“A couple of flesh wounds, no more than cuts, but the servants called for salves and bandages, and the leech came, and between them they have held him there. But he is raving still, and now it is treachery that he is shouting, and your life and that baby’s yonder that he is swearing must now be forfeit.”

“For what?”

“For the treason your husband committed in defending himself with a knife against his king.” Then, violently, “What does it matter? It has happened! I have brought him to you, but you cannot stay to bury him, nor even to mourn him. For the child’s sake, Anna, go, and quickly!”

A sound at the door brought them both round, Drustan’s sword whipping from its scabbard, but it was only the princess’s woman, apprehensive and curious. “Madam? I heard something – aah!”

The sound was a half-shriek as she caught sight of the blood-stained body on the bed. It roused the child, who began a whimpered protest at being wakened, and it shook Anna out of her nightmare trance of shock. Time enough, later, for the bereaved wife to weep; now she was a princess, and the mother of a prince, and this was a situation that she and Baudouin had spoken of and even, reluctantly, planned for. Baudouin was dead. His son must be saved. And they had, unforeseen, the valuable help of Drustan, who might even now be risking his own life for them. He had already – he told her this as she and the woman began hastily to pack their things – sent his servant for horses, and the man would accompany them for the first part of their way. There was no need to discuss where they would go. That, too, had been spoken of many times. Anna’s cousin had owned a castle a few weeks’ journey to the north, well out of Cornwall, and in gentler country; far enough for safety. This, since the cousin’s death, had been kept by his widow, who had promised, if need arose, to give Anna and her son shelter. Even King March could not molest them there.

So it was that, some twenty minutes later, Drustan, with his sword ready in his right hand, and the little boy held in his other arm, kicked the door wide and prepared to lead the way down the tower steps. Anna and Sara, her woman, had crammed as much as they dared carry into bundles ready to be stuffed into saddle-bags, and the princess went armed still with her husband’s sword.

“Quickly, now,” said Drustan.

But Anna, on the threshold, turned suddenly back into the chamber. She ran to the bed. The other two waited for the sad farewell, the kiss on the corpse’s forehead. The child, on the man’s shoulder, watched silently with wide eyes still full of sleep.

She stooped over the bed, and for a grotesque few moments seemed to be wrestling with her husband’s body. Then as she stood back they could see that she had stripped from him the embroidered shirt that, so short a time ago, he had put on with affectionate laughter. Across the breast, where the fine silks made the pattern, the bloodstains were already stiffening and growing darker.