“Good,” is all he says as I sit beside him, and I see that however sour his mood, he is not displeased with me.

I turn my head to smile at him in silence and we exchange a little gleam of mutual understanding.

“Did you watch from the window?” he asks. “Were the jackals gathering around the young lion?”

I nod. “They were. So I came to the great lion,” I say. “I cleave to the greatest lion there is.”

Henry gives a little grunt of amusement. “The old lion still has his teeth and claws. You will see I can draw blood. You will see I can rip a throat.”

The double doors are flung open, the herald bellows, “Edward Prince of Wales!” and the little boy of just five years old walks in, with half the court trailing sycophantically behind him. I could almost laugh aloud. All their shoulders are hunched, all their heads are stooped, everyone is trying to bend down to smile at the little boy, to lean towards him so that they can hear anything he might say. When they walk behind the king, they match his swagger, heads up and shoulders back, chests thrust out, pacing themselves to his limping stride. But to follow his son they have invented a new way of sidling along. What fools they are, I think to myself, and I glance at my husband and see his sardonic grin.

Prince Edward stops before the thrones and bows. His pale face is turned to his father with the dazzled expression of a child who hero-worships a distant parent, his lower lip trembles. He gives a small speech in Latin in a piping little voice that I assume expresses his honor and pleasure at coming to court. The king replies briefly in the same language. I can pick out a few words but I have no idea what he is saying. I guess that he had this speech prepared for him; he has little patience with study these days. Then Edward turns to me and speaks in French, a courtly language more appropriate for a woman without much learning.

As I did with Elizabeth, I rise to my feet and go towards him, but he looks anxious as I approach and this makes me cautious. He bows, I curtsey, I extend my hand and he kisses it. I dare not embrace him as I did Elizabeth; I cannot fold him into my arms. He is only a little boy, but he is a unique being, as rare as a unicorn, sighted only in tapestries. This is the only Tudor prince in the whole world. After a lifetime of marriages and couplings, this is the only surviving boy who Henry could get.

“I am so pleased to meet you, Your Highness,” I say to him. “And I look forward to knowing and loving you, as I should.”