, ignoring me as I tuck my bare feet out of sight, and he holds out his hand and drips a few spots of red blood onto the sheets. I stare at them as the stain spreads, feeling utterly ashamed, thinking that this is my marriage, that starts in my husband’s blood, with a lie.

‘That’ll do,’ he says. ‘Your mother will come to see this and believe that I have had you. D’you remember what to tell her?’

‘That you got on top of me, that it hurt a little, and that I hope we have made a child,’ I repeat obediently.

‘That I am going to keep you as a virgin is our secret.’ He is suddenly serious, almost threatening. ‘Don’t forget that. As my wife you will know my secrets, and this is the first, and one of the greatest of them. The alchemy, the foreseeing, your virginity, these are all secrets that you must keep, on your honour, and tell no-one. You are of the royal house of England now, which will bring you greatness but also great cost. You to pay the price as well as enjoy the wealth.’

I nod, my eyes on his dark face.

He rises from the bed, and takes his dagger to the bottom sheet. Without thinking of the cost, he slices a thin strip of linen. Mutely he holds it out to me and I tie it around his wrist over the cut. ‘Pretty maid,’ he says. ‘I shall see you at breakfast,’ and then he pulls on his boots and walks from the room.

PARIS, FRANCE,

MAY 1433

We travel with a great entourage as befits the ruler of France, especially a ruler who holds his lands by force. Ahead of us go an armed guard, a vanguard under the command of the blue-eyed squire, to make sure that the way is safe. Then, after a little gap to let the dust settle, come my lord duke and I. I ride behind a burly man at arms, seated pillion, my hands on his belt. My lord rides his war horse beside me, as if for company, but he barely says one word.

‘I wish I could ride a horse on my own,’ I remark.

He glances at me as if he had forgotten I was there at all. ‘Not today,’ he says. ‘It will be hard riding today, and if we meet trouble, we might have to go fast. We can’t go at a lady’s pace, a girl’s pace.’

I say nothing for it is true, I am not much of a rider. Then I try again to make a conversation with him. ‘And why is it hard riding today, my lord?’

For a moment he is silent as if considering whether he can be troubled to answer me.