“Indeed, I did not.” I am thinking desperately how to ask him about Thomas. “Are we in danger, lord husband?”

“Of course we are, and it’s all his fault. I shall command the Privy Council to try Tom Seymour for treason for the reckless loss of my fleet.”

The cock bird flutters to the top of one of the cages, alarmed by the king’s rough tone, so I am able to turn my face away and say lightly: “Surely he cannot be guilty of treason? He has been such a good and loyal servant to you, and you have always loved him.”

“I’ll have that handsome head on a spike,” he says with sudden cold violence. “Would you take a wager on it?” and he goes out of the door.

* * *

Silently, like a ghost, I make my way to the king’s side of the old palace. Nobody is with me. I told my ladies that I had a headache and would lie down and sleep, then I slipped from my bedroom to make my way to the king’s rooms, through the small winding galleries to the secret door into his bedroom, then through his deserted privy chambers to his inner presence chamber, where the Privy Council meet. It is like my dream, creeping about on my own, seen by no one. I could be climbing a dark stair, in a silent tower. It is like my dream in the quiet rooms with no one here. There is no guard on the door between the inner presence chamber and the empty rooms. I can stand outside the door and listen to what they say. I swear to myself that if I hear them say that they will arrest Thomas, I will send a message to warn him, whatever the risk. I cannot stand by, struck dumb with fear, when the king takes bets about putting his head on a spike on London Bridge.

His brother, Edward, speaks up for him. I can hear him reading aloud from a letter Thomas has sent defending himself. Edward’s voice is clear and I can make out every word through the thick door.

“And look here,” Edward says. “Let me read you this, Your Majesty. Thomas writes:

Call all the masters and captains that were in this journey and if any of them are able to say that we might lay longer in Dover Road, the Downes, or Bollen Rode as the wind did change, without putting ourselves and the king’s ships in greater danger, then let me bear the blame, and if we have done but as the weather would serve I should desire your lordships to blame the weather and let me, with the rest in my company, be excused to encourage us to serve on the sea another time...”

“Oh, he writes a good letter,” Henry grumbles. “Nobody ever said he was lacking in charm. But how many ships are missing?”