‘No, really.’

‘I am thirty-three. Why, d’you want to marry me?’

‘Not at all. Thank you.’

‘You would wed the wittiest fool in the world.’

‘I would rather not marry a fool.’

‘Now that is inevitable. A wise man is a bachelor.’

‘Well, you don’t make me laugh,’ I said provocatively.

‘Ah, you’re a girl. Women have no sense of the ludicrous.’

‘I have,’ I insisted.

‘It is well known that women, not being in the image of God, can have no sense of what is funny and what is not.’

‘I have! I have!’

‘Of course women do not!’ he triumphed. ‘For why else would a woman ever marry a man? Have you ever seen a man when he desires a woman?’

I shook my head. Will put the wooden sword between his legs and made a little rush to one side of the room and then the other. ‘He can’t think, he can’t speak, he can’t command his thoughts or his wishes, he runs everywhere behind his cock like a hound behind a scent, all he can do is howl. How-oww-oww-owwl!’

I was laughing out loud as Will raced around the room, straining backwards as if to restrain his wooden sword, leaning back as if to take the weight of it. He broke off and smiled at me. ‘Of course women have no wit,’ he said. ‘Who with any wit would ever have a man?’

‘Well, not I,’ I said.

‘God bless you and keep you a virgin then, Maid-Boy. But how shall you get a husband if you will not have a man?’

‘I don’t want one.’

‘Then you are a fool indeed. For without a husband how shall you have a living?’

‘I shall make my own.’

‘Then again you are a fool, for the only living you can make is from fooling. That makes you a fool three times over. Once for not wanting a husband, twice for making a living without him, and thrice since the living you make is from fooling. At least I am just a fool, but you are a triple fool.’

‘Not at all!’ I rejoined, falling in with the rhythm of his speech. ‘Because you have been a fool for years, you have been a fool for two generations of kings, and I have only been one for a few weeks.’

He laughed at that and slapped me on the shoulder. ‘Take care, Maid-Boy, or you will not be a holy fool but a witty fool and I tell you, clowning and jesting every day is harder work than saying something surprising once a month.’

I laughed at the thought of my work being to say something surprising once a month.

‘Up and at it!’ Will Somers said, pulling me to my feet. ‘We have to plan how you are going to murder me amusingly by Candlemas.’

* * *

We had our sword dance planned in good time and it did seem very funny. At least two practices ended in us both having fits of giggles as we mistimed a lunge and cracked heads together, or both feinted at the same time, and fell backwards, and toppled over. But one day the Master of the Revels put his head into the room and said: ‘You won’t be needed. The king is not having a masque.’