“Should you see the doctor?” I ask him. “Is your fever rising?”

He shakes his head. “Doctor Wendy can attend me later,” he says. “Did you know that Doctor Butts is ill?” He gives a wheezy laugh. “What sort of a doctor is that? I sent him a message—what sort of doctor are you, too sick to attend his patient?”

“How amusing. But is he at court? Is he cared for?”

“I think he went home,” Henry says indifferently. “He knows better than to bring illness to court. As soon as he had the first symptom he sent me a message to tell me that he would not come near me till he is well again. He begged my pardon for not being able to attend to me. He should be here. I knew I would be overtaxed, going to my people, taking my wisdom to my people, like that. In this cold weather.”

I nod to the servers to take everything from the room but to bring the king another bottle of wine and the sweet pastries that he likes to have beside the bed in case he is hungry during the night.

“I was inspiring.” He belches with quiet satisfaction. “They listened to me in complete silence. When people talk about preaching, they should have heard me in Westminster this evening! People who call for a new prophet should have heard me speak tonight! I am a father to my people, and a better father than the false priest they call the Holy Father in Rome!”

“Did someone write it down so that others can read it?” I ask.

He nods. His eyes are closing like a sleepy child after a busy day. “I hope so,” he says. “I shall see that you get a copy. You will want to study it, I know.”

“I will,” I say.

“I have pronounced,” he says. “That is the end of all argument.”

“Yes. Shall I leave you to sleep, husband?”

“Stay,” he says. “Stay. I have hardly seen you all day. Did you sit beside old Latimer’s bed?”

“Hardly ever,” I lie. “He was not a husband to me as you are, my lord.”

“I thought not,” he says. “You must have had a moment, when he was dying, when you thought you would be free of all husbands. Did you? When you thought you would be a widow, with your own little estate and your own fortune? Perhaps you even picked out a handsome young man?” The little eyes open, twinkle with sly amusement.

It is illegal for a woman to marry the king if she has any hidden love affairs in her past. These are dangerous words for a bedtime story.

“I thought I would be a widow living only for my family, just like your grandmother, Lady Margaret Beaufort,” I smile. “But a great destiny called me.”