‘Yes,’ I say to reassure him, though none of this was ever clear to me. ‘I saw your nephew on the throne, and I am sure that he will hold France. It won’t be him who loses Calais.’

‘You are sure of that?’

At least I can promise him this. ‘I am sure it won’t be him who loses Calais.’

He nods, and sits in silence for a moment. Then he says very quietly, ‘Jacquetta, would you take off your gown?’

I am so surprised that I flinch a little and step back. ‘My gown?’

‘Yes, and your linen, everything.’

I feel myself glow with embarrassment. ‘You want to see me naked?’

He nods.

‘Now?’

‘Yes.’

‘I mean in this daylight?’

‘In the sunset, yes.’

I have no choice. ‘If you command it, my lord.’ I rise up from my chair and I untie the lacing on my top gown and let it drop to my feet. I step out of it, and shyly put it to one side. I take off my ornate headdress and shake the plaits out of my hair. My hair falls over my face as a sort of veil to shield me, and then I slip off my linen petticoats and the fine under-petticoat of silk, and I stand before him, naked.

‘Raise your hands,’ he commands. His voice is calm, he is looking at me without desire but with a sort of thoughtful pleasure. I realise that I have seen him look at pictures, at tapestries, at statues like this. I am, at this moment, what I have always been to him: an object of beauty. He has never loved me as a woman.

Obediently, I raise my hands over my head, like a swimmer about to dive into deep water. The tears in my eyes are now running down my cheeks at the thought that I have been his wife and his bedfellow, his companion and his duchess, and even now, though he is near to death, still he does not love me. He has never lovedme. He never will love me. He gestures that I should turn a little to one side so the last rays of golden sunlight shall fall on my bare skin, turning my flanks and belly and breasts to gold too.

‘A girl of flame,’ he says quietly. ‘A golden maid. I am glad to have seen such a thing before I died.’

I stand obediently still, though I can feel sobs shaking my slight body. At this moment of his death he sees me as an object transmuted into gold; he does not see me, he does not love me, he does not even want me for myself. His eyes go over every inch of me, thoughtfully, dreamily; but he does not notice my tears, and when I get dressed again, I wipe them away in silence.

‘I’ll rest now,’ he says. ‘I am glad to have seen such a thing. Tell them to get me into bed, and I will sleep.’